Letting Go A Little More...

So we (MacArthur and I) went out to the ocean today and scattered some of my mother's ashes. We hiked down to a beautiful small cove and said a few words. It was a strange combination of heavy, painful, and freeing. Such a weight was lifted when it was all done.

On the drive out to the beach, I was quiet. First, I got a call from Noreen (FHA president). She asked me how I was doing, and was actually very nice. I was glad I got a chance to connect with her, specifically *not* as her employee. For so many years, I worked for her, in such fear because of the things that my supervisor would say. She created an atmosphere of fear. I never really got to see Noreen as a whole person. As a human. I remember the guidance that I got from Niki was to keep under her radar. She made it seem like Noreen was a fire breathing dragon. When in fact, she's actually a very nice person. I mean she's just a normal human being. Powerful -yes. But that is *not* a bad thing. It's encouraging. I am always inspired when I get to see a strong woman in action. It's empowering *to me*. It helps me see that "I can do that too"! That I can develop those leadership qualities in me and help empower others (both women *and* men) in the world.

The next call I got on the way out... was from a gentleman from the cemetery. He told me that they had gotten the permit in sooner than anticipated, for my mother's burial, and that we could do it on Monday. So we moved it up a day.

The sooner the better is now my attitude. I realize that I have been carrying this enormous weight this last year. So much grief. So much seriousness and sadness. I feel like I have been dying slowly. On Monday, when we lay to rest, the remainder of my mother's ashes, I anticipate that it will not only feel like a relief and give my heart some peace and rest; but that it will also be somewhat like a symbolic death and burial of the last vestiges of the me that was before. The last of the old me. The child that could never imagine this kind of tragedy, or living past it alone. It's time to live. To embrace *living* -with joy. -Even without my mother. I'm kind of like a begrudging little caterpillar...that didn't really want to shed it's cocoon and blossom. I really didn't. I wanted to stay a caterpillar. Comfortable and loved by all of my caterpillar friends and family. But that's not how life worked out. I keep telling myself though that: this is a great opportunity to forge my life into whatever my heart desires. I'm casting off everything that I've ever known. Losing everything. Having my heart and family torn away. But having the space and opportunity to build a new life. Develop deeper relationships with distant family members and making them *not so distant*. -Close even. And I am so grateful for all of the people who have loved me through my darkness. And through my sadness. George, my mother's best friend, has always been a source of encouragement, strength, and laughter; which in my opinion is completely necessary for surviving the Spanish Inquisition. "No one *expects* The Spanish Inquisition" they say...but it happens to us all at one time or another in life. Heartbreak is part of being human. It's part of loving. And I guess it's worth it.

I felt so close to MacArthur today. So lucky that he is my love. And so sheltered from the storm by his love. Jodi put it well, when she said "I'm not the kind of person who believes in God. But if I *was* I would find it amazing that just as one great love of your life leaves...another one arrives." Truer words were never said. And I am so grateful for the grace that God, The Universe, or what-have-you has bestowed upon me.

I plan to go forward with my life, and live in a manor which would make my mother proud. I will be happy. I will have joy in my heart. And I will develop my abilities and contribute something of worth and value to the world around me. 

Encouragement

February 5th, 2009; 8:47AM
Life for everyone is a struggle against the sufferings of birth, old age, sickness and death. Happiness is not the absence of problems or worries; it is to be undefeated no matter what problems or worries we may face. And this happiness is not solely focused on oneself. Truly happy are those who can help others become happy. 

~Daisaku Ikeda

Facing My Knorr Addiction

On Monday, Mantights sat me down and had a serious talk with me about training, diet, sleep, everything. Since then I have been thinking more about what I eat. And pondering *what* exactly is my downfall? I like food. I like flavor. I like to have fun with my friends...and enjoy a meal together. So there's certainly a social aspect. But there is most definitely also a stress relief aspect too. I have very few vices. But honestly food is one of them. I was talking with some of my girlfriends once, and one of them came up with a very astute observation...which is also partly why food is such a tricky vice to have: Food is not like other vices. It's not like drugs or alcohol or cigarettes. With those things...you can cut them out completely. And although it's hard. There's no need to be a recovering heroin addict who just so happens to keep heroin in the house. Not so with food. You need food. Intimately.  Every day, for the rest of your life. So it's a harder relationship to maintain. You can't get rid of it entirely. You have to be able to have it around and make good choices.

Agh! Such a struggle! 

I love salty, fatty, and delicious. Knorr onion dip with ruffles.
(Also known as: god's perfect food.)

Butter? -Hell yes! 

Cream? -I don't mind if I do. 

And soda! Even diet soda is a no-no. I drink plenty of water...but there's something special about a carbonated ice-cold drink that is just such a nice treat. It's refreshing. Anyhoo...I'm thinking about it. And working on it. I'm scheduling an appointment to talk with a nutritionist, since clearly I am not doing this stuff on my own. 

Good bye heroin. It's been a nice ride. :p It's time to replace you with asparagus apparently. 

Interring My Mother's Ashes

This year has been a year of painful transitions for me. Things which I never thought would happen, have come to pass. And it's been hard on all of us. Next week, I will be laying my mothers ashes to rest. I've purchased a plot, in the same cemetery where my grandparents have been buried. MacArthur and I went there a couple of days ago. I can't exactly remember the last time I went to visit my Grandparents graves. But I remember doing it a lot with my mother. We would go, and bring flowers. Sometimes we would just go and lay on the grass together and look up at the clouds in the sky, and let our hearts do the talking to our ancestors. I feel strange this week. Tense. Kind of like that "deep bone ache" that my podiatrist was warning me about...only it's not in my recently healed bones...it's a feeling that I have in me. Deep down in me. My heart. My mind. The fiber of my being.

 I promised my mom that I would not hold onto her ashes forever. I would like to have them buried before the 1 year anniversary of her death. My Uncle Courtney asked that I wait till August, so that he could be here with me to bury my mom. I've waited. The waiting has been hard on me. It feels like dying slowly. The pressure of all of this unfinished business...grief that hasn't stopped flowing...has been very heavy on me this past year. I'm looking forward to interring her ashes and finishing up her headstone. I think it will give me a small bit more, of that peace which I am searching for. Uncle Courtney can't make it in August. But he will be here in September. By then, the headstone will be cast and in place. In a way, it seems better this way. In a way it seems so much more like what it was like when she was alive. In the end, again, it will be she and I.

I miss you so much mom. And I don't know when my heart will stop hurting. When breathing will become easier. I don't know when the memory of your illness will fade...and all that will be left are the good times. But I want that. I want it so badly. I feel myself grasping at life, trying to come back to life myself. But so far, it still hurts. I still can't believe that you're dead. I can't believe that everything has fallen apart. I don't know what to do. I am afraid of my life. It hurts so much without you. It feels like the center of my heart is missing. I wish you were here. If you exist...where ever you are...I hope that you are happy and loved. I love you, and I will love you forever. 

The Dog Officially Hates Me

So the whippet has lost all respect for me. It feels like we are an old married couple. And the resentment and unsaid things and assumptions are seeping into our marriage. It all started with losing my mother. No. Check that. It began before that, with the stress of my mother's illness. Dogs pick up on human emotions. Many a time, when my mother was in the hospital, I would come home to a huge mess on the floor. Not because the dog couldn't hold it or didn't have access to the outside potty. But more as a little doggie post-it note saying: "Hey! Fuck you! I have feelings too ya know. What's going on!?! I've been a wreck over this. Somebody come hold me and give me some treats."

Things admittedly got back on track for a while. For a while, I would hold J-Lo all the time. And then...I got Señor Piccolo. Her new BFF *and* arch rival for my affection. For a while there, I thought that Ms. Lo was going deaf. I would call her, and she wouldn't come. I would call her even louder and with more enthusiasm -even promising her treats...and she *still* wouldn't come. Eventually I realized that this was her way of saying "Piss off!" OK. Ms. Lo. Point taken. I need to spend more one on one time with you. I had no idea that one day I would be getting *attitude* from a dog. :p 


As if life wasn't complicated enough these days...

The Monster In My Brain

I have a monster in my brain. It's been there for a long time. Ever since I was a child. I would say that it takes up a fair amount of my mental space. Perhaps about 90%? Depending on the day...sometimes it's more...sometimes it's less...but it's always there, unfortunately. It's that nasty little voice that tells me that I am going to fail. That one way or another, that things will fall apart. No matter how hard I work to shore up one side of the box..and tape it up...that just as sure as anything, as soon as that's done, the other side of the box will come spilling out. That failure is my path. No matter what the subject is.

Weight loss? -You're fat. You can't do it. Have you ever been successful at that really? (said with a snide piercing voice and a condescending raised eyebrow. -Yes...the voices in my head can even raise their imaginary eyebrows.)

The Perfect Man? -Get real! You don't have what it takes to attract that guy. Let alone keep him happy. Why would anyone love a fat, ugly thing like you?

School? -You're not good enough. Smart enough. You just don't have what it takes. Sorry. -Next!

Keeping The House? -You are just one of many sad sad stories. You won't be able to. Your mother lost the home when she took out that mortgage on it. And that fate was sealed permanently with her death.

It's time to start shrinking those monsters. Take a good look at them and start to see them for what they are. Chip away at them. See that they are not so big and bad after all. I think I'll go into the old office and see my monster face to face. Find out how she's doing. :p Just so that I don't feel so daunted anymore by her. Hopefully she'll be having a bad hair day. :D

Something I Found Out Today About Broken Bones And Scar Tissue...

Well the news is in. Looks like I won't have to have my foot re-broken. Apparently, it's a bunch of scar tissue that's causing the pain. Who knew? When you break a bone, it bleeds into the surrounding tissue, creating scar tissue!?! (really??? -crazy!)  Other than that...I'm a lucky girl. Two weeks of walking on a broken foot with no cast...then taking the boot off early (I know...I'm naughty. Trust me, my boyfriend's already given me the lecture.)...Um...and having it broken in two different places. And I'm still OK! :) HA! Take that universe! In your pie hole! :p

Now I have to get moving and break up that scar tissue. Massage. Gentle stretching. Walking. Swimming. Biking. And even a bit of running. The Dr. said to take it easy and use my best judgement. She said that it *will* hurt, but that I would know the difference between "deep bone pain" and the pain of breaking up the scar tissue. And that I could expect to be fine. She said that some people *never* feel the same after a break or have the same mobility. And it's common for it to hurt for even a year after the break. But the best thing I could do is to gently work on breaking up the scar tissue. Somehow I'm pretty good at working through the pain. I guess that's a good side effect from taking care of my mom all these years. A little physical pain is nothing. Small potatoes. I can totally handle this. Happily even. :)

4th of July

This year, the fourth of July was loads of fun. I went to Sonoma, as usual, and watched the fireworks from the grassy fields next to General Vallejo's house. At first, it looked like there was going to be a group of us...which dwindled down, in the end to two couples. The other car load of people never made it out of Petaluma. Sometimes wrangling a bunch of people together can be a little bit challenging. Oh well...so some of us were in P-town watching the fireworks. The rest of us: Mac, Bean, Katrina and I had front-row seats for a beautiful fireworks show. We brought a large soft blanket and spread out. Mac was sweet enough to carry the bulk of everything from the car and actually set up while I went looking for my friends. I have to say...the cute boy picked a pretty nice spot. :)

On our way out of town, we picked up some tri-tip from Oliver's and various other goodies to nosh for our pick-nick dinner. Bean and Katrina brought the beverages. It felt good watching the fireworks...falling back into a *happy* tradition of mine. I guess those are the things that you do, in order to rebuild your happiness.

Surrounding us, as we watched the fireworks, there was a cacophony of various cries from the crowd. Some were cute and funny, like the 4-year old little girl who kept exclaiming with such sincerity things like: "This is the best fourth of July ever!". Some were just the average hoots and cheers as the show really got under way. And then there were the others. -The annoying group of yahoo's who unfortunately sat directly behind us and kept calling out things like "Penis!", "Homer Simpson!", "Freedom isn't free!"...on and on and on. The first time it was a little funny. But it got old quick. Apparently not to them thought because they kept it up throughout the entire show. At some point, a small single-prop aircraft began to circle the fireworks. Which "ruined it" for the yahoo's sitting behind us. -This I found very amusing, since they had been "ruining it" for the rest of us.

When the show was over, our group sat and relaxed merrily talking and laughing away. From experience, I've learned that you have two good options: 1. run for the car immediately and peel out of the parking lot before anyone else gets back to theirs. or 2. relax and watch the stars and hang out a while longer, giving the throngs of people time to sit in their cars...until slowly, the traffic moves through and by the time you get to your car...there's no waiting. :) We took option 2.

Katrina even was nice enough to take a picture for the yahoo's to commemorate the occasion. (she's such a nice girl!)

Sometime after the crowds had started to clear, I noticed a heap of stuff right next to us. "Somebody left their bag of garbage there."  -Ooops! Turns out I was wrong. It was the small woman who kept calling out "beautiful" throughout the show. She was drunk and had passed out. She started talking in her sleep, and it became apparent that she had undergone some sort of trauma in her life.

It reminded me of all of those sad and lost souls that I would come across in the SNF's The old woman in the hallway, who was so distraught. So sure that I was her daughter and that she had to make things right with me. She felt so bad. I couldn't convince her that I was actually somebody else, and that we were in a medical facility. That I was actually there to see *my* mother at the end of the hallway. She grabbed onto my hand and looked deeply, pleadingly into my eyes. The only thing that I could do for her, was play along. I forgave her. I pretended to be her daughter, and told her that everything was going to be all right. That she was safe and loved. And that everything was OK. It calmed her down immediately. She sat back into her wheelchair with a feeling of relief. Some part of me felt a little bad for my deception. But I also thought "Well...what can I really do to help this woman feel OK right here and now?"

Mac suggested that we give the woman our blanket. To which I thought immediately "No way! My mom gave me this blanket." It was one of the very last things my mother ever gave me. I remember at the time the frustration that I had felt over her gift. I didn't want her to spend any money on me. But then, in subsequent years, I was glad that she had. It was a large, soft, pale grass-green blanket. The texture of it even looked a bit like grass. I can't tell you how many times I fished that blanket out of the dryer and wrapped it around my mom. Or the pizza Friday's that we would spend snuggled up underneath it as we watched movies and ate popcorn. So when Mac suggested giving it to this homeless woman, my heart clamped down and said NO. The woman must have heard us talking about it because she asked us if we had a blanket we could give her. She then went on to tell us how she was so cold. Which also went straight to my heart, and overrided my *no*. I thought about all of those times that my mother needed somebody's love and nurturance. And how in this world, it is so easy to *not give*...to ignore. To turn away from our opportunities to be of service to others simply because it is in our own best interest or even worse...just because it's easy. -Yep. I was guilty of that. I was being selfish and small. Guilty as charged.

"Do you have a home?" I asked. -I wanted to make sure, before I gave her my beloved wubby...that she wasn't just some rich drunk Sonoma housewife who had passed out in the field and would toddle on home in the morning.

"Not now." she replied. (oh.)

"OK. We have a blanket for you. We'll give it to you in a minute after we've packed up our stuff."

"Thank you."

We packed up the remainder of our pick-nick, and put a small pile of individual containers of food right next to her with an apple juice for when she woke up in the morning. Then, Tim and I covered her up with the blanket.

"There you go sweetie."

As we walked back to the car, Mac kissed me and promised me that he would buy me a new blanket. He said that it was *his* mom coming out in him. Her generosity of spirit. I know that in many ways, Mac's mother contributed quite a bit to the world around her. Giving that woman my blanket was the right thing to do. I can't say that it was easy. It was my favorite blanket and in some way felt a bit like letting go of my mother, not just a blanket. But it was the right thing to do.

...Hey...after all...it's just a blanket right? I can buy a new one. No biggie.

Comforting Message Of The Day:

You are loved.

And you will be happy again one day.

You will make it through this. 

All of this pain is temporary.

And one day...

it will all blow away.

You'll see. 

One day...

All of this pain will be gone.

It will blow away like nothing was ever there.

And all that will be left, is you.

And you will be happy again.