New light - Thoughts under the stars

 The clock nears 2 a.m. I cannot see the stars, but I know they are above the clouds, each one singing its song in the symphony of the Universe.

Free image "Milky Way" by Pexels at Pixabay. 

I sit alone at my computer with only the sound of the refrigerator behind me and the peeping frogs of tinnitus pulsating in my right ear to break the silence. 

The dog, confused at my early emergence from my cocoon of blankets, watches me sleepily from the hallway. 

An open cookbook is to my left, a reminder that I will try that recipe for English muffins when I eventually start the day; hopefully I will have slept before that. To my right is a shiny white mug that I use to encourage myself to drink more water. 

I notice these things but I attend to my writing, to calm my racing thoughts. This happens occasionally, these bouts of insomnia that I have learned to accept and do something else until I feel tired enough to go back to bed.

My thoughts turn to the sleeping ones in my house. The cats of course - they sleep over 18 hours a day - and my husband down the hall, oblivious to my insomnia, snoring softly. I hear him whistle occasionally in his sleep, pent-up breath escaping like a distant boiling kettle. I imagine what it must be like to breathe all the time through half-congested nostrils. To have to choose between breathing and eating, for only one can be done at a time; his allergies make him miss so much of what others ... what I ... take for granted. I shudder.

My daughter stops by and checks on me. I explain my insomnia (or what I think caused it this time) and she brings me a heating pad for my aching belly - in this body I pay for every pleasure, it seems, with pain - this time it was a prolonged belly-laugh earlier this evening at some silly thing that happened. She and I understand each other's pains. She's a good person, one I am honoured to call my friend as well as my child. She goes back to her bedroom and wishes me a good night. The heating pad helps. Or was it just her love and care for me? Perhaps both. Definitely the love.

And in this relative silence, I sit and type out my thoughts. Blogging relaxes me; it gives me an outlet and orders my thought process so that it doesn't race along, pinging off the walls of my mind like some freshly-released pinball. Yet the thoughts this time are not regrets or flashbacks - those rip at my soul, but not tonight.

Tonight I am ... grateful, pensive, even (dare I say it?) happy. I am unaccustomed to this new way of being. The change came just this morning when I was watching old reruns of The Big Bang Theory. It was near the end of the series and Leonard, who grew up in a loveless home, realizes his mother is using him again to further her career, as she did when he was a child and all through his growing-up years. 

He becomes very angry ... and she gaslights him, ignores him until (she says) his tantrum is done. At the end, he finally decides to forgive her, and comes to tell her so. She hadn't asked for his forgiveness, and told him that. But he forgave her anyway. And his words (paraphrased below) pierced my soul to the quick. "I forgive you because ... I'm just going to have to accept you the way you are, and realize that you will never change. And maybe someday, you will learn to accept me the way I am."  She sits in silence for several seconds, and says, "That feels good. To be forgiven even though I didn't ask you to do it."  He is silent. And she gets up and for the first time in his life, she hugs him. And he hugs her back. No questions, no conditions, no ground rules, Just one simple act of kindness. 

And yes, I cried.

Free image by
Evgeni Tcherkasski at Pixabay.com

The scene reminded me that there are certain people in my life who need forgiveness and who will never change. And maybe it doesn't matter if they do. They need it anyway. And more than that, I need to give it to them. No questions, no conditions, no ground rules. Just one simple act of kindness, repeated over and over and over again, until the healing is complete.

I said to someone earlier this week that miracles happen every day. And a miracle is no less a miracle if it happens slowly and gradually. Just like my little light here that I shine is no less amazing than that of the stars that seem so dim but are really enormous and magnificent. That there even IS light is amazing. And just because I cannot shine as brightly as the sun (or as brightly as other people whom I admire) doesn't mean that I should stop shining my own light, or that I should even dim it. It could be that somebody, somewhere, might be just as inspired as I am by what little light I can shed.

I think I can go back to bed now.

Whether I sleep ... is immaterial. 

Quiet

It's quiet in the house. The dog is sleeping, and the only sound is the faint whirring of fans as they cool the room, our computers, and occasionally, the fridge. Plus the sound of my typing. And of course my ever-present tinnitus.

When it's quiet, sometimes my thoughts race as I wonder or even worry about what is to come. Sometimes I do something to fill the void: write a grocery list, play music, anything but be silent in my own thoughts. Other times, though, like this time, I tune into what I'm thinking about and set it aside in favor of experiencing this moment, this one fleeting experience, and enjoying it. I feel the rhythm of my breathing, and I remain present in that rhythm, being grateful for the breath of life. I see patches of sunshine come in their brilliance, and pass behind clouds, hiding the sun's rays in a cloak of water droplets. I marvel at how everything seems so still when the Earth is actually hurtling through space at thousands of miles per hour; it is a miracle that we do not fly off the face of the planet. I tune into my spirit and notice that today, it is content. I am grateful for that contentment.

Photo "Sun Ray Behind Dark Clouds"
by Sura Nualpradid at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Sometimes my husband will comment on something that he has seen or learned, and we discuss it. Time with him, when he is truly present (like now) brings such peace and joy to me. I enjoy his company, which, although it sounds trite, rarely has need for words, but we talk anyway.

I hear the footfalls of my daughter as she awakens to another day. I wonder if she will be in more or in less pain than she was yesterday. She is never totally without it. Once, that realization troubled me deeply, because I had an unhealthy need to fix it; now, I am amazed and inspired by her courage and tenacity. She has taught me about so many things just by living them in her life: acceptance, tolerance, maturity, friendship, and more. I am grateful for her quiet, indomitable and yet vulnerable spirit.

I think about my friends. I am amazed by their patience with me as I have been so busy juggling career and school that I have rarely had enough (sometimes not any) time to spend with them as I would like. I know they support me in my chosen path - which means a great deal to me - and I hope to have a bit more time to spend with them as my work life comes to a close and I can concentrate more on school without that added burden of making a living. I have missed our times of fellowship together. With COVID-19 restricting our movements the last few months, I have become acutely aware of the effects of prolonged isolation even on a confirmed introvert like me. How awful it must be for those who need social contact to feel complete! They must feel like they are running on empty all the time! It firms my resolve to reconnect with my friends, one at a time, even though the chief health officer has deemed that it must be at a distance... so no hugging. 😞

The puppy has awakened now, and is letting us know there is a delivery person at a neighbour's house. The silence is broken, but I am left with a sense of calm and peace that remains with me.

I like that feeling.

Drinking it in

It's raining today: a steady, soaking rain. After a fairly dry summer - we had to water our garden to keep it growing - the trees, grass and shrubs are enjoying the rain.  They are drinking it in gratefully, the leaves perking up where they've been drooping and the grass seeming greener than before.

All of us need that experience of a good, refreshing, cool drink of water ... whether physical or spiritual ... to keep us supple and nourished inside and out. 

It got me to thinking today about what nourishes and feeds me. I have plenty to eat, and clean water to drink, which makes me far richer than over a billion people in the world.  I also have a roof over my head that keeps the extremes of cold and heat out, and more than one outfit to wear - again, more than what billions have - and most days, I take these things for granted!

Photo "Autumn Gold" courtesy of Simon Howden
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

But as Thanksgiving approaches, I find myself feeling gratitude bubbling up from within, for many of the things I normally don't even think about. 

I have so many blessings, not the least of which are those loved ones who live with me: my husband and family (including the four-legged kids too!) who always believe in me, and always look out for my well-being. As Dory said in Finding Nemo, "When I look at you, I'm ... I'm home!" I can't begin to express the degree to which their presence in my life brings me a sense of joy and completion. I only hope that someday they will get an inkling of how important and amazing they are to me.

Sharing the little events of each other's days, the joys and the sorrows, the ups and the downs: these are blessings. Living in the moment, just as creation does, loving every raindrop, every sunbeam, every bit of provision from the Creator, is curiously rejuvenating.  Experiencing all of this with the people I love is quite the trip, and yes, I am drinking it in, like a refreshing thunderstorm after a dry spell. It restores me, makes me whole, and gives me a boost to keep going. I need that, just like I need air ... just like the plants need rain. 

Time To Retire

I have a countdown on my computer. Currently, it says 414 days until I retire. And I remember a time when that number was over double that ... not all that long ago. 

As the weeks and months wind down toward that magical date, I am working hard at keeping my stress in check, because that day also marks for me a day when I can devote more time toward my second career. From the looks of the way things are going right now, that second career may be starting only eight short months after that.  

Free Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay

And then I might have more say over when I take days off, or how much (or little) I work. I will be able to schedule time for things that - until then - will have been on hold for a very long time. Too long, actually. Horseback riding, golfing, traveling for fun, reading for pleasure, and (best of all) spending time with family and friends will all be possible again. That's the dream, at least. I've missed all of those things, and those who know love me have been very patient with me. VERY. PATIENT. Sometimes I am not sure how they put up with me always looking to dive into my next assignment for school, or with me having to work when their schedule frees up time for them, or with me nodding off when we do occasionally have a visit. What amazing people I have in my life!

It's getting within sight now, this finish line. But it's not really a finish line ... it's more of a starting line where I can walk (or ride, haha) and not run. That will be nice!! 

In the meantime, I need to remind myself frequently that it is time to retire: that is, it is time to schedule regular rest stops on my journey. I have been going at such a break-neck pace, especially since 2013, that burnout is never very far off, and perhaps I need to slow down a bit more. Sometimes, it takes the harsh reality of circumstance to bring me to that place of rest and re-creation.  I hope that I can learn to take the hint sooner rather than later that I need to make time for me and for the things (and people) that/who are important to me. I'm not thirty anymore. Nearly twice that now!!  I need to cut myself some slack!! 

I am so grateful for the ones who know me best and who love me anyway, who take the time to gently suggest that I take the time to look after myself and not run myself ragged. Such friends are hard to come by; I am very blessed to have more than one. 

So - in this time between semesters, I may be looking to reconnect with a few people, and take the time to do things that I like doing. After all, I am the only me that I have. :) 

Light Enough

It's been about six weeks since my plans for the future hit a major snag (which I talked about a couple of posts ago) and I realized that I needed some help to deal with it all. With my doctor's assistance, I've taken steps toward getting a therapist to help me deal with my childhood issues, and I have also started to take a medication that gives me more energy during the day. 

During that time, I've moved back to my home province, back into my own home with my husband and daughter, and have arranged an updated work-from-home routine that has me going into the office one day a week. I must say that it felt good to go to a work environment where people smiled when they saw me coming, where I felt (and feel) welcome, and where there was a sense of recognition and respect for my talents. 

Photo "Blooming Snowdrops In The Spring" by radnatt at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I'm also looking forward to my upcoming volunteer activities, which I have scheduled to start this coming Wednesday, at a local non-profit organization aimed at helping pregnant and new mothers who are facing challenges (financial mostly, and mostly single moms). Hopefully I will be able to get outside of myself and gain some much-needed face-to-face experience with people in need at the same time. The director of the organization is someone I feel that I can "click" with - she has never been anything less than kind and approachable - an ideal mentor for me. Although it seems a crazy time of year to start such a venture, as the Christmas season seems to highlight the great need of people at risk, I believe that it will give me a sense of doing something that will make a difference to people's lives. And I need that tangible sense of purpose and accomplishment in my life, especially in the beginning of a season that for me is so depressing because it's so cold and dead outside and will remain so for many months. Who knows? maybe I'll even find some Christmas spirit laying around somewhere. ;)

As I think about my future goals, all I feel is confusion. Six months ago, I had it all planned out. I knew what I was going to do, when it was going to happen, and how I was going to get there. Now, I am questioning everything. So finding one thing that I can do gives me a light in a dark place in my life. It's like lighting a candle when the electricity goes off at night. It gives you just enough light to see the next step or two, nothing more. And you need to go slowly or you'll put out the light. But there is light enough for that one or two steps. 

I still have a lot of things to sort out. Having the time to do that without the extra burden of assignments and other school-work has been helpful. I have been doing a LOT of thinking, reflecting, meditating, and just resting. There is much that I just don't know yet. I don't know how long this process will take, or what I will end up doing with my life. All I know is that I need to use these next few months wisely. There have been opportunities for me to consider, and I am weighing these as well. But no major decisions set in stone. 

After all, I still only have light enough for the next step. Once I take it, I might be able to see where the next one will be.

Echoes in Time

They come back to haunt me at the most inopportune times. The words I heard in childhood sabotage my present, insidiously creeping in and making me believe that I am "unworthy of love and belonging", as Brené Brown describes shame. 

Shame was an almost constant companion for me when I was growing up. Almost everyone chimed in. My brothers, my teachers, my peers, and my mother - especially my mother - used shame as a teaching tool. 

It worked. It worked to make me ashamed of who I was. It worked to make me feel bad for existing. It made me doubt my abilities, change who I was to make someone - anyone - like me, and lowered my standards on who I hung around with. I didn't feel as though I was worth anything more than to be with people who would use me. So that's who I attracted. 

I found this pic on pixabay.com
for free!

The echoes haunt me in my dreams - usually in my mother's voice.  

"Come over here, stand up and show us all the height of laziness."  (She usually said this when we had company.)
"What in the world were you thinking? don't you know ANYTHING?"  
"Don't you DARE say that - they'll think we're poor!" (We WERE poor). 
"How do you expect to clean those dishes in cold water?" (The water was as hot as my tender child hands could stand). 
(After I cleaned the dishes and wiped and put them away) "You didn't wash off the table."
"No you may NOT climb that tree! Nice girls don't do that!"
"What are you doing still eating? You should have been done five minutes ago! Get over here RIGHT NOW and help me with the dishes!"
"Take that red shirt off and go put something decent on you! You look like a streetwalker!" 
"Don't wear black like that - it makes you look like a witch!" 
"What do you have on your face? Powder and paint make you look what you ain't..."
"Just wait until I get my hands on you! I'll beat you within an inch of your life!"

As a child, my dreams were filled with images of monsters lurking in the dark, coming to devour me; I could not escape them. I woke in panic often, and the familiar shapes of clothing hanging up in my room - in the dark - seemed transformed into horrific faces ready to jump at me if I approached. It took all my courage to walk the twenty feet to my parents' room and stand there in the doorway waiting for permission to enter. When she acknowledged my presence and I said, "Bad dreams" ... she always wanted me to climb over behind my father. "You kick the stars off the moon."  Pinned between my father and the wall, in spite of his snoring, I felt safe and I was able to sleep until morning.

It wasn't until many years later that I realized where the dreams came from, and that I had actually awakened from the monsters in my dreams and walked to their source in the waking world to ask her for help. I was one messed-up adult. Clearly I needed someone to mother me. I had spent nearly thirty years of my adult life looking for such a person. I would "overshare" constantly, looking for validation, acceptance, acknowledgement that I was worthy.  So many people turned away from me during those years. It was too much for them, and rightly so. Still others took advantage of that dependence and tried to control my life. They did not care about me, but only wanted to feel powerful. I wondered if I would ever be free of those echoes - the ones that told me that I would never amount to anything, the ones full of self-doubt and self-condemnation. I thought that I could find someone eventually who would love me the way a mother should love her daughter. Unconditionally.

I also found this pic on pixabay.com - for free!

Little did I know that the person I had been seeking this whole time was - to my great surprise - myself. When I was ready to face the monsters (and believe me, THAT took decades!), and got some help from a counsellor, I discovered that I could tell myself the words I needed to hear echoing in my mind instead of the ones that had followed me since childhood. 

I needed to hear those good words, those kind words, spoken gently to the small frightened child still within me. 
"You are worthy."  
"People can like you for exactly who you are; you don't have to change for them."  
"You can do this. You can do anything you set your mind to doing. You are smart, and loyal, and caring, and you are worth getting to know."  
"What happened all those years ago was not your fault."  
"What matters is that you try. You don't have to be perfect at everything."
"I believe in you."
"Here, let me hold you close - no reason - just that I love you."
"It's okay to take your time and eat. The dishes can wait. They are not going to sprout legs and walk away."  
"It's okay to ask for help if you need it. People who love you won't mind helping you if you get stuck." 

Occasionally, I still have to remind myself of those new words, and let them echo in my heart and mind to drown out the voices of the monsters. Fortunately, I have the tools I need to do that, and the support of my best friend in life and love, and the encouragement of the lady who made me a mom. I also have some pretty amazing friends, more than I ever thought possible.  

I am so blessed.  I am so loved.  And I have learned - as difficult as it's been - to start to love me too.

The Empty Cup

It happened so slowly. By millimeters. Over time, the responsibilities piled on, and the stress mounted. Little by little, I would pour myself out into first one project, then the other, and then ... the toll started to get heavier and heavier. 

My body noticed it first; however, my mind had other things to attend to, and I missed those warning signs. Lost sleep, inability to stay asleep. I would wake up tired, sometimes two hours before my usual waking time, sometimes three. More and more often this would happen. My back and legs felt heavy, achy, tired. My feet hurt. I had headaches more frequently. My chemical sensitivities started acting up more. 

As the stress increased, my ability to maintain my weight - or to lose weight - vanished. Oh, not all at once, to be sure, but it became more and more difficult to lose. And incrementally, I started to gain. It was discouraging. But I didn't make the connection. I took on more and more. Life got way more stressful and I couldn't figure out how stuff just piled on.

As it progressed, I became less and less tolerant, more and more impatient. My filter - that little internal monitor that keeps me from saying or doing things to offend people - started to erode, to slip away from me. I couldn't concentrate. My motivation was shrinking. I procrastinated on crucial tasks. I isolated from other people and convinced myself I was too busy to spend time with them. Things got worse. 

And then the work doubled, tripled, overnight. Something I thought I could do, suddenly became a lot harder. I started feeling my age - and beyond. 

I started dreading going to work because it took time away from doing things I no longer had enough time to do. Like homework. The course I am taking in University is the hardest I have ever taken by far - and I feel unequal to the task.

And this morning, I finally broke. On the way to work, I started crying. I was overwhelmed. And I reached out to the only person around my age that I absolutely KNEW had my back: my husband. As I described my symptoms, he became alarmed. He knew - as I had begun to suspect - that I was well on my way to burnout. 

He was right.

I got this image free from Pixabay! Check them out at
https://www.pixabay.com

 The saying goes, "You can't pour from an empty cup." My cup had been evaporating so slowly that I didn't even see it was getting low. And now I was looking at the dregs. 

So again, I reached out. I see a doctor tomorrow, and will see a psychologist before the end of next week, hopefully. I approached my boss, who was awesome by the way, and asked for some time off to regroup. I was able to free up some time to look after myself, and to concentrate on my studies for a little while. How long, I'm not sure - but at least now I have options. When I started the day, I didn't think I had any.

Now I can turn my attention to my cup - to start to clean out the sticky crud at the bottom and to fill it with cool, clear water instead.

Now I can get some rest ... and focus on what matters most. To my surprise, I found out that it was ... me.

New Vistas

In my last post, I was about to go to a couple of interviews for practicum placements, and I said that I might have an offer on the table by the end of that interview day.

I did. And I accepted without hesitation!

My university, once I had informed them of the details, was very quick to accept my practicum proposal (12 minutes, no kidding!) and now I am looking at being an intern starting in September 2018. For real. Me.

There is still a lot of work to do before I can get to the first day of my internship, and it will take a lot of hard slogging in between, but in this moment, as I have crested the hill I have been climbing so arduously the last few months, I can see a new landscape opening up to me. I see some of the road ahead. I can almost see what some of the journey will look like. 

Photo "Double Rainbow" courtesy of evgeni deniv at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

One friend mentioned to me, when I was chatting with him the other day,  that after one man climbed Mount Everest for the first time and stood on the summit, he realized that at some point he would have to climb back down again. And that is part of what I'm experiencing as well ... but I also know that I will have help. 

I won't have to go it alone. I will have the assistance of a great practicum supervisor, my professor and practicum advisor, my classmates, my employer, and my family and friends.  Even though I will be living alone for the first time in my life, doing things I have never done before, I will have a support network that I know will come alongside / beneath me and help me to adjust. I'm not worried in the least. 

Funny isn't it.

Next week I will be attending a workshop on the kind of work that I will be doing as a practicum student and the clientele with which I will be working. And then, in the weeks that follow, I will be working with my practicum supervisor to formulate my learning plan so that I can submit it to the university in early June.  After that, I will be taking care of some details that have more to do with accommodations, work arrangements, and transportation, so that I am settled in my "new place" before I show up to my first day at the practicum site. But all that will unfold as it needs to. There is the overwhelming sense that I am doing what I was meant to do - and that events will play out the way they are meant to play out. 

For the moment, I am enjoying the view. And the view, if I may say so, is spectacular...  

The Next Right Thing

I had a bit of a scare yesterday.

I had planned to drive my brother to an appointment with an ophthalmologist (eye surgeon; he has cataracts) so I went for the 2-hour trip to his place (out of province).  When I got to his house, I realized that he either wasn't there or he was unable to open the door for me. Some frantic calls later, I learned (thanks to a great RCMP officer) that he had been admitted to hospital in a neighboring city the previous day. He gave me the telephone number at the nurse's station of his unit and also his room number. I called and got an update - he was in the cardiac care unit but was stable. The relief I felt that he was alive and being cared for eclipsed the anxiety of what might lie ahead for him.

Photo "Footprints On The Beach Sand"
courtesy of foto76 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Since I was already there and within an hour's drive of the hospital he was in, I decided to go to see him, which I did. Braving the open highway, and multiple exits to the city I was going to, was worth the extra stress of making the trip!  He was in good spirits and so glad to see me! He was hooked up to an intravenous tube with a couple of extra bags - nitro-glycerine and heparin - and to heart, blood pressure, and oxygen monitors.  It was comforting to see the numbers and the regular rhythm of his heartbeat on the screen.  We chatted for a while about this and that, and I decided that while I was in the building, I would go and see Mom, who has dementia.  I promised my brother that I'd come back and see him before I left the building to go home.

I had called Mom's unit so often, and hospitals are laid out in pretty much the same way on each floor, that it was easy to find her area after having been to his. When I got there, I found her in a common area with a few people. She was playing Skip-Bo, her favorite card game, and trouncing everyone while she was at it. She barely looked up when I came in, except to express surprise to see me - which is normal for her. As I chatted with one of the other visitors, I watched while her right hand repeatedly picked the brightly-colored cards out of her left and played them on the discard pile. She was still unbeatable. And when she won, she didn't show pleasure, only a slight disappointment that the activity was over. And then she forgot she had done it. It was like she was home, except that ... she wasn't.

Once one of the people left, and we herded Mom back into her room (reminding her three times to not forget her walker), I shared with the other visitors (honorary Bro and Sis) the news about my brother, while managing to keep Mom from cluing in to it.  That's easy these days because she doesn't hear well and only can focus on one person at a time: whoever is in front of her usually.  I got a chance to visit with all of them, though. As visits go, it was pretty good. :)

Later, honorary Bro and I went down to see my brother in the CCU while honorary Sis and Mom kept playing cards in her room. The events just flowed, like they'd been prepared for me in advance, and all I needed to do was walk into them and take my place. Seeing her didn't fill me with dread or sadness; she was still Mom. 

The whole day was - I was going to say easy, but that isn't the right word. I was just ... living in each moment as it came without wondering where the next one would lead. It was an odd experience, unlike any other, but it felt completely natural. I just did whatever came next. Naturally.

"Do the next right thing" is a slogan that I have known about for close to nine years. The beauty of it is that word "next" because it implies that there is always a next time, and a next, and a next. Yesterday was supremely stressful and there were a lot of ups and downs in it (including the harrowing drive to the hospital at high speed on fairly unfamiliar roads among unforgiving drivers in high winds that buffeted the little car I was driving). But each segment of the day - including the drive and all the components of it - was one more step in doing "the next right thing."  I have rarely been more aware that I was exactly where I should be and doing the very thing that I was meant to do in that moment. It was like those moments were being orchestrated, conducted by a Master Designer, to meet not only their needs, but my own in the process. 

It Still Counts

I was awake around four this morning. Those who have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder will understand when I talk about re-experiencing and how that interrupts sleep cycles and causes all sorts of nasty stuff like irritability, anxiety, fear of crowds and public places, and hypervigilance (the obsession with staying safe and keeping your loved ones safe). And the ones fortunate enough to have benefited from therapy know that talking about their trauma is a necessary part of their treatment because they process it instead of blocking it out.  

So I guess I had better warn my readers that I am about to describe a traumatic experience. If you can't deal with that right now, you are welcome to stop reading at this point. If you want to continue, you might want to grab a tissue. Especially if you're a parent.

Four years ago today seemed like any other day I had spent since my youngest daughter moved to Alberta and eventually ended up on the street, living in her car.  I was always wondering if she was safe, doing everything in my power to give her the tools she needed to get even half a chance out there. 

The previous evening she had asked for some money so she could sleep in a motel and have a shower to be ready to view an apartment the following day. I agreed and sent it.  

But she never got there.

All morning I was texting her from work, reminding her of her appointment. No response. I tried calling her again and again. No response. I gave up around 12:30 because I figured she was on the road by then.

She wasn't.

I remember what I had for lunch because I was eating it when the phone call came from my husband at 1:10 pm.  He told me that she had been in an accident. No, she wasn't okay. It was head-on at highway speed. She had died instantly.

I felt as if someone had drop-kicked me in the stomach. My breath came in gasps - I wanted to scream the words but they came out in disbelieving sobs instead. "Oh my God.  Oh my GOD!  My baby! My baby is ... DEAD!  Oh God!"

Suddenly the world seemed very, very small. There was barely enough room in it for me to breathe, almost like those scenes from horror movies where the camera gives an extreme closeup and there's a delay, an echo, in the words and actions - and they feel jerky, disjointed, surreal.

"Do you want me to come pick you up?" he patiently asked me after I stopped talking ... if you can call what I was doing talking. 

"Up, oh yes, pick up. Yes that would be good."

"I'll see you in about 20 minutes. Okay?"

"Umm, yeah. Okay.  Umm, drive safe," I said automatically. 

People at work had formed a small crowd around me, I noticed as I hung up the phone. Someone handed me a tissue. Apparently my face was wet. I can't remember who all was there, but I know there were concerned faces all around me.  I heard voices expressing sympathy - but they sounded like they were coming from the other end of a metal tube. 

I was still clutching what was left of my lunch - a spoonful of peanut butter and a couple of dried mango slices - as my manager suggested that I go to her office. She guided me there, sat me down in a chair, and waited with me for my husband to arrive.  She expressed her condolences, and asked if there was anyone she could call for me to let them know. I obediently gave her the number for the church I attended. She called them and told them the news while I ate the rest of my lunch - which felt drier than usual in my throat - because all I could think of was that I needed to keep my strength up, that my family would need me to be strong. So it became all-important for me to finish eating. Strange what trauma will do to the mind.

As we waited after my manager hung up, she leaned over and hugged me, rocking a bit, and started to sing softly in my ear, "Come to the water, stand by My side, I know you are thirsty, you won't be denied...I felt every teardrop when in darkness you cried, and I want to remind you that for those tears I died..." - the chorus of a song that (there was no way she could know this) I sang with my brothers as a teen. Of course that helped to set off a fresh wave of tears. I appreciated her expression of caring; I needed it!

When my husband arrived, those with clearer heads met him at the door. Others ushered me downstairs to meet him. One dear lady took charge and arranged to have someone drive us home - my manager took the front passenger seat and let us sit together in the back - while someone else drove behind us in a car and followed our van back to our house. 

These memories are fresh for me today because - well - it's one of those anniversary days. As I think back and remember, and relive those moments and the grief that overwhelmed me during those days and weeks that followed, the one thing that overarches everything is the one thing that heals the most: the love shown to me and to my family from all who knew us. And I mean all, from my best girlfriend who took my daughter's death as hard as I did, to the co-workers who all were so affected by it, to the doctors who worked in our area at my work, to those who came to the wake and to the funeral, to the hundreds and now thousands of people who have read my blog post about it (look in my archives on this blog for my October 24, 2013 post). 

Image "Snowflake Background" by oana roxana birtea
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Those who know her story (which I told in that post I mentioned) know that she lived her life by the motto, "Every Snowflake Counts" - which to her didn't mean that everyone is unique and special like a snowflake, but that every bit of good that a person does, no matter how small, is helpful. It counts. There is nothing insignificant. 

It still counts. Folks who know me well, know that 2017 has been particularly hard for me emotionally, partly because if my baby girl had not had that accident, she would have turned 25 this year. So this anniversary date is a bit more raw than one might expect after four years. Grieving is not something that one ever stops doing; it takes a different form after a while, but it never goes away. 

My friends have been so supportive and so compassionate - and so patient - toward me and my family. To them I say, it still counts. Your love and your kind thoughts and words do not go unnoticed; I appreciate every bit of good that you intend and that you do and say. And I just wanted to say it.

Thank you. Thank you all. :') 

The Last Person

I started a transformation journey in 2009. Part of that journey was learning that other people (and that I) had boundaries, and that nobody had the right to cross those. Nobody. And, that in some cases, even with the other person's permission to do just that, it's not a good idea.

But one of the hardest facets about this journey - and it has many facets, like any jewel - has been learning self-care and self-compassion.  I tend to be way harder on myself than I am on others.  As my expectations of other people have lowered to reasonable levels, you'd expect that my expectations of myself would also decrease.  Mmmm, not so much.  If I hit anything less than perfection, I am the first to criticize myself and beat myself up inside over not living up to how well I wanted to do something. So learning self-compassion has been ... shall we say ... a process rather than a destination. I get better at it, then slip back, have to learn the same lessons over and over, and eventually, the marker for "normal" moves a millimeter.  It's progress, but to me it seems glacially slow! 

So, sometimes I have to force myself to do things for myself that I would not hesitate to do for a friend. In fact, Dr. Kristen Neff said something in a video I saw this past summer that stuck with me. She said something like this : if you wouldn't treat someone you loved and respected a certain way, then why would you treat yourself that way? Being compassionate toward yourself, she said, connects you with humanity because as you give yourself a break when you make mistakes, you can be more compassionate toward others when they mess up. (For more information on this, visit www.self-compassion.com ... somewhere on the site are the videos I watched; each one is about 10 minutes. 

Photo "Mirror" courtesy of Arvind Balaraman
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

And self-compassion goes hand-in-hand with another similar term that I've been learning about too: self-care.  Self-care can be just as much doing nice things for myself as it is in not doing (or saying) bad things to myself. So it can include staying away from individuals, groups or situations that are bad for my (mental and/or physical) health, but it can also mean taking steps to look after my needs for sleep, nutrition, and activity, among other things. Lately, I have been taking time out for myself - not to "do" anything in particular, but just to recharge and to follow that old McDonald's slogan: "You deserve a break today..." I don't always practice this, but I find that if I don't, I end up being more irritable and more overwhelmed by the basic day-to-day of life. I cannot give away what I don't have. And so, I need to cultivate a friendship with the last person I expected ... me. I need to be my own friend.

That flies in the face of everything my own culture drummed into me when I was a child. Others first. Self-sacrifice. And as noble as those things sound, I have found them to be fundamentally flawed, because I used to live like that. I was the last person to eat, the last person in line at the store because I would let others go first, the last person to speak up or to speak out.  And by the time I got around to looking after myself, there was nothing left, and there was no energy left in me ... and I just didn't. Or I took the leftovers of what everyone else didn't want. And I got more and more stressed, resentful, and burnt out. 

When I started giving myself permission to look after me first, lo and behold, I had more energy to give to others, and my stress and resentment went way down! It amazed me how that worked. Instead of becoming more selfish, I became more able to be there for someone who really needed me when the time came, less distracted by my own needs and more able to concentrate on theirs. (Huh. How 'bout that.) 

Moreover, I found that I was better able to accept others' care for me instead of brushing it off and saying I didn't need it. Quite effectively, that gave my loved ones the gift of being able to pour into my life, a gift I had been denying them by trying to be too self-sufficient. And I've been learning that when I accept their care for me, and say "Thank you," I give them the added gift of feeling pleased because they had made a difference in my life. Because they love me. And that is so amazing to the last person who would have expected it: me.