7 years later…

A friend introduced me to Anne Lamott.

She gives a Ted talk about the 12 truths she learned from life and writing.  The two that immediately popped out at me are “stop helping so much” & “Just do it!”.

The other 10 are also spot on. But, in this moment in my life these two popped out to me personally.

Stop helping so much: I spent the last twenty years helping others even when I didn’t want to. I started to resent people because I was helping them. Today, that idea seems backwards to me. Today, when someone asks me for something I have learned to pause and think about it before saying yes. Sometimes I say “Let me check my schedule and get back to you”. I like to be able to say yes with the feeling of really wanting to help. If I say no, its because I really can not help. Something about the situation either doesn’t feel right with me or will be taking me away from something that is important to me. One of the ways I have combated the guilt I feel for not helping is advising on where else they can go for help. Sometimes people have to do a little more work, to help themselves.

Just do it: I used to start things and never finish. Or I would never start and talk about it for months or years. When I decided to change my life 7 years ago I never imagined I would become a “Get it” kind of girl! Today, one of my weaknesses may be my strength. I don’t think before I do. I get an idea and run with it! I try it, sometimes I fail and sometime I succeed. I do not let fear lead me, I let it trail behind me on my coat feathers trying to catch up. It’s always there. I am pretty sure if I thought too much about it, I wouldn’t do it. I would let the evil little committee in my head tell me I am crazy, slow me down or halt me all together. But, NO, today I just do it! Now, I own a business I love, I balance life with family (sometimes), and I am still married (happily, most days). Imagine that!

My 7 year anniversary is tomorrow. Happy 7 year to me! The day I decided to Just do it, for me!

Anne Lamott gives a Ted talk here. Love her balance of humor on serious topics. Must listen!!

 

What is this all for?

During John’s last hospital stent I wrote this. I am so glad I journal to remind myself of what we have been through. We can do it all!!

3/8/2017

While John’s in the hospital I often start thinking about what the purpose of this life is?  We all hope that there is something beyond this, otherwise that makes this life for nothing. What is the purpose of all the hardship and joy, lessons and hurt?  I was driving back to the hospital the other day after going home to take a shower.  I was in a rush and angry.  I often talk about how horrible my road rage is and it’s so unnecessary.  I saw an elderly woman looking so sad standing close to edge of the street ready to cross, a family leaving the hair salon struggling to push the stroller through the door, a car speeding past me to make the light and a man in a wheelchair just waiting. Then, I thought about my mom and dad while they were dying.  All the pain they went through, what was it for? After they died so many people gathered to celebrate their lives and show their respects.  So many people had stories about all the days they gathered together.  Three years later no one is telling those stories anymore of my mom and her feisty ways.  The Irish woman divorced who moved back to her home country to retire with her American ways.  Drinking beer from a bottle and going to bars alone.  They really had to get used to her and grew to adore her.  One year later no one is talking about my dad’s generous heart.  The way he would stop and talk to a homeless man and had no problem giving him twenty dollars every time he seen him.  How he would buy a stranger in the bar a beer just to see them happy. What is the purpose of all this?  Why are we going through this life only to die and be forgotten?  In 100 years, no one will know my name or John’s name unless they come across it on a tombstone.  No one will know the lessons he learned.

Today, everyone talks about how beautiful he is.  How he makes sad people happy. How his smile brightens a room. How he curses like a sailor and how brave he is.  In 50 or 100 years when I am gone and john is gone no one will remember any of it.  All the pain my little man endured his whole life will be for what?

History shows people repeat the mistakes of the past.  Presidential candidates try what’s been done already and fail.  People suffering from mental illness and cancer are still not cured.  What is this all for? If you talk to a Jehovah witness, they will tell you the reward is in heaven.  A Catholic will tell you its eternal life.  I don’t know.  It’s all intertwined with hope and faith in a higher power. Letting go of what we cannot control and allowing life to happen gracefully.  Acceptance of people for who they are.  And responding to hate with love.

I always conclude with, “I have no idea but if we need to be here we midas well be kind”.  Even while driving.  I am grateful that John is with us.  I am for every moment. We take the pain because there is so much good that comes along with it.  I hate the pain because of what it does to his little body and life. But I love Johnny more than life. Countering the hate with love…we will be better than ever.

Happy Mother’s Day

Every morning he says “whatda we have?”  This morning my response was “dance class”.  He replies “Chuckie cheese?’  I say, “No, Johnny you didn’t earn it.”.  Then he places his forehead against mine and kisses my nose gently.

This is the typical morning with John first thing.  He usually turns into a clown by tickling me, burping or farting.  But, he always says “exxxxxcuse me”.  He’s polite like that.

This morning for some reason he also asked for Grandpa and signed it.  I feel like his presence is here to say Happy Mother’s Day as well.

I am the luckiest mom in the world to have been chosen by John. He’s a clown, loving, feisty, polite, and more…and somehow I feel like I had nothing to do with all that.  I love this kid to bits!

Happy Mother’s Day!!!

Every visit has a memory

Every visit has a memory

Worst night this time around…

Every time John has a hospital stay there is something horrible that happens that we will never forget.  The first 13-month stent has a bunch of bad memories.  Like the time they placed an IV in his head because they couldn’t find his veins, they were so narrow.  Or the time they called us into the hospital at 2am saying this might be it, we need to get in fast.  I remember the rooms we were in and the people standing there.  Their faces are a blur but I know how many people were standing around and what they were doing.  This time around I will never forget tonight 3/13/17.  John destated to the 40’s on his oxygen.  I haven’t seen him that blue since he was a baby.  The whole experience is making me question every decision I have made this trip to the ICU.  Nothing like a trip to the ICU to fester up that mother’s guilt.  What should I have done differently? Maybe I should have come sooner? You know, like any mother except my decisions are based on life and death.  Oh, the fucking pressure!!! No wonder I drank!

I think what keeps me from breaking down is the fact that Kevin is breaking down.  He can’t stand this and emotionally collapses.  I end up having to hold him up, talk him down and tell him everything will be all right.  Tonight, after he went home I wanted to cry. But, I didn’t because I had to take care of John, get him to sleep and make sure he got his meds.  Then, when he fell asleep I sent Kevin a text letting him know.  Kevin called me.  How grateful I am he calls me today.  He was crying saying this isn’t fair and how hard it is to see John like this.  I sit and listen, tell him I understand and recommend he takes a hot shower and sleep well tonight. But, don’t forget to say your prayers.  He agrees, calms down and we hang up.

It’s my insatiable need to be in control that prevents me from breaking down.  I need to be the one barking out orders and telling people what John likes and doesn’t like, making recommendations on what to do next, talking to the doctors. It’s my character defects working to my advantage. I’ve yet to see a parent sobbing while making medical plans with a doctor in the ICU. It just doesn’t work that way.  You hold your shit together and do what you need to do.

And you remember every single detail and pray that the next time it will work out the same way.  And when it doesn’t you panic inside but manage to brainstorm more ways to move forward. And each step you take forward there is a heart wrenching twist in your gut praying it works. When it does there is a victory dance in your stomach that is hard to explain. When it doesn’t it is like a loss, like you are one step closer to losing him.

People that cry

My son John has been in the hospital.  He has the flu which means he needs ventilator support and drugs that open his airway and more drugs to counter the side effects of those drugs.  It’s a vicious cycle with the drugs, scares me to think the damage it’s doing to his body.  But, extremely grateful for the good it does.  Wednesday and Thursday night I never left the hospital.  I closed the store Thursday night because no one could cover my shift.  The kids that work for me seem too busy to work at times between college, family and social obligations.  Friday morning, I had to go into the shop to clean a machine.  I figured while I was out I would catch lunch with Nora and her daughter Zoe. 

Zoe is a feisty, bossy little lady that is descend for great things.  She’s a princess on some days with her Frozen princess Ella dress and a regular little girl on other days with her Pajama wearing style. She loves to make people smile but she has to be fed first.  She’s a girl after my own heart.  Nora and I arrived at Fannies, our favorite BLT hot spot, at the same time.  She was walking from her car with little Zoe trotting beside her chatting while I crossed the street to meet them at the front door.  Something about Zoe’s spark made me emotional.  I started thinking about Johnny and how he loves to make people smile.  My heart was broken watching him struggle in the hospital.  The last three days he hasn’t smiled at all.  When Zoe seen me she walked right up to me and hugged my legs.  The top of her head reaches just above my knees.  Her skinny little arms grabbed hold of my knees and gave a big squeeze.  Then she looked up at me and handed me two stickers.  Nora explained that she wanted to share her stickers to make me happy while I am so sad. The water works came on so much so that I couldn’t bring myself to sit down and eat lunch. 

This scene lasted less than a minute but has forever been engraved in my mind.  It reminded me of my own childhood and how we dealt with tears and sadness.  As a child, if I saw someone cry I was like a deer in headlights.  I didn’t know what to do.  The thought of providing a sad person with a hug or pat on the back was completely awkward to me.  It still is sometimes today. 

My father never cried, other than when his mother died and my son was born. I believe the fact that he didn’t cry was a life accomplishment for him.  While my dad was dying from cancer I set up his bedroom in our living room, Sunshine Rehab he called it.  I was forced to enroll John back in school instead of homeschooling because I knew I couldn’t handle the pressures of caring for Dad and John at the same time.  The first day of John’s school I came home crying because I felt they didn’t want him there, I was almost 5years sober at this time so crying wasn’t a weakness anymore, it was my strength.  My dad just stared at me like a deer in headlights.  A few days later he confessed to me that when he seen me like that, crying and all, “I almost cried”.  Imagine that.  He said it like it was an accomplishment that he didn’t cry.  As if crying would have been a bad thing. 

The last time my dad cried was with me.  He told me he was sorry I had to go through this.  I asked, “This?  Go through what?”.  He said, “Having to watch me die. You had to watch your mother die and now you are watching me die and I’m sorry for that”.  I said, “Thank you for allowing me to be here to take care of you, I love you”. Then we cried with our foreheads touching each other. 

Dad said, “Im gonna miss you”

I said, “You’ll be gone, Im gonna miss you more”

And I do ❤