I was watching my husband and our older son today and felt a pang because it made me think of my brother and his youngest son. I thought that there were surely countless times that my brother and my nephew chatted about any number of topics. Conversations that are forever lost because the two people who had them are gone.
I was startled to realize that it's been almost 2 1/2-years since my brother died and 1 1/2-years since my nephew followed his father in death. Can that really be? Was it so long ago?
Time passes so quickly and even very loved members of your family eventually will slip through your memory. You still love them and miss them. Of course you do. It's just that eventually you learn to live without them. And, as much as I hate that I haven't constantly attended the altar of grief. . .life has gone on because that's what life does. It goes on whether you want it to or not.
Sometimes I still feel an ache in my chest. . .a pain that I can only describe as my heart actually breaking. That pain is rare, though blindingly painful when it happens. At one time I felt that pain every second of every day. Words are inadequate to describe that sad, sad time. I never would have believed that there would come a day that I didn't feel the physical pain of grief in addition to the emotional torment it imposed.
Having the benefit of hindsight and the emotional buffer of years passing allows me to look back and realize that I was in a bad place. I know that and I fully recognize it now, but I was unable to see it at the time. My grief didn't just blind me. It strangled me. I was being smothered by it - held down, pushed further than I could have possibly imagined.
Grief is a well - and it is deep. It can seem to go straight to the center of the Earth, it is so damn deep. You find yourself treading water, desperately trying to keep your head up. Trying to pretend that you aren't sinking lower by the moment. Eventually, you stop fighting it. You let go and give yourself to that well. And it begins to drown you. If you're lucky, you hit bottom fast so you can bounce back up. If you're not as lucky, well, you feel smothered just a little longer. Eventually you hit bottom too. You push back up and gasp in the sweetness of life again.
I've sounded the well of grief. I know just how deep it truly is and it's terrifying. Yet, here I stand. I was knocked flat and one day I was back up. I don't know when it happened, it probably happened little by little, but it did happen.
I am present. I am me. I am back.
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Friday, May 20, 2011
The Circle of Life
I realize that I'll probably end up with my head in the toilet most of the day because that's my body's MO when I have plans, but I have quite a busy day scheduled for tomorrow. There's no way that I'll get everything done that I'd like to and I'll try my best to hit two of the events. I have a baby shower to attend, was invited to two birthday parties, and will also try to attend a memorial service for two people. Oh, and my parents are coming over to have supper tomorrow night.
It occurs to me that tomorrow afternoon's activities perfectly demonstrate the circle of life: a baby shower to welcome the grandchild of long-time friends, celebrating the births of two friends' young children, and honoring the lives of a dear friends' parents. We are all born and we all die, but not all of us live our lives to the fullest. Heck, I know that sometimes I don't. As I said a long time ago, make your dash count.
It occurs to me that tomorrow afternoon's activities perfectly demonstrate the circle of life: a baby shower to welcome the grandchild of long-time friends, celebrating the births of two friends' young children, and honoring the lives of a dear friends' parents. We are all born and we all die, but not all of us live our lives to the fullest. Heck, I know that sometimes I don't. As I said a long time ago, make your dash count.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
The 'okey 'okey
My son is a sweetheart and he's one of the few people on the planet who actually likes my horrible singing. He begged me to sing "The 'okey 'okey" the other night. It took a minute before I realized that he wanted me to do the Hokey Pokey. Of course, I obliged and he surprisingly joined in for the little song & dance.
I never knew just how much happiness I could feel while teaching my 3-year old how to do the Hokey Pokey, but I swear that my heart nearly burst into a million pieces when he performed it tonight for his Grandmother. My son is such a blessing and a true joy. Other than the flowers that he picks in the yard, I don't expect that I'll receive a present from him tomorrow for Mother's Day and I'm okay with that because he is already a marvelously wonderful gift.
I never knew just how much happiness I could feel while teaching my 3-year old how to do the Hokey Pokey, but I swear that my heart nearly burst into a million pieces when he performed it tonight for his Grandmother. My son is such a blessing and a true joy. Other than the flowers that he picks in the yard, I don't expect that I'll receive a present from him tomorrow for Mother's Day and I'm okay with that because he is already a marvelously wonderful gift.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Joy + Fear = ?
Have you ever really wanted to say something (shout it from the rooftops, really), but were afraid to do so because you don't want to jinx it somehow? I'm in that spot at the moment. I know exactly what I want to write, but I'm afraid to be bold.
I tried to come up with another topic to blog about, but this one is all I can think about at the moment. I find it interesting that my joy and my fear are woven together in such a perfectly seamless tapestry of emotion. I can't feel one emotion without the other and that's frustrating to me. I want to only know the joy, but experience has taught me to know the fear as well.
Until I find the courage, the strength, to say what I want, know that there's something brewing over here. Something big, something special, something marvelously wonderful. Something I just can't bring myself to write about at this moment.
I tried to come up with another topic to blog about, but this one is all I can think about at the moment. I find it interesting that my joy and my fear are woven together in such a perfectly seamless tapestry of emotion. I can't feel one emotion without the other and that's frustrating to me. I want to only know the joy, but experience has taught me to know the fear as well.
Until I find the courage, the strength, to say what I want, know that there's something brewing over here. Something big, something special, something marvelously wonderful. Something I just can't bring myself to write about at this moment.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Christmas Letter - II
Here is the Christmas letter I never sent out last year. No photos, of course, unless you'd like to see some awesome pics of our family. Let me know if you'd like to see some pics and I'll send them via e-mail. . .I have an entire year of my lil' guy and his super-cute photos.
"We ended 2009 full of promise and hope, sure that 2010 would be our year. Sometimes life just doesn't work out the way we expect. This year has been wildly difficult and, as a result, this Christmas letter is far more somber than one I'd normally write.
Where to begin? For starters, it's important to say that Bill, Heather, & (our son) are all enjoying good health at the moment. Our family is together and healthy and that is really the most important thing in life and it's what we are most thankful for every year, but especially this year.
We've attended eight funerals this year; we lost close friends, Bill's last grandparent, and, most painfully, we suffered the loss of Heather's only brother who died unexpectedly at age 41. One of Heather's family members endured six surgeries this year and very nearly passed away on two different occasions. There is a particular type of turmoil on two fronts that has been on-going since early this year and there is little chance for a rapid resolution.
It might sound like this has been a terrible year for our family. And, yes, it has been very difficult at times. Our faith has been challenged often in 2010. But these challenges have only served to push us closer to God, to lean on Him, and seek comfort in the shelter of His loving arms. I find it hard to say that I'm thankful for the pain that we've suffered this year, but I am thankful that I can always fall on my knees in prayer when I can't possibly stand on my own two feet - and 2010 brought many days just like that.
Our little (our son) is 2 1/2-years old now and, if we do say so ourselves, he is so smart and adorable. He was fully potty trained just before his second birthday and he transitioned out of the crib soon after to help curb night time accidents. His verbal communication isn't always clear, but he has a lot to say and he's become quite the chatterbox. Of course, being a typical toddler, some days are better than others. Most days are a joy and Heather stays busy taking him to playdates, pre-pre-school, and other activities with friends.
We are very happy to announce that (our son) will get a sibling next year. Yes, after 19-months of trying, Heather is eight-weeks pregnant. This baby has already brought us such happiness and we're eager to meet the final member of our family next August. (We lost this baby in the first trimester. . . )
If I've learned anything in this year, it's that life is fleeting. We might not see you as often as we would like, and some of you we haven't seen even once this year, but we still do care about you and want you in our lives. In the end, nothing else matters except the love we have for and demonstrate toward each other.
We end 2010 full of promise and hope, sure that 2011 will be our year.
* * *
"We ended 2009 full of promise and hope, sure that 2010 would be our year. Sometimes life just doesn't work out the way we expect. This year has been wildly difficult and, as a result, this Christmas letter is far more somber than one I'd normally write.
Where to begin? For starters, it's important to say that Bill, Heather, & (our son) are all enjoying good health at the moment. Our family is together and healthy and that is really the most important thing in life and it's what we are most thankful for every year, but especially this year.
We've attended eight funerals this year; we lost close friends, Bill's last grandparent, and, most painfully, we suffered the loss of Heather's only brother who died unexpectedly at age 41. One of Heather's family members endured six surgeries this year and very nearly passed away on two different occasions. There is a particular type of turmoil on two fronts that has been on-going since early this year and there is little chance for a rapid resolution.
It might sound like this has been a terrible year for our family. And, yes, it has been very difficult at times. Our faith has been challenged often in 2010. But these challenges have only served to push us closer to God, to lean on Him, and seek comfort in the shelter of His loving arms. I find it hard to say that I'm thankful for the pain that we've suffered this year, but I am thankful that I can always fall on my knees in prayer when I can't possibly stand on my own two feet - and 2010 brought many days just like that.
Our little (our son) is 2 1/2-years old now and, if we do say so ourselves, he is so smart and adorable. He was fully potty trained just before his second birthday and he transitioned out of the crib soon after to help curb night time accidents. His verbal communication isn't always clear, but he has a lot to say and he's become quite the chatterbox. Of course, being a typical toddler, some days are better than others. Most days are a joy and Heather stays busy taking him to playdates, pre-pre-school, and other activities with friends.
We are very happy to announce that (our son) will get a sibling next year. Yes, after 19-months of trying, Heather is eight-weeks pregnant. This baby has already brought us such happiness and we're eager to meet the final member of our family next August. (We lost this baby in the first trimester. . . )
If I've learned anything in this year, it's that life is fleeting. We might not see you as often as we would like, and some of you we haven't seen even once this year, but we still do care about you and want you in our lives. In the end, nothing else matters except the love we have for and demonstrate toward each other.
We end 2010 full of promise and hope, sure that 2011 will be our year.
"For unto you is born this day in the City of David
a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord."
Luke 2:11"
Aw, well, we lost that darling baby. . .one day, God willing, we will give our darling boy a cherished sibling.
Aw, well, we lost that darling baby. . .one day, God willing, we will give our darling boy a cherished sibling.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
The Christmas Letter
As I have done for the last several years, I'd like to send a Christmas letter to friends and family. Most years, I have no problem writing a fun and upbeat (I think) letter to let our loved ones know what's going on in our lives. I'm having an impossibly difficult time writing the Christmas letter this year.
We attended eight funerals; including close friends, my husband's last grandparent and, most painfully, my own brother. One of my loved ones has had six surgeries this year and very nearly died on two different occasions. I have never mentioned it in this blog, but there has been a particular type of turmoil on two fronts that has been ongoing since fairly early this year and I don't see the situation ever improving very much - if at all. After a tenancy of more than three years, I lost my condo's tenants and have yet to find new tenants to rent out my condo. For the first time in our entire married life, my husband and I slept apart. . .this probably doesn't mean anything to anyone else, but it is a huge deal to me.
I am finally pregnant after 19-months of trying to conceive and, quite honestly, that has been the one bright spot this year. After a solid year of sadness, sorrow, and frustration, God has blessed my husband and me with another child. And, yet, there have been challenges even in this joyous blessing that still aren't completely resolved at this time.
I've been mentally writing this Christmas letter for weeks, but I just don't know what to write about this year because what I have so far reads like the world's biggest pity party. I'm seriously considering just sending out a generic note saying, "Merry Christmas" with our latest family pictures because I can't seem to write anything that would be uplifting to anyone.
Do you write a Christmas letter? What do you write about in years that are remarkably challenging?
We attended eight funerals; including close friends, my husband's last grandparent and, most painfully, my own brother. One of my loved ones has had six surgeries this year and very nearly died on two different occasions. I have never mentioned it in this blog, but there has been a particular type of turmoil on two fronts that has been ongoing since fairly early this year and I don't see the situation ever improving very much - if at all. After a tenancy of more than three years, I lost my condo's tenants and have yet to find new tenants to rent out my condo. For the first time in our entire married life, my husband and I slept apart. . .this probably doesn't mean anything to anyone else, but it is a huge deal to me.
I am finally pregnant after 19-months of trying to conceive and, quite honestly, that has been the one bright spot this year. After a solid year of sadness, sorrow, and frustration, God has blessed my husband and me with another child. And, yet, there have been challenges even in this joyous blessing that still aren't completely resolved at this time.
I've been mentally writing this Christmas letter for weeks, but I just don't know what to write about this year because what I have so far reads like the world's biggest pity party. I'm seriously considering just sending out a generic note saying, "Merry Christmas" with our latest family pictures because I can't seem to write anything that would be uplifting to anyone.
Do you write a Christmas letter? What do you write about in years that are remarkably challenging?
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Running on Faith
I wish this was a lighthearted post about an Eric Clapton song, but it isn't. My faith has been the only thing keeping me going. And I'm clinging to that faith, clinging desperately so that I don't just let go. I can't let go. I won't let go because I have a husband and a son who need me. It is my duty to put one foot in front of the other and let life go on, no matter how badly I want to sit and wallow in my grief.
I became a Christian in 1999 and shortly after my conversion, I chose Proverbs 3:5 as my life verse:
Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
It has been impossibly difficult to trust in the Lord lately. I don't question my faith or my God, but at times it has been really tough to trust. Those very close to me know all the turmoil that 2010 has rained down upon my entire family. I thought 2006 was a rough year, but 2010 has been devastating. However, this year has also brought two miracles for a loved one and I praise God for that.
Christians are told to give thanks for everything. This was wonderfully illustrated in the book The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom. If you've never read it, I highly recommend it. I know it sounds ridiculous to a non-believer, but that's what's written in the good book.
I don't know why my brother is gone. I can't make any sense of the situation. My faith tells me that it's not my place to make sense. Christians might not grieve the same as non-Christians (a belief in Heaven is a great comfort), but Christians do grieve. Even Jesus wept.
Today I weep. Someday, somehow, I will find a way to give thanks.
A friend dropped off a very kind note at my doorstep sometime last night or this morning. She shared something that gave her comfort when her grandmother passed. It touched me and I'd like to share it with all of you. I feel it's particularly fitting as my brother was a Navy man and he put in 20 years of service to this country.
The Little Ship
I stood watching as the little ship sailed out to sea.
The setting sun tinted his white sails with a golden light and, as he disappeared from sight, a voice at my side whispered, "He is gone."
But the sea was a narrow one. On the farther shore, a little band of friends had gathered to watch and wait in happy expectation.
Suddenly they caught sight of the tiny sail and, at the very moment when my companion had whispered, "He is gone," a shout went up in joyous welcome, "Here he comes!"
I don't doubt that my brother was welcomed by all of our grandparents, including the grandfather whose name he bore. A name that my own son shares. I'm thankful that he had a personal welcoming committee to Heaven. And I'm thankful that one day, one day far in the future, I will see my brother again. And he will welcome me to Heaven.
I became a Christian in 1999 and shortly after my conversion, I chose Proverbs 3:5 as my life verse:
Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
It has been impossibly difficult to trust in the Lord lately. I don't question my faith or my God, but at times it has been really tough to trust. Those very close to me know all the turmoil that 2010 has rained down upon my entire family. I thought 2006 was a rough year, but 2010 has been devastating. However, this year has also brought two miracles for a loved one and I praise God for that.
Christians are told to give thanks for everything. This was wonderfully illustrated in the book The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom. If you've never read it, I highly recommend it. I know it sounds ridiculous to a non-believer, but that's what's written in the good book.
I don't know why my brother is gone. I can't make any sense of the situation. My faith tells me that it's not my place to make sense. Christians might not grieve the same as non-Christians (a belief in Heaven is a great comfort), but Christians do grieve. Even Jesus wept.
Today I weep. Someday, somehow, I will find a way to give thanks.
* * *
A friend dropped off a very kind note at my doorstep sometime last night or this morning. She shared something that gave her comfort when her grandmother passed. It touched me and I'd like to share it with all of you. I feel it's particularly fitting as my brother was a Navy man and he put in 20 years of service to this country.
The Little Ship
I stood watching as the little ship sailed out to sea.
The setting sun tinted his white sails with a golden light and, as he disappeared from sight, a voice at my side whispered, "He is gone."
But the sea was a narrow one. On the farther shore, a little band of friends had gathered to watch and wait in happy expectation.
Suddenly they caught sight of the tiny sail and, at the very moment when my companion had whispered, "He is gone," a shout went up in joyous welcome, "Here he comes!"
I don't doubt that my brother was welcomed by all of our grandparents, including the grandfather whose name he bore. A name that my own son shares. I'm thankful that he had a personal welcoming committee to Heaven. And I'm thankful that one day, one day far in the future, I will see my brother again. And he will welcome me to Heaven.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Can't Buy Me Love or Happiness
I've been as poor as the proverbial church mouse a couple of times in my life. I've also been flush once or twice. I have found that money and possessions do not, and never can, buy my personal happiness.
That said, having a high income does make life easier in some ways. It sucks to not have enough money to buy the groceries you prefer. It's not fun to have to make do with worn down shoes that make your feet ache. It really stinks to have to scrimp in other areas to find the funds to afford your rent. I've been there and done that before and I can certainly speak as the voice of experience when I say that it's not my favorite place to be. But it also didn't cause any damage to eat beans & rice for weeks on end or avoid any spending outside of my bare-bones budget. I actually think the experience only served to make me stronger and better able to appreciate financially comfortable times. Looking back, being poor really wasn't all that big of a deal.
It's also fair to say that I don't think having a high net worth is all that important. Sure, it's nice to have, but it really isn't the most important thing. I know that there are plenty of people in the world who might disagree with that statement. I can see that someone who grew up in abject poverty would place an incredibly high value on the security that money often brings. I can totally understand that mindset.
However, I've found that most people obsessed with money and possessions don't exactly come from hardscrabble beginnings. Generally speaking, having an abundance of wealth or goods is only very important to those who have a heart for material goods. And it's okay if that's your heart. That's just who you are and there's nothing wrong with that. It's just not who I am.
If you don't care so much for keeping up with the Joneses, having great cash reserves or fantastic "stuff" isn't all that important. Lest anyone accuse me of suffering class envy, I acknowledge that I'm just your typical middle-class suburban housewife and I'm okay with that. Why am I okay with that? My needs are met and my wants are very few. I guess that's probably the real secret to my happiness: My needs are met and my wants are very few.
What's important to me? Enjoying good health physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Spending time with my husband and our son. Having a roof overhead. Food in our bellies. Clothes on our backs. Friends and family. That's about it. Those things are the key to my happiness. Pretty simple, right?
Everything else is cool to have, I guess, but it just isn't necessary to me. Are you happy? What is key to your happiness?
That said, having a high income does make life easier in some ways. It sucks to not have enough money to buy the groceries you prefer. It's not fun to have to make do with worn down shoes that make your feet ache. It really stinks to have to scrimp in other areas to find the funds to afford your rent. I've been there and done that before and I can certainly speak as the voice of experience when I say that it's not my favorite place to be. But it also didn't cause any damage to eat beans & rice for weeks on end or avoid any spending outside of my bare-bones budget. I actually think the experience only served to make me stronger and better able to appreciate financially comfortable times. Looking back, being poor really wasn't all that big of a deal.
It's also fair to say that I don't think having a high net worth is all that important. Sure, it's nice to have, but it really isn't the most important thing. I know that there are plenty of people in the world who might disagree with that statement. I can see that someone who grew up in abject poverty would place an incredibly high value on the security that money often brings. I can totally understand that mindset.
However, I've found that most people obsessed with money and possessions don't exactly come from hardscrabble beginnings. Generally speaking, having an abundance of wealth or goods is only very important to those who have a heart for material goods. And it's okay if that's your heart. That's just who you are and there's nothing wrong with that. It's just not who I am.
If you don't care so much for keeping up with the Joneses, having great cash reserves or fantastic "stuff" isn't all that important. Lest anyone accuse me of suffering class envy, I acknowledge that I'm just your typical middle-class suburban housewife and I'm okay with that. Why am I okay with that? My needs are met and my wants are very few. I guess that's probably the real secret to my happiness: My needs are met and my wants are very few.
What's important to me? Enjoying good health physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Spending time with my husband and our son. Having a roof overhead. Food in our bellies. Clothes on our backs. Friends and family. That's about it. Those things are the key to my happiness. Pretty simple, right?
Everything else is cool to have, I guess, but it just isn't necessary to me. Are you happy? What is key to your happiness?
Monday, May 10, 2010
Happy Belated Mother's Day
My son only had one accident today, so I'll take a break from chronicling his potty training progress. I'll focus on my motherhood journey since I didn't acknowledge Mother's Day yesterday.
I always wanted kids. I used to love playing with baby dolls. I wished that my parents would have a baby so that I wouldn't be the youngest. I adored spending as much time as possible with my nieces & nephews. I thought kids were about the coolest little people on the planet. Um, that's not meant as a slam against midgets or dwarfs, but I thought kids were cooler.
My attitude shifted around my early twenties and children were nowhere near being on my radar. Kids became annoying and whiny in my eyes. Instead of considering children to be blessings, they appeared to be a hindrance to personal happiness. I had goals and, frankly, children would have stopped my progress for a long time. So I delayed motherhood.
I didn't want children at all when I was married to my ex-husband. I used to tell him that I'd rather cut my (expletive deleted) throat than have a child with him. Before you think I'm a mega-b*tch for saying such a thing, let's just say that he had it coming. It's shocking that we ended up divorced, huh? Honestly, procreating with him would have been the absolute worst decision in history. Well, in my history anyway. So I delayed motherhood.
Children can cost a lot of money and they absolutely do take a lot of effort. For much of my life I either didn't have the money to raise kids or wasn't willing to spend it. I sure as heck wasn't willing to give much effort. I knew that it would be wrong to have a child that I wasn't willing or able to take care of properly. So I delayed motherhood.
I have made a lot of stupid decisions in my life, but delaying motherhood was one of the best decisions I ever made. I had conditions that I wanted to meet prior to procreating. I wanted to be in a solid marriage. I wanted to be financially comfortable. I wanted to be mature enough to handle the immense responsibility.
My mother used to say that I'll never get around to having children if I put motherhood off until everything is just right. My conditions were finally met to my satisfaction and my son is nearly two, so clearly she was wrong. I'm glad that I waited.
I would have had far more energy if I had children in my 20s. The days of easily handling life on less than four hours of sleep are long gone. What I lost in energy I gained in patience, selflessness, and appreciation. The path I chose isn't for everyone, but it was just right for this family.
Motherhood has been a joy and a blessing to me. I knew that I'd love my child, but I never could have guessed the depth and breadth of that love. I wept with joy the first time I saw my darling precious boy. I had been begging to see him for two hours and I finally was moved to my hospital room. Holding my son was like holding my own heart in my hands.
Generally speaking, I'm emotionally cold when people cry, but my son's tears can move me to tears. I feel like I'm going to burst with pride when he masters a new skill. I delight in his silly toddler absurdities.
I do miss earning a salary. I do miss that money. I miss being independent financially. But that money wasn't buying this kind of happiness. We laugh together several times each day and I adore spending my time with my kiddo - even if I don't earn one red cent.
Every day is a special "mother's day" for me. I don't need any special gifts on Mother's Day. Being a mother has been gift enough.
I always wanted kids. I used to love playing with baby dolls. I wished that my parents would have a baby so that I wouldn't be the youngest. I adored spending as much time as possible with my nieces & nephews. I thought kids were about the coolest little people on the planet. Um, that's not meant as a slam against midgets or dwarfs, but I thought kids were cooler.
My attitude shifted around my early twenties and children were nowhere near being on my radar. Kids became annoying and whiny in my eyes. Instead of considering children to be blessings, they appeared to be a hindrance to personal happiness. I had goals and, frankly, children would have stopped my progress for a long time. So I delayed motherhood.
I didn't want children at all when I was married to my ex-husband. I used to tell him that I'd rather cut my (expletive deleted) throat than have a child with him. Before you think I'm a mega-b*tch for saying such a thing, let's just say that he had it coming. It's shocking that we ended up divorced, huh? Honestly, procreating with him would have been the absolute worst decision in history. Well, in my history anyway. So I delayed motherhood.
Children can cost a lot of money and they absolutely do take a lot of effort. For much of my life I either didn't have the money to raise kids or wasn't willing to spend it. I sure as heck wasn't willing to give much effort. I knew that it would be wrong to have a child that I wasn't willing or able to take care of properly. So I delayed motherhood.
I have made a lot of stupid decisions in my life, but delaying motherhood was one of the best decisions I ever made. I had conditions that I wanted to meet prior to procreating. I wanted to be in a solid marriage. I wanted to be financially comfortable. I wanted to be mature enough to handle the immense responsibility.
My mother used to say that I'll never get around to having children if I put motherhood off until everything is just right. My conditions were finally met to my satisfaction and my son is nearly two, so clearly she was wrong. I'm glad that I waited.
I would have had far more energy if I had children in my 20s. The days of easily handling life on less than four hours of sleep are long gone. What I lost in energy I gained in patience, selflessness, and appreciation. The path I chose isn't for everyone, but it was just right for this family.
Motherhood has been a joy and a blessing to me. I knew that I'd love my child, but I never could have guessed the depth and breadth of that love. I wept with joy the first time I saw my darling precious boy. I had been begging to see him for two hours and I finally was moved to my hospital room. Holding my son was like holding my own heart in my hands.
Generally speaking, I'm emotionally cold when people cry, but my son's tears can move me to tears. I feel like I'm going to burst with pride when he masters a new skill. I delight in his silly toddler absurdities.
I do miss earning a salary. I do miss that money. I miss being independent financially. But that money wasn't buying this kind of happiness. We laugh together several times each day and I adore spending my time with my kiddo - even if I don't earn one red cent.
Every day is a special "mother's day" for me. I don't need any special gifts on Mother's Day. Being a mother has been gift enough.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Even When Life is Long, It's Still Too Short
Some days I think that I'll go back to work and put my son in a daycare facility, but not for the reasons you might think. I don't need additional adult stimulation, I don't want to talk about things other than diapers, and we don't particularly need the money.
But I crave the thrill of the sales process. I loved helping people see that they needed what I was offering. And, for those who didn't agree right away, I also loved the follow up. On more than one occasion, I captured a student more than two years after they made the initial contact.
As much as I'd like to sell ice to Eskimos, I feel that staying home to raise my son is important and it is a gift. Infancy and toddlerhood don't last long and I just can't choose my own selfish desire for my career over my son. You only get one shot at raising your children and I don't want to miss out on doing it the way that I think is best for our family.
I've become very aware, sometimes painfully aware, of missed opportunities as I've aged. My life is full of plans that I wish I had made, trips that I wish I had taken, words that I wish I had said. . .
Where am I going with all this? Why am I so pensive tonight? I guess I'm considering life and the choices we make because I lost a very dear friend last night.
Edna Frazier had style. I don't know her age, ladies of a certain age don't discuss such matters, but I would guess somewhere in the late-70s or early-80s. She was always impeccably dressed. Her nails were always neatly manicured and her hair was always attractively coiffured. She always looked beautiful and put together.
She was a wonderfully kind woman. I can't think of a single time that I didn't see a smile on her lovely face. She was very generous and giving. She always complimented me on how handsome my son was, how much she liked his short hair cuts, how cute she thought I dressed him.
Edna holds such a dear spot in my heart because she and her daughter, Cindy, were the only two people at the hospital on "my" side on the day that my son was born. Sure, my husband and his entire family were there. But, for various reasons, no one from my family came to the hospital that day.
My son was scheduled to be born around 8:00 am and he didn't arrive until just shy of 6:00 pm. I have no idea how long Edna and Cindy waited, but it was around 8:00 pm when I finally came out of recovery and they were there.
Though I have two pictures of the first time I met my son in the OR, I don't recall the event. In my memory, the first time I met my son was when my husband brought him to my room. I held out my arms and began crying with joy at the sight of my darling boy. My MIL and my husband's youngest brother were there for just a few moments and left the three of us for the evening. I felt a tremendous rush of love in that moment.
That's when Edna and Cindy walked in my room with balloons, flowers, a personalized welcome sign, an outfit (the one he ended up wearing in his first pictures) & a football (!) for my son, and a baby bootie necklace for me. Perhaps it's because I was in the warm hormonal afterglow of childbirth, perhaps it's because no one else bothered to come, but I always think of Edna, Cindy, and my MIL when I think of that most joyous moment between my husband, myself, and our son. It was a magical moment and I'm glad that they chose to be there and share our joy.
I never told Edna just how special she was to me and I have no choice now but to add that to my list of life regrets. She was so well-loved by her family and friends and she will be sorely missed by all who knew her.
Cindy is an only child and my heart just breaks for her tonight. She was very close to her mother and I know that she must feel devastated. Edna had been ill and spent quite a bit of time in the hospital toward the end, but we're never really ready to say goodbye. Even when life is long, it's still too short. . .
But I crave the thrill of the sales process. I loved helping people see that they needed what I was offering. And, for those who didn't agree right away, I also loved the follow up. On more than one occasion, I captured a student more than two years after they made the initial contact.
As much as I'd like to sell ice to Eskimos, I feel that staying home to raise my son is important and it is a gift. Infancy and toddlerhood don't last long and I just can't choose my own selfish desire for my career over my son. You only get one shot at raising your children and I don't want to miss out on doing it the way that I think is best for our family.
I've become very aware, sometimes painfully aware, of missed opportunities as I've aged. My life is full of plans that I wish I had made, trips that I wish I had taken, words that I wish I had said. . .
Where am I going with all this? Why am I so pensive tonight? I guess I'm considering life and the choices we make because I lost a very dear friend last night.
Edna Frazier had style. I don't know her age, ladies of a certain age don't discuss such matters, but I would guess somewhere in the late-70s or early-80s. She was always impeccably dressed. Her nails were always neatly manicured and her hair was always attractively coiffured. She always looked beautiful and put together.
She was a wonderfully kind woman. I can't think of a single time that I didn't see a smile on her lovely face. She was very generous and giving. She always complimented me on how handsome my son was, how much she liked his short hair cuts, how cute she thought I dressed him.
Edna holds such a dear spot in my heart because she and her daughter, Cindy, were the only two people at the hospital on "my" side on the day that my son was born. Sure, my husband and his entire family were there. But, for various reasons, no one from my family came to the hospital that day.
My son was scheduled to be born around 8:00 am and he didn't arrive until just shy of 6:00 pm. I have no idea how long Edna and Cindy waited, but it was around 8:00 pm when I finally came out of recovery and they were there.
Though I have two pictures of the first time I met my son in the OR, I don't recall the event. In my memory, the first time I met my son was when my husband brought him to my room. I held out my arms and began crying with joy at the sight of my darling boy. My MIL and my husband's youngest brother were there for just a few moments and left the three of us for the evening. I felt a tremendous rush of love in that moment.
That's when Edna and Cindy walked in my room with balloons, flowers, a personalized welcome sign, an outfit (the one he ended up wearing in his first pictures) & a football (!) for my son, and a baby bootie necklace for me. Perhaps it's because I was in the warm hormonal afterglow of childbirth, perhaps it's because no one else bothered to come, but I always think of Edna, Cindy, and my MIL when I think of that most joyous moment between my husband, myself, and our son. It was a magical moment and I'm glad that they chose to be there and share our joy.
I never told Edna just how special she was to me and I have no choice now but to add that to my list of life regrets. She was so well-loved by her family and friends and she will be sorely missed by all who knew her.
Cindy is an only child and my heart just breaks for her tonight. She was very close to her mother and I know that she must feel devastated. Edna had been ill and spent quite a bit of time in the hospital toward the end, but we're never really ready to say goodbye. Even when life is long, it's still too short. . .
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