Nov 192018
 

 

The most important part of any lasting relationship is acceptance. Friendship, family, coworker, and most of all spousal relationships benefit from acceptance. People are flawed. They can be irritating, self-centered, and just downright annoying. You cannot love someone for who they are and attempt to change who they are at the same time. Accept them as they are; especially if you love them.

Now, understand that acceptance, and approval, are not the same thing. They have been conflated in our culture by people who have been careless with their words. Acceptance is seeing someone for who they are and acknowledging the truth about them. Approval is celebrating what you find in another. It is actively, liking something that the other person is, or says, or does. Acceptance has nothing to do with liking what’s going on. Acceptance is closer to non-resistance than it is to approval.

Acceptance is difficult when the other person is very different from you or holds different values from yours. Under those circumstances approval is nearly impossible. In any meaningful relationship this will come up time and again. It is important to remember that while the other person is yours in a relational way, (your child; your parent; your spouse) they are not your property. They are adults who belong to themselves and the choices they make about their lives are also theirs, not yours. By accepting the adults in your life as they are, you are respecting their autonomy.

This Thanksgiving Day, when you find yourself seated between the one relative who voted for Hillary and thinks Obama was the greatest president ever, and the other relative who is wearing a MAGA hat, remember the good things about these people you love and accept the whackiness that makes them the individuals that they are.

Oct 082018
 

 

“Each time my feet touched the earth I knew my mother was there with me. I knew this body was not mine, but a living continuation of my mother and my father and my grandparents and great-grandparents; Of all my ancestors. Those feet that I saw as ‘my’ feet were actually ‘our’ feet. Together my mother and I were leaving footprints in the damp soil.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh from No Death, No Fear

My daughter worked in the marketing department of a local company for the past three years. There were months in there where she was the entire marketing department all by herself. They loved her. She received great evaluations and several raises over the years. Then they hired a new manager who decided to change things up. He fired her. (He fired a few other people too but I’m not their mother and this story is about my girl.)

This was the first time she was ever fired from a job. She was so hurt and angry. They didn’t even give her a reason, which they don’t have to, but it would have at least helped her make sense of it. Life is like that though. Shitty things happen and you don’t always know why. It’s difficult watching your children go through life’s hard times.

She took a day to regroup and then set about finding a new job. We live in the Lower Hudson Valley and a lot of people here commute into New York City for work. It would be soul crushing for her to have to do that but we both knew if there were no bites locally she would. To help her out I did some road opening work on her behalf. She found lots of local jobs to apply to but no one was biting. After a month of this I decided to call in the big guns. I asked my dad for help.

My father was a corporate headhunter. He had spent his whole career in personnel work of one kind or another. He wrote amazing resumes and helped a few of my friends find work when they found themselves unemployed. He would have been thrilled to help her navigate the waters of job hunting. I really wish I could have just picked up the phone or had her call him, but he died in 2012. A phone wasn’t going to work.

In my home I have a nice bookcase full of books and family photos. If you were to visit me you wouldn’t think you were looking at my ancestor altar. But you would be. I know the names of many of my people on my father’s side going back about two hundred years. On my mother’s side I know less. I have photos of my grandparents, one set of great grandparents, and even one set of great-great grandparents. They sacrificed a lot so I could be here today. I thank them for that on a regular basis. On a recent day I asked them for help. I asked on behalf of my daughter, who is their child too. I asked them to help her by lining up the opportunities she needed. She would do all the mundane work. I had a conversation with them like I would have if I could have phoned them. They were told the finer details of the situation and how it fit into modern life and her life. I asked my dad specifically for whatever help he could give her. He understood the finer points of personnel and hiring better than any of the rest.

The next morning she called me. She had an interview. A resume she sent out nearly two months ago landed on the right desk and they were excited to talk to her. The job was perfect for her and by the end of the week they offered it to her. It was more money than she was making at the previous place and the commute was the same. She was overjoyed and so were we.

Family is family whether they are here or passed on. They are ours and we are theirs. The ancestors are the suffering, wisdom, and love of generations of our family. Thanking them for making your life possible and occasionally asking the loving members for guidance and help is a way to honor them. We are the family they built. We are blood of their blood and bone of their bone. We are the result of their love and their sacrifices, and they are our allies.

Sep 042018
 

 

I sent out a newsletter which included an aromatherapy blend. I didn’t think much of it. I like that blend myself and thought I’d share. The response I got was not what I expected. Apparently it’s become rare for someone to share aromatherapy blends, ideas, recipes, without also trying to sell essential oils. I don’t sell essential oils. I’m not interested in selling essential oils. I find sales pitches that masquerade as friendly advice to be a huge turnoff. It’s a surefire way to lose my trust. That’s not at all what my aromatherapy posts are about. I really like essential oils and use them all the time and have done so for over thirty years. If I share something with you it’s because I like it and thought you might too.

My oldest child is thirty. When I was pregnant with her I had an issue and my nurse midwife suggested Lavender EO. I didn’t know her very well and didn’t know what she was talking about so I did what I always do when I want to learn something: I went looking for some books on the subject. What I found was a health food store with some seriously knowledgeable staff and some so so books. I bought Lavender oil and Tea Tree oil and for years that was all I had. I used them on myself and my little baby and her brother who came along a few years later. I made my own baby wipes that had essential oils in them and they helped prevent diaper rash. As time went on I found better books and learned a lot more. I used a few drops of Eucalyptus EO in the humidifier when they were congested. I cleaned my house with Pine Needle essential oil and borax because it was safer for little lungs than the chemicals in most commercial cleaners. I put cotton balls with Peppermint oil on them in places to discourage mice. As I learned about more and different oils my collection grew and my usage expanded.

At some point, I want to say it was in the early nineties but it may have been more like 1995 or 96, I interacted with someone who was selling essential oils the way my mother’s friends sold Tupperware. It was weird. I was part of an email list of moms who were all there to help each other out and this person seemed friendly. Then the friendly helpful stuff became a sales pitch and that was it for me.

I don’t begrudge anyone a living and I get that sometimes the best way to be there for your family and still work is to join a multi-level marketing company. It was just so contrary to my personal experience with aromatherapy that I was not okay with most of what that particular company was doing. Those ladies were tenacious. I don’t know what they taught in their sales meetings but it got to where the moderators of several email lists had to forbid the topic altogether. That was pretty much the end of hearing from that company for me.

A few years ago another such company popped up. I was only peripherally aware of them. I spent all of a half hour on their website. I checked their vetting and their prices and was done with them too. The world of social media now is so different from my early mommy years and I have so much more control over who and what I let into my space. This new breed of MLM essential oil people were never really a thing in my world. So, imagine my surprise when someone thought I was one of them.

No, I am not selling essential oils. No, I don’t want to sell essential oils.

I love them.

I use them all the time.

I will not stop talking about them because I find them useful, and helpful. I don’t buy from the MLM companies because I have my favorite brands, I trust them and feel no need to switch.

What I post is based on my personal experience and I’m sharing it with you because it’s either helped me or made me happy and I think it might do the same for you.

No strings attached.

 Aromatherapy, Family  Comments Off on Aromatherapy and Me ~ Relax. It’s not a sales pitch
Aug 272018
 

Our youngest left yesterday morning for her second year of college. It was very different from last year this time when our baby was going off to college for the first time. There is less unknown, less worry, less weeping. Being away at school was very good for her. She was ready for it and she thrived in that environment. That made it easier for us to let go this year when she left. She seemed very much a high school student this time last year and now she’s a young woman. How much of that is a change in her and how much is a change in our perspective, I have no idea. I’m just happy to see it.

Of course it didn’t stop me from drawing cards for her year ahead. A quick overview of sophomore year.

Bright and hopeful yet at the same time balanced and grounded and ready for the next adventure.

This school year does feel very different for me too. It took me awhile to get used to having no children to care for. I know, she was a high school senior, but I had to be available for her now and then. With her physically gone from the house, and taking care of herself elsewhere, I was freed up to focus on my own stuff uninterrupted. It took some getting used to. When she came home for the summer it was a different adjustment. Things got put on hold simply because there were more people in the house and I couldn’t take over as much space as I needed for some projects. Knowing she was leaving had me planning which of these things I was going to dive back into.

That surprised me a bit.

Then I thought about it and realized that I have let her go.

You’re not ever really done being a parent but the relationship shifts as the kids get older. She is and always will be my baby girl but she is her own person more and more each day. It’s wonderful to witness.

 

Mar 282013
 

It’s supposed to be spring here in New York but winter didn’t get the memo. There’s been a weird tug-o-war going on between the snow and the sun. On March 8th my trees looked like this:

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

Snow covering everything is lovely to look at. The world gets quiet and almost cozy while it’s falling even though it’s cold. This time of year some of the charm has worn off and this lovely sight wasn’t very welcome. Within two days almost all of the twelve inches that fell were melted away. Then it snowed again. Then that melted. Then it snowed but only on the grass because the pavement was too warm. That snow is gone now too. As I write this it’s sunny, breezy and warm but the forecast is for snow flurries in the morning. :::sigh:::

But the motherwort is poking her head up and growing in small clumps all over my garden. The magnolia has buds and patches of the grass are greening. I heard birds singing this morning. These are the landmark things I look for each year. They are the signs of life among the gray, muddy, end-of-winter landscape that let me know the sun is coming back. The heavy coats can go back into the closet and I can open the windows. It’s reassuring and in a way there is a relieved feeling. I suspect it’s some primal part of us that feels like we have survived another winter.

Last year, the night before Mom’s birthday, her best friend, Joanne, died. Mom was devastated. They met when they were fourteen and had been best friends ever since. For nearly sixty years they were there for each other. She was part of my life from the first day and it was like losing a beloved aunt. For Mom it was like losing a sister. Eight months later my dad died. We all kind of went into hermit mode. That’s easy to do in winter. It’s too cold out so you stay in, bundle up, drink tea, eat cookies, sleep, cry and watch old movies. Somewhere along the way Mom’s birthday this year became one of those landmark things. It was bittersweet as you can imagine.

My sister and I took her out for afternoon tea the day before her birthday. We made it through lunch without a single tear. I was surprised by that. Joanne would have enjoyed this tea room and that thought was on all our minds. We actually laughed a few times and talked about things that would have been too hard just a few months ago. Mom spent the night with me so she wouldn’t have to wake up alone on her birthday. I made her my version of the big breakfast that Dad always made for her and we had a nice but subdued birthday morning together. She left after church to spend the day and night with her sisters down in the city. We survived.

I realized this morning that something has shifted. It’s one of the little adjustments you make in grief; it’s a step toward being OK. There is no clearly defined turning point or deadline. There are gradual changes that happen little by little. It snows then it’s sunny. I cry then I laugh and Life goes on.

 Family, Life  Comments Off on Spring…sort of
Nov 172012
 

Thursday was my father’s seventy-third birthday and I spent part of the afternoon, with my mother, checking out the hospice suite where he is going to die. To say it was a surreal moment doesn’t even touch it.

In August my dad went to the hospital for a cardiac catherization because he had a stress test at his cardiologist’s office that didn’t go very well. Dad walked into that hospital under his own steam hand in hand with my mom. He’s been there ever since. The test found blockages that led to bypass surgery where there were complications that caused the six hour surgery to last nearly twelve hours. A few hours later the surgeon had to go back in because there was bleeding. All the blood thinners Dad has been taking for years had done their job so well he wasn’t clotting properly. Then there was the pericarditis that no one knew about before the surgery that kept filling Dad’s chest with fluid. That required another heart surgery. By this time he was so bloated and his kidneys were so fatigued they shut down. The doctors started dialysis to fix that issue and give his kidneys a rest. His breathing was labored and his oxygen levels were low which resulted in a ventilator. Somehow he ended up with a tracheotomy so the ventilator goes right into his neck. This means he can’t speak, eat or drink. To compensate he has a gastric feeding tube.  He is now in bed almost all the time except for an hour or two that he spends sitting up in a chair and machines are performing all his bodily functions. It’s astounding how his condition has snowballed. He walked into that hospital under his own steam and now he has to deal with all this and a dozen other indignities I prefer not to share with the internet.

Dad is a big man. Always has been. As a young, healthy adult he was six foot one and two hundred thirty pounds; his fighting weight. He liked to drink, loved a good meal and smoked like a chimney. He stopped drinking forty years ago. Stopped smoking thirty-five years ago. He and good food, however, have a life-long love affair. Not surprisingly he packed on the pounds and was eventually diagnosed with type2 diabetes. He’s been battling that since the late 80s.

When I was a little kid he was kind of scary. He was a US Marine once upon a time and studied to be an Irish Christian Brother for a while. He’s big and loud and honestly he’s complete crap with little kids. He never got the knack of dealing with them which sucks if you were one of his kids. By the time we each reached an age where he knew how to interact with us we were all done trying to deal with him. He did have his moments though.

I have a lot of fond memories mixed in with some misery. When I was in kindergarten he taught me how to play cards. By third grade we were playing chess together. He helped me study for the Richmond County Spelling Bee and thought it was funny that I was a Catholic School student and got eliminated for misspelling ‘religious’. I forgot the second ‘i’.  In high school I would stay up late discussing philosophy with him. He loves Thomas Aquinas. He introduced me to the work of Thomas Merton. He loves baroque music and specifically Bach and gave me an appreciation of it. The night after his original surgery I was in my parent’s home keeping Mom company. I went down into his office to get her some batteries. His space is the same sort of organized chaos that I have in my art studio here in my home. I realized that he and I have a lot more in common than I would have wanted to admit when I was younger. The house is filled with books. There is a stack next to his chair just like the stack next to my bed. There is usually a New York Times crossword puzzle on top of his book pile and he usually finishes it. I prefer other puzzles. We both love a good mystery and get a sense of satisfaction when exercising “our little grey cells.” He’s an introvert and so am I. We both experience and observe things at the same time. If you aren’t an introvert it’s hard to explain that. If you are an introvert you know exactly what I mean. To think of his agile mind trapped in his deteriorating body is almost too horrible to contemplate. I think it would drive me insane to be in his position right now.

The Hospice Unit is in the same hospital on a different floor. You wouldn’t believe it if you were there. The energy is completely different. It even smells different. The nurses were great in how they talked to my mom. The compassion was palpable. The head of the unit was explaining the philosophy of hospice care and how they take care of the whole patient and that his comfort is the priority. While she was talking I was wondering why that wasn’t part of the regular hospital care. Why does each system of Dad’s body have its own doctor? The heart surgeon is really pleased with the progress his heart has made. The rest of Dad has fallen apart but the heart surgery was a success. His kidneys failed so he needed to be treated by a kidney specialist. His breathing was inadequate so he needed a respiratory specialist. He has wounds now that aren’t healing properly so an infection control/wound care guy is now part of the team. But they don’t seem to really be a team. They are each acting separately on different parts of Dad as if those parts were not connected to each other and to the man who’s been using them all for seventy-three years. The hospice director went on about palliative care and I wondered if that is even paid lip service in the rest of the hospital. If that had been the philosophy of care from the beginning how would Dad be faring now?

I am amazed at what modern medicine can do but I’m not convinced it should be done in all cases. Looking back over the last three months we are all pretty much in agreement that the original surgery was a bad idea. The doctors aren’t saying that. Only one of them will even hint at it. At the time, not having the surgery wasn’t even really discussed as an option.  Apparently the phrase “I’m sorry, there is nothing we can do for you.” is gone from the practice of modern medicine. I’ve met most of his doctors and they seem like decent people. No one set out to cause pain and suffering but that is the end result. It would have been better for Dad if his pulmonary artery ruptured in the comfort of his own home than in the operating room that first day. It would have sucked for a minute or two instead of slow torture over months. It would have broken Mom’s heart all at once instead of chipping away at it while she helplessly watched her husband die by degrees.

On Wednesday he told my mother that he was tired of it all, his body is wearing out and he wants to go home to God. To watch them together now is to see what marriage is all about. They celebrated their forty-eighth wedding anniversary in September in his hospital room. Over the years I have watched them snap at each other, kiss each other, yell, curse and walk away from each other. I’ve also seen them be there for each other like she is there for him now. They really are devoted to each other. The hospice director asked Mom when she thought they’d be ready to move Dad into the unit. Mom burst into tears. She knows this is the right thing for him. It’s what he wants and so she wants it for him. She doesn’t want him to suffer anymore. She said “We’ve been together for fifty years. It’s like you’re asking me when do I want to be cut in half.”

While Mom and I were upstairs the nurses put my dad back in his bed. I came back to his room to find my husband telling him all about what our kids have been up to. Dennis tells a very good story and Dad was smiling. We all have to wash our hands and wear rubber gloves in Dad’s hospital room but I could still feel how cold and swollen his hands were when I held them. It’s comforting and unnerving at the same time to see how at peace he is with his decision to stop treatment. He has lost so much weight he’s back down to his ‘fighting weight’. His muscle tone is all but gone. He looks old and frail and nothing like the scary guy I remember from childhood. I kissed him good-bye and brushed back his hair. He told me he loved me. I have no idea how I held it together but I did. I smiled at him and he smiled at me. I left that room knowing full well that I may never see him again. I was fine until we were driving home. Dennis had the radio scan for a station and it landed on classical music. I heard Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” and I started bawling. In spite of everything and as long as I live, he will be my daddy and I’ll be his little girl. It’s just not right that my cat had a nicer death than my dad.

This is my dad and me in 1966. He’s about twenty-six years old and I’m a chubby seven or eight months old. I nearly lost this photo when our water heater blew. I’m so glad the important parts are still there.

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