Oh Taylor Swift...you adorable, little red lipped, cutie pie! I became VERY excited when I received pre-sale ticket information that your 20 something, sassy self, will be performing at Levi Stadium in August of 2015! I mean, who could be more fun to take the girls to watch in concert, than the ULTIMATE "throw that old boyfriend under the bus" by making a hit song about it, than YOU?
Sure, Taylor's dated a lot of boys. Like, A. Lot. Of. Boys. But, in her defense, who in their 20's, HASN'T? Taylor, my hat is off to you for making sure you kiss a lot of frogs before you get the Prince (who doesn't really exist, but let's just hope you find that out before you turn 30).
But much to my chagrin, (and with the aide of my dear cousin, Nicole), we sadly discovered that the cheapest tickets were going for (gasp), over 100 bucks! Come on Taylor Swift!!! You're not Jesus Christ! Even the Son of God, would like let everyone into the venue, despite whether they had the funds or not. In fact, I can almost guarantee that He would provide Salvation for FREE, and seat the most destitute, prostitutes, and lepers, in the front row!
Are you listening Taylor? Are YOU?! No, you're probably writing your next hit break up song about a boy who you met on Instagram. Sigh.
I guess I must really be searching for something to look forward to, because quite frankly, November in the Walsh house, completely sucked.
First, Abby came down with the common cold. Innocent enough, right? Well, that song and dance quickly turned into Pneumonia. By the time she had been on Anti-Biotics for 5 days, and had not improved in the least, Isabella was exhibiting similar symptoms. One more x-ray later, confirmed: TWINS DOWN. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Emma was running a fever.
The good news: Emma kicked that fever two weeks ago! Bad news: only to finally succumb to (you guessed it) Pneumonia, the day after Thanksgiving. I feel like the Candy Man, doling out ginormous, white, horse pills twice a day.
As a Mom, whenever, I am feeling overwhelmed, I contemplate, "Okay God, what are you wanting me to learn from this?" Well, I got the memo: watching your children suffer from being listless, fatigued, and hacking their lungs out, makes you REALLY appreciate when they are well!!
I can completely empathize with parents who say, "I just need this day/week/month to be over, because we need a re-start!" Good riddance November 2014!
And yet, as with most things, there is a silver lining, and this was no exception. I shot out a text to my family and friends, asking for prayers and healing thoughts. And you better believe, they delivered, with support, love, and genuine kindness.
Not only did Grandparents, Uncles, Auntie's, friends, and cousins check in daily to see how the girls were doing; they came with gifts of home made soup, and muffins, and magazines, and games for those who were subject to quarantine.
This experience left me exhausted, yes. But more importantly, feeling some tangible, concrete, and unconditional love.
It also left me feeling like I wanted to pour a triple Vodka Cran by 11 AM for about a week solid.
One night a few weeks ago, before the cursed Plague hit our home, the twins had a Volleyball Awards Banquet. Unable to attend it myself, I asked Abby about it, who sat parked at the dinner table solo, sorta slumped over her plate, looking a little dazed, but content.
"So, how did it go?" I inquired.
"Good." Typical teenage answer.
This generic info would not do. I wanted details. I wanted answers. And I realized I would need to change my interrogation technique.
"Well, I know that all the girls voted, so...(pause for effect), who got MVP? And who got Most Improved?" I continued on.
"Anjali got MVP. And I got Most Improved, but I don't really want to talk about it," she answered quietly.
"Oh honey! Congratulations! That is so exciting, but I don't understand why you're whispering about it?" I was practically hugging her from across the table.
Abby then laid it out for me simply: she didn't want to seem like she was bragging in front of her sisters, most of all, her twin, Isabella. She felt proud, but conflicted about receiving the award, because Bella did not. So Abby put the trophy under her bed in a box, as not to upset Bella.
Well, of course, me being me, and unable to leave things alone, took Bella one on one, plopped down on her bed, and asked her, "Honey, are you upset that Abby received this award?"
She looked at me, head cocked, eyes softened, and answered right from her heart, "Oh Mom, not at all. In fact, because we are twins, I feel like we both got it. I am so happy for her!"
"DID YOU HEAR THAT ABBY?!!!!" I boomed from their room, "Your sister is truly happy for you!! Come on, I want to see that trophy!"
"Thanks a lot for the therapy session, Mom," Abby replied slightly annoyed that I had gotten involved.
I can't help it. I paid thousands of dollars for counseling, man. I have GOT to put it work somehow. And on my kids? Money well spent, I'd say.
Like with most teenage daughter and mother relationships, Abby and I have hit more than a few road bumps since she started High School. I think it's safe to say a Paradigm Shift has most definitely taken place: my Poopsie is becoming more independent, pulling 12 hour school days, while balancing academics, work grant, and sports. We don't see each other for but 20 minutes a day.
She is pushing away from me. Not intentionally. But I get it, and understand that it's normal, and expected.
Please don't tell her I told you this, but it does break my heart just a tiny little bit.
Because it is a concrete reminder that time ticks on, and I can't do a damn thing to make it stop.
Abby doesn't need me to wrap her tight in a towel for a bear hug, after she slips out of the bath tub. She doesn't need my help to squirt the toothpaste out of the tube, or comb her tangly knots into the perfect pony tail. She doesn't ask me to take her to the park, so I can push her on the swings, and as she comes near me, taunt her by saying, "I'm gonna get YOU!" only to have her disappear away from me, into a giggling fit that filled my Mama spirit to the brim of overflowing.
She needs me in other ways now. But no one tells you this. No one warns you of this. Or perhaps if they do, we don't hear it because we are not ready for it...that push away.
As she stumbled out of bed this morning at 10 o'clock, as most teenagers do, we met in the hallway. And do you know what she said to me?
"Mama, I really want to hang out with you today, okay?" I stood, aghast, shocked at this request, but practically screaming in my head, "She LIKES me, she really LIKES me!!"
My Abby, my first born, she may be as tall as me, but she is still my little Poopsie.
And my heart is full.
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Dry Pull Up's and Ice Cream
Of course, these two things go together!!
Anyone who has tried to potty train a small toddler sized, human being, knows this simple fact: BRIBERY is the answer!
Most adults, are content to wake up feeling dry, fresh, and not smelling like pee in the morning.
This same logic does not pertain to a 3 or 4 year old. They have absolutely no qualms about wallowing around in their own feces. Urine or otherwise. And so, this involves a bit of "positive trickery" as a parent.
It seemed that Charlotte's 4th birthday would be the perfect time to gently encourage her to keep a dry Pull Up for the morning. Charlie has been potty trained for a long time now. But as it was with the other girls, it's always the night time Pull Up, that is the last to go.
And as a parent, if you really want this to come to fruition, it is your duty to say inspirational half-truths, in a sing-song, voice of encouragement, like, "Big four year old's stop drinking milk and water after dinner." And "Big four year always go potty before bedtime."
And here comes the money, the big ticket item, sealing the deal: "Big four year old's who wake up with a dry Pull Up for 5 days get ICE CREAM."
That was all she needed to hear, and Charlotte darted towards the bathroom, resembling a girl at Mardi Gras in search of beads, ripping off her clothes, and leaving them in a strewn pile, to run to the toilet before bed time stories.
Imagine her disappointment, when she woke up this morning, and her Pull Up was wet.
There were tears, people. Tears.
As long as the Confessional is open for business, while pushing Charlie on the swing at the park yesterday, I pulled her right off, by her ankles. And she landed, with a thump, on her head. Don't ask me how or why. Because I am not exactly sure what happened, myself. Mental note: adults are supposed to push, not pull their small children on the swing.
The lady next to me, pushing her 2 year old, while cradling her newborn, just sort of looked at me with concern, head titled sideways, like "WTH just happened?"
So I did what any incompetent mother would: I scooped up my inconsolable Preschooler, and what was left of my pride, and we scurried away into the safety of our car, where a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich would make all right with the world once again.
I apologize for sounding repetitive, but this parenting thing is really hard. I feel like I am in this constant tug-o-war between wanting to keep it real, and then wondering, "Oh man, did I tell them too much?" Or "Did I handle that situation correctly?"
Case in point, I gave Cosette "The Talk" in about 5 minutes flat just the other day. Yeah, I get the whole "Keep it simple" philosophy, but maybe I kept it too simple? But then, I also didn't want to completely repulse her. Like I said, it's a slippery slope.
While driving to the library, (where we had over 100 items checked out - yes you read that correctly! Even the Librarian informed us that she had never seen that before, but I digress), Bella asked me for twenty bucks. And her reason for wanting it was legit.
Calmly, I explained, that I am not made of money,and she has been babysitting for awhile now, and she could earn it the old fashioned way.
Pleading her case, she said, "Mom, haven't you noticed that I have been putting forth all of my time and effort into studying and doing well in school? I just haven't had time to babysit."
And truly, she was spot on. She really has been burning the candle at both ends.
And so I replied, "Yes I have noticed. And I'm extremely proud of your diligence. So why don't we compromise? I will loan you the money, and you can pay me back? I just don't want you and your sisters to be those people who get everything handed to them. Kids like that don't appreciate what they have," and under my breath, said, "And they tend to be little assholes."
On cue, "MOM!! Little ears in the car, here!" Bella yelled, gesturing to Charlotte and Cosette.
Tom is much better, than I, in this parenting department. He is all calm, and peaceful, and like, Zen. He's like a mini Jesus, or Buddha. Or just someone who emanates patience, and tolerance, and everything I LACK. I don't think Tom would ever pull Charlotte off the swing by her ankles at the park, or (gasp) drop a four letter word in front of the girls...just saying.
Besides, his go-to saying, is "Oh my stars!" How can I compete with that? NO ONE has a better all-American saying than that!
Lately, I find myself, getting fired up about things, that I never even cared about before.
For example, we have a very "everybody helps out" attitude in our home. So after sorting, washing, and folding laundry for our family, I don't think it's irrational to ask my children to put away their clothes. Did I mention that the laundry is clean, and folded, and neatly placed in their baskets?
One of my daughters, whom shall remain nameless, thought this was a preposterous idea, one evening, this past week. And who knows? Maybe she had a bad day.
Or perhaps, she had just lost her mind.
It's neither here nor there. This story does not end well.
Little did SHE know, I was in the bathroom, located right next to her room, and heard her ungrateful complaining, "Well THIS isn't mine. And THIS isn't mine," as she removed articles of clothing from her basket, "Gee Mom, thanks a lot for doing my laundry."
I sat, dumb founded, on the toilet, mid-pee, my rage starting to rise from deep within,
Really? Really?! Oh no, she didn't.
I stood up with such a start, that I didn't even stop to pull my pants up, or finish urinating, As I stormed out of the bathroom, and down the hallway, my body was tense; my eyes full of anger and fury.
I barged into her room, startling her, with my pants down, and said, "You know what? You do not have to ever worry about the wrong articles of clothing being placed in your basket. Because I will never being doing your laundry again. The next time you're going to say unkind things about me, make sure your damn door is shut! AND, you owe me an apology."
Yeah, I'm still waiting for that apology.
And so I ask you, dear reader, why do I lose my mind over a child who's been caught being ungrateful?
When you figure that one out, meet me at the Elks Lodge. Because that's where it's always Happy Hour, no matter what time it is,
Has any parent ever figured this one out: when one of our children misplaces something,(hypothetically speaking, their one and only uniform skirt), it becomes our problem?
One day about two weeks ago, I patiently observed, as she frantically scurried around the house, resembling a crazed mad-woman. In those wee morning hours before her ride left for school, she searched under her bed, only to come up empty handed. She started tearing up when the skirt was not located in her Volleyball bag, Finally, in a last ditch effort, she dumped the dirty laundry basket, wailing out, like a wounded animal, "I don't know what I'm going to dooooooo." Sniff. Sniff.
To which, I replied, "Be a problem solver. Whether you have to borrow a skirt from the office. Or email your team mates to see if someone picked it up for you. You will figure this out."
Now I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I had an extra, brand new uniform skirt in my closet. Did I offer it up? No, I did not. When the tears started, I wanted to, When a Mama watches their kiddo losing their mind, you can't help but want to save them. But what happens the next time she misplaces it?
Which she did. A week later. And she borrowed a skirt from our neighbor, problem solver, that she is.
Sigh.
One early morning, as the twins sat eating their pancakes at the breakfast table, I asked Bella, "Did you know that I am at Notre Dame on Tuesdays for my Women's Spirituality Group?"
She looked at me, half-awake, and said, "Not really, Mom," as any teenager would, because how or why would she care to know that?
"Would it be okay if I popped into one of your classes, and called you guys 'my little poopsies' in front of everyone?"
I do this, because it works just like it did for Ursula the Sea witch in The Little Mermaid...they are repelled and run away from me. Which I absolutely love. Me calling the twins, "my little poopsies" is like Kryptonite. And I file and use it, especially if I want to embarrass them. I think that's only fair, don't you?
"OH MY GOD, MOM!!!! Please DON'T do that!"
I held back a chuckle, "Why not? I grew you with my own body for ten months. I have kept you alive for fourteen long years, and you won't even let me come into your class to say 'Hi'?"
"Now, you're totally making me feel guilty, Mom," she pleaded.
"Well, I am Catholic. Just doing my job."
And we both started cracking up. Parenting is a hard job, this much is true. But if I can remember moments like these, I can keep going.
And I hope that one day, a very long time from now, I will convince myself that if any or all of my girls end up in therapy, I did my job JUST the way I should have. Because I can't handle any more guilt, guys.
Sigh.
Anyone who has tried to potty train a small toddler sized, human being, knows this simple fact: BRIBERY is the answer!
Most adults, are content to wake up feeling dry, fresh, and not smelling like pee in the morning.
This same logic does not pertain to a 3 or 4 year old. They have absolutely no qualms about wallowing around in their own feces. Urine or otherwise. And so, this involves a bit of "positive trickery" as a parent.
It seemed that Charlotte's 4th birthday would be the perfect time to gently encourage her to keep a dry Pull Up for the morning. Charlie has been potty trained for a long time now. But as it was with the other girls, it's always the night time Pull Up, that is the last to go.
And as a parent, if you really want this to come to fruition, it is your duty to say inspirational half-truths, in a sing-song, voice of encouragement, like, "Big four year old's stop drinking milk and water after dinner." And "Big four year always go potty before bedtime."
And here comes the money, the big ticket item, sealing the deal: "Big four year old's who wake up with a dry Pull Up for 5 days get ICE CREAM."
That was all she needed to hear, and Charlotte darted towards the bathroom, resembling a girl at Mardi Gras in search of beads, ripping off her clothes, and leaving them in a strewn pile, to run to the toilet before bed time stories.
Imagine her disappointment, when she woke up this morning, and her Pull Up was wet.
There were tears, people. Tears.
As long as the Confessional is open for business, while pushing Charlie on the swing at the park yesterday, I pulled her right off, by her ankles. And she landed, with a thump, on her head. Don't ask me how or why. Because I am not exactly sure what happened, myself. Mental note: adults are supposed to push, not pull their small children on the swing.
The lady next to me, pushing her 2 year old, while cradling her newborn, just sort of looked at me with concern, head titled sideways, like "WTH just happened?"
So I did what any incompetent mother would: I scooped up my inconsolable Preschooler, and what was left of my pride, and we scurried away into the safety of our car, where a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich would make all right with the world once again.
I apologize for sounding repetitive, but this parenting thing is really hard. I feel like I am in this constant tug-o-war between wanting to keep it real, and then wondering, "Oh man, did I tell them too much?" Or "Did I handle that situation correctly?"
Case in point, I gave Cosette "The Talk" in about 5 minutes flat just the other day. Yeah, I get the whole "Keep it simple" philosophy, but maybe I kept it too simple? But then, I also didn't want to completely repulse her. Like I said, it's a slippery slope.
While driving to the library, (where we had over 100 items checked out - yes you read that correctly! Even the Librarian informed us that she had never seen that before, but I digress), Bella asked me for twenty bucks. And her reason for wanting it was legit.
Calmly, I explained, that I am not made of money,and she has been babysitting for awhile now, and she could earn it the old fashioned way.
Pleading her case, she said, "Mom, haven't you noticed that I have been putting forth all of my time and effort into studying and doing well in school? I just haven't had time to babysit."
And truly, she was spot on. She really has been burning the candle at both ends.
And so I replied, "Yes I have noticed. And I'm extremely proud of your diligence. So why don't we compromise? I will loan you the money, and you can pay me back? I just don't want you and your sisters to be those people who get everything handed to them. Kids like that don't appreciate what they have," and under my breath, said, "And they tend to be little assholes."
On cue, "MOM!! Little ears in the car, here!" Bella yelled, gesturing to Charlotte and Cosette.
Tom is much better, than I, in this parenting department. He is all calm, and peaceful, and like, Zen. He's like a mini Jesus, or Buddha. Or just someone who emanates patience, and tolerance, and everything I LACK. I don't think Tom would ever pull Charlotte off the swing by her ankles at the park, or (gasp) drop a four letter word in front of the girls...just saying.
Besides, his go-to saying, is "Oh my stars!" How can I compete with that? NO ONE has a better all-American saying than that!
Lately, I find myself, getting fired up about things, that I never even cared about before.
For example, we have a very "everybody helps out" attitude in our home. So after sorting, washing, and folding laundry for our family, I don't think it's irrational to ask my children to put away their clothes. Did I mention that the laundry is clean, and folded, and neatly placed in their baskets?
One of my daughters, whom shall remain nameless, thought this was a preposterous idea, one evening, this past week. And who knows? Maybe she had a bad day.
Or perhaps, she had just lost her mind.
It's neither here nor there. This story does not end well.
Little did SHE know, I was in the bathroom, located right next to her room, and heard her ungrateful complaining, "Well THIS isn't mine. And THIS isn't mine," as she removed articles of clothing from her basket, "Gee Mom, thanks a lot for doing my laundry."
I sat, dumb founded, on the toilet, mid-pee, my rage starting to rise from deep within,
Really? Really?! Oh no, she didn't.
I stood up with such a start, that I didn't even stop to pull my pants up, or finish urinating, As I stormed out of the bathroom, and down the hallway, my body was tense; my eyes full of anger and fury.
I barged into her room, startling her, with my pants down, and said, "You know what? You do not have to ever worry about the wrong articles of clothing being placed in your basket. Because I will never being doing your laundry again. The next time you're going to say unkind things about me, make sure your damn door is shut! AND, you owe me an apology."
Yeah, I'm still waiting for that apology.
And so I ask you, dear reader, why do I lose my mind over a child who's been caught being ungrateful?
When you figure that one out, meet me at the Elks Lodge. Because that's where it's always Happy Hour, no matter what time it is,
Has any parent ever figured this one out: when one of our children misplaces something,(hypothetically speaking, their one and only uniform skirt), it becomes our problem?
One day about two weeks ago, I patiently observed, as she frantically scurried around the house, resembling a crazed mad-woman. In those wee morning hours before her ride left for school, she searched under her bed, only to come up empty handed. She started tearing up when the skirt was not located in her Volleyball bag, Finally, in a last ditch effort, she dumped the dirty laundry basket, wailing out, like a wounded animal, "I don't know what I'm going to dooooooo." Sniff. Sniff.
To which, I replied, "Be a problem solver. Whether you have to borrow a skirt from the office. Or email your team mates to see if someone picked it up for you. You will figure this out."
Now I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I had an extra, brand new uniform skirt in my closet. Did I offer it up? No, I did not. When the tears started, I wanted to, When a Mama watches their kiddo losing their mind, you can't help but want to save them. But what happens the next time she misplaces it?
Which she did. A week later. And she borrowed a skirt from our neighbor, problem solver, that she is.
Sigh.
One early morning, as the twins sat eating their pancakes at the breakfast table, I asked Bella, "Did you know that I am at Notre Dame on Tuesdays for my Women's Spirituality Group?"
She looked at me, half-awake, and said, "Not really, Mom," as any teenager would, because how or why would she care to know that?
"Would it be okay if I popped into one of your classes, and called you guys 'my little poopsies' in front of everyone?"
I do this, because it works just like it did for Ursula the Sea witch in The Little Mermaid...they are repelled and run away from me. Which I absolutely love. Me calling the twins, "my little poopsies" is like Kryptonite. And I file and use it, especially if I want to embarrass them. I think that's only fair, don't you?
"OH MY GOD, MOM!!!! Please DON'T do that!"
I held back a chuckle, "Why not? I grew you with my own body for ten months. I have kept you alive for fourteen long years, and you won't even let me come into your class to say 'Hi'?"
"Now, you're totally making me feel guilty, Mom," she pleaded.
"Well, I am Catholic. Just doing my job."
And we both started cracking up. Parenting is a hard job, this much is true. But if I can remember moments like these, I can keep going.
And I hope that one day, a very long time from now, I will convince myself that if any or all of my girls end up in therapy, I did my job JUST the way I should have. Because I can't handle any more guilt, guys.
Sigh.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Taking a Step Back
Raise your hand if, as a parent, you have ever found yourself completely intertwined in your children's emotions.
Seriously, I hope I'm not the only one with my digits turned upward towards the Heavens.
Because these last few weeks, being that Mom who is grounded, centered and balanced has totally eluded me.
Any and all of our child(ren)'s emotions, may or may not be felt at any given time, or ALL at once. And don't forget, depending on how many offspring you have, could contain your very own variation of:
1. Extreme test taking anxiety
2. Enthusiasm for life in general, because everything is AWESOME
3. Disappointment for life in general, because everything is not always AWESOME
4. Motivation and drive to be better at anything and everything
5. Overwhelm at their sense of responsibility, and getting it all done
6. Pride in performing well in a game/match/tournament
7. Confidence that they "got this"
8. Only to be followed by nervousness, of maybe, I don't really "got this"
9. Fill in your blank here.
It's safe to say my girls are tethered to me, like a boat to the dock. I can't help but feeling all of their emotions. It's like once they exited my womb, we became connected forever...and ever. 'Til death do us part.
Lately, this cocktail of my children's emotions, feels like heavy anchors, strapped to my wrists and ankles, pulling my limbs into the abyss. Down, down, down, I go. My body never to be recovered from a deep, dark, dense and murky body of water, that suffocates my very being.
Yeah, this is the chapter of Motherhood in "What to Expect When You're Expecting", this has been deliberately left on the cutting room floor.
In fact, just yesterday, Charlie was drawing pictures in the dust on our coffee table.
Yes, you read that right.
When I asked what she was doing, she answered, "Oh, just drawing all the things in the house that are broken, Mama."
Well, this left me a little confused. Was she referring to the random chunks of missing paint and drywall, that our Beast, Bo, has pawed off from his rolling, and frolicking, and knowing HE doesn't have to fucking re-paint the wall?
Or was she drawing my kitchen drawers that randomly come off the rollers, and in my frustration, are placed on the counter until um, I don't know, until we re-model. Move? DIE?
Or maybe she's showing her artistic side by portraying my drapes that hang heavily with dust, and cobwebs, and grossness that comes with a family of seven, and splay from a Beast that eats the inside of houses "just for fun".
I haven't even HIT on the mismatched lock on the front door, or the juice stained, paw printed, pee stained carpet, but I think you've got the gist.
Poor Cosette. She had not an inkling that Mommy was feeling a bit emotionally overwhelmed...until she broke my last good coffee mug right before school on Tuesday.
Nothing like sending your 9 year old to school, with red rimmed, glassy eyes, because her Mom lost her shit, over something stupid.
And then there is Emma. I give huge props to Emma because she is pretty much living, like she's out on her own. But she doesn't have to pay rent. Or buy groceries. Or pay the cable bill.
But Emma all in all, she is extremely responsible. I never really check the Parent Portal for her grades, because, well, the two times I have, she had solid A's. Emma gets herself to and from school. Packs her own lunch. Takes the initiative to email her teacher, and then ask me 50 times, if she has yet replied.
But Emma is also my kid, who has a bit of anxiety. I mean, we all do, right?
But Emma takes it to another level.
Let me give you an example: PE is swimming this week, but NO white suits are allowed.
Guess what color suit Em has? White. Guess who schlepped themselves to Target, followed by Ross, searching high and lo for a NON-WHITE bathing suit, in the middle of October, on a Sunday afternoon, only to completely strike out? Us. Guess who needed to email her teacher, when we arrived home, to ensure that she wouldn't be in trouble for having a white suit? Emma.
So there I was at 5:45 AM, the morning after the NON-WHITE bathing suit debacle, curled up on the couch, prepping for my day. This is code for: coffee (in a plastic tumbler, because I was out of coffee mugs), snuggles with Bo, and prayer.
Imagine my surprise, when Emma stumbles into the living room, big ol' head of hair askew, and says half awake, but more asleep, "Mom, I have GOT to turn in my Tech-Crew theatre permission form."
WTF, right??!! Can't she see that I am trying to be ZEN? To have a moment with the Great One. To keep my dog from eating the walls?
But the story gets better. We turned this form in a MONTH ago. I know this information, because she stood over my shoulder, stalking me, waiting and watching, wearing her anxiety like an old pair of jeans, making sure I wouldn't forget to sign it.
But somehow, someway, it never made it to the correct location.
Let's just suffice it to say, I sent another one of my children to school with tear stained cheeks.
Two for two.
No, I'm sorry, supportive Blog Reader, you can't have the "Parent of the Year Award". Michelle Walsh already holds the title for: MOST CHILDREN SENT TO SCHOOL CRYING BECAUSE THEIR MOM LOST HER SHIT OVER STUPID STUFF.
I don't blame you at all if you're wondering about Abby and Bella emotional state, at this point. Quite honestly, the twins are navigating the waters of Notre Dame as Freshmen, quite well. But between balancing the academic workload, playing competitive Volleyball for the first time, carving out time for peer tutoring because they need that extra support, and fulfilling their obligation of work grant, due to financial aid...well, let's just say, there have been a few meltdowns.
Them! Not me: yet. But I'm pretty sure, there are plenty more on the horizon, for all of us.
As a Maternal figure, as the Matriarch of the family, how do we stay balanced, centered, and grounded?
I am finding myself taking on other people's emotional states, when I can barely, weather my own.
A dear friend, that I have known since Kindergarten, diagnosed with Melanoma.
Another sweet, young, Mama, only 38, batting Breast Cancer, with four littles at home.
And yet another friend's Mom's struggle with Lung Cancer. As my girlfriend described her Mom's symptoms, it felt like I was re-living Foxy all over again.
I want to throw up my hands, and say, "I can't do this, Lord. I am not qualified. I am ill-equipped. I am not good enough."
So I came to this epiphany: either start drinking everyday before noon, OR, join the Women's Spirituality Group offered at ND, that meets on the one of two mornings that I get to sleep in.
I CHOSE THE WOMEN'S SPIRITUALITY GROUP! Geez.
And this is what happened at my first meeting: I bawled.
As we sat, that lovely group of 20 women in that circle, and we settled in the peace that evades me almost all of the time I am breathing, I actually felt it.
You know...the calm. The quiet. The solitude that I, probably much like you, am so very thirsty for.
Even when I try to pray at home, I fail. My wheels turn, and spin, and I start thinking about clean underwear, and whether we can make our mortgage payment, and non-white bathing suits.
But for the first time, I felt it. The very solitude of these women, tethered to me, in an uplifting, life-giving, way.
Their energy centered me, balanced me, and grounded me.
And I bawled. Not like the ugly cry, but still.
And so, dear ones, I am not sure how to handle all of these milestones with my daughters. I am not in least bit convinced I know what the hell I am doing. But as I fell into bed next to Tom the other night, he told me these heart-felt words:
"You smell like Home. And summer. And all things good."
In that moment, I realized, I don't need to have it all figured out. As long as that man is by my side, we will do this dance together.
And I slept soundly.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
I Can't Think of a Title...I Am Sort of Rebellious, Like That.
You know what I have been noticing lately? Old people. Walking unsteady, with leathery, wrinkled hands, purses slung on crooked shoulders. Holding on to someone or something, a cane, a walker, and the like, for support. Full of knowledge, that only life can and will bestow upon me, if I am ever as lucky to learn what they have through experience, and circumstance.
I also have been taken with young ones. Babies, toddlers, preschoolers, kids on the playground. Full of energy and pure joy. Limitless. Beyond enthusiastic, to take on the next moment. To experience, as Pochantas so eloquently sang, "What's just around the river bend."
In fact, just today, I witnessed a little dark haired cutie, clutching the hands of her grandparents on either side of her. She was giddy, and jumpy, and full of that insatiable zest for LIFE. As she bounced between those elderly bookends, this little one exuded pure excitement. She was going to have an amazing day, there was no doubt about it.
I ponder, how is it that my "Littles" are Freshman in High School?
I remember the days of going to the park, like, Every. Single. Day. I remember filling sippy cups with juice, and filling snack bags with goldfish. I remember watching their excitement of sliding down the Crooked House at Happy Hollow, and taking afternoon naps, and life being, well, really simple.
Don't get me wrong: I was also exhausted. I felt like it would never end. There were many times I thought, "If I NEVER go to the park again, I will not miss it one bit. If I have to fill ONE more sippy cup, I am gonna jump, so help me!!!"
And then that day comes: the day when no one asks to go to the park. The day, when they make their own lunch. The day, when they wash and pack their own work out clothes for Volleyball practice. The day when they leave at 7:15 AM, and do not arrive home until 6:15 PM, only to repeat it again the next day.
And I sit back and think to myself, "Ah, this is what folks mean when they say, 'In the blink of an eye, they'll be off to college.'" Yup. Duly noted, wise, more knowledgeable folks, than myself. I think I may be sorta catching on.
How did this happen? How did I grow this small people in my very body, and now, they think they can grow up on me? NO ONE warns you. Or perhaps, when they did, I couldn't hear it. Couldn't possibly understand it. Wasn't willing, or even able, to wrap my head around it.
Our family had a really fantastic summer. Between going camping with dear friends at Big Basin, countless beach trips collecting sea shells, heading to Arnold, where Tom and I, sat out back under the stars after our day trips, and (gasp), spoke to each other uninterrupted. And capping it off by taking a trip down south to see Ms.Molly, and T, and Ella Claire. It was a truly superb 10 weeks.
But by the end, like many parents who are longing for routine, I felt like, "Okay, I have had enough 'family time.' Enough hanging out with the 6 of you, constantly, for like, a week at a time. Back to normalcy. Back to work. Let's get this ball rolling."
And then, came the Back-to-School anxiety. "OHMYGAWD!!!! how are we possibly going to get 5 kids to 4 different schools on time? What were we thinking? Do you think we should make a flowchart? What have we signed up for? How is this my life?"
It is in these white knuckled moments, God shows me: the older folks, who live in the moment, with no apparent rush, nowhere in particular to go, just relaxed with who they are, and satisfied with where their journey has taken them. It is in these moments, God shows me: the wee ones, with their zest for life, their boundless energy, and infinite amount of enthusiasm.
And I am reminded: pay attention to the small things. Pay attention to details. Listen to the whispers. Enjoy each and every moment.
And I recognize how incredibly and utterly blessed I am.
If I could write God a letter, it would say:
Dear God,
You totally rock. Thanks for being totally awesome. And thanks for not letting Foxy kill me in my teen years, when I totally deserved it. You seriously had my back on that one.
Love,
Michelle
Saturday, July 26, 2014
The Present
All in all, I LOVE summer. I LOVE the warmer weather. I LOVE the longer days. I LOVE the sunshine on my shoulders. And yes, I am quoting John Denver. That guy knew exactly what time it was.
I mean, there are definite perks to this slower, lazier, paced time of year. Mainly, lack of rushing in the morning, because no one has to be anywhere. Like, all day long.
This lackadaisical schedule means less interrogation at our breakfast table. For example, you most likely will not hear me ranting and raving at 7 AM on a summer morning, "Have you brushed your teeth? Have you made your bed? Did you remember to pack your bike lock? Do you know your address in case you get lost?" If you're super duper lucky, and you happen to be a fly on the wall in Walsh Land during the school year, sometimes you will hear this song and dance repeat itself, oh, um, about FIVE times.
So many. We have made them. Like a small Army. And it's all my fault.
But as with anything, there can also be a downside to summer. Like kids not having to be anywhere alllll day looooong. Kids, because there is no rush, will rise up, well rested after a full 10 hours of uninterrupted slumber, and are ready to "do something fun".
"MOM!!!" they yawn, upon waking, with a perky smile, and a fresh attitude, rubbing their eyes, "What are we going to DO today?" These offspring are hoping I'll say something that will completely blow their mind like,
"We are going to Disneyland!!!! Can you fucking believe it? WE ARE! Daddy and I won the lottery, and because that is how much money it costs to go to Disneyland, that is the fun thing we are doing today! We opted out of saving the lottery winnings for new shoes, or our mortgage payment, or college tuition, because Daddy and I are CRAZY like that!"
Sadly, my answer is more like this: "Survive the day, sister."
Enjoying a walk through The Glen, with some lovely friends the other evening, one said, "I think I do better with the school schedule. There is more of a routine for my daughter and me."
And I thought about this for a minute, and I concurred with that point of view. But as I am "getting older", I am beginning to fully understand how fast time goes. And I immediately thought of my girls. And how many more summers I have with them.
Not many. Not enough.
This has been the summer of watching twin bookends sprouting up like beanstalks, to the point of practically surpassing me in height.
This has been the summer of Emma wanting to start babysitting, because she is great with little ones, and run track because she really and truly enjoys it.
This has been the summer of Cosette, asking if a friend can "join us" on any, and all day trips, but also thanking me profusely for just about everything, from making pancakes in the morning, to washing her hair in the tub at night.
This has been the summer when Charlotte, who's still wee yet, will tumble down the hall in the early morning, with a head full of red hair going every which way, and climb into bed for a little snuggle.
How many mornings do I have left of this lopsided preschooler bed head, who climbs into my bed, to literally burrow into my body?
Not many. Not enough.
As I drove over the hill to take the girls to the beach yesterday, Holy Cross Church came into view. Sixteen years ago, on that very day, I married the most kind hearted and gentle man on the planet, in that very church.
In all honesty, I think it's sort of a good thing that most of us have absolutely NO idea, of what we are in for, when we choose to marry our beloved.
Dating is fun. Planning a wedding is fun. Having children is "fun". Having to watch a sick parent suffer at times throughout the illness and at the end...not fun.
Difficult times will either draw you toward, or away from your spouse. And although Tom and I are far from perfect, I truly love him so very dearly. And I started to reflect on many things about my wedding day.
My sweet Mama riding in the fancy Bentley next to me, on our way to the church. Foxy and my Dad walking me down the aisle, each with a megawatt smile that could power a small city. Father Mike blessing Tommy and Katie during the ceremony, because now, we were officially a united family. And my Auntie, sewing me into my wedding dress on the way to the reception. Mainly, because when you're built like The Hulk, and bend over to release doves, there is a distinct possibility of your wedding dress ripping down the back, like not in a good way.
And then the tears came. All at once. It was such a blessed day. And it is one that I'll never be able to relive again. Foxy won't be riding shot gun with me anymore. And Tommy and Katie are married and each have beautiful babies of their own. And Auntie? Well, she is still kind enough to sew for me...and keep Charlotte alive most days while I am working.
Passing that church was a concrete reminder that there is no going back...only forward. It was a reminder that I so dearly yearn to hug my Mom one more time. And it was a reminder that in times of struggle, I can feel her around, proud that I am her daughter.
And all it makes me think of is this: how much time do we have left here?
Not much. Not enough.
But I'll tell you what...when I see our grand daughter, Ella, tomorrow, I will smooch on her, and love on her, and pick her adorable bones clean.
And our family will have an amazing visit in San Diego with Tommy and Molly. And when it is time to leave them, I will bawl. That's just how I roll. And as we drive away, my heart will swell with pride. And I will embrace that moment.
Because nothing is promised. Nothing.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
The Fox is Not in the Box
I found myself consuming large quantities of food mindlessly yesterday. That's code for: emotional eating.
Pancakes in the morning. Bites of pizza in the mid afternoon. A half eaten brownie from one of the girls, who left it unattended. Bites from Charlie's P B and J sandwich. Stealing M and M's from the Redhead's Potty Reward Jar on top of the fridge. Charlotte gets one M and M for pee, three for poop and pee. I didn't even take them after I used the toilet. I cheated. I ate them anyway. All. Day. Long.
Yep, here's one thing for sure: I am a Weight Watchers Leader, but I am surely not "fixed". In fact, I feel like my name tag should read, Michelle Walsh lost 90 lbs in 2003, "Leader" in air quotes.
Who am I leading exactly? A lot of times I would love to start my meetings with, "Who wants to go eat Apple Fritters? Who's with me? Good! Screw this...let's go!"
I have learned that I am (gasp), an emotional eater. So, maybe yesterday doesn't seem like such a big deal to most folks, who don't battle their weight. I've heard of people like you...curse you!
But to me, it was a distinct sign that something else was going on. I stopped myself around 5 pm that evening, when I was out of points for the day, and started divvying into next week's allotment, when I had an a-ha moment.
Mother's Day is Sunday. And I'm anticipating that first of many holidays without my sweet Foxy Mama. And I'm eating everything that is not nailed down because...well, apple fritters are the answer sometimes.
No, not really.
Six weeks ago my Mama went Home. And I can assure you she is sitting at the table with all of her friends and family that have gone before her, and they are having an Italian pasta extravaganza! And Jesus is pouring the wine. And Foxy is enjoying herself, free from pain, and the memories of her frail and weakening body confined to a hospital bed for the last 4 months of her life, are history.
Because in Heaven, I believe time doesn't exist.
The real work is for us to do down here, where my Dad, brother, their wives, and our children attempt to go on with joyful hearts.
And I have found that I am doing a fairly okay job in the day to day: working out, "leading" at Weight Watchers, being a Mama who pulls their kid early on a Friday to go to the beach, keeping up with laundry (although Emma was out of clean underwear yesterday), fixing dinner, and so on.
However, sometimes, a wave of grief will come out of nowhere, and takes my very breath away.
Here is what I know. My Mom has visited us. She has come. And however, you choose to believe in the afterlife, this gives me comfort.
In fact, my brothers and I joke around, by saying, "The fox is not in the box." Meaning, Foxy is not where we laid her to rest.
The Saturday before Foxy passed away, the amazing, gentle and kind hearted Hospice Nurse, Nancy, was cleaning my Mom in her room. When she looked up, there was a grey fox perched on the garbage cans right outside the window. Startled and thinking, it was my mom, in spirit form, Nancy quickly took Mom's pulse, but found Mama was still with us. Shortly after that initial fox sighting, my Mom "came to", and while Dad, Paul and Steph, Matt and Samantha, were gathered at her bedside, expressed, ever so faintly, "I love you."
The morning that my Mom passed, my brother Matt, stood looking out the back sliders into the backyard, delivering the news to neighbors of her death, on the phone. A hummingbird flew right up to the glass, hovered for what seemed an eternity, but was a few seconds, and then darted off. When Dad had asked Mom what to look for to make sure she crossed over, she answered, "Hummingbirds."
The Sunday after my Mama passed away, that grey fox made another appearance in my parent's backyard. In fact, it basked in the sun, relaxing in front a plant that Dad and Paul had just planted in my Mom's honor, and an angel statue that she absolutely loved. That crafty fox, sat, and waited patiently, while my cousin Andria, snapped a picture. That picture was put front and center, in Foxy's program. And I don't know about you, but that story gives me immeasurable comfort.
About a week ago, Abigail and Isabella were quizzing their little sister, Charlie, "What's your name? Where do you live? What's your phone number?" Then they asked, "When is your birthday?" Charlotte knows her birthday is October 20th. She has told more people than I can count, that her birthday is October 20th.
Do you know what she said? August 14th. That is my MOM'S birthday. And I can assure you, she did not know that. I know that message was meant for me, as I sat there, dumbfounded at the kitchen table. I even asked Tom that night, "Babe, what is your take on that?"
Clear and concise, he answered, "Honey, there are too many months and days in the year, to get that date." And he's right.
Six weeks she has been gone, and yet, it is more clear to me than ever, she is actually walking right beside us.
Three days ago, just happened to be "one of those days", when I was missing my Mama. Crazy as it may seem, I talk to her while I am driving sometimes. "I miss you, Mom," I had told her that morning, as I drove to work to "lead" a meeting.
That night, I collapsed into bed, Foxy heavy on my heart and mind. No longer had I pulled the sheets up over my shoulders, than Tom began calling down the hallway, where all the girls had gathered,"Michelle, I think you should come here. I think your Mom may be visiting."
I ambled my way to the living room. Now, there is one corner of the sectional, where Foxy always sat comfortably. And in that very same corner, the lamp was turning on, and off. On and off. On and off. By itself for at least 2 minutes.
Hmmm. Me thinks the Fox is not in the box.
And so I will leave you with a piece of my euolgy from Foxy's Mass, which I believe expresses my heart, at this tender and emotional first Mother's Day without her:
"When my initial 3-4 day visits would come to an end, Mom was almost commanding me out the door...'Michelle, you've got to go now. The girls need you. Tom needs you. GO!!'
And yet, my final visits ended much differently...with free flowing tears, tender cheek to cheek smooches, and Mom whispering, 'I love you so much. I miss you already.'
These tender moments of nothingness and everything. These tiny moments will forever be ingrained in my memory...they are small, and simple, and humble. How incredibly blessed am I? This courageous woman brought me into the world, and I was lucky enough to witness her leaving it.
Foxy, thank you for being my Mom. Thank you for loving me, even when I was lost and broken, and wasn't sure I would find my way. You have changed me forever for the better. I love you, Mama."
Happy Mother's Day, all. May light, love, and abundant blessings rain down upon you and your loved ones. If your Mama is here, hug her tight. Thank her for letting you live. Tell her how much you love her.
Do it for those of us, whose sweet Moms have gone on before us. Please do it for us.
Pancakes in the morning. Bites of pizza in the mid afternoon. A half eaten brownie from one of the girls, who left it unattended. Bites from Charlie's P B and J sandwich. Stealing M and M's from the Redhead's Potty Reward Jar on top of the fridge. Charlotte gets one M and M for pee, three for poop and pee. I didn't even take them after I used the toilet. I cheated. I ate them anyway. All. Day. Long.
Yep, here's one thing for sure: I am a Weight Watchers Leader, but I am surely not "fixed". In fact, I feel like my name tag should read, Michelle Walsh lost 90 lbs in 2003, "Leader" in air quotes.
Who am I leading exactly? A lot of times I would love to start my meetings with, "Who wants to go eat Apple Fritters? Who's with me? Good! Screw this...let's go!"
I have learned that I am (gasp), an emotional eater. So, maybe yesterday doesn't seem like such a big deal to most folks, who don't battle their weight. I've heard of people like you...curse you!
But to me, it was a distinct sign that something else was going on. I stopped myself around 5 pm that evening, when I was out of points for the day, and started divvying into next week's allotment, when I had an a-ha moment.
Mother's Day is Sunday. And I'm anticipating that first of many holidays without my sweet Foxy Mama. And I'm eating everything that is not nailed down because...well, apple fritters are the answer sometimes.
No, not really.
Six weeks ago my Mama went Home. And I can assure you she is sitting at the table with all of her friends and family that have gone before her, and they are having an Italian pasta extravaganza! And Jesus is pouring the wine. And Foxy is enjoying herself, free from pain, and the memories of her frail and weakening body confined to a hospital bed for the last 4 months of her life, are history.
Because in Heaven, I believe time doesn't exist.
The real work is for us to do down here, where my Dad, brother, their wives, and our children attempt to go on with joyful hearts.
And I have found that I am doing a fairly okay job in the day to day: working out, "leading" at Weight Watchers, being a Mama who pulls their kid early on a Friday to go to the beach, keeping up with laundry (although Emma was out of clean underwear yesterday), fixing dinner, and so on.
However, sometimes, a wave of grief will come out of nowhere, and takes my very breath away.
Here is what I know. My Mom has visited us. She has come. And however, you choose to believe in the afterlife, this gives me comfort.
In fact, my brothers and I joke around, by saying, "The fox is not in the box." Meaning, Foxy is not where we laid her to rest.
The Saturday before Foxy passed away, the amazing, gentle and kind hearted Hospice Nurse, Nancy, was cleaning my Mom in her room. When she looked up, there was a grey fox perched on the garbage cans right outside the window. Startled and thinking, it was my mom, in spirit form, Nancy quickly took Mom's pulse, but found Mama was still with us. Shortly after that initial fox sighting, my Mom "came to", and while Dad, Paul and Steph, Matt and Samantha, were gathered at her bedside, expressed, ever so faintly, "I love you."
The morning that my Mom passed, my brother Matt, stood looking out the back sliders into the backyard, delivering the news to neighbors of her death, on the phone. A hummingbird flew right up to the glass, hovered for what seemed an eternity, but was a few seconds, and then darted off. When Dad had asked Mom what to look for to make sure she crossed over, she answered, "Hummingbirds."
The Sunday after my Mama passed away, that grey fox made another appearance in my parent's backyard. In fact, it basked in the sun, relaxing in front a plant that Dad and Paul had just planted in my Mom's honor, and an angel statue that she absolutely loved. That crafty fox, sat, and waited patiently, while my cousin Andria, snapped a picture. That picture was put front and center, in Foxy's program. And I don't know about you, but that story gives me immeasurable comfort.
About a week ago, Abigail and Isabella were quizzing their little sister, Charlie, "What's your name? Where do you live? What's your phone number?" Then they asked, "When is your birthday?" Charlotte knows her birthday is October 20th. She has told more people than I can count, that her birthday is October 20th.
Do you know what she said? August 14th. That is my MOM'S birthday. And I can assure you, she did not know that. I know that message was meant for me, as I sat there, dumbfounded at the kitchen table. I even asked Tom that night, "Babe, what is your take on that?"
Clear and concise, he answered, "Honey, there are too many months and days in the year, to get that date." And he's right.
Six weeks she has been gone, and yet, it is more clear to me than ever, she is actually walking right beside us.
Three days ago, just happened to be "one of those days", when I was missing my Mama. Crazy as it may seem, I talk to her while I am driving sometimes. "I miss you, Mom," I had told her that morning, as I drove to work to "lead" a meeting.
That night, I collapsed into bed, Foxy heavy on my heart and mind. No longer had I pulled the sheets up over my shoulders, than Tom began calling down the hallway, where all the girls had gathered,"Michelle, I think you should come here. I think your Mom may be visiting."
I ambled my way to the living room. Now, there is one corner of the sectional, where Foxy always sat comfortably. And in that very same corner, the lamp was turning on, and off. On and off. On and off. By itself for at least 2 minutes.
Hmmm. Me thinks the Fox is not in the box.
And so I will leave you with a piece of my euolgy from Foxy's Mass, which I believe expresses my heart, at this tender and emotional first Mother's Day without her:
"When my initial 3-4 day visits would come to an end, Mom was almost commanding me out the door...'Michelle, you've got to go now. The girls need you. Tom needs you. GO!!'
And yet, my final visits ended much differently...with free flowing tears, tender cheek to cheek smooches, and Mom whispering, 'I love you so much. I miss you already.'
These tender moments of nothingness and everything. These tiny moments will forever be ingrained in my memory...they are small, and simple, and humble. How incredibly blessed am I? This courageous woman brought me into the world, and I was lucky enough to witness her leaving it.
Foxy, thank you for being my Mom. Thank you for loving me, even when I was lost and broken, and wasn't sure I would find my way. You have changed me forever for the better. I love you, Mama."
Happy Mother's Day, all. May light, love, and abundant blessings rain down upon you and your loved ones. If your Mama is here, hug her tight. Thank her for letting you live. Tell her how much you love her.
Do it for those of us, whose sweet Moms have gone on before us. Please do it for us.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Re-Birth
Has "Let It Go" , become like every child's theme song since the movie Frozen, came out in the theater?
In the shower. Every. Single. Night. Anyone else? Please tell me I'm not alone.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy hearing the unbridled, untamed, exuberant gusto in which the song is sung, but I had to agree with Abby last night, as she pounded on the wall, pleading with her twin sister, "Bella, PLEASE STOP!! ANY song but THAT one."
However, I'm pretty sure, that Bella can not and will not be stopped. This is the same kid, who just last week, after being offered to go watch Captain America at the movies (which I highly recommend, strictly, for the story line, of course), explained to me, "Well Mom, I'm really feeling like I would rather stay home to paint. Yesterday, I started a painting at counseling, and I would like to work on that."
You see, Monday is "Mental Health Day" in Walsh Land, as we have been so blessed to get in with counseling through Hospice of the Valley. I continue to be humbled and amazed at the support that we have received on this journey. The girls have been quick to recognize that there are several perks to therapy: getting pulled from school early, making a memory box for Nana, painting, or playing with sand (depending on your age), and of course, the contemplative one on one time in the car, as Mama drives you to and fro.
On a glorious Wednesday during Spring Break, the sun shone high in the sky, beckoning us to the beach. As we drove over the summit on Highway 17, I asked Cosette, "Baby, what is your favorite part about the ocean?" She contemplated for a good 30 seconds, and answered, "Well Mama, you know how the waves hit the shore? It sounds like music to me. Do you know what I mean?"
Yeah baby, I know exactly what you mean.
As I stepped out of the shower, still damp, and not completely dried off, Charlotte stood there in the foggy bathroom, examining my naked body. Pointing to my chest, she inquired, "Mom, how did you get those rubies?" I think she meant, boobies. But I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
Just yesterday, Charlie stood in the hallway, donning a new pair of flip flops, hand on her hip, and asked, "Mom, do these look okay with this outfit, or bad?" SHE IS 3!! Never mind, the fact, that just minutes later, Abby took her to the park, only to discover that Charlotte wasn't wearing underwear, as she slid down the slide. But she WAS wearing flip flops!!!
She is coming along, that one there. Being the fifth in line, I'm pretty sure that one day she'll rule the world.
I appreciate any prayers sent my way now, to prepare me for the endurance of Charlotte's teen years. I have done the math, and by the time Charlie is 17, I will be 56, so you will most likely find me lying in a heap on the floor, in the fetal position, mumbling awesome parenting advice, like, "If you drink honey, don't drive. Get a cab. And please practice safe sex, okay?"
Speaking of excellent parenting, Tom and I decided that Abby, Bella and Emma were ready to watch The Passion of the Christ, with us, the night before Easter. If that doesn't scar them, and put them into therapy as adults, I'm almost positive something else that we have done, will.
After discussing it at length, we both came to conclusion, that there are parts in the movie that are difficult to watch, at any age. However, The Passion, in particular for me, gave new meaning to the phrase I have heard throughout the entirety of my Catholic career. "He suffered, died, and was buried." Watching it, makes what he did, real to me. And because Foxy did suffer, and especially more so, at the end, it eased my burden, to observe what Jesus went through.
Easter was the first holiday without her. Honestly, I wasn't sure, how I would handle it. What would I wake up feeling? Would I be missing her terribly?
Yet, I woke up with a sense of new life. New hope. He is Risen! For you. And for me. For all of us.
I think a dear friend of mine, described it best, when she said, "Foxy is like an LSU Freshman at Mardi Gras right now! She is having a blast."
And being a party girl, myself, I find the visual to not only make me chuckle, but to give me comfort, hope, and renew my faith that my Mama is dining at the table of the Lord.
This is the day he hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad!
In the shower. Every. Single. Night. Anyone else? Please tell me I'm not alone.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy hearing the unbridled, untamed, exuberant gusto in which the song is sung, but I had to agree with Abby last night, as she pounded on the wall, pleading with her twin sister, "Bella, PLEASE STOP!! ANY song but THAT one."
However, I'm pretty sure, that Bella can not and will not be stopped. This is the same kid, who just last week, after being offered to go watch Captain America at the movies (which I highly recommend, strictly, for the story line, of course), explained to me, "Well Mom, I'm really feeling like I would rather stay home to paint. Yesterday, I started a painting at counseling, and I would like to work on that."
You see, Monday is "Mental Health Day" in Walsh Land, as we have been so blessed to get in with counseling through Hospice of the Valley. I continue to be humbled and amazed at the support that we have received on this journey. The girls have been quick to recognize that there are several perks to therapy: getting pulled from school early, making a memory box for Nana, painting, or playing with sand (depending on your age), and of course, the contemplative one on one time in the car, as Mama drives you to and fro.
On a glorious Wednesday during Spring Break, the sun shone high in the sky, beckoning us to the beach. As we drove over the summit on Highway 17, I asked Cosette, "Baby, what is your favorite part about the ocean?" She contemplated for a good 30 seconds, and answered, "Well Mama, you know how the waves hit the shore? It sounds like music to me. Do you know what I mean?"
Yeah baby, I know exactly what you mean.
As I stepped out of the shower, still damp, and not completely dried off, Charlotte stood there in the foggy bathroom, examining my naked body. Pointing to my chest, she inquired, "Mom, how did you get those rubies?" I think she meant, boobies. But I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
Just yesterday, Charlie stood in the hallway, donning a new pair of flip flops, hand on her hip, and asked, "Mom, do these look okay with this outfit, or bad?" SHE IS 3!! Never mind, the fact, that just minutes later, Abby took her to the park, only to discover that Charlotte wasn't wearing underwear, as she slid down the slide. But she WAS wearing flip flops!!!
She is coming along, that one there. Being the fifth in line, I'm pretty sure that one day she'll rule the world.
I appreciate any prayers sent my way now, to prepare me for the endurance of Charlotte's teen years. I have done the math, and by the time Charlie is 17, I will be 56, so you will most likely find me lying in a heap on the floor, in the fetal position, mumbling awesome parenting advice, like, "If you drink honey, don't drive. Get a cab. And please practice safe sex, okay?"
Speaking of excellent parenting, Tom and I decided that Abby, Bella and Emma were ready to watch The Passion of the Christ, with us, the night before Easter. If that doesn't scar them, and put them into therapy as adults, I'm almost positive something else that we have done, will.
After discussing it at length, we both came to conclusion, that there are parts in the movie that are difficult to watch, at any age. However, The Passion, in particular for me, gave new meaning to the phrase I have heard throughout the entirety of my Catholic career. "He suffered, died, and was buried." Watching it, makes what he did, real to me. And because Foxy did suffer, and especially more so, at the end, it eased my burden, to observe what Jesus went through.
Easter was the first holiday without her. Honestly, I wasn't sure, how I would handle it. What would I wake up feeling? Would I be missing her terribly?
Yet, I woke up with a sense of new life. New hope. He is Risen! For you. And for me. For all of us.
I think a dear friend of mine, described it best, when she said, "Foxy is like an LSU Freshman at Mardi Gras right now! She is having a blast."
And being a party girl, myself, I find the visual to not only make me chuckle, but to give me comfort, hope, and renew my faith that my Mama is dining at the table of the Lord.
This is the day he hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad!
Friday, March 21, 2014
Acceptance
When do we finally come to a place of acceptance in our lives?
Is it when we feel accepted by our peers? Does it happen when we try out for a particular sports team, or the church choir, or the school play, and we "make the cut"? Are we accepted if we get picked first for the dodge ball game on the blacktop at recess? When exactly do we accept, with open arms, what our path holds for us?
Someone very wise once said, "Acceptance is when you stop resisting what is."
What I have discovered fairly recently, is that the road of acceptance is paved with a few little bricks of truth: trust, faith, humility, and grace.
Accepting is like when you do one of those group building activities, and you are being asked to fall backwards into the arms of someone else. In theory, is sounds simple enough. Just fall back, and someone will catch you.
But our logical mind screams, "DON'T DO IT!!!" Our palms become wet with perspiration, we start to second guess the situation. How is this a TRUST fall exactly? And what if my our worst fear comes true? What if, for a moment, our partner becomes distracted, and fails to catch us? (which by the way, has probably never, ever happened...in the history of the Earth...ever).
But we are HUMAN BEINGS. And we question, and speculate, and guess, and debate, and make graphs, and power point presentations. We want quantitative PROOF that we will be caught.
When all we need to do is one thing: fall back and trust that we will be caught.
A very dear friend taught me this: Honor Your Process. And by doing so, you are not only accepting yourself, you are accepting others where they are in their Process.
Let me give you an example: most of you already know, that my Mama was diagnosed with Cancer over 2 years ago, and she is literally in the last hours of her life.
This situation has affected my tribe, my clan, my people, in a variety of ways. We are all at different places in our Process.
Tom's just recently shared, "The severity of the situation is just now hitting me."
Isabella told me, "I have just never felt sorrow like this Mom. I can't see out of the darkness. I'm so grateful for so many things, but I'm also so sad. I'm just all mixed up."
To which Abigail replied, "I feel guilty that I'm not as sad as Bella is, Mom. I just have all of this stuff to do...the mile in P.E., a paper that is due in Language, a test in Science, basketball practice, and trying out for the Bunny Bowl. Oh, and then there's the LAUNDRY." (Abby is essentially me, incarnate, when I am caring for my Mom in Santa Rosa. All legit 13 year old concerns, right? The verdict is still out on the Bunny Bowl :)
Emma's reaction is that of a quiet storm to this huge debacle known as Cancer. She is my child who resists outside physical comforting, but is the first one of the five, to give a complete stranger a hug. True story.
Cosette, although only just 8 years old, her bond with Nana runs deep as the river runs wide. Cozy and Nana could often be found sitting together on the couch, snuggled up close, doing cross stitch, or playing a game of Crazy 8's. Her eyes rim red with tears at the mere sound of the word, "Nana". It is an inconceivable loss.
And then there is me. Sometimes my emotions well up from deep within, and I have to literally force myself to ride out a chasm of helplessness and frustration over this disease, that is taking bits and pieces of my mom, like a puzzle that will never be put back together again.
A few weeks back, those emotions hit me like a rogue wave at Mavericks. All at once, with such strength and force, leaving me struggling to come up for a swallow of air, but just as I could see the surface, it pulled me right back down into darkness.
It happened after a day that Foxy had a sponge bath, and all of her dressings were changed by the amazingly gentle and serene Hospice aide and nurse.
You see, purplish and red tumors have decided to take up residence on my Mama's frail and weakening body. Tumors that must be dressed with bandages, because, as they become larger, they break through my Mom's skin, and weep. And the bed sore below her bum...it requires my Mom to roll over on her side, enduring pain without complaint, to change the dressing on yet another raw wound that will never heal.
I had had just about enough. And in the quiet of the early evening, I began weeping at my Mom's bedside. Uncontrollable sobs emerged from deep within a place that I did not even know existed. My body shook side to side, my eyes and face and nose, wet with tears and snot running together into one ocean of grief. The dam broke.
And do you know what my Mom said to me? Calmly, she whispered, "It's okay...it's okay," with complete and peaceful acceptance and grace. She was consoling ME.
Not wanting her to see me so upset, I kept muttering, "I'm sorry Mom, I'm so sorry."
And she softly replied, "You help me." I looked at her, confused. "You hold me."
And I couldn't help but think, how many times she had cuddled me close as an infant, and now she was so grateful for this seemingly, insignificant act, the ONLY thing, I could do, due to circumstance. We had come full circle.
In these last precious days with my Mom, I realize what an incredible gift I have been given. I have been allowed the gift of time to laugh, cry, and get to know this incredible woman, who brought me into the world. How blessed am I? I am forever changed by this grace filled experience. We are tethered now, Foxy and I. Forever.
Her glove of a body, has done it's job. Her work is here complete. And all I can do now, is sit by her side and hold her hand, and smooch her cheek. She has one toe in this world, but the rest of her is already in transition to the Other Side. And what a gift she has bestowed on every single person who she has touched.
My sweet Mama. She has no problem with the Trust Fall. She knows she will be caught, and is not seeking definitive proof. She is more than ready to fall backwards, and go Home.
Is it when we feel accepted by our peers? Does it happen when we try out for a particular sports team, or the church choir, or the school play, and we "make the cut"? Are we accepted if we get picked first for the dodge ball game on the blacktop at recess? When exactly do we accept, with open arms, what our path holds for us?
Someone very wise once said, "Acceptance is when you stop resisting what is."
What I have discovered fairly recently, is that the road of acceptance is paved with a few little bricks of truth: trust, faith, humility, and grace.
Accepting is like when you do one of those group building activities, and you are being asked to fall backwards into the arms of someone else. In theory, is sounds simple enough. Just fall back, and someone will catch you.
But our logical mind screams, "DON'T DO IT!!!" Our palms become wet with perspiration, we start to second guess the situation. How is this a TRUST fall exactly? And what if my our worst fear comes true? What if, for a moment, our partner becomes distracted, and fails to catch us? (which by the way, has probably never, ever happened...in the history of the Earth...ever).
But we are HUMAN BEINGS. And we question, and speculate, and guess, and debate, and make graphs, and power point presentations. We want quantitative PROOF that we will be caught.
When all we need to do is one thing: fall back and trust that we will be caught.
A very dear friend taught me this: Honor Your Process. And by doing so, you are not only accepting yourself, you are accepting others where they are in their Process.
Let me give you an example: most of you already know, that my Mama was diagnosed with Cancer over 2 years ago, and she is literally in the last hours of her life.
This situation has affected my tribe, my clan, my people, in a variety of ways. We are all at different places in our Process.
Tom's just recently shared, "The severity of the situation is just now hitting me."
Isabella told me, "I have just never felt sorrow like this Mom. I can't see out of the darkness. I'm so grateful for so many things, but I'm also so sad. I'm just all mixed up."
To which Abigail replied, "I feel guilty that I'm not as sad as Bella is, Mom. I just have all of this stuff to do...the mile in P.E., a paper that is due in Language, a test in Science, basketball practice, and trying out for the Bunny Bowl. Oh, and then there's the LAUNDRY." (Abby is essentially me, incarnate, when I am caring for my Mom in Santa Rosa. All legit 13 year old concerns, right? The verdict is still out on the Bunny Bowl :)
Emma's reaction is that of a quiet storm to this huge debacle known as Cancer. She is my child who resists outside physical comforting, but is the first one of the five, to give a complete stranger a hug. True story.
Cosette, although only just 8 years old, her bond with Nana runs deep as the river runs wide. Cozy and Nana could often be found sitting together on the couch, snuggled up close, doing cross stitch, or playing a game of Crazy 8's. Her eyes rim red with tears at the mere sound of the word, "Nana". It is an inconceivable loss.
And then there is me. Sometimes my emotions well up from deep within, and I have to literally force myself to ride out a chasm of helplessness and frustration over this disease, that is taking bits and pieces of my mom, like a puzzle that will never be put back together again.
A few weeks back, those emotions hit me like a rogue wave at Mavericks. All at once, with such strength and force, leaving me struggling to come up for a swallow of air, but just as I could see the surface, it pulled me right back down into darkness.
It happened after a day that Foxy had a sponge bath, and all of her dressings were changed by the amazingly gentle and serene Hospice aide and nurse.
You see, purplish and red tumors have decided to take up residence on my Mama's frail and weakening body. Tumors that must be dressed with bandages, because, as they become larger, they break through my Mom's skin, and weep. And the bed sore below her bum...it requires my Mom to roll over on her side, enduring pain without complaint, to change the dressing on yet another raw wound that will never heal.
I had had just about enough. And in the quiet of the early evening, I began weeping at my Mom's bedside. Uncontrollable sobs emerged from deep within a place that I did not even know existed. My body shook side to side, my eyes and face and nose, wet with tears and snot running together into one ocean of grief. The dam broke.
And do you know what my Mom said to me? Calmly, she whispered, "It's okay...it's okay," with complete and peaceful acceptance and grace. She was consoling ME.
Not wanting her to see me so upset, I kept muttering, "I'm sorry Mom, I'm so sorry."
And she softly replied, "You help me." I looked at her, confused. "You hold me."
And I couldn't help but think, how many times she had cuddled me close as an infant, and now she was so grateful for this seemingly, insignificant act, the ONLY thing, I could do, due to circumstance. We had come full circle.
In these last precious days with my Mom, I realize what an incredible gift I have been given. I have been allowed the gift of time to laugh, cry, and get to know this incredible woman, who brought me into the world. How blessed am I? I am forever changed by this grace filled experience. We are tethered now, Foxy and I. Forever.
Her glove of a body, has done it's job. Her work is here complete. And all I can do now, is sit by her side and hold her hand, and smooch her cheek. She has one toe in this world, but the rest of her is already in transition to the Other Side. And what a gift she has bestowed on every single person who she has touched.
My sweet Mama. She has no problem with the Trust Fall. She knows she will be caught, and is not seeking definitive proof. She is more than ready to fall backwards, and go Home.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Unconditional
"You're so good. Such a good girl. And the boys...Stephanie, Sam, and Tom. You're all so good to me. I think I've learned my lessons - I really do," Foxy explained to me, as she was ready to drift off into a Percocet/Methadone induced sweet slumber, one night, a few weeks back.
I thought to myself, "Oh Mom, you are worthy and so deserving of all of that love, and so much more."
This is what I have learned about unconditional love in the past two years: it is primal, it emanates from the very core of your being, and allows you to give, share, and do things with no boundaries. More importantly, all while expecting absolutely nothing in return. This is how my Mama has loved me for the entirety of my life, and how sacred this journey has been, to allow us to return that love back to her. Unconditional love can heal all brokenness, and any unworthiness we may be harboring. Unconditional love builds a bridge, that no circumstances, not even Cancer, can destroy.
"I think we needed this time together," Foxy said, "I wish we could go back in time, and have a 'do-over'."
Here is the weird thing: I longed and thirsted for a deeper, more meaningful mother-daughter relationship for most of my young adult life. But things got in the way. We were both busy. I got married, and had way too many children. Mom and Dad retired in Santa Rosa. And I had accepted that maybe this is how it would be between Foxy and myself.
Then Mom got diagnosed. And as the Cancer took my Mom away from me - for the first time in my life, my Mom was really given to me...completely, vulnerably. If you have ever watched someone get sick, it's like watching a baby make their milestones of rolling over, sitting up, standing, and eventually taking their first steps - IN REVERSE ORDER.
In the beginning, we were hell bent on beating Cancer. During Chemo, Foxy and I would play Shang Hai Rummy, while eating all of the amazing snacks that were set out for Cancer patients. Foxy and I would take walks through her little neighborhood, and eventually we would shop for wigs online, preparing for the inevitable hair loss.
I will never forget the first time Mom ate a cannabis brownie, right before visiting the pantry ladies at St. Rose Church. I was thinking in my head, "We have 30 minutes before she's stoned. Let's make this visit short and sweet." The last thing I wanted was for Mom to feel paranoid in front of the church ladies. Well, 30 minutes came and went, and all of a sudden, I saw her sort of relax...like really relax. By the time we made it back to the car, she said, "Oh, I feel kind of squiggly." Mental note: eat pot brownies in the comfort of our own home to avoid "squiggliness" in public :)
The day would usually end with more cards, more talking smack while playing cards, and Mama listening to me spin the yarns of my life. All the while, she sat listening without judgement, but rather with acceptance and love. My Mom and I started to forge more than a mother-daughter relationship...I can say without hesitation that she is my friend. If I could divide my heart into 3 pieces: Tom has one, Foxy has one, and my girls have the last piece.
As the disease progressed, Foxy lost the ability to do certain things: instead of coming into a store with me, she was too exhausted, and would rest in the car. She literally would save ALL of her energy to attend Mass on Saturday night at St.Rose. She would start by getting up and taking a bath, and then taking a nap. She would do her hair, and then rest. The final step was getting dressed right before leaving. No sooner, were we back home from church, she was in her Pajama's again. Such a trooper. I have witnessed tumors growing on my Mom, that started as the size of an almond, and are now the size of a lemon. And I can't do anything to stop it. Nothing.
And yet, like most mixed bags, there are so many fond memories. Being sick, never stopped my Foxy Mom from shopping online for material (when she was still sewing), or purchasing yet more pajamas (which she has at least 15-20 different sets, many with tags still attached). I know exactly where my inheritance went!
Cancer has given me permission to love my Mom in a way, that I couldn't before...in a way, that I didn't have access to before. When my Dad would leave for baseball, I convinced her to apply an anti-stress bright green, gooey, facial mask. In the beginning, she would fight me on it. "Oh Michelle, that's okay. I don't really want to do that." But then, just as quickly, she would relent, participate, and end our "spa day" by saying, "Oh Gosh, that was fun."
And as time wore on, my Mom became confined to her hospital bed. I would turn on relaxing music, and massage her hands and feet...my Mom, who had done for others her entire life, now was able to sit back for a minute, and with full acceptance and grace, let us love her.
It is very common for someone who is close to crossing over, to get that "one last little burst of energy". During one of these "up" days, my brother, Paul, ever so carefully picked Mom up, and placed her gently into her wheelchair, and rolled her out front to sit in the glorious sunshine, and breathe the fresh air.
And it was during one of these days, as I sat next to her bed, our hands intertwined, she said, "I just want to make these days last. Going outside today was a dream come true."
These tender moments of nothingness and everything. These tiny moments that will forever be ingrained in my memory... they are small, and simple, and humble.
This morning, when I walked in, I observed that she was contemplating something, "What are you thinking about Mama?" Without hesitation, she answered, "Hopping out of this bed."
I played along, "Oh, that sounds great, Mama. Let's have an adventure." And the more suggestions I made, and the more she agreed, we imagined having a pretty terrific little day for ourselves."Should we start with a walk around your neighborhood? Now we're back, and you take a tub, and I'll take a shower. (Mind you, a bath is my Mom's FAVORITE indulgence, and she hasn't been able to do that for about 3 months now). And then maybe take a ride to Bodega Bay, we can walk along the cliffs at the ocean, being that it's 70 degrees and all. Should we stop by to see Uncle Jim and Auntie Nancy? Oh man, Auntie Nancy made her amazing popcorn, and Uncle Jim cooked up some of those delicious vegetables from his garden. Now it's 6:30 Mom, and Dad may be getting worried because we forgot to leave a note. We get home to Dad Barbequing out back, and we sit and watch the sun go down. Let's go inside now and sit by the fireplace and talk. That was a pretty awesome day, Mom. Hugh?"
"Yup," she said with a grin.
And so, as my Mama lies very close to ending her life here, but beginning her Eternal life, she continues to teach me.
Love with grace, be present, acceptance comes with prayer, and that we are all worthy of unconditional love. A love that can only come from each other, and Him.
I love my Mom so much. But I have this feeling, that she will come to me even after she has left this place. And that gives me comfort.
I thought to myself, "Oh Mom, you are worthy and so deserving of all of that love, and so much more."
This is what I have learned about unconditional love in the past two years: it is primal, it emanates from the very core of your being, and allows you to give, share, and do things with no boundaries. More importantly, all while expecting absolutely nothing in return. This is how my Mama has loved me for the entirety of my life, and how sacred this journey has been, to allow us to return that love back to her. Unconditional love can heal all brokenness, and any unworthiness we may be harboring. Unconditional love builds a bridge, that no circumstances, not even Cancer, can destroy.
"I think we needed this time together," Foxy said, "I wish we could go back in time, and have a 'do-over'."
Here is the weird thing: I longed and thirsted for a deeper, more meaningful mother-daughter relationship for most of my young adult life. But things got in the way. We were both busy. I got married, and had way too many children. Mom and Dad retired in Santa Rosa. And I had accepted that maybe this is how it would be between Foxy and myself.
Then Mom got diagnosed. And as the Cancer took my Mom away from me - for the first time in my life, my Mom was really given to me...completely, vulnerably. If you have ever watched someone get sick, it's like watching a baby make their milestones of rolling over, sitting up, standing, and eventually taking their first steps - IN REVERSE ORDER.
In the beginning, we were hell bent on beating Cancer. During Chemo, Foxy and I would play Shang Hai Rummy, while eating all of the amazing snacks that were set out for Cancer patients. Foxy and I would take walks through her little neighborhood, and eventually we would shop for wigs online, preparing for the inevitable hair loss.
I will never forget the first time Mom ate a cannabis brownie, right before visiting the pantry ladies at St. Rose Church. I was thinking in my head, "We have 30 minutes before she's stoned. Let's make this visit short and sweet." The last thing I wanted was for Mom to feel paranoid in front of the church ladies. Well, 30 minutes came and went, and all of a sudden, I saw her sort of relax...like really relax. By the time we made it back to the car, she said, "Oh, I feel kind of squiggly." Mental note: eat pot brownies in the comfort of our own home to avoid "squiggliness" in public :)
The day would usually end with more cards, more talking smack while playing cards, and Mama listening to me spin the yarns of my life. All the while, she sat listening without judgement, but rather with acceptance and love. My Mom and I started to forge more than a mother-daughter relationship...I can say without hesitation that she is my friend. If I could divide my heart into 3 pieces: Tom has one, Foxy has one, and my girls have the last piece.
As the disease progressed, Foxy lost the ability to do certain things: instead of coming into a store with me, she was too exhausted, and would rest in the car. She literally would save ALL of her energy to attend Mass on Saturday night at St.Rose. She would start by getting up and taking a bath, and then taking a nap. She would do her hair, and then rest. The final step was getting dressed right before leaving. No sooner, were we back home from church, she was in her Pajama's again. Such a trooper. I have witnessed tumors growing on my Mom, that started as the size of an almond, and are now the size of a lemon. And I can't do anything to stop it. Nothing.
And yet, like most mixed bags, there are so many fond memories. Being sick, never stopped my Foxy Mom from shopping online for material (when she was still sewing), or purchasing yet more pajamas (which she has at least 15-20 different sets, many with tags still attached). I know exactly where my inheritance went!
Cancer has given me permission to love my Mom in a way, that I couldn't before...in a way, that I didn't have access to before. When my Dad would leave for baseball, I convinced her to apply an anti-stress bright green, gooey, facial mask. In the beginning, she would fight me on it. "Oh Michelle, that's okay. I don't really want to do that." But then, just as quickly, she would relent, participate, and end our "spa day" by saying, "Oh Gosh, that was fun."
And as time wore on, my Mom became confined to her hospital bed. I would turn on relaxing music, and massage her hands and feet...my Mom, who had done for others her entire life, now was able to sit back for a minute, and with full acceptance and grace, let us love her.
It is very common for someone who is close to crossing over, to get that "one last little burst of energy". During one of these "up" days, my brother, Paul, ever so carefully picked Mom up, and placed her gently into her wheelchair, and rolled her out front to sit in the glorious sunshine, and breathe the fresh air.
And it was during one of these days, as I sat next to her bed, our hands intertwined, she said, "I just want to make these days last. Going outside today was a dream come true."
These tender moments of nothingness and everything. These tiny moments that will forever be ingrained in my memory... they are small, and simple, and humble.
This morning, when I walked in, I observed that she was contemplating something, "What are you thinking about Mama?" Without hesitation, she answered, "Hopping out of this bed."
I played along, "Oh, that sounds great, Mama. Let's have an adventure." And the more suggestions I made, and the more she agreed, we imagined having a pretty terrific little day for ourselves."Should we start with a walk around your neighborhood? Now we're back, and you take a tub, and I'll take a shower. (Mind you, a bath is my Mom's FAVORITE indulgence, and she hasn't been able to do that for about 3 months now). And then maybe take a ride to Bodega Bay, we can walk along the cliffs at the ocean, being that it's 70 degrees and all. Should we stop by to see Uncle Jim and Auntie Nancy? Oh man, Auntie Nancy made her amazing popcorn, and Uncle Jim cooked up some of those delicious vegetables from his garden. Now it's 6:30 Mom, and Dad may be getting worried because we forgot to leave a note. We get home to Dad Barbequing out back, and we sit and watch the sun go down. Let's go inside now and sit by the fireplace and talk. That was a pretty awesome day, Mom. Hugh?"
"Yup," she said with a grin.
And so, as my Mama lies very close to ending her life here, but beginning her Eternal life, she continues to teach me.
Love with grace, be present, acceptance comes with prayer, and that we are all worthy of unconditional love. A love that can only come from each other, and Him.
I love my Mom so much. But I have this feeling, that she will come to me even after she has left this place. And that gives me comfort.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Cloak of Grace
"This whole dying thing...it's such a bother, isn't it?", Foxy sighed in exhaustion, as she lay in her hospital bed.
I sat, legs folded underneath me on the floor, next to my Mama, contemplating what this meant to her.
"Bother" in Foxy terms, means:
"I am sorry this is taking so long."
"I am such a burden."
"I am taking you and the boys away from your families."
"I can't even do anything to help you."
And all I could think of was this: nothing could be further from the truth.
If you know anything about my Mama, it is this: Foxy wants to be a bother to no one. In fact, when my Mom was first diagnosed with Cancer, she was hell-bent, on being in "a Home" in the end. This would ensure in her mind, that she wouldn't be a "bother" to anyone.
And while my Dad, my brothers, and I, gently coerced her, that taking care of her throughout this process, and especially in the end, would be a blessing, a pleasure for us to do so, she insisted that she didn't want that. She would rather have a Health Aide bathe, dress her, and change her sheets.
Of course, no one could have predicted the amazing Cloak of Grace that my Mom dons, that has changed all of that.
As I think about how the last two years have played out, I realize exactly how lucky and blessed, I truly am. I view my brothers, their spouses, my nieces and nephews, my husband and my girls, but especially my Mom and Dad, in a completely different way.
While we each have different gifts, the tapestry of how we are connected, binds us to each other. And without that connection, we would each just be loose threads, lifeless, stranded, and without purpose.
Lovingly, I refer to my brother Paul, as a Prayer Warrior. Being the eldest, so much responsibility has rested on his shoulders. He brings warmth, peace, and comfort to both my Mom and Dad. He helps my Dad with "technical" stuff, and sits next to Mama, to pray with her. Meanwhile, my amazing Sister-in-Law, Stephanie, cleans whatever needs to be shined up. And I'm not just talking, a once-over. In true Foxy-fashion, she will clean like no other. Having lost both of her own parents, she truly understands, and empathizes with my brother's needs on this journey.
Matthew, the second eldest, has his own gentle way of loving my folks. If you have ever read the book called The Five Love Languages, it is clear to see that Matt's primary Love Language, is that of giving gifts. There isn't a week that goes by, when Matt doesn't send my folks something via mail. Whether it is pears from Harry and David (one of Foxy's favorites), or a DVD on visiting Italy, because that's the only way Mom will be able to get to Europe now. Matt thinks of the little details, that most of us forget. Like filling Mom and Dad's stockings for Christmas. And although my Sister-in-Law, Samantha, is busy being a full time Mom, wife, and professor, she always makes time to call "C", as she lovingly refers to my Mom. She is calm, thoughtful, and organized, taking time out of her schedule to visit my folks, knowing a stack of papers to be graded, awaits her.
And then there's my Dad. After being married for 51 years, he attentively hovers around Mom, asking always, "How you doing, kid? You need anything? What can I get you?" If Mom is craving an apple fritter, Dad's in the car to go buy it for her. If Mom has to go potty, Dad is there, helping her into her wheelchair. Mind you, my Dad has one leg. So, if Mom has a nightmare, Dad grabs his walker in the dark, and makes his way to my Mom. My folks are by far, the most prominent example in my life, of unconditional love, that I have ever witnessed.
And then there's my Mom. Who wears a Cloak of Grace. Who's presence makes the Holy Spirit tangible, to anyone who comes near her.
"I'm so glad we have had this time together," she told me, last night, "I think we needed it,"
And again, the tears started to gather from the pit inside of me, that comes from missing her terribly, although she is still here.
"I know that I wasn't the best Mom, I know there are things I could have done better," she trailed off.
I just looked at her and said, "Mom, we do the best we can with where we're at. Look at my brothers and I. We are a reflection of the love that you and Dad have for us. We are a reflection of the love that you and Dad have for each other."
She looked down at me, starting to get glassy,
"Don't worry," I said, "Out of our five, I'm convinced at least one will end up in jail. So you have done a tremendous job with us."
"Oh Michelle! Don't SAY that!" suddenly, finding strength to yell at me.
We rented a hospital bed for Foxy for Christmas, but making that bed was the easy part. Although I had Abby and Emma help me, it took about an hour, because we wanted it "just right" for Nana.
My Mom is the one who had to "rally" to make that two hour road trip from Santa Rosa to San Jose.
My Mom, who is dying from Cancer. My Mom, who wanted the Francois family, to participate in the "Adopt A Family" organization, so we could help make someone else's Christmas more memorable. My Mom, who chose that Adopt A Family, herself, and specifically chose a family with an 8 year old who had Cancer. My Mom, who complains about nothing...not the pain that seizes her, not the meds she swallows on a regular basis, not the left leg that is now crippled by the disease.
My Mom had to rally for that trip.
Best. Gift. Ever.
I sat, legs folded underneath me on the floor, next to my Mama, contemplating what this meant to her.
"Bother" in Foxy terms, means:
"I am sorry this is taking so long."
"I am such a burden."
"I am taking you and the boys away from your families."
"I can't even do anything to help you."
And all I could think of was this: nothing could be further from the truth.
If you know anything about my Mama, it is this: Foxy wants to be a bother to no one. In fact, when my Mom was first diagnosed with Cancer, she was hell-bent, on being in "a Home" in the end. This would ensure in her mind, that she wouldn't be a "bother" to anyone.
And while my Dad, my brothers, and I, gently coerced her, that taking care of her throughout this process, and especially in the end, would be a blessing, a pleasure for us to do so, she insisted that she didn't want that. She would rather have a Health Aide bathe, dress her, and change her sheets.
Of course, no one could have predicted the amazing Cloak of Grace that my Mom dons, that has changed all of that.
As I think about how the last two years have played out, I realize exactly how lucky and blessed, I truly am. I view my brothers, their spouses, my nieces and nephews, my husband and my girls, but especially my Mom and Dad, in a completely different way.
While we each have different gifts, the tapestry of how we are connected, binds us to each other. And without that connection, we would each just be loose threads, lifeless, stranded, and without purpose.
Lovingly, I refer to my brother Paul, as a Prayer Warrior. Being the eldest, so much responsibility has rested on his shoulders. He brings warmth, peace, and comfort to both my Mom and Dad. He helps my Dad with "technical" stuff, and sits next to Mama, to pray with her. Meanwhile, my amazing Sister-in-Law, Stephanie, cleans whatever needs to be shined up. And I'm not just talking, a once-over. In true Foxy-fashion, she will clean like no other. Having lost both of her own parents, she truly understands, and empathizes with my brother's needs on this journey.
Matthew, the second eldest, has his own gentle way of loving my folks. If you have ever read the book called The Five Love Languages, it is clear to see that Matt's primary Love Language, is that of giving gifts. There isn't a week that goes by, when Matt doesn't send my folks something via mail. Whether it is pears from Harry and David (one of Foxy's favorites), or a DVD on visiting Italy, because that's the only way Mom will be able to get to Europe now. Matt thinks of the little details, that most of us forget. Like filling Mom and Dad's stockings for Christmas. And although my Sister-in-Law, Samantha, is busy being a full time Mom, wife, and professor, she always makes time to call "C", as she lovingly refers to my Mom. She is calm, thoughtful, and organized, taking time out of her schedule to visit my folks, knowing a stack of papers to be graded, awaits her.
And then there's my Dad. After being married for 51 years, he attentively hovers around Mom, asking always, "How you doing, kid? You need anything? What can I get you?" If Mom is craving an apple fritter, Dad's in the car to go buy it for her. If Mom has to go potty, Dad is there, helping her into her wheelchair. Mind you, my Dad has one leg. So, if Mom has a nightmare, Dad grabs his walker in the dark, and makes his way to my Mom. My folks are by far, the most prominent example in my life, of unconditional love, that I have ever witnessed.
And then there's my Mom. Who wears a Cloak of Grace. Who's presence makes the Holy Spirit tangible, to anyone who comes near her.
"I'm so glad we have had this time together," she told me, last night, "I think we needed it,"
And again, the tears started to gather from the pit inside of me, that comes from missing her terribly, although she is still here.
"I know that I wasn't the best Mom, I know there are things I could have done better," she trailed off.
I just looked at her and said, "Mom, we do the best we can with where we're at. Look at my brothers and I. We are a reflection of the love that you and Dad have for us. We are a reflection of the love that you and Dad have for each other."
She looked down at me, starting to get glassy,
"Don't worry," I said, "Out of our five, I'm convinced at least one will end up in jail. So you have done a tremendous job with us."
"Oh Michelle! Don't SAY that!" suddenly, finding strength to yell at me.
We rented a hospital bed for Foxy for Christmas, but making that bed was the easy part. Although I had Abby and Emma help me, it took about an hour, because we wanted it "just right" for Nana.
My Mom is the one who had to "rally" to make that two hour road trip from Santa Rosa to San Jose.
My Mom, who is dying from Cancer. My Mom, who wanted the Francois family, to participate in the "Adopt A Family" organization, so we could help make someone else's Christmas more memorable. My Mom, who chose that Adopt A Family, herself, and specifically chose a family with an 8 year old who had Cancer. My Mom, who complains about nothing...not the pain that seizes her, not the meds she swallows on a regular basis, not the left leg that is now crippled by the disease.
My Mom had to rally for that trip.
Best. Gift. Ever.
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