In the past month, there has been a video making rounds online of mothers rating their parenting and then showing how their children feel they are doing. It can be viewed through this link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dVRCnvDbSg
I don't know that there is any other job that quite brings out insecurity and self doubt quite as much as the role of parent and specifically in my case, mom. As a high school and college kid, I never really thought about becoming a mother. I enjoyed going out with friends and spending time with my nephews and niece (only one at that time). Once I had become a bit more grounded and friends starting having children, being a mother had become more appealing to me. Losing a baby only intensified my desire.
Fast forward 14 years and I have two charismatic and energetic (alright, ridiculously spazmatic) boys. For those who have children, it holds true that parenting is the most demanding and rewarding job to endeavor. Like so many areas of my life, I am also my own harshest parenting critic. Not only do I curse myself after struggling to button my jeans, but I am sometimes convinced that I am molding future serial criminals, drop outs and general menaces to society.
Certainly my boys' posters will don the post office wall because I didn't feed them all organic food. I have already chosen my outfit for the Dr. Phil Show when my boys are pointing their fingers at me saying, "It's your fault I still live in the basement!" and "If only you had made us play football/basketball/baseball/soccer/tennis/golf we would be happy." Honestly, I don't know how parents do it. I can barely peel myself off the couch after getting home from working all day, let alone make sure everyone is geared up and at the right court, field or rink.
In addition to being a tough self critic, there are plenty of people willing to chime in just what a disastrous job they think you are doing. "Well meaning" in-laws, friends, family and strangers in the grocery store who at age 22 will certainly never allow their future progeny to behave in such a deplorable manner in public. Ah, ignorance is bliss. I too was never going to allow my children to throw tantrums or God forbid, drag a pitiful toddler on a "leash." Remind me of my smugness again when I recall having Xander on a harness after nearly losing him at Portland International Airport. At two, his legs may have been short but I'm pretty sure he could have given Usain Bolt a challenge.
What brought on this little stroll down memory lane was a conversation I recently had with Xander's grandparents in Oregon. After Xander had said his goodbyes and gotten off the phone, I started a long overdue chat with Connie. More than once Connie and Will have been gracious in telling me they think I am a good mother. My boys are great at expressing to me how much they love me, to the point of Sammy telling my friend, Kelli, "My mom is awesome. She does everything!" However, there is something to be said about having another adult acknowledge a job well done.
This most recent conversation was not just marked with a pat on a the back but with both Will and Connie telling me that Xander is a well spoken and polite young man and that credit was due me for seeing that he behaves in such a way. I believe Will and Connie are the most generous people I have to come be blessed with in my life, so to receive such a heartfelt and gracious compliment was humbling.
Now when I am in the store and I hear a child screaming and carrying on, I sometimes will approach the parent and will first give them a sympathetic look followed by an encouraging, "We've all been there." Our paths often span in different directions, but will cross at points as well. Rather than steaming full force ahead with head downward on the path, perhaps provide guidance so it might be a little less bumpy.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Friday, October 4, 2013
Live a life of gratitude
It is a lovely fall Friday morning and I am taking my first paid day off in many years. I almost feel scandalous sitting in the coffee shop while I sip my latte and enjoy the banter of the other patrons. For the first time in a long time, my agenda includes accomplishing things for myself. And while not glamorous, I look forward to listerning to my favorite music while washing dishes, mopping and vacuuming. With my Sammy, it is much needed.
Nothing will come close to my anticipation of this evening and spending time with a wonderful friend. I have been looking forward to enjoying a meal and a movie with someone who always makes me smile and laugh until my ribs ache. With all of the upheaval I have experienced in my life the last 15 years, I have come to truly understand the importance of friendship.
Surviving a turbulent marriage, my dad's broken neck, my mom's meningitis and just the everyday ups and downs of life as a single mom has affirmed my love for my friends. One of my most heart wrenching moments was turned around by the kindness and generosity of my friend, Kelli.
Mom had awakened from her coma and didn't recognize me. I was so happy she was awake but when she asked who I was, my heart ached because I had my mom yet I didn't. I was racked with sobs on the drive home from Grand Rapids. My mom didn't know who I was and I was returning to an empty house. It was that night that I was supposed to be reunited with a man I deeply loved. He again was not making the trip north for one reason or another, all I knew is that I was again being let down.
I messaged Kelli and despite having worked a long Friday, she made the time to meet me for a drink. As always, she hugged me, expressed her sympathy and tipped a few back. She is the truest kind of friend and I've been convinced more than once that she is an angel in disguise. It was at that very painful moment that I realized that I was never without love. I had spent so much time and energy longing for the love I wanted, that I failed to recognize that I always had the love I needed.
I still long for that lifetime love, that man who holds my hand until my last breath but I can always be assured that I am loved and I have much to give. Social media has been a bombardment of negativity with the government shut down and just people who have a bleak outlook on life. I started to succumb to the mentality of "misery loves company" but I made a conscious decision to reflect back on those moments in my life where I was reminded that life is bigger than double talking politicians and others who generally fail to embrace life for the blessing it is.
Get out, lift your face to the sun and allow its warmth to soak into skin and form a smile on your face. Take a moment to share that smile and a kind word with a stranger, not only will it lift their spirits but yours as well.
Nothing will come close to my anticipation of this evening and spending time with a wonderful friend. I have been looking forward to enjoying a meal and a movie with someone who always makes me smile and laugh until my ribs ache. With all of the upheaval I have experienced in my life the last 15 years, I have come to truly understand the importance of friendship.
Surviving a turbulent marriage, my dad's broken neck, my mom's meningitis and just the everyday ups and downs of life as a single mom has affirmed my love for my friends. One of my most heart wrenching moments was turned around by the kindness and generosity of my friend, Kelli.
Mom had awakened from her coma and didn't recognize me. I was so happy she was awake but when she asked who I was, my heart ached because I had my mom yet I didn't. I was racked with sobs on the drive home from Grand Rapids. My mom didn't know who I was and I was returning to an empty house. It was that night that I was supposed to be reunited with a man I deeply loved. He again was not making the trip north for one reason or another, all I knew is that I was again being let down.
I messaged Kelli and despite having worked a long Friday, she made the time to meet me for a drink. As always, she hugged me, expressed her sympathy and tipped a few back. She is the truest kind of friend and I've been convinced more than once that she is an angel in disguise. It was at that very painful moment that I realized that I was never without love. I had spent so much time and energy longing for the love I wanted, that I failed to recognize that I always had the love I needed.
I still long for that lifetime love, that man who holds my hand until my last breath but I can always be assured that I am loved and I have much to give. Social media has been a bombardment of negativity with the government shut down and just people who have a bleak outlook on life. I started to succumb to the mentality of "misery loves company" but I made a conscious decision to reflect back on those moments in my life where I was reminded that life is bigger than double talking politicians and others who generally fail to embrace life for the blessing it is.
Get out, lift your face to the sun and allow its warmth to soak into skin and form a smile on your face. Take a moment to share that smile and a kind word with a stranger, not only will it lift their spirits but yours as well.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Stacie means strength
As a writer, I cannot contain my words in my head for long. There have been times when the flow of words streamed through my head when I was incredibly tired following a long day and rather than get up and plot them out, I assured myself I would remember and write first thing in the morning. Anyone who writes will agree that while the idea may still be there, the words simply to not come to mind in the same eloquent sequence. That is why I am sitting here on a Friday morning and typing out the thoughts and feelings that I just can't shake.
The words "strong" and "strength" have been coming up in conversation with me frequently in the last few weeks. I struggle with accepting compliments. I am not a shy person nor someone who refrains from expressing my thoughts but accepting a compliment is borderline painful for me.
I have not had a functioning car for a month and while in the grand scheme of things, it is a minor inconvenience. I had arranged a ride for Sammy to school this week with my mom on Tuesday and Friday because I arrive at work at 7 a.m. The issue arises due to the fact that my mom is totally deaf. She is unable to hear an alarm clock or a phone, so how am I supposed to be certain she is awake and on her way to picking up Sammy for school? I can't.
Mom didn't wake up on time and I only know because Sammy's school called to check on him as he hadn't arrived to school on time. I called Sammy and he answered the phone with sobs that immediately pierced my heart. What kind of mother am I that I cannot even get my son to school on time? It took me back to the time I was overlooked when my family left for vacation up north. I was 13 and sitting on my piano teacher's front porch, hiding my tear streaked face in my hands. How could I be forgotten? I felt like I didn't matter to anyone. I heard that same heart ache and sadness in my baby's voice this morning.
How does all of this evolve into my difficulty in accepting a compliment? Well five years ago I took a class through church about the meaning of Biblical names. The very first class involved looking up the meaning of our own names. Stacie is derived from Anastasia which means "of the resurrection." In addition, we looked up the Biblical meaning and verse tied to our names. My verse is Isaiah 40:31, "But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on the wings of eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not be faint." The meaning of my name is "strength."
In the previous two years, I have heard from friends and loved ones how they admire my strength. I have also had people in my yoga classes remark how they are amazed at my strength in going into and holding poses. Hearing my son's sobs rendered me weak and heartbroken. I felt useless, I felt as though I had failed him. As a mother, I promised that I would do everything within my power to assure my sons that they are loved unconditionally and deeply and that they would never question my love for them. In that moment, I felt like I broke that promise.
I text messaged my dear friend how much my heart ached and in his typical yet amazing fashion, he told me that I had no reason to suffer guilt, that I had not let my son down and that my love for the boys is undeniably apparent. Though his words conjured a well of tears, I was immediately soothed. with perfect timing, I read a quote, "There was so much more to her than met the eye. She had the strength of a hundred people, and the heart of a thousand."
I will accept that compliment. I am strong, I have overcome some huge hurdles and I will continue to forge ahead.
The words "strong" and "strength" have been coming up in conversation with me frequently in the last few weeks. I struggle with accepting compliments. I am not a shy person nor someone who refrains from expressing my thoughts but accepting a compliment is borderline painful for me.
I have not had a functioning car for a month and while in the grand scheme of things, it is a minor inconvenience. I had arranged a ride for Sammy to school this week with my mom on Tuesday and Friday because I arrive at work at 7 a.m. The issue arises due to the fact that my mom is totally deaf. She is unable to hear an alarm clock or a phone, so how am I supposed to be certain she is awake and on her way to picking up Sammy for school? I can't.
Mom didn't wake up on time and I only know because Sammy's school called to check on him as he hadn't arrived to school on time. I called Sammy and he answered the phone with sobs that immediately pierced my heart. What kind of mother am I that I cannot even get my son to school on time? It took me back to the time I was overlooked when my family left for vacation up north. I was 13 and sitting on my piano teacher's front porch, hiding my tear streaked face in my hands. How could I be forgotten? I felt like I didn't matter to anyone. I heard that same heart ache and sadness in my baby's voice this morning.
How does all of this evolve into my difficulty in accepting a compliment? Well five years ago I took a class through church about the meaning of Biblical names. The very first class involved looking up the meaning of our own names. Stacie is derived from Anastasia which means "of the resurrection." In addition, we looked up the Biblical meaning and verse tied to our names. My verse is Isaiah 40:31, "But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on the wings of eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not be faint." The meaning of my name is "strength."
In the previous two years, I have heard from friends and loved ones how they admire my strength. I have also had people in my yoga classes remark how they are amazed at my strength in going into and holding poses. Hearing my son's sobs rendered me weak and heartbroken. I felt useless, I felt as though I had failed him. As a mother, I promised that I would do everything within my power to assure my sons that they are loved unconditionally and deeply and that they would never question my love for them. In that moment, I felt like I broke that promise.
I text messaged my dear friend how much my heart ached and in his typical yet amazing fashion, he told me that I had no reason to suffer guilt, that I had not let my son down and that my love for the boys is undeniably apparent. Though his words conjured a well of tears, I was immediately soothed. with perfect timing, I read a quote, "There was so much more to her than met the eye. She had the strength of a hundred people, and the heart of a thousand."
I will accept that compliment. I am strong, I have overcome some huge hurdles and I will continue to forge ahead.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Just a little longer
Yesterday could have been any Sunday in any year of any month, but it seemed unique in some way. I awoke with a familiar pang of loneliness that often marks the end of a weekend but this Sunday was laden with a sense of beautiful remorse. I didn't need to look at the calendar to know that this was a Sunday in late summer. I could smell it in the air and hear it in the symphony of crickets in the evening.
Late August always brings an ending and a beginning. Summer is drawing to a close and the school year is creeping ever so near. I love the long nights of summer and the early sun beams that awaken me. I inhale deeply the heavy perfume of nature and revel in the twinkle of lightning bugs. Late August though signals the end of carefree days but brings with it the succulence of ripe fruits and vegetables.
If only this particular part of summer could last just a bit longer. Maybe just a few more weeks of heat lightning in the distance, the buzz of cicadas, the scent of pregnant earth and the laughter of my boys echoing in twilight. Rainbowed sunsets creating a backdrop for an endless childhood of melted ice cream and rowdy games of tag.
With a need to stretch the final week of summer, I headed to the farmer's market and took in the fresh produce with all my senses. The tomatoes were plump and bright, the peppers were shiny green and the blush of the nectarines was irresistible. I grabbed several bags and loaded them with sweet corn, tomatoes, raspberries and nectarines. I could taste the burst of fresh raspberries, drizzled over vanilla ice cream.
Ice cream, what a perfect end of summer dessert with my boys. I headed to their dad's house immediately because I couldn't wait any longer to see them. They had stayed with their grandparents' and then dad's house and I missed the familiar cacophony of stomping footsteps, shouts of derision or glee dependent on the outcome of a video game, I even missed the occasional sibling rivalry. I knew they missed me as well, I had the hugs and "I love yous" as proof.
I didn't wash the dishes, nor the piles of dirty laundry but I did listen to Sammy tell me how he had enjoyed a banquet of French toast, waffles and pancakes at his grandparents'. I also watched while the boys modeled their new shoes for the coming school year.
Slow down, take a deep breath, inhale all that is sweet and good and live each day for the abundant blessing it is.
Late August always brings an ending and a beginning. Summer is drawing to a close and the school year is creeping ever so near. I love the long nights of summer and the early sun beams that awaken me. I inhale deeply the heavy perfume of nature and revel in the twinkle of lightning bugs. Late August though signals the end of carefree days but brings with it the succulence of ripe fruits and vegetables.
If only this particular part of summer could last just a bit longer. Maybe just a few more weeks of heat lightning in the distance, the buzz of cicadas, the scent of pregnant earth and the laughter of my boys echoing in twilight. Rainbowed sunsets creating a backdrop for an endless childhood of melted ice cream and rowdy games of tag.
With a need to stretch the final week of summer, I headed to the farmer's market and took in the fresh produce with all my senses. The tomatoes were plump and bright, the peppers were shiny green and the blush of the nectarines was irresistible. I grabbed several bags and loaded them with sweet corn, tomatoes, raspberries and nectarines. I could taste the burst of fresh raspberries, drizzled over vanilla ice cream.
Ice cream, what a perfect end of summer dessert with my boys. I headed to their dad's house immediately because I couldn't wait any longer to see them. They had stayed with their grandparents' and then dad's house and I missed the familiar cacophony of stomping footsteps, shouts of derision or glee dependent on the outcome of a video game, I even missed the occasional sibling rivalry. I knew they missed me as well, I had the hugs and "I love yous" as proof.
I didn't wash the dishes, nor the piles of dirty laundry but I did listen to Sammy tell me how he had enjoyed a banquet of French toast, waffles and pancakes at his grandparents'. I also watched while the boys modeled their new shoes for the coming school year.
Slow down, take a deep breath, inhale all that is sweet and good and live each day for the abundant blessing it is.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Beauty Outweighs Ugly
Yesterday was my dad's 82nd birthday but it also marked the 10th anniversary of changing life for Xander and I forever.
I faced April 2, 2003 with mixed emotions and monumental decisions that would affect the lives of many people. My amazing sister friend, Genelle drove us to the Amtrak station in Portland to embark on the next portion of my journey. I was met there with a heavy-hearted Will and Connie. They were there to see their only grandchild off, never knowing when they would see him again. I had come to hold them in my heart as surrogate parents, people who loved me unconditionally, people who adored their grandchild and only wanted to see him happy and successful.
Bag slung over my shoulder, my 3-year-old on my hip and a suitcase lay at my feet while I contemplated separating a child from his father. For me the decision was perfectly clear, but deciding for Xander was muddier. I was profoundly naive to the demons haunting Xander's father and was only able to react to the effects of his addiction-unreliable, angry and self-destructive. I had once promised Gene I would never be the wedge between he and Xander but that was before his downward spiral into drug use.
I long ago decided that I could no longer be an active part of Gene's life. After the vicious name calling, the shoves, the yelling, the threats of seeing my demise and removing the one ray of light from my life, I knew I could never subject myself to that pain anymore. I didn't want my son to grow up thinking what he observed was a healthy relationship or the roles of men and women in life. A final visit by police made the decision for me. I ordered my train tickets and made the heart wrenching call to Will and Connie that Xander and I would be heading east on April 2. It was my dad's birthday and one for me as well.
There was a thunderstorm that day and it was only the second I could recall occurring in the four years I had lived in Oregon. It seemed almost cliche but cathartic all at once. Connie handed me an envelope and ask that I not open it until we had left the station. Will escorted Xander and I on the train and loaded my suitcase. Four years and only a suitcase of belongings, but more importantly I had my ray of light through the storm.
The train lurched forward and my phone buzzed with a text message from Genelle. Her words are seared in my brain even 10 years later, "Breathe deep my friend, you're free." Reading that and having the realization sink in transformed into a guttural sob long dammed by fear and anger. I wiped my eyes and opened the envelope I had been clutching to my heart. I immediately recognized the script, it was Connie's sadness and hope in blue ink and the generosity I had always been shown. Grammy Connie and Papa Will were deeply saddened by our departure but more than anything they wanted to see Xander and I happy and thriving. I dissolved again into pools of tears.
I have no idea if the other passengers were paying me any mind and I didn't care. I was finally breaking free from the fear and hurt that had long weighed me down into a shell of a woman. Dreams were starting to form. I knew life was going to be difficult, but I had unshackled myself from an empty and painful life.
Ten years later and I can say that life is good. Perfect? Certainly not, but I love my job, my boys are happy and healthy and I have made and nurtured amazing friendships. It is my hope that life will continue to be a blessing that I don't take for granted. I have long ago forgiven Gene of his actions and I am so happy that his life is moving in such a positive and forward direction. He is marrying a strong woman and has three beautiful daughters. I'm in a good place and I hope to someday share life's memories with someone.
Take stock of life and realize just how much beauty outweighs the ugly.
I faced April 2, 2003 with mixed emotions and monumental decisions that would affect the lives of many people. My amazing sister friend, Genelle drove us to the Amtrak station in Portland to embark on the next portion of my journey. I was met there with a heavy-hearted Will and Connie. They were there to see their only grandchild off, never knowing when they would see him again. I had come to hold them in my heart as surrogate parents, people who loved me unconditionally, people who adored their grandchild and only wanted to see him happy and successful.
Bag slung over my shoulder, my 3-year-old on my hip and a suitcase lay at my feet while I contemplated separating a child from his father. For me the decision was perfectly clear, but deciding for Xander was muddier. I was profoundly naive to the demons haunting Xander's father and was only able to react to the effects of his addiction-unreliable, angry and self-destructive. I had once promised Gene I would never be the wedge between he and Xander but that was before his downward spiral into drug use.
I long ago decided that I could no longer be an active part of Gene's life. After the vicious name calling, the shoves, the yelling, the threats of seeing my demise and removing the one ray of light from my life, I knew I could never subject myself to that pain anymore. I didn't want my son to grow up thinking what he observed was a healthy relationship or the roles of men and women in life. A final visit by police made the decision for me. I ordered my train tickets and made the heart wrenching call to Will and Connie that Xander and I would be heading east on April 2. It was my dad's birthday and one for me as well.
There was a thunderstorm that day and it was only the second I could recall occurring in the four years I had lived in Oregon. It seemed almost cliche but cathartic all at once. Connie handed me an envelope and ask that I not open it until we had left the station. Will escorted Xander and I on the train and loaded my suitcase. Four years and only a suitcase of belongings, but more importantly I had my ray of light through the storm.
The train lurched forward and my phone buzzed with a text message from Genelle. Her words are seared in my brain even 10 years later, "Breathe deep my friend, you're free." Reading that and having the realization sink in transformed into a guttural sob long dammed by fear and anger. I wiped my eyes and opened the envelope I had been clutching to my heart. I immediately recognized the script, it was Connie's sadness and hope in blue ink and the generosity I had always been shown. Grammy Connie and Papa Will were deeply saddened by our departure but more than anything they wanted to see Xander and I happy and thriving. I dissolved again into pools of tears.
I have no idea if the other passengers were paying me any mind and I didn't care. I was finally breaking free from the fear and hurt that had long weighed me down into a shell of a woman. Dreams were starting to form. I knew life was going to be difficult, but I had unshackled myself from an empty and painful life.
Ten years later and I can say that life is good. Perfect? Certainly not, but I love my job, my boys are happy and healthy and I have made and nurtured amazing friendships. It is my hope that life will continue to be a blessing that I don't take for granted. I have long ago forgiven Gene of his actions and I am so happy that his life is moving in such a positive and forward direction. He is marrying a strong woman and has three beautiful daughters. I'm in a good place and I hope to someday share life's memories with someone.
Take stock of life and realize just how much beauty outweighs the ugly.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Ho Hum....
It's Saturday and I did not go to yoga. I just didn't have it in me to roll out of bed at 6:30. The snow overnight was certainly a factor as was the snuggly comforter. It's now a matter of knocking down the "to-do" list and feeling accomplished before heading out to a party.
My yoga instructor continually tells us that there is no perfect pose other than corpse pose where the level of clear headedness and relaxation allows the mind and body to drift off to sleep. I struggle with the art of relaxation. I have always remarked that it was a wise decision to never pick up smoking, not only because I have asthma but due to my inability to simply sit and chill.
While others can sink into a plush sofa, remote in hand and not analyze every detail of the day, I sit at my laptop and plunk it out in type. It is why I am here at this moment on a snowy March afternoon. I am trying to gather my thoughts, make sense of them and make the most of my weekend.
I recently received a promotion and with that comes additional responsibility. I am still working through what the future will hold with my children and the life I provide them. Of course, my mind and heart are always with Mom and what quality of life she will have when she is released from rehabilitation.
In the meantime, I compile my list and scratch things off as I get them completed. I will go see Mom, I will clean my apartment, I will go grocery shopping and I will go to my friend's house and share a laugh and a drink or two. My life is like anyone with a series of hills and valleys, but I do know I am blessed and that is what finally allows the gears to stop grinding at night when my head hits the pillow.
My yoga instructor continually tells us that there is no perfect pose other than corpse pose where the level of clear headedness and relaxation allows the mind and body to drift off to sleep. I struggle with the art of relaxation. I have always remarked that it was a wise decision to never pick up smoking, not only because I have asthma but due to my inability to simply sit and chill.
While others can sink into a plush sofa, remote in hand and not analyze every detail of the day, I sit at my laptop and plunk it out in type. It is why I am here at this moment on a snowy March afternoon. I am trying to gather my thoughts, make sense of them and make the most of my weekend.
I recently received a promotion and with that comes additional responsibility. I am still working through what the future will hold with my children and the life I provide them. Of course, my mind and heart are always with Mom and what quality of life she will have when she is released from rehabilitation.
In the meantime, I compile my list and scratch things off as I get them completed. I will go see Mom, I will clean my apartment, I will go grocery shopping and I will go to my friend's house and share a laugh and a drink or two. My life is like anyone with a series of hills and valleys, but I do know I am blessed and that is what finally allows the gears to stop grinding at night when my head hits the pillow.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Boy, do I miss running
Boy, do I miss running....
I miss lacing up, heading out and taking in the surroundings with all my senses. I miss feeling the strength in my legs to carry me miles away from trouble and loneliness. I miss the completeness in my soul after carving out time for just me and my thoughts.
My life is constantly changing and never boring and maybe that is what I miss the most about running; the consistency and knowing it was there waiting for me. There are times when I beat myself up and tell myself that I am not a real runner because I lack the dedication that others do. I am not waking at 4 a.m. so I can hammer out a few miles before heading into work. I was logging 20+ mile weeks in the spring and I have managed to only eke out 3 miles here and 3 miles there as of late.
It isn't only my body that misses running, but my soul. I ache when I see others on the trail or going through old photos I snapped with my phone while pounding the pavement. My mind, body and soul are grieving over the loss of running. However this is a love that can be rekindled. I intend to woo my feet with a new pair of shoes and caress my body with new clothes.
Even if I am not married to running, I certainly intend to win back that love. It will be a love affair to end all others.
I miss lacing up, heading out and taking in the surroundings with all my senses. I miss feeling the strength in my legs to carry me miles away from trouble and loneliness. I miss the completeness in my soul after carving out time for just me and my thoughts.
My life is constantly changing and never boring and maybe that is what I miss the most about running; the consistency and knowing it was there waiting for me. There are times when I beat myself up and tell myself that I am not a real runner because I lack the dedication that others do. I am not waking at 4 a.m. so I can hammer out a few miles before heading into work. I was logging 20+ mile weeks in the spring and I have managed to only eke out 3 miles here and 3 miles there as of late.
It isn't only my body that misses running, but my soul. I ache when I see others on the trail or going through old photos I snapped with my phone while pounding the pavement. My mind, body and soul are grieving over the loss of running. However this is a love that can be rekindled. I intend to woo my feet with a new pair of shoes and caress my body with new clothes.
Even if I am not married to running, I certainly intend to win back that love. It will be a love affair to end all others.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Friday Night in the ICU
Friday, January 4, 2013 and I am in the family waiting area of Blodgett Hospital. Like many, I anticipated the coming new year with the hope that I would accomplish goals and overcome some of the obstacles I had faced the previous year. Who knew that New Year's Day would usher in the worst day of my life to date.
I called my mom on Sunday, December 30 to see how she was feeling because she had been saddled with a bothersome cough since the 14th. Christmas Eve she had complained of being nauseous and although my mom has never enjoyed shopping, I was surprised to learn that my sister had to do her Christmas shopping. That Sunday Mom was on her way to the casino and assured me she was fine and we talked about how tired I had been lately and that my bloodwork indicated that I again needed an increase in my medication.
I had no idea on New Year's Eve when the boys and I were watching a "Jaws" marathon and sending countelss text messages, that my mom was surging toward disaster. I awoke the morning of January 1 with the determination to take better control of my health and getting the house in order. I watched a movie while sipping coffee and finally made the move off the couch to shower and grab lunch. It was soon after I got out of the shower that my phone rang. It was Mom and Dad's house but I let it ring until I was ready to answer. I thought it was Mom asking what the boys and I were doing for the day and I would call in a matter of minutes.
I did return the call in a couple of minutes to Lisa answering breathlessly to tell me that she thought Mom had had a stroke. I know I screamed in the phone. The kids ran out of their rooms to see why I was in hysterics. Mom? She had to be mistaken. Mom is the healthy one. Mom is the one who always powers through illness. Mom is the one who has been exposed to chicken pox countless times and has never been afflicted. Dad is the one who has repeatedly been rushed to the ER. Dad is the one who couldn't make the 3000 mile trip to San Diego to see Jonny get married. Not Mom.
So here I am on a Friday night at the hospital with my mom unresponsive. She has bacterial meningitis and we pray everyday that there will be a sign of imporovement. My boys adore their grandma and I have become closer to Mom in the last few months. When I arrived Wednesday it was to hear my sister having to explain to me that the doctor was giving Mom less than 50 percent chance of surviving. I sobbed. I can't imagine losing Mom. I don't want to envision Mother's Day without her. I refuse to give up and think I will never feel her warm hug or hear her infectious laugh.
I continue to pray, I continue to hope and I will continue to have faith that Mom's strength courage and stubborness will see her through this.
I called my mom on Sunday, December 30 to see how she was feeling because she had been saddled with a bothersome cough since the 14th. Christmas Eve she had complained of being nauseous and although my mom has never enjoyed shopping, I was surprised to learn that my sister had to do her Christmas shopping. That Sunday Mom was on her way to the casino and assured me she was fine and we talked about how tired I had been lately and that my bloodwork indicated that I again needed an increase in my medication.
I had no idea on New Year's Eve when the boys and I were watching a "Jaws" marathon and sending countelss text messages, that my mom was surging toward disaster. I awoke the morning of January 1 with the determination to take better control of my health and getting the house in order. I watched a movie while sipping coffee and finally made the move off the couch to shower and grab lunch. It was soon after I got out of the shower that my phone rang. It was Mom and Dad's house but I let it ring until I was ready to answer. I thought it was Mom asking what the boys and I were doing for the day and I would call in a matter of minutes.
I did return the call in a couple of minutes to Lisa answering breathlessly to tell me that she thought Mom had had a stroke. I know I screamed in the phone. The kids ran out of their rooms to see why I was in hysterics. Mom? She had to be mistaken. Mom is the healthy one. Mom is the one who always powers through illness. Mom is the one who has been exposed to chicken pox countless times and has never been afflicted. Dad is the one who has repeatedly been rushed to the ER. Dad is the one who couldn't make the 3000 mile trip to San Diego to see Jonny get married. Not Mom.
So here I am on a Friday night at the hospital with my mom unresponsive. She has bacterial meningitis and we pray everyday that there will be a sign of imporovement. My boys adore their grandma and I have become closer to Mom in the last few months. When I arrived Wednesday it was to hear my sister having to explain to me that the doctor was giving Mom less than 50 percent chance of surviving. I sobbed. I can't imagine losing Mom. I don't want to envision Mother's Day without her. I refuse to give up and think I will never feel her warm hug or hear her infectious laugh.
I continue to pray, I continue to hope and I will continue to have faith that Mom's strength courage and stubborness will see her through this.
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