Tag: writer

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Sunset 

As I tip toe on the still hot pavement at the end of another scorching California day, I look to my left to see a familiar sight. The old woman that lives across the street is sitting comfortably on her porch, preparing to watch the sunset…just as she does every single night. I’ve grown so accustomed to seeing her at this time that I never actually stop to wonder how long she’s kept up this routine of hers; what she thinks about while she sits there; or how long it’s been since someone sat there and enjoyed it with her.

If you honestly think about it, how long has it been since you stopped and watched the sunset? Not just snapped a picture of it to post on social media…but actually took in the process of the sun dipping slowly, the colors of the sky changing and intensifying, the air beginning to cool, and the city magically quieting down? For me, it’s been months; since my last vacation. (Funny how it takes a change of location to help us appreciate the things that are already in front of us).

I’ll be the first to admit that my life is quite a bit busier than I’d like. This is due to both circumstance and habit. I’ve worked and taken care of people from such a young age that I struggle with the ability to relax. The majority of my time spent “relaxing” is me sleeping. I do believe, however, that there is something so powerfully therapeutic about that in between phase of our days and our lives; where we are no longer on the go, and yet not entirely shut down either. When we allow our minds to wander and pressures to subside.

As small children, we appreciate the simple things. Bright colors, new noises, familiar faces, a box to play in or keys to jingle. But as life progresses, we slowly lose sight of simplicity and contentment. In this society, we are constantly being enticed and pushed toward bigger/better. Not that I’m insinuating in any way that moving forward in life and having goals is wrong. Self fulfillment and healthy aspirations are vital aspects of life. However, it’s become very evident that for me personally and this generation as a whole, we need to train ourselves to come up for air more often. To become one with the world around us, outside of a screen. To redefine our idea of beauty and to appreciate the things around us that are not man made and can’t be bought.

In a way, I feel like that old woman is richer than most. She spends more quality time with the universe and her own quiet thoughts in a week than the majority of us do in months. At what point in time, in our lives, do we once again embrace the uncomplicated, transparent, “free” treasures in life? I suppose that is up to us.


(I took this from my roof last summer)

“Sunsets are proof that no matter what happens, ever day can end beautifully” ~ Kristen Butler

“Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing” ~ Camille Pissarro

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Note to My Dad

Last night I picked up your guitar for the first time in years. The acoustic one you used to play us. I dug it out of the back closet, dusted it off, and strummed the strings slowly. Maybe I thought if I did I could hear your singing voice more vividly in my head. I’m scared. Three years and I feel like I’m losing grasp of some of my memories of you. Yesterday I actually sat through the entire song I had picked out for your funeral without crying. Why does that make me feel a tinge of guilt? Time heals….healing is good right?

You’d be so proud of me; that I know with certainty. My boys, your Grandson’s, are growing up to be such sweet, respectable individuals. They would make you smile and laugh every day. I have a great career I know you’d love to hear about. You and Mom raised a strong, independent woman. And the man that has blessed my life, boy would you love him. He’s musically gifted like you and works well with his hands.

Life is good now, even though I wish I could show you.

When you were in the hospital bed, I held your hand and I sang to you. I think you heard me, because I saw a tear roll down your cheek. The song we sang growing up:

 

I remember daddy’s hands folded silently in prayer
And reachin’ out to hold me, when I had a nightmare
You could read quite a story in the callous’ and lines
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind

 

I remember daddy’s hands how they held my mama tight
And patted my back for something done right
There are things that I’d forgotten that I loved about the man
But I’ll always remember the love in daddy’s hands

 

Daddy’s hands were soft and kind when I was cryin’
Daddy’s hands were hard as steel when I’d done wrong
Daddy’s hands weren’t always gentle but I’ve come to understand
There was always love in daddy’s hands

 

I remember daddy’s hands workin’ ’til they bled
Sacrificed unselfishly just to keep us all fed
If I could do things over, I’d live my life again
And never take for granted the love in daddy’s hands

 

Daddy’s hands were soft and kind when I was cryin’
Daddy’s hands were hard as steel when I’d done wrong
Daddy’s hands weren’t always gentle but I’ve come to understand
There was always love in daddy’s hands

 

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I have plenty more to tell you. Until next time, Dad.

 

 

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Motherhood

The house is dark and still, and the boys are fast asleep. In true Mom fashion, I sneak into each of their rooms and plant the softest kiss on their heads and adjust their blankets. Motherhood is the most natural process that exists, and yet it stirs up the most complicated emotions imaginable. Never does a woman know worry, self-doubt, sacrifice, and pure love like she does when she becomes a Mother. I don’t believe there exists a perfect age or set of circumstances that can fully prepare one for the challenges and changes that come along with Motherhood. 

I think about my own Mother. At a fairly young age (having enough knowledge about the struggles related to her upbringing), I realized the tremendous emotional obstacles she had to have overcome to become a nurturing, loving Mother. The mold she had to break from her own childhood experiences. I’m not sure how she did it, but for her strength, I am grateful. My sister and I were her world; her priority in life, from the time we took our first breath through most of our formative years. We were always well fed and well dressed. She took in our friends as if they were her own; taught us how to cook; to love music and to dance our little hearts out. She helped us succeed in school, and tried hard to keep us entertained and out of trouble (sorry Mom). Her and I are a lot alike in some ways. We love people……too much. We give to others even beyond our means at times and are willing to sacrifice a great deal (even our own inner happiness) for those we love. I admire her ability to love past great faults. She is all of the soft aspects of my soul. 


I look at my boys sleeping peacefully; with their soft faces and their perfect button noses. It’s amazing really…to give life to these little people that reflect you, and yet they show you the world in their own unique way. My hope as their Mother is that they grow up knowing they are loved, valued, and irreplaceable. That they thirst for knowledge and adventure. I want them to truly embrace the world. Not to be complacent or ever allow the world to make them angry or cold. To love even those who act unlovable and to open their hearts, even at the risk of having them broken. I hope they view the world as their oyster and never be confined by how or where they were brought up. Even though I was still practically raising myself when I first became a Mother, I tried to create a carefree life for them. Sometimes I succeeded, other times I failed miserably. At the end of the day however, I want them to know that my heart beats for them. They will always be my greatest accomplishment; my reason to smile. I can fall asleep with a full heart. 


“Successful Mothers are not the ones that have never struggled. They are the ones that never give up, despite the struggles.” ~ Sharon Jaynes

“When my children remember their childhood, I want only for them to remember that their Mother gave it her all. She worried too much, she failed at times and she did not always get it right…but she tried her hardest to teach them about kindness, love, compassion, and honesty. Even if she had to learn it from her own mistakes, she loved them enough to keep going, even when things seemed hopeless, even when life knocked her down. I want them to remember me as the Woman who always got back up.” ~ Annonymous 

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Darkness

I remember the first non fiction book I read as an adult. It was about the expectations that we ourselves, as well as others around us, put upon Mothers. I was a young, stay at home, first time Mother at the time. Parts of the book made me laugh, others actually made me cry because I felt relief. It was then that I really, truly began to realize our need as humans to be understood and to feel as though we aren’t alone; in our thoughts and in our struggles. I felt the same, powerful resignation with the next “self-help” type book I read many years later about patience in life. Whether it’s a heart to heart talk with my sister or close friend, or words I’ve read; there’s something so therapeutic about truly identifying with others’ feelings and experiences. The greatest gift I’ve been given from my entrance into the “blogging world” thus far, has been my ability to emotionally connect with many of the things I’ve read from other writers. To sympathize with the phases they are at in their lives, the harsh realities they have faced, and the passing thoughts they share. 

As I mentioned in my first post, I try very hard to be an upbeat, glass half full type person. Usually, I succeed. But like any normal person, I experience emotional highs and lows; often depending on the circumstances of my life at that very moment. In an effort to keep consistently open and honest throughout this writing process, I’ve decided to share even the thoughts I’ve had that aren’t the most nourishing. Because those thoughts, in a way, may prove to be just as helpful to others as the positive ones are. 

After a long day of fighting a cold, shuffling children around, cleaning up after them, feeding them, and getting them to bed, I was feeling pretty spent. But I told myself to sit in bed and write; just whatever came to my mind the second the pencil hit the notebook. And here’s what came out:

I feel as though I am at a disadvantage. To grow the imagination, the originality within me. Although it would kill me not to. It would appear as though I’m stuck. My future has been written out for me. Maybe not the details, but the outline. What I can express, what I can create, is my way to escape; my ability to scream without making a sound. I was born a free bird; I was meant to fly far away and do great things. My mind wanders always. But our choices dictate the direction we’re headed, and I feel I’m on a one way road. This is my truth, my reality. I wonder how many others have felt they are prisoners at the mercy of their pasts? 

Much of these feelings of being confined and somewhat resentful at times, stem from my being a caregiver, a wife, and a mother too early in life. Then divorcing and having to hit rock bottom before I could climb my way back up. I’ve truly felt at times as though my life would have turned out much differently, possibly much more fulfilling, had I not made the choices I wasn’t mentally or emotionally equipped to make. I never had the time to focus only on myself and to pursue some of the things that were in my heart to do. But despite those very legitimate feelings of frustration and regret, here is what I concluded with:

“Only in the darkness can you see the stars” ~ MLK Jr.

We all have darkness of varying shades and depth. For me, that darkness tends to intensify when I am feeling weighed down by the encumbrance and accountability of being a single Mother. The life decisions I am often faced with that sit heavy on my mind many anxious nights. The ones I wish someone else would make for me. Implosion, however, is not an option. Nor will I be content with dutifully moving through life without passion, without intensity. If it takes years of flickering before the star that is my soul shines brighter than the rest, well then, let it flicker. 

The point of all of this being, sometimes we are mentally stronger than other times. Sometimes, even if just for a brief moment, we wallow in self pity. But there are always others who can relate in some capacity. Others who have hit the same walls, and yet come out on the other side. Even though life didn’t turn out the way we had hoped, it can still be beautiful and fulfilling. It’s ok to entertain negative thoughts for a moment, as long as we turn them around and realize that we have the ability to shine, even if it takes us a little longer than most. Life is a process, one we are all trying to figure out as we go. One that’s easier to figure out together. Maybe my life could have been easier in some ways, even more exciting. But there’s no telling if the darkness I’ve experienced and the frustrations I encountered early on in life, have actually made me a deeper, more well rounded, more inwardly beautiful person than I would have been if it had been smooth sailing. 

My mindset for the upcoming months:

“Don’t get stuck. Move, travel, take a class, take a risk. There is a season for wildness and a season for settledness, and this is neither. This season is about becoming. Don’t lose yourself at happy hour, but don’t lose yourself on the corporate ladder either. Stop every once in a while and go out to coffee or climb in bed with your journal. Now is your time. Walk closely with people you love. Don’t get stuck in the past, and don’t try to fast forward yourself into a future you haven’t yet earned. Give today all the love and intensity and courage you can, and keep traveling honestly along life’s path.” 

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Friendship

It’s only April, but it feels more like a balmy California summer night….the ones I grew up relishing. All four of our children are in the house playing, dare I say, peacefully. As I sit next to the fire pit in my best friends backyard, sipping some particularly fruity wine, the two of us singing along to the best of 90’s country music (yet another thing we have in common); I feel comfortable. Not just comfortable in the physical sense. Comfortable with the company whose presence I’m in; with where my life is at in this particular moment; and in the sense that I no longer fear the future, even though I have no idea what’s in store. Much of that comfort stems from this friendship.

I suppose it sounds a bit adolescent to refer to someone as your “best friend” when you’re this close to 30. But anything less just won’t suffice. Ever since that first Saturday morning we met for coffee almost 2 years ago, our lives have never stopped merging paths. Perhaps it’s because we were at the same complicated crossroad in our lives. Fresh off of divorce; trying to find the balance between being super (single) mom, and becoming our own person once again. I wouldn’t be able to paint you an accurate picture of my life without mentioning Amber. We are the friends that make no sense but perfect sense all in one. A random adventure, car karaoke, belly laugh, inside joke, human diary, closer than most family, once in a lifetime type of friendship.

In essence, this unexpected friendship has allowed us both to recapture some of those young, careless years we missed when we were thrown into a grown-up world far too soon. We have thrived off of the moments that let us briefly forget the decisions we have made, and those that were made for us that led us here. Two tired, young moms trying to be self-sufficient; trying to manage guilt of varying magnitudes; trying to rebuild our happily ever after. Whether we are picking up each other’s kids because we are in a bind; talking through another broken heart; walking along the streets of San Francisco at 4 AM to get pizza; admiring the fireworks from a beach in Hawaii on the Fourth of July; or freezing our butts off on a late night ferry from Seattle to catch the skyline view from the water……we have learned and we have proven that true friendship makes life worth living. It makes the hard times a little less hard and the good times, amazing.

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“Close Friends are truly life’s treasures. Sometimes they know us better than we know ourselves. With gentle honesty, they are there to guide and support us, to share our laughter and our tears. Their presence reminds us that we are never really alone.” ~ Vincent Van Gogh

For true friendship, I am eternally grateful. For the few people that come along in life exactly when we need them to, and they never leave our side. The ones that help heal our wounds and readjust our thoughts when we’re ready to throw the towel in on life. Here’s to old memories, and those yet to be made with the people that make our days a little brighter, our transitions a little smoother, and our hearts a little fuller.

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Grief

There are moments in life when something affects us so deeply, we almost forget how to breathe. The lump in our throat is too massive to swallow and the sinking in our heart drowns our ability to think past that very moment. That is how I felt on that Saturday afternoon, standing in a stale room of a ghostly hospital that reminded me more of a prison. There was no color there, nor warmth or hope of any kind. Walking through those hallways, I could almost see the tears and hear the cries of people who had suffered loss there in times past. The smell still haunts me to this day. In that room, I was surrounded by family and close friends. We all awaited the doctors prognosis, news we’d all been dreading to hear for the past 4 1/2 grueling weeks. We were told there was no hope for my father’s recovery. He would have to be moved to a long-term care facility, where he would not be able to speak or eat. Rather, he’d be held captive in his own body, being kept alive by a machine. Little did I know a month before that day that I would be in this moment, preparing my mind and heart to say goodbye far too soon.

It was 11:30 on a Monday night. I was sleeping at the time I got the call. The last peaceful sleep I would have for a while. The sound of the phone woke me, but not in time to answer. As I sat half asleep listening to the voicemail, I felt nervous and confused. My cousin, who lived across the street from my father at the time, was telling me there had been an accident at my fathers house, but everything was OK. I got dressed as quickly as possible and drove straight to the hospital, calling both of my sisters on the way. The wait in the ER felt like forever, and never have I been so happy to see my sister and hug her. At this point, we knew very little about my father’s condition, only that there had been a fire at the house and because of his pre-existing lung problems, he was taken to the hospital.

When I was finally allowed to see my father, the gravity of the situation hit me like a brick. The man I could call anytime I was sad or scared and find comfort in; the man whose arms I used to hang on as a little girl, thinking of how strong he was….was laying there surrounded by a web of tubes. Motionless and virtually helpless, he was at the mercy of his body. A body that we learned in the coming weeks was too tired to fight.

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The next five weeks can only be described as an emotional roller coaster. My sisters and I were faced with many tough decisions from day one. We asked a lot of questions and tried hard to make sure my father was as comfortable as someone could be who couldn’t eat, drink, move, or communicate. I researched every moment that I could, so I could ask the right questions and understand the process that was about to unfold. Unfortunately, no amount of questions or crossing of fingers could change the reality of the situation. Without getting too technical or detailed, weaning someone with compromised lungs from a ventilator is no easy feat. Every time his breathing assistance was decreased  to try and retrain his lungs to function on their own, his body would panic. His heart rate and blood pressure would skyrocket. In an effort to avoid a massive heart attack, his breathing assistance would again have to be increased. The process would then start over the next day. It seemed every time there was a spark of hope, it was extinguished by a flood of disappointment.

A pivotal moment in this journey was when our family decided that we needed to somehow explain the situation to my father and give him the choice (indicated by the nod or shake of his head) to continue fighting or not. Mind you, he had for the most part been in a medically induced coma for two weeks. When the medicine would wear off and he became somewhat aware of his state and surroundings, his anxiety would become debilitating. One day, he was very slowly weaned off of the medicine. My sisters and I made the decision to have a nurse try to understand his wishes. We believed that had one of us presented the information to him, the situation would be unbearably emotional for him and us both. Surely he would see the pleading in our eyes, wanting him to fight, and this would sway him from giving an honest answer.

The family sat for sometime in the waiting room, holding our breath. Trying to prepare ourselves emotionally for whatever the answer was. In that moment that the nurse entered the room and told us my father had chosen to continue fighting, the first joyful tears fell. The battle had not been won, nor was it any less daunting than it was prior to his decision. But someone wanting to live, despite the odds being stacked against them, is a beautiful thing.

However, after two surgeries and a transfer to another facility, the situation was bleak. There was no improvement. Watching someone you love die is an image you never forget. It is even more difficult when you know that in that person’s mind they want to live, but they are being betrayed by their own body.

Too early in our lives do we realize the inevitability of death. The “ideal” situation, if you can call it that, would be for us or our loved ones to pass peacefully in sleep at an old age. Rarely does life hand us those cards. Upon receiving the news from the doctor, my sisters and I had to make the toughest decision anyone could ever make on someone’s behalf. We knew in our hearts, without a doubt, it was what my father would have desired, given the quality of life he was being offered from that point on. My father would be removed from life-support the following Tuesday morning.

I have always felt that most of life’s occurrences are due to circumstance, even coincidence at times, rather than predestination or outside forces. But on a Monday night, around the same time I received that first haunting call five weeks to the day, my phone rang once again. My father passed away on his own that night. His heart stopped 12 hours before we were to remove him from life-support. I would like to think that subconsciously my father let go in order to spare us the wonder and the pain associated with his passing in that way. For this, I am truly grateful. The relief almost surpassed the devastation at that moment.

“Grief only exists where love lived first” ~ Franchesca Cox.

The grief was overwhelming because the love between us was undeniable. I will never forget how it felt to hold my father’s hand for the final time. To lay my head on his chest that had lost all of its warmth, knowing at the very least, he was at peace. It was up to me now, to pick up the pieces and find my own peace.

“And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in” ~ Haruki Murakami

 

 

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Perspective

When I initially thought about sharing my writing, my first thought was one of self-doubt. Who would really care to read the things I have to say? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been a people person, I have no problem holding interesting conversations. In general, I feel I have a lot to offer others, on an intellectual level, as well as an emotional and empathetic level. However, by most standards, I’ve done nothing spectacular in my life. I have not traveled the world (though I’d love to), I have not endured anything especially horrific or had to overcome any monumental obstacles. I do, however, possess something invaluable. That is my outlook on life, my perception and perspective that are unique because they are all my own.

It is a beautiful thing to know that we wake up every day with the ability to make it a positive one. We choose what we focus our thoughts on, how we interact with others, and how we handle the situations we are faced with. It’s been said “Every day may not be good, but there is something good in every day.” The moment I began to focus on this fact, is the moment I began to feel at peace. Too many nights in my relatively young life have been spent regretting the things I did not accomplish that day, even though I was going to bed mentally and physically drained. Until one day when everything seemed much more simplistic in my head. Did I smile and laugh today? Did I speak to someone I loved today? Did I eat good food, drink clean water and wake up in a comfortable bed? Are my children happy and well cared for?  The answer to all of those questions was of course, yes, every day. Our perspective is a powerful force in our life.

In the words of the intriguing author, Oscar Wilde: “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” I’ve chosen to look at the stars, and it is an amazing view.

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Happiness

I knew I could never write fiction because honestly I’ve never been much of a dreamer. Wild heart; need for change; craving for adventure; spontaneous; yes, but not a dreamer. What I mean by that is ever since I was a child my expectations for life were fairly realistic. I wasn’t the girl with the box of cut outs envisioning my elaborate wedding day or the mansion I would live in by the ocean. All I really remember wanting was to be happy. Which I’ve realized is a concept so relative, so fluctuating, that the mansion may be more attainable for some people. I don’t say this from a pessimistic point of view. Really, I’d say I’ve always had more of an optimistic disposition. But as I approach my 30th birthday, which is scary and fascinating all in one, I realize that being happy isn’t necessarily a goal as it is a way of life. If our happiness can be defined by fulfillment of specific goals (i.e. buying our dream house; retiring; getting married and starting a family) then really, it’s fleeting. A house can be lost to Mother Nature or because of economic circumstances. Retiring could get old and perhaps boring. Marriages break up often and starting a family comes with challenges all its own. If we, however, find ways to be happy in our everyday life, then really, we’ve won.

 

And here’s where most get stumped. Because you see, it’s much easier said than done. To be happy every day, when there are surmounting pressures of life and we experience little disappointments with ourselves and others often. However applicable, one of my favorite quotes is this one by Augusten Burroughs: “So we can be filled with holes, and loss and wide expanses of unhealed geography – and we can also be excited by life, and in love and content at the exact same moment.” What does that mean to you? To me, it means that we don’t have to have things together (mentally, emotionally, physically, materially, etc.) in order to be happy and fulfilled. Happiness doesn’t have to be merely a passing emotion. It can be a permanent state of being, no matter the circumstances.

 

My hope in creating this blog is that I can reflect on a regular basis on the things that I, and most of us, can find happiness in. I hope others can relate, and possibly find through my posts, some gratitude of their own. Not that everything I intend to post will be altogether cheery. But I’ve learned that there is always beauty behind the madness. Struggle, dysfunction, grief, heart ache…..they all give us a chance to appreciate when things are good and give us a broader view of life.

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