Here we are, New Year's Eve. Another year gone and another about to begin. After a wonderful week in Montana, I am home nursing a cold. Tonight, it will be Chinese food, movies and Tucker. And maybe a hot toddy to help me sleep.
I started out last year with one word that I could focus on to help me through the year. That word - FAITH - played a bigger role than I ever thought possible. I needed my faith in God to get through some tough situations, unexplainable events and dark days.
2012 took me to 6 states: Montana, Florida, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois and Indiana. It brought me together with old and dear friends in Chicago and California, renewing my spirit. I got my dog exactly one year ago, at a time when I wasn't sure I was ready for another. Despite all of the challenges of adopting a rescue dog and questioning keeping him, he makes me laugh and is so devoted to me. My life would be plain without him and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I met a man I hoped was "The One" only to find out he wasn't. His words were music to my ears as he spoke of honor, protection, unconditional love. They were what I loved most but they weren't enough to overcome his transference of issues. But I believe he came into my life for reasons unknown. Maybe to renew my faith in good men?
My dad went to heaven in August. I was able to spend time with him before he left and I am so thankful for that. As difficult as it was, I know that all that I had gone through in previous years helped me get through this. Had it not been for those events, I'm not sure I could have sat by his bedside and waited with him as he lay dying.
As I continue to press into God in faith, I welcome a new year of HOPE - hope for better days, for happier times and for my last first date.
May God bless us all and bring us peace.
Sun setting In Cuzco, Peru
December 31, 2012
December 16, 2012
Single and Childless: I know what you're thinking
An article by Melanie Notkin:
I know what you're thinking.
I can read it on your face... the distracted smile, the unconvincing nod, the slightly furrowed brow...
You're trying to figure out what's wrong with me. Or at the very least, what I'm doing wrong. The questions you ask yourself at the moment you've discovered I'm single and childless is: "Why is this woman still single and childless? What's wrong with her?"
If we haven't yet met, let me take a moment to describe what will happen when we do. You'll notice I'm attractive. Not a cover girl beauty, but attractive. You'll notice I'm petite and slim. I'll probably be wearing something that flatters me. I'm articulate and bright. I'm certainly someone who some men might find appealing enough to want to be with. And all this makes my circumstance even that much more curious to you.
And as you're thinking this, you'll notice I'm smiling back at you, and looking straight into your eyes as I shake your hand firmly, yet femininely. And a conversation will begin or continue about something other than what you are thinking...
So naturally, you'll be distracted, searching for clues in what I say, or don't say... in my mannerisms and in my face. You'll wonder how this happened to me... how I ended up single and without the children I always dreamed I'd have. If you're younger than I am, you'll either confirm to yourself that it could never possibly happen to you, or, now that you've met me, you'll wonder if it possibly could.
If you're married and a mom, you'll pat yourself on the back for knowing better that I did. Knowing 'what' exactly, neither of us is quite sure, but you'll let out a sigh of relief that you're safe and sound, despite any hidden challenges you are facing behind closed doors. You knew better, and that's enough for you.
And the gentlemen... well if we're on a date, you'll find a way to let me know that you're OK with my age, notwithstanding your own. You'll credit yourself for dating a woman who may no longer be able to have biological children -- or be relieved for that very fact. Either way, you'll let me know. You'll tell me how you usually date younger women but find women 'my age' (often your age) refreshing. Or, you'll tell me that your friends 'warned' you about my age, but you told them it didn't matter. "You don't look it!" you'll say as if it were consolation.
And I'll be smiling. I'll take a sip of my wine. I'll still laugh at your jokes.
But I know what you're thinking: What is wrong with this woman?
And before I can answer, you've come to a series of possible conclusions:
She's a 'career woman' and too focused on her career to be interested in love.
She's a 'career woman' and too cold to know love.
She's a 'career woman' and cannot make a man a priority in her life.
She's a 'career woman' and probably never really wanted a family.
She's too picky.
She's not picky enough and made bad choices.
She made a choice.
She never made a choice.
She's too needy.
She's not needy enough.
She doesn't need a man.
She needs a man too much.
She's trying too hard.
She's not trying hard enough.
She's too hard.
She's too soft.
She's inflexible.
She's been too flexible.
She thought she had forever to get married and have children; clearly, she is completely naïve about her fertility.
She never really wanted children or she would have had them.
She's too much of a feminist.
She's too much of a romantic.
And in your exasperation of final possibilities you think: There must be something unlovable about her, otherwise, she'd be loved by now.
But you'll notice something else about me; throughout this encounter, I'm still smiling. You're now thinking that I'm more confident than an unmarried, childless woman should be at my age. You're thinking that I'm happier than I should be... that I'm practically glowing, even! What is that about, you ask yourself?
The thing is, you don't know what I'm thinking.
I'm thinking that my life is not defined but anyone else's thoughts. Only my thoughts have the power to control my attitude toward life. If you read my thoughts, they would say:
I'm not in the wrong life being the wrong wife. My womb is empty but my life is full. My mother gave me a life and I'm not wasting it on grieving or thinking less of myself for not becoming a mother as well. I am loved. I am loveable. I am, in this moment, the very best me I can be. And while it may not be the life you, having just met me, would expect for me... it's the life, knowing myself for 43 years, that was meant to be mine.
I'm still growing, still tweaking my imperfections. Every single day, I take another bite out of my potential. But I never bite off more than I can chew. I have left plenty of room for love.
There may be many reasons why I'm not yet married and why I have not become a mother. But the only reason that matters is that it wasn't yet meant to be.
Hear me when I say I know what you're thinking. Know me when you believe what I'm saying.
Life is good. Tomorrow is better. And tomorrow we may meet again. And perhaps then, you will think differently.
I know what you're thinking.
I can read it on your face... the distracted smile, the unconvincing nod, the slightly furrowed brow...
You're trying to figure out what's wrong with me. Or at the very least, what I'm doing wrong. The questions you ask yourself at the moment you've discovered I'm single and childless is: "Why is this woman still single and childless? What's wrong with her?"
If we haven't yet met, let me take a moment to describe what will happen when we do. You'll notice I'm attractive. Not a cover girl beauty, but attractive. You'll notice I'm petite and slim. I'll probably be wearing something that flatters me. I'm articulate and bright. I'm certainly someone who some men might find appealing enough to want to be with. And all this makes my circumstance even that much more curious to you.
And as you're thinking this, you'll notice I'm smiling back at you, and looking straight into your eyes as I shake your hand firmly, yet femininely. And a conversation will begin or continue about something other than what you are thinking...
So naturally, you'll be distracted, searching for clues in what I say, or don't say... in my mannerisms and in my face. You'll wonder how this happened to me... how I ended up single and without the children I always dreamed I'd have. If you're younger than I am, you'll either confirm to yourself that it could never possibly happen to you, or, now that you've met me, you'll wonder if it possibly could.
If you're married and a mom, you'll pat yourself on the back for knowing better that I did. Knowing 'what' exactly, neither of us is quite sure, but you'll let out a sigh of relief that you're safe and sound, despite any hidden challenges you are facing behind closed doors. You knew better, and that's enough for you.
And the gentlemen... well if we're on a date, you'll find a way to let me know that you're OK with my age, notwithstanding your own. You'll credit yourself for dating a woman who may no longer be able to have biological children -- or be relieved for that very fact. Either way, you'll let me know. You'll tell me how you usually date younger women but find women 'my age' (often your age) refreshing. Or, you'll tell me that your friends 'warned' you about my age, but you told them it didn't matter. "You don't look it!" you'll say as if it were consolation.
And I'll be smiling. I'll take a sip of my wine. I'll still laugh at your jokes.
But I know what you're thinking: What is wrong with this woman?
And before I can answer, you've come to a series of possible conclusions:
She's a 'career woman' and too focused on her career to be interested in love.
She's a 'career woman' and too cold to know love.
She's a 'career woman' and cannot make a man a priority in her life.
She's a 'career woman' and probably never really wanted a family.
She's too picky.
She's not picky enough and made bad choices.
She made a choice.
She never made a choice.
She's too needy.
She's not needy enough.
She doesn't need a man.
She needs a man too much.
She's trying too hard.
She's not trying hard enough.
She's too hard.
She's too soft.
She's inflexible.
She's been too flexible.
She thought she had forever to get married and have children; clearly, she is completely naïve about her fertility.
She never really wanted children or she would have had them.
She's too much of a feminist.
She's too much of a romantic.
And in your exasperation of final possibilities you think: There must be something unlovable about her, otherwise, she'd be loved by now.
But you'll notice something else about me; throughout this encounter, I'm still smiling. You're now thinking that I'm more confident than an unmarried, childless woman should be at my age. You're thinking that I'm happier than I should be... that I'm practically glowing, even! What is that about, you ask yourself?
The thing is, you don't know what I'm thinking.
I'm thinking that my life is not defined but anyone else's thoughts. Only my thoughts have the power to control my attitude toward life. If you read my thoughts, they would say:
I'm not in the wrong life being the wrong wife. My womb is empty but my life is full. My mother gave me a life and I'm not wasting it on grieving or thinking less of myself for not becoming a mother as well. I am loved. I am loveable. I am, in this moment, the very best me I can be. And while it may not be the life you, having just met me, would expect for me... it's the life, knowing myself for 43 years, that was meant to be mine.
I'm still growing, still tweaking my imperfections. Every single day, I take another bite out of my potential. But I never bite off more than I can chew. I have left plenty of room for love.
There may be many reasons why I'm not yet married and why I have not become a mother. But the only reason that matters is that it wasn't yet meant to be.
Hear me when I say I know what you're thinking. Know me when you believe what I'm saying.
Life is good. Tomorrow is better. And tomorrow we may meet again. And perhaps then, you will think differently.
December 13, 2012
Looking Back...
Another Christmas approaches. Hard to believe but its true. And soon, as 2013 approaches, I will begin to reflect upon the past year's highs and lows.
In anticipation of that, I will start by saying it was a year of stepping stones. God put a lot on my plate, forcing me to deal with situations and people. Perhaps the best way to sum it up is that all of those experiences caused me to grow and know myself better. While some were challenging, others caused me to fiercely pull God close either for comfort or out of confusion and frustration. Things didn't turn out they way I thought they would but, in hindsight, I see why they needed to happen.
Sometimes, I feel like an etch-a-sketch game. God draws a picture then erases it and draws something else. But the remnants of the previous picture never fully go away even though the new picture can be seen through the old.
TBC...
In anticipation of that, I will start by saying it was a year of stepping stones. God put a lot on my plate, forcing me to deal with situations and people. Perhaps the best way to sum it up is that all of those experiences caused me to grow and know myself better. While some were challenging, others caused me to fiercely pull God close either for comfort or out of confusion and frustration. Things didn't turn out they way I thought they would but, in hindsight, I see why they needed to happen.
Sometimes, I feel like an etch-a-sketch game. God draws a picture then erases it and draws something else. But the remnants of the previous picture never fully go away even though the new picture can be seen through the old.
TBC...
October 10, 2012
And A Time to Every Purpose
Sept 27th marked one month since my dad passed away. In some ways, it feels like it has been longer. I believe that is due to the fact that I have gained so much perspective and healing since then. Or perhaps because my preparation for it has been years in the making.
When I found out that my dad had dementia, I had no desire to see him. The thought of knowing he might not recognize me was more than I could bear. As it was, seeing him in his weakened state, completely dependent on mom was a challenge. He's my dad. He's supposed to be strong, independent, self reliant. Old age had robbed him of these and reduced him to a needy child. It was too hard to see.
This weighed heavy on my heart, however. I remember sometime in early July confessing this fear to Fr Joseph. His advice was to pray for the courage to go and then go. He emphasized how critical it was for me to see dad before it got to be too late but I remained fearful. I prayed for courage then mostly forgot about it as I went on my vacation to Chicago.
While in Chicago, I had the good fortune of sharing a room with two amazing women, both single and Catholic. We even had one night of silly, up-all-night girl talk about everything under the sun. Dad was one topic. Ruanne had gone though something very similar with her dad who had passed just 3 months prior. She was empathetic and agreed that a trip south was in order.
Two weeks after I returned from my vacation, I learned that dad was in the hospital. He fell and broke his collar bone but apparently would be ok. This was the knock in the head with a hammer that I needed (prayed for?) to see dad. Without giving it a second thought, I bought my ticket and flew down 3 days later.
Seeing dad lying in his hospital bed, bruised, broken and frail, was so hard but God gave me the courage to see him every night for a week. Even when I thought I couldn't handle seeing him that way any more, I still went. And I am so thankful for that. I had no idea that this would be the my last opportunity to visit with him, touch him, talk with him. Before he went into respiratory distress, I counted on him returning home as I did the same but that wasn't going to happen. Thankfully, two days before I was scheduled to go home, I changed my flight which allowed me to stay a week longer. I wasn't satisfied with dad's progress and wanted to be sure of it. The following day he was put on life support, never to return.
In retrospect, the two weeks I spent in California were all part of God's greater plan. It had been 14 months since I last saw Maureen - holding her hand, watching her suffer, loving her through the vomit and mess, even when I thought I could endure no more. While I was with her, I learned compassion, tolerance and love in the face of death. I learned that God will give me all of the tools needed to face the unimaginable and that He would hold me up when I no longer had strength. I learned that my heart could bear so much more than I ever thought possible and that my fears had no place there. I learned to trust the love of God and allow that love to come through me, to reach her. Ironically or strategically, that described my time with dad.
After being told the damage to his lungs was irreparable and there was no hope, I promised dad I wouldn't leave his side. I would not let him die alone. And it was only by God's grace that I was able to get through watching the pain as he was "turned" every two hours or had phlegm sucked out of his lungs. It was His hand that dad squeezed as the phlebotomist tried to draw blood several times from his swollen and lifeless arms. As he lie there helpless, I was allowed to be his advocate, to protect him and keep him safe the way he had done for me when I was little. It was such a gift. I had also been given the gift of time with dad - to tell him I loved him, to ask his forgiveness, to pray with him and to forgive him. For 5 days, I cried over, prayed with and cherished every minute. If there was ever a beautiful moment in my life, it was every minute of every day that we spent together, up to and even after his passing.
I'm amazed at the experiences God had brought me through. Amazed that I survived them, amazed that I have learned and grown from them. More than that, I am amazed at how much bigger my heart has become as a result. I can only imagine what He continues to prepare me for. While I'm sure it will involve more heartache, I believe there will be many more beautiful moments like these. And I can finally say "I'm ready, Lord, for whatever you have planned for me" because I know, in the end, it will bring Him glory. Isn't that what I was created for?
When I found out that my dad had dementia, I had no desire to see him. The thought of knowing he might not recognize me was more than I could bear. As it was, seeing him in his weakened state, completely dependent on mom was a challenge. He's my dad. He's supposed to be strong, independent, self reliant. Old age had robbed him of these and reduced him to a needy child. It was too hard to see.
This weighed heavy on my heart, however. I remember sometime in early July confessing this fear to Fr Joseph. His advice was to pray for the courage to go and then go. He emphasized how critical it was for me to see dad before it got to be too late but I remained fearful. I prayed for courage then mostly forgot about it as I went on my vacation to Chicago.
While in Chicago, I had the good fortune of sharing a room with two amazing women, both single and Catholic. We even had one night of silly, up-all-night girl talk about everything under the sun. Dad was one topic. Ruanne had gone though something very similar with her dad who had passed just 3 months prior. She was empathetic and agreed that a trip south was in order.
Two weeks after I returned from my vacation, I learned that dad was in the hospital. He fell and broke his collar bone but apparently would be ok. This was the knock in the head with a hammer that I needed (prayed for?) to see dad. Without giving it a second thought, I bought my ticket and flew down 3 days later.
Seeing dad lying in his hospital bed, bruised, broken and frail, was so hard but God gave me the courage to see him every night for a week. Even when I thought I couldn't handle seeing him that way any more, I still went. And I am so thankful for that. I had no idea that this would be the my last opportunity to visit with him, touch him, talk with him. Before he went into respiratory distress, I counted on him returning home as I did the same but that wasn't going to happen. Thankfully, two days before I was scheduled to go home, I changed my flight which allowed me to stay a week longer. I wasn't satisfied with dad's progress and wanted to be sure of it. The following day he was put on life support, never to return.
In retrospect, the two weeks I spent in California were all part of God's greater plan. It had been 14 months since I last saw Maureen - holding her hand, watching her suffer, loving her through the vomit and mess, even when I thought I could endure no more. While I was with her, I learned compassion, tolerance and love in the face of death. I learned that God will give me all of the tools needed to face the unimaginable and that He would hold me up when I no longer had strength. I learned that my heart could bear so much more than I ever thought possible and that my fears had no place there. I learned to trust the love of God and allow that love to come through me, to reach her. Ironically or strategically, that described my time with dad.
After being told the damage to his lungs was irreparable and there was no hope, I promised dad I wouldn't leave his side. I would not let him die alone. And it was only by God's grace that I was able to get through watching the pain as he was "turned" every two hours or had phlegm sucked out of his lungs. It was His hand that dad squeezed as the phlebotomist tried to draw blood several times from his swollen and lifeless arms. As he lie there helpless, I was allowed to be his advocate, to protect him and keep him safe the way he had done for me when I was little. It was such a gift. I had also been given the gift of time with dad - to tell him I loved him, to ask his forgiveness, to pray with him and to forgive him. For 5 days, I cried over, prayed with and cherished every minute. If there was ever a beautiful moment in my life, it was every minute of every day that we spent together, up to and even after his passing.I'm amazed at the experiences God had brought me through. Amazed that I survived them, amazed that I have learned and grown from them. More than that, I am amazed at how much bigger my heart has become as a result. I can only imagine what He continues to prepare me for. While I'm sure it will involve more heartache, I believe there will be many more beautiful moments like these. And I can finally say "I'm ready, Lord, for whatever you have planned for me" because I know, in the end, it will bring Him glory. Isn't that what I was created for?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)