WriteRN Ramblings

When I was ten years old, summer meant swimming in the local public pool.

We were in the middle of the Midwest, and summers were long, hot, drawn out affairs. The pool was within walking distance of our house, and a summer pass was purchased for each of us three children for a nominal fee.

With my towel slung over my shoulder, I walked alone to the pool. This was the 1970’s, and we walked alone often, as long as it was still daylight out.

I stepped carefully into the pool, beginning my “doggy paddle around the perimeter” routine. I hated getting my face wet (still do), so I’d vacillate between doggy paddles, or sliding onto my back, arms outstretched, for a few minutes of floating.

Once in my back, I noticed the angry grey clouds that had suddenly rushed into the hot summer sky above me. Grimacing, I made my way to the pool edge, trying to squint hard enough to make the clouds go away.

Within minutes a loud, piercing lifeguard’s whistle blasted me to attention, followed by an announcement that the pool was closing. Almost immediately, a crack of lightening startled all the swimmers, who got out of the water in record time.

Wrapped in my towel, I slid my feet into my soft rubbery flip flops, and started walking home as fast as my legs would let me.

Soon, the lightening increased – and the accompanying thunder grew ominous as it roared it’s response in less than two minutes.

I was in a panic! I was far from home, but had no access to a phone. The lightning was searing bright against the cobalt clouds, and I was a wet target. I was sure I was doomed. My pulse drummed frantically in my ears as I looked for safety.

I glanced up, and saw a truck in the school parking lot to my left. Immediately every warning about getting into cars with strangers was playing in a continuous loop in my head, even as the thunder moved ominously closer in claps and booms.

I thought it out. It was a delivery or repair truck of some sort – there were no front doors, and there was a long leather bench to sit on. The driver was old, and didn’t look dangerous. The thoughts of a naive child!

I decided if I asked for a ride, I could always jump out. I’d sit on the edge. By this time I was certain there was a lightning bolt seeking out a sopping wet little girl, and I had to choose which scenario was more dangerous.

I ran, feet flapping, up to the truck, and panting from fear, I asked them man if he would drive me home. He agreed, and I got up on the cracked leather seat, one half of my body and leg hanging out of the truck.

I don’t remember if there was small talk – I do remember clinging to the metal side of the truck as if my life depended on it. As the driver pulled up to my house, I muttered a muffled thanks, running in the front door, slamming it behind me, leaving the summer hazards outside.

Or so I thought.

My mother asked me how I got home. I couldn’t figure out how she knew, but mother’s know these things. “I got a ride…” I began to try and explain, and my mothers face twisted into an expression of fear and horror. She began to verbalize the stranger danger speech, and sent me to my room, grounded.

As I flopped on my bed, all I could think about was the certain death I had faced. I took a chance, and I had survived.

But for the rest of that summer, going to the pool was never the same.

We are fast approaching the holiday season – if you don’t believe me, just enter any store, or watch TV commercials.

It is a season of happiness and love….or at least that is how it is promoted. For many people, this may be true, but for countless others, the holiday season brings stress, depression, and it is to be endured, not celebrated.

For those of us that struggle through the holidays, I have some tips that have helped me over the years.

Mindfulness is key – pay attention to what you are thinking about.

If you find yourself thinking of painful memories or current painful situations, turn your mind outward.

Count your blessings. Break it down as far as you need to – be grateful for the roof over your head. For having a job. For the beauty of fall. Or winter. For wild birds. Whatever brings you joy, focus on that. Take it in, and appreciate it.

If you are having a struggle with someone that is close to you, then be thankful for those who you are not in conflict with. If you are estranged from your family, be grateful for the friends you have in your life. Celebrate those who love you, whoever they are.

If you are able to see, use your sight to take in the beauty around you. Go to a park. A museum. An antique store. Whatever will keep your eyes and mind captured.

If you are able to hear, listen to some music you enjoy. Sit and really listen – pay attention to the subtleties. Go outdoors and listen to the birds sing. The wind rustling the leaves.

Serve someone else. Find a way to help others. Find a soup kitchen, a homeless shelter. Somewhere you can help others less fortunate than yourself.

If being home alone bothers you, ask someone over for coffee. Stretch your comfort zone.

The bottom line is not to dwell on those thoughts that bring distress. This, too, will pass – and it will pass with less pain of you can keep your mind off of the downside of the holiday season.

Marriage is tough.

There is no doubt that two people coming together to build a home is a wonderful thing. I love my husband with all my heart, and I’m grateful for the blessings that come with marriage.

Because we both have been divorced, we double down to protect our marriage.

Neither of us would wish divorce on anyone. Our divorces were both the fallout destruction wrought by adulterous spouses.

As much pain as it brought us, it brought more pain and instability to our children.

They are the innocent victims of the poor choices of their parents.

Our prior marriages were not salvageable, due to the unrepentant nature of the adulterous spouse.

This is easy to explain logically, but it has left landmines in the lives of our children, and they have to dodge them at unexpected times, popping up in their lives to wreak emotional havoc.

Neither my husband nor I had to deal with divorce as children. Our parents have been married for over 50 years and 60 years, respectively. So the help we try to lend our children is based on counselors, books, and the Bible.

We do everything we can for our children. The best thing we can do is to love each other, and show our children an example of what an intact family is.

We can’t go back and change the past, but we can strive for a stable future.

The effects of having an intact step family for the rest of our lives can potentially affect future generations.

More importantly, we pray it helps to heal the wounds our children have that were caused by a divorce.

I’m going to admit, I grew up with cats as pets, and I never really liked dogs.

Especially small dogs – the ankle biters, jittery bug eyed, yapping, jumping sort of dog.

Any dog that would run at me off a leash was annoying. I just didn’t understand the fascination with dogs.

Then, seven years ago, I got my Australian Shepherd. I went to class with her, from puppy all the way up through CGC – Canine Good Citizen.

Soon, I was seeing dogs that behaved themselves. I was around dogs that didn’t jump, bark, nip, or run at me – and I liked them. In fact, I became a dog lover.

I drew the obvious parallel. I love children – but the ones who are not trained, I find highly annoying. The ones who run wild in real restaurants, who scream and fight in the narthex of the church while their parents stand by, ignoring them. Kids aren’t born with manners – they are taught and they learn by example. Without guidance, they behave like wild animals, and we all suffer. Before anyone objects, I raised three children, and they have manners, behave kindly towards others, and have grown into responsible adults.

We have recently rescued a German Shepherd who was dumped in a kill shelter night drop box. She is a handful – and certainly has not had training. Just in the short time we have had her, we have seen improvement in her behavior…due to training. She has a long way to go, but having a pet is a lifelong commitment for that animal. Understanding that, we will love her…and train her. It takes a balance of both.

We don’t need any more wild animals running around.

Thanksgiving celebrations have grown in our home over the years.

When I was a single mom, I opened my home to single friends, a beloved widow from church, and whoever didn’t have a place to go. It really exemplified the spirit of Thanksgiving. We didn’t have much, but we were grateful for friends and fellowship.

When I remarried over a decade ago, our family of four turned into a family of seven. The adult kids did their own thing, and our celebration was earnest, but small.

Now, as the kids are grown, married, and having kids, the family table is growing.

My son and daughter in love have added her family to ours – her parents are dear friends that have grown into family. Her brothers and a wife are adding to the mix of blurred family lines.

This year, we had to decide how to seat everyone in the most inclusive, loving way we could. We have expanded well beyond our eight seat formal dining room.

This year, we will probably put that table, as well as the family kitchen table, into the living room. This way, all the kids, wives, in-laws and outlaws can be near each other, breaking bread and making memories.

Next year, I predict we will adding a children’s table, as our grandchildren will number five grandsons by that time!

God willing, we will all be together to celebrate our blessings.

We are blessed indeed!

The month I dread is here.

Every year I tell myself it’s no big deal, this too shall pass…and I know it will. December will be here before I know it.

Then the calendar page turns, and it’s November, and I square my shoulders and prepare myself for it…or at least try to.

Back when I was 17 and in love, I recklessly raced into November, not knowing that on November 5, I would find out I was pregnant. I had a negative pregnancy test in October- on this November day, I was told I was 16-18 weeks pregnant. To say I was shocked is a vast understatement.

November 9 was my first love’s birthday – he was turning 16. That day brought us lectures on why I should have an abortion. I listened, head down and so alone in my convictions, for two straight hours. I refer to it as the “aren’t you glad I didn’t suck you into a sink anniversary ” when I call my firstborn on that date every year now. While I am so, so glad I stuck by my guns, it was a tough chapter in my life.

Little did I know the heartache to come. Just four years later, alone at work in a convenience store, I would get the devastating news that shattered my world – on November 26, my first love-the father of our son-was killed in a car accident. I literally collapsed, and strangers attended to me until I could leave work and go home, to make plans to fly home for the funeral.

Thanksgiving that year was just two days earlier, and it was the last conversation I would have with him. The last words we exchanged as we got off the phone were “I love you.”

After he passed, I had a long and very close relationship with his mother. She was like another mom to me – we spoke often, and I visited when I could. Early in 2010 she called to tell me she had small cell breast cancer. On November 19, she passed away. I was in Walt Disney World when I got the news. We came back immediately, and once again I flew home for a devastating funeral I wasn’t at all prepared for.

November 22, 2013, my beloved Tia closed her eyes for the last time. She had fought hard against a rare cancer, until God took her home, laying in the arms of her beloved husband, my uncle. She was sunshine and laughter, love and more love to me. She remains one of my very favorite people. There is a void she left behind when she left us, so young.

November now will also always remind me of the child I lost on April 3, 2013…a child that, if they had grown to term, would have been delivered in November. Instead, it’s just another loss in a month overladen with losses.

I have to be determined in November- determined not to let grief swallow me whole. I schedule workouts. I protect myself from extra stressors. I lean into God.

Sometimes it works, and I breathe easier on December 1, walking shakily forward into a month of celebration and hope.

Many times it doesn’t work, and my depression pulls me into a downward spiral that has me flailing for help.

November. Here you are again.

Here we go.

I’m frustrated today.

There is someone in my life that I love very much, but I’m helpless to help them.

They are under the control of a malignant narcissist.

The problem is they themselves don’t have the facilities to take of themselves, or the ability to make decisions.

This person is very loved, but in a place where they have no opportunities. They are constantly emotionally manipulated into staying away from those who love them, although it is their family.

We are trying to figure out how to handle the situation. There is no negotiating with the malignant narcissist.

We don’t want to cause more emotional trauma to our loved one, but the situation they are in is toxic.

It’s a rock and a hard place.

I’m seeking out help from people who advocate for those in our loved ones position. We want to help, not harm.

It’s hard to be the adult.

13 months ago, I left my job as a bedside nurse working 12 + hour days, and commuting 5-6 hours a week.

In June, I left the office job I had immediately transitioned into, to take time off and concentrate on becoming healthier.

Almost four months later, I am asked almost daily if I am bored.

Not at all.

I am learning how to be.

I’ve worked full time, a minimum of 40 hours a week, since I was 15 years old.

I loved being a nurse for the past 20 years!!

That chapter has closed, and it seems the door, for now at least, is firmly shut.

I’m okay with that.

I’m learning how to just be – without having to go and do. It’s a blessing.

I’ve been deep cleaning my house, taking out piles of accumulated stuff. The cobwebs are down, the windows are clean and open. With each room transformation, I breathe easier. Our house is a home.

I’ve been available to my family. I love being a wife, a mother, a grandmother. I’m most content being with my people, and I’m able to be with them a lot more.

I’ve been traveling – every month we have gone somewhere, and it continues through the end of the year, and into next year. We are seeing our family in states north of here, and it’s great to be able to do that.

I’m sleeping better, eating at normal times, reading more.

I don’t know what the next year will hold – but I know I’ll be holding two new grandsons by two of my sons and my daughters in love, and I know that is more than good enough for me.

For now, being is more than enough.

Ah, how I miss the days of civility, manners, and respect.

I’m not laying blame at any political party or media outlet. If you are participating in conversations online, in person, or over the phone, you should be civil.

We are all responsible for our behavior…and our example.

I’ve been attacked twice this week online.

The first time, I was responding to a post about thanksgiving stuffing. I had the nerve to suggest that in the South, we eat dressing!

What followed was a dressing down because of my scandalous, hateful comment. Sarcasm.

The second time, I had the nerve to give a testimony of an experience I had trying to adopt a kitten from a kill shelter. I was denied because I refused to guarantee I wouldn’t get my cat declawed, with the back story I had a cat that climbed the drapes and I had it declawed.

What was posted next described me as a monster. I was told I should never be trusted with an animal. And on and on.

Once upon a time, you could agree to disagree. No more.

Now, behind the mask of internet anonymity, people will post the most hateful attacks and comments towards people they have never met.

There is no civil debate. I learned a lot in debate class in high school many moons ago – we presented our case, and then our response, with no personal attacks, threats, or cussing.

I refuse to believe we can’t go back to being civil.

If I see a post I don’t like, I move on. If it offends me, I delete it. If it is hateful or promotes hate, I block the perpetrators.

As for me, I’m spending less time online, and will continue to whittle social media visits down.

In the real world, I will continue to smile and say hi to people I pass. I will seek to be a peacemaker.

I’ve got my political views. You’ve got yours. We both have the right to speak them, but can we agree to be civil, even if we can’t agree?

The kids are watching.

Eleven years ago, I entered the life of a wonderful child.

This child was obviously special from the moment I saw them. I could see that they needed an advocate – as a registered nurse, the subtleties of behavior and reactions that had been written off as “quirks” needed to be addressed so this child could reach their full potential, and thrive.

We took the child to a neuropsychologist, who spent several sessions confirming a diagnosis of autism, and he gave us an envelope with the plan of care for the school.

I was ecstatic – I wanted nothing but the best for this child.

However, another adult in the picture refused to let the neuropsychologist report be taken to the school. Their assessment of the child was polar opposite to our assessment and the teachers assessments, which were all in sync. This person didn’t want the child “labeled”. So despite the fact the school had the ability to help the child with an autistic specific plan, the school never got the data. The child fell by the wayside.

Now the child is an adult. They do not work. They do not drive. They don’t shower or brush their teeth or wear their retainer without much goading, because these things are assumed by the controlling adults, despite the fact that they have always been an issue.

We don’t have control over this wonderful individual. We had discussed with them about going to trade school, getting a job, and they were excited. They loved ritual jobs, and were adept at repetitive tasks.

Then the other adults in their life told them they could go to college, be a broadcaster- despite the fact they barely graduated high school after being held back a year, and they have Tourette’s. Not a recipe for college or broadcasting success.

I’m an advocate. I’m not in denial. I’ve been on the front lines for almost 11 years. I’ll always advocate for this child, now mine. I always will. I’ve loved them just as they are, and have tried to help them reach their potential with the capabilities they have.

But my hands are tied as long as the other adults won’t recognize or accept the child for who they are.