Today is an appropriately crummy day. It's windy and raining. Normally I love the rain because I find it so peaceful and relaxing. Today I love it because it reflects exactly how I feel; sad, overcast and like quietly curling up in my bed, hiding under the blankets and crying. Today is the second anniversary of my mother's death. I have only been awake for a few hours and I already hate today.
Since my mom passed away I have struggled with so many thoughts and feelings there are times I feel like my head will actually explode. I have obsessed over my own abilities and short comings as a mother and step-mother. I have grieved long and hard for other family members who have passed away. I have considered my own mortality and what it will someday mean for my children. I have reached near panic mode with worry about Alex's future if I should die unexpectedly. I have had to learn how to cope with missing my mother and all that "missing her" means. I have had to learn how to live with regrets. I'm failing miserably with that last one.
My biggest regrets are for the things I can't fix; the "I'm sorry" and "I love you" that can no longer be heard no matter how loud I shout it. Perhaps there is still value in saying it, though. Perhaps there is some catharsis in making the effort. I'm sad and I'm hurting and I don't know what else to do so I'll make the effort.
Dear Mom,
I miss you. I miss you every single day. There are some days I physically ache from missing you so much. I wish I could just pick up the phone and talk to you again. There have been a million times over the last two years I have desperately needed your friendship, opinion and advice. You were always the person I went to when I didn't know what to do or if I was doing the right thing, especially when it came to Alex. I didn't realize just how much I needed and valued your opinions until they were gone. I'm so sorry for not appreciating you more. I didn't recognize how lucky I was until it was too late.
I have needed your advice on lots of things but nothing more than being a mother. I never understood how hard parenting teenagers really was. You always said we would learn one day but I was sure I would be able to handle it. How hard could it be? As it turns out, you were right; it sucks. They act like hormonal lunatics 90% of the time! They are messy and moody and frequently quite unpleasant to be around. They are absolutely exhausting. I would take up heavy drinking but we had to lock up all the alcohol because Brian's Alex was getting into it.
I don't know how you did it, Mom. You always just handled everything. As a kid, I never considered how hard it was to worry about me AND Mary AND Sarah AND your job AND all the bills AND your health and everything else life was always throwing at you. I guess that's the beauty of being a kid; you only have yourself to worry about. As the parent though I can't tell you the number of times I have wanted to pull my hair out in frustration. It has made me realize just how much I took you for granted and for that I am deeply sorry. I am truly in absolute awe that you made it through out teenage years without killing us or turning into an alcoholic. I just hope I can do as well as you did.
It's kind of funny thing. I never realized just how much like you I wanted to be. You always had a quiet inner strength that gave you the amazing ability to deal with whatever came your way. You handled everything with your unique blend of grace, strength, humor and piss and vinegar. I see that in myself sometimes although I think I'm a little light on the grace and strength and a little heavy on the humor, piss and vinegar. You taught us to be good women, Mom. You always saw the best we could be and pushed us to reach that mark. You believed in us even when we didn't believe in ourselves. You loved us even when we failed and you taught us the true meaning of unconditional love. I have a tremendous amount of love in my life everyday but I miss your particular way of loving us. I guess what a friend recently said was exactly right, "Nobody loves you like your mama.". How could they?
Who else would make all the sacrifices you made for me? Thank you for always loving me, even when I was the obnoxious, know-it-all teenager. Thank you for never giving up on me. All I can do now is take the lessons and the love you have given me and never stop trying to be the person you always believed I could be. I will never stop loving and missing you, Mom. Know that you will always be in my heart.
All my love,
Kathleen
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Deal
Fall used to be my favorite time of the year. I always loved the slight nip in the air, digging out my sweaters and buying mums for the front of the house. I have always been in complete awe of autumn leaves. The beautiful colors that fill the landscape, watching them gracefully float from their perch in the trees to the chilly sidewalk below. I loved hayrides, pumpkin patches, corn mazes and hot apple cider. There was nothing I didn't love about this time of the year. Until two years ago.
My mother was sick for the last fifteen years of her life. She did pretty well for most of it, despite being on dialysis and her occasional hospital stays. Two years ago, though, that all changed. In August 2008, my mother was taken to the hospital with difficulty breathing. Not a new problem, after all she had been on oxygen for several months already. It was only now that they discovered her breathing difficulties were not tied to her pulmonary system at all but to her heart and she needed surgery immediately. She spent a week waiting for surgery because of an infection they had to get under control first. Mom and I spent a lot of time talking during that week and some of those conversations have forever changed who I am.
It was during that same week that Nicholas was first diagnosed with brain cancer. I was visiting my mother in the hospital when Brian called me to tell me the doctors had just told him about the baseball sized tumor in his youngest child's brain. He too, would need surgery immediately. I was stunned. Able to read my face like a book, when I hung up Mom asked what was wrong. I told her and she was silent. Neither of us knew exactly what to say.
I visited Mom several more times that week and we talked about this and that while watching the Little League World Series. One night we we talking and she said, "Kathleen, I have been doing a lot of thinking and I want you to know I have made a deal with God." "A deal?" I asked. She continued, "I have lived a good life. I have raised my children and gotten to see my grandchildren. I have traveled to places I always wanted to see. I've done most of the things I wanted to do." I was becoming uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. I could feel tears beginning to sting my eyes. "I want you to know that if only one of us is meant to survive, I have asked God to please take me. Nicholas is just a child. He hasn't lived his life yet and there is so much more for him to do."
The thing that has always stayed with me about that moment more than even the words my mother said, is how unusually calm she was when she was talking about her "deal". She wasn't sad or fearful at all. In fact, it was the most peaceful I had seen my mother in quite some time.
The morning of August 25, 2008 my mother had open heart surgery at St. Josephs Hospital in Towson. My sister, Mary and I were there with her before they took her in. We hugged her and told her we loved her. She told us how much she loved us, too. That was the last time I ever heard my mothers voice. After surgery, she was in a coma for two gut wrenching weeks. On September 10, 2008 Nicholas had brain surgery at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. For several weeks, Mom and Nicholas would be at medical odds. One would do better while the other was doing worse. I spent my evenings driving between the two hospitals. After the coma, my mother came around a bit, though still on a ventilator. She was improving. Nicholas was not. Three days after his operation, he had to be rushed back to PICU because his brain was swelling at a dangerous rate.
For weeks, Mom and Nick went back and forth until one day the scales began to tip. Nicholas began to steadily improve while thirty miles away my mother began to slip away from us. I was emotionally split in two. The joy and relief I felt that Nicholas was finally improving was forgotten each time I saw my mother. I knew in my heart we were losing her. Each time I saw her, there was less recognition in her eyes. I would sit with her and tell her about my day, never sure if she knew who I was. While she slept, I held her hand and fixed her blankets. I didn't know what else to do.
After my mother suffered several massive strokes, infections and what the doctors felt was now the beginning of lymphoma, my sisters and I made the painful decision to do as our mother had asked; we signed the papers to move her to hospice. On September 28, 2008 we met the ambulance at the hospice center. As the ambulance workers wheeled her inside the building, it occurred to us that this would be the last time mom would ever feel the sun on her face. After hours by her bed, my sisters gathered up their kids and headed home. It wasn't ten minutes after they left that mom drew her last breath. It was a quiet, peaceful and dignified death. It was exactly what she had asked for.
I called for the nurse and she listened to my mothers heart. She quietly looked at me. "I'm so sorry, dear. Your mother has passed.". I felt dizzy, lightheaded and nauseous all at once. I felt like someone had violently twisted all my internal organs into a painful knot. I heard someone cry out as if they had been punched and realized later it was me. I knelt next to the bed and sobbed into my mothers shoulder for the last time. I cried for my loss. I cried for my family's loss. I cried for the injustice of her life cut short. I cried for all the things I never said and for all the things I forgot to apologize for. I cried for not thanking her enough for the sacrifices she made for us. I cried for the deal she had made with God.
Since my mom passed away I have healed a lot. I no longer have the twisting pain in my stomach that lasted for months. I no longer cry every time I talk about or think about her, though to be honest, I have cried almost the entire time I have been writing this. I just miss her. I miss her in the way you miss your best friend that has been away too long. I want to talk to her. I want to hear her voice. I want her to hug me and tell me everything will be okay. There is an aching hole in my heart that will never be filled in. If there is anything that has given me even a small measure of comfort, though, that has helped to soften some of the jagged edges of the hole left behind it is the deal mom made with God. In true mom style, she wanted to give of herself to a child, no matter the sacrifice - and she did just that.
My mother was sick for the last fifteen years of her life. She did pretty well for most of it, despite being on dialysis and her occasional hospital stays. Two years ago, though, that all changed. In August 2008, my mother was taken to the hospital with difficulty breathing. Not a new problem, after all she had been on oxygen for several months already. It was only now that they discovered her breathing difficulties were not tied to her pulmonary system at all but to her heart and she needed surgery immediately. She spent a week waiting for surgery because of an infection they had to get under control first. Mom and I spent a lot of time talking during that week and some of those conversations have forever changed who I am.
It was during that same week that Nicholas was first diagnosed with brain cancer. I was visiting my mother in the hospital when Brian called me to tell me the doctors had just told him about the baseball sized tumor in his youngest child's brain. He too, would need surgery immediately. I was stunned. Able to read my face like a book, when I hung up Mom asked what was wrong. I told her and she was silent. Neither of us knew exactly what to say.
I visited Mom several more times that week and we talked about this and that while watching the Little League World Series. One night we we talking and she said, "Kathleen, I have been doing a lot of thinking and I want you to know I have made a deal with God." "A deal?" I asked. She continued, "I have lived a good life. I have raised my children and gotten to see my grandchildren. I have traveled to places I always wanted to see. I've done most of the things I wanted to do." I was becoming uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. I could feel tears beginning to sting my eyes. "I want you to know that if only one of us is meant to survive, I have asked God to please take me. Nicholas is just a child. He hasn't lived his life yet and there is so much more for him to do."
The thing that has always stayed with me about that moment more than even the words my mother said, is how unusually calm she was when she was talking about her "deal". She wasn't sad or fearful at all. In fact, it was the most peaceful I had seen my mother in quite some time.
The morning of August 25, 2008 my mother had open heart surgery at St. Josephs Hospital in Towson. My sister, Mary and I were there with her before they took her in. We hugged her and told her we loved her. She told us how much she loved us, too. That was the last time I ever heard my mothers voice. After surgery, she was in a coma for two gut wrenching weeks. On September 10, 2008 Nicholas had brain surgery at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. For several weeks, Mom and Nicholas would be at medical odds. One would do better while the other was doing worse. I spent my evenings driving between the two hospitals. After the coma, my mother came around a bit, though still on a ventilator. She was improving. Nicholas was not. Three days after his operation, he had to be rushed back to PICU because his brain was swelling at a dangerous rate.
For weeks, Mom and Nick went back and forth until one day the scales began to tip. Nicholas began to steadily improve while thirty miles away my mother began to slip away from us. I was emotionally split in two. The joy and relief I felt that Nicholas was finally improving was forgotten each time I saw my mother. I knew in my heart we were losing her. Each time I saw her, there was less recognition in her eyes. I would sit with her and tell her about my day, never sure if she knew who I was. While she slept, I held her hand and fixed her blankets. I didn't know what else to do.
After my mother suffered several massive strokes, infections and what the doctors felt was now the beginning of lymphoma, my sisters and I made the painful decision to do as our mother had asked; we signed the papers to move her to hospice. On September 28, 2008 we met the ambulance at the hospice center. As the ambulance workers wheeled her inside the building, it occurred to us that this would be the last time mom would ever feel the sun on her face. After hours by her bed, my sisters gathered up their kids and headed home. It wasn't ten minutes after they left that mom drew her last breath. It was a quiet, peaceful and dignified death. It was exactly what she had asked for.
I called for the nurse and she listened to my mothers heart. She quietly looked at me. "I'm so sorry, dear. Your mother has passed.". I felt dizzy, lightheaded and nauseous all at once. I felt like someone had violently twisted all my internal organs into a painful knot. I heard someone cry out as if they had been punched and realized later it was me. I knelt next to the bed and sobbed into my mothers shoulder for the last time. I cried for my loss. I cried for my family's loss. I cried for the injustice of her life cut short. I cried for all the things I never said and for all the things I forgot to apologize for. I cried for not thanking her enough for the sacrifices she made for us. I cried for the deal she had made with God.
Since my mom passed away I have healed a lot. I no longer have the twisting pain in my stomach that lasted for months. I no longer cry every time I talk about or think about her, though to be honest, I have cried almost the entire time I have been writing this. I just miss her. I miss her in the way you miss your best friend that has been away too long. I want to talk to her. I want to hear her voice. I want her to hug me and tell me everything will be okay. There is an aching hole in my heart that will never be filled in. If there is anything that has given me even a small measure of comfort, though, that has helped to soften some of the jagged edges of the hole left behind it is the deal mom made with God. In true mom style, she wanted to give of herself to a child, no matter the sacrifice - and she did just that.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Death by home renovation
When my sisters and I were growing up our parents had a great hobby. They loved to buy old houses and lovingly renovate them. They would spend every weekend working on some major project. There was nothing they couldn't do. From small additions, to gutting rooms and starting over, to completely rebuilding chimneys and fireplaces, my parents did it all. Sounds quaint, doesn't it? Well the reality of it was a little different. One house we lived in had actually been on fire. It didn't have a single window that hadn't been broken. The children in the neighborhood referred to it as the haunted house. That didn't scare my parents, though. "Bring it on" was always their attitude. After about ten years of moving from room to room and living in drywall dust, it was finished and it was beautiful. What to do now that it was a gorgeous historic home? Why sell it of course! Aarrggg!
That was the last house my parents renovated together. After they sold it, we moved into a newly built house. My father only lived there with us for about six months before my parents divorced but my mother remained there until her death twenty-three years later. I will always love that house because of the memories it holds for me. That being said, however, I have always longed for a really old house in need of renovation. New houses are nice, don't get me wrong, but there is a sort of romance to an old home. I can get lost imagining the families who lived there over the generations, the history that has taken place both inside and outside those walls. Just thinking about it gives me chills. I also possess a romantic notion of restoring it. After all, how hard can it be? My parents did it over and over again for years and they made it look easy.
Fast forward to today. Brian and I own a home built in the mid 1980's. Absolutely not our idea of our romantic historic home but it will do until we can find our "forever home". Both being completely addicted to HGTV and the DIY stations, we always look for home improvement things we can do ourselves. Recently, we found mold growing behind our walls in the basement. We have had to completely rip out all the walls and insulation and re-do everything. While the finished product is looking quite stunning (we are only about half finished so far), I have made another shocking discovery. Apparently, I did not inherit my parents natural talent for renovations. As it turns out, it's really hard, we have had to learn a lot of things by making mistakes that usually end up costing us valuable time or money or both and it's really not as much fun as I thought it would be. I have learned I hate having the furniture shoved all over the place. While I have become quite proficient at putting spackle over nail heads and drywall seams, I hate the drywall dust. The mess of the entire project in general leaves me feeling all out of sorts and kind of pissy.
Since I have always been a big one to shoot my fat mouth off about how easy it is (what? it's my parents fault - they made it look easy!) and how much I would just love to completely gut a house and renovate it myself, I really feel as if I have painted myself into a corner, no pun intended. While I know beyond a shadow of a doubt my husband would still love me and think no less of me, I feel like I can't tell him just how much the reality of home renovation now scares the pants off me. I work hard to keep it to myself, though. I wouldn't want to be seen as a quitter or a wimp. After all, I come from a family where a little basement renovation is seen as nothing.
The other night, Brian and I were again watching a home renovation show about putting in bathrooms, something we have wanted to do in our basement for sometime. During a commercial, my dear husband turns to me and says, "You know.... I'll bet I could just rent a jack hammer, demo the basement floor and lay all the pipes for the bathroom myself. I just know we could install the bathroom ourselves!" A wave of panic came over me. Does he really think we can do this or does he know my secret fears and is trying to kill me?
There are very few things in life my husband can't do. He is an engineer for NASA so he is, quite literally, a rocket scientist. He sees everything as a challenge he can't wait to take on. Honestly, I'm a little jealous of that attitude when it comes to things like this. His "bring it on" attitude is very much like my parents. As it turns out, I don't have much of that attitude. I'm kind of a wimpy girl in brave girl clothes but I think Brian may be on to my secret. I'm also pretty sure he is trying to kill me by way of first degree home renovation.
That was the last house my parents renovated together. After they sold it, we moved into a newly built house. My father only lived there with us for about six months before my parents divorced but my mother remained there until her death twenty-three years later. I will always love that house because of the memories it holds for me. That being said, however, I have always longed for a really old house in need of renovation. New houses are nice, don't get me wrong, but there is a sort of romance to an old home. I can get lost imagining the families who lived there over the generations, the history that has taken place both inside and outside those walls. Just thinking about it gives me chills. I also possess a romantic notion of restoring it. After all, how hard can it be? My parents did it over and over again for years and they made it look easy.
Fast forward to today. Brian and I own a home built in the mid 1980's. Absolutely not our idea of our romantic historic home but it will do until we can find our "forever home". Both being completely addicted to HGTV and the DIY stations, we always look for home improvement things we can do ourselves. Recently, we found mold growing behind our walls in the basement. We have had to completely rip out all the walls and insulation and re-do everything. While the finished product is looking quite stunning (we are only about half finished so far), I have made another shocking discovery. Apparently, I did not inherit my parents natural talent for renovations. As it turns out, it's really hard, we have had to learn a lot of things by making mistakes that usually end up costing us valuable time or money or both and it's really not as much fun as I thought it would be. I have learned I hate having the furniture shoved all over the place. While I have become quite proficient at putting spackle over nail heads and drywall seams, I hate the drywall dust. The mess of the entire project in general leaves me feeling all out of sorts and kind of pissy.
Since I have always been a big one to shoot my fat mouth off about how easy it is (what? it's my parents fault - they made it look easy!) and how much I would just love to completely gut a house and renovate it myself, I really feel as if I have painted myself into a corner, no pun intended. While I know beyond a shadow of a doubt my husband would still love me and think no less of me, I feel like I can't tell him just how much the reality of home renovation now scares the pants off me. I work hard to keep it to myself, though. I wouldn't want to be seen as a quitter or a wimp. After all, I come from a family where a little basement renovation is seen as nothing.
The other night, Brian and I were again watching a home renovation show about putting in bathrooms, something we have wanted to do in our basement for sometime. During a commercial, my dear husband turns to me and says, "You know.... I'll bet I could just rent a jack hammer, demo the basement floor and lay all the pipes for the bathroom myself. I just know we could install the bathroom ourselves!" A wave of panic came over me. Does he really think we can do this or does he know my secret fears and is trying to kill me?
There are very few things in life my husband can't do. He is an engineer for NASA so he is, quite literally, a rocket scientist. He sees everything as a challenge he can't wait to take on. Honestly, I'm a little jealous of that attitude when it comes to things like this. His "bring it on" attitude is very much like my parents. As it turns out, I don't have much of that attitude. I'm kind of a wimpy girl in brave girl clothes but I think Brian may be on to my secret. I'm also pretty sure he is trying to kill me by way of first degree home renovation.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Cruella De Ville at your service...
I try to be a good person, really I do. Sometimes, though, I can be a complete crap weasel. Sometimes I can be a complete crap weasel without even trying. Today would be one of those days.
Tonight, I had to take Brian's Alex to dance class. About two minutes into the drive we rounded a dark curve in the road and approached a car in the oncoming lane flashing its lights. I began to slow down. All of a sudden a black and brown dog appeared directly in front of us. I slammed on the brakes but slid on the wet pavement. Then came the horrible thump, thump of the dog hitting my bumper then the clunk of it hitting the underside of the car. From under the car we could hear the dog screaming in pain. Horrified and shaking, I backed the car up. There in front of me was the dog, still screaming in pain and bleeding from his belly. He tried to stand up but could only drag his back half to the side of the road. Now he decides to get out of the road. A man on the side of the road who had been trying to call the dog out of harms way, went over to him as I pulled to the side of the road. By this point I was sobbing and shaking. The man came over and asked if we were okay. "No." I sobbed. "How bad is he?" He just shook his head, "Don't get out of your car. You really don't want to see it." By this point, Alex was crying, too. Our dogs, Star and Grace, kept running though my head. I didn't know what to do. Fortunately, the man was already on the phone with animal control, who were now in the process of sending someone out.
I felt like absolute crap. I didn't think it was possible to feel any worse. But wait..... my life is always governed by Murphy's Law. As we sat there, both crying and me shaking so badly the car was practically vibrating, a blue mini van pulled up. A woman opened her door with a hopeful look on her face. "Did you find a dog?" she asked the man. Oh my God, it's the dogs owner. Just when I thought I couldn't feel worse. "Ah, yes ma'am. He's...ah....been hit." The woman let out a small cry. She jumped back in her van and pulled it to the side of the road and jumped back out. Unable to get out of my car, partly because of oncoming traffic and partly because I was frozen with sorrow, Alex and I watched in the side mirror as she scooped her still screaming dog up to put him in the van. As the door of the mini van opened, the situation found a way to get even worse. Over the sound of the screaming dog came the sound of the crying children that had been helping her look for their beloved dog. I had just run over someones family pet. I had robbed these children of their friend. The sound of the screaming dog, the sobbing woman and the wailing children had me quickly approaching a nervous breakdown. I sobbed with guilt.
After the lady drove away, the man came back over to us. "There was no way you could have seen him until it was too late. Don't beat yourself up over it." he said, trying to be comforting. Fat chance, I thought. How can I not? I love my dogs like my children. Being teenagers, there are times I like my dogs better than my children. I would be devastated if anything happened to either one of them and now I have caused that same devastation to another family. Chalk one up for the crap weasel.
Tonight, I had to take Brian's Alex to dance class. About two minutes into the drive we rounded a dark curve in the road and approached a car in the oncoming lane flashing its lights. I began to slow down. All of a sudden a black and brown dog appeared directly in front of us. I slammed on the brakes but slid on the wet pavement. Then came the horrible thump, thump of the dog hitting my bumper then the clunk of it hitting the underside of the car. From under the car we could hear the dog screaming in pain. Horrified and shaking, I backed the car up. There in front of me was the dog, still screaming in pain and bleeding from his belly. He tried to stand up but could only drag his back half to the side of the road. Now he decides to get out of the road. A man on the side of the road who had been trying to call the dog out of harms way, went over to him as I pulled to the side of the road. By this point I was sobbing and shaking. The man came over and asked if we were okay. "No." I sobbed. "How bad is he?" He just shook his head, "Don't get out of your car. You really don't want to see it." By this point, Alex was crying, too. Our dogs, Star and Grace, kept running though my head. I didn't know what to do. Fortunately, the man was already on the phone with animal control, who were now in the process of sending someone out.
I felt like absolute crap. I didn't think it was possible to feel any worse. But wait..... my life is always governed by Murphy's Law. As we sat there, both crying and me shaking so badly the car was practically vibrating, a blue mini van pulled up. A woman opened her door with a hopeful look on her face. "Did you find a dog?" she asked the man. Oh my God, it's the dogs owner. Just when I thought I couldn't feel worse. "Ah, yes ma'am. He's...ah....been hit." The woman let out a small cry. She jumped back in her van and pulled it to the side of the road and jumped back out. Unable to get out of my car, partly because of oncoming traffic and partly because I was frozen with sorrow, Alex and I watched in the side mirror as she scooped her still screaming dog up to put him in the van. As the door of the mini van opened, the situation found a way to get even worse. Over the sound of the screaming dog came the sound of the crying children that had been helping her look for their beloved dog. I had just run over someones family pet. I had robbed these children of their friend. The sound of the screaming dog, the sobbing woman and the wailing children had me quickly approaching a nervous breakdown. I sobbed with guilt.
After the lady drove away, the man came back over to us. "There was no way you could have seen him until it was too late. Don't beat yourself up over it." he said, trying to be comforting. Fat chance, I thought. How can I not? I love my dogs like my children. Being teenagers, there are times I like my dogs better than my children. I would be devastated if anything happened to either one of them and now I have caused that same devastation to another family. Chalk one up for the crap weasel.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Madame, you are no Fran Brown
Growing up, my sisters and I were raised Catholic. More specifically, Irish Catholic. We have all heard the stereotype about Jewish mothers and their impressive ability to use guilt on their children, but I would stack my mother against any other mother any day of the week. For the last fifteen years of her life, my mother was on dialysis three times a week for three hours a day. For the last fifteen years of her life, my mother would also routinely threaten us with, "Fine, I'll just go off dialysis and die. Then none of you have to listen to my opinion about anything." Don't get me wrong, I love my mother dearly and miss her terribly, but growing up under the rule of Irish Catholic guilt was tough.
Looking back, however I have come to the realization that between Catholic school and Irish Catholic guilt, good values were permanently emblazoned into every corner of our mushy little minds. Being honest, standing up for others, always finding ways to help other people and, my mother's personal favorite; don't ever be greedy, were all reinforced on a daily basis. My mother took that last one really seriously. She didn't just talk the talk, either. We grew up volunteering in soup kitchens and a local homeless shelter. My mother would often give money she didn't have to people she felt needed it more than she. As a public school teacher, my mother would often have students in need. It was not uncommon for her to anonymously provide school supplies, a coat, mittens or even Christmas gifts for her students. She truly believed that you teach children by example, and we couldn't have had a better example to follow.
Not surprisingly as a mother and stepmother, it is tremendously important to me that my children grow up with similar values. It moves me deeply, nearly to tears at times, when I "catch" one of my children giving of themselves to help someone else. They are teenagers, so it doesn't happen all the time, but overhearing little things like my son offering to carry things to the car for an elderly friend of the family or my stepdaughter trying hard to ease the emotional pain of a friend help to remind me that we are on the right path.
There are also times that I am reminded just how important teaching by example really is. Hurricane Dawn stands in stark contrast to my mother. Yes, yes, I'm aware that nobody will ever compare to ones own mother, especially a recently departed mother at that. I'm certainly not trying to nominate my mother for canonization either, but I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in my disgust of the greed demonstrated by Dawn on a near daily basis. Perhaps some examples would help make my point.
A few days before the first Mother's Day Brian and I were together, I was picking the kids up from Dawn's house. While I always just wait in the car for the kids to come out, there was no avoiding the hurricane that day. She came half running down the path, waving her arms to be sure I didn't miss her. Not likely. I rolled down the window and she breathlessly leaned in, making my car smell of cigarette smoke.
"Can you remind Brian that this Sunday is Mother's Day and I expect a good gift. I'd like a gift card to Best Buy." she said.
For a moment I was silent, thinking surly she must be kidding. Who says things like that? Finally I realized she was dead serious. I quickly worked to uncurl my lip which had curled from both the smell of cigarette smoke and annoyance. "Oh, is that how this ex-wife thing works? You just place your gift orders?" I said, trying to hide the disdain in my voice. Clearly missing my sarcasm, she simply smiled and responded with an exuberant, "Yep.". My grandmother had a name for that kind of blatant selfishness: Greedy Guts.
Need another example? Okay. Several weeks ago, Dawn called to inform us that someone from her job had approached her about holding a benefit to raise money to help offset Nicholas' ever increasing medical bills. While he is covered under my husband's health insurance, the co-pays are now adding up to thousands of dollars. "I don't know, Dawn. Let me talk to Brian about it." I said. While I was raised to give whatever help I can to others, I have always felt extremely uncomfortable accepting it. This wasn't my call, though, so I discussed it with Brian. As it turned out, he has the same problem. As frequently happens in our life, other things came up and the issue was forgotten...... by us, that is. Last week, Dawn once again stopped me as I was picking up the kids from her house. "Brian never got back to me about the benefit but the woman has now said they would like to have one for me, too, so I'm going to tell her it's fine." she said.
"For you?" I said. "Ummm.... why?" I couldn't wait to hear this.
"Well she said that I do so much for everyone else all the time and Nick's cancer has been such a financial hardship on me that they would love to be able to help me out." she said, sounding almost pleased with herself.
Now I would have no problem with this whatsoever, except for two facts. One, I have never known of (or even heard of) Dawn doing anything for anyone else - ever. And two, Dawn pays for nothing.... anything....ever. She doesn't pay child support. She doesn't buy any clothes, school supplies, medications, anything for the kids. It all comes from us. If a medical bill does accidentally go to her house, she races it to us at breakneck speeds. While she did miss a little time from work in June because she was sick, Nick's cancer has not caused Dawn to lose any income. Sooooo.... why are we holding a benefit for her again? Greedy guts strikes again.
Still need another example? How about the Mack daddy of greed? Brace yourself, Effie, this is a big one. I mentioned previously that Nick has qualified to participate in Make a Wish and we are going on a Disney cruise. Pretty generous of them, huh? Last week while standing in line at CVS, Nick looked at me and asked if I wanted him to ask Make a Wish to buy me a new wardrobe for the cruise. Completely confused, I asked him why he would even ask such a thing. "Well, Mom wants me to ask Make a Wish for a new wardrobe and a shopping spree at the mall for her and I didn't want to leave you out." I was absolutely stunned. This was a new low, even for Dawn. I tried to quickly regain my composure. "Nick, it's really nice that you wanted to include me but you absolutely can not ask for that. Make a Wish is granting you a wish - nobody else. They are doing so much already that to ask for any more would be very greedy," I said. He seemed a bit confused. "I felt uncomfortable about it but Mom keeps saying I should ask. I didn't know what to say," he said. I suddenly felt very sorry for him. His own mothers greed was weighing on him, as if he doesn't have enough to carry anyway. After hugging him and assuring him that he had nothing to worry about, we went home. It was hours before I could get my head around the sheer magnitude of the selfishness and greed of this woman. To use her son's brain cancer as a way to "score" money, clothing and shopping sprees is about the lowest thing I have ever heard of. My mother would be horrified beyond words. I think even my grandmother would think Greedy Guts is much too kind a name for her.
Looking back, however I have come to the realization that between Catholic school and Irish Catholic guilt, good values were permanently emblazoned into every corner of our mushy little minds. Being honest, standing up for others, always finding ways to help other people and, my mother's personal favorite; don't ever be greedy, were all reinforced on a daily basis. My mother took that last one really seriously. She didn't just talk the talk, either. We grew up volunteering in soup kitchens and a local homeless shelter. My mother would often give money she didn't have to people she felt needed it more than she. As a public school teacher, my mother would often have students in need. It was not uncommon for her to anonymously provide school supplies, a coat, mittens or even Christmas gifts for her students. She truly believed that you teach children by example, and we couldn't have had a better example to follow.
Not surprisingly as a mother and stepmother, it is tremendously important to me that my children grow up with similar values. It moves me deeply, nearly to tears at times, when I "catch" one of my children giving of themselves to help someone else. They are teenagers, so it doesn't happen all the time, but overhearing little things like my son offering to carry things to the car for an elderly friend of the family or my stepdaughter trying hard to ease the emotional pain of a friend help to remind me that we are on the right path.
There are also times that I am reminded just how important teaching by example really is. Hurricane Dawn stands in stark contrast to my mother. Yes, yes, I'm aware that nobody will ever compare to ones own mother, especially a recently departed mother at that. I'm certainly not trying to nominate my mother for canonization either, but I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in my disgust of the greed demonstrated by Dawn on a near daily basis. Perhaps some examples would help make my point.
A few days before the first Mother's Day Brian and I were together, I was picking the kids up from Dawn's house. While I always just wait in the car for the kids to come out, there was no avoiding the hurricane that day. She came half running down the path, waving her arms to be sure I didn't miss her. Not likely. I rolled down the window and she breathlessly leaned in, making my car smell of cigarette smoke.
"Can you remind Brian that this Sunday is Mother's Day and I expect a good gift. I'd like a gift card to Best Buy." she said.
For a moment I was silent, thinking surly she must be kidding. Who says things like that? Finally I realized she was dead serious. I quickly worked to uncurl my lip which had curled from both the smell of cigarette smoke and annoyance. "Oh, is that how this ex-wife thing works? You just place your gift orders?" I said, trying to hide the disdain in my voice. Clearly missing my sarcasm, she simply smiled and responded with an exuberant, "Yep.". My grandmother had a name for that kind of blatant selfishness: Greedy Guts.
Need another example? Okay. Several weeks ago, Dawn called to inform us that someone from her job had approached her about holding a benefit to raise money to help offset Nicholas' ever increasing medical bills. While he is covered under my husband's health insurance, the co-pays are now adding up to thousands of dollars. "I don't know, Dawn. Let me talk to Brian about it." I said. While I was raised to give whatever help I can to others, I have always felt extremely uncomfortable accepting it. This wasn't my call, though, so I discussed it with Brian. As it turned out, he has the same problem. As frequently happens in our life, other things came up and the issue was forgotten...... by us, that is. Last week, Dawn once again stopped me as I was picking up the kids from her house. "Brian never got back to me about the benefit but the woman has now said they would like to have one for me, too, so I'm going to tell her it's fine." she said.
"For you?" I said. "Ummm.... why?" I couldn't wait to hear this.
"Well she said that I do so much for everyone else all the time and Nick's cancer has been such a financial hardship on me that they would love to be able to help me out." she said, sounding almost pleased with herself.
Now I would have no problem with this whatsoever, except for two facts. One, I have never known of (or even heard of) Dawn doing anything for anyone else - ever. And two, Dawn pays for nothing.... anything....ever. She doesn't pay child support. She doesn't buy any clothes, school supplies, medications, anything for the kids. It all comes from us. If a medical bill does accidentally go to her house, she races it to us at breakneck speeds. While she did miss a little time from work in June because she was sick, Nick's cancer has not caused Dawn to lose any income. Sooooo.... why are we holding a benefit for her again? Greedy guts strikes again.
Still need another example? How about the Mack daddy of greed? Brace yourself, Effie, this is a big one. I mentioned previously that Nick has qualified to participate in Make a Wish and we are going on a Disney cruise. Pretty generous of them, huh? Last week while standing in line at CVS, Nick looked at me and asked if I wanted him to ask Make a Wish to buy me a new wardrobe for the cruise. Completely confused, I asked him why he would even ask such a thing. "Well, Mom wants me to ask Make a Wish for a new wardrobe and a shopping spree at the mall for her and I didn't want to leave you out." I was absolutely stunned. This was a new low, even for Dawn. I tried to quickly regain my composure. "Nick, it's really nice that you wanted to include me but you absolutely can not ask for that. Make a Wish is granting you a wish - nobody else. They are doing so much already that to ask for any more would be very greedy," I said. He seemed a bit confused. "I felt uncomfortable about it but Mom keeps saying I should ask. I didn't know what to say," he said. I suddenly felt very sorry for him. His own mothers greed was weighing on him, as if he doesn't have enough to carry anyway. After hugging him and assuring him that he had nothing to worry about, we went home. It was hours before I could get my head around the sheer magnitude of the selfishness and greed of this woman. To use her son's brain cancer as a way to "score" money, clothing and shopping sprees is about the lowest thing I have ever heard of. My mother would be horrified beyond words. I think even my grandmother would think Greedy Guts is much too kind a name for her.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Making a wish....
Growing up we are all taught to find the silver lining in bad situations. We are advised from a young age to look on the bright side and wait for the sun to come out from behind this temporary cloud. Most often this is sound advice and works like a charm to give us the strength we need to charge through the dark moments of our lives. After all, this too shall pass, right?
Sometimes, however, it's pure crap. Okay, maybe it's not pure crap, but there are moments it sure feels nearly impossible. As I have mentioned, my thirteen year old step-son, Nicholas has been fighting brain cancer since he was eleven. He has also been fighting some fairly significant mental health issues most of his life as well. There are days his father and I struggle hard with the injustice of it all but I'll spare you my internal monologue - it's messy and usually full of expletives.
In any case, if anyone could find an up side to brain cancer, it's Nicholas. He was thrilled beyond words that, due to his illness, he qualified to participate in Make a Wish. For those who don't know, Make a Wish is a non-profit organization that grants a "wish" to a child under the age of eighteen who has or is currently facing a life threatening illness. It is a wonderful organization that has brought tremendous joy to countless children.
After several letters and phone calls, Make a Wish arranged to visit us at our home. There was paperwork to do and, of course, Nicholas' wish to be revealed.
For weeks, Nick labored over his wish. What should it be? Should he go somewhere? Should he ask to meet a famous person? He made his rounds, asking each of us what our wish would be. Until he asked, I hadn't really thought about it or how difficult it would be to narrow it down to just one wish. I certainly didn't realize how difficult it would be for a mentally ill child who had some damaged parts of his brain to decide. Nick would announce his wish several times a day to the family. Every announcement, of course was something vastly different. He wanted to travel by rocket to Mars. He wanted to travel by submarine to see the remains of the Titanic. He wanted to spend a day with the New England Patriots, his favorite football team. Then there was the day he announced he wanted to go to Safeway. Don't ask me where that one came from. That would be a wish I would have made; let someone else go and do the grocery shopping.
The day finally came for the Make a Wish volunteers to come. Nick was bouncing off the walls all day with anticipation. Since they wanted to meet with Nick's entire family, Hurricane Dawn was present as well. With extra chairs pulled in from other rooms, we all settled down for the meeting. One volunteer talked with Nick in another room to try to help him narrow down his wish at last. Brian and I answered question after question while Dawn said nothing and scowled at everyone. At least that wasn't uncomfortable or anything.
At long last, Nick and the other volunteer rejoined us - Nick's wish nailed down and in hand. He wanted to go to Hawaii.......... or Vietnam.
We all looked at each other for a moment in sheer confusion. Then Nick said, "What? I like war history. I just hope we don't all get shot." This is what happens when you tell a child with mental illness issues and brain damage to "think big". You get weird - fueled by questionable logic at best. Safeway is starting to look much more attractive. After some more discussion however, the volunteers helped us convince Nick that perhaps a Disney cruse would be a better option and he happily agreed.
In the weeks since our meeting with the Make a Wish volunteers I have come to a horrifying realization. Despite my offers to stay home to look after the dogs and be available for my mother-in-law in case of emergency, I now have to go on a vacation with my husband's certifiable ex-wife. I'd rather take my chances in Vietnam.
Sometimes, however, it's pure crap. Okay, maybe it's not pure crap, but there are moments it sure feels nearly impossible. As I have mentioned, my thirteen year old step-son, Nicholas has been fighting brain cancer since he was eleven. He has also been fighting some fairly significant mental health issues most of his life as well. There are days his father and I struggle hard with the injustice of it all but I'll spare you my internal monologue - it's messy and usually full of expletives.
In any case, if anyone could find an up side to brain cancer, it's Nicholas. He was thrilled beyond words that, due to his illness, he qualified to participate in Make a Wish. For those who don't know, Make a Wish is a non-profit organization that grants a "wish" to a child under the age of eighteen who has or is currently facing a life threatening illness. It is a wonderful organization that has brought tremendous joy to countless children.
After several letters and phone calls, Make a Wish arranged to visit us at our home. There was paperwork to do and, of course, Nicholas' wish to be revealed.
For weeks, Nick labored over his wish. What should it be? Should he go somewhere? Should he ask to meet a famous person? He made his rounds, asking each of us what our wish would be. Until he asked, I hadn't really thought about it or how difficult it would be to narrow it down to just one wish. I certainly didn't realize how difficult it would be for a mentally ill child who had some damaged parts of his brain to decide. Nick would announce his wish several times a day to the family. Every announcement, of course was something vastly different. He wanted to travel by rocket to Mars. He wanted to travel by submarine to see the remains of the Titanic. He wanted to spend a day with the New England Patriots, his favorite football team. Then there was the day he announced he wanted to go to Safeway. Don't ask me where that one came from. That would be a wish I would have made; let someone else go and do the grocery shopping.
The day finally came for the Make a Wish volunteers to come. Nick was bouncing off the walls all day with anticipation. Since they wanted to meet with Nick's entire family, Hurricane Dawn was present as well. With extra chairs pulled in from other rooms, we all settled down for the meeting. One volunteer talked with Nick in another room to try to help him narrow down his wish at last. Brian and I answered question after question while Dawn said nothing and scowled at everyone. At least that wasn't uncomfortable or anything.
At long last, Nick and the other volunteer rejoined us - Nick's wish nailed down and in hand. He wanted to go to Hawaii.......... or Vietnam.
We all looked at each other for a moment in sheer confusion. Then Nick said, "What? I like war history. I just hope we don't all get shot." This is what happens when you tell a child with mental illness issues and brain damage to "think big". You get weird - fueled by questionable logic at best. Safeway is starting to look much more attractive. After some more discussion however, the volunteers helped us convince Nick that perhaps a Disney cruse would be a better option and he happily agreed.
In the weeks since our meeting with the Make a Wish volunteers I have come to a horrifying realization. Despite my offers to stay home to look after the dogs and be available for my mother-in-law in case of emergency, I now have to go on a vacation with my husband's certifiable ex-wife. I'd rather take my chances in Vietnam.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The New Public Enemy Number One
Sometimes I think wives and mothers are really the Clark Kent's of the world. We simply move through life quietly doing our seemingly endless jobs - usually unnoticed (and often unappreciated) by most. We get the kids off to school, grocery shop, clean the house, do the laundry, clean up the dishes, answer the phone calls, fill out the forms for everything under the sun, make the doctor appointments, drive the kids fifteen different places all at the same time, settle the arguments, find the lost toy or shirt or shoe, fix the boo-boo's may they be physical or emotional, enforce homework time, bedtime and veggie eating - all without batting an eye.
In our house we have some Clark Kent duties many other families do not, including administering chemo to one of the children, locking up anything dangerous to prevent an additional suicide attempt for another of the children, and working to stop another child from becoming a full fledged outlaw by the age of 17.
Some days we moms have to break down and pull out our capes, run into the phone booth and come out a superhero to make it all work out. Today, in addition to my everyday jobs, my super task was to find, interview by phone and hire a lawyer from a town I'm not familiar with three hours away to defend my step-son, Alex. Part two of my super task was to then produce the $2000. out of thin air to pay for said lawyer. Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself, though. Let me back up and start from the beginning.
My mother-in-law, Dottie, lives three hours away in a beach resort town. Her husband passed away a little over three years ago and since then she has been very lonely. Each summer Brian's son, Alex, spends most of the summer with his grandmother. They are extremely close so it works out nicely for both of them. Dottie loves to have her grandson all to herself for weeks on end and Alex loves being able to go to the beach everyday. This summer, however, my husband and I both had some concerns about Dottie's ability to adequately supervise Alex closely enough given some stunts he has pulled since last summer. We worried trouble might just be brewing. It turned out we had no idea what we were in for.
With four teenagers living with us full time, Brian and I get very little time to do things alone together. The weekend of July 4th, however, we lucked out. My Alex was visiting his father in Pennsylvania, Jessica was on a trip with a friend and Nicholas was visiting his mother. We couldn't believe it! A whole weekend all to ourselves! After dinner and a movie, Brian and I came home and got ready for bed. We were just turning off the lights when the phone rang. It was Dottie. A phone call from a parent at 1:30 in the morning is never a good thing and this was no exception.
From across the room, I could hear my mother-in-law shrieking into my husbands ear. While I couldn't hear what she was saying, my husbands response of "WHAT?!?! THE POLICE?" and "HE DID WHAT?!?!" assured me we were in uncharted waters. Apparently my step-son, John Dillinger had gone on a bit of a crime spree that night. My mother-in-law was awakened by the state police beating on her front door. When she answered, a tall state trooper was shining a flashlight into her eyes, demanding to know where her car was. Confused, Dottie pointed to the driveway but when she looked she was horrified. Her car was nowhere to be found. After checking for her keys and her first born grandson, it became obvious; Alex had taken the car.
Now this act alone might not have been such a big problem except that Alex has no drivers license. He apparently also has no common sense since he was driving without headlights and when the police tried to pull him over for this, he decided to try to outrun them! He led police on a high speed chase through stop signs, red lights and across numerous front lawns. According to the police, he nearly caused three major accidents with his reckless driving. In the interest of public safety, the troopers called off the chase as he was heading into the tourist part of town for fear pedestrians would be hurt. Unfortunately, it was at this point that they lost him and for the next hour no one knew where he was or even if he was okay.
Needless to say, my husband and I jumped into the car and got on the road immediately, fearing the worst. We called his cell phone repeatedly until he finally answered. He had now driven more than an hour away in another direction. We talked him into pulling over, parking and waiting for the police. We advised him to cooperate since he was in enough trouble as it was.
By the time we got to the police department, Alex had been arrested, finger printed, had his mug shot taken and was sitting quietly in a jail cell. We collected the little outlaw and his grandmothers car and went back to her house so he could pack. There was no way we were letting him stay for a second longer. We apologized profusely to Dottie, who was still shaking and crying from the fear Alex had been hurt or had hurt someone else. We packed him into the car and headed home.
We were finally served with the papers this week. Alex is officially being charged with driving without a license, stealing a car and eluding the police. So much for our quiet weekend alone.
In our house we have some Clark Kent duties many other families do not, including administering chemo to one of the children, locking up anything dangerous to prevent an additional suicide attempt for another of the children, and working to stop another child from becoming a full fledged outlaw by the age of 17.
Some days we moms have to break down and pull out our capes, run into the phone booth and come out a superhero to make it all work out. Today, in addition to my everyday jobs, my super task was to find, interview by phone and hire a lawyer from a town I'm not familiar with three hours away to defend my step-son, Alex. Part two of my super task was to then produce the $2000. out of thin air to pay for said lawyer. Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself, though. Let me back up and start from the beginning.
My mother-in-law, Dottie, lives three hours away in a beach resort town. Her husband passed away a little over three years ago and since then she has been very lonely. Each summer Brian's son, Alex, spends most of the summer with his grandmother. They are extremely close so it works out nicely for both of them. Dottie loves to have her grandson all to herself for weeks on end and Alex loves being able to go to the beach everyday. This summer, however, my husband and I both had some concerns about Dottie's ability to adequately supervise Alex closely enough given some stunts he has pulled since last summer. We worried trouble might just be brewing. It turned out we had no idea what we were in for.
With four teenagers living with us full time, Brian and I get very little time to do things alone together. The weekend of July 4th, however, we lucked out. My Alex was visiting his father in Pennsylvania, Jessica was on a trip with a friend and Nicholas was visiting his mother. We couldn't believe it! A whole weekend all to ourselves! After dinner and a movie, Brian and I came home and got ready for bed. We were just turning off the lights when the phone rang. It was Dottie. A phone call from a parent at 1:30 in the morning is never a good thing and this was no exception.
From across the room, I could hear my mother-in-law shrieking into my husbands ear. While I couldn't hear what she was saying, my husbands response of "WHAT?!?! THE POLICE?" and "HE DID WHAT?!?!" assured me we were in uncharted waters. Apparently my step-son, John Dillinger had gone on a bit of a crime spree that night. My mother-in-law was awakened by the state police beating on her front door. When she answered, a tall state trooper was shining a flashlight into her eyes, demanding to know where her car was. Confused, Dottie pointed to the driveway but when she looked she was horrified. Her car was nowhere to be found. After checking for her keys and her first born grandson, it became obvious; Alex had taken the car.
Now this act alone might not have been such a big problem except that Alex has no drivers license. He apparently also has no common sense since he was driving without headlights and when the police tried to pull him over for this, he decided to try to outrun them! He led police on a high speed chase through stop signs, red lights and across numerous front lawns. According to the police, he nearly caused three major accidents with his reckless driving. In the interest of public safety, the troopers called off the chase as he was heading into the tourist part of town for fear pedestrians would be hurt. Unfortunately, it was at this point that they lost him and for the next hour no one knew where he was or even if he was okay.
Needless to say, my husband and I jumped into the car and got on the road immediately, fearing the worst. We called his cell phone repeatedly until he finally answered. He had now driven more than an hour away in another direction. We talked him into pulling over, parking and waiting for the police. We advised him to cooperate since he was in enough trouble as it was.
By the time we got to the police department, Alex had been arrested, finger printed, had his mug shot taken and was sitting quietly in a jail cell. We collected the little outlaw and his grandmothers car and went back to her house so he could pack. There was no way we were letting him stay for a second longer. We apologized profusely to Dottie, who was still shaking and crying from the fear Alex had been hurt or had hurt someone else. We packed him into the car and headed home.
We were finally served with the papers this week. Alex is officially being charged with driving without a license, stealing a car and eluding the police. So much for our quiet weekend alone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)