It's been awhile since I've written, and all I can say is that numerous thoughts have been going through my mind, countless events and commitments.....some chosen but most are required. In many attempts to write, none of my drafted journal entries made much sense, and I would stop....think of new thoughts.....write and then stop yet again. Perhaps my mind was preoccupied with life's events. Some might call it writer's block. None of my thoughts seemed important, even though I wanted to write......nothing was cohesive. I came to the conclusion that all I needed to do was take a step back, pause, reflect and take in what was happening, and when the spirit moved me, it would happen. So, the spirit moved me, and here I am again.
This past month, my sister-in-law, Connie, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. All those familiar words came back again. I thought I had sent them soaring, thrown them out, hoping not to hear from them for a long time, but they've returned. Biopsy, blood tests, chemotherapy, ports, oxicotin, lack of appetite, tumor, lymph nodes......words I hoped to be rid of for awhile, came rushing back. I could try to dodge it; pretend like it's not in our lives again. No matter how I choose to deal with it; bottom line is Connie has been dealt the hand that so many are facing today. I'm not naive in thinking that none of my loved ones will ever be touched by "The beast" again, but I found myself moving into auto pilot these past few weeks. It's been told to me that this must be difficult to have this happen in your life again, especially when the experience with Chrissy is still so fresh; yet, my main concern was for my husband and his sister, Connie. Connie was the one who had been dealt this hand. Did hearing those words of cancer hit straight to my heart? Absolutely. I would be lying if I said it didn't bother me. Even though we may not be afflicted with the disease; all loved ones are living the journey in one form or other. I don't really know what I'm capable of giving, but I know I must be present. I must be present with my husband, present for my inlaws and present for myself. This cancer hits people of all ages, economic backgrounds and cultures. There is no rhyme or reason to the madness, but I know I must act, and that's what we must all try to do.
Today I talked with my son's teacher, and she said something that inspired me to write this entry today. A couple of years ago, her dad died, and when I heard of her loss, I felt compelled to write her, tell her how sorry I was to hear of her loss. Frankly, I don't remember the specific words I said, but whatever they were, she weeped and saved it. She said it helped her get through that moment, and she didn't feel alone. With tearful eyes, she thanked me for those words she received awhile back and said she refers to them when she's having a bad day. It also brought to mind what our pastor mentioned at mass a few weeks ago. He said that to evangelize doesn't mean we have to go around and preach the word and recite the Bible all the time; rather, evangelizing could mean something as simple as smiling at someone, baking a cake, sending a card, doing an act of kindness. All of those actions, examples of kindnesses are what God wants us to do for one another. I don't at all claim to be on top of these matters, but what I propose is that if everyone took the time to notice, how wonderful our lives would be........take notice. When the spirit moves me to write......then I write. If the spirit moves you......then DO IT.
One thing I've learned in this journey is that this world is filled with joys, surprises and disappointments. All those are a given in life, but when the spirit moves you, listen and act. Perhaps a smile is all you're able to give.....do it! Whatever it is that you are capable of giving to another human being, then follow that calling. When the spirit moves you.....listen! It might be a life changing moment for another human being.
"Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier."
- Mother Tereasa
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Sugar Lips
With each of my children, they have their own unique talents, gifts, behaviors, goals and so much more. Sometimes I sit back in awe at what God has given me while other days I plop on my bed thinking, "GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU GIVEN ME!" Most days, though, I feel blessed by their special talents that are brought forth each and every minute. Some days there are challenges, caring for souls of different natures, but I realize that they were given to me by God to help them mature into the people they are meant to be. Today I write about my Luke, aka "Sugar Lips."
On this Spring break, Luke, given his nature, decided he wanted to do some spring cleaning. First, let me take you back to when I carried him under my heart, and the time of labor had begun. Earlier that day, there had been a false alarm, or so the hospital told me. I knew he was itching to get out, as I was eagerly awaiting his arrival, and a mother knows. It didn't matter what the doctors had said, I knew this baby was soon to be born. There we were on June 30th when they told us to go back home and wait it out; I wasn't dilated enough. I went back home and finished writing my bills. It was a sweltering summer day and the labor pains were happening more frequently. We settled in for the night, but I told Marty to be ready because I knew the pains were becoming more intense. Thus began our middle of the night adventure, traveling to the hospital. "They're going to be wrong this time; I know this baby's coming," with an agitation in my voice. As we registered into the maternity ward, I thought of the great pain it had taken me to get here. After Eric, we had experience two miscarriages so I had accepted the fact that perhaps we weren't going to parent any more children.
There we were in a quiet, dark maternity room of St. Luke's, somewhat relaxed really, and they told me to get some rest, and soon the fun would begin. The lights in the hospital room were low, Marty had just closed his eyes and I had settled in to a good position to catch a catnap. Then all hell broke loose. Within minutes, the nurse flew in our room, followed by 4 staff members because on their monitors they saw that the baby's heart beat had stopped. She asked me to move into a different position to see if this baby's heartbeat would show again. After a few tries, the beats began but were slow. It all seems like a blur right now, but one thing I remember was the fear that Marty and I didn't speak. After having 2 miscarriages, this baby was a long awaited gift, and knowing that something harmful might happen to this baby was more than I could speak. I saw it in his eyes, and if he had some food in front of him, Marty would have shoveled it down. When Marty gets nervous, he eats. You wouldn't know it by his slim build, but he does. When my water broke at home with Eric, I was gathering items for the hospital and Marty was walking around the kitchen, munching on a bag of chips. Long story short, Luke was born that early morning around 5:00 a.m. I've lost memory of some of the details, but one thing I'll never forget is the look on each of my children's faces when they were born. Luke was crying when he came out, and they whisked him away to check his vitals and clean him up, but he was perfect.
So here we are, nine years later and he's determined to clean this house on his terms. I don't tell him how to do it, as Luke has a mind of his own. I knew this early on after his birth, when his most comforted times were in my arms, fast asleep. He was different from Eric, but aren't all God's children? They each have their own personality, but Luke was different because sometimes I would call his name repeatedly as a toddler, but he wouldn't answer. It got to the point that I thought he might have a hearing loss, so we had him tested, but his hearing was normal. Sometimes, he would have this flapping motion or be mesmorized by your face or he would have an eye gaze that would last long enough to be noticed, and we would call his name, but he wouldn't respond. A mother knows things about their children that no one else knows. We didn't speak of it at first, but I knew something was different about Luke. Some of us are in denial about who they are, but I knew, and it didn't matter what you called it because he was my sweety boy, my sugar lips. As we entered him into preschool, the teachers loved Luke; although, there was some discussion as to diagnosing him a certain way, but Marty and me didn't like the "title" that was given. Honestly, we were probably not ready to accept it at that time, but we prayed and talked often about Luke's needs and what was best for him, not the teachers. After much discussion and testing, observation by our professional peers; we were ready to say it aloud. Our beautiful Luke, who has his own unique ways, humorous, sweet, and sensitive was diagnosed with mild autism last year.
I speak of Luke this day because we are so proud of how he has matured and learned so much this school year. He has progressed with his team of teachers in such a wonderful way, and we are so very proud of him. His educational years up to now have been successful; although, we've had our stressful moments with certain behaviors. He will perseverate on certain subjects like natural disasters, especially tornados and earthquakes. He weaves in and out with certain desires like science test tubes, living in an attic, buying a real live castle and traveling to various destinations. Sometimes, you never know what will come out of his mouth. Mostly it's humorous, and Marty and I smile as we listen to his intricate stories of his life, our lives together as a family and where we'll be, atleast from his perspective. I remember his reaction upon hearing of Chrissy's cancer, and he was very concerned. One thing of many that I adore about Luke is that he will just "put it out there" without any filter. I so love that about him. He wasn't afraid to say that Aunt Chrissy might die, but we are going to pray that she doesn't. He spoke those words as a 7 year old, and when you hear it from a young soul, it's quite emotional.
I remember one night when Luke was only weeks old, and I was so tired. Chrissy came over, and Luke wasn't sleeping at night, not even in my arms. He cried excessively, and I must have said to her, "I can't do this. I'm not a good mom." She smiled at me, and said, "Oh yes you are." She cradled him in her arms and bounced on the side of the bed. Miraculously Luke fell asleep in her arms. She taught me that night to never give up on him, and ever since then, I haven't. There might be days of frustration as any parent has, but I will never give up on him. Early on he began to suck on two of his fingers, and that was enough to pacify him that night, too. As my Luke cleans the house today, he smiles.....he smiles and sees all the dreamlike possibilities that we sometimes loose sight of, and I love that he brings that into our lives. He continues to remind me that I must clean my toilet as he has cleaned the other two, and I smile. He's quite the character, and today, for some reason or other, I feel the need to honor him, my Sugar Lips.
On this Spring break, Luke, given his nature, decided he wanted to do some spring cleaning. First, let me take you back to when I carried him under my heart, and the time of labor had begun. Earlier that day, there had been a false alarm, or so the hospital told me. I knew he was itching to get out, as I was eagerly awaiting his arrival, and a mother knows. It didn't matter what the doctors had said, I knew this baby was soon to be born. There we were on June 30th when they told us to go back home and wait it out; I wasn't dilated enough. I went back home and finished writing my bills. It was a sweltering summer day and the labor pains were happening more frequently. We settled in for the night, but I told Marty to be ready because I knew the pains were becoming more intense. Thus began our middle of the night adventure, traveling to the hospital. "They're going to be wrong this time; I know this baby's coming," with an agitation in my voice. As we registered into the maternity ward, I thought of the great pain it had taken me to get here. After Eric, we had experience two miscarriages so I had accepted the fact that perhaps we weren't going to parent any more children.
There we were in a quiet, dark maternity room of St. Luke's, somewhat relaxed really, and they told me to get some rest, and soon the fun would begin. The lights in the hospital room were low, Marty had just closed his eyes and I had settled in to a good position to catch a catnap. Then all hell broke loose. Within minutes, the nurse flew in our room, followed by 4 staff members because on their monitors they saw that the baby's heart beat had stopped. She asked me to move into a different position to see if this baby's heartbeat would show again. After a few tries, the beats began but were slow. It all seems like a blur right now, but one thing I remember was the fear that Marty and I didn't speak. After having 2 miscarriages, this baby was a long awaited gift, and knowing that something harmful might happen to this baby was more than I could speak. I saw it in his eyes, and if he had some food in front of him, Marty would have shoveled it down. When Marty gets nervous, he eats. You wouldn't know it by his slim build, but he does. When my water broke at home with Eric, I was gathering items for the hospital and Marty was walking around the kitchen, munching on a bag of chips. Long story short, Luke was born that early morning around 5:00 a.m. I've lost memory of some of the details, but one thing I'll never forget is the look on each of my children's faces when they were born. Luke was crying when he came out, and they whisked him away to check his vitals and clean him up, but he was perfect.
So here we are, nine years later and he's determined to clean this house on his terms. I don't tell him how to do it, as Luke has a mind of his own. I knew this early on after his birth, when his most comforted times were in my arms, fast asleep. He was different from Eric, but aren't all God's children? They each have their own personality, but Luke was different because sometimes I would call his name repeatedly as a toddler, but he wouldn't answer. It got to the point that I thought he might have a hearing loss, so we had him tested, but his hearing was normal. Sometimes, he would have this flapping motion or be mesmorized by your face or he would have an eye gaze that would last long enough to be noticed, and we would call his name, but he wouldn't respond. A mother knows things about their children that no one else knows. We didn't speak of it at first, but I knew something was different about Luke. Some of us are in denial about who they are, but I knew, and it didn't matter what you called it because he was my sweety boy, my sugar lips. As we entered him into preschool, the teachers loved Luke; although, there was some discussion as to diagnosing him a certain way, but Marty and me didn't like the "title" that was given. Honestly, we were probably not ready to accept it at that time, but we prayed and talked often about Luke's needs and what was best for him, not the teachers. After much discussion and testing, observation by our professional peers; we were ready to say it aloud. Our beautiful Luke, who has his own unique ways, humorous, sweet, and sensitive was diagnosed with mild autism last year.
I speak of Luke this day because we are so proud of how he has matured and learned so much this school year. He has progressed with his team of teachers in such a wonderful way, and we are so very proud of him. His educational years up to now have been successful; although, we've had our stressful moments with certain behaviors. He will perseverate on certain subjects like natural disasters, especially tornados and earthquakes. He weaves in and out with certain desires like science test tubes, living in an attic, buying a real live castle and traveling to various destinations. Sometimes, you never know what will come out of his mouth. Mostly it's humorous, and Marty and I smile as we listen to his intricate stories of his life, our lives together as a family and where we'll be, atleast from his perspective. I remember his reaction upon hearing of Chrissy's cancer, and he was very concerned. One thing of many that I adore about Luke is that he will just "put it out there" without any filter. I so love that about him. He wasn't afraid to say that Aunt Chrissy might die, but we are going to pray that she doesn't. He spoke those words as a 7 year old, and when you hear it from a young soul, it's quite emotional.
I remember one night when Luke was only weeks old, and I was so tired. Chrissy came over, and Luke wasn't sleeping at night, not even in my arms. He cried excessively, and I must have said to her, "I can't do this. I'm not a good mom." She smiled at me, and said, "Oh yes you are." She cradled him in her arms and bounced on the side of the bed. Miraculously Luke fell asleep in her arms. She taught me that night to never give up on him, and ever since then, I haven't. There might be days of frustration as any parent has, but I will never give up on him. Early on he began to suck on two of his fingers, and that was enough to pacify him that night, too. As my Luke cleans the house today, he smiles.....he smiles and sees all the dreamlike possibilities that we sometimes loose sight of, and I love that he brings that into our lives. He continues to remind me that I must clean my toilet as he has cleaned the other two, and I smile. He's quite the character, and today, for some reason or other, I feel the need to honor him, my Sugar Lips.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Going on Stage
Friday night I spent some girl time with my Faith as we ventured out to Ellisville School's Variety Show, presented up at Lafayette High School, where over 100 students showed their stuff, painting on smiles and eagerly flaunting their talents. It's quite a professional event, and many people packed the audience, most waiting for loved ones to show their talent, but also those of us who were there for the fun of it. I was still battling this cold of mine, and for a brief moment I envisioned myself in a warm, cozy blanket, but I had promised Faith we would go. We parents do that, don't we? We want to make those memories, and tonight we did. She was so looking forward to watching her peers perform so off we went, my kleenexes and all. My boys and Marty had other commitments as Eric was transported from a Confirmation group activity to his band practice, getting ready for his jam session at a local eatery tomorrow night.
While I do enjoy precious portrayals of young talent; my body was more in the mood for a warm bed, sipping on a cup of hot tea versus listening to the childish screams supporting their friends in the school talent show. I heard the same popular songs resonating over and over again, until what used to be playful, enjoyable songs had become "not again!" (atleast for me) It made me smile, though, watching these young hearts up on stage while all of us cheered. It was impressive watching ones so young belting out tunes, playing their musical instruments or singing a favorite song. I was amazed by the undying enthusiasm and courage of all who went on stage, mistakes and all. I nudged Faith a few times and asked her if this was something that she would do, and her quick reply was, "No way!" Given her personality, I was surprised by her response. By the end of the evening, though, I think I had her thinking about the MC part. Once you're a 5th grader, you can try out for the MC part, and I could see the wheels spinning in her head. In fact, there were about 10 MC's speaking throughout the night, reading the cute jokes that were written for them. One of these young people happened to be an "IT" guy, athletic type, and he had his fan club there supporting him. Every time this MC stepped out, kids in the crowd yelled and chanted his name. The first few times were funny, but then it actually became annoying. It was so annyoying that my Faith yelled out, "He's just a BOY!" So much like her mother, it's scary.
As I found myself lost in the moment, Faith nuzzled up against me. I remember going on stage with my brother and sisters, usually performing on Mother's Day or Father's Day. Our relatives would gather for a BBQ, and Deni and Sue would create performances, and we would practice for our big debut. Of course, Deni, our future star, would play the guitar and sing like she was this cool and collected professional. There might have been a poem or two read; I'm not sure about that one, but it seems familiar. I vividly remember performing a back and forth "joke" routine where I was a barking dog answering questions from my brother, the trainer. I can picture our basement in the house where we lived, and I know Chrissy had to be a baby or perhaps not yet born, on some of those occasions, because I was only 4 years old or so. The colors of our basement are so clear in my mind; the wood paneling and I even remember the white with swirly brown basement floor, and I strain to see all the faces of my family as they smile and clap.....my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, Chrissy......all of them who have passed on to their new life. I feel myself yearning to recall their faces, like flipping the pages of a photo album, staring and running my fingers across their faces as if they could jump off the page and embrace me. Tonight, as I joined in the cheers of the Ellisville crowd, those memories replayed: sisters and a brother going on stage.
"Photos wear and tear and get lost, but memories are but a blink away"
While I do enjoy precious portrayals of young talent; my body was more in the mood for a warm bed, sipping on a cup of hot tea versus listening to the childish screams supporting their friends in the school talent show. I heard the same popular songs resonating over and over again, until what used to be playful, enjoyable songs had become "not again!" (atleast for me) It made me smile, though, watching these young hearts up on stage while all of us cheered. It was impressive watching ones so young belting out tunes, playing their musical instruments or singing a favorite song. I was amazed by the undying enthusiasm and courage of all who went on stage, mistakes and all. I nudged Faith a few times and asked her if this was something that she would do, and her quick reply was, "No way!" Given her personality, I was surprised by her response. By the end of the evening, though, I think I had her thinking about the MC part. Once you're a 5th grader, you can try out for the MC part, and I could see the wheels spinning in her head. In fact, there were about 10 MC's speaking throughout the night, reading the cute jokes that were written for them. One of these young people happened to be an "IT" guy, athletic type, and he had his fan club there supporting him. Every time this MC stepped out, kids in the crowd yelled and chanted his name. The first few times were funny, but then it actually became annoying. It was so annyoying that my Faith yelled out, "He's just a BOY!" So much like her mother, it's scary.
As I found myself lost in the moment, Faith nuzzled up against me. I remember going on stage with my brother and sisters, usually performing on Mother's Day or Father's Day. Our relatives would gather for a BBQ, and Deni and Sue would create performances, and we would practice for our big debut. Of course, Deni, our future star, would play the guitar and sing like she was this cool and collected professional. There might have been a poem or two read; I'm not sure about that one, but it seems familiar. I vividly remember performing a back and forth "joke" routine where I was a barking dog answering questions from my brother, the trainer. I can picture our basement in the house where we lived, and I know Chrissy had to be a baby or perhaps not yet born, on some of those occasions, because I was only 4 years old or so. The colors of our basement are so clear in my mind; the wood paneling and I even remember the white with swirly brown basement floor, and I strain to see all the faces of my family as they smile and clap.....my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, Chrissy......all of them who have passed on to their new life. I feel myself yearning to recall their faces, like flipping the pages of a photo album, staring and running my fingers across their faces as if they could jump off the page and embrace me. Tonight, as I joined in the cheers of the Ellisville crowd, those memories replayed: sisters and a brother going on stage.
"Photos wear and tear and get lost, but memories are but a blink away"
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Don't Talk the Talk If You Don't Walk the Walk
Last night I was experimenting with my Soul on a Journey website, as I wanted to color it up a bit with my favorite snapshots and photos that nudge at my heart strings.....pictures worth sharing that give you a peak at my loved ones. There's many more I would love to share, but I'm still searching and learning how to locate them. Our photos are literally all over the place in this world of technology, something that I find a bit intimidating, but I've come a long way. While attempting this process and feeling quite proud of myself with the results, my list of Followers' names/photos disappeared from my site....in a flash. My brother-in-law, Frank, is always telling me to take a chance, go beyond your comfort zone in technology......what's the worst that could happen? Well, for a night, I lost those names, and I had to chuckle. What did I lose? I couldn't see my followers icons; yet, I knew you were all still out there. Sort of like life and death really. Their faces have disappeared right in front of me, but I know they're all still out there watching and listening right along side of me. I think you are, aren't you? Funny isn't it, how visuals and tangibles are so important to us from how we decorate the house, what clothes we wear, photographs that seem to jump off the page especially when they're photos of our loved ones who have died. I also realized that those faces are not only faces, but it's the dreams that have vanished. The dreams of what could have been have vanished, and that seems to be the loss that all of us who grieve, share. The loss of those dreams, what could have been are all gone and new ones have to be created, and that for me, has been the ultimate struggle. Some days that thought is so overwhelming; I feel as though I can't catch my breath, and I find myself taking a deep breath and literally chanting, "Help me Lord."
In this journey of life, almost a year after I started writing on this site, I am learning to take more chances, trying to step out of my comfort zone. One of those chances is seeking supportive counsel from my church, which is called Stephen Ministries. It's a wonderful resource where lay people from our parish are trained to be supportive, somewhat like counselors, my spiritual support, a listener, someone to pray alongside me. I fought it as long as I could as I didn't want to tell someone that I was reaching my breaking point. It's been long overdue, and with life's joys there resides the struggles, and I knew that I was moving to a place in my life that required me to do this. I still resist some of the outside social events that seem to paralyze me at times, feeling as though I'm pretending, not having the energy to engage in conversation. I find it extremely awkward to handle the large crowds so perhaps my journey with this opportunity will help me understand more layers of myself that have been hidden for so long. Maybe one day, it won't be so awkward for me......the familiar, yet unfamiliar crowds, the small talk.
I write of this today because tomorrow starts the season of Lent, a familiar event to us Catholics and so foreign to those who have never lived it. It's a time of sacrifice and cleansing, perhaps a time of turning over a new leaf. This new step, reaching out for help has been a good choice for me, and my Stephen Minister has been a God send. I'm taking a chance, and what's the worst that could happen? I don't know, but perhaps in another one of my entries, you'll find out. After three sessions, much has been talked about, and while I know the layers are beginning to unfold, there's so much more that I have to figure out about myself.
Taking a chance has it's limitations, but I'm trying, and who knows what the outcome might be? One step leads to the next, and while I walk with hesitation, I'm finally putting on the shoes and taking the chance to walk, opening my mind to dreams, one of my many destinations. Here's my question for all of you: Are you taking the appropriate chances in your life? Are you reaching out to those in need? Are you stepping out of your comfort zone which will ultimately help another human being? Are you in need of healing? As this season of Lent begins, take inventory of your own life and see where chances need to be taken.
"Do what you can to make a difference in somebody's life."
In this journey of life, almost a year after I started writing on this site, I am learning to take more chances, trying to step out of my comfort zone. One of those chances is seeking supportive counsel from my church, which is called Stephen Ministries. It's a wonderful resource where lay people from our parish are trained to be supportive, somewhat like counselors, my spiritual support, a listener, someone to pray alongside me. I fought it as long as I could as I didn't want to tell someone that I was reaching my breaking point. It's been long overdue, and with life's joys there resides the struggles, and I knew that I was moving to a place in my life that required me to do this. I still resist some of the outside social events that seem to paralyze me at times, feeling as though I'm pretending, not having the energy to engage in conversation. I find it extremely awkward to handle the large crowds so perhaps my journey with this opportunity will help me understand more layers of myself that have been hidden for so long. Maybe one day, it won't be so awkward for me......the familiar, yet unfamiliar crowds, the small talk.
I write of this today because tomorrow starts the season of Lent, a familiar event to us Catholics and so foreign to those who have never lived it. It's a time of sacrifice and cleansing, perhaps a time of turning over a new leaf. This new step, reaching out for help has been a good choice for me, and my Stephen Minister has been a God send. I'm taking a chance, and what's the worst that could happen? I don't know, but perhaps in another one of my entries, you'll find out. After three sessions, much has been talked about, and while I know the layers are beginning to unfold, there's so much more that I have to figure out about myself.
Taking a chance has it's limitations, but I'm trying, and who knows what the outcome might be? One step leads to the next, and while I walk with hesitation, I'm finally putting on the shoes and taking the chance to walk, opening my mind to dreams, one of my many destinations. Here's my question for all of you: Are you taking the appropriate chances in your life? Are you reaching out to those in need? Are you stepping out of your comfort zone which will ultimately help another human being? Are you in need of healing? As this season of Lent begins, take inventory of your own life and see where chances need to be taken.
"Do what you can to make a difference in somebody's life."
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