Letting Go

September 29, 2012 By

Perogies while being prepared.

Things Change.  One minute the sun is shining, the next it’s raining cats and dogs. I might be really sad at noon, and then find myself happy and laughing hysterically by four o’clock. When I have a day that makes me want to shoot myself in the head, the next day I may be filled with uncontrollable excitement to get on with my life. None of us ever knows from one minute to the next what is before us.  The past is done, never to return.  The future hasn’t happened yet, so how can we truly plan what we will be doing next? Changes are constant. They can be large or small, altering our lives in many ways. Some are good. Others bring on excruciating pain and suffering.  The one thing that never changes, is the need to let go of whatever we are clinging to, so that we can ride the waves toward new beginnings.  It can be hard. So very hard.  Especially when we are dealing with major loss.

Right now, there are lots of changes happening in my life, and lots of things I need to let go of.  Though there is nothing terribly earth shattering, they’re bothersome and sometimes sad.  For one thing, I’m aging.  Nothing works quite the way it used to.  I can no longer wiggle my ears or do fifty jumping jacks all in a row. It’s to be expected, of course, but I’m loving my later years for my ability to be more honest and to say what I need to say without embarrassing myself.

Just a little over three weeks ago, I decided to go gluten-free.  I’m feeling absolutely terrific.  All of my aches and pains are gone, food cravings are a thing of the past, my energy levels have risen to new heights, and I’m slowly losing weight … about a pound a week.  It’s miraculous and I love every minute of discovering the new me.  What’s to complain about?

I think of Christmas and the traditional foods we’ve always enjoyed in the past.  Like the perogies, forever my favorite holiday food, since the beginning of time.  Little packages of pasta, filled with a variety of fillings, like sauerkraut, mushrooms, or potato and cheese, are to die for.  We smother them with caramelized onions and sour cream, and spend our time eating them in food heaven.  But no more.  I do take solace in their sweet memory and know I’ll probably come up with something that tastes similar but doesn’t use pasta.

Seven weeks ago we adopted an adorable little terrier.  As of three days ago, he is no longer with us. We had to return him to the shelter because he began beating up our old guy, Sam.  He also turned out to be destructive, shredding a new chair cover, chewing on the woodwork, and then a table.  Sam was not hurt too badly the last time Terry started a fight, but everyone, including the trainer, the vet and Terry’s former foster mom, agreed that things could take a very bad turn if we didn’t do something. The amount of training he would need was something we couldn’t commit to. And my first concern was for Sam, who was already coming to us for protection, whenever Terry would get too rowdy.

We’re feeling pretty glum at this point and despite his problems, all of us, including Sam, miss the dickens out of him.  He was a very sweet little guy most of the time.  I’d recently discovered his love for water, when visiting with a neighbor. He’d stepped down onto the first step in her pool and spent the next ten minutes just sitting in the shallow water with a huge grin on his face. I promised myself I’d get him a small toddler’s pool for next summer, but then the last and most injurious fight took place.  I spent the last day he was with us in tears, hugging him and wishing for a fairytale ending, in which he suddenly sees the error of his ways and straightens himself out.  But the true fairytale will happen when he finds a new forever home, where he is the one and only kingpin, preferably with a few kids, whom he adores, and a large space to run in.  There has already been some interest in him from others looking for a small dog and I’m feeling it could happen very soon.

My Mom

My biggest letting go for now, will happen in a week or so when I take my mother’s ashes up to Long Island, to scatter them in the places where she was truly happy.  Some of her ashes are already buried next to my Dad in New Hampshire and some are under the Smoke Tree, we planted in her honor, here in Virginia.  She was not all that happy in New England, and after we, as a family, moved to Vermont, she went back to the Island often, spending her time staying in a small cottage, and visiting friends and relatives.  When she died in 2007, I was not able to plan a funeral or a memorial for her.  I was spent from years of being her caretaker.  I was also very angry with her, unable to find a middle ground where I would be ready and able to let her go with forgiveness and love.  Though it’s taken a while, I’m ready now.  I do miss her terribly and often find myself wanting to call her, to let her in on any exciting news I have to share.  It’s funny, but I do think she knows it all anyway and is up there, sitting on the edge of a cloud, still trying to run the show.

I don’t know how I’ll feel once I finally commit Mom to the earth and sea. Lately, I’ve felt a few second thoughts creep in, suggesting that maybe it would be better if she stayed in the closet where I’ve kept her all this time. But the thing is, I know I need to set her free, so that I can move on with my own life.  Mom’s hold on me began to die this past June, when we had to put her cat, Cleo, to sleep. That calico kitty was my last living connection to Mom. With her, I learned to forgive Mom and myself for the pain we caused each other.  Now it’s time to set myself free as well. I wish to go on living a glorious, rich life, and to enjoy every moment as they arise, without regret of any kind.

 What kinds of changes are going on in your life?  What do you need to let go of?

Filed Under: Animals I Love, family, Gratefulness, Healthy Living, Navigating Through Life Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Writing My Life

September 22, 2012 By

At five, standing in my grandparent’s garden.

When I told a friend a while back that I’m in the process of writing a memoir, she asked me what it was going to write about. I struggled with what to tell her. I wasn’t very clear yet myself, but trying to find words that I thought would serve the purpose, I said, “Well, it’s about my life, how I came to be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and how I’ve brought peace into my life.”

Sufficing as a fair to middling, but far too general a description, it didn’t answer the deeper questions that had been rolling around in my head when I started the writing. “What am I going to include?  What do I want to say and why do I even want to do this?  Am I up to the challenge of reliving some of the darker moments of my life?”

In my first conversations with myself about writing my life, I didn’t have a clue as to how to start.  So I started with stories as they came to me. I published some here, on this blog.  I wrote the happy stories, avoiding the dark stuff, not ready to spill the beans and their big stink. Slowly, I started allowing the ghosts waiting outside the door into my studio and began digging deeper, becoming more honest with and about myself.

Many have told me that I’ve lived a fascinating life and should get it all down on paper. They told me it would be helpful to others who’ve suffered through undiagnosed PTSD. Many people don’t understand that it can be caused by lesser events than living through a tsunami or being a veteran of a cruel and arduous war.

But my first concern was just getting it all out of my internal storeroom, knowing that once I started getting my shame out, I’d feel lighter and happier. I could downsize my memory bank, just as I was downsizing my belongings and living space. I felt that writing through my struggles, I could begin to put the fragmented pieces of my life back together, reaching a new understanding of who I am and how I got to be me.  I knew it could open up the doors I’ve kept locked for far too long and giving me a new perspective on where I’ve come from.

As I was trying to get started on this project, I was diagnosed with Endometrial cancer, which grows in the lining of the Uterus. I was told by a number of doctors that if one has to have cancer, this is the best kind to have. It’s easily treated, depending of course, on its stage when it’s discovered.  Even so, I was extremely frightened. Cancer is the killer in my family. Heart disease has rarely been an issue. All of my relatives, who have passed on, died of complications and the affects cancer had on their bodies. We’ve had cancer of the lungs, bladder, esophagus, nasal cavity, and colorectal cancer.  I found it disturbing to think that unless I’m run over by a dump truck or die of some other external cause, my life would most probably end in the same kind of suffering that my forebears in death went through.  I did not want that for myself.

Treatment for my cancer was a simple hysterectomy, removing all of my reproductive organs. As long as it would be gone, I didn’t care about the loss of parts of myself. At my age, I wouldn’t be needing them anyway. I now visit my Oncologist twice a year to be rechecked and to date there has been no reoccurrence. I’m told that the chances of it returning are rare and should it show up again it is treatable.

While spending several months recuperating from the surgery, I decided that there was no time to worry about cancer and its potential return.  I had no time to feel sorry for myself or the events in my life that had brought me to this moment. I wanted a new a perspective on how to proceed through the rest of my days. Life has been hard and cruel at times and I still bear the scars of child abuse. I’ve struggled with depression, extreme anxiety and spent years thinking of myself as broken and unfit. I learned about and began to accept that I’m an HSP, or a highly sensitive person. Whatever the cause, whether genetic or learned over time, I am an introvert, who has continuously tried to be the extrovert that I thought everyone expected me to be.  I was constantly at war with myself, feeling unworthy of the good things in my life, wondering what was wrong with me, and why I couldn’t reach my unthinkable dream of being just like everyone else.  In a word, Normal.

My cancer has given me a second chance at life. With the help of a therapist whose specialty was treating trauma, I had already begun the journey.  There was much healing to be done, both from the surgical standpoint and from years of blaming, hating, and abusing myself, because I was different and didn’t seem to fit in anywhere.

I can say with confidence that the most effective part of the healing process has been my memoir writing and allowing myself to relive certain aspects of life.  It has been difficult, but I’ve also discovered the many joyful times I spent with my parents, who unable to cope with their own lives, abused me and my brothers.  I’m learning about forgiveness. I’m learning to love myself and that I am worthy, and a good person.

I’m still at work on my memoir and cannot say how long it will take me to finish it. I need time to navigate through my memories and often need to take breaks between the intense chapters in order to reground myself. Being able to laugh at myself and to be joyful about my newest perceptions is constantly rewarding me.  When I’m finished writing my life and it hopefully becomes a book, I will be most happy if those who read my words will find within them, peace and a new perspective on suffering.

Are you writing a memoir or keeping a journal?  Are you finding it easy or difficult to write your stories?  Do you feel that writing about your life is an opportunity to heal the most painful parts of your journey? 

Filed Under: Books, Childhood, family, Gratefulness, Life, love, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, stories, Time, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Batty’s Pride And Joy

August 18, 2012 By

My Noah and Zoe in early August, 2012

Who’s Batty?  I am.  That’s what my granddaughter, Zoe named me when she was just beginning to talk and it’s stuck.  Doesn’t sound anything like Grandma or Grammy or any other name little kids call their grandmothers.  But that’s fine by me.  The evening she was born, when I first held her, she looked at me with wide open eyes and a wrinkly forehead. I think she recognized me from some other lifetime as a cray old lady who did magic tricks.

I admit I like the name and feel that Zoe is one of a very few who knows me for who I really am.  In truth, I am a bit batty.  I come from a long line of other batty people who had tough lives.  I’m proud to pass my own battiness on, as long as the recipient understands that it’s something that can be fun as well as painful.  It’s the sad, painful part we want to let go of, going rather for the silly, live-your-life-wide-open kind of life.  I’ve struggled with the painful part all of my life and I’m finally in the crazy, happy place I belong.  My hysterical laughter no longer embarrasses me. I can ask stupid questions, pretend I’m very smart, and say what I mean. The trick is to do it without doing anyone harm.

I’m recently back from a joyful summer break visiting my daughter, Lisa, her partner, Deena and Zoe and Noah of course. They live in the beautiful mountains of North Carolina, a good six and half hour haul one way. For me that’s a long time to sit in a car. Fortunately for me, Bill does most of the driving and we stop three or four times along the way to stretch, have a meal and attend to other needs.  But it’s so worth the drive just to be with them and out of Central Virginia’s hot, hazy and humid summer days.

Arriving is always one of the best parts of each visit.  Glowing smiles abound when I open the car door and step out to be smothered in huge hugs and sweet kisses. I take in how much Zoe and Noah have grown and notice a few gray hairs have appeared on Lisa’s head.  I’m sure they notice the changes I’ve undergone too … my newest wrinkles and the unmistakable stiffness I feel as I climb out of the car.

If we saw each other more often, we’d hardly notice the subtle changes that take place on a daily basis, but since we only see each other three or four times a year, those changes are always the first things we see.  I clearly remember watching my parents age every time we had a chance to visit after I’d moved away from home. I always imagined them the way I saw them the last time we were together. I would find myself feeling a bit sad as I watched them move through their own journeys toward the end of life.  But now, my eyes are trained on the maturing of two young people who have their whole lives ahead of them.

Zoe, Batty and Noah in early August.

During our first couple of hours together we feel the excitement of wanting to sit down and talk about all the things we miss telling each other during our weekly phone calls.   For me, there is no substitute for an in-person, face-to-face, laugh and cry together visit.  Skype and my handy Iphone are merely  pretense.  The best visits come with seeing each other for real, laughing so hard we almost wet your pants and holding each other through times of sadness.

Noah, granddad Bill, and Zoe.

Noah turned nine in July, and Zoe will be twelve at the end of September. I adored them as babies but now I love them even more as they grow in body, mind, and spirit, providing deeper conversations than we’ve had  before.  Zoe has always been a writer.  Since she was first able to hold a pencil and spell, she’s written stories, always accompanied with her brilliant drawings. Now her interests are expanding to photography and film.  I watched her first efforts at animation and I have a feeling a camera is in the works for her birthday.

Noah is all about space and Star Wars.  For his birthday I sent him a model of our planetary system that he  put together with the help of his mom and Deena.  It now hangs proudly over his bed.  He also has a large regiment of tiny plastic soldiers that he lines up to do battle with each other. He is very fond of his Grandaddy, Bill, wanting to spend as much “boy time” with him as possible.  The feeling is mutual. They spent an evening at a minor league baseball game at which the local team won (Yay), and frequently got lost on their way to other places like Chucky Cheese.  Needless to say, good ole Granddad was a bit worn by the time we left to come home.

Zoe wanted “girly time,” and on our last day there, I treated her to her first Pedicure ever.  She giggled the whole time, being very ticklish, and chose silver and a bright red for her toe nails.  I, of course, not to be outdone, had to have two colors as well and chose a teal blue and a deep scarlet.  I liked Zoe’s combo much better.  Lisa was the boring one with only one color, red.  After our pedicures we met the “boys” for lunch at Plant, one of Asheville’s finest vegan restaurants.   Deena, Lisa’s loving significant other, couldn’t join us much of time as she works long days.  We missed her but had the weekend and some evenings to catch up with her.

Zoe, Lisa, and Noah

Over the week we shopped for school supplies, took nice long walks in the cool of morning and swam together in the pool at the nearby fitness center.  Zoe would dive under water and attack my feet like a crab, while Noah sat on Bill’s shoulders and loved being thrown over and over again into the water.  We shared wonderful meals together and each afternoon we took some time to go our separate ways for napping, reading or just being alone.  Zoe and Noah spent two nights with us in the small condo we rent when we visit and Lisa and Deena had some time without the kids.  I remember how valuable those times were when Lisa and Mark were small.  It was a spectacular visit.

Like any grandmother who is madly in love with her kids, I admit the real reason I wrote this post is that I intend it as a love letter to them and to show off my family in photos.  So forget what we did and just oooh and aaah over this batty woman’s pride and joy! (-:

Filed Under: Childhood, family, Friendships, Gratefulness, Life, love, Time, Travels, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , ,

Companionship

August 12, 2012 By

Sam the Man, also known as Sampson, Sambo, Little Sam and one big hearted dog.

Sam has lost three of his best friends this past year.  Last November it was Molly, the little Maltese/Terrier mix with whom he fell head over heels in love with the first time he met her.  They were very close and when she died, he grieved along with the rest of us.  After a month or so it seemed as though he was okay with her being gone.  He enjoyed being the only dog in the house, finding it easy to break the rules we had set up for them when there were two dogs instead of just one.

We always allowed them up on the bed for afternoon naps, but at night they both slept on their own cushy beds on the floor next to us. They seemed to understand the difference between afternoon and night and rarely jumped up on the bed during the wee hours unless there was a thunderstorm or one of them had to pee.  After Molly died, Sam gradually made his way up onto the ottoman at the foot of our bed.  He’d get comfortable and when he was sure we were asleep and the sound of snoring filled the air, he’d quietly move up onto the bed.  If he dared, he’s snuggle up against a human leg. Not liking hot legs, we’d gently move him back to the ottoman, until one night we said, “The poor boy is lonely,” and left it at that.  By then, he knew he should sleep in the middle of the bed, not up against his human’s bodies.

Of late he’s been looking sad.  He wasn’t eating much and wasn’t bringing us his favorite toys for us to play with.  Just two weeks ago, the day after his best kitty friend, Peppermint died, Bill and I left for a week visiting our grandkids. Though Sam was here at home with his beloved, Bobbie, who always comes in to stay with him while we’re away, he got even more depressed. When we got home he wasn’t eating.  His tail, usually a happy wig-wag machine and a sign of how he is feeling, didn’t wag much. I was very concerned and knew he was deep in mourning for his three family members, Molly, Cleo the cat who died in June and now Peppermint.

I knew what the best medicine would be and sent a message out into the Universe to see what we could do about it.  The following day, when I went to the SPCA to pick up Pepper’s ashes, I took a walk past the dogs up for adoption.  They were mostly big hounds and pit bulls, not matches for Sam.

Next, I went to the pet supply store hoping to find a new exciting dog food that might tempt him into eating again.  I walked through the aisles and turning a corner entered into a larger open space. There right in front of me was the cutest little terrier mix I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.  He came over to me, greeting me as if we were long-lost friends.  Terry, was one of the dogs at an adoption event the store was hosting for Animal Connections, a local dog rescue group, that specializes in small dogs.  It was through them that we found Molly, ten or so years ago.  I knew this was the little angel dog that would be powerful medicine for Sam.  And if Sam and Molly had been able to have puppies together, this little man was what they would have looked like.

Terry. Sometimes I think of him as Terrence

I rushed home and brought Bill and Sam back to the store to meet  one year old, Terry.  When they met, Sam’s tail was waving a mile a minute and we took them both outside for a little pee party in the grass.  I was happy, Terry was happy, and Sam was happy. But Bill was reluctant.  We’d promised each other we that we wouldn’t fill the house back up with animals again and thought Sam would be fine after a while.  He’s also been wanting to travel more and knows I don’t like to be away  from my animal companions for very long.  He thought that the more animals there are in the house, the more reluctant I would be to leave them.  Not so.  When it comes to my furry friends, whether it’s one or ten, they are my special companions and I don’t like to be away from them for very long.  I’d find my life empty without them.

Lily and Terry

At the end of our meeting, we set up a day for Terry to come to our house for an overnight.  That would give him and Sam plenty of time to get to know each other. On Thursday morning when Terry’s foster mom, Lynette, brought him over, Sam was very excited.  Within two hours, beside myself with joy, I called Lynette to tell her that Terry would be staying with us forever.  We’ll sign the final adoption papers today. But in heart and soul, no papers are necessary. He’s ours and we’re his already.

Sam is eating again and playing for the first time in many months with a new companion who he wanted and needed. Terry has a new forever home and seems to be as delighted with us as we are with him.  He loves to play and this morning finally coaxed Lily, our remaining cat, to play with him.  The floors are a jumble of toys that haven’t been used in a long time and when Sam gets tired and needs a nap, Terry carries on by himself, chasing a tennis ball he tosses around for himself. Or sometimes he crashes next to Sam. Bill adores Terry as much as Sam and I do. He whispered to me that if I wanted him to, he’d put it in writing that I was right all along.  Companionship, of all kinds, is big, powerful medicine.

The Boys

Filed Under: Animals I Love, family, Friendships, Gratefulness, Life, love, marriage, Mental Health, Travels Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,

Saying It Out Loud

August 2, 2012 By

“Seeing,” from my Artist’s Journal

I’ve written a guest post on my daughter’s blog, Sacred Circle.  It’s about my way of making  my intentions known, my Artist’s Journal, and the summer writing camp I’ve been attending.

I hope you enjoy!

Filed Under: Classes, Encaustics, family, Gratefulness, Life, love, Matters of the Spirit, Memoir, Mental Health, Retreat & Workshops, Uncategorized, Writing Tagged With: , ,
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