Mental Health stories of courage and resilience Part 3

Y is for the true You inside

Welcome to part 3 of the Mental Health stories that are part of the memories I carry with me. This mini-series resulted from the April 2018 A to Z writing Challenge. If you’d like, you can go back to part 1 and start at the beginning. Again at the end of the post, I will add a couple of links to provide resources for additional information.

At some point, my life path crossed with those of the individuals that I write about this week. These are not stories of magic wands and happy endings but of audacity and survival. I may not know all the details of their lives, but I cherish the snapshots they left behind. They remind me that, at the core, we all have our “you,” our essence that makes us who we are. In these posts I will tell you about two women; their stories are very similar, but each one of us is unique in the way we face our challenges or our demons.

Della Mae and Margaret had a lot in common. I met both women when they were around middle-aged. They both were married once; both had children they did not raise. They had experienced multiple long-term hospitalizations in the wards of state mental hospitals in the 1960’s and 70s – before patient rights and deinstitutionalization. They both carried the dual diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder and Substance Abuse. Their Bipolar Disorder was with manic episodes, and their substance of choice was alcohol. Alcohol abuse is common among persons who try self-medicate and manage their symptoms without professional help; it’s socially acceptable, legal and at least initially slows the racing thoughts.

Della Mae was born and raised in the South. She met her husband shortly after high school while he was stationed at a military base near her hometown. They were married and moved North. Together they started a family and a business. She helped with the secretarial and administrative duties at the company for many years. Eventually, they were divorced; he had custody of the children – a boy and a child.

I met Della Mae as part of discharge planning from the state hospital. She was familiar with the system. She had been to various state-run hospitals since her first “break” decades ago. She didn’t talk about past; it was not necessary in order to make plans for the future. She was angry at herself and the world because she had gambled with life and lost it all – again. As she walked through the gray metal doors upon discharge, she squared her shoulders and held her head high carrying all her worldly possessions in one shopping bag.

Della Mae went to live in a small supported housing apartment with another woman, also making her way back to the community after a lengthy hospital stay. Staff was onsite but not in the unit. She started volunteering, eventually obtained a part-time job at a local non-profit and bought a used car. Because of her age, she was able to get on a waitlist for Affordable Housing for seniors. At first, she was reluctant. She did not want to be living with “old busybodies,” but soon realized age was an advantage because general subsidized housing vouchers had a ten-year waitlist. She had her own apartment in a little over a year.

Things were stable for Della Mae. She had not required a psychiatric hospitalization for several years. I was meeting with her less frequently. Her daughter Kara, now an adult, started coming over for visits. One day Della Mae called me to move up her appointment, she needed to talk. We went for coffee at a small quiet shop near her apartment because her daughter had stayed with her and was taking a nap.

As soon as we sat down, Della Mae told me she had started decreasing her medications. She had not told her doctor yet, but she had made up her mind. It was her right to refuse treatment. She explained that on her medication, she felt numb. Things were going on in her life and her daughter’s that merited some kind of reaction, but she could not feel a thing, not sadness, nor rage, not even joy at reuniting with her daughter.

Della Mae and I talked about the risks, but she knew all about it. This was not her first rodeo. We scheduled an appointment with her doctor and therapist to review her Safety and Crisis Plan to try to mitigate the risks. No, she didn’t want her daughter involved. We talked about that point of no return where nothing was going to stop the snowball effect in her life. Even though her history told a different story, she believed that if she remained sober, she could make it work. This was her life, and she was in charge.

As it turned out, her daughter had also been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. Della Mae’s rage and sadness were from not being able to protect her daughter from that. Kara had left her father’s house to stay with Della Mae, but that jeopardized the subsidy at the elder housing complex. Della Mae could not ask her daughter to leave, and that’s where the snowball started for both of them. The stress and conflict around the housing situation proved to be what tipped the scale. Eventually, Kara was also referred for supportive community services, and they both began to restore what they had lost.

There are plenty of people who are able to rebuild their lives without community supports, but I am telling the stories from my experience. I found that in the absence of a robust natural support system these dedicated professionals have helped countless individuals fight stigma and get back to a life worth living.

Please check out the links below for additional information for family supports as well. Many times family and friends want to help but don’t know how. There is also information about Peer support groups and peer mentoring programs. No one has to do this alone.

SAMSHA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Service Administration) at https://www.samhsa.gov/
NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness (a grassroots organization run by families and consumers) https://www.nami.org/About-NAMI

Mental Health stories of courage and resilience Part 2

Y is for the true You inside

A few days ago, while participating in the April 2018 A to Z challenge, I wrote a post about The fun side of living on the edge of reality. It was about the silliness of letting my imagination run away. I imagine it’s a trait common among those of us who like to write. My theme for the challenge was to tell the stories that marked my simple life; the memories of those moments are in my mind like snapshots. After I wrote the post, I felt the need write the stories of those who struggle with harsh realities, yet find a reason to get up every morning and do their best to make it a great day. For the next few days, in honor of Mental Health Awareness Month in May, I am telling their stories. Once again, at the end of the post, I will put links to resources for additional information.

Imagine

Joy of graduation — Imagine you are a high school senior or college freshman

Imagine for a moment that you are a high school senior or a freshman in college. You ’ve been a straight A student, involved in sports programs and volunteering. You’ve done everything right. Just last month you were told that it’s a great thing to have your whole life ahead of you. The world is your oyster, the sky is the limit, and yet here you are, sitting in with your parents in a psychiatric ward waiting to talk to your hospital team about discharge planning. You have been handed a diagnosis something like Paranoid Schizophrenia or Bipolar Disorder. You’re a smart kid, intellectually you understand the information, but it doesn’t make sense. You can’t return to school; you need extended treatment in an outpatient day program. You may need to pack your things and move out of your dorm, mid-semester to a therapeutic residential program in your community. You don’t remember how you got here. You’ve heard the stories, you’ve been given a diagnosis, but you can’t believe this is happening to you.

Mental health services and the Government

For the most part, I loved my job. I found it meaningful. I believe it addressed a need in our community especially for the families and individuals we served. Even though we were just another branch of government, I felt we were doing great work moving forward to try new ideas in the interest of improving the system for our clients. As it happens sometimes, I was promoted to long days of sitting behind a desk with a mountain of paperwork while trying to interact with the bureaucracy. I missed being out in the field, but I was fortunate enough to work with a team of intelligent, well trained and compassionate professionals who were driven to provide the best services for their clients on the road to recovery. Together, in weekly sessions, we did a lot of brainstorming and problem solving to address the individual needs of the clients.

During this particular time, our emphasis was to work towards helping clients break the revolving-door cycle. In particular, we had begun paying close attention to the unique issues of the transitional age and young adult population. These individuals ranged in age from 16 to 24 years old. In some cases, we were able to expand age limitations to 30 years old. We sponsored supportive education and employment initiatives, peer mentoring and independent living in the least restrictive settings. We wanted to offer user-friendly alternatives to interrupted lives. That is how I had come to know about Mike.

Mike –carrying the stigma of an ex-patient

Mike had come to us after his second or third psychiatric hospitalization at a local hospital. He was in his late 20’s, almost out of age range for our new menu of services. He was bright, hardworking but was having a hard time adjusting to his life as an ex-patient of a mental hospital mainly because of anxiety about the stigma it carries. Who was he now? He had been living with his uncle and family for many years. Upon discharge had returned to work at the family business but symptoms of his anxiety, OCD, and depressed mood caused persistent and unrealistic worry. At times increase in symptoms became full panic attacks and physical immobility. His case manager thought he would flourish with a young adult support system and advocated strongly for a spot.

I met Mike for the first time at the office when he came looking for his case manager who was out on appointments. He asked to speak to me because he felt that being with anyone who understood his struggles would help to lessen his anxiety during this episode. He had just had a falling out with his cousin who was supervising his work on a project. His cousin felt he was too slow and taking too long to get the job done. He was feeling overwhelmed and worried what his family would think. He worried that the incident would be a setback in his recovery plan. We reviewed his Recovery Plan and the Safety Plan that he had worked on with his therapist and case manager for these very same situations.

“You know what I wish?”

He told me he felt he was on shaky ground with his family since his hospitalization. He said he knew they saw him differently. “They think I’m lazy; they don’t realize what a struggle it is for me to get up and face the day each morning.” He didn’t feel he could address it because he believed they would mock him. Whether it was true or not, I can’t say, but that was his perception. We talked about how unrealistic expectations and perceptions could present a barrier to recovery.

He was sad and angry. On the one hand, he explained people see a good looking young man who appeared smart, secure, physically fit and “put together” as if there was nothing wrong. But the reality he said is that he can’t manage his fears and anxiety without support and medications. He sat quietly for a moment; shoulders slumped as he stared at his hands resting on the desk. He took a deep breath and with a surge of energy, leaned in on the desk to look me straight in the face. “You know what I wish sometimes? I wish that I would have lost a leg or an arm or have some form of disfigurement in my face or body. I wish that I looked disabled. Then people would be more empathetic and realize that I am living with something catastrophic.”

It wasn’t self-pity, he was stating the obvious. I had heard it before verbalized in different ways. Anxiety disorder and depression are sometimes referred to as a silent epidemic. However, in our society, it is often misunderstood, and its effects minimized, precisely because patients do not appear as if there is something wrong with them. They don’t fit the stereotype of “mental patient.”

Mike did eventually move out of the family home and into his own apartment with minimal supports. He enrolled at the local community college and began to think about becoming a peer mentor. The road to recovery with mental health issues varies for each person, as life does for all of us in general. Sometimes for every step forward, there are two steps backward, but the key is to keep going.

If you would like more information about mental health services in your area, please check out these links below.

SAMSHA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Service Administration) at https://www.samhsa.gov/

NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness (a grassroots organization run by families and consumers) https://www.nami.org/About-NAMI

Mental Health Stories of courage and resilience Part 1

A to Z challenge and the letter Y

A few days ago I wrote a whimsical post about the fun side of living on the edge of reality. As I wrote that post, I made a promise to myself and to the ghosts of past clients, that I would tell their stories of courage, resilience, and survival. I knew just where to put it. I was working on the April 2018 A to Z Challenge and I worked on the story while waiting for the letter “Y” because Y is for The You Inside and I haven’t forgotten. Because these are the stories of real people, I wanted to take time and be true to them. I will post each story as a different part this week. I also decided to hold the post a few days because, since 1949, May has been Mental Health Awareness Month. This year Mental Health Awareness Week is May 14-20, 2018.

Case Manager Vs. Life Coach

In a previous life, I was hired by the Department of Mental Health to join an army of professionals and para-professionals. We were tasked with providing community services for persons with recurring and persistent mental illness as the push for deinstitutionalization continued from the previous decade. New medications were addressing the symptoms of their illness and we were going to help them return to their communities to find a “life worth living”. I was a Case Manager. Actually, I considered myself more of a Life Coach; I was ahead of my time. I can fill my days simply writing the stories of the men and women I’ve met. Instead, I will tell you of the snapshots that jump from my memory when I see the news or hear the debate about affordable healthcare.

For some reason, she wanted to die.

Time and again, I remember the day one of “the new girls” ran to our apartment crying and looking for my mother. They needed help because their mother had just eaten some rat poison. For some reason, she wanted to die. Days later, I accompanied my mother to visit the neighbor in the psychiatric ward. I didn’t remember seeing her before that day; she looked like death warmed over. We caught a glimpse of others on the ward; they looked the same, pale gray figures, walking in circles. It was scary. I was a just beginning my teens, it was the late 1960s.

Anne

I met Anne when she was in her late thirties. She had been a clerk for IRS when she had her first major “break down”. She had become angry and the police took her away. She was a tall, woman with a large build. Her short blonde hair was starting to turn gray and she glared at me with powder blue eyes. She explained that she had been angry because no one believed her story that the Mayor had raped her when she was a child playing with his daughter. We worked together for several years after that meeting and I learned her perpetual glare was more a sign of fear than defiance. She lived in fear, never knowing when “the cops would show up and haul her away for no reason.”

It was the mid-1980s. She had a long history of psychiatric hospitalizations precipitated by psychotic thinking and consequent irrational, uncontrollable anger; this was common jargon in hospital records back then. Her mother couldn’t confirm her rape story. No one bothered to corroborate it because it was considered a symptom of her illness. She carried the diagnosis of Paranoid Schizophrenia. She told me she had stopped her meds often because she didn’t like how they made her feel; she felt no need to elaborate. Anne had been discharged on an injectable medication to assure compliance. She agreed to move into a group home to increase her independent living skills. It was my job to get her an apartment in the community and provide support to get her out of the revolving door that kept her in and out of hospitals. Needless to say that it all sounded so much better on paper.

In our society, social drinking of alcohol is quite acceptable. Some people say it takes the edge off and they can relax. They feel more social. Unfortunately, we all know folks who are better off when they don’t drink at all. One particular year, things were going well for Anne. She had her own apartment in a nice part of town and had made friends with some neighbors who were not associated with her life as an ex-patient. Sometimes, they would all go out to listen to a band and have a good time.

Y is for the true You inside

Anne and I would talk about how to stay safe in the city and about the risks associated with mixing alcohol and meds especially an injectable medication. Part of my job, of course, was to point out all she had achieved while on the prescribed medication. I don’t remember the exact conversation or the words I used but I do remember something I said caused her to stand up and stared down at me with her powder blue eyes, holding back her tears “you don’t understand do you? You never will. Those medications take away my YOU. THAT’s who I really am. Who I’ve been from the day I was born. It’s my dreams, who I want to be. It’s MY reality. The one on the medications, that’s not me. The one everyone says is doing soo well”, she added with a touch of sarcasm, “She is a product of the meds.”

Irrational thinking starting to sound rational

She went on to ask questions like who determines what’s irrational. Who determines what right and wrong, what is true or not? And then she started telling me that no one knows that Bill Clinton comes to visit her and loves her. She explained that they had to let Hillary stand next to Bill in her place in the news because she looks better for the TV cameras. A part of me could rationally understand what she was saying about her dreams and her meds. I can’t begin to explain, however, what it feels like to watch someone lose their grasp on reality, know where it’s heading and feel powerless to stop it. It was her right to drink socially as it was her right to refuse medication and treatment. I’ll try to touch on the laws surrounding this in one of my other posts.
It was months before she ended up in the hospital again. Yes, the police were involved.

It was another few months before she was ready to go home again. Fortunately, we were able to save her apartment and she didn’t have to start at the beginning again, even so, it wasn’t easy to return to that place. Eventually, we found another apartment and she found another group of friends. I don’t know if she ever made peace with her You and her medications, but she certainly gave me an education that I could never repay.

Resources

You can find many more stories, resources to find services or general information for consumers and their families at the following sites:
SAMSHA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Service Administration) at https://www.samhsa.gov/
NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness (a grassroots organization run by families and consumers) https://www.nami.org/About-NAMI

Please look out for my other posts related to this topic.

Voting- A to Z challenge letter V

I was struggling with whether or not to use today’s letter “V” to broach the subject of Voting. Elections or anything remotely in the political arena puts me over the edge. It’s definitely an area that I tend to “self-censor” for the benefit of those around me. I noticed a couple of folks did use the word for the AtoZ challenge and so having participated in a rather animated meeting the other night; I decided to jump in and talk about Voting.

Full disclosure – sometimes I want to shake people who show such apathy towards the election process. I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s sad to me that people don’t realize what a privilege it is to live in a country where each citizen is entitled to one vote – to have a say in how the country is run and how funds are dispersed for services. Voting does matter!

Originally it was only white, male landowners who were able to vote on the laws of the land. Through centuries of strife and struggles women, Native Americans, former slaves and other foreign-born were granted the all rights of citizenship, including the right to vote. This privilege was not handed to us but earned with blood, sweat, and tears -literally. If we the people don’t use our power to have a voice, the elected officials can take it upon themselves to make decisions based on what they think is the best interest of their constituents. We have seen referendums and laws shot down or put away because there hasn’t been enough interest from the general public. We have seen others put in place before anyone could appreciate the detrimental impact on the nation.

Don’t get me wrong; I get it. I happen to like this stuff, and yet I too get tired of the rhetoric. I like the research, the arguments, and hearing the candidates’ plans to make things better. I like studying the ins and outs of new proposals. I don’t listen to just one side. To know my choices, I research both viewpoints as much as can. I have voted for a candidate based on past performance regardless of party affiliation. I have become quite active and passionate about some issues, but there are times when even I’ve had enough and want it over. I think in our era of social media and cable networks, all the input can be overwhelming.

What I hear most from people is that it doesn’t matter because “they” are all the same. “They” are just out for their self-interests, out for the money. Despite what we have seen recently, I can tell you “they” are not all the same. Some have sought office with genuine intention to serve rightfully but then lose their vision fighting the uphill battle caught up in the bureaucracy. I have also seen men and women in office fight for their constituents as if they were fighting for their own family members. I do believe we play a role in not letting our representatives get complacent or stagnant. They need our feedback, our letters, our phone calls and our attendance at town meetings to help them have the pulse on what is going on back home.

I can sit here and tell you that one party is better than another but I ask you instead to love your country enough to take a stand for democracy and vote. Be responsible. I can’t stress enough to look beyond the headlines and the talking points in political ads. Knowledge takes away the fear factor. Don’t just “share” trash on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. Research what you are reposting – especially if it sounds absurd or preposterous –even if it is sympathetic to your beliefs. Let’s not have a repeat of false information spread throughout the web as we’ve had in recent years. There are plenty of sites where you can do a quick fact check. Here are a few to get you started: Fact Checker, Politifact, Snopes, The Sunlight Foundation. There are others but these have been widely recognized to use neutral language to prevent even an appearance of bias.

In closing, I ask you to check your local voting lists. Make sure you are still on the list, and all your vital information is current. Maybe you were dropped for not voting. If you need to register, you can do it online at https://www.usa.gov/register-to-vote.
Know your candidates and ballot issues. If you can’t make a meeting with candidates, go to their website to get the details of their platform. If they have been in public service before, you can research their voting record at such sites as https://votesmart.org/; https://www.headcount.org/issues-and-candidates/; https://www.usa.gov/voter-research.
There will be plenty of information online and in handouts all over your city as we get closer to November.

Don’t take for granted what our service men and women have fought for around the world. Don’t just wave your flag on Memorial Day or the Fourth of July – make it count in November. We are part of an already great nation but WE THE PEOPLE need to step-it-up. We can do this!

Twinkle little star. A to Z Challenge

Windows in heaven — Perhaps they are not stars, but rather windows in Heaven where the love of those who went ahead pours through and shines upon us…

Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky… or as my fifteen-month granddaughter sings it “kakle, kakle, sahh, ahh, ahh.” Don’t judge. Her mother grew up in New England where people say “Pahk yah, cahs in Hahvahd Yahd.” It could be she’s already picking up the accent her mother brought to their new home fifteen hundred miles away. The point is that my granddaughter loves that song. Every time I go to visit, almost as soon as I walk in through the door, she brings her storybook with the big yellow star on the cover. We put the world on “pause”, she proceeds to climb on my lap and rests her little head on my chest. We cuddle to read it- at least three times before we can move on. I don’t mind. I love it!

I can’t say that she’s made a connection between the star in the book and the immense collection of twinkling diamonds in the night sky outside her window. She rarely stays up past 7:30 anyway. I’m sure when she’s old enough; she will be as mesmerized by the vast infinity of bright lights in the night sky as I am. How can she not?

The first time I was aware of the overwhelming expansion of the stars in the black velvet sky, I was breathless. To understand the extent of my reaction, you have to remember that I am a “city kid.” I grew up at a time when folks were talking about smog, pollution and how to make the air better in the large cities across the country. I don’t lie when I tell you that I never imagined the night sky could be so much more amazing than a visit to the planetarium. I was about 16. It was during a Winter Youth Retreat in the Pocono Mountains in Pennsylvania, the night was crisp and not a cloud in the sky. It was magical.

I’ve lived just outside city limits since then, and whenever there is a night clear enough to see the sky full of stars, I swear I feel a little tipsy. It still takes my breath away. In one of those moments of stretching reality through imagination, I promised my kids that when I’m gone from this world, I’ll try to find a way to still keep looking out for them. Maybe I’ll be looking out from behind one of those stars. In our family, many of our loved ones have left this earth before we were ready to say “Goodbye.” I love that quote that suggests that stars are windows in the sky for our loved ones to see us. Here Anne Murray’s version of the same idea. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XbZBZC01_sQ

I do believe that our loved ones have the opportunity to become angels or spirit guides as some faith practices believe. A teacher once said it might take some longer than others, but that’s why we pray for the deceased souls and offer services. I find that comforting, maybe that’s why I will always love a starry, starry night. It lights my soul and gives me hope.

Letter R – Reality and beyond

There is a fun side to an alternative reality. I like to live on the edge of it sometimes. That’s why I write. I like to look down a narrow dirt trail and wonder how many people walked there before me. How many footsteps and how many years did it take to carve out this path? Who were they? Where were they going? Did they carry hollowed canoes to the river? Was it a shortcut to town? Was it a path to freedom?

Depending on who my companion is, I can elaborate a life story for these imaginary people – joys and sorrows included. My friend would say, “yes, and…” to complete my narrative. One of my siblings would say, can’t we just walk without you making things up? Peaceful walks in quiet reflection, engrossed in the sights and sounds are one of my favorite things to do. However, there is a time for everything under the sun, and sometimes, I want to go beyond what we can see with our eyes. As a side note, remember it’s important to choose travel companions wisely to enjoy the moment fully.

When my sisters were young, and the mood was right, they could spend hours “talking” to our mutt, Victor. The girls at about five or six years old, obviously knew it was me talking for Victor. I never pretended to be a skilled ventriloquist to throw my voice in his direction. I was almost ten years older, and yet, we managed to entertain each other regardless as Victor sat between us loving all the attention.

Victor was some kind of a shepherd mix and quite a storyteller. He would tell them how his day went – who stopped by the house, what he saw each time he went out to “do his business,” what extra treats he got, what he thought Mom was cooking for dinner that made his mouth water. Sometimes he would complain that Fred, the stray cat, had come into through the kitchen window to brag about his adventures in the alley and the mouse that got away.

Sometimes I would live vicariously through Fred, the stray. I learned to love cats with Fred, despite my dad’s superstitious apprehensions. Fred was big for a cat, furry, gray and quite independent. He would roam the back alleys of our city freely with a swagger and without fear. I would wonder how far his cat feet could carry him. Where did he go and what did he see? Did he stop at other homes? What did other families name him? Most days he would only stop in for a short while to eat. In the winter or hot summer days, he would stay longer to keep warm or cool off. Those days before he took off again, he would rub against us one by one as if to say “thanks”. One time he came back with cuts and scrapes. We tried to keep him in the house and off the streets, but as soon as he was strong enough, he was wailing at the window to be let out. At times he was gone for days, and one day he never returned. Unfortunately, there was never a shortage of alley cats in our neighborhood, and soon Fred was replaced by Snagglepus and then Mister Magoo.

Not too long ago I was at one of those Brews, Jazz and Funk Festivals at the park by the river. As the tribute band played well-known favorites, a small, lone figure of a dancer rocked and rolled her way to the front of the stage. With her ripped shorts, bracelets, and tattoos up her arm, she personified the saying “dance as if no one was watching.” She was easily in her 70s, but she had obviously transcended time, and everything else around her didn’t exist. She was definitely in the zone and inspired others to step out. Soon she was surrounded by people of all ages letting the music take control. When the music stopped, she was visibly exhausted, but I caught that big smile that slipped across her face. She had a cosmic air about her. Who was she? How many concerts in the park had she attended? Was she a musician herself? In my mind her name was Carole, and she sang and played with a band a lifetime ago.

I like to stretch my mind beyond what my eyes can see. It’s great for problem-solving and relationship building because it helps me to have an open mind to see alternative beginnings and endings. As I continue to blog, I’ll share some of the stories of my alternate reality. I hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I have making them up and perhaps together we’ll learn a few things about us along the way.

R is for Reality, the alternative kind.

AtoZ Challenge P is for PRECIOUS

FROM MY MEMORY BOX

PRECIOUS GEMSTONES
(A Tribute to my mother)

Precious gemstones, sparkling blue-green
Embedded in chiseled ivory
Shimmering reflections of the sea
Vibrant and alive; brave and defiant.

Gold sun flecks, intricate details
Dancing on the waves of life
Hidden secrets of tales untold
Projection of love’s warm, gentle kindness.

Behind the windows darkness lives
Barely a flicker of light-hope
Hear the sounds, smell the smells, hands touch,
If only the window could open wide.

The looking glass is just a blur
Where did that young woman go now?
Long dark tresses, smooth satin skin,
Life of the sea and sunlight in her eyes.

I am here, alive in the dark
Behind the windowpanes of green.
Living life with other senses
Sounds of the sea, warmth of the sun, love’s touch.

This dark place has not smothered me
I am strong and willing to live
My loved ones still have need of me
I direct their paths and provide comfort.

The will was there, but the time had come
A Valley to cross, the River so deep
A choir in need of a new voice
Not my will but Thine be done, I bid farewell.

The dark shades were now lifted
The Saving Grace within her sight
At His gates, she marveled.

AtoZ Challenge-NEVER a Dull Moment

I remember those days when there was NEVER a dull moment in my life. Work, School, church, sports, birthdays, hospitals, friendships – drama at every turn. We spent our days running from one activity to the next, connecting and catching up in the car. No break during vacations either, they were usually jam-packed with activities as well. Trying to make the most of our time, how did we fit so much in a 24 hour period? Now I’m exhausted just thinking about it!

Now and then we’d call a timeout. The kids would sleep in, or they’d watch Saturday morning cartoons as they waited to have a leisurely breakfast with all the trimmings. Pancakes or French toast swimming in syrup or eggs and bacon with an Italian breadstick from the bakery in town, where my Dad had stopped before coming over for coffee. Usually, he managed to get it to us still warm from the oven. We’d use real butter and watch it melt on the bread right before our eyes. Just to remember it, my mouth waters.

In the summer we’d pack a picnic and head for the beach early enough to enjoy nature’s sights and sounds before the crowds lined the shore. We’d lay on our blankets soothed by the surf, the birds, and the ocean breeze. Later we would head to the boardwalk for a stroll, some fried dough and try our hand at the arcade games. The most challenging part was choosing a prize with that would equal the number of tickets we had won. At the end of the day were ready to start the week all over again.

It seemed like this was the natural order of things, but I think when we are in the middle of living like that, we forget to pause. I don’t remember the exact moment that I decided to do things differently but somewhere along the way I told myself it couldn’t continue. I was burning the candle at both ends as they say and burning out my kids as well. Years later I read the book The Four Agreements by Dr. Miguel Ruiz, and it validated all my decisions and choices. There was nothing magical about it. There was nothing in that book that I hadn’t heard before, but because it was able to put into words what I had been thinking, I felt enlightened. For a while, after I read it, I was giving that book away to family, friends, and co-workers – anyone who I felt needed to take another look at life.

I still keep those “Agreements” with myself. It is my understanding that in life there is NEVER a dull moment. I believe every moment is special whether they are quiet and peaceful or full of drama and pain. I had a friend who would always remind me “It is what it is.” I agree, but it’s up to us to take whatever “it” is and make the moments count. We fine-tune our skills with each experience and put it towards a rewarding life. We learn to listen to our internal voice and realize that when things are getting out of hand, we need to take care of ourselves first. It’s not selfish, its practical, its common sense. To be there for others, we need to be oK.

Does it make sense?

AtoZ Challenge- MOTHER of an Adult Child

In my mind, M will always be for MOTHER and the many ways she made our life special. How many cards with acrostic poems did I draw or buy for her birthday or Mother’s Day through the years of her abbreviated life? Today’s poem is not for her but of what I learned and have passed on…

Dirty coffee cup on the counter—again.
Forgot to rinse—again.
A sigh escapes me
And like a gentle whirlwind,
Takes me down the path
So often traveled, once again.

Sweet memories at every turn
Prickly thorns around the bend,

A bump in the road
Puddles of tears,
Sunshine after the rain.

Wasn’t it you, so tiny
Who laid in my arms?
Crumpled, wrinkled, helpless
I sobbed, as you wailed.
Did the eyes of our souls look ahead?

Now we stand at a crossroad,
And as I fasten your wings,
I ask. . .
Did I teach you enough?
Did you learn your lessons well?
Only time will tell.

AtoZ Challenge- K is for …

So many choices today! Lots of fun K words that I can play with. K is for Kardashians is one story that I won’t address because it would prompt me to create a sarcastic, judgmental blog. Sorry, there is something about DIY royals that makes me want to shut off the TV. Their only claim to fame is money, outrageous behavior and in some cases, good looks. How people eat that up, I’ll never understand.

I was not a fan of the Free Willy movies either, but I could talk about those elegant black and white giants gracefully dancing in the open sea with a Tchaikovsky ballet playing in the background. However, I don’t like to think about when they get hungry and stop frolicking to grab a snack of penguin or baby seal. There is a reason they nicknamed Orcas “KILLER Whales.”

I prefer to tell you stories of when a group of us got together every Thursday for KARAOKE. Only about 3 of our friends really stepped up to the mike to pour their hearts out each week to remember the songs that helped them transition to adulthood. I’m more of a wind-beneath-your -wings kind of a person so that every now and then I would sing “back-up” for one of our soloists. As stories go, a younger generation started coming around wanting to join in on the good times. They complained however that the DJ only played old songs. Someone with a different sound soon replaced him, and we moved on. Another club, another DJ but the energy dwindled. We moved on to other things, but I was fun while it lasted. We still remember those days with fondness.

What about KARMA? This idea that has become part of our “everyday vernacular” as my English teacher would say. It’s a religious belief that our actions determine our future state – in this life or the next. People like to say “KARMA is a B*+*% “ but don’t really know why. Every day we see those bad things happen to good people and vice versa. I remember when things were not going well at work I would tell my colleagues, “I can feel my KARMA fraying around the edges. We need to figure this out because I’m not going anywhere with frazzled Karma! “. Totally inappropriate use and yet they understood. Go figure.

KARMA brings me to K is for KINDNESS. Another favorite truism of mine is some variation of “be kind to everyone you meet for the other person may be fighting a battle you know nothing of.” A universal truth is that no one knows what is going on in our heads or our hearts – except ourselves. To paraphrase Dr. Miguel Ruiz’s Toltec Wisdom, each one of us is the star of our own movie, and we struggle to act our parts the best we can. I have worked and personally know many people who put on a mask to hide the pain of their struggle or fears. I’m one of those that believes that no one enjoys being miserable there is usually an underlying stressor. I recognize that I can’t save the world but one act of kindness one person at a time goes a long way. I have witnessed that.

I know I am a shameless dreamer and do-gooder, like KERMIT the Frog – which also happens to start with K.

What are your thoughts about KARMA and KINDNESS?

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: