I give up!

I am stubborn. I am not a quitter. I am a fighter. But I give up!

I have spent months in agony, arguing with my teenage daughter, watching her world of friends fall down around her because of the ’4 pack’ of girls she has decided to become a group with at school. I take painful measures to have conversation after conversation with her about why she needs to drop said friends, etc…

But I am always fighting it. And so, is she wanting it more because of this? Is it true that if you insist they can’t be with someone that they will only want it more?

I hope by now she has learned enough to make the right decisions when it really matters. I hope by now she has learned that if indeed I just give up, let it all go, let her take the wheel – that if she starts falling down that trap she will recognize it and pull herself up and out.

It seems to me there was a time when she had lots more friends calling around, it seems to me that the longer she ‘belongs’ to this 4 pack, the more the rest drop like flies. And the thing is, is that I know she cares and I know that these things bother her, and half the time she says she doesn’t even like a couple of these kids. But yet, inevitably, she always randomly begs and pleads to hang out with them anyways.

I toss my hands up! Wave the white flag! Give up!

Or do I…. do I stay stubborn in this instead?

My Dear Gram…

I hope this letter finds you on a peaceful plentiful day. I always imagine you sitting by the long windows overlooking the river as you open my letters. Sometimes, it brings me comfort actually imagining you reading them in your old house, in the sitting area, tucked around a pillow with snow falling beyond the windows forming it’s famous winter blanket around you.

I dream of the old house, my memories there, and sometimes I wonder of the memories I have – are they right, are they real, and how many of them stem from my dreams instead. One memory – I should have been about 5 years old – is standing off the kitchen where the dining room table used to be and staring out the window into the driveway. There are tears rolling down my face, a large stuffed bear in my arms too round to grip tightly, and you trying to comfort me. My dad had just left. Or my mom had just left, and my dad soon before her. My memory is hazy. I don’t recall the time of day, just that I stared down the driveway. And just that I knew that my father was gone, things had changed, and with the reasoning of a young child I realized the bitter taste in my mouth was not only from my painful tears but from fear boiling up inside of me.

It’s incredible, how a childhood pain can linger so far into later years. How the rawness and fierceness of the sadness can envelop you into a numb state a whole lifetime later. I hear parents say that divorce doesn’t really affect the children. I hear them say that sometimes children are better off instead. And to a point, maybe, I could agree somewhat. But I can never rationalize their perspective, not when I went through an emptiness that still haunts me 30 years later.

I think of you, and how you lost your mother, tears fill my eyes for the child in you. I don’t know if you remember – but – when you were in the hospital and I came home to spend time with you that snowy March, I told you often that your mother was there with you, holding you up, carrying you through. Your eyes shone with relief when I told you these things, you would smile and settle back into your bed and feel peace. I told you this not to appease you, but to make you aware of the strong presence around you I felt – it could have only been your mother, and I knew without a doubt just as I always knew that you would pull through and beyond in a strong determined exceptional way.

The hardest part of moving to the south was leaving you behind me. I am still amazed that as fearful as I was that I found myself driving down that highway into a new life. Flatness behind me, mountains appearing, sun shining and Tom Petty on the radio, I must have cried for most of the long ride. I didn’t know what I was doing Gram, but I knew, that my soulmate was beside me and that I was safe as long as he never left the drivers seat of my life. I used to wonder how rational of a decision it was at 19 years old to leave everything I knew and start again. But there must have been a wisdom from deep beneath my soul that steered me here, to a change, to a place where I could leave everything weak about myself behind me and begin again. To have a chance to be the daughter and sister and friend everyone wished that I was. And maybe, just maybe, to heal that 5 year old memory of a young girl – safe in her grandparent’s house staring down a driveway at a loss she just couldn’t comprehend.

I once wrote to my mother. I told her something that I thought she should know. That by leaving my father she saved him. That she should never feel bad about our family breaking, but peaceful in the fact that if she didn’t my father wouldn’t have been forced to save himself – and his girls.

It’s amazing to me how the world works. How the layers of life wrap themselves around us in such a way that we can become paralyzed with their stronghold, but also freed by their lessons.

Thinking of you today My Dear Gram, hoping your trip to Paris was blissful, and hoping even more that I will soon be able to hug you.

All my love, As Always!

What do you have to lose – except everything?

How often do we really take the wheel of our own life? How often do we actually ask ourselves what it is we want to do, who we want to be, how we want to live, where we would rather be?

I know I don’t. When I watch movies, I visualize myself into all these other lives, other careers, other relationships and situations, other cities and states and countries. Sometimes, I want to change everything. Sometimes, I wonder how I fell into what I fell into, the place I live, the person I seem to be, the job I spend my days, the look I sport around.. etc..

What if we could just change it all? Point to a map – and say, ‘actually – there!’, point to a movie scene or person in a magazine – and say, ‘actually – that!’. All we do is dream about who we would rather be, where we would rather be, the scenary we would rather have around us, even the people that surround us. But who ever does anything about all of that – who ever figures out how to actually change their life? As in everything about it?

I actually do believe that the people surrounding us and their energies – whether good or bad or toxic – have an effect on our souls. I am not spiritual, new-age or anything like that, however – it is hard to believe this not to be true.

It was there – she said – beneath that rumpled old raincoat that hung on a hook in the hallway, There – she said – is where I left your dreams to collect dust, there – she said – is where they stayed waiting in vain for you to remember who you set out to be.

The mirrors lie – she pleaded – that isn’t you reflecting back, but a version of who you became while under the weight of being weak. Wipe away the dust and begin again? – she questioned – despite the fear cementing your feet to the ground as you stare at yourself underneath that rumpled raincoat.

What do you have to lose – she cried – except everything?

The hallway tiles cool beneath my feet, small particles of dust cascading off the raincoat in front of me, my arms at my side – frozen in fear. It is here that everything can change, yet it is here where I can turn, walk away, and keep it all underneath my umbrella – losing nothing. I see her shadow next to me, her breath fogging the air in front of me, I can hear her pleads despite the pounding rain outside the door.

I didn’t know – I cried to her – that everything would fall in line as if I had no choices. I didn’t know – I whispered – that losing yourself was even possible once the storm of life wrapped itself around you layer upon layer.

She rested a hand upon me, weighted with wisdom and lined with years – she was beautiful. Her eyes shone so that even in the darkness I saw everything.

My Dear - she whispers – the rest is up to you now, your future lays beyond that thunderous sky, your soul awakens with every particle of dust swept away. It was there – she said – beneath that rumpled old raincoat that hung on a hook in the hallway, There – she said – is where your dreams waited for you to remember everything.

In the absence of things.

I still remember the stars the night that we met, the cool New York breeze coming off the river as we sat next to each other on that dock,

I remember the way your tan legs looked hanging over the edge, the way we looked up at the dark sky as we talked for hours,

I remember how comfortable I was talking to you about everything. I remember thinking how I shouldn’t have been so comfortable. You, older than me, captain of the football team, well known untouchable athletic kind of guy. You, so good to your last girlfriend that even girls my age heard the rumors. I am still amazed how comfortable you made me feel, with anyone else I would have been a nervous shell.

I remember how our conversations effortlessly weaved from one thing to another. I remember laughing at our friends as they romped through the dark cemetary next to us, searching for a glowing grave. I remember neither of us moving from that spot to join them, not wanting it to end.

I could have stayed with you there – forever.

All these years later, I still lay down next to you to sleep, and I relive the moment I met you - over and over. Eternally grateful that you are still mine.

EX3

While you were away

While you were away, I thought about things. I thought about everything.

Restless in a lonely bed, I have more than enough time to think. Thoughts spun out of control,

fears escalated into larger emotions.

While you were away, I realized something,

that this will never be okay with me, that I will always miss you,

that after all these years my life is never complete until you come home.

‘The Ones’ & ‘The Other Ones’

There are people we come across, every day, in every workplace, in every social situation – that make us cringe. People with no tact, no respect to others, people determined to outweigh, outcontrol and even ruin the spirits of those around them. Let’s call these people ‘the ones’.

The ones play on the fear of others, despise the happiness of others, they also hold a bitter determination for ruining what they are able to around them. I would like to know why. Why an unhappiness inside someone can rise up to the surface in such a way that the only outlet they have is to spread it around like soft butter on top of everyone that crosses their path.

The ones that we are encountering today – will not be the last. They are but another domino in the long line ahead of black and white dots. How we deal with the ones now helps us in the future.

And please, let me say this, as common as the ones are. As hurtful and frustrating as it is to come across those with no tact, with munipulation in mind, with venom seeping through them so strongly it projects the energy around it, there are other ones.

There are other ones, ones that light up our days, ones that remember the little things and ask weeks later about them. The other ones truly care, are kind – even when they are experiencing their own bitterness and fears inside. A smile, a thank you, a look of appreciation and gratitude on their faces, the way their friendships and spirits can lighten our load is invaluable.

In a perfect world, I would surround myself with The other ones. Wouldn’t you? So maybe, we can all reflect on this and entertain the idea that if each of us can become the other ones, than indeed the chances of a perfect world would be a little bit more in our grasp….

It is what it is – and it ain’t what it ain’t…

Do any of you out there with OCD have a friend with it? Do you know anyone like you in your life? If you do, you are lucky. If you have someone, anyone, that you can openly talk about it with – who experiences it as well – I would love to know what that is like. People in my family have OCD and OCD tendencies. I discuss it with some, and not with others. Mostly though it is joking around and comparing in a light fashion.

I do not have anyone in my life that struggles with it in the sense that I do. My daughter suffers from OCD and is for the most part very internal and private with it, and also – she is only 14. I wish for an adult friend, one nearby, that I can have conversations with. Someone that hurts as I hurt and fears like I fear. My husband helps me – often. I can just tell him I had a bad day and he gets it. He has OCD tendencies as well, but it doesn’t debilitate him or conquer him in the same ways.

Once, years ago, right after I found out what it was that was wrong with me I went to a support group. Once. It was great but painful and rose a fear in me I cannot express. In that group were sufferers with all symptoms on the spectrum but mine. The internal demanding thought wipe you out kind. I should have went back, I didn’t. I should find a new one, but haven’t.

It is what it is. I say that a lot and it is true. But what it also is is this – ‘it ain’t what it ain’t’. It isn’t something people bring up over coffee when you first meet them, it isn’t something they dive into persay in an exact way – they more skirt around the broad range of the illness, it isn’t something that my neighbors have going on inside their head where I can greet them on the street as if I am discussing the weather. It ain’t what it ain’t. And that is a lot.

I am a bit worried, I find myself day dreaming and it seems so real, lately. I am becoming afraid of this daydreaming on my commute to work on the highway. I am becoming afraid to drive. That is new. Unknown territory. I am anxious and afraid every time I slightly move the car. I am afraid of an accident and being hit or making a wrong move as I daydream. I find myself all of a sudden realizing I am daydreaming, I don’t know how long it has been happening when I finally realize it. If I have the radio on a certain XM channel, I feel like the daydreaming is worse – therefore my chances of making a driving mistake worse – so as I am singing to this channel and it occurs to me, I have to turn the volume all the way down. Self punishment. Overwhelming fears.

I am afraid to tell my husband. I don’t know why. And as I said, I have no real life friends with the crosses I have to bear. It is what it is. But it ain’t what it ain’t. Maybe I will consider a group again….

 

She waits, basking in the unknown of the silence.

Thinking about it she knows it is a good move, a good change, maybe an answer?

Maybe within the quiet, she will hear the right things.

She stays still, wind blowing around her, the only sound she can hear.

Silencing her mind, her voice, she will wait,

Completely changing back to the mystery she once was,

Hoping, she will grow into the girl she used to be while the silence surrounds her and takes over.

Ruminating…

When in doubt, don’t hold on for dear life to your second-guessing. Just choose. Breathe. And pray the right decision was made.

I am guilty of ruminating, of sitting on things and turning them around so many times in my mind that I no longer can focus on them clearly. Always second-guessing. Always spinning. Worry, worry, worry. That’s me. That’s a lot of us.

Over-thinking is over-rated. I speak from experience. It is a nuisense and unwelcomed by most of us. It is so hard to stop though. Trying to control it often leads to even MORE over-thinking and so on…

The blessings of OCD I guess. The curse.

The thought is the obsession. The spinning – the compulsion. The curse is how quickly something can become ‘stuck’ in our minds. Left alone at the end of the day, it is just us and our thoughts. There is no escape when you are awake. And for those of us that dream obsessively as well, the simple thought of any escape is comical.

If I could take the energy I consume by controlling my OCD, I could do so much more. The world would be wide open to my dreams and determination to make them come true.

I always thought my grandmother was a worry-wart. Making me put on a jacket, staying awake until I came home, picking up pieces of lint that blended into the carpet. She would start washing the dishes before anyone was finished eating. I always thought my dad was depressed. Sad look in his eyes, barely aware in a conversation, asking me the same question over and over again, triple checking the coffee pot was unplugged. And then one day, I learned about my OCD. And then not so long after that, I realized theirs. My daughter used to cock her head and spit over and over, she used to wash her hands a lot, she used to come out with the most random thoughts. And then one day, I realized her OCD like a sudden whack over the head.

Genetics. They make us beautiful, athletic, strong, intelligent. But they also curse us to a life of suffering sometimes. I wonder often, who would I be if this wasn’t passed down to me.

Now, I watch those around me, I study them. I search for clues. Who else shares this magic? How well are they hiding it? What about them suffers because of it?

There are days, blocks of times, where I forget. There are moments when the symptoms are so quiet I forget they are supposed to be there. But the minute I remember, the moment I realize, they fly up to the surface and mock me. And the over-thinking, ruminating and spinning begin again……..

 

Being a parent of a teen is trying. It is exhausting. It is painful at times. But it is also rewarding. I have to remind myself of this last one every now and then. A bad day for them turns into a bad day for everyone close to them, the mom, the dad, the siblings, hell even the dog. I have tried everything and every approach to making it right. But I can’t always make it right. Who am I kidding? Most of the time I get it wrong. I know I can’t fix everything, I get it, I do. But sometimes honestly I am trying to fix it for those of us around my daughter and not actually her. What is it, scientifically I mean, about humans at that age? What is going on besides raging hormones that makes them so angry all the time? Are we actually supposed to be kicking them out of the nests like most other mammals by the age of 2? Is this why they are so perpetually angry at the world, because they are caged?

Thoughts? Ideas? HELP! ~~~~~~~~~~

Not regrets. Just the same dreams, finally ready to be lived…

If you could turn back time, change it all, she said – would you be flying planes above me? Would you be writing in a cabin by a lake, she said, or writing with windows open, noises flying around you, inside a city apartment? Or would you, she asked, be standing there – where you always envisioned – in a court room, dressed to the nines, defending the law that you love?

Regrets have a way of spinning themselves, weaving themselves, into a web of un-recognition. Reasoning has a way of blowing away with the breezes, intertwining itself with the wind, disappearing into the clouds. In their place though, magical decisions stood, blessings occured, as the time ticked away.

If you could change your path, change it all, she said – will you start flying planes above me? Will you write what you have always dreamed of writing? Or will you, she asked stand in a court room, argue the wrongness of the world and defend the law that you love?

Timeless.

Timeless. As your love has always been to me.

Cherishable. May my heart never forget.

 

For the lucky ones, there will be someone that will touch your heart with a severity as you walk through life. Blessed, I am of the lucky. My grandmother has been a light through many periods of life where I could find none. Her strength and wisdom has guided me along paths with no clear direction. I repay her with not only indebtedness, but with a firing flame of gratitude. Still. To this day. May I always do so. May my heart never forget.

 

My grandmother once told me – to write well, I must write what I know. I know of my love for her, I know of her unparralelled struggles and I know of her unfathomable strength and character as she rose above those struggles. Once, a child in awe of her, Always, she will be one of the closest I hold to my heart.

 

Someday, I would like to write her story. Someday, years after she wrote, I would like to add what we didn’t know at the time – that her story was only beginning. That her greatest accomplishments were ahead of her, as was her greatest tradgedy.

 

Timeless. A granddaughter’s love.

Cherishable. May she know how close to my heart she lives.

Seriously?

Ok, I don’t usually do this – especially on my blog – however - today I am going to rant a bit about college students. Yes, you heard me, know it all liberal college clones have irritated me to my limits as of late.

I work on a University campus. I am surrounded by college students. At first I was in wonder of them, and now, I’ve finally figured them out. I’ve got their number. Lately, not all, but most, have become an irritating cliche to me.

Leaving my own personal political and religious views aside, (proud conservative Catholic) I will say this: the minute these students step onto campus, miraculously, they know everything. A couple courses under their belt and suddenly the world they haven’t truly experienced they suddenly know everything about. Their heads are full of faculty’s agendas, some most liberal indeed, and from there they fall for it all – hook, line, sinker. Sunk.

What I really think should be the norm is this: in most cases (no, I am not saying all) we should not attend college right out of high school. We should wait until we have experienced the world at hand personally for a bit, maybe even years, and start courses when we actually know what it is we will be good at or want to learn. Instead of going hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt or worse putting that burden on our parents, we should have a better understanding of the true economy, foreign affairs, religion and faith, etc… When that graduation cap is thrown and they walk away – the reality of what they are walking into is nothing like the bubble they romped in for 4-8 years.

Suddenly, a first year college student magically knows everything about politics. They do, I am serious! They know just how to fix this country, a country they haven’t truly gotten to know as an adult, but instead been sheltered by their parents their entire exsistence. They also know everything about religion. Of course they do, how could I not have known this? They read a few books, have a few major insightful adult discussions on the matter, and boom! Athiasts. It’s amazing how much they can learn without experiencing what the rest of us have in this life.

Their perspectives are so naive that sometimes I find myself feeling sorry for them. In such a desperate attempt to be different they only look like sad naive individuals amongst a million others that are the same exact way. This whole transgender thing? Honestly. Today I came across a girl who apparently wished she were in fact a boy who was speaking in the most irritating obnoxious cringing girly voice I had ever heard. I literally wished I had some darts in my hand, and she – my human dartboard. She was literally an oxymoron – back and forth and back and forth again.

Listen, I don’t really care about your sexual preference, who am I to say that you don’t actually like your own gender. But why on earth do you have to pretend to be something you are not. Just be who you are, like what you do, and stop trying so stinking hard to either (A) get attention or (B) fit in or (C) be ‘unique’. Just drop the bologna and get on with your life. Why do you have to wallpaper who you are all over exsistence to gain approval?

My middle school age daughter has recently registered for high school classes. A new graduation requirement is for her to take a ‘managing money’ course, basically – an intro. to economics in this uncertain time. Brilliant! Hello! It is about time. Now where oh where in the vast college course book will you ever find anything like that? Exactly.

It is time for America to grow up. Return to it’s roots. Stop playing sad pathetic political popular games and pay attention. Look around you government – congress – citizens – it isn’t getting better. And more and more of our young adult population is getting more and more screwed up. Can we have a do-over please?!?!

You know what I have to worry about as a parent in 2012 of a middle schooler? Pregnancy, drugs, alcohol, suicidal signs, etc… You know what they had to worry about as a parent of a middle schooler say, oh, maybe 75 years ago? Teaching their child manners, teaching their child a skill to help contribute to a country that saved many of their predecessors lives, etc…

They run around the campus, outside my office window, yelling about the environment, going green, accepting transgenders, condom awareness, blah blah blah. You know what? They are no different than any other college campus across this country. And you know what else? That makes them not ‘different’ or ‘unique’, it only makes them a grand cloneing cliche of robots.

Just some thoughts…

Beyond recognition is the manifest of hope. Each and every particle of built up hopes throughout the years all rush in to just one piece of matter. Beyond that matter is an atmosphere full of disapointment, guarded by reserve, challenged by new hope growing inside our hearts. It is here, in the birth of new hope that we must live, it is here, in the naive place of trust we must begin again. This ability given to us not out of natural routine but out of necessity to human nature. To forgive another is to be able to live without reservation as yourself. Demand of those you love perfection, but expect only their best, as you would yourself. And welcome their best as if it was the perfection you awaited. And forgive their hearts any indescretion.

If I waited until my heart forgave, I would still be waiting. There is something to be said about forgiveness being a decision, a committment, something to work towards. Unfortunatley, I have not seen forgiveness as an instant feeling or awareness. But I live in the hope that eventually I will. I think maybe I cannot find the words to write anymore simply because I feel obligated to do so. Before, when I wrote, things came easily, emotions were brought to the surface with the clicking of the keys. Today, I sit in silence and wait for the words to find me and they do not.

~~~~

Some people you fight for. I miss him for years, every single time he leaves me I miss him. This only makes me more certain that he is worth fighting for. Never has his trips become routine, never has saying goodbye not hurt my heart. Not once. This is how I know.

I used to know – for so many other reasons as well - that I had to hold onto his heart. There are always so many reasons to fight for our love. Sometimes, days pass into months and roll into years and there are moments when for a second I forget. But only for a second, a small moment in time.

I always felt like I was waiting for something, never knowing what it was. The moment he entered my life – I began to live. The moment he knew me was the first time anyone had known me.

Days roll into nights that end up becoming years in the blink of an eye. I fear the day we say goodbye to one another. I imagine a broken heart hurts just the same no matter how old you are - for our hearts never age.