Grieving Through Celebrations

22 Dec 2022 Leave a comment

by Deb D in Just Life Tags: , , ,

A girl’s mother passed away. Her relationship with her remaining family is strained. She wonders if she should attend holiday celebrations or stay home.

When her mother was alive, there were years that the girl would opt out of gatherings and it didn’t feel wrong. But this first year without Mom feels different. Depending on her choice of attendance, she will appear either avoidant or unbidden.

In a situation that used to know the presence of our beloved, we feel disoriented despite the familiarity. A customary fixture is absent, and gone with it is a sense of order. Even the things about a person that might have once annoyed us are mysteriously missed.

The gap between mourning and celebrating is unsettling. I know that I cannot hope to enjoy what will be if I continue to mourn what used to be. But moving on feels like infidelity to the one who is gone. It’s a predicament – feeling bad doesn’t feel good, but feeling good feels wrong.

If there was a magic formula or a timeline to follow, perhaps grief would be more palatable. But the process is diverse and unregulated. We must tailor our own bereavement and healing, stitching together the threads of understanding we gather in the process.

Healing takes time and time takes time. Giving grief the dignity it deserves and being willing to follow its lead is our best chance at finding peace through loss.

One day, maybe sooner or later than we expect, we rediscover the lightness and brightness that was temporarily muffled. Joy returns with soft approach, tiptoeing its way into our heart, filling the cracked spaces until they become less like chasms and more like tiny windows to the Love story of Life.

Ode to Dad

19 Jun 2022 Leave a comment

by Deb D in Uncategorized Tags: ,

My first Prince Charming

When my sister and I left home, each of us was given our own toolbox by the man who had worked in construction since the age of 12. It was expected that we know how to use our tools and that we would carry on the do-it-yourself tradition in which we were raised. Dad wasn’t about to have his 2 daughters go into the world depending on anyone.

We valued his practical skills, soaking up bits of expertise whenever possible. “Stick with me 365 days and you’ll learn 365 new things,” he’d claim, and who could argue? Dad could fix or build anything, which became his calling card. 

We loved to tease him about using $10 worth of epoxy to repair a $5 item. In his world, everything was worth saving.  He collected discarded vacuums like abandoned children in need of a good home. But he had the last laugh when he opened one of the bags and found a sapphire and diamond ring.

One of his unique and endearing traits was that he always whistled while he worked. He took pride in all his jobs and projects and expected others to do the same.

Being born into Dad’s inner circle of affection provided a front-row view to his generosity. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for the ones he loved. Dad lent his tools, time, and attention to anyone, unless they disrespected him. 

Each of us thrived on the enormity of his love and his belief in us. “Show’em what you’ve got,’ he’d say, and ‘don’t let anyone tell you you can’t do something.”

As a model grandfather, Dad busted through gender stereotypes before his time. He changed diapers, rocked babies, and cared for them all when they were sick. He was the kind of Grandpa who would read a story about a bunny, then spontaneously agree to make the carrot cake recipe at the end of the book.

Dad was a partner in crime – always game for a plan that was fun, adventurous, or harmlessly naughty. There was chicken hatching, homing pigeons, and even a transient pet turkey. There were ski trips, shopping trips, and trips down memory lane when he would wax poetic about the good ole days, conveying through rose-colored glasses, his version of a life well-lived.

Over the years, I’ve heard more than a handful of friends and family say, “What would we do without Danny?”

Now we have to find out what life without this remarkable man looks like. There will be holes that no one else will fill. Dad is irreplaceable and unrepeatable. 

Who will steal the last puzzle piece as a practical joke?

Who will bake too many desserts for every occasion and for no occasion at all?

Who will stop us as we back out of the driveway so he can wash our dirty headlights before our journey home?

There’s no one who loved like he did. How lucky we are to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.

Dad,

May your candy jar always be full. 

May there be cucumbers in every salad.

And may your Heavenly table be surrounded by family and friends who love you as much as you love them.

Freshman Year Renovations

06 Dec 2021 Leave a comment

by Deb D in College Chronicles, Parenting, Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

I awoke unreasonably early, too excited to sleep because my college Freshman was coming home for the holiday.

Finally, the dull ache of the empty nest met its relief as I scooped up my baby girl and soaked in every nuance of her precious being. 

I knew that I’d receive a different girl than the one I sent off in September. The changes are subtle – a new expression, a hairstyle, an attitude… I’m tempted to analyze everything, as if trying to back-fill the log of events that would explain the transformation.

She, too, is catching up. Driving through the center of our sleepy town, she notices a major renovation of a tiny building. Her mind is blown by ‘how much has happened in a short time.’

Like our town, Peach’s life is undergoing renovations. As project manager, she holds the right to design her existence, dig it up, and make a mess in the process. I simply need to obey the detour signs and perform occasional site checks to make sure she crosses the finish line. 

Detour

Peach is a yearling with barely one foot out the door. But the legal world considers her an adult at 18. She’s responsible for forms and processes that I can’t meddle in. Confronted with the daunting prospect of instant ‘adulting’ while indulging in first-time freedom is overwhelming and exhausting. She has burned the candle at both ends and is appropriately diminished. This week of respite is my chance to build her back up.

The first semester of college is no joke. Sickness, drama, responsibility, and excitement are repeatedly and randomly activated like the features of a pinball machine. 

Every phone call makes me tense, wondering if it will require crisis triage or celebration. In my experience, college-aged children don’t call Mom when all is status quo. Deep breaths and a quick prayer precede every tentative greeting. 

It’s hard to stay steady when a beloved young ‘un is inviting you for a ride on their roller coaster. Loving detachment is a trick I haven’t completely mastered. But there’s no shortage of opportunities to practice. 

A reminder to avoid proofreading Peach’s life comes easily when she offers a spontaneous expression of gratitude: “Thank you for loving me unconditionally.” She’s not unaware of the fact that one’s own chaos seeps into those who care about you, even with the healthiest of boundaries.

A parent has so many wishes for a child, none of which matter. Their lives are not our lives, even though we feel intimately intertwined. Even if we want the same things, we simply aren’t powerful enough to guarantee smooth sailing and desirable outcomes. Believing in our own inflated influence and importance leads to inevitable disappointment.

Our best bet during the remodeling phase is to wear a hard hat and proceed with caution.  One day, we’ll stand back and assess the new structure with awe, wondering how it all came together despite our fears and doubts.

Mom’s Letter To Her Final Graduate

01 Jun 2021 Leave a comment

by Deb D in Growing Up, Parenting, Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

Dear Peach,

Remember when your puppy would grab a shoe and wouldn’t let it go until you tempted him with a new toy? Even then, he tried his hardest to figure out how to hold onto both, unwilling to surrender a speck of joy. You resemble this as you stand between your high school graduation and your college experience – excited about the future but hesitant to surrender the familiar. 

You’re burning the candle at both ends – capturing time with friends in a desperate frenzy to make last-minute memories.  But time is measured and no matter how much you squeeze into each day, you may never feel replete.

Most days I hardly see you and conversations are limited to relaying logistics. When you surprise me with an unhurried kiss, I melt a little as I try not to count down the number of loving interactions that remain before your departure.

I reassure you that all will be well, while hiding the fact that I’m trying to bolster us both. You think you’ll miss me more than I’ll miss you, but the fact is that you’ll be having entirely new experiences that aren’t meant to have me in them. I, on the other hand, will be in the same setting I’ve always been in, minus you.  My landscape will be missing a beloved irreplaceable feature while you will be painting on a blank canvas.

Encouraging you to embrace this next step is bittersweet. It’s like putting down a good book. Even though I know I’ll love the “Motherhood” sequel in which you become an adult, a small part of me will always favor the first installment, because that’s the one in which I fell in love with you.

Being your mom is a privilege that came with a time stamp. You are our family’s grand finale. When you walk across the stage to accept your diploma, my heart will quiver as my mind plays a highlight reel in the background of the ways in which you have punctuated our lives. 

Who would we be without your steady, stabilizing personality, your enormous ability to forgive, and your signature sweetness? How would we have learned new dance moves or kept up with pop culture and vast music genres?  And what would have become of us without our Resident Peacemaker?

Peach, you have assets that you haven’t acknowledged yet. They’ve always been there, twinkling like tiny stars, just waiting for an opportunity to burn brightly. Don’t be scared to shine. The light from within you will illuminate your path and lead you to authentic joy.

Soon we will pack up a portion of your life and drive it into your future. We won’t be able to fit all that you want to bring along. But soon enough you will find that the only things you actually need to succeed are carried within. 

When doubt creeps in and spoils your confidence, remind yourself that you haven’t made it this far in life by accident. Replace your ‘what if’s’ with ‘even if.’ No matter what happens, you will handle it and I will be right here backing you up. 

Trust yourself. Trust Life. And remember that you are exactly who you are meant to be. 

Love, 

Mom 

Don’t Go Changing – Even Though I Want You To

11 May 2021 Leave a comment

by Deb D in Insights Tags: , , ,

We don’t waste our time with gift-guessing in our family. Instead, we employ liberal use of wish lists and self-shopping. This practical approach, though less exciting than surprises, is also less stressful which is incredibly appealing.

Difficulties arise when a would-be gift recipient knows not what they wish for. Or when they don’t want ‘things.’

Guilty as charged

For Mother’s Day, I half-jokingly asked Husband to consider lowering the toilet seat. In the game of ‘Pick Your Battles’ I’d never chosen this one. Married readers will accurately assume that this request met with resistance.

These relationship conundrums, despite their relative insignificance, can escalate to unreasonable levels of disharmony. So I dropped the topic like a hot potato. But not before considering why it is that we’re so put-out when asked to modify ourselves.

When I was a child my mother would ask for the same gift every year – “Just be a good kid. Don’t fight with your sister.”

I resented this request with passion.  In my immature mind, the implication was that I needed to change in order for my mother to be happy.

“I’m not enough”

We humans have a bad habit of wanting to sculpt our surroundings to suit our own preferences. We want others to change to make us more comfortable. It’s easy to forget that our opinions aren’t the only ones that matter. 

When we first enter a relationship, we forgive everything and we accommodate for each other’s differences. Over time our generosity fades and we begin to change labels. What was endearing becomes annoying. What was naturally absent now feels intentionally withheld. Tolerance and compromise feel more like sacrifice.

When I fool myself into obsessing over how my loved one’s habits affect me, I’ve forgotten 2 cardinal rules of relationship:

1. I am responsible for my own happiness.

2. I can’t control anyone but myself.

In other words, tend your own garden. Stay in your own lane. Don’t step out of your hula hoop. Keep your eyes on your own paper.

If we want to thrive in relationship we have to be willing to get over ourselves, which should keep us too busy to get tangled up in what other people are doing. Truth is, they’re not doing anything but being themselves. And that’s always ok. Not one of us owns the copyright to Life. Pretending that we do is our demise, but only 100% of the time.

We are quick enough in perceiving and weighing what we suffer from others, but we mind not what others suffer from us. –Thomas a’ Kempis

Feast or Fast

31 Mar 2021 1 Comment

by Deb D in Just Life, Uncategorized Tags: , ,

I’ve been accused of over-preparing food.

The people who would scold me for said crime are the same ones who would complain if I didn’t make their personal favorite dish for EVERY celebration.

Food is a love language, so I guess you could say I’m bilingual. Fluent, actually. 

The irony is, I eat only a small fraction of what I cook. I’ll spare the details behind my restrictive diet but suffice it to say that I’m no stranger to food anxiety. As such, I’ve engaged in countless elimination diets in an effort to quiet the beast within whilst nourishing myself.

The bright side of ‘selective intake’ is a much healthier body than the teen version of me who grew up in the break-out generation of fast food and sugared cereal.

Much is written these days about the benefits of fasting.  The practice is both fashion-forward and archaic, having been used for a range of reasons from physiologic prowess to spiritual enlightenment.

Pope Francis provided this gem:

The most appealing diet ever! Of course I adopted it on the spot and posted it in several areas of my home like an amateur. Could I not have predicted that Husband would ask me in a sarcastic and self-righteous tone how my fast was going when I became impatient? And immediately after that when I snapped at him for asking?

Seriously, I did pretty well considering the near impossible odds of actually getting over the habit of being myself. I’ve been on the personal growth block long enough to know that baby steps are a win. When anger rises up, noticing it and stopping it 3 seconds earlier than usual is cause for celebration.

The idea of fasting from that which brings us down and feasting on that which raises all of us up, is delicious AND nutritious. Bonus: it’s free food. It costs nothing to indulge in joy and hope and gratitude.

Junk ‘food’ on the other hand comes with a hefty price. Pessimism and resentment are thieves that will rob us blind and ruin our relationships in the process.

Spiritual fasting isn’t any easier than the physical version. I doubt I’ll avoid my propensity to shout when triggered. But if I can shed a few pounds of worry…

I suspect I’ll be a happier and healthier version of me.

Finding Freedom From Parental Worry

28 Feb 2021 Leave a comment

by Deb D in Parenting, Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

Once upon a time there was a mother who worried.

This mother turned her worry into a part-time job and often forgot to enjoy the experience of raising humans. She mistakenly thought that if she worried enough, she could thwart impending disaster and spare herself unimaginable heartache.  

For this mistaken belief, she suffered. Bargaining with the devil is costly and Satan takes all forms of payment. The mother lost sleep, sanity and serenity. 

The weight of worry grew in proportion with the children. Stories of teen escapades were revealed in bits and pieces, making the mother woozy. But shockingly, none of the stories equalled the terrifying possibilities that marinated in her imagination.

In other words, most of the mother’s fears never came to pass.

Reflecting on the fact that she had invested far too much in the fruitless schemes of the mind, the mother determined that it was time to reclaim her peace. 

The mind, she determined, was like an unsafe neighborhood. Best not to enter unaccompanied, lest fear lure her into a dark alley and rob her. 

Over time, the mother learned to keep company with more amiable companions like love and trust. She began praying and practicing the principle of detachment. Gradually, she felt lighter. Anxiety had been a heavy weight to carry.

These days, the mother practices safe thinking with the fervor of a zealot. Now that she has tasted freedom, alternative options have lost their appeal.

When a young adult son shares photos of his escapades….

the first thing she sees is Joy instead of Pain; Fun instead of Danger. And she, too, feels happy. Without fear lurking over her shoulder, the mother is able to partake in the amusement of her children’s lives.

Sometimes the mother entertains Regret and wants to cry over foregone chances at happiness. But instead, she works on self-forgiveness because she’s finally wise enough to recognize thieves in all their cunning disguises.

COVID – The Gift That Keeps Giving

28 Dec 2020 Leave a comment

by Deb D in Just Life, Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

All I got for Christmas was COVID. Needless to say, I hadn’t put it on my wish list. But per usual, Life has its own ideas about gift-giving. 

As an extreme rule-follower, and a self-described pandemic poster child, I thought I would escape 2020 unscathed. Silly human.  If this past year has taught us anything, it’s that our delusions of control are grossly misguided. Life isn’t a puppet for us to manipulate. 

Our egos would have us believe that if we are _______ enough, we will succeed in getting what we want. No matter our age, experience, or level of maturity, we never seem to shed the immature notion that we can bend fate in our favor. When we fail, the disappointment can be hard to swallow.

The mind is like a toddler who can’t sit still in a church pew. Constantly jumping from one thought to the next, future-past-future-past, it repeatedly asks ‘Why?’ and ‘What if?’ edging out any chance of being content with what comes to pass.

When I was carrying my 4th baby, after having lost my 3rd during pregnancy, anxiety ruled my existence.  By cutting and pasting the tragedy of the past into a possible future recurrence, I robbed myself of the opportunity to enjoy what turned out to be a healthy pregnancy. In truth, no amount of catastrophe practice would have saved me from suffering fresh pain had the outcome been negative. Instead of fearing and fretting, I could have chosen to been happy. 

Trying to impress this lesson upon my high school senior who awaits college acceptance letters is no easier than it was to appease the Christmas-morning anticipation she had as a child. We want to know outcomes and reasons so we can end the emotional war within. But it is this need to know that actually perpetuates the battle.

Eckhart Tolle advises, “Give up waiting as a state of mind….snap out of it. Just be and enjoy.” Letting go of anything should be easier than holding on. When I grasp a heavy object in my hand, it takes effort. When I release my effort and stop contracting my muscles, the burden of holding eases. 

The irony is that when it comes to letting go of our ideas about what should’ve happened or what we wish to happen, we find ourselves somewhat incapable of releasing our grip, no matter how much it pains us to hold on. 

Emerging on the other side of illness, I’m reminded that the fear of a thing is often worse than the thing. When one finds themselves face to face with something they dread, there’s no choice but to deal with it. Action brings relief from anticipation.

I’ve never welcomed any adversity I’ve encountered. And yet, I’ve also never met a challenge that I couldn’t shake hands with when we parted. Illness, loss, and struggle are simultaneously impersonal and bespoke, providing for each of us exactly what we need in order to practice making peace with life.

I find myself humbled by Life once again, and grateful for reminding me that I am vulnerable but not victimized. Even in 2020, Life is a place I’m glad to be.

Thanksgiving 2020

25 Nov 2020 1 Comment

by Deb D in Reconciling, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , ,

Of all the things that have provoked my anxiety in 2020, gravy-making holds an embarrassingly prominent spot on the list. Familiar readers will attest to my solid level of skill in the kitchen.  But the daunting task of creating this undeniably critical turkey-topping has negated any confidence gained from 25 years of culinary domestication.

For years I have left this intimidating aspect of Thanksgiving meal prep to the family matriarch.  But thanks to the pandemic, my pinch-hitter will be absent – safely ensconced in isolation where she will await a socially-distanced delivery of food made by yours truly.

If I’ve learned anything from the relentless ‘growth opportunities’ served up by 2020, it’s that I can do hard things, like surrendering my previously under-appreciated life to a virus, and separating pan drippings from fat to make gravy.

The invitation to rise above something as monumental as a pandemic (or a gravy recipe), has its appeal. A historical glance is enough to remind us that challenge and effort have a merit of their own, irrespective of outcome. If the figurative gravy over our lives doesn’t pan out this year, can we still enjoy the meal?

On one particularly memorable Thanksgiving, I thought I’d be fancy and cook a duck. One duck for twelve guests. Each ended up with a meager morsel of meat. By all accounts, it was the most delectable bite ever taken. Scarcity compelled us to savor.

Being thankful this holiday season may require more creativity than in previous years if viewed by its tremendous loss and hardship. Or it may be the most authentic expression of gratitude ever offered as a result of our whittled-down existence. Perspective will decide.

My offering this Thanksgiving Day is gratitude for all that has been given and taken, from every friend and foe. May our collective sentiments raise us up and remind us that Life, with or without gravy, holds something for us to savor.

Mask Police

21 Oct 2020 Leave a comment

by Deb D in The Jig Is Up Tags: , , ,

Dear person who refuses to wear a mask,

I promised myself at the outset of the pandemic that I wouldn’t play the role of Mask Police.

I’m not interested in facing your resistance to following a simple, sensical guideline. Instead, I don myself with more PPE than necessary, hoping to protect both of us.  What I haven’t mastered are the skills needed to protect myself from my judgment of you.

The world is highly contagious and it’s not just because there’s a virus afoot.  We are sick with hate, resentment, and vengeance. Fear has manifested in the form of civil unrest, political division and interpersonal distress and is infecting the masses in a far more catastrophic manner than a germ.

We know that those with healthy immune systems fair better against any number of assaults from the environment. This is true for the emotional immune system as well. But we may have to dig deeper into the (arsenal) toolbox for the right (weapon) instrument to (fight) build up our defenses against that which threatens our emotional resilience.

I grew up worshipping the Greatest Generation – those born into an unfortunate time in history that filled their early years with hardships. Not unlike us who are living through historic challenges, they lost jobs and lives. Perhaps unlike us, they learned to survive with less and were proud to do their part. Despite the sacrifices, they emerged as a grateful nation, learning to humbly accept a changed life. 

I’d like to think that we, too, are building something of worth – character, or skills, or ideas for reformation. It’s too early to tell, but the forecast isn’t promising based on current patterns of social anomie.

Ultimately, intolerance boils down to the fact that we oppose each other because we’re afraid. Afraid that if you’re right, I might be wrong.  Afraid that if you make your own choices, I might be in danger.  Each person fights with pointed finger for their own individual determinants of safety and rightness. We desperately try to construct ‘the world according to me’ to spare ourselves the discomfort of stretching our boundaries.

A waxing and waning gratitude practice has proven to me over and over that we don’t need to be ruled by fear and scarcity. When we shift the way we think about things, the things we think about change. With this in mind, we may be able to redeem some goodwill between us.

Instead of judging each other for our opposing beliefs and practices, we might ask ourselves, ‘What part of me is threatened by you and your differences?’

Here’s what I know to be true: when I judge you, I suffer.  When I accept you, I am peaceful. The gap between the two is simply a choice.

So, non-mask-wearing human, the next time we meet, I will summon tolerance in the name of inner peace which, I believe, is the first step to world peace. Or at the very least, good sportsmanship at this game of Life.

Love,

Deb

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