Second Day of Mourning

The second day of mourning is always grey,

When the grandeur of elaborate pain

Fades into a comprehensible dawn.

The asthmatic morning laboured to wheeze a few

Competent breaths to last from bus to school.

A grim visage canopies a lurching heart that still stumbles

In the quicksilver and endless corridors of remembering.

Mourning seems such a vain thing.

It cries aloud to be seen, solicits pity with

Conscious tears and wanton dysphoria,

Damns an implosion with a paradoxical front.

Trudging up the overhead bridge that prevent dented fenders

And stubborn bloodstains on the roads,

The sweaty morning clings onto my skin and sorrow

Weighing with the symbolism of exertion.

Gaston Ng

This post will be brief for there are no words that can aptly express the sense of  grief and shock regarding the tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut. The pain is real. For those of us who are parents, it is not too hard to imagine what it would be like to lose your child in such a violent and unexpected way. Our children are gifts that we give to ourselves. When they are taken from us, a big part of us goes with them.

Let us all hope and pray that this brutal incident will lead to a seismic shift in our culture and its glorification of violence. Too many lives have been  lost and we need to find ways to prevent carnage like this from happening again. Turn off your television,your computer, your cellphone. Throw out those video games, call your Senator and Representative so that common sense changes to our gun laws can be made. Spend time with your children. Read books together. Go for a walks. Play. Stay connected and pay attention to one another. Twenty-four people per day are victims of gunshot violence. There have been sixty-two incidences of mass killings in this country since 1982. It is time for all of us to start demanding a change.

Until tonight
my heart was just half full
I’d never known the fruit which fed the soul
but now I see what may put to rest my longing
for I have seen, the face of love
the grace of God, the face of love ~Jewel

“Don’t be afraid to ask for your wildest prayers.” Elizabeth-one of the yoga instructors at my studio- made this statement during a class some months ago.  It may even have been a year ago. No matter though.  It hit me hard in a good way. Many of us who struggle for long periods of time forget to ask for things beyond just getting through the day,the month or even the year. Of course, this kind of mindfulness matters.  At times of intense adversity, it really is important to stay focused on the task at hand. Conversely, one runs the risk of not thinking of the future and the good things that inevitably will come.

A wild prayer can be  a life prayer. At the time that I heard it from Elizabeth, I had not realized on a conscious level that I had been already begun the process of appealing for my wildest dreams. Five years ago, I felt unworthy of love and commitment. It was a perfectly normal feeling at the time-having been left after 18 years of marriage for “greener pastures”.  For Christmas that year, my oldest son had given me a beautiful purse. Inside were three music cds of artists he knew I loved to listen to. I would play the music endlessly as its lyrics and tunes resonated with my emotions at the time. Some of the songs spoke of love and commitment and I remember thinking: “Someday a better man is going to love me as I deserved to be loved.”

That thought went out into the universe as I went about my daily business of dismantling the marriage and simultaneously trying to hold myself and my sons together. Fast forward to eight months later as my sons and I are enjoying a week’s respite with my folks on the west coast of Florida. My parents flew the three of us down as we had just concluded a small celebration. In exchange for them being unable to attend, we got a treat of fun and sun with family and friends.

At the time, I had no idea that the trip would be the vehicle that would ultimately change my life for the better.  While my sons and I were enjoying a post race party and swim, I noticed a man wearing my local city’s baseball cap and shirt. I asked where he was from and he told me that he grew up some fifty miles from where I lived. He climbed into the pool next to me and the conversation didn’t end until two and half hours later! That evening, my mother asked me what I thought of him. I said that he was very nice-he certainly seemed to be a dedicated father and a spiritually grounded man. She, of course, went further in singing his praises (my parents had known him for a year and he was a member of their running club). I told her, however, that it could never work due to the long distance (1400 miles) and the fact that I wasn’t ready. She simply replied, “You never know.”

Of course, my mother was right!  Months went by and we corresponded by email and eventually by phone. For me it felt safe and easy. Then Thanksgiving arrived and he was due for a visit to his sister’s.  He asked if we could get together that weekend and I agreed.  We spent the day hiking, walking the beach and dining on Thai food. We ended our day at a local soap store where I commented to the owner that I was a “lavender chick”. When he took me home late that night, he presented me with a bar of lavender soap. I remember thinking: “Here’s a guy who pays attention!”

Looking back, it was then and there that my wildest prayers were beginning to be answered. Since then, we have managed to form a loving and everlasting bond that has stood the test of time,distance and many trials and tribulations. Additionally, we have spent time with each others children and have developed healthy relationships with them. I feel like his love for me has been heaven sent. After the trauma of an unhealthy marriage, I now realize and appreciate what it is like to be loved and respected as an individual.

This weekend we returned to the place where it all began. On a cold, snowy, late morning with Christmas in the air, he bought me a ring.  My heart felt full as he placed it on my finger declaring- in his own quiet way- his love for me. For the first time in forever, I feel utterly content and blessed with God’s amazing grace.  Elizabeth was right- your wildest prayers can come true!

Thanksgiving is for being you.
There are no thanks without you.

You are the power of hopeful promise;
you are the balky soil turning upon itself;
you are bursting forth in your experience.

You are not the person next to you–
not an image or an expectation.
You are the infinite and eternal you–
blessed, and loved, and consoled
by the utter commonness
and community of our souls. ~ John Fitzsimmons

“This was long overdue,” my youngest son said. We were sitting by the bonfire that his brother had built Saturday night. We were among a small group of friends (theirs and mine) who gathered on the frigid night to continue celebrating Thanksgiving.  The front porch and garage doors had been outfitted in Christmas lights and a beautiful buffet of hot food and beverages was on display inside the garage. It was a feast for the season-that is one for the cold, cold weather. Turkey chili, black bean soup, hot cider, homemade hot chocolate filled us up and warmed our bodies too.

My youngest son had dug the pit for the fire last spring. Previous to the unearthing, we had used a small metal pit, and by my son’s standards, it was far too small!  He was used to burning pallets and larger logs and decided that our yard needed the same. Thus began his project; one befitting his size and personality. Rocks and dirt are his thing and he set out to create what a friend of mine said was the biggest fire pit she had ever seen! The pit is perfectly circular. A berm of sorts was made in the front (more or less from the pile of grass and dirt left over from the dig) and the back is graced by large rocks that my son brought out from the woods by hand. The pit had been used a couple of times by the boys this summer while I was away.  I am sure a few friends “visited” for those occasions. Since I received no calls while I was gone,  I can safely assume that nothing major occurred -phew!

Since I had yet to enjoy my son’s masterpiece, Thanksgiving Saturday seemed a perfect time to assemble our friends and celebrate.  My oldest son and I spent most of Saturday getting ready. He is a terrific party planner and we always enjoy brainstorming ideas and then setting them into action. He is also a bit more calm in the execution as I have a tendency to worry about running out of time or forgetting things.  My friends are wonderful; they made the delicious main courses for the event. In fact, one of my friends had just redone her deck and had wood that she and her husband needed to get rid of. On Friday, Dan drove over a trailer full of it. We managed to get halfway through it-leaving plenty for a Christmas conflagration!

As you know from my most recent post, I am feeling particularly thankful this year. I suppose Saturday night was an example of my “Appreciation Celebration”.  But I am not sure that it belongs to only me. And this is where my son’s expression carries some weight. My youngest is a man of few words and when he does speak, his message is usually powerful and profound. I am sure that he had been reflecting upon deeper emotions and expressing a sense of inner peace. The bonfire was a metaphor for his feelings ( as well as his brother’s and mine). Especially, especially this year. We’ve grown as individuals as well as a family. It’s a beautiful thing to begin to feel more solid and whole within yourself and to be appreciated for who you are and loved unconditionally.

This time of year can be all about food and gifts and endless holiday obligations if we let it. But it is all so much more.  Truly it is a journey toward something bigger, something hard to define but easy to experience if we open ourselves up to it-something everlasting.

Are you “long overdue?”

Remember there’s no such thing as a small act of kindness. Every act creates a ripple with no logical end. ~ Scott Adams

Last week’s severe storm in my region had me thinking about the importance of small things in our daily lives. I was lucky to have been spared the worst of the disaster having lost power for just three days and not sustaining any property damage short of fallen branches.  I missed my morning coffee that I brew in the pre-dawn hours and sip while getting ready for my day. Luckily, I live close enough to a Starbucks which opens at 5 am. What a treat! I drove there in the early morning darkness in my jammies and hoodie and savored each sip. I missed drying my hair but I was getting my haircut on day two anyway. My hairdresser does such a great job that my hair even looks good after a full night’s sleep! I took fast showers; my water was still hot enough because of a sturdy gas water heater. My refrigerator is still reliable after 23 years and I did not toss out any food save cream and milk.

Still, my routine was disrupted. I was limited as to what I could do in the house as I always arrive home from work at the end of the daylight hours.  Other things were happening that disrupted my sense of balance and peace of mind.  People and situations from my past were appearing at unexpected places and times. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Normally, I would not have been bothered but then the spare key to my back door disappeared. I began to put an unhealthy equation together. Given the trauma from my recent past, it made perfect sense-at least to me. On the other hand, I knew that I was letting these small things bother me more than I should.  They were taking up valuable space in my head. Still, I found it difficult to settle my mind and I left for Tampa Bay in a bundle of nerves.

I was relieved when I landed! I fell into the warm embrace of the not so tropical air and the man I love. I took some time for myself as well and headed out for a 10k walk along the Pinellas Trail. The sun was comforting and the trail was very quiet. Only butterflies skittered about-a sign for me that my mother was near. I began to relax and reminded myself of the reason why I was down there.

The day before I left for the trip, I had received a beautiful necklace that my friend Emily had made in honor of my late mother. We planned on awarding it as a special gift to a race participant (as yet unknown).  The piece was clearly a work of art and labor of love (see photo). When Emily had originally presented her idea to me this summer, she had no idea of my mother’s affinity for these lovely creatures. Needless to say, I could not wait to show my father the piece.

After my therapeutic excursion on the trail, my boyfriend and I cut out to check on the pre-race preparations. My dad was in fine form as usual-running the show and attending to every detail of the event. When he slowed down enough so that I could show him the necklace, he burst into tears. In a moment of pure honesty, he said: “You should keep this for yourself.”  As much as I would have loved to have the piece, I knew in my heart that a special someone would benefit from it more than I.

The next day we arose at 4:30 am and headed to the race location on the bay. The sunrise was spectacular and there was a vibrant energy in the air as runners, walkers and their families began to arrive for the event.  As the Survivor Tent greeter, I was deeply moved by the stories of the men and women who are battling this monster of a disease. Some had traveled from as far as Central Florida and even Jacksonville to participate. As with any disease, age is never taken into consideration. I met two women in their twenties who have been battling pancreatic cancer for as long as five years. They are tough, strong and hopeful.

Sadly, of course, some who were there had lost loved ones and chose to take part to help raise funds for research. One particular family had lost a son, brother, father and husband only four months prior to the race. They became one of the race’s chief supporters. My father had gotten to know the widow of the man who died quite well and it was on race day that he suggested that we present the necklace to her. During the closing ceremonies, Suzanne (the chapter’s chief cheerleader) spoke of the necklace’s origins and presented it to Jen. As she descended the stage, Jen quickly walked over to me to express her appreciation. Then she said: “You don’t know how much this means to me. Every time that I go to the cemetery, I am visited by butterflies!” We hugged and cried and I told her that the necklace’s butterflies symbolized her and her husband.

I know that Jen will cherish the necklace forever. What I couldn’t know was how a gift from a friend of mine would begin to heal the broken heart of a complete stranger. My trip south and the connections that I made there helped give me perspective. I learned two things: don’t sweat the small stuff (the past is past and the key did turn up) and small acts of kindness help all of us heal our own broken hearts.

“Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Today I was driving with two friends from church to work on an organic farm that grows fresh vegetables for local food pantries and homeless shelters. We were part of a small Sunday afternoon group that was helping a staff member put the gardens to bed for the winter. On the way over, we talked about the day, this day of the week in particular. We shared our angst about Sundays as the day that brought us the most anxiety. Commonly, this is a day that draws us inward; we think about the week ahead of us with dread.

Growing up, Sunday night was the night that I had the most trouble falling asleep. I hated school when I was young; I would have rather been home with my mother. At times, I would fake being sick in order to avoid hopping on the bus in the morning. My parents were well aware of my anxiety and did their best to provide a combination of comfort and tough love. My father was especially sympathetic. I have vivid memories of him coming to my bedroom to talk with me. He also sang songs-“Goodnight Irene” and “You Are My Sunshine” were standard.

As I a college student, I do not recall any feeling of Sunday blues short of the fact that it was a major study day. But upon entering the real world, dread reared its ugly head again. Then, after I became a full-time mother, it abated once more. I remember thinking, “Wow, I don’t have to deal with Sunday nights anymore!” (A small part of me thought this was one of the bonuses for staying at home with the kids.) It really felt like a relief.

Now, of course, I work full time and am once again battling those blues just like everyone else. As I stated in a previous post, Sunday afternoons were once some of the worst hours of the week for me. In particular, I recall the winter of 2011 to be an almost depressing time. We had an overabundance of snow that rendered the roads hazardous for weeks. For the first time in my life, running or walking became impossible because the streets were unsafe. My snowshoes were broken and my cross country skis were gone (I had sold them at a yard sale). I also had an under-abundance of money; so I had no social or shopping distractions to while away my time. What a great recipe for the blues!

However, time and money can certainly bring about a change in attitude. I have fewer money woes these days. The gift of time and God’s grace and mercy certainly have been a positive factor in the lessening of the Sunday Slump. I enjoy my faith community and am actively involved in its youth program.  Worship is an uplifting and intellectually stimulating experience. Our community welcomes everyone regardless of race, gender or sexual orientation. It is a place where love reigns; it is another area in my life where people are genuinely happy to see you.

Some of you may be asking, well this is only one part of Sunday, what about the rest of the day? As you know, my oldest son is in college (just about an hour or so away). Last spring, he requested that we make Sunday dinner. For those of you who are old enough, this was once a common cultural practice after church on Sunday-usually at a grandparent’s house. But I am sure that my son got the idea from the TV show “Bluebloods.” The final scene ends with the extended family saying grace and sharing a Sunday meal and conversation. In any case, I was happy to oblige and we were often joined by his lovely girlfriend and his brother. Well, I am happy to share that it is now a standing ritual in my house-even in the summertime! Many times, my son and his girlfriend will come down for church in the morning, help cook the meal and/or study. Sometimes they even stay overnight. My youngest, a working man himself, will often do his laundry or watch the Sunday football games. Lately, his girlfriend will drive over and join us.  I love these days; they are quiet and comforting. Just last week, the five of us had a picnic supper of pulled pork and coleslaw as we watched “The Princess Bride” (probably for the 10^th time or more). It was, after all, the 25^th anniversary and my youngest son’s girlfriend had never seen it!

Today was different, of course. I spent the afternoon outside working.  It was a perfect autumn day: sun, wind, big white/gray clouds. We didn’t have Sunday dinner due to conflicting schedules. Instead, because it was Family Weekend at my son’s college, we drove up Saturday night and had our “Sunday dinner” at a restaurant. No matter, though. My day and evening were not dominated by angst. And this is how Sundays need to be. We all have obligations tugging at our time and energy. (And for those of us in northern climes, there are now endless leaves to be raked!) Moreover, I realize that Sunday meals together will not last forever. The boys will eventually live independently and get married; I may move. Who knows? But the point is simple: Do your best on this day to bring yourself joy and satisfaction and, most of all, take time to be with those you love. The “blues” may very well disappear!