Mom

I’ve come to have a deeper understanding and appreciation for my mom’s strength and resilience in the months since my dad’s passing. I’ve always known that Anne is an incredibly strong woman, but it is showing up in even richer ways now. She is the first to acknowledge that she relied heavily on my dad; being in a wheelchair definitely forces a dependence of some degree, and though it went against the grain, she grew to rely on my dad more and more for help with everyday life. With his help gone, she’s had to master another type of strength–asking for help from others. Fortunately, she has a big network of friends to ask, and all are more than willing to help. It’s been a matter of accepting that help with grace, which she does very well. On New Year’s Day, she prepared a gourmet meal for neighbors who have looked in on her since July, thanking them for their care and love.

But one of my favorite stories is how she invited a friend’s 10-year-old to spend the day with her during the holiday break. The context for this story is that it was Anne’s first Christmas spent alone in her entire life, and it hit her hard. She had gone to visit my dad’s gravesite on Christmas Eve and came away feeling raw and broken. She didn’t stay down for long, though. Her incredible resilience pulled her through. Anne has always been a baker, and has shared her love of that craft with all her grandchildren (all boys, no matter!) Her friend’s daughter had never baked before so my mom was driven to rectify that situation. And they didn’t start with something simple like chocolate chip cookies–oh, no. It was an Italian Creme Cake made from scratch, with lots of butter and eggs, and crushed nuts. requiring true labor and focus. My mom was in her glory and it brings tears to my eyes to imagine that scene where she is giving so much of herself, yet nurturing her own soul in that simple gift of teaching a child to bake.

People say I’m a strong woman, and I believe I am. I’ve made some hard decisions, especially in the last few months, but it has never been clearer to me that I get that strength from my mom. She has been my quiet role model all my life. Fortunata, once again!

Flow

I was just telling a friend that I’m waiting for life to return to Normal so I can get back to taking care of my house the way I want to.  Then I realized, “Who am I kidding?!  I don’t even know what Normal is anymore.”  I struggle with that.  Yet I don’t think I can give up the flow my life has developed, the flow that allows me to work in Ben’s classroom, tutor students who need help with reading, train parents in PD tools and practices and bullying-prevention.  You know, the flow that gives me purpose and a sense of my place in the larger world.  THAT flow.

I can’t even say that my current flow is my new Normal.  I think Normal has no place in my vocabulary anymore.  Normal is an illusion, and a restrictive one, at that.  I find when I  let go of that notion, I am free to enjoy what unfolds before me.  And I’ve had to learn to trust that eventually the house will get cleaned.  In the meantime, I’m really happy in my stay-close-to-home-mom role, working with kids and parents, enjoying my time on Planet Earth.  Normal?  Who needs Normal??  I’ve got Flow!

Life Is Different Now

I can’t quite articulate it yet, but somehow, life is different now that my dad is gone.  There’s been some subtle shift in me.  I feel it currently manifesting as an inability to remain focused, to find the words I want, to think two coherent thoughts in sequence.  As I described it to a friend, it’s as if I’m casting about, looking for something, and I can’t find it.  And I’m puzzled because I have a lot of peace about my dad’s passing.  As I have described, he led a long, full and worthy life.  His death was not traumatic or painful for him, and my mom is doing really well in her new life as “widow Anne”.  My relationship with her is incredibly sweeter.  So what’s up?

I don’t know.  What I do know is that my Positive Discipline work is keeping me grounded in some eerie way.  I guess that might sound kind of creepy; have I really lost it now, thinking Positive Discipline is my savior?  It’s not that–PD doesn’t have magical or mystical powers.  It’s just that it’s my calling, my life’s work, like a thread pulling me back to what’s important.  This week I met twice with the parent education team at Ben’s new school.  We are gearing up to train all the parents in PD thinking and tools before they start working in the classroom in this parent-participation school.  It’s exciting and exhilarating to spend time with this group of dedicated parents.  Thursday night I went to a local baby store for my quarterly visit to present an overview of PD, and then today spent an hour with the Sunday School teachers at my church, sharing some of the tools with them.  And even though none of that was paid work, when someone asked me if I do this for a living, I said without qualm, “YES”.  Because it gives me life, and purpose, and a way to answer the question, “Now, what was I doing?”

In a Fog

My dad died suddenly last Sunday.  He collapsed in my mom’s outstretched arms, his head on her chest, and took his last breaths.  What a blessedly quick and loving way to go.  As I struggle to swim through the dense and murky fog to understand and accept the many impacts this will have for all of us, I wonder about Ben.  I’m not quite worried.  I just don’t know how to interpret his reactions, or if I need to interpret them at all.  He cried, he looked through photo albums to find pictures I could take with me on the trip to Medford, Oregon to plan the memorial service.  He pleaded to accompany me so he could “take care of” me.  And I find I do need his hugs and his hands holding mine, his silent acknowledgment of my pain and bewilderment.  Wise far beyond his years.

I am grateful that older brother Eli brought Ben up for the memorial service, which was yesterday.  All 3 of my boys were here, and all but one grandchild.  “Fortunata”, Jim would say.  “Fortunata” indeed, for the love and long life my dad enjoyed, for his many friends and extended family who joined us to mark his passing.  And blessed for all the support my mom will have in the long months ahead.  I have learned new and deeper lessons about friendship and connection that will change me forever.  I don’t think I’m going to interpret Ben’s reactions; I think on some very primal level, he understands and is processing grandpa’s death.  And he’s helping me do the same.

The Real World

For six years,  Ben has attended a small (fewer than 250 students) elementary school.  It’s a public school, and when we started there, it was an “alternative” to the more traditional public school setting–small, community-minded, parent-participation.  In my mind, HEAVEN.  And for the most part, it has been just that:  a good, well-rounded education that addressees the “whole child”–social, as well as academic development, emphasizing life skills like problem-solving and critical thinking.  Ben has been surrounded by parents, teachers, and staff who look for (and bring out) the best in  him.  You can talk to almost anyone who’s been with him the entire six years and they can describe a young man who has come a long way:  from a reluctant reader to library volunteer, from highly disruptive to student council member.  He’s really grown in this highly supportive and nurturing environment.

So why, when it came time to choose a middle school, did I become concerned with providing him an experience that would prepare him for the Real World?  Was the last six years NOT the Real World?  Many would argue it wasn’t. It was too “sheltered”, too “nurturing”.  But I’ve now thought long and hard and about it and here is what I’ve decided:  The Real World Is What You Make It.

I’ve realized that throughout my life I’ve made choices that shaped my Real World.  I’ve chosen friends, and communities, and activities that supported my own belief systems.  I look for caring and kindness in the world and feel myself drawn to those who share those same values.  I found a faith community where I can live out my values.  I’ve always had a small, core group of friends at work and in my private life who shared my beliefs.  I’ve made my Real World a reflection of my inner longings and dreams of what can be.

In choosing Ben’s school, I’m preparing him for a Real World where people work together for a greater good, for something outside themselves.  I think it’s possible to achieve that in any setting where people share that goal.  I believe I’ve found a school that shares my goals, and I have every confidence that Ben will be well-prepared for the Real World of High School at the end of his three years there.  He’ll be prepared because he will create a Real World that reflects what he cares about, what’s important to him.  And I realize it may not be what’s important to me.  But that is our task as parents, right?  Do our best, let them be their best.   Have faith in who they are; have faith in ourselves.  My wish is that we support each other in this herculean task.  Oh yes, it does take a village.

 

Amazing and Inspiring

Recently Ben decided he needs a new DS.  His current one was used previously-owned when he bought it, and these days it’s not functioning as well as it should.  So he created quite an elaborate chart of how he would save the funds to purchase a new one for the hefty price of $139.  The chart shows by month how much he will save, where he will keep the saved funds, and the running total.  That is all pretty impressive, but the very best part is the list of affirmations at the bottom of the chart (the exclamation points are his):

• Ben, you can do it!
• Believe in yourself!
• I know you can!
• We’re all behind you!
• You’ve done it before!

I find it incredible that Ben has such faith in himself.  I certainly didn’t, when I was 10 years old.  Shoot, I sometimes don’t have it NOW!  But rest assured, he inspires me to dig deep and find the confidence to identify my goals and chart the ways I will reach them.  And I can just hear him, “I know you can do it, Mom”.  And I can.  With that kind of power behind me, how could I NOT??

Where Is My Eagle?

There is an eagle in me
that wants to soar,
and there is
a hippopotamus in me
that wants to
wallow in the mud.

~ Carl Sandburg

I received this quote in my inbox today, and as often happens, it was just the quote I needed.

For today I wallowed in the mud of hurt feelings, offended when no offense was meant. I even CRIED, for Peet’s sake! Reflecting on the whole episode now, hours later, I can see that I was already feeling out of sorts before the interaction took place. And knowing that, I’m glad I didn’t pursue it any further in that moment. I definitely needed to “regather” myself, calm down, and get some perspective. Which brings me back to this Carl Sandburg quote: I think remembering it will help me regather more quickly next time. I can have a good chuckle at my tendency to “wallow in the mud”, giving life to my inner hippopotamus, reminding me there IS higher ground. I do have an eagle in me somewhere, and I hope I can summon her forth with grace, given my next opportunity to do so.