I heard or read recently that "words have power." It stuck with me because I have a terrible mouth and my son is at the age when he will use the language he hears and he's smart enough to use it in its proper context. The first time you hear a child curse, it may make you chuckle, but when a child uses foul language regularly, it becomes ugly and it tarnishes their beauty and their innocence. I want my children to love themselves, be happy in who they are and become; I want them to do, speak, and act in a way to please themselves to enrich their spirits and their lives before they concern themselves with how others perceive them. And so, I have to watch my language.
My parents went through the same thing. I remember, as a small child, hearing my parents curse and then I remember never hearing them curse. Growing up, I never heard my parents curse. When I heard it from others, it was abrasive and sometimes scary. When I started working out of college, I took as position in logisitcs: moving freight on the railways and over the road. I'd have to call the trucking agencies and as a woman in a man's field, it was practically a requirement to use foul language. They didn't hear you or care if you didn't use the F-word: it had power. When I used it they knew I was in charge and if I wasn't using it I wasn't talking to them because I found a new carrier and I had taken my business elsewhere.
Power is in my blood. I am from a family of very strong women and very strong personalities. I'm very close to all the women in my family; we're like sisters, my aunts and I. My grandfather was the head of the family, but as they say "behind every good man is his wife." And she, Nanny, was the matriarch, she was the boss. She was a lady: and the best kind. She was Carol Brady in a real-world, don't-cross-me kind of way. She was a lady, she meant business; SHE headed the women and to us she could have ruled the world. My grandmother was on her own pedestal; she was bigger than we were, she was greater than we were and we loved her for it.
One day in casual conversation she dropped an F-bomb. Up until that moment, we'd never heard her speak that way. Once she said it though, it was like the story was exponentially greater than it was without it. The f-bomb knocked down a wall and we felt closer to her. We felt like she'd let us in, we had grown to her approval and she was welcoming us inside her elite world. We looked up to her and I love her for dropping the F-bomb.
Unfortunately, though, that day marked the end of our dynasty. The f-word spread like wildfire among us and to use it was just as well as using the word "the". We didn't flinch when we used it; we didn't flinch when we'd heard others use it. Sometimes it works to my advantage, just like with Nanny, it brings people in, it helps them relax, they feel more comfortable. But sometimes, it works to my disadvantage, and sometimes I'll say it without even thinking and I cringe as it's fresh off my tongue and it lingers; in those moments I wish I could rewind and start over, but time isn't always on our side. Using foul language has become common, and so have we. It's amazing how much power one word can have.
I want my children to feel safe. I want them to feel confident without resorting to using foul language. I want to have the power, because I want them to have the power to rise against a jaded machine. Hold steadfast the innate power of your person, because words do have power, but the power must first be given.
I am praying for grace and mindfulness. I'm praying to be aware of my actions and my words. Amen.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
OK! I'll blog.
I'm being moved to blog. I've been hesitant to blog without reservation. I have all these thoughts going through my mind and for the longest time I thought: no one will care. But as it stands right now, I'm the only one who even reads this, and I care. If I don't get these thoughts out, it'll drive me crazy. Then I thought, well I'll journal. My Aunt Denise gave me a journal for my seventh birthday. I was in second grade. I began to journal almost every night. I continued journaling all through high school and college. After college, I was busy with work and life and I didn't have time for it anymore. So now that I'm going crazy with all these thoughts, I figured I'd start journaling again. But I'm a much faster typist and I tend to forget my point when I'm writing by hand. And so, despite my reservations about sharing my thoughts and my fear of being faced with judgement and rejection, I'll blog. I'll blog because in all the big questions I've asked myself lately: "am I woman enough?" "what does God want me to do?" I think I have to start with brainstorming. So, Blog, it's me: Jaclyn.
On the Oprah show (I don't remember specifics) there was a woman, a young mother, who found out she had cancer and started video taping herself for her children. I always think about that: if I'm ever not here. I wonder "will they remember me?" It's devastating to think my children wouldn't; it's devastating to think that there are lessons I've learned and things I'd want them to know and in case I'm ever not able, or in case I forget, I'd like to think they might stumble upon this.
When I met my husband, I knew I was going to be with him. That was the day I went out and bought my first journal out of college. I started writing to him. I told him about it later, and I told him where it was in case he ever wondered what I was thinking. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he never really has to guess what I'm thinking.
When I found out I was pregnant with each of my children, I did the same. I started a journal for each of them. Often times, I think about what I want to write, I'll even edit it in my head in the car ride home from somewhere. Yet to sit down in my bedroom and write it out, executing what I really want to do and tell them all the things I would have liked to know about myself as a child, it rarely happens. They deserve better.
"They deserve better" has been the commonality in most of my thoughts from the day I gave birth to my first child. At first it was a guilty "they deserve better", a self-deprecating "they deserve better". Now I feel healthier, now it's a self-help approach: how do I fulfill all the dreams I have for them, knowing that it will enrich my life as well? The laundry may not get done. My hair may not get dried. But I will blog, for me. I will blog for them. And in all the moments I begin to doubt myself I hope I find this. And in case they ever doubt themselves, or me, or life in general, and in case I'm not there to tell them or in case I forget: I hope they stumble upon this.
In this moment, I ask God for guidance and courage. Amen.
On the Oprah show (I don't remember specifics) there was a woman, a young mother, who found out she had cancer and started video taping herself for her children. I always think about that: if I'm ever not here. I wonder "will they remember me?" It's devastating to think my children wouldn't; it's devastating to think that there are lessons I've learned and things I'd want them to know and in case I'm ever not able, or in case I forget, I'd like to think they might stumble upon this.
When I met my husband, I knew I was going to be with him. That was the day I went out and bought my first journal out of college. I started writing to him. I told him about it later, and I told him where it was in case he ever wondered what I was thinking. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he never really has to guess what I'm thinking.
When I found out I was pregnant with each of my children, I did the same. I started a journal for each of them. Often times, I think about what I want to write, I'll even edit it in my head in the car ride home from somewhere. Yet to sit down in my bedroom and write it out, executing what I really want to do and tell them all the things I would have liked to know about myself as a child, it rarely happens. They deserve better.
"They deserve better" has been the commonality in most of my thoughts from the day I gave birth to my first child. At first it was a guilty "they deserve better", a self-deprecating "they deserve better". Now I feel healthier, now it's a self-help approach: how do I fulfill all the dreams I have for them, knowing that it will enrich my life as well? The laundry may not get done. My hair may not get dried. But I will blog, for me. I will blog for them. And in all the moments I begin to doubt myself I hope I find this. And in case they ever doubt themselves, or me, or life in general, and in case I'm not there to tell them or in case I forget: I hope they stumble upon this.
In this moment, I ask God for guidance and courage. Amen.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Cheers!
I follow this blog called "finding joy". The post that first grabbed my attention was posted on facebook called "Dear Mom, who feels like she doesn't measure up". The post that most hit home this week was Why It Is OK To Take a Mom Break. I don't usually take a break. I don't stop to recharge; the only way I run, is on empty. Partially because I want to be the best and most efficient mom for my children, but also because I'm trying to make time to tap into Me, the person I was before children.
Last Saturday I was so thirsty. All day I was thinking I have to remember to get a drink. But I'd get to the fridge and now Fiona wants milk. I get her milk, give it to her, clean up the toys around her, respond to an email. Remember that I needed a drink. I get up walk into the kitchen, stop at the pile of papers on the table, find a doctors note I need to respond to, go to the living room to get the phone, call the doctor. That conversation leads into three follow up conversations with the insurance company and whoever else. Now the phone rings and it's my husband. He asks "What's for dinner tonight?" Dude, seriously, you ask me this question every single day, and every single day it pisses me off. But today it reminds me that I've been trying to get a drink. I go to the fridge and now David wants milk... and a snack. I wash and cut the apple and bring it into the playroom, where the toys are out again. I clean them up and find some dirty socks. I bring the dirty socks downstairs to the laundry room and throw in a load of laundry. I bring up the dry clothes and start folding them. Take the clothes up stairs and get the kids in their pajamas; Dave's watching the kids tonight while my girlfriend and I go to see a medium... ooooo. fun. Sandra walks in the door and says she needs to stop at Wawa before we get on the highway. Dave walks in the door (thank God, because we've got 35 minutes to get 45 minutes away.) We don't want to be late, so we skip Wawa and I remember that last year the medium had drinks and snacks, so I figure I'll get something there. We get there 15 minutes late, no snacks, no drinks. I don't want to be rude and get up to find something, it's bad enough we're 15 minutes late. A few hours later we get a 10 minute break. I have a pounding headache and remember that I didn't really eat all day, so I get pretzels and a pepsi out of the vending machines. Long night. We get on the road home and I'm parched. I asked Sandra if we could stop somewhere and she said, "Well I still have to stop at Wawa to get money from the ATM, so we can get something there." (40 minutes away and around the corner from my house). I didn't even bother to buy a drink, I just figured at this point, I'll grab something at home. But once I walk in my door, I'm so exhausted and I don't want to disturb anyone, I'll just get something in the morning.
I couldn't sleep, I had terrible stomach pains. David was in my bed, so I just watched him all night. Around 6:00 am I get up and hope I throw up. Sure enough I get to the bathroom and puke. yuck. bile is coming up, reminding me I didn't eat anything. I get on the toilet and have... well... it was yuck. I suddenly get really hot and then really cold, I call Dave's name and next thing I know my hair is in my face and Dave catches me under my armpits. I remember that I didn't have anything to drink all day either. I was so weak at that point, I could hardly speak and I felt awful. Dave called the ambulance and then starts running around "Do you need anything?" I tell him to call my neighbor to watch the kids and to get David seomwhere so he doesn't see anything. The EMTs come and take me to the hospital. The nurse asks me to give a urine sample to make sure I'm not pregnant; she asks if I'm ok to walk to the bathroom. I don't want to be dramatic so I say "Yeah". Thank God my mom was with me because I bent over to give a urine sample and was back on the floor. Everyone runs into the bathroom, gets me on a bed, and I was out. I could feel the blood drain from my face and my extremities. I could hear everyone around me, but I could not respond or move even enough to open my eyes or wiggle my fingers. I thought to myself "this is what it must feel like right before you die". I was scared. Unfortunately, my mom and Dave both witnessed the whole thing. They both said they thought I was dead. Four liters of saline later, I peed a few ounces. I was so dehydrated, I ended up in the hospital over night. I ended up gaining 3 lbs just in water weight.
With the exception of the months during my pregnancies, I have never been one to take great care of myself. But I was so mad that of all the things I insisted on doing throughout the day, I knew I needed a drink and somehow... I forgot. Although I love all of the the things that fulfill my life on a day to day basis, I forget to show gratitude to that which sustains it: my self. I'm frustrated with the adjustment: trying to drink and eat, I've gotten so used to getting by without and now I realize that I have to dedicate some time to it... but what mother has time to spare?! At one point, I overheard Dave talking to someone and he said "I guess dehydration can kill you."
Noone could have prepared me for the guilt that comes with Motherhood. I finally, very recently, figured out the value of spending time with girlfriends, and taking a break without the kids... but now I have to factor in time for the break that I really need: a lunch break.
On that note, I'm going to go eat... and in the reflection of my screen, I'm raising my glass of water... here's to you!
Last Saturday I was so thirsty. All day I was thinking I have to remember to get a drink. But I'd get to the fridge and now Fiona wants milk. I get her milk, give it to her, clean up the toys around her, respond to an email. Remember that I needed a drink. I get up walk into the kitchen, stop at the pile of papers on the table, find a doctors note I need to respond to, go to the living room to get the phone, call the doctor. That conversation leads into three follow up conversations with the insurance company and whoever else. Now the phone rings and it's my husband. He asks "What's for dinner tonight?" Dude, seriously, you ask me this question every single day, and every single day it pisses me off. But today it reminds me that I've been trying to get a drink. I go to the fridge and now David wants milk... and a snack. I wash and cut the apple and bring it into the playroom, where the toys are out again. I clean them up and find some dirty socks. I bring the dirty socks downstairs to the laundry room and throw in a load of laundry. I bring up the dry clothes and start folding them. Take the clothes up stairs and get the kids in their pajamas; Dave's watching the kids tonight while my girlfriend and I go to see a medium... ooooo. fun. Sandra walks in the door and says she needs to stop at Wawa before we get on the highway. Dave walks in the door (thank God, because we've got 35 minutes to get 45 minutes away.) We don't want to be late, so we skip Wawa and I remember that last year the medium had drinks and snacks, so I figure I'll get something there. We get there 15 minutes late, no snacks, no drinks. I don't want to be rude and get up to find something, it's bad enough we're 15 minutes late. A few hours later we get a 10 minute break. I have a pounding headache and remember that I didn't really eat all day, so I get pretzels and a pepsi out of the vending machines. Long night. We get on the road home and I'm parched. I asked Sandra if we could stop somewhere and she said, "Well I still have to stop at Wawa to get money from the ATM, so we can get something there." (40 minutes away and around the corner from my house). I didn't even bother to buy a drink, I just figured at this point, I'll grab something at home. But once I walk in my door, I'm so exhausted and I don't want to disturb anyone, I'll just get something in the morning.
I couldn't sleep, I had terrible stomach pains. David was in my bed, so I just watched him all night. Around 6:00 am I get up and hope I throw up. Sure enough I get to the bathroom and puke. yuck. bile is coming up, reminding me I didn't eat anything. I get on the toilet and have... well... it was yuck. I suddenly get really hot and then really cold, I call Dave's name and next thing I know my hair is in my face and Dave catches me under my armpits. I remember that I didn't have anything to drink all day either. I was so weak at that point, I could hardly speak and I felt awful. Dave called the ambulance and then starts running around "Do you need anything?" I tell him to call my neighbor to watch the kids and to get David seomwhere so he doesn't see anything. The EMTs come and take me to the hospital. The nurse asks me to give a urine sample to make sure I'm not pregnant; she asks if I'm ok to walk to the bathroom. I don't want to be dramatic so I say "Yeah". Thank God my mom was with me because I bent over to give a urine sample and was back on the floor. Everyone runs into the bathroom, gets me on a bed, and I was out. I could feel the blood drain from my face and my extremities. I could hear everyone around me, but I could not respond or move even enough to open my eyes or wiggle my fingers. I thought to myself "this is what it must feel like right before you die". I was scared. Unfortunately, my mom and Dave both witnessed the whole thing. They both said they thought I was dead. Four liters of saline later, I peed a few ounces. I was so dehydrated, I ended up in the hospital over night. I ended up gaining 3 lbs just in water weight.
With the exception of the months during my pregnancies, I have never been one to take great care of myself. But I was so mad that of all the things I insisted on doing throughout the day, I knew I needed a drink and somehow... I forgot. Although I love all of the the things that fulfill my life on a day to day basis, I forget to show gratitude to that which sustains it: my self. I'm frustrated with the adjustment: trying to drink and eat, I've gotten so used to getting by without and now I realize that I have to dedicate some time to it... but what mother has time to spare?! At one point, I overheard Dave talking to someone and he said "I guess dehydration can kill you."
Noone could have prepared me for the guilt that comes with Motherhood. I finally, very recently, figured out the value of spending time with girlfriends, and taking a break without the kids... but now I have to factor in time for the break that I really need: a lunch break.
On that note, I'm going to go eat... and in the reflection of my screen, I'm raising my glass of water... here's to you!
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
I'm so much more
Today in Oprah's blog she said that "...when it comes to the big stuff---changing the world, giving not just when it's convenient but when it costs you---moms are the world-class champions."
I wonder how she can even say that after admitting her knowledge that her mother never wanted her. Anyway...
When I was pregnant with my son, my husband and I decided that if he were a girl we would name her Fiona Grace. Of course he was a boy, so when we found out a year later that we were having a little girl, it was known that her name would be Fiona Grace. Knowing her name while I was pregnant, without knowing her face, I envisioned a little blond-haired, blue-eyed Irish-Norwegian baby like my son. When she came out with a head full of black hair, I was beyond shocked and thought "where's Fiona?"
When I was in the third grade, I remember thinking that I didn't ever want to go to college. I wanted to get married when I was 18 and have a baby when I was 19. That was my plan: I was going to be a mom.
At 22, I was being interviewed for a great job, for which I did not meet all the requirements and during the interview I thought, "I was born to do this." I felt like there was nothing that I couldn't do. I got the job, but during the interview my future boss asked me how much I wanted to make and after I told him he said "why do you have so many limitations?" I didn't know what he meant, until I realized that if I had met my husband at 18, I would have gotten married and had a baby at 19. When I envisioned my adult self, I always pictured a mom, but I came to realize, that I was worth a college education, I was worth a 6-figure job, and now that I'm the mother I always wanted to be, I know I can do so much more. I know that I am a champion in the race to become this, but there's just something else I'm supposed to be.
Now that I've arrived to the place I'd always expected, I'm looking at myself wondering, "where am I?" and more importantly-- no...MOST importantly-- where is it that I'm supposed to be?
There's something more and I can't put my finger on it, but there's something inside me and I just feel like maybe if I keep writing, if I just keep getting it out, even when it doesn't make sense, maybe I'll get there. Maybe I'll finally reveal myself.
When I met my husband I knew I had found my destiny. The day my son was born, I knew he was my destiny. When Fiona came, disguised as a brunette, I thought "blond or not, that little girl is my destiny". There's something burning inside me and it's only unrecognizable on earth, but I know there's a plan, I know there's something else, and I just wish I could figure it out.
My therapist once said to me "I believe you could run the world." WHO SAYS THAT TO A 27-YR-OLD STAY-AT-HOME-MOM?!?!?! Unless, I'm so much more.
I wonder how she can even say that after admitting her knowledge that her mother never wanted her. Anyway...
When I was pregnant with my son, my husband and I decided that if he were a girl we would name her Fiona Grace. Of course he was a boy, so when we found out a year later that we were having a little girl, it was known that her name would be Fiona Grace. Knowing her name while I was pregnant, without knowing her face, I envisioned a little blond-haired, blue-eyed Irish-Norwegian baby like my son. When she came out with a head full of black hair, I was beyond shocked and thought "where's Fiona?"
When I was in the third grade, I remember thinking that I didn't ever want to go to college. I wanted to get married when I was 18 and have a baby when I was 19. That was my plan: I was going to be a mom.
At 22, I was being interviewed for a great job, for which I did not meet all the requirements and during the interview I thought, "I was born to do this." I felt like there was nothing that I couldn't do. I got the job, but during the interview my future boss asked me how much I wanted to make and after I told him he said "why do you have so many limitations?" I didn't know what he meant, until I realized that if I had met my husband at 18, I would have gotten married and had a baby at 19. When I envisioned my adult self, I always pictured a mom, but I came to realize, that I was worth a college education, I was worth a 6-figure job, and now that I'm the mother I always wanted to be, I know I can do so much more. I know that I am a champion in the race to become this, but there's just something else I'm supposed to be.
Now that I've arrived to the place I'd always expected, I'm looking at myself wondering, "where am I?" and more importantly-- no...MOST importantly-- where is it that I'm supposed to be?
There's something more and I can't put my finger on it, but there's something inside me and I just feel like maybe if I keep writing, if I just keep getting it out, even when it doesn't make sense, maybe I'll get there. Maybe I'll finally reveal myself.
When I met my husband I knew I had found my destiny. The day my son was born, I knew he was my destiny. When Fiona came, disguised as a brunette, I thought "blond or not, that little girl is my destiny". There's something burning inside me and it's only unrecognizable on earth, but I know there's a plan, I know there's something else, and I just wish I could figure it out.
My therapist once said to me "I believe you could run the world." WHO SAYS THAT TO A 27-YR-OLD STAY-AT-HOME-MOM?!?!?! Unless, I'm so much more.
Friday, May 27, 2011
God through Oprah
[There is something bigger and greater than you]...."be still and know it.... I wait and listen for the guidance that's greater than my meager mind..... God is love, God is life and your life is always speaking to you.... first in whispers. A whisper in your life feels like, 'hmm, that's odd.' or 'hmm, that don't make no sense!' or 'hmm, is that right?!' It's subtle, those whispers, and if you don't pay attention to the whispers they get louder and louder. It's like getting thumped upside the head like my grandmother used to do... you don't pay attention to that- it's like getting a brick upside your head. You don't pay attention to that- the whole brick wall falls down. That's the pattern that I've seen in my life and it's played out over and over again... And so I ask you: what are the whispers in your life right now? What's whispering to you and will you hear it? Your life is speaking to you; what is it saying?"- Oprah Winfrey
Oprah inspired me once again! I grew up in catholic school with teachers preaching about vocation, and now I get it. I understood the whole "calling" concept, but Oprah finally facilitated the process of answering the call! Hello?! Oprah made me realized that the things that excite me are my calling... so I thought about the things that excite me.... writing is one of them, business and networking is another, finding new ways to raise happy children, and finding new ways to make myself happy, journaling, helping others , building strong partnerships, learning/discovering and sharing the lesson... ultimately, my calling is to LEARN, CREATE, and EDUCATE!
I have been told and reminded that I am "made in the image and likeness of God"-- well I'm truly starting to comprehend and believe that I am a direct result of God! He is calling me to be like Him... the ultimate Creator is calling me to CREATE! And the most awesome part about it is that THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO! But to have the knowledge, to be able to recognize God's presence and His will for me, that is such a gift, because there is nothing more validating. Right now, in my life, I needed validation and thank God!, I got it.... and His delivery finally came through Oprah.
Thanks, O!
The message came from God, through Oprah, and now, in an effort to continue the message and spread happiness as I have found it, I'll ask you: What's whispering to you right now?
Monday, May 23, 2011
Becoming treasure
Last year I lost a friend to heart failure. Six months later I lost a friend to a broken heart. I never looked at life as an opportunity or a missed one as much as I do now.
I look at my grandfather's life as such a waste because he was so hard to read. The most unfortunate misread part of his life was the fact that his children have a hard time believing he loved them. The day he died was one of the hardest days of my life. I was so conflicted.... and conflict was his middle name. I mourned his death because of the relationship we had and I was going to miss my Pop Pop and my friend. But at the same time I knew in his death, there would be more peace on earth and within my family. Our relationship, though, was unique and suddenly in his death, I knew the time had finally come to defend him. He wouldn't have wanted me to do it in life.... but I guess it was just always understood that in his death, I'd speak on his behalf and tell the world what he really meant.
He smoked a lot and for a long time. So as he got older he became ill, and then obese, and then... helpless without my Nanny's help. He couldn't really do much, physically, without sweating and struggling to catch his breath. But I have one particular memory of him holding my son when he was just a few weeks old. He propped him up on the table and put his cheek to my son's and started kissing him and whispering in his ear. My mom was sitting next to me and said "Ok, that's enough". She couldn't stand how close he was getting to my son's face and that he was sweating and breathing so hard. But Pop and I paid no attention to her... because in that moment, I knew exactly how much he loved my son... and he had only known him for three weeks.
When David, my son, was born my grandfather insisted that he come to the hospital. When he came into the room in the wheelchair and surrounded by a whole entourage, I knew that it had been more trouble to get there than most would have thought it was worth. But in case there's any way he could hear me now... it was worth it, because it meant a lot to me. He didn't stay long, but before he left he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my face to him, he gave me a kiss and said "I knew you could do it." Typically and understandably, I would have thought "do what? I had a c-section, I didn't do anything".... but I understood what he was saying.
You're welcome, Pop. Thank you, Pop. I love you, Pop. You're a pain in the ass, and one of the best friends I'll ever have.
Speaking of best friends... my Nanny was his. We all knew that Pop was going to die one day and he told us all the time that it was his last this and his last that... but after 16 years of last christmases and last father's days and everything else, we took it for granted. When he finally passed away, it was sudden and unexpected and he left us all in shock. Especially my Nan. She was his hands, legs, lungs... she was everything for him so that he could continue to just... be.
We all thought that when he died, it would be her ultimate vacation. She was tired; she had been tired a long time. She slept for the first month or so after he passed away. It was great for our relationship because I was able to help her more than I ever had in my life, I was able to talk to her woman to woman without the input of the man at the other end of the table.
Right after Pop passed away I found out I was pregnant. In October, I found out I was having a girl and we decided we would name her Fiona Grace. My Nanny hated the name and said "She's going to get Fi Fi." On October 31st, she died. She had an aortic aneurysm-- literally a broken heart.
I read at her funeral, it was Proverbs 31; 10-31. I choked up and could hardly get through the first verse, "He who finds a good wife, has found a treasure more precious than pearls."
I lost two mentors and friends, and gained two children in the same time period. And I feel lost. I don't know how she found the strength to be the mother and wife that she was. We all knew what a treasure she was, and although he didn't show it well, Pop knew how lucky he was to have found her. And he knew how lucky he was that she stayed. I wish I had her composure... and I know that perhaps it was Pop who taught her how to maintain it so well. Maybe she didn't, maybe she was sitting somewhere and just crying her eyes out, by herself, just like I am right now. Maybe she dried her eyes and splashed some cold water on her face in time to smile at her children. Maybe it's ok to cry, maybe that's all part of it... maybe that's part of becoming "a treasure more precious than pearls."
I look at my grandfather's life as such a waste because he was so hard to read. The most unfortunate misread part of his life was the fact that his children have a hard time believing he loved them. The day he died was one of the hardest days of my life. I was so conflicted.... and conflict was his middle name. I mourned his death because of the relationship we had and I was going to miss my Pop Pop and my friend. But at the same time I knew in his death, there would be more peace on earth and within my family. Our relationship, though, was unique and suddenly in his death, I knew the time had finally come to defend him. He wouldn't have wanted me to do it in life.... but I guess it was just always understood that in his death, I'd speak on his behalf and tell the world what he really meant.
He smoked a lot and for a long time. So as he got older he became ill, and then obese, and then... helpless without my Nanny's help. He couldn't really do much, physically, without sweating and struggling to catch his breath. But I have one particular memory of him holding my son when he was just a few weeks old. He propped him up on the table and put his cheek to my son's and started kissing him and whispering in his ear. My mom was sitting next to me and said "Ok, that's enough". She couldn't stand how close he was getting to my son's face and that he was sweating and breathing so hard. But Pop and I paid no attention to her... because in that moment, I knew exactly how much he loved my son... and he had only known him for three weeks.
When David, my son, was born my grandfather insisted that he come to the hospital. When he came into the room in the wheelchair and surrounded by a whole entourage, I knew that it had been more trouble to get there than most would have thought it was worth. But in case there's any way he could hear me now... it was worth it, because it meant a lot to me. He didn't stay long, but before he left he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled my face to him, he gave me a kiss and said "I knew you could do it." Typically and understandably, I would have thought "do what? I had a c-section, I didn't do anything".... but I understood what he was saying.
You're welcome, Pop. Thank you, Pop. I love you, Pop. You're a pain in the ass, and one of the best friends I'll ever have.
Speaking of best friends... my Nanny was his. We all knew that Pop was going to die one day and he told us all the time that it was his last this and his last that... but after 16 years of last christmases and last father's days and everything else, we took it for granted. When he finally passed away, it was sudden and unexpected and he left us all in shock. Especially my Nan. She was his hands, legs, lungs... she was everything for him so that he could continue to just... be.
We all thought that when he died, it would be her ultimate vacation. She was tired; she had been tired a long time. She slept for the first month or so after he passed away. It was great for our relationship because I was able to help her more than I ever had in my life, I was able to talk to her woman to woman without the input of the man at the other end of the table.
Right after Pop passed away I found out I was pregnant. In October, I found out I was having a girl and we decided we would name her Fiona Grace. My Nanny hated the name and said "She's going to get Fi Fi." On October 31st, she died. She had an aortic aneurysm-- literally a broken heart.
I read at her funeral, it was Proverbs 31; 10-31. I choked up and could hardly get through the first verse, "He who finds a good wife, has found a treasure more precious than pearls."
I lost two mentors and friends, and gained two children in the same time period. And I feel lost. I don't know how she found the strength to be the mother and wife that she was. We all knew what a treasure she was, and although he didn't show it well, Pop knew how lucky he was to have found her. And he knew how lucky he was that she stayed. I wish I had her composure... and I know that perhaps it was Pop who taught her how to maintain it so well. Maybe she didn't, maybe she was sitting somewhere and just crying her eyes out, by herself, just like I am right now. Maybe she dried her eyes and splashed some cold water on her face in time to smile at her children. Maybe it's ok to cry, maybe that's all part of it... maybe that's part of becoming "a treasure more precious than pearls."
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Grace for the Moment
When I was a freshman in high school my theology teacher opened my eyes and helped me comprehend all that I had learned in the previous 8 years of my Catholic education. She taught me how to live like a christian and she taught me how to pray.
In college I saw a side of myself that was real and imperfect and not at all what I expected to become. I had always admired and aspired to be like Audrey Hepburn and Jackie O; I admired their timelessness and their grace. Grace was exactly what I was missing and so I began to pray regularly for grace.
A book found me in my senior year of college; it's called Grace for the Moment by Max Lucado. My roommate and I found solace in reading it every night together. We would review our day and decide out loud what question we had for God or ask what lesson He had for us. We would then read the passage and at some point, we were given a very direct response to our question and so we were granted grace... for the moment. We nicknamed the book "God" and every night we would see what "God" had to say.
Seven years later I am still reading "God," of course it has just barely survived a puppy and a baby and so it has no front or back cover and no title page, but every day from January 1 to December 31 is still in tact. Much like the book, I have changed enough to be just barely recognizable. If my roommate could see me now, she'd see the woman masked for so long by the little girl cover- I've allowed myself to be exposed to the vulnerability of evolution. Yet I'm still praying for grace.
Sixteen months ago I gave birth to my first born son. He came out four weeks and one day too soon. The day he was born was the scariest day of my life, but I'll get back to that later. His entrance into this world made me want to be the best possible mother I could be.
Nine months ago I found out I was pregnant again and now I'm two weeks away from delivering my daughter. I'm not nervous about being a mother anymore; I can mother. I'm not nervous about the logistics of taking care of this little girl. I'm nervous that I'm not woman enough to be all the example that she deserves. With a little boy I just wanted to be the best mother, now with a little girl coming, I realize that I have so much more "woman" to become.
We will name her Fiona Grace, I had to name her "grace" after the book that has helped me grow so much into the woman I am today. Now I pray for grace for the moment, grace for every day and in the event that I ever fail her, I pray for Fiona's grace.
In college I saw a side of myself that was real and imperfect and not at all what I expected to become. I had always admired and aspired to be like Audrey Hepburn and Jackie O; I admired their timelessness and their grace. Grace was exactly what I was missing and so I began to pray regularly for grace.
A book found me in my senior year of college; it's called Grace for the Moment by Max Lucado. My roommate and I found solace in reading it every night together. We would review our day and decide out loud what question we had for God or ask what lesson He had for us. We would then read the passage and at some point, we were given a very direct response to our question and so we were granted grace... for the moment. We nicknamed the book "God" and every night we would see what "God" had to say.
Seven years later I am still reading "God," of course it has just barely survived a puppy and a baby and so it has no front or back cover and no title page, but every day from January 1 to December 31 is still in tact. Much like the book, I have changed enough to be just barely recognizable. If my roommate could see me now, she'd see the woman masked for so long by the little girl cover- I've allowed myself to be exposed to the vulnerability of evolution. Yet I'm still praying for grace.
Sixteen months ago I gave birth to my first born son. He came out four weeks and one day too soon. The day he was born was the scariest day of my life, but I'll get back to that later. His entrance into this world made me want to be the best possible mother I could be.
Nine months ago I found out I was pregnant again and now I'm two weeks away from delivering my daughter. I'm not nervous about being a mother anymore; I can mother. I'm not nervous about the logistics of taking care of this little girl. I'm nervous that I'm not woman enough to be all the example that she deserves. With a little boy I just wanted to be the best mother, now with a little girl coming, I realize that I have so much more "woman" to become.
We will name her Fiona Grace, I had to name her "grace" after the book that has helped me grow so much into the woman I am today. Now I pray for grace for the moment, grace for every day and in the event that I ever fail her, I pray for Fiona's grace.
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