Of Flickers and Flames

Silly Kame... He makes me smile, and helps me remember happier days.

Gaslighting was a term coined by a movie. The villain of the piece adjusted the gas lamps so that they flickered at intermittent intervals, but only when his wife was in the room. He would then tell her that she was imagining things, that there was nothing wrong with the lamps. Bit by bit, he drove her to question her own sanity, her own perception of reality. His end game was to have her committed to a mental institution so that he could seize her considerable fortune.

Gaslighting has passed into the regular lingo of counselors and psychologists, to describe the behavior of certain narcissistic personalities. While gaslighting might be as simple and straightforward as making comments like "you're so sensitive", or "you're too emotional", it's not always that obvious. Sometimes it's acting shocked when you respond appropriately to outrageous behavior. When you express hurt at his (or her) behavior, the response is "you made me do it"... and there's always a reasonable (seemingly) explanation. You didn't keep the house clean enough. You didn't do what I wanted in bed. I'm not happy.

There's a lot of water under the bridge I've been crossing over the past year. There's a lot more to come. A marriage is never truly dissolved when children are involved. Although it would suit me to simply make a clean break, and move on with my life, a little sadder, a little wiser, than I was, my kids don't have that option. Some relationships can't be severed, nor should they be, in the absence of abuse.

I am struggling with finding balance. For my own mental health, I need distance. I need to remain free of the influence that has been a part of my life for so long, it's difficult not to believe, when I see the lights flicker, that my eyes are not deceiving me. Even when a lie is outright and obvious, false outrage can make me doubt. I have learned to verify, to be certain, before making an assertion, that I know reality, that I know the situation, before I ask the question, because it's the only way to be certain of the lie, to see the flicker and know what I'm seeing is real.

I've learned that there are very few things more painful than to be on the receiving end of a lie. The wounds lies leave fester, like a burn. I hope that, if nothing else comes out of this, that I can teach my kids the skill of honesty. Although I make every effort to keep my own disappointment and hurt from coloring their world, I hope I can break a cycle, and teach them to relate in healthy ways. I hope they will be better people than either of their parents, and that they will go on to create something new, something beautiful, out of the ashes of this defeat.



Journey safe, friends. And keep your eye on the lights. If they look like they're flickering... they probably are.

~Mary

~*~*~

“I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you.”
~Friedrich Nietzsche

“You can't stop the future
You can't rewind the past
The only way to learn the secret
...is to press play.”
~Jay Asher

Anger

A couple weeks ago, I screwed up on Facebook.

Yep, it happens. It happens a lot actually. People say things they regret, or they get into pointless arguments, or they post drunken pictures of the party they shouldn't have been at because they'd called in sick to work that day. Facebook can be a minefield for the unwary and the careless.

I'm usually more careful, but I let my temper get away with me. When I get angry, words are my medium, my weapon, my outlet. If I'm angry with a person, I quite often write them a letter, though I rarely send those words spilled out in anger, burning through the page like acid. It helps me to get the anger out of my system, to pour it out and look at it with a saner mind, and quite often it helps me to put things into perspective.

Image by William Arthur Fine Stationary, courtesy of Flickr.

This time, in an impulsive moment, I poured my anger, grief and frustration out into a post, not meant to be seen by anyone involved, but I made a mistake. Well, I made TWO mistakes. First, I ranted publicly about an incident that made me angry and sick and sad, but that did not happen to ME. I had my facts straight, but the story wasn't necessarily mine to tell.

The second mistake was to make my post "Public". If you're unused to social media, here's a quick tutorial: you have the option of setting your posts to "friends only", "friends of friends", or "Public". There is also an option to put certain friends (like your boss, if you're prone to posting photos of your weekend exploits), on a "restricted" list. Those friends will then only see your public posts.

Image by Sean MacAtee, courtesy of Flickr

I accidentally made my harshly-worded post public, and made comments elsewhere, setting off a minor explosion. I responded, apologized, and removed the rant entirely, which is what I should have done in the first place. I did what I could to stop the drama before it went any further, but I couldn't take back what had been done. Blood spilled can't be recalled, which is why we must be cautious always, whether we wield a sword or a pen... a fact that I have been well aware of for a long time. The urge to defend, prove, and explain is still strong, but whether I was right about what I said or not doesn't matter. The fact remains that I shouldn't have handled it the way I did.

It took me some time, and some reflection, to understand the anger that propelled the entire incident. My fury was out of proportion, and it drove me to acting out in a way I normally wouldn't. I've spent years learning to control my anger, and learning to direct it into positive, constructive solutions. I learned many years ago that only bullies scream and rant and yell and assert their power over others because they can. Only bullies and cowards tear down or attack or are mean even in little ways, because it makes them feel powerful and in control.

Childish thinking leads to childish actions.

My father, by contrast, was the most gentle, easygoing person I've ever known. I rarely knew him to raise his voice, and even more rarely saw him argue or fuss. I don't think there was a mean bone in his body. He was one of the most respected people in our little community. His funeral was packed. A custodian from a little town, retired for over 15 years, and still former students, teachers, family and friends packed that church so that we would've been hard pressed to fit one more person into the assembly. My dad was a real man, something that I think we are lacking these days.

The more I thought about what happened, the more I came to realize that anger is always, always fueled by fear. My rant was fueled by fear. Fear that something like the incident I ranted about could've happened here, where I live. Fear of living in a neighborhood where I feel vulnerable as a single mom trying to raise two teens. We live in a rural area, in which kids run loose, much as I did growing up.

Image by Earthworm, courtesy of Flickr

 I've been afraid since last year, when some local scrappers took advantage of my letting them have the metal out of a bin out front, and came back to try and steal what they could find in my garage and barn.  It makes me nervous to live here now, with my ex's and father-in-law's extensive collection of metal miscellaneous junk laying around the property. To some, that looks like easy money, with the scrapyard paying well for scrap metal and hey, her husband isn't there, so it's free for the taking, right?

I'm angry that I've had to inform my ex, and my father-in-law, who I'm rather fond of, that they have to remove their stuff because I can't keep it here any longer. I'm angry that I can't take my time cleaning up the property myself, because I'm afraid someone will decide to simply help themselves. I'm angry that I should have to worry about this kind of stuff, on top of everything else that comes with being on my own.

Image by jbcwalsh, courtesy of Flickr

 On the flip side of the anger is the intense gratitude for the family, friends and neighbors who are good and decent people. There are those who've given me a hand up. My own family, of course. While I'm grown and they have no obligation to help me out, families take care of one another. I'm grateful for my brother, who came and put siding on and replaced windows. I'm grateful for my Mom, who has been a rock, and my other siblings who've helped when they can and who've been nothing but supportive.

I'm grateful for my neighbors who helped get my lawn tractor running again, and who have offered practical help with getting an old barn down. I'm grateful even to those neighbors who've done nothing but mind their own business and let us get on with life, without judgement or spreading gossip. There are those who call themselves friends, who are all talk and no where to be found when there's work to be done or a problem to be addressed, and then there are those who have stepped up and done more than I could've, our would've thought of asking for. I've been surprised at who's landed in each category.

Anger can be poison. It gets into your system and festers, like a splinter under the skin. Unleashed, it can only cause destruction. However, anger isn't the problem. Fear is the problem. Fear causes the lack of control that sets anger free, reckless, dangerous, and destructive. Anger needs to be controlled, directed, and focused, to be productive.

I'm working on that.

*~*~*

“Angry people are not always wise.”
~Jane Austen

“Anybody can become angry — that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.”
~Aristotle

Of Roots and Wings

Today is not a good day.

For the first time in over two months, I have nothing to do. No new pile of work sitting in my inbox waiting for my attention. No urgent e-mails. Nothing. And it's driving me crazy.

Kame never has any trouble finding something to do.
There's always something good on television...

I've gotten used to being a working woman, to waking up every morning to a job that needs to be done. Not having that... leaves me rudderless.Oh, there's plenty I could be doing. I could clean (yuck). I could write... if I could pick up the thread of the story I haven't looked at in 2 months. I could paint... but that would mean dragging out all my materials and finding something I want to do...

I could paint my peonies that just opened...

I could blow the entire day, chatting with friends and hanging out on Facebook. I could write letters. I could do so many things... that I'm paralyzed by the sheer number of possibilities.I should, perhaps, go outside and enjoy the plethora of flowers that are finally coming into bloom. My yard smells amazing... but the forecast calls for rain, and all I want to do is go back to bed and wait for this day to be over so I can return to my normal routine.

The back yard is full of forget-me-nots.
Not having a working lawn mower has its advantages.

This year, my lilacs burst into flower. The plant has been growing into the foundation of this house since we moved in. We tried, once or twice, in the early years, to remove it, but it always grew back, just a little green puff of leaves. When Ken was building the porch, I knew that would cover the foundation, finally depriving the tenacious little tree of light and water. I decided that, since it had worked so hard to eek out a living from between the stones, I couldn't let the plant die such an undignified death. I found a sprout that had grown into the earth, and dug as much of the root as I could from between the crevices. I planted the 8 inch tall tree in the front lawn.

That was almost 5 years ago. So much has changed since then.

My lilacs, blooming for the first time in over 17 years.

I feel as if... I should be happy. Things are going relatively well. I'm working, and making more now than our income when we first married. In less than a year, I've become financially self-sufficient, to the point that the kids and I are living entirely on my income. I still need to build a solid cushion of savings for times, like this, when I'm not getting enough (or any) work, but on the whole, we're doing fairly well.

So why do I feel so... stretched thin, tired out, sad? Is this the lingering grief? I know I'm not the first person to ask, "why can't I just get over it?" But the pain bites fresh every time... and I don't know how to stop being surprised by it.  There are times I miss my own dad so deep I can hardly breathe. He comes to mind more and more often these days, and I just want to talk to him, to get his advice... I want to hear him say things will be ok. I want to know if I'm doing the right thing. I want to know if he'd be proud of me, even though I let my marriage fall apart. I want, so much, just to hear his voice.

My dad rocked. Yes, that's a chipmunk on my lap.
Dad had been sitting on the bench, feeding him peanuts all morning.
When I came out, he had me sit down and gave me a peanut. This is
one of my happiest memories, despite those insane longjohn type
pajamas. What was up with that?? Sometimes I wonder about my
parents' fashion sense. :-p

 I miss him, so much. And my mom, too, since she moved to Florida this spring. I'm happy for her, because I know she has more help, living adjacent to my sister and her family, and my step-father is nearing the point where a nursing home was a distinct possibility. Mom can't take care of him by herself anymore. The inevitable has been delayed, at least for now, and she has the support she needs to help him make the transition if and when it becomes necessary. Since I came along so late in Mom and Dad's lives, I'm used to being on my own for many of life's big transitions. Growing up, they were immersed in my elder sibling's lives and problems. The year I graduated high school, my dad was dying of cancer. Going off to college, Mom was dealing with his passing.

One of very few pictures I have of Mom and Dad.
They looked so young here, at least to me.
This was taken about 8 years before dad passed.

Mom has been able to be there for much of my kid's early childhoods, and she has been an absolute rock throughout the end of my marriage. She loaned me a substantial amount to have my house re-sided and insulated, which made going forward possible. I am now closer to being eligible for a home equity loan, which would allow me to finish the renovations this place needs, if I decide to sell in the future. Without the siding, that would not have been possible. I'm trying hard to make good use of the chance she's given me, by making sound financial decisions, and thinking about the future.


I think that, from all of this, the lesson is that I just have to keep on getting up, every single day, and moving forward. Mom and Dad gave me life. They weren't perfect, (are any parents perfect?) but they tried. They taught me right from wrong. They loved me. They were usually good about acknowledging my accomplishments. Dad let me follow him around when I was little and thought my Daddy was the best thing since the space shuttle. Mom has supported me and loved me through some of the most difficult times in my life. They laid the foundations, and now, when everything else is shaking apart... those foundations are holding strong.

 I hope I'm building strong foundations for my kids, in my turn. I love them. I'm working to build discipline into our routines, something that I struggle with. I try to remember to praise often and scold gently. I try to tell them, every single day, that I love them.

My beautiful, amazing kids, as we sit down to a meal on the porch.
Arek cooked on the grill. Jessi helped me set the table.

I can only hope that I've done right by them. I can't make up for everything that's gone wrong. I can't make up for my mistakes, or the loss of their parent's relationship, any more than my Mom fill the hole left by my dad's passing, though I know any parent, if they could spare their child pain by taking it into themselves, would do so without a second thought. If I could relieve them of the hurt they've suffered from the divorce, I would live through it 10 times over. All I can do is keep moving forward, and keep laying those foundations. I hope my kids can see the bricks being laid, one by one, and that one day, they'll know what to do for their own kids, in their turn.

Even Kame struggles to move forward at times.
When obstacles block his path, he just
goes over them, and moves on.

We'll keep on keeping on. Sometimes, that's the best you can do. Something tells me that the best is yet to come.

God bless.
-Mary
*~*~*

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging."
~Psalm 46:1-3 NIV

Emerging

Who wouldn't want such a handsome guy? Look at those stunning markings!

SMT (Single Male Turtle) seeks SFT for companionship and possibly something more down the road.
He enjoys long walks in the yard, slugs and terrorizing nosy kittens. Also pina coladas and walks in the rain He is not into health food, but enjoys the taste of champagne.
Call 555-231-KAME and leave a message after the tone.

Spring is coming, and Kame will soon come out of hibernation more permanently than he has before now. He has been teasing me with occasional forays out of his mulch and dips into his bathing pool. I know he's not finished with his long rest, because he hasn't started eating yet, but with every degree the temperatures rise, I hope he will soon emerge for the season.

Kame is not the only one who is in a transition phase. This blog started out as a record of the journey I was on, the attempt I was making to try to save my marriage. Two years later, the attempt has failed, but I am still here.

“She remembered the day vividly, for how can you forget the day your heart is broken? The funny thing about a broken heart is that it's not fatal. Though you wish in vain that it were, life continues on and you have no choice but to continue on with it.”
~Tracy Winegar

I have been continuing on, because really, what other choice do I have? Through frozen water pipes, a quadrupled electric bill that took three months and hours of fruitless and frustrating phone calls to sort out, no water for 3 days, no washing machine for 2 weeks... I have carried on. Through stubborn children and pets passing on, through financial and emotional crises.  Through the loss of a very dear friend, through the normal, and not-so-normal, ups and downs of every day life.

When I started this blog, I closed my first entry with a quote:

“I found a pen; another person found a scrap of paper; a third person, the words. “Dead End,” we wrote and left it on the side of the road for the next traveler to find and perhaps turn around in time.”
~For Sarah, by Annie Harmon

 I didn't know, when I shared those bleak words, that the road I was traveling down would turn out to be... not a dead-end, exactly, but certainly a detour, a deviation from the path I set for myself nearly 18 years ago on my wedding day. It was certainly not the road I wanted my children to travel. I wanted so much more for them, so much better... but life is not always what we choose. Sometimes, it takes us in directions we neither wanted nor expected and our only choice is to survive.

I am in the process of choosing some new paths to follow. College is a given. I will finish the course and earn my degree. I completed an associates last term and am on track for my bachelors. This is happening.
My career is the second fork I've taken in the road. Although I would prefer to write fiction, especially fiction for children, I am learning new skills to increase my value as a blogger and content provider. The market demands coding experience, so I am taking a class in basic HTML and CSS. I may never morph into a graphic designer, but I hope to at least gain a few valuable skills. And finally... This blog's focus will, indeed, it must, change. It will still be a chronicle of the journey, but now the journey has moved in a different direction and I, too, must move on.

It has been three years since I discovered my husband's affair. My marriage has been over for nearly two years, although neither of us was ready to admit it until a year ago when he told me he wanted a divorce. The final papers were signed two months ago. I am considering, just beginning to seriously entertain the idea, of re-joining the ranks of the truly single woman. I'm considering the possibility of dating again. Considering. Entertaining... cautiously sticking the very tip of my toe into the river, wondering if I dare step into the waters...

While I'm not ready to "jump right in" to dating at this point, I have allowed a male relationship or two to begin to grow into friendship, with very safe people. Both of my male friends are very happily married men, fully, completely and blissfully in love with their wives and their lives. I am learning, slowly, to interact with men as ... just me, without the filter of "I am a married woman" playing constantly through my mind. I recognize the change in myself and realize now that my insecurity up until this point when dealing with the opposite sex has been unhealthy.  I am also recognizing that I have a long way to go, emotionally and in healing, before I will be ready to enter into any kind of serious relationship. I also have my kids to think about. They will be my number-one consideration for quite a long time to come, and that puts any thought of a long-term commitment on hold for now.

So, when I say I'm considering dating again... What I mean is that I'm ready, after the maelstrom has finally begun to settle, to crack the door open just a hair and let a little sunshine in. I'm ready to meet new people. I'm ready to make friends. To open my heart to the possibility that one day, some day, I might meet someone special, someone who understands loyalty, commitment and honor. Someone who won't swoop in and "save" me from the difficulties, the frustrations and the day-to-day loneliness, but someone with whom I can laugh, someone who likes to read my stories and poems, someone who wants to know why I sleep with my door closed and my windows open at night. Someone I can trust. Someone I can love, and who can love me in return. Someday, I will find someone whose secrets will intrigue me, whose hobbies I find fascinating, whose efforts I can appreciate. Someone who makes me laugh with delight, who makes me smile. I will know he's the "right one" when I am satisfied to know he exists, and that he's thinking of me with the same quiet, contented delight, even when we're not together.
Someday.

For now, friendship is enough. I am learning, slowly, to embrace the idea that success is not in my lack of failure. It is in my ability to get up and move on.

Happy journeys, friends.
~Mary

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” ~Winston Churchill

Stuck

Did you ever just have one of "those" days?

Kame seems to have a penchant for hiding. And sometimes, getting into his favorite hiding spots proves challenging. Sometimes, he even gets stuck, while seeking a place of safety and refuge.
On this particular day, I had to rescue my little friend from where he was wedged between a laundry basket and the mini-fridge that was in our bedroom. The silly turtle was determined to get into that dark space and explore, but his shell just wouldn't let him fit.

I get stuck at times, too, especially when I'm determined to hide from the world. I spend hours, even days, sitting at my computer, cloistered in my little corner of my bedroom where I've set myself up with a makeshift office. Not long ago, I was well and thoroughly stuck. The loss of a marriage is a grieving process, one that I have been reluctant to share, here or anywhere else. I've felt a strong need to prove myself worthy and strong, to prove to my ex-husband and to everyone else that I don't "need" him, or any man in my life to be a complete person. The women in my family have a habit of holding on to unhealthy relationships. I am determined that my children will not pay for my mistakes.

Reading back through unposted drafts, I came across one I wrote soon after Ken made his departure official:

 

"This is the last picture I painted for Ken. I had been painting a picture for Christmas every so often. I had other paintings planned, but then life changed.

Since he left, I haven't picked up a paintbrush. In fact, I haven't written much... As evidenced by my neglect of this blog. I have been taking a day at a time, focusing on work and school and just getting through each day. By most counts... I'm doing pretty well."

 ~*~*~

"Doing pretty well" was a lie and I knew it... That's why this post went into the archives until now, along with the penciled outlines of the other paintings I had begun, tucked away in a folder. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to write, I didn't want to paint, I didn't want to talk to anyone or do anything. I was stuck. I was hiding. I was in too much pain to do anything more than get through each day.

When a marriage breaks, it's like any injury the body sustains. A broken bone doesn't heal immediately. The sudden, shocking pain doesn't last, but the lingering ache does, even after the bone is set and in a cast. The healing process can't, and shouldn't be, rushed. Rest and care are necessary. Protection of the healing wound is critical. You don't break a leg, and go out and run a marathon the next day.

Lately, I've been wondering if I should be dating, or at least seeking out friendships with men. I miss the companionship of having someone to go out to dinner with, or to see a movie with. I miss the friendship and camaraderie that came with being married. I know that my ex hoped we could remain friends, but the betrayal was too deep. I am too angry, and too deeply hurt to see him as a friend. Perhaps, in time, we might achieve a lukewarm affection, but I doubt I will ever trust him enough again to call him a friend.

I even went so far as to join a Christian online dating club, taking the free trial membership to see if there might be someone out there like me, lonely, but not anxious to dive into another serious relationship, but I never made it out of the glancing-at-pictures from behind the safety of a free membership stage. The free membership doesn't allow for communication, so it's difficult to actually "meet" anyone without paying the monthly fee, a step that would bring the vulnerability of exposure I just don't feel ready for.

I know that, sometime soon, it will be time for the cast to come off. Healing is a balancing act. Left unused and protected for too long, the limb begins to atrophy. Once the bone heals, the cast needs to come off so that the work of rebuilding lost muscle can begin. I'm often frustrated in this stage of my life. Like an itchy cast, the protective shell I've built around my heart can be galling at times. I want to be out there, running in the sunshine, meeting someone new, taking new risks and building a new life... but I'm not ready.

I'm no longer stuck. I'm healing. I'm not ready, yet, to get up off the couch and come out into the sun, but I know that spring is coming and, like Kame, I will come out of hibernation, in time.



Until next time...
~Mary

~*~*~

 “And I felt like my heart had been so thoroughly and irreparably broken that there could be no real joy again, that at best there might eventually be a little contentment. Everyone wanted me to get help and rejoin life, pick up the pieces and move on, and I tried to, I wanted to, but I just had to lie in the mud with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, grieving, until I didn’t have to anymore.”
-Anne Lamott (Operating Instructions: A Journal of my Son's First Year)

The LORD is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear? The LORD is the defense of my life; Whom shall I dread?
-Psalm 27: 1

Of Love and Loss and Moving On

My notes in church are often less.... lyrical, than you might think.

 Kame has once again slipped into hibernation mode. His torpor means that he disappears for days at a time, emerging only occasionally to explore the offerings of fresh raspberries and take a short dip in his bathing tub, before disappearing beneath the mulch once again. He deals with winter by avoiding it entirely, passing it half-asleep and hidden.

Not for the first time, I find myself envying my shelled friend's ability to sleep through the less pleasant months of the season. I, too, have been hibernating, in a way. I've been avoiding speaking out about many of the emotions rolling through my days as I move forward, because so many of them have to do with other people, and I have vowed that this blog will be about my own life, and not a clearinghouse of gossip about others.
It might not be possible for me to blog without mentioning what's going on in my ex's world, or in my children's, but I'm trying not to air anyone's laundry but my own.

So much has happened since I last wrote. October brought with it a shocking blow with the loss of a very old and dear friend. Laura Kim Eisele Curtis was one of the best friends I've had. She put up with my ramblings, my oddities, my failures and my quirks. She made me laugh. She made me less ashamed of my PTSD symptoms and helped me see it as a condition to be managed, rather than a weakness. She stood beside me as I walked through some of the most difficult times in my life, and she allowed me to be a part of her life as she dealt with her own losses, blows and failures. Her passing was devastating, and a loss to the world, though most will never know what they missed by not knowing her.

My beautiful friend Laura, with her dad, Don, being a goof in the background. She had a quirky sense of humor that she came by honestly.

There are many things that Laura shared with me that I will take to my grave, but I can tell you a few things about my dear friend. She was a great singer and an amazing mom. I will forever hear her voice singing "You Are My Sunshine" to her daughter over the phone at bed time on the occasions she stayed at my home. There is surely no sound more beautiful in the world. She was a good friend. I can't count the times she listened to me and let me run on. She gave me good advice. She was the one who encouraged *cough*dragged*cough* me into seeking out a college degree. She has been my friend, my support, and my confidant for well over ten years... and now she's gone. Just like that, in one dark night, she left this world and traveled beyond the veil.
And even now, she is with me.

I could hear her beside me, snickering, at her final service, as the Pastor's voice rose in song. He had a lovely voice, but Laura often attended my son's guitar lessons with me, and we had sat, barely containing school-girl giggles, through many voice-student's renditions of "New York, New York". Since her parents live near the Big City, and my favorite fictional heroes are rumored to occupy its sewer system, the song made us giggle all the more. I could feel her arms around my shoulders, even as I cried. I could hear her voice in my dreams, in the wretched days after her passing, laughing and exclaiming, "but Mary, I'm here with MacKenzie! I'm dancing... I don't hurt anymore..."

Her baby daughter who succumbed to SIDS was waiting for her, I know. And although she has left two other beautiful young women behind, I know the joy of that reunion will be complete when we all come together in Eternity's time. Laura knows no grief now, no pain. She has stepped out of time, and into the place where there are no more tears, no more sorrows. It is only those of us who are left behind who grieve for the parting. I could feel her presence again, more faintly, when I achieved my first college degree. I could hear her voice, quietly telling me "I'm proud of you, Friend. You did it."

Laura has moved on, and although I was not ready, could never be ready, to lose my friend, I know that this parting is a part of life. Death's pain is the echo of the separation Man took from God in the Garden, and it is eased by the knowledge that the gap has been closed by His son, that this world is healing. Death is a scar in the eternal tapestry, nothing more.

And now, it is time for me to move on, to move forward in my own life. I can not hold on to the hurts and worries and grief of the past year. I can not hold on to the man who was once my husband, or allow his choices to guide my emotions any longer. I must come to a place where I can see him building a new life of his own, and be able to smile and wish him well. I have not yet reached that place. I don't know how long it will take, but I do know that the only way for healing to begin is to remove the splinter of bitterness and anger.

A painting from my college Illustration class, with a quote that I hope, will define the new year.

Someone very wise once said that revenge is like a splinter. It festers and poisons the mind. The only way to heal is to let it go.

The river is moving on... and I must step into it once again, and find a new way.

-Mary
~*~*~

"Hope
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering, "It will be happier..." - Alfred Tennyson

Growing up is hard to do

My daughter made this screen-printed tee-shirt for me as an art-class project several years ago.

 
Recently, I became interested in a television series called "Bones". The title character, Doctor Temperance Brennen, is a forensic anthropologist, who studies skeletal structures to determine cause of death and injuries a victim might have suffered in life. The series is well-written, with strong characterization, suspenseful story lines and intrigue. Doctor Brennen's life is built on hard science. She only believes what she can observe with her five senses, and she often expresses disdain for the "irrational" carryings on of human behavior. Her social skills, or lack there of, are often comic relief in the show. She simply doesn't get what it means to be human beyond the secretions of hormone-producing glands and cultural stimulation. Emotion makes no sense to her, and so she rationalizes it away.

Tonight, after yet another argument with my soon-to-be-driving teenage daughter, I am experiencing a sharp, rather painful empathy with Doctor Brennen. Teenage emotions are hormone-driven. Their lack of experience can make it easy, at times, to consider their brains less-developed than an adult's. It's easy to dismiss my daughter's emotion and anger as hormonal, adolescent, the result of her lack of worldly experience. It would be easy to dismiss her anger all together, to treat her as if she were five years old and throwing a tantrum at the dinner table... But dismissing a child's emotions feels too much like rejection to this mother's heart. I can no more ignore my daughter's hurt and anger than I could ignore her insistent cry when she was a hungry infant.

These days, soothing her feelings is more complicated than preparing a bottle or changing a diaper. While I'm pleased and proud to watch my daughter's progress as she emerges from her awkward pre-teen stage into the fine young woman I know she's growing into, I'm often frustrated by our lack of ability to communicate, and my own lack of ability to convey adult notions to her. I'm strongly reminded of her toddler years. She would simultaneously shriek that she would "Do it myself!" and throw a temper tantrum when she was unable to pull on her boots, and scream at me for not helping. Everything, in those often trying days, was mommy's fault.

We are dancing, she and I, and both of us want to lead. She is fighting for control as she comes into adulthood, and I am trying to guide her through this process. There is a sense of urgency, a desire to keep her safe for just a little bit longer, to keep her under my wing, where the cruelty of the world can't touch her, but the truth is, she's growing her own wings and she needs to stretch them in order to learn to fly. My baby is growing up.

She asked me, not long ago, about her father's infidelity. She wanted to know what had caused the divorce, what had destroyed her family. She already had suspicions... and as we talked, the tears came and flowed... not for myself, but for my baby. I tried to protect her. I didn't want the kids to know what had caused our marriage to disintegrate. I didn't want them to lose the idea they had of their father. Every child needs a hero, and every child needs a dad they can look up to. I wasn't protecting him, all this time. I was protecting them.

Am I doing the right thing? Am I raising children who will be confident, happy, hopeful adults? Am I giving them the start they need? Am I creating an environment in which my kids can learn and grow? I pray so... but the truth is... I'm just not sure. All I can do is the best I know how... and hope that one day my kids understand that everything I've done since the day they were born, was for them.

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