My Dearest Daddy:
Surprisingly enough, I find myself more and more at a loss for words these last couple of weeks. Perhaps because we didn't need many lately, you and I; but most likely because I just don't have them....you see, there aren't any empty enough, grateful enough, scared enough or strangely, glorious enough, to describe how your journey has left me feeling. I know it's hard for you to imagine me being speechless and all...but, alas, I am. My inability to verbalize what your life and death have given to me has led me to do something I almost never do: make a list. I will never, ever be able to encompass everything, but these are the things that will never fade, even a tad, from my memory. These are the things I think about now and will remember until the day I see your sweet face again. It's these simple things that made you "you" and helped make me "me".....
1. Your hands: I will always remember the shape and strength of your hands; the hard work that they were part of for so many years. It was those very hands that put food on my table, clothes on my back, gas in my car and gifts under our tree. It was those hands that would gladly take the last dollar from your pocket to give to me....those precious, generous hands. It was those same, calloused hands that I held for the last seven days, smaller than my own in the end; callouses erased by the Lord that you love so dearly. That set of hands are equally as clear and special to me.
2. Your smile: Oh, how we all love that crooked smile! For the rest of my life, I will close my eyes and see that silly grin....like when you would lick your finger and stick it in your 40 year old daughter's ear, as if I were still seven, when you would pose for a picture and we would have to take thirteen of them because that's how long it took you to straighten up....Mom would get mad and you would just smile that crooked grin, or when you bought you and Kaley those ridiculous matching Elmer Fudd hats. You wore yours proudly with your sideways smile. Your were priceless.
3. Your tears: You are proof that real men do cry. I am so blessed to be raised by a man that never, ever let his pride interfere with his wife or his kids. You understood the value of your family and you were proud to show your love for us. Again, I will always be able to close my eyes and picture your bottom lip trembling when Kaley came up to bat or when you opened a Christmas gift; I can see those tears streaming down your face when you walked into a family reunion or when you gave Mom an anniversary card. I would never be able to thank you enough for allowing me to see your tears. This legacy of honesty you left for your children and grandchildren is golden and I am a better person for it.
4. Your work ethic: You are the kind of man that, quite frankly, my generation produced very little of. I can speak truly when I say that you never, ever had a lazy bone in your body. I think of the hours of your life that you spent working HARD to make sure that we were all provided for and pray that God provides me someone like you. You were always so tired and begged for naps...and I would say, "Daddy, you can nap another time. When you're on your deathbed, you won't be wishing for more sleep!" How right I was! On your deathbed, your brain ravaged by that cancer, you were wondering when we were all supposed to work. You wanted to make sure that all the necessary duties were fulfilled. Right to the end, you worked hard and diligently. You make me so very proud.
5. The little things: the way you slurped your coffee in the mornings (I can't believe I'm going to miss that!), the way you shuffled when you walked; I don't know what I'm going to do when I call and you're not there to say, "Hey Sugar". I am going to miss like crazy your one Christmas present that you insisted on wrapping yourself and it looked HORRIBLE and there will never be anyone again that will always, always be on my side.
While the words to describe your earthly death are sparse, the list of things I love is never-ending and I must conclude. I will do my best to put it all down as it comes because I know that would make you proud....but I am exhausted right now. We worked hard, Dad, to get you through the last part of your journey and I pray that we did right by you. I saw you through until I was allowed to no more. You know that, of course. Now it's your turn again. You will do it like you always have......and I know that, of course.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Motherdaughter
For the most part, I have had two roles in my life.....Daughter and Mother. The first one, Daughter, I have had for 41 years now. I have always been one. I am quite accustomed to it. Now, the second one, Mother, I have had the unbelievable pleasure of having for almost 15 years. I must add that this role is my favorite. In fact, this role quite possibly sums up my entire identity. Now, the vast majority of the time that I have split myself between these two characters, Mother and Daughter, they were very separate, distinct roles. I do alright flipping between the two...they are a little like two sides of the same coin. I know Mother and Daughter both pretty well......they both have their place.
My struggle with them begins March 23, 2011. My Daddy has been sick with abdominal pains for about two days and my mother has rushed to Austin for the birth of my niece, Chloe, who is being delivered by a pre-mature C-Section. I am, as ususal, stuck at my office. My poor mom stays just long enough to see Chloe make her debut, email me the picture and get the new family settled in their room before rushing back to San Antonio to take my dad to the ER, as the pain is now unbearable. They are there no longer than three hours when my mother calls to deliver the unthinkable. The doctors have done a CT scan and found that my father has cancer in his liver, lung, pancreas and bile duct. Without so much as even consulting an Oncologist, they are able to conclude that he has Stage 4 cancer, and they make no effort to soften the blow of it's terminal nature. There aren't even words to describe how this news made me feel. From this moment on, for the following three days, I completely fell apart. I am not a cryer, but I sobbed almost uncontrollably for hours on end. It was impossible to stop. This news completely overwhelmed me to the point that I could barely reason for this short period of time. I began running pictures through my head of Kaley's graduation without her Papa, Christmases without our Santa; I could think of nothing but every line on my Daddy's face, every little thing that I loved so much about him. I had chest pains and indescribable anxiety. I became immersed in my Daughter-ness. For about three days, I merely went through the motions of my Mother role. To be completely honest, it is the only time in almost fifteen years that I really didn't give two seconds of thought to being Mother. Three days of (in Kaley lingo) "epic failure".
It was three days later, when after having already broke the news to Kaley on day one, that she broke down in our garage. Something completely unrelated sent her into a meltdown over the reality of losing her precious Papa. It was then that the switch flipped for me. I immediately became Mother........and ignored Daughter...it's all I could do. I re-immersed myself in softball practice, sleep-overs and all things ruled over in Mother-dom. I even baked (which leads me to believe that I was truly experiencing some type of multiple personality disorder). I reigned, once again, as Mother for some time....until she started creeping back in; Daughter that is. By the morning of my sweet Daddy's 64th birthday, July 14th, she had made herself Ruler of Her Dominion and pushed Mother back down into the trenches. One of the reasons I prefer Mother over Daughter is because Daughter brings neediness, denial and quite frankly, a little bit of hysteria to the table. Mother is much more stable. Anyways, Daughter was back today and she was hellbent on doing away with Mother for good.
According to Murphy's Law, my Dad would, of course, be hospitalized on his birthday. He had been refusing to eat, take his meds and communicate all week and it had caught up to him the night before. As I said, I was once again hysterically Daughter this morning, so I drove straight to San Antonio to sit with him at the hospital, as I just needed my Daddy. I walked in his room and, to my surprise, he was just my Dad.....he was teasing the nurses, complaining about the food and trying to give me gas money. Gone was the man that had been withering away just days before. We sat and talked about life and death and life after death. We talked about my own fears of death and my precious father reminded me that it would all be alright and promised me that there is nothing to be afraid of. That's what Dads do. And it was here that I was reminded of all the things that I loved about Daughter. Indeed, it was also here that Mother and Daughter merged and became one.
Here's the reality: my father's physical body is withering away; he is very ill. He is dying. I am having to come to terms with this as both a Daughter and a Mother. I have no choice. But, I will do it and I'll do it well because my father promised me..."life is full of storms right now, but there are calm waters ahead and there is nothing to fear". My Father promises me the same thing.
My struggle with them begins March 23, 2011. My Daddy has been sick with abdominal pains for about two days and my mother has rushed to Austin for the birth of my niece, Chloe, who is being delivered by a pre-mature C-Section. I am, as ususal, stuck at my office. My poor mom stays just long enough to see Chloe make her debut, email me the picture and get the new family settled in their room before rushing back to San Antonio to take my dad to the ER, as the pain is now unbearable. They are there no longer than three hours when my mother calls to deliver the unthinkable. The doctors have done a CT scan and found that my father has cancer in his liver, lung, pancreas and bile duct. Without so much as even consulting an Oncologist, they are able to conclude that he has Stage 4 cancer, and they make no effort to soften the blow of it's terminal nature. There aren't even words to describe how this news made me feel. From this moment on, for the following three days, I completely fell apart. I am not a cryer, but I sobbed almost uncontrollably for hours on end. It was impossible to stop. This news completely overwhelmed me to the point that I could barely reason for this short period of time. I began running pictures through my head of Kaley's graduation without her Papa, Christmases without our Santa; I could think of nothing but every line on my Daddy's face, every little thing that I loved so much about him. I had chest pains and indescribable anxiety. I became immersed in my Daughter-ness. For about three days, I merely went through the motions of my Mother role. To be completely honest, it is the only time in almost fifteen years that I really didn't give two seconds of thought to being Mother. Three days of (in Kaley lingo) "epic failure".
It was three days later, when after having already broke the news to Kaley on day one, that she broke down in our garage. Something completely unrelated sent her into a meltdown over the reality of losing her precious Papa. It was then that the switch flipped for me. I immediately became Mother........and ignored Daughter...it's all I could do. I re-immersed myself in softball practice, sleep-overs and all things ruled over in Mother-dom. I even baked (which leads me to believe that I was truly experiencing some type of multiple personality disorder). I reigned, once again, as Mother for some time....until she started creeping back in; Daughter that is. By the morning of my sweet Daddy's 64th birthday, July 14th, she had made herself Ruler of Her Dominion and pushed Mother back down into the trenches. One of the reasons I prefer Mother over Daughter is because Daughter brings neediness, denial and quite frankly, a little bit of hysteria to the table. Mother is much more stable. Anyways, Daughter was back today and she was hellbent on doing away with Mother for good.
According to Murphy's Law, my Dad would, of course, be hospitalized on his birthday. He had been refusing to eat, take his meds and communicate all week and it had caught up to him the night before. As I said, I was once again hysterically Daughter this morning, so I drove straight to San Antonio to sit with him at the hospital, as I just needed my Daddy. I walked in his room and, to my surprise, he was just my Dad.....he was teasing the nurses, complaining about the food and trying to give me gas money. Gone was the man that had been withering away just days before. We sat and talked about life and death and life after death. We talked about my own fears of death and my precious father reminded me that it would all be alright and promised me that there is nothing to be afraid of. That's what Dads do. And it was here that I was reminded of all the things that I loved about Daughter. Indeed, it was also here that Mother and Daughter merged and became one.
Here's the reality: my father's physical body is withering away; he is very ill. He is dying. I am having to come to terms with this as both a Daughter and a Mother. I have no choice. But, I will do it and I'll do it well because my father promised me..."life is full of storms right now, but there are calm waters ahead and there is nothing to fear". My Father promises me the same thing.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Six Year Compromise
COMPROMISE, according to Websters is both a noun and a verb. Used in the noun form, "a setttlement by mutual concessions"; used as a verb, "the act of settling by a compromise". The entire word is made up of the pre-fix COM, meaning, "together" and PROMISE, defined as "to give an assurance of". I suppose it's safe to say that a compromise is a mutual agreement. Indeed, COMPROMISE has brought about many life-altering moments in history. President John F. Kennedy made a COMPROMISE on his vice-presidential candidate. It has been said that he would not have been elected without the influence of Lyndon Johnson on the southern states. The great COMPROMISE of 1850 held at bay the inevitable Civil War for a few more years, keeping peace and states intact, if only for a little while. Each and every day, COMPROMISE builds empires, bails out businesses and saves marriages.
I, myself, have had some life-altering experiences with COMPROMISE. Ah, but sometimes this word is a cautionary tale. You see, there are some other definitions that Websters gives, again used as a noun, "an endangering or exposure to danger". The other use as a verb, describes "to make a dishonorable or shameful concession." I can now add to my list of valuable lessons, "The Six Year Compromise". Let me start by saying this is the cautionary tale of compromise that I spoke of. For roughly the last six years, I have compromised in numerous relationships. Inconsequential ones with obnoxious softball coaches, other parents, co-workers, etc....I suppose they're not necessarily inconsequential, just not terribly important in the whole scheme of things. I have, though, compromised in a most crucial relationship: The one with myself. Don't get me wrong...I've been strongly nudged along as a result of other relationships. But in the end, it falls on me. After all, the only person each one of us can fix is ourselves.
For most of my life, I really was a bit of a compromise "virgin", so to speak. I was eight years older than my brother, so there was never much compromising in our house. I was older and I won. As a teenager, my parents didn't require much compromising, as my Dad was working or sleeping and my poor Mom was busy "pleasing" both my brother and I. That's how they loved us. But, anyways, that's a completely different blog for another day. By the time I reach my twenties, "compromise" may as well be a foreign word. I mean, even the most selfless of us cease to compromise in our twenties. During these years, I had lots of boyfriends; some serious, some not. One of them became the father of my child and not once in that entire relationship, can I recall a compromise. Looking back, it would not have even been possible to so much as stumble upon a compromise with him, as there was no mutual respect.
So, my twenties end gloriously. I was a single mother (and I'm actually not being sarcastic..it was glorious). I am in love with my daughter and completely content. My cup was full. I was supremely satisfied. These were, indeed, my favorite years, thus far. Of course, there wasn't a whole lot of compromising going on. Then, at the age of 34, began my "Six Year Compromise". It started out well enough. I was ready! I mean, I had spent some time pondering the recipe for successful relationships...I decided that the secret ingredients were love and COMPROMISE. Ok, so after some time, I find that I actually have that first secret ingredient (the L one) and I am completely ready to do whatever it takes to make this dish work, so I COMPROMISE. Now mind you, in my mind, compromising means "I'll wash and you dry" or "I'll do the laundry, you wash the car" or possibly, "I'd like Indian, but we can do tacos, if you'd like." Of course, others' idea of compromise is often, "You wash AND dry and I'll watch". And, here's my light bulb moment!! COMPROMISE is not always a COM-PROMISE (mutual agreement). But hey, no sweat, I've got it.....it's all about the COMPROMISE.....and I am determined to get really good at the COMPROMISE business and relationship business, while I'm at it. And I did. I became an expert at COMPROMISE (not COM-PROMISE, because that takes 2). It started with the small stuff and grew to the really big stuff.....me. I have spent a lot of time compromising what I want for my future. This is just a detour, of course. As long as I am living, the future is still here to be had. I spent an exorbitant amount of hours compromising my truths. I listened as perceptions were potrayed as my words and my words were lost in another's perceptions. This is a bit worse than a detour, but recoverable, nonetheless. I learned to just compromise. But here's where it gets tricky.....I began to compromise the entire essence of who I was. The girl who traipsed off to the Mayan ruins with her six year old, some sunscreen and a Mexican cab driver ceased to exist. Gone was that adventurous woman who took her daughter to leave something for good luck on the grave of Marie Laveaux, following a day of crawfish and Cajun fellowship in the French Quarter. She was replaced by someone that searched the mirror for lines on her 30-something face, as the "old" comments will do that to a person. Standing in the place of the Shawna that I once knew and loved was this stranger, plagued with the knowledge that anyone that loved her could surely find something more positive to say than "Is that what you're wearing?" Yet she was hellbent on compromising. After the compromised truths came the compromised pride. Now, before I get the "pride is sinful" speech, just listen. I'm not talking about admitting you're wrong here. The pride I'm speaking of is the kind that encompasses those things I spoke of: essence, truth and self. Giving up this pride allowed this vague resemblance of the "woman that once was" to literally invade my beloved PERSON. You see, here's where COMPROMISE moves from the norm to "I'll take your heart AND soul and keep it for a while, then I'll share it with your neighbor and mine, and hell, anybody else that wants a piece" This is where COMPROMISE becomes that other definition, "exposure to danger". And this is where I learn to COMPROMISE on what I'm willing to COMPROMISE.
I have come to a happy medium in my willingness to compromise and with whom I am willing to compromise. You see, I still believe that COM-PROMISE (mutual agreement) is one of the secret ingredients to any happy relationship, be it professional, romantic, friendly, etc..... But, in the future, I'll keep myself, thank you very much. So, my friends, I have reached a fork in the twisted road to me. Alas, I did not succumb to the afore-mentioned detour. However, I think I'm gonna pay more attention to the road signs from now on...... before accumulating too much mileage.
I, myself, have had some life-altering experiences with COMPROMISE. Ah, but sometimes this word is a cautionary tale. You see, there are some other definitions that Websters gives, again used as a noun, "an endangering or exposure to danger". The other use as a verb, describes "to make a dishonorable or shameful concession." I can now add to my list of valuable lessons, "The Six Year Compromise". Let me start by saying this is the cautionary tale of compromise that I spoke of. For roughly the last six years, I have compromised in numerous relationships. Inconsequential ones with obnoxious softball coaches, other parents, co-workers, etc....I suppose they're not necessarily inconsequential, just not terribly important in the whole scheme of things. I have, though, compromised in a most crucial relationship: The one with myself. Don't get me wrong...I've been strongly nudged along as a result of other relationships. But in the end, it falls on me. After all, the only person each one of us can fix is ourselves.
For most of my life, I really was a bit of a compromise "virgin", so to speak. I was eight years older than my brother, so there was never much compromising in our house. I was older and I won. As a teenager, my parents didn't require much compromising, as my Dad was working or sleeping and my poor Mom was busy "pleasing" both my brother and I. That's how they loved us. But, anyways, that's a completely different blog for another day. By the time I reach my twenties, "compromise" may as well be a foreign word. I mean, even the most selfless of us cease to compromise in our twenties. During these years, I had lots of boyfriends; some serious, some not. One of them became the father of my child and not once in that entire relationship, can I recall a compromise. Looking back, it would not have even been possible to so much as stumble upon a compromise with him, as there was no mutual respect.
So, my twenties end gloriously. I was a single mother (and I'm actually not being sarcastic..it was glorious). I am in love with my daughter and completely content. My cup was full. I was supremely satisfied. These were, indeed, my favorite years, thus far. Of course, there wasn't a whole lot of compromising going on. Then, at the age of 34, began my "Six Year Compromise". It started out well enough. I was ready! I mean, I had spent some time pondering the recipe for successful relationships...I decided that the secret ingredients were love and COMPROMISE. Ok, so after some time, I find that I actually have that first secret ingredient (the L one) and I am completely ready to do whatever it takes to make this dish work, so I COMPROMISE. Now mind you, in my mind, compromising means "I'll wash and you dry" or "I'll do the laundry, you wash the car" or possibly, "I'd like Indian, but we can do tacos, if you'd like." Of course, others' idea of compromise is often, "You wash AND dry and I'll watch". And, here's my light bulb moment!! COMPROMISE is not always a COM-PROMISE (mutual agreement). But hey, no sweat, I've got it.....it's all about the COMPROMISE.....and I am determined to get really good at the COMPROMISE business and relationship business, while I'm at it. And I did. I became an expert at COMPROMISE (not COM-PROMISE, because that takes 2). It started with the small stuff and grew to the really big stuff.....me. I have spent a lot of time compromising what I want for my future. This is just a detour, of course. As long as I am living, the future is still here to be had. I spent an exorbitant amount of hours compromising my truths. I listened as perceptions were potrayed as my words and my words were lost in another's perceptions. This is a bit worse than a detour, but recoverable, nonetheless. I learned to just compromise. But here's where it gets tricky.....I began to compromise the entire essence of who I was. The girl who traipsed off to the Mayan ruins with her six year old, some sunscreen and a Mexican cab driver ceased to exist. Gone was that adventurous woman who took her daughter to leave something for good luck on the grave of Marie Laveaux, following a day of crawfish and Cajun fellowship in the French Quarter. She was replaced by someone that searched the mirror for lines on her 30-something face, as the "old" comments will do that to a person. Standing in the place of the Shawna that I once knew and loved was this stranger, plagued with the knowledge that anyone that loved her could surely find something more positive to say than "Is that what you're wearing?" Yet she was hellbent on compromising. After the compromised truths came the compromised pride. Now, before I get the "pride is sinful" speech, just listen. I'm not talking about admitting you're wrong here. The pride I'm speaking of is the kind that encompasses those things I spoke of: essence, truth and self. Giving up this pride allowed this vague resemblance of the "woman that once was" to literally invade my beloved PERSON. You see, here's where COMPROMISE moves from the norm to "I'll take your heart AND soul and keep it for a while, then I'll share it with your neighbor and mine, and hell, anybody else that wants a piece" This is where COMPROMISE becomes that other definition, "exposure to danger". And this is where I learn to COMPROMISE on what I'm willing to COMPROMISE.
I have come to a happy medium in my willingness to compromise and with whom I am willing to compromise. You see, I still believe that COM-PROMISE (mutual agreement) is one of the secret ingredients to any happy relationship, be it professional, romantic, friendly, etc..... But, in the future, I'll keep myself, thank you very much. So, my friends, I have reached a fork in the twisted road to me. Alas, I did not succumb to the afore-mentioned detour. However, I think I'm gonna pay more attention to the road signs from now on...... before accumulating too much mileage.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Here Goes Nothing
I just recently read a quote that says "Sometimes you have to get lost to find yourself". This contradiction makes total sense to me. Contradictions have always made sense to me. Take me for example....I am a 40 year old woman and a 16 year old girl. I believe in destiny, yet ignore it when it knocks on my door. I can walk away and refuse to let go..simultaneously. I am a woman begging for faith, crippled by logic. I am scared to death of loneliness and stubbornly independant..also simultaneously. I am, at this very moment, wondering how many other people feel the same, exact way; but convinced that no one does because, I alone, am an island. Perhaps I'm nuts or perhaps it's just the Gemini in me. I don't know. I don't know much at this place in life, which is why I'm writing. I've always wanted to write; it's actually number one on my bucket list. So here goes nothing....maybe if I write and write, I will receive some epiphany or just some peace. More than likely, if I'm lucky, I'll just receive some feedback that makes sense to me and makes me smile. I think I may be looking for some sort of renewal or cleansing or something, but I'm not sure. It just might be that I get nothing but a blank space to ramble on. Of course, incessant writing could help. It worked for the "Eat Pray Love" lady. At any rate, I'm giving it a shot.
So, here's my question: Is anyone else such a contradiction? All my life, I could never just settle on where I fit. I'm not sure if it's that way with everyone or just me. Growing up, my perception of people was that they fit neatly wherever they were and they fit there all the time. You know, like in high school, the preps dated the preps and the Ag crowd only listened to country music. They did what they did and they were happy doing it because they found their nitch. If you're wondering why I really care about what people did in high school, I don't. It's just that I envy everyone who has found their nitch and is happy being there, as it is all these contradictive thoughts and behaviors that leaves me...well, nowhere. I think it's this inability to just "be" or rather "be one way" that has led to countless bad choices. So I'm wondering, is it hard sometimes for anyone else to just "be"? Is your head and heart constantly at war? I'm not sure, actually, if it involves the heart at all; just a crazy head. But, do you look at others and think, "It seems so easy for them to settle into their life......and I am STILL reeling?"
Perhaps it's magnified because I am a single mom living smack in the middle of suburban soccer-mom, keep up with the Jones', private lessons, club this and club that, Booster Club schmoozing Georgetown, Texas. Again with the contradiction...I am the girl who wanted to live in NY and the woman who settled in Georgetown. I have considered moving back to my old stomping grounds in the eclectic part of Austin, but that wouldn't satisfy me either....because the Llano County part of me thinks Austin IS actually a little weird now. So, where does a girl turn to for the basic desire to settle in, find her nitch? I don't know, obviously. So, I'm gonna write and write and think and over think, because I AM lost. And maybe, just maybe, the saying is true and I WILL find myself on the twisted road to ME.
So, here's my question: Is anyone else such a contradiction? All my life, I could never just settle on where I fit. I'm not sure if it's that way with everyone or just me. Growing up, my perception of people was that they fit neatly wherever they were and they fit there all the time. You know, like in high school, the preps dated the preps and the Ag crowd only listened to country music. They did what they did and they were happy doing it because they found their nitch. If you're wondering why I really care about what people did in high school, I don't. It's just that I envy everyone who has found their nitch and is happy being there, as it is all these contradictive thoughts and behaviors that leaves me...well, nowhere. I think it's this inability to just "be" or rather "be one way" that has led to countless bad choices. So I'm wondering, is it hard sometimes for anyone else to just "be"? Is your head and heart constantly at war? I'm not sure, actually, if it involves the heart at all; just a crazy head. But, do you look at others and think, "It seems so easy for them to settle into their life......and I am STILL reeling?"
Perhaps it's magnified because I am a single mom living smack in the middle of suburban soccer-mom, keep up with the Jones', private lessons, club this and club that, Booster Club schmoozing Georgetown, Texas. Again with the contradiction...I am the girl who wanted to live in NY and the woman who settled in Georgetown. I have considered moving back to my old stomping grounds in the eclectic part of Austin, but that wouldn't satisfy me either....because the Llano County part of me thinks Austin IS actually a little weird now. So, where does a girl turn to for the basic desire to settle in, find her nitch? I don't know, obviously. So, I'm gonna write and write and think and over think, because I AM lost. And maybe, just maybe, the saying is true and I WILL find myself on the twisted road to ME.
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