Nursy thoughts this week:

“And everything that I said I’d do, like make the world brand new and take the time for you, I just got lost and slept right through the dawn.  And the world spins madly on.”

https://youtu.be/ApInErMBGbA

We see a lot of things most people don’t. I still think I am so lucky to have the job I do.  I work with the very best people. We rely on each other in a unique way because the stakes are so high.  It’s a weird job.  We see a lot of weird shit; funny shit; and a great deal of sad shit. We get to be a part of moments that matter to people. Sometimes I feel underneath the water of the suffering and grief; not all the time, or even most of the time, but sometimes. Most days we work; we laugh; we chat with each other and our patients, and we live perfectly normal days that we will forget.  We do our tasks, people get better, or don’t, and then we go home, make dinner, watch Netflix, and go to sleep. But some days we do all these things and it’s different.

This week was one of those that was different.  I don’t know what made it especially hard or stand apart from other days, except that I gave it everything I had, and it wasn’t enough.  I hate that feeling.  I remember several times in my time as a nurse that I have felt like I failed my patients.  Most of these times were during Covid.  I remember their names. I remember those last moments with them. I remember despite what limited time I had, my refusal, to let anyone die alone.  A lot of us have this commitment to our patients. It’s important. 

In this job, we have a glimpse into the end that other people don’t.  Sometimes I watch myself going through these motions and wondering if I am watching my own future death, my loved one’s suffering, my child’s possible future diagnosis.  Those moments that are just another day at work for me, are the days that matters for them; the one they will always remember, or the day that they won’t, because it’s over. And here’s the thing; that day is coming for me; it’s coming for all of us.

 

I held my babies a little tighter this week even though they didn’t really appreciate it, or understand why.  When I could I cried, and let myself feel all the things, because in my mind the thing that is worse than being too emotional and feeling too much, is getting to the place where I’ve built up a wall and feel nothing anymore.  I don’t want to be that person, even if it means I hurt a little more.

Here we go living our lives, going grocery shopping, writing emails, performing tasks, and all the while “this world spins madly on”.  It does this with or without us.   Why is everyone walking around like they have forever? “Don’t let the day go by, always say goodbye, watch the stars from your windowsill. The whole world is moving, and I’m standing still”.

This is 37

My experience as a human, as with many people I'm sure, feels as though I am watching a poorly scripted movie in which the star is fumbling through life, unprepared for what hits and frantically tries  to recover and be better equipped for the next hurdle.  Many times I feel defeated by daily challenges in being a mother, a nurse, a friend,and a partner.  I struggle being proud of where I am because it never feels good enough. It hit me recently that all my hopes and dreams that I wanted for my life ten years ago, I now have.  I worked very hard for these things, and now I have made new goals.  I look at the world I have set up, and I realize I like my job; I like who I am; I like the people in my life.  

We played a game a few days ago in which the question was posed, "If every career paid the same, what would be your dream job?"  I realized that it is what I do now.  It was an important realization for me.  It occurred to me that I am happy.  Furthermore it occurred to me that I am allowed to be happy.  I don't need to create problems, discontent, or drama to sabotage this.  I am happy.  

Just like everyone, I have been very hurt over the years. I have been rejected, betrayed, experienced excruciating heartache and have had enormous setbacks.  I have pushed through obstacles and pain.  I have made difficult decisions.  I have been wrong many times.  I feel that I have lived many lives seeing as the core of who I am and what I believed ten years ago, is now is embarrassing to me.  I can't believe the fairy tales I used to hold to as divine truth to make up for my lack of belief in myself, in science, and in critical thinking. I'm sure in ten years I'll say the same thing about some things I believe now.  I am learning and growing always.  But I do think I have come into my place finally.  I know what I believe.  I know who I am.  I know what legacy I want to leave.  I know this is all temporary.  I know I have one life and I believe this is my only chance.

I did something this year that was scary, that cost me time with my loved ones, my kids, and that ultimately cost me emotionally and financially, but was life altering.  It is something that renewed my fire to make a difference in people that are sick and hurting.  This is the reason I went to live in India 18 years ago.  I wanted to impact the world in some small way.  Although my way of going about it was flawed and fruitless at the time, the motive was the same.  My goal was the same.  I am thankful to have a career now that enables me to go into scary places and do the things that I believe really matter.  

So I am still here; still fumbling; still learning; still seeking.  And weirdly; now happy.

Blinded By Certainty

One of my very favorite pictures from back then.

Ten years ago a transition started for me that catapulted this journey of doubt and questioning.  Now looking back, this was the most heartbreaking event that I ever have been through; more than my divorce.  If I'm honest about it, it still aches when I think about it.  It was the most painful, life altering, earth crushing thing that could have ever happened to me.  And when this happened I started questioning; questioning everything.  Ten years of questioning has brought me here.  Ten years ago made me find who the new "me" was.

Up until this point I always pictured my own evolution as a human as "finished".  Looking back to my years as a teenager I was so sure I had found it; found that thing that I was looking for that would make me finished needing to grow.  I was incredibly concieted because I believed that I knew a secret that no one else knew.  "Truth" was mine; I had found it and my work was done.  Until this thing happened I was stuck in my sense of surety; blinded by my certainty.

And then my sense of security came crashing down along with my marriage and I craved to find myself.  I knew that I was in there somewhere and I had to find me.  I became fixated on finding my new truth and couldn't land because I never ever wanted to be sure again.  Sure didn't save me.  So for ten years I have continued to circle, continued to avoid landing, and resented any pressure to do so.

But lately I have found myself landing.  I don't feel a empty and lonely wandering like I have for ten years.  I have developed opinions about heavy duty principles that are engrained not only in religion, but in the expecations of our society.  And I have realized that I have evolved again.  Except this time I don't want to be stuck, because this won't be my last evolution.  I'm looking around me at people who are at different levels of their development, and I am realizing it is beautiful.  I look at my children who are so sure about some things that I know they will chuckle about later.  Why have I felt the need to rush this?  It is all part of our story.  It won't end on a certain day where we arrive at some destination of enlightenment.  Enlightenment is a journey that hopefully never ends.

I am so thankful that after ten years I have found my current enlightenment.  I have done a soft landing and I know will evolve again at some point but I'm settling in here for a while.



This song came on today and I remember listening to it trying to hold on the the fact that I would come out of this alive and well and better.  And I believe that I did.


https://youtu.be/WY0QcSQf_mc

"It started out as a feeling which then grew into a hope.
Which then turned into a quiet thought, which then turned into a quiet word.
And then that word grew louder and louder until it was a battle cry.
I'll come back when you call me.
No need to say goodbye.
Just because everything changing doesn't mean its never been this way before.
All you can do is try to know who your friends are as you head off to the war.
Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light.
You'll come back when it's over.
No need to say goodbye."

Half A Nurse

So you know that last few miles of a marathon that feel like they last for hours?  They hurt so bad and it is sheer WILL to make your legs go.  It's almost like time is going in slow motion and it feels like you are going in slow motion too.

All along this journey my biggest fear has been that I don't have what it takes.  I have always struggled in school.  I struggle with learning, especially in a classroom setting and my grades have always reflected this.  This first official year of the RN program I really zeroed in on some deficits that I have with auditory processing.  I was able to identify some of the struggles I have always vaguely known I have.  My biggest fear has always been that my very best would not be good enough; that I would give 100% and I would fall short; that I actually am not cut out for this.  

Even typing this the emotion of it is overwhelming to me.  One of the biggest challenges for me is that most people think I'm smarter, better, and more capable than I am.  They think I can run faster, get better grades, and do more than I actually can.  I feel like I am in a constant state of falling short from what is expected of me.  And I continue to have these goals that I purpose to achieve.  I'm getting older, I feel I should have accomplished more, and it feels all the time like these goals are beyond me.  But I've known I won't fall short for lack of trying.

This first year of nursing school has been terrifying.  I got in to this program by what I thought was a fluke.  I didn't think I deserved to be here. I have been surrounded by people far more capable and smarter than me. The testing was unlike any testing I have experienced and I was constantly meeting with teachers trying to figure out how to get the grades to get through this.  One clinical instructor specifically had some sort of contagious belief in me that carried me through that first semester..  She insisted  that I claim my place here.  She told me she had no doubt in me.  And then the second semester came.  I knew it would be the hardest.  Again I had a clinical instructor that required excellence and made me want to give every bit of my very best.  I am better because she saw it in me.  The hours that these women spent with me going over my care plans, and test questions was humbling.  They invested so much energy into teaching me how to think and into my practice.  I'm very lucky to have had specifically them as my mentors.

Starting  this semester, I knew that the 14.5 units along with working enough hours to keep my health benefits would stretch me very thin.  I knew that if I wanted to find the time to run, and make my almond milk, and my kids lunches, and cook meals from scratch, I would be up early and in bed late.  I knew that I wanted my kids to read, to not have screen time, and be outside and run and play.  All of these things take time, and my own investment.  I knew there would be very little time for me, and I knew that I absolutely would not be able to do it on my own.

As I was driving to school this morning for my last final I felt like I was in those last few miles of the marathon.  I was listening to this song and all of the sudden I knew that I had so much crying to do and I just had to keep it together until it was over.  I still was scared I wouldn't pass the test just like I always am.  I was shaking just like I always am.  And then it was over and yes I cried.  A lot.  I did what I really didn't know I could do.  And I did it while keeping to every goal I set to keep.  From my grades, to my mileage, to the way I fed my family.  

As I look back at this semester I am struck by all the people that came out of the woodwork to rally behind me.  I have the most amazing village.  I called on every person for every favor imaginable and I am so thankful from the bottom of my soul to everyone that believed in me and picked up all the slack that I couldn't manage.  

To all the "you's" out there who came up behind me and held me up when it was too much:  Every time you took care of the kids so I could stay for lab.  Every little baking ingredient you gave me when I always forgot something at the store.  Every time you dropped bread off for the kid's lunch sandwiches.  Every time you sent me a word of encouragement.  Every time you picked up my kids to go have fun so I could study.  I have the most incredible amazing village and I'm unbelievably humbled by it.  And to my nursing school family.  You know who you are.  I know I couldn't have gotten through those hours of coffee, prosecco and muffins without you. This sounds like I'm getting an academy award, but for reals I'm just very thankful.

And from what I've heard the hardest part is over.  I'm still not a nurse.  But I am literally closer than I ever thought I could get.  

https://youtu.be/BokWa9GN4Ro

The Peach Street Bubble

The Peach Street Bubble

What I learned the week my Opa died.

My Opa lived on Peach Street.  This is the last place he lived.  The last of many houses I loved.  The last of the houses that speckled my childhood with memories.  I remember the thhouse where I first tasted Sunmaid raisin toast with real butter.  I remember the house where he taught me how to ride a bike.  I remember the house where he taught me how to snow skii, and where he taught me how to drive.  I remember the house he let us live in when we were a young struggling family.  This is where he taught me how to make a budget and balance my checkbook.

When I am at the end of my life, and I look back on pivotal points in my story, I think the week Opa died will be one of them.  What is sad is that it is impossible to explain.  And I’ve tried and will continue to try to explain it to those who were not there; but I don’t think any combination of vocabulary will illustrate why that week was special.  And perhaps it isn't important that anyone else understand, but this will be a failed attempt at briefly telling the story anyway.

One Monday in October, Opa had a stroke, and I happened to be working at the hospital when he came in by ambulance.  That was the day everything changed. Before that day it was his story that made him powerful.  His success through a terrible onset made us all look lazy, uninspiring, and apathetic.  He took his nothing beginning, and made it something.  He was the picture of dedication, hard work, and success.  This man, who knew everything, who was strong, and driven, and able, became an invalid.  He was always in control and that day, for the first time, he was helpless.  

After much deliberation and agony, Opa’s wife Linda, my Aunt Cyndi, Diana and I, agreed to discontinue treatment based on his wishes:

“The statement I have signed below is to apply if I am suffering from a terminal condition from which death is expected in a matter of months, or if I am suffering from an irreversible condition that renders me unable to to make decisions for myself, and life-support treatments are needed to keep me alive.  I request that all treatments other than those needed to keep me comfortable be discontinued or withheld and my physicians allow me to die as gently as possible.”

I read it over and over.  I tried to imagine him writing it.  I tried to imagine how angry he would be if we didn’t do what was indicated.  There was really only one option and it was unthinkable to me.  It went against every instinct for healthcare that I have.  It went against everything that my padded and spoiled life have allowed me to experience.  But we did it.  

That night my brother Daniel showed up to the hospital with an overnight bag, and blankets and ask to move in next to Opa.  Thank goodness the census was low.  Thank goodness the nurses were kind to this crying and desperate kid.  So Daniel moved into room 256 bed A.  No one that wasn’t there can understand how beautiful it was to watch my brother care for his dying Opa.  I have never seen reverence and dedication like this before.  With little regard for himself he washed, kissed, and caressed him.  He talk to him; he read to him; he was with him constantly.  I watched my brother have a strength I didn’t know he had, and I certainly knew I didn’t have.  I watched my Mom at his bedside trying to communicate with him.  I watched her pain as she processed becoming an orphan.  I watched her love and accept all the meager attempts that we made at comforting her.  I watched my sisters, who have been estranged from her, come in love, respect and an attitude of peace.  I watched my Dad and my stepmom bring food and support several times a day.  I watched my ex-husband who has not talked to my family in over 5 years, pay his last respects to this man who loved him and supported him.  I watched him reach out to my family in a way I never thought was possible after our divorce.  I watched my Aunt Cyndi first hand be the example of nursing that I have always looked up to.  I watched my brother Mike coordinate all the logistics, details, and paperwork that needed to be organized prior to his death.  I watched Linda, a woman I barely knew at the time, become my Grandma.  She loved and cared for my Opa at his very worst.  She didn’t see the best of him that we all did.  She saw a frustrated, nearly blind old man and she chose to marry him, and love him anyway.  She loved him at his lowest, and continued to love him as he died.  She earned this family with all of it’s dysfunction and problems.  She became my Grandma that week.

I felt the youth and life within my children's little hands and bodies become potent.  To hold their vibrant hands in the same moment that I held his dying hand was powerful.  Their presence within this story struck me as the only future Opa had; the only future I have.  They are our tomorrow.  

We took him home on Hospice on Wednesday.  I felt like it was a story that I was watching happen.  Mike had to help the medics carry him in a sling because the gurney didn’t fit through the door.  Opa’s grandson, who he had mentored and inspired, was now bringing his lifeless body through the Peach Street doorway, to die.  It was too tragic and too beautiful to be real.  

What an alteration in my reality.  No matter who we are in life, we are all at the mercy of our own death; we are at the mercy of human kindness, and we are at the mercy of those we love.

There were many different beliefs and some non-beliefs that accumulated together that week.  It didn’t matter.  I think what affected me the most was watching all these flawed people with their own pain and stories come together.  There were a lot of mistakes made that week.  There were toes stepped on and feelings hurt.  And we all communicated from the beginning that everyone got a “free pass.”  We decided that we were in a bubble in which, “No one can do anything wrong”.  And no matter what wrong anyone did, nothing was wrong.  

The Peach Street Bubble meant that we were all choosing to not be offended.  We were all choosing grace instead of entitlement.  We were so tired, and emotionally drained and yet we still did it.  Everyone did, and it was beautiful.

As day after day, and night after night went by, and he got worse and worse, I was more and more fearful.  I wasn’t fearful of him being dead, I was fearful of the process of death.  I was fearful of him suffering.  I was fearful of him being afraid.  I was fearful I would kill him when I turned him.  I was fearful he would choke on the morphine.  I was fearful of every breath that was farther apart from the last.  

He lived 5 days after the stroke and died Saturday morning at 7:50 am.  And after all my fear, I can say that it was a beautiful death.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so beautiful.  I’ve never felt such a bond like the one I felt with the five people next to me those five days, and especially those last moments in which he took his last breath. 

The Peach Street Bubble taught me there is more to people than I knew was there; sometimes the most beautiful parts of people come out in the hardest times.  It taught me that anything can change at anytime and to value all my moments.  It taught me that I have been surrounded by the best people and I’m honored to love and be loved in-spite of my brokenness.  I will look at strangers differently; I will look at my patients differently.  Most of all I will see my people differently; both the people that I have chosen and those I have by blood.  I’m honored to be surrounded by so many amazing souls.  

Rest in peace Opa...

Community

It's been over a year since I've posted anything here.  This site used to be where I processed the horrific end of my marriage and the battles that ensued afterward.  The battles continued but the blog died away.  Partly because I was so worn out with my own story that I didn't want to reiterate any part of what was happening.  Writing it down solidified it happening.  I was exhausted.  And now four and half years later, I am still exhausted.  The same stories are happening.  The same battles rage on and I still experience the same heartbreak for my children.

But there have been new stories.  There have been new beginnings and new endings.  I have been sad and happy about many other things.  I have figured out that I am most definitely not a christian.  I have wrestled with my ability to be ok with that, and live with the persecution that has ensued.  I have the same friends that still love me even though they have all moved away.  Their commitment to me can attest to how amazing they are.  I'm an adult now; for reals.  I have purpose and drive that actually has a plan to back up all the dreaming.

So today is about what has been heavy on my heart this week.  I haven't had my kids this Thanksgiving break because they have been with their dad.  Without my kids I struggle with knowing who I am.  Take away my children, take away my running, my work, my school, my family, and who am I?  So much of who I am and what I believe is so confusing.  It is contradictory and impossible to explain.  I feel guilty for disagreeing with my own engrained ideas.  So much was weird in the way that I was raised and that is ok.  But so much of it, weird or not, has created the monster I am today.  I was raised in community.  We were all one big family.  The loyalty was fierce.  Thanksgiving was our biggest holiday and the warmth and love I felt on that day as a child is indescribable.  I had many mothers.  I had many many siblings.  And most of them were not my blood.  Everyone was always there.  When one of our families made bread, we all got a loaf.  When one of our families had zucchini, we all had equal amounts.  Costco was never done alone.  Community-cult; whatever you want to call it, it was beautiful and I loved it.  As I got older I started to realize that it was weird to people.   I spread my wings I realized that it was a rare thing.

And now here I am.  Thirty one years old; missing desperately my community; feeling so alone on this holiday week because it is no longer what I remember.  I don't have that same warm feeling.  No one is making a community soup with Thanksgiving leftovers.

So I had an epiphany.  I've spent the last 13 years of my adulthood mourning the loss of the community I had as a child.  I keep on expecting this magical community to form and it doesn't.  People do their own things and they should!  So next year I've decided to host Thanksgiving.  Nothing will be what it was before.  I need to get over it.  It's gone.  I'm going to make my home my own version of community.  Not just for the Holiday, but for life.  I'm going to open my doors to my family yes, but also those that don't have anywhere to go.  It's time to be an adult and be someone else's community. It's time to show my kids what that looks like.  It's not going to look like my childhood community, but I can take the good things that I loved, and do my best to BE that for others.  I can't expect others to be that for me.  I end up terribly hurt.
How can I be a better friend or family member?   How can I love those I love better?  I guess being a grown up means it's no longer about me.

if i die young

i love this song... for a lot of reasons... its got that folksy thing i'm all about... maybe it's the whole 30 thing... seeing people die... seeing babies born... seeing my children struggle... figuring out what i believe this whole life is about...

i always kinda had this feeling i would die young... there was a part of me that didn't mind this... i figured i would experience a whole long list of stories enough for a few lives and die when i'm still trail blazing through them...

when i had kids i felt a little trapped... there's no way i can be crazy and live the life that will tempt the possibility of risk.  it's a different sort of risk.  it's my very soul out there living and walking and breathing with every danger facing them.   i can't protect them like i want to.  it's the ultimate loss of control and the ultimate blinding, searing, heartwrenching love.  i feel that in many ways i am much older than i am.  i feel that i have lived a lifetime already. 

in this entitled country we might not see the cycle in the same way.   i believe that most people can't have a world view unless they've seen multiple cultures and ranges of quality of life.  there is something about seeing life, death, pain, and joy in different cultures.  it makes us all the same somehow.

i've experienced everything that i knew-that i knew-that i knew come crashing down: twice.  i've loved with all my heart and been left crushed.  i've survived only because my children needed me.  i've come back.  i've loved again.  i've grasp the second vision for my life.  i'm just one of the billions of people in this world that have struggled and fought and lived and lost and lived again.  we are all the same.

every time i type someone's date of birth at work when i'm registering them as a patient, i think about that day.  i think about their mom pregnant with them.  i wonder if she was over due or early.  i wonder if she loved her baby; if she wanted them.  i wonder what sort of story they had.  if they are young i wonder if someone tucks them in at night... if they are old i think about what they must have been like when they thought they would never get old.  i think about that invincible feeling that young people have.  we are so stupid.  before long we are saying "it all goes so fast".  before long we are saying, "what did i do with my life?"  and then it's over... 

at what point in our lives do we think about what we want to be remembered for instead of what feels good right now?  what will our story be?  what will other's say our story was?

it's an honor to be here now in this little blip of time that is my lifetime.  i'm so happy to be placed where i am with the people that i have around me.  

what do we have but our own little corner of the world that we can do our best to make lighter and more beautiful?  what do we have other than choosing love?  what do we have other than giving our children the tools to make their own corner of the world more lovely after we're gone?

what my first trimester has taught me

HA.  No I'm not pregnant.  But I'm planning on living until I'm ninety.  I have a month left until I turn 30.  I'm scared about this one.  The only way out of turning thirty is to die and since that's not in my agenda, this birthday is going to happen.  I had such big plans.  By the time I was thirty I was planning on having traveled to all seven continents.  I've only set foot in four.  I was planning on being done with my nursing and be at least almost finished with my widifery or nurse practitioner license.  I was planning on having my black belt, and recent goals had me qualifying for Boston by thirty.

So I've decided that I'm not terrified about the age; or really aging at all.  I think I've gotten better with age.  I'm terrified about my life slipping me by and missing it.  And all the while I'm trying not to miss it I've been missing it.

I have two children; they are beautiful.  They are a part of me.  It wasn't part of my initial plan but here they are and I am in awe of how much I love them.  I look back at the child I was when I got married.  Now I am divorced.  This could and is thought by many to be a failure.  Parts of me think that it is, but oh the wealth that I have learned from this part of my story!  And now I have these sweet babies because of this horrible mistake.  And now these choices have led me to another man and another child who I love so much and who loves us so much.

If I was to sum up what I have learned in the first thirty years of my life I would say it is that our choices have consequences.  Yes, mom was right.  Choose wisely what you value.  This is the only life we get; no do-overs.  If you wish to travel, you may not get your education when you planned.  If you choose to get married to the a man with no integrity, he will not protect or provide for you.  After he leaves you he will not protect or provide for your children.  There are consequences for marrying the wrong man.  It doesn't mean you are bad and your life is over.  It just means your story is different and your children's story is different.  I'll never get to do the last ten years over again.  They are done.  But I really hope to kick ass at the next sixty.

Never Grow Up

It took me a while to figure out why this song makes me bawl my eyes out... I mean, it's Taylor Swift... It's so embarrassing how much I love her. I can't help it...

 


 Sad, tragic, nalstalgic, and beautiful... When I first heard it I was thinking of my two sweet babies. How is that so much time has passed? I'm still sad that Gwen's infancy is over, and here she is in elementary school. I've grieved over her milestones. I was happy but it was so sad. When she walked she didn't need me to carry her anymore. When she began talking she needed me to communicate for her less and less. She doesn't need me now to get dressed or brush her hair (most of the time), or get her seatbelt on. I am proud of her, but it's too fast!


 But I have realized that my grief goes beyond that for my own children. "Memorize what it sounded like when your Dad gets home. Remember the footsteps. Remember the words said and all your little brother's favorite songs. I just realized that everything I have is someday gonna be gone." The thing is... I haven't been ready to grow up. I have felt since that since I became an adult, I have still been a child. I'm trying so hard to make the right choices and be brave, but I keep waiting for someone to step in and make it all better. In my child's mind I don't understand why the people I love can't love eachother. I don't understand why people don't just get along. Why can't everything just be ok? It should be that simple. But it isn't. "I wish I'd never grown up."


 I've said lately that I am so tired of people telling me that I had a horrible childhood. My God am I sick of it. Don't anyone dare tell me what my childhood was like. I remember what it sounded like when my dad came home. I remember my parents in love. I remember what came later, but it didn't change how I view them. I loved them. I see the pain in both my parents. I see the pain in my siblings who have such varying stories. I see the pain in many other people and yet I see the beautiful hearts of those who I love.


 I cry because I want to give my kids what I didn't have. I want them to have their worlds connected. And yet this is the very thing that I can't give them. God knows I tried. I know that what I can give them is me. What I can give them is my very best. When Gwen is 29 and looking back, I want her to know that I loved her. I want her to see how I surrounded her with people who loved her and chose her. I had this. It made it better. Honestly it made it beautiful. It was broken, but beautiful. I want her to know how much I grieved and wept over what I couldn't fix. But I also want her to look at what I did with what I had and be proud of her family. I hope I do better than my parents as they did better than theirs. I hope they know how thankful I am for both of them and for all the people that they have  brought into my life that have said and lived the words "I love you".




 This is my favorite scene of my favorite movie... fitting I think

http://youtu.be/19GjQhKP_G4

  "You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone." "I still feel at home in my house." "You'll see one day when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't ever have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I don't know, but I miss the idea of it, you know. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place."

TRUTH

There is a truth. There is a right and there is a wrong. There is one way.


These are comfortable ideas. They make us feel safe in our cozy, boundary padded playpens. They give us a ruler to measure ourselves against, and what is even better, they allow us to have a ruler to measure everyone else.


 It feels good to create walls. It feels good to have labels and reasons and explanations for our truth. Our label becomes our identity. No longer does it become a search for truth, but a quest to fit our reality into whatever version of truth we have embraced. Square peg in round hole.


 This happens everwhere. It is true in almost every aspect of our lives. Most people have already decided what to believe. We are now looking for arguments to substanciate whatever belief system has made us feel comfortable.


 The worst of human nature has manifested itself through the protection of religion. It makes people feel shielded from the reality of their evil. It makes them feel safe in their predjudice. It makes them feel superior by way of others' inferiority. It is the reason for people opressing and murdering eachother throughout history. It is the reason for discrimination and division.
What makes us feel challenged and uncomfortable must be wrong. 


The Christian label. The Muslim label. The Democratic or Republican labels. They all think they are right. They all thing everyone else is wrong. No label encompasses truth. 


 Everyone in reality is stumbling around in this maze trying to make sense of tough issues; trying to find the truth in the mucky confusion. And whether we choose to admit it or not, none of us know for sure exactly what the hell is going on. We get on platforms and get passionate and fired up just to believe in something; just to feel alive. 


 But truth surpasses our puny playpens. It is there; but I don't believe it looks anything like we think it does.

running again...

someone emailed me yesterday asking for my advice regarding running her first half marathon. i was so honored/embarrassed because i feel like such a newbie myself. two year anniversary this month... yesss i did run my first half six short weeks after i started running... but that's just because i was running... running from every bad thing in my life falling down around me... one week before i laced my running shoes for the first time i had blood work done for my declining health. I was debilitated by my anxiety. My thyroid levels were out of control. I had anemia, loss of appetite, and couldn't sleep. I was winded by climbing my stairs. i was so very tired. so i ran... my first full marathon was 5 months later... i was running from my situation... and it took me there, to that day; June 6th 2010. the power i took back from that experience was life changing. if i could do that, then i could do anything. i could take care of myself and my kids and make a way for us.

it's such an emotionally connected thing for me. it's not the mileage, or the pace, or the actual day of the race. it's every day that took me there. every day that takes me there now. it's every hard choice that makes me a better runner. it's what i eat. it's what time i go to bed. it's that dark, cold, morning vs that cozy bed. it's running through the aches, and discomfort and realizing that i just made it up that hill for the first time without stopping. it's realizing that this was easier this time than it was before. it's realizing that i'm feeling better; getting faster. it's every choice along this road that makes me a better mother; a better friend; a better partner-student-sister-daughter... and a better runner...

so the SLO marathon is happening April 22nd. it's the first one San Luis has ever had. do it. do the half. do the 5k. do what you can. it's hard, but it will make you better. doing what's hard generally does.

also, watch "the spirit of the marathon" on netfix instant streaming because wow... it's great...

Random

Due to circumstances absolutely within my control there have been a few misunderstandings regarding my "atheist rant" in a previous blog. I would like to go on record that this blog absolutely in no way coorolated to my childhood, or Apple Creek, or my sweet mother. Any connection you may have seen was incorrect. It was written regarding very current issues in my life. For those that don't know what the hell I'm talking about it doesn't matter. I didn't celebrate Holloween or Christmas growing up but certainly had a great time on those holidays anyway, and completely respect people that choose to abstain from participating in them. I have no judgement for people's choices regarding the matter and would appreciate the same spirit of acceptance from others.

wanting to be an atheist

it's annoying that christians make an issue about halloween, but i don't really wanna write about halloween. it's also annoying that christians think christmas is about jesus and his birthday, but i don't want to talk about christmas either.

christians make specific issues their poster children for feeling better about being horrible. now i realized that everyone has horribleness, but the deceit and hypocrisy that is used to cover it is what gets to me. it's awful.

most of the horrible things that people have done to each other throughout history have been done in the name of religion. the bad things that people have and continue to do to me are done in the name of jesus. i personally think jesus would hate that. i personally think jesus would dress up like a vampire and celebrate halloween. however whether he would or wouldn't isn't the issue. christians and their perspectives about halloween are minute compared to their fucked up marriages, horrible parenting, mis-money management, sexual addictions, and every other issue they have. now i'm not saying that other people don't have these issues as well, but christians (along with other people of different religions), cover and hide them. Christians pretend not to have these problems because they have jesus, or christianity, or whatever religion has made them better. No one wants to admit that they are just as fucked up as the next guy.

yes, i'll be abusive to children, i'll drink too much, i'll falsely destroy the reputation of others, i'll hurt the people who have loved me, i will lie to get ahead, i will endanger others, but i WILL NOT put on a costume and say "trick or treat". it's stupid.

how about we be good people. how about we treat others well. let's believe in beauty. let's protect each other. let's protect ourselves. let's defer and sacrifice and hold ourselves to a standard of love. how about we not set up artificial rules for everyone to follow based on our own definitions of truth. believe what you will. believe it with your whole heart. do right by yourself with what you believe. do right by your children and the ones you love. but don't tell me what to believe. don't tell my children what to believe.

don't hold me to a christian standard. i don't want to be a christian. i'm not proud of us... them... i want so bad to be an atheist but why would i choose to deny belief in god when he really has nothing to do with it? i believe in him. i don't believe in them. i really don't know and neither do you.

Divorced today

in the spring of 2010 he left me several times. one of those times, in a rage he threw and broke this little statue that a dear friend gave us for our wedding. gwen wasn't there but at 3 years old she knew something was wrong in the home. she would ask every morning where daddy was and i distinctly remember the first morning she didn't ask me. she learned not to ask at the age of 3. as soon as he broke the little statuette i hid it so she wouldn't find it. well she found it anyway and when she saw it, she knew. she had always loved it and more than that, i think she loved the security that it represented to her. and it was broken. she was sobbing crying and i was crying as well, trying to hold myself together promising her that i would fix it. i tried to fix it. for several more months i tried to fix it and i couldn't.

there are many versions of our story that my children will hear... there is only one true story and i'm not saying i am the one that has it... but i know he doesn't...

so today was the day... i've both wished for and dreaded this day... as i sat there in front of the judge, my lawyer, his lawyer, his mother, and a bunch of strangers, i felt like i was watching myself... i felt like i was teetering between the weight and regret of these last eight years...

once again he showed his character... he was like a rabid dog... lying, refusing to listen, refusing to reason... angry angry angry... which was strange because we had come to an agreement on Thursday. but that didn't matter... it all was out the window... at the last minute he called off his tantrum and demands and gave in... perhaps he realized if the judge saw all he has done, he would lose what he has and more... maybe his lawyer talked him into it... maybe his mom... i don't know... bottom line is i got what my very last offer was and it's not great, but it's ok...

it was the perfect day to get divorced. all the reasons i cannot be married to him were right there in front of me... the judge ask... "Are you Elissa Rachael Parrish? Were you married on July 16th 2005? Do you have two children by the names of Gwendolyn and Gabriel as a result of this marriage? Do you wish for this marriage on this day October 24th to be nullified siting irreconcilable differences, claiming that there is no hope for reconciliation?" "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." ...(Pause)... And Elissa...... would you like your name back?" I was barely able to speak. The weight of the questions. The weight of the yes'. And out of my mouth came my last yes. "I want my name back". And that was it. I was divorced.

I walked out. Past all the people. Past him. Past the lawyers. Into the elevator. Down the street, into my car and then of course i cried. i cried because i married him in the first place. i cried because it is over. i cried because i felt like i wasted my young innocence on him. all those years and now all this cynicism. i cried because he is the father of my children and i can never truly get away from him. eight years i had been tied to this man and now i am not married to him. i am not responsible for him. i am not to protect him. i am my own now. the relief i feel almost feels like a weight. it is heavy, but sweet.

i will remember every detail of this day for the rest of my life. i'll remember that my feet were cold all day because i stupidly wore sandles. i'll remember that he wore the striped blue button up shirt. he has been wearing some version of that shirt since we started dating. i'll remember that the day was foggy and misty just like i like it. i'll remember that musty smell in the courtroom and the tension that suffocates everyone there. i'll remember it as the day i was free from him. i am not without my battle wounds and regrets. hell, i'm full of regrets... i am so sorry that this will be my kids' story. i hope someday they will understand. i hope their lives will be full and rich. i hope i can do whatever it takes to add to their lives what this mess has taken out of it.

STILL NOT OVER

i’ve waited and waited. please be done. i’ll write when it’s over. i’d rather tell a story that has an end than tell the day to day agony. it will never be over. today hurts. why is this still happening? the emails... the accusations... the the lies... the threats... the enemies that i have accumulated that don’t even know... the enemies that once loved me... give me five minutes to explain... but they don’t... it’s a career to hate me...

you hurt my kids... yes, they are my kids... i know they are yours too but every decision you have made along the way has been for yourself... it has never been about them... it has never been about you having them... it has been about taking them away from me... you would rather other’s have them as long as i don’t... just to prove a point... just to hurt me... at their expense.

i regret the day i married you... i regret that you are their father... i spent five years protecting you... covering for you... because i loved you... because i believed that you would grow up... that it was my job to stand by you... it isn’t my job anymore... too bad you left me because if you never did i would have stood by you forever... every time you packed your shit and left you lost a piece of me... and now you have lost me forever... and because of this i will do whatever it takes to keep you from hurting my babies... i’ll never give up... i’ll never stop protecting them...



i'll never be her again.
everytime you left i died a little more...
never again...
closure is coming...

A flower through cement

This week I felt so overwhelmed. I felt that the possibility of happiness was so far fetched. What could I possibly have been thinking? I made a mistake... many mistakes. How could I ever hope to be happy again after making such life altering decisions that were so disastrous? How could I justify ever being happy again?

All of it hurt. From my own childhood family falling apart along with all the split relationships, to my other AC family falling apart and all those split relationships, to my own grown up family falling apart... ...and all the split relationships...

What the hell? Why does this happen? The connection I felt to those people growing up was so real. I don't hate anyone. I think it's fair to say I still love everyone. It is so hard to describe. It was a piece of who I was; who I am. How does someone explain such closeness like I had with that family? They were more than family. I didn't know where our family ended and theirs began. Yes, there was plenty of dysfunction like any other family, but it was beautiful; amazing memories; how I loved them. How I love them.

How does this all go away? Why do we grow up? Why do people disagree and abandon this type of closeness? It happens to most people at some point or another I guess. It happens in churches and friendships and families. It will be so beautiful and the beauty of it will be so tarnished by how it ends. For the last several years I have maintained the position that I would have chosen to never have had what I had than to lose it. I have felt that way with all three of my families that I have lost. It hurts too much to accept something as a positive aspect in my life when it just ended so horribly. I'm not sure I still feel that way. The good was great. The bad was worse. Was it worth it?

Pain is everywhere; pain from the kid pushed around at home or school to the old woman who feels abandoned and alone. Hunger, death, physical suffering... it's everywhere. And somehow, beauty manages to push through. People manage to hope again. A gesture gets through. A flower pushes it's way through cement.

Here I am alive. Smarter. Better. Much more compassionate and gracious. Yes, a little more cynical but also so grateful for the moments of closeness I had. The closeness I have with those in my life now. I am so thankful for my forevers. The five women that stood beside me when I got married still have loved me thru my divorce. If divorce was a ceremony I would ask the same five to walk it with me. The two women that I ran my marathon with haven't abandoned me but have continued to be pillars in my life. They are two of the best friends anyone could ask for. I am blessed with a family who loves me; Parents and sisters/sister-inlaw that have shown me support in a million different ways. And I'm blessed by a man who loves me; who gives and gives and gives. A man who has stayed beside me over the hardest year of my life and has been steady and supportive. A man who has taken on my goals and my children as a part of his story. I'm very thankful for him and l love him very much. I'm a lucky girl. I'm pushing my way through. I think it was worth it. It was a part of my story. It has made me who I am now.

still here

It's been about eight months since I left... It's been about 11 months since he left... Seven and a half years since I said I'd be his girlfriend... Six years since I said I'd say I do and almost six since I did. And I didn't. And he didn't.

It is a sad tragic thing that has happened to my family. I'll never be the same. My children will never be the same. I'm so so sorry. I'm sorry for the original decision that got me here. I'm sorry for how it ended. Mostly I'm just so sorry for my kids. When I am faced with the idea of what the rest of my life will look like, I know I can do it. I will survive and not only that, I think I will thrive. I think my children will thrive.

I hurt almost every day. But some days I don't. The days that I don't happen more and more often.

running. alone. in the dark.

so yesterday i was running alone in the dark... yes i was desperate... the owl city mix on pandora is amazing and this song is on it... so there i was, running, in the rain, as fast as i could with this song blasting in my ears and tear streaming down my face... it hurts.

headway

this is so weird... i miss writing but i don't know what to say... i know people read my blog... people i love and people that hate me... i know they check often to glean ammunition against me... i want them to love me... i want them to forgive me and remember who i really am and that they love me... that i love them...

i do miss some people and many aspects of my old life. i still cry a lot...

but...

i'm happy... i'm doing the very best i know how... i'm proud of the headway i've made... i'm proud of my job, my place, my car... i'm proud that i did it myself... i'm not proud of my mistakes obviously, but i know what no one else really knows about my old life and i'm proud that i did what had to be done... the ultimate decision i am proud of... what got me there, not so much, but i got there...

i never wanted to be a single mom... no one does i guess... sometimes i double take and i can't believe that this is who i am... one mistake after another led me here... and these two children are the single best mistakes of my life... i am better because of them... i always tell gwen that she gave me the best present EVER when she made me a mommy... i want so bad to give them a wonderful life and a full future... in many ways i feel that i've ruined their lives with decisions i made before they were born... but all i know is that i am doing the very best i can with what i have now. it is impossible to express how much i love them... how my heart aches for them when i don't have them... how i grieve at what my mistakes have cost them...

i'm laying in bed aching to hold my babies... missing hearing their sweet breathing... tomorrow i will get to hold them... the hardest part about all of this is missing them...

starlet

it's hard to write publicly because i don't want to be dishonoring. you all will never know my side. not all of it. it's one of the reasons i've stayed away... one of the reasons i've avoided responding to all the loving gestures. i don't know what to say. it's too tempting to defend myself.

no one knows but us. not even hj completely. and no one will.

but i do have some thoughts that i've been formulating. thoughts i've gleaned from my own private writings. yes i do still write. thank you @http://thedonjon.wordpress.com/.

i've thought lately, perhaps i didn't hate my house. perhaps my grief was misplaced toward that whole other mess. maybe i hated my life in my home. maybe i was resentful about my situation and not god or ac or all the other drama i thought was the issue.

here's the thing... i'm not angry anymore. at all. it's actually a little weird how not-angry i am. when i take a step back sometimes i think that i should be a whole lot angrier. but i'm just sad. so deeply sad.

i'm not anxious anymore. part of it may be the fact that i actually feel like i have some say in my future now. i'm not stuck in the misery. i'm out.

this scene in mansfield park always struck such a chord in my heart:

"In my return back through the passage, I heard the same words repeated twice over; and, looking up, I saw it was a starling hung in a little cage. – “I can’t get out, – I can’t get out,” said the starling.

I stood looking at the bird: and to every person who came through the passage it ran fluttering to the side towards which they approach’d it, with the same lamentation of its captivity. “I can’t get out,” said the starling. – God help thee! said I, but I’ll let thee out, cost what it will; so I turned about the cage to get to the door: it was twisted and double twisted so fast with wire, there was no getting it open without pulling the cage to pieces. – I took both hands to it.

The bird flew to the place where I was attempting his deliverance, and thrusting his head through the trellis pressed his breast against it as if impatient. – I fear, poor creature! said I, I cannot set thee at liberty. – “No,” said the starling, - “I can’t get out – I can’t get out,” said the starling."

so i'm out. i'm free. but it hurts. oh so much. so very much. was it worth it? it was the only thing that could be done. if i could go back in time i would. i would change so much. and i can't. and now here i am. flying with a broken heart.



i ask someone wonderful, "how long will it hurt like this?" the answer, "it never won't hurt like this. the pain will just become normal. you will become accustomed to it." i love this answer. it is the case with true grief. it never goes away. it doesn't always feel the same because we adjust to that level of sadness. the loss of anything significant in our lives will always leave this gaping wound. it just won't always be so debilitating.