Snapshots of Motherhood

 

I am bathed in the light of her wisdom; her capacity to love and nurture.  I watch as her tired, pale face maintains its softness, even through many nights of sleeplessness and industrious fervor.  Her voice is soft and melodic; cooing whispers intended to sooth and comfort the restless, unrelenting curiosity of new life as he wriggles his way into being.

 

            It wasn’t so long ago that she burst into my life, fists clenched, scarlet face, demanding a place in the world.  This little sprite of curiosity and determination making her way through the peaks and troughs of her emergent persona as I watched with wonder as she blossomed into this amazing young woman.

 

            She was small for her age then --  yet so determined.  Dimpled cheeks and round, blue eyes would confront the world, scolding anything that would interfere with her insatiable need to drink in the nectar of new experience.  She grew, and my life became a metamorphosis of mirth and wonder analogous to her development.   I remember being mesmerized by her ability to tell stories, wide-eyed and full of enthusiasm, stumbling between baby talk and little girl vernacular, and how her sweet, soft voice would sing away skinned knees and broken hearts. 

 

            As she transitioned through childhood, so my life transitioned to the objectivity of release and letting go.  The world began calling her, beckoning her with the temptation of experience and erudition, and my influence began to fade like a lifting fog, giving way to the light of an unfamiliar source.  The metamorphosis was now hers, and my influence was diminishing, more rapidly than one could ever fathom.  She was growing up.

 

            Motherhood is a constant transformation; an evolution of realism contrasting our ideals.  We encourage strength, but crave dependency.   We foster growth, but grieve change.  We preach self-reliance, yet secretly want to coddle and protect.  The dichotomy of parenthood has no delineation at either end.  We love, we hurt, we hold on, but ultimately, we let go. 

 

            Motherhood was my Kodak moment; a snapshot within a continuum of a bigger story of life and lessons learned.   A Kodachrome enigma intended to illustrate a potentially lackluster passage through this expedition of maternal experience, providing humility and revelation along this vibrantly colorful route.  We progress from “Mommy” to “Mom” to “Mother”, through rites of passage which are both revealing and a mystery.   And, while not a requirement in life, when taking on the role, one eventually realizes that it can be the most single, life altering enterprise known to human kind.  They grow up and we grow old.  A sweet sadness with no real definition.  Something that just happens.  And then they are gone…. and you are alone.  And that is that.  Or is it?

            “Mom, we’re expecting”, this confident adult woman informs me through my cell phone.  “I didn’t want to say anything too soon, but we are so excited…. Mom?”

             Motherhood is not a linear.  It is an ever changing, entanglement of intertwining experiences which lead us back, full circle to that one place from where it was born…. the heart.  Motherhood is love in action.  It is the gift of learning about what we are really made of; who we are. 

             Watching my daughter’s life is witnessing art in the truest sense.  A painting… a portrait.  The pure, white canvas has been turned into an array of texture and color, interwoven to create a story left only to be interpreted by the imagination.  The beauty of her art is unexplainable; especially when one has witnessed its creation from the first stroke.  And now that she is a mother, miraculously, her colors are transforming.  They are becoming softer and more comfortable.  The strokes are less intense, and exhibit a perfection which only comes with the concept of balance and harmony.  A masterpiece, indeed.

             And my portrait?  There is still plenty of work to be done.  The finishing touches have to wait a little longer.  There is new life now; a new beginning; time to resume progress from a new perspective. 

             I sit quietly, sip my coffee, and contemplate the wonder of it all as I lay my head back against my daughter’s easy chair.  The house is quiet, except for the mesmerizing ticking of a tinny, out of synch clock and the occasional snort as her dog thumps and twitches his way through a mysterious dream of some unknown dog adventure.  The day is overcast and the air is cool outside, but it is warm in the house and in my heart. 

            I can hear the rhythmic creak of her chair in the nursery, rocking….  rocking….  rocking… back and forth as his little gurgles and grunts slowly subside into a deep sigh.  There is that squeaky, sucking sound as he fervently sucks on his pacifier, and the baby Mozart is quietly playing in the background.  He is asleep.       

 

Theresa Checkosky Maher, (2011) Motherly Musings: Thirty Women and Men Reflect on the Roller Coaster Ride That is Motherhood. S. Wells, Ed. Unlimited Publishing, LLC.

 

             

           

     My life has flavor.  Some question my choices...my willingness to so easily change course as the wind blows in new directions.  And, I must admit that there were times in my life when I listened and questioned myself as well.  I look around and see people who set out on their paths many years ago.  They grew within their chosen direction, became masters, and stayed there until it faded into a soft, easy retreat into a wonderful retirement.  I envy those people.  Covet their deep set roots, and wonder how life would have been had I also dug my heels in and stuck to the script.  But I didn't.  I couldn't.  Granted, there were often times where I had few other options, but also, there were just too many hats I wanted (and sometimes needed) to try on;  roles I had to experience.

     Transition has always come easy for me.  When one grows up with transient parents, being in new situations is not an unusual concept.  I'll admit, it was sometimes painful and lonely, but it also taught me that its okay to take risks because even the most uncomfortable setting or toxic individuals will eventually become but a memory. I've learned that, if it doesn't serve me, I don't have to let it poison my spirit.  I can let it go.  

     Some of the roles were fun and interesting -- others mundane.  But, they were the building blocks to where I'm at today.  I've been the daughter, of course.  A friend, mother, wife, divorcee, mistress.  I've performed on stages and in castles; wore the clown face; sang the songs;  ran the races; put the quarters on the rail road track, danced barefoot on the grass and published the literature. I've also suffered the grief, felt the uncertainty; loneliness; anxiety...the depression.  But I always came back.  I've been the secretary, waitress, actress, marketer, boss, teacher, counselor, nurse...oh, and don't forget the best one..."Grandma".  

     I've partied with the famous and comforted the dying as they expelled their last breaths.  Once I slept in a tee pee after a night of drumming and making dream pillows; I've danced around the fire and rafted over the white water.  People ask me where I am from.  I never quite know how to answer that, for I started in the south, but have progressed throughout the west, east and north; grew up in the city, ghetto, country, lake house, tiny apartments and mini mansion. Explored most religions and cultures, and have had the gift of free-spirited, diverse and creative friends and family from varying ethnicities and gender identities, the athletic and special needs....heros.  And then, of course, there are the four legged souls who have rescued me many times in so many ways...

     I think I've made my point.  The funny thing is that I still feel as though I'm not there yet.  There is more to come.  Things I need to experience, contribute...try just once....   

     So, as I presently (at 50 something) pursue my fifth college degree; transition into yet another phase of my career; write another novel; make my husband, two dogs and three cats painfully listen as I practice my violin; stumble through Rosetta Stone trying to learn Spanish, and, spend many unpaid hours doing volunteer work while wondering from where the funding will appear so I can travel Europe...the epiphany has finally arrived:  while some people choose to stick with the safety and comfort of vanilla, I hope they will understand my ever changing tutti frutti rocky road butterscotch with marshmallow topping choice of varied experiences.  Will they?  Maybe some.  Others not so much.  But that's okay. As long as my choices don't hurt the significant people in my life, the thoughts of others really are insignificant, as they have absolutely no impact on who I am or where I'm going.  Instability?  I don't think so.  Just an immense appetite for making my life everything I want it to be before its over.  They'll do it their way, and I'll do it mine.  Either way, we are all going to end up looking back over our lives someday.  I sit by many death beds through hospice work and I can tell you that, if anyone were to ask me what I want my last three words to be when its my turn, I would say without hesitation....  "It--- was--- good!"    

     

     

Living once again

I feel like I am waking up from a long sleep as I, once again, begin to discover the flavor of experience. There is a feeling of calm within my spirit; a restful realization that comes when one ends a whirlwind of tumultuous focus and activity that removes us from our own realities. The grass looks a little greener, the scent of summer permeates my senses…. I am once again part of the living.

For the past three years, life had become the blinking call waiting light on the telephone, constantly flashing in the background, reminding me that it was still there but something I just couldn’t quite get to; the present call was too consuming to let go. Yet, it was the present call that allowed me the opportunity of metamorphosis; to grow into a dream – the next level of my human experience. To be what I always wanted to become…. a nurse.

It wasn’t necessarily a mid-life crisis, for being in a healing profession has always been a covert desire in my personal pursuit of purpose; but, I guess one could say it was more of a mid-life awakening. A realization that, dreams only last as long as life. Once it’s gone, so is the opportunity of fulfillment. Turning 50 meant that I had lived more than half of my life (my ancestral genetic makeup consists of an average lifespan of about 75 years) and it was time to stop dreaming and start pursuing.

Through my adult life, I’ve almost constantly been entrenched in one form of education or another. I picked and weeded my way through one course at a time while doing the single mother gig, obtaining a four year and then graduate degree. The long hours of clinical and studying for nursing school was out of the question when raising two teenagers and working 1.5 jobs. However, as time allowed, if I wasn’t working at night and on the weekend towards a degree, I was taking workshops, reading, doing research…. Constantly in the pursuit of new understanding. So, it’s not like I wasn’t used to pedagogy or being committed to working hard. What did take me by surprise, however, was how consumed my life would be as I worked my way through the intense science pre-requisites for which letter grades of “A” were almost mandatory based on the competitive waiting list of others pursuing the same dream.

When I did get into the nursing program, I found myself caught in a kaleidoscope of peaks and troughs, sacrifices, amazing discovery and sometimes shear exhaustion. The world around me virtually seemed to stop sometimes as I excused myself from the world of the living. Life didn’t stop, of course, but I took a sabbatical, and those closest to me experienced the fall out.

As the semesters passed and the intensity grew (along with my hips) I often questioned myself on whether the means really justified the end. As the train picked up momentum, I would see some of my fellow travelers jumping or falling off at various stops, or hanging on by their fingernails as the force of acceleration tried to shake us off. Many times, I felt myself slipping and tried to hang on with everything I had. Through the hours of visiting and revisiting concepts and processes, my travelers and I would share tears, laughter and glasses of wine wondering if we would ever reach our destination or if the depot would be closed when we arrived. In the meantime, outside of our exclusive subculture of craziness, people in our lives were moving on. Kids were growing, people married, babies babies were born, and loved ones and pets died. Physically, we struggled to be present, but mentally, we most of us had one foot planted in an alternate reality – always thinking, planning, strategizing—focused on the next exam or clinical observation. It was like that phrase from an 70’s rock song… “The lights were on but no one was really home.”

We often hear sociologists and psychologists talk about the concept of “Institutionalization” and dysfunctional adaptation when people who have been incarcerated, hospitalized or held captive for long periods of time suddenly find themselves back in the “real world.” They have become so used to the structure and conditions in which they were living, they have to reinvent themselves as they adjust to their old lives once again. I can understand that now. Certainly this doesn’t compare to the negative connotation that may present, but, in a positive way, it does. There is a world out there of spending time with family and friends, reading the Sunday paper or a Stephen King novel without the guilt of neglect, and rediscovering the smell of lavender in my yard. Music is no longer a distraction but is, once again, a cathartic. My body can move away from the laptop and my fingers can create and express feelings as I play my guitar or dig in my garden. I can hug my husband without being distracted by the stack of books in the corner; visit my children and grandchildren without transporting my library so I can study on the train; I can sleep again at night.

Yes, life has returned. But there is something new and different this time, for, in the process of rediscovering all of these wonders and reinventing my life, there is a new undercurrent of excitement and satisfaction flowing underneath. There is a foundation of knowing that wasn’t there before, not only of new things but that dreams can become more than a fleeting thought; they can become reality.

Educated, licensed and ready to go, I start my new career in a few weeks. I’ll go into the world a little smarter, hopefully a little wiser, and able to channel my deep passions into making someone else’s life just a little better. True, I don’t have the number of years ahead of me to make my mark as I might have if this had happened when I was younger… but I also would probably not have understood the magnitude of this gift I have experienced if I had done this when I was less mature. The years may not be quantitative, but the quality cannot be surpassed. I’m back world, and ready to take off. And, I’m a nurse!

Mindless Mindfulness?

I haven’t blogged in such a long time. Guess this mindfulness thing is a lot more challenging than I would have thought; then again, maybe its not. Maybe sometimes we use it just to get through a moment which would otherwise leave us feeling hopeless and helpless and we don’t even realize it. It just happens and it gets us through. Mindless mindfulness?

These past few months have presented a multitude of opportunities for me to try on my colors. A roller coaster of emotions and life events requiring me to be in the moment; even the moments I cared not to be in. I’ve watched someone I love more than life itself despair over the loss of a dream and then celebrated the news of new beginnings for another during the same day. I’ve sat by someone dear to me when the doctor told her she had stage III breast cancer, and obliged her request on Christmas, shaving her head even though I quietly cried as I stood behind her fragile, delicate body. Then, only weeks later, I felt the joy of hearing the tumor was responding to chemo and that she would, ultimately, find some reprise from the devastation she had experienced. Additionally,
I recall how I felt betrayal from being physically injured by an animal I loved and trusted, and grief as I held a kindred spirit feline while he breathed his last breath in my arms.

My intention is not to focus on negative moments. For through it all there was a constancy of knowing things were really okay. There was having the security and love of a supportive, patient husband making me laugh and showing me the world through his funny, playful eyes; hearing my little baby grandchild’s vocabulary grow with each phone call until he finally said his own rendition of the word grandma “bahka”; trips to New York and Boston and meeting so many wonderful people along the way. There’s the security of being offered a job months before I’ve even graduated. There are the new friends that I’ve made in such a short time and the satisfaction of knowing that the long hours of study and clinical hours are taking us all to places in our lives where our work will leave a mark somehow, somewhere for someone… even if we never know it did.

Life. Its made of so many surprises. Then comes the question: What do we do with them? My first inclination is to say that I totally let my quest for middle aged mindfulness go out the window with each event. And, if I am talking about the cognitive, deliberate action of recognizing it for what it is… I probably did. But then there is that other voice, that still little piece of my inner self, my “God” that simmers deeper inside that reminds me of the clarity I felt during some of those moments, and realize that I was more in the moment during the extremes highs and lows than at any other times in my life. It’s the times in between that need the work!

I often hear people say things like, “How could God let that happen?”, or, “If there is such a thing as God, we wouldn’t suffer.” Well, my answer is, first, depending on what your expectations really are and what you perceive “God” to be, perhaps these things happen specifically because it is through those moments that we define ourselves and really feel the presence of life itself. Maybe, until we really figure out how to capture that focus and fuse it into everyday, mundane moments, we will continue to witness that which we think we don’t want – only to find out that on some level… we do!

Who knows what the next months have to offer for me or anyone else? Maybe there will be even more painful moments; maybe Nirvana. Whatever. The important thing is that we do our best to get through them and then, when we look back, we see the lesson in it all. At least then it is not all in vein.

In her shoes -- Mackenzie and compassion

Did you ever look back over your adolescent and early adulthood years and cringe at some of the things you did, wondering how you were lucky enough to escape harm, addiction, or worse? The brain at that age, not being fully developed, goes through some challenging changes. If we were lucky enough to grow up with a stable family, good role models and good in health, then we hopefully weathered our vulnerability and Erikson’s theoretical “struggle” between finding our identity and dealing with confusion over our role in whatever society in which we happen to be living.

I grew up with in one of those “not-so-functional” family units. I watched my father deal with alcohol and drug addiction, gambling debts, depression… But he was my father. I needed his love and approval. Being raised as an only child, my parents were all I had. Without them, I would have disappeared… faded into nothingness…. at least that was my perception.

We often learn at an early age that the one way to fight loneliness and abandonment is to work as hard as we can to please the significant people in our lives. If we are good girls and boys, we want to believe that they will always be there; that they won’t leave us. We also trust them. After all, we have to learn how to navigate in this world, and where else does it start? If they tell us this is how life is supposed to be, until we mature enough to begin separating ourselves from their influence, we believe them. We have to. How else can an immature mind function?

I am so fortunate that I never had to experience sexual abuse from someone who had influence over me. I know with all my heart that, if something like that had happened, I would never have known what to do with it. If it were an authority figure, I’m sure I would have obeyed and accepted their direction because they were the adult and I was supposed to love them... please them... seek their approval. I also know that I would have felt incredible shame, but I might not have been able to understand where that shame came from. I probably would have somehow blamed myself.

I’ve been studying psychiatric nursing, and have learned very quickly, that these types of bruises run deep. In fact, they are often so deep we can’t always even consciously identify them. They just manifest themselves through the way we behave in the context of the world we have been given; through our choices. Once we do “come to grips” with our pain, the only way healing can truly begin is to express that pain. Talk about it. Get it out. Its called catharsis.

The media has been buzzing this week about the decision a former child actor made to openly discuss her very personal, tragic exposure at a young age to drug addiction and sexual abuse. Discussions abound, speculating as to whether she “consented”, whether she created it from her own drug affected memory or if she is just plain lying or seeking attention. Credible people have come forward supporting and validating her story; others have denied that it could have ever been possible.

It is very easy in our society to judge other people based on a comparison to our own personal experiences and belief systems. Many people, for instance, contend that drug addiction is a choice. “They shouldn’t have done it to begin with.” Well, to them I say, look back over your own childhood. Did you never make a choice when you were young that, now you realize could have destroyed your life? Whether it was your own experimentation with drugs in order to “fit in” or deaden emotional pain; your decision to ride with another teenager who was high and driving a car; your own decision to dive off of a bridge because the others were doing it or daring you…. Did you ever do anything risky? Now, ask yourself, whatever it was you did, what would your life have been like if you had that addictive gene or your own parents were encouraging you to follow their own path of addiction? Or, what if your drunk friend lost control of the car and you smashed into an embankment causing severe brain trauma? What if your dive left you with a spinal cord injury and paralysis? It could have happened. It could have been you. And, it all started with a “choice” made by an infallible teenager.

Yes, Mackenzie who grew up in a drug-influenced culture developed addictions at an early, vulnerable age. Yes, others have been raised in the same situation and didn’t. But, the human spirit is as complex as our biology. We are all different in how we think, view ourselves…cope. We can’t go through life weighing everyone else’s path against ours and assume they should have reacted in exactly the same way. That is narrow and not real.

My heart goes out to this strong, brave woman who, through her own healing, has opened this discussion among so many people. Many say she is helping create an opening for them to confront their past and talk about it. That’s wonderful. Something good can come out of any situation if we recognize the potential. But, even beyond that, I wonder if she isn’t also teaching us a lot about ourselves…. our need to start practicing empathy and compassion and not being so quick to judge others when we really don’t know what it is like to walk in her shoes? And, to realize that maybe there is a little of Mackenzie in all of us?

You might wonder what this has to do with my theme of mindfulness. Well, the more I’m learning to stop listening to all the “chatter” and start listening more to myself, it is becoming evident to me that there are many other ways to think about every situation we encounter in life. Instead of humans determining what they think is right or wrong for everyone else, we should spend more time trying to develop our own sense of right or wrong based on that power that lives within each of us. You know, the one that comes from a place of love and connection? God? After all, underneath our socially constructed personas, aren’t we are all just fragile spirits trying to make our way, using whatever tools we have, in the best way we know how?

Thank you, Mackenzie.

Dawn

There are countless surveys, games and quizzes on Facebook now. I always get a laugh out of some of the "What kind of ______ are you?" Sadly I no longer participate after paying someone $107 to remove several nasty viruses that he attributes directly to Facebook games. Regardless, I still have fun reading them.

Its early on a Sunday morning and I realize that, if someone were to ask me what time of day I would like to be on Facebook, I would say that, without a doubt, I aspire to be dawn. It encompasses so many of the qualities which I am working to develop within myself. Yes, it would definitely be dawn.

There is a stillness early in the morning that many never see. This one in particular is on the cusp between summer and autumn and there is a crisp coolness to the air. The flora is still bathed in moisture from the dense air of the night before resting gently on every available surface, preparing to rise again in the morning as the sun says its time to do so. Occasionally there is a fleeting sound of a bird calling, a twig breaking or an automobile off in the distance swooshing its way to some unknown destination. Each sound is isolated, though, and echos as it moves quickly in and out of my range of hearing.

This stillness evokes an emotion that is difficult to describe without engaging in what may sound like cliche rhetoric. It is peace; quiet; a time for restful contemplation; an inner joy that we so often suppress as our thoughts spin into a thousand different directions. Eventually, we forget what that inner joy feels like due to our preoccupations.

I want to take this prized moment and keep it close to me. I want that stillness to exist within my soul, and as invading thoughts fleet into my psyche I want to acknowledge them but then let them fade into the faroff distance so they do not invade my stillness. This is the experience of living in the moment and every once in a while, especially on a cool, crisp late summer/early autumn morning, I get a glimpse of what I want to be. Yes, if I were taking a Facebook quiz right now, I would be dawn. I would definitely be dawn.

They say that when we focus on learning or personal growth, the lessons we are working on will be tested via continual manifestation through life situations until we have it mastered. If we are working on patience, we'll attract situations which need patience; abstinence, we will encounter our addiction, etc. Yin Yang. We don't know what we want until we work through what we don't want. All of that...



Well, I believe this is the same with trying to learn focus and mindfulness. It seems as though more things have come across my path lately than ever which entice me to allow my head to spin and my thoughts to race. Once I determined my goal and laid out my plan, a whirlwind of events began to surface. Not to imply that all events are negative or even challenging. Some of those type of events have occurred, but also positive and exciting things, either for me or people in my life. Regardless, it sets my heart a pumpin' and a cyclone of thoughts begin to invade my mind, triggering more adrenaline than a Stephen King novel. (Okay, maybe the saying is a little corny, but you get the picture)



The past few days have been more challenging than ever in terms of being in the "now", but the more I have to work at clearing out those cobwebs during turmoil and chaos, the easier centering my thoughts is becoming when things slow down to a "normal" pace. Kind of like exercise. I remember years ago when I was doing long distance running, if I wanted to train for a 10k (6.2 miles) I'd make sure I could run 8. Thus, when the day of the race came the 10k seemed so much easier. Or, I'd sprint for a few days and then find it easier to kick my pace up a notch.



Practice makes perfect. When craziness pops its head into our lives, maybe we should embrace it and be thankful for that opportunity to practice our skills. Then, when something that really is out of the ordinary occurs, we'll already be primed and able to exist through it. Food for thought.

Animal presence

It hasn't even been a week since Boo died, but through his passing I've been doing sort of a "life review" of his presence in our lives and wanted to reflect on a few things about him and the impact animals can have on us. First, he found me, I didn't find him. Let's just make that clear. I was in a pound in Elmira, NY with a friend who was looking at a kitten when something kept poking me in the back of the head. I turned around and there was this huge, mangy gray furball whose eyes almost looked crossed to me, scrunched up on his side in this tiny little cage purring at me and trying to get my attention. I took him out of the cage and.... well, its obvious what happened next.

Boo was a people cat. He tolerated other cats and was very gentle to kittens. but, being very protective, hated anything else with four legs. I've seen him take the offense with a german shepard once and I won't even get into the flying duck feathers when a neighbor's ducks came to visit one day. (No one was injured, thank goodness) Anyway, he would sit and stare at you for hours, poke you (claws retracted, of course) until you noticed him and he would always lay within touching distance of a human being whenever possible.

In 2000, I took over managing an assisted living facility for a few years. At the same time, a personal life transition caused me to have to move into an apartment that would not accept animals. The solution was to take Boo to work with me. Little did I know that this was his calling as much as it was mine. In between lazy afternoons of sprawling across my paper strewn desk soaking up the sunbeams from my office window and playing desk hockey with my pens and pencils, Boo would spend hours wandering around this 110 bed facility, soothing and comforting some very frail souls.

One resident, in particular, who had been severely depressed, began bonding with Boo. I'd notice him and the cat spending hours together. He'd walk and Boo would stay just behind his heals like one would expect a dog to do. The gentleman would sit and play cards with his friends, and Boo would stay right by his side. Needless to say, the resident's spirits lifted and Boo's therapeutic side began to surface.

As months went by, Boo made many, many friends. He also gained many, many pounds (well, ounces anyway) from the generosity of the numerous residents who just wanted to give him one bite. Not healthy for him but apparently it was for them.

Then, we started noticing something. Boo seemed to have an uncanny way of knowing when one of his residents wasn't feeling well. He'd tend to seek them out and linger by the person's side or sit outside of the door until he or she was up and active again. Boo loved to sit and observe activities, and run from person to person rolling on his back expecting a belly rub.

There were residents who didn't like cats. Boo seemed to be okay with that, too. He would make an attempt, but a poke from a cane or rattling of a walker would tell him it was time to get out of that person's space and there he would stay, often worshiping them from afar.

Eventually, I was put into a regional position which meant leaving the facility and traveling all over the northeast and also the country doing training. Because of the relationships Boo had made by that time and my personal situation, he and I had a discussion and agreed that we both had work to do on behalf of these precious people we mutually loved taking care of, so he said he would stay there as a cat therapist while I travelled and trained.

My very close friend and nursing director had taken over my position so we were in close contact in between my visits to see Boo. She, not being a cat lover, was not one to "fluff" stories about the wonders of Boo, but she used to call and give me some very unusual scenarios.

In assisted living in New York State, with a special waiver, if a resident becomes ill and is dying, sometimes they can have hospice care and remain there, in what has become home, and die with dignity. Boo seemed to understand this, because he began a habit of seeking out residents who were terminally ill or near death and would not leave their sides. One, in particular, actually hated cats, but my friend, the new Executive Director, reported that everytime the door opened he would rush into the room and hide under the bed. Eventually, the family said to just let him stay, which he did until she passed. They say he never went back to that room again.

That is just one of many stories.

Boo came back to me a few years later when I had taken a job with a college and stopped travelling, and the resident who he had bonded with years earlier became ill and could no longer have a cat with him. The facility was undergoing some changes and it was a good time to bring my boy back home.

You may ask what this story has to do with mindfulness and "now" presence. Well, maybe I'm pushing the envelope a little, but I want to use him as a good example of what is often right under our noses but that we often miss because our minds are always spinning over things we have no control over.

I think this kind of thing happens more often with animals than people realize, only because people just aren't paying attention. I believe that animals live in the moment. They don't care about how short changed they think they were when they were puppies or kittens, how much money they think they should have or if they are going to be able to buy a new car next year. All they think about is the present. And, with that, I think comes some knowing that many of us are oblivious to. They feel, sense, listen. They accept and practice gratitude for what they have. They don't complain or feel anger that another animal has more things then they do. They just are who they are.

Do you see where I'm going here? Maybe animals possess a sensitivity or intuition because they simply allow it to come through and aren't caught up in all the things which we do that keep us "mindless." Maybe, we too have some of that sensitivity and intuitiveness but will never know our full potential because our egos and illusions of what is important clouds our ability to find that within ourselves.

Boo left a legacy of unconditional love and the power of presence in our family and we learned so much from him. I aspire to be like Boo someday. Maybe you can too. Instead of remembering, worrying, playing old senarios over and over in your mind sometime, just watch one of your pets for a while. See where that takes you. Have a peaceful, present day and kiss your pet for me.

Its a Jungle Out There

Okay, I have been really honest about being new at this "being in the moment" stuff and that I have a long way to go. Yesterday was a very good example of just how much I really do need to work on this.

First day of classes for my psych nursing. Whether you are crazy enough to be back in school like I am at fif-- (well you get the picture) or its been many years since you smelled the aroma of chalk and leather binding, you probably remember that pseudo excitement one often feels the first day of the semester. Yes, there is always that little part of you whose gastrointestinal tract jiggles and just quivers with joy at the thought of facing exams, deadlines, etc. after a few weeks of brainrest. But for the most part, it is kind of exciting starting anew. The beginning of a semester to me is like being given a clean white canvas on which you have the opportunity to create a new masterpiece. Its like being able to "try one more time, only this time around I won't..."

Anyway, new pens and highlighters in hand (and my ritual cup of Dunkin') in the other, I set out to attend my first lecture/orientation to learn about psychiatric nursing in lecture hall 8-100 our quaint little local community college. As I drove (I had put down the coffee, pens and highlighters/not to worry) I was in the past remembering those leisurely drives on the expressway of last spring as I gently sailed to campus to attend my late afternoon lectures and conferences that I had opted for in lieu of the normal morning class schedules. I would make my way onto campus, ease into one of my favorite parking spaces and with my rolling book bag, saunter my way into the nursing center, prepared for an interesting, invigorating lecture or clinical conference. Yes, it would be nice to get back into the swing. And besides, I thought to myself, now that I have worked so hard on centering and being in the moment, it will be an even more enlightening experience to soak in these new gems of academic bliss.

And then I got off the exit. Or, should I say, got in line to get off the exit. Wow. More traffic than I had seen in quite a while (at least since my trip to Manhatten a few weeks ago.) Anyway, I put on my favorite Coffeehouse Sirius station, sipped my coffee and waited. Five minutes later I looked in my mirror and realized that I was seeing the same scene only about ten feet further from where I had the last time. I finished my coffee and... creeped a few feet and then...waited some more.

Finally, I was exiting the offramp and pulling onto the main road on which the college presides. Gee, I always leave early but the clock was staring to tick in my (unmindful at that point) brain. Could I actually be late for my first lecture? That's just not allowed in the nursing program. Unacceptable. It just doesn't happen. Or does it? My mind raced as I played the scenario in my head. I saw myself walking into this huge lecture hall, everyone staring as I interupted the professor, no, actually, someone would be standing there with a folder with my name on it-- actually, they would probably have campus security on hand to walk me out of the nursing department. Oh, my career is over. I knew I shouldn't have tried doing this. What will I tell my husband? Kids? What will happen to the rest of my life? Who will pay for my rent at the nursing home when I get there????

Twenty minutes later, I was circling the fourth parking lot looking for a place to park. All but one lot was left without a "FULL" sign posted at the entrance, but given the volume of kindred souls seeking rest for their weary oil dependent chariots, I was not hopeful. At one point I spotted an opening in another row. As I scurried to the end of the parking lot and did a "U- ey" into the next row, a child who couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 years of age driving his father's pick up truck cut me off and spun into the space, subwoofers thumping and vibrating so loudly I was afraid my bifocals would soon shatter. Rats.

More driving around. Finally, there it was. A lone little space probably left open because of the crafty parking job of one little Ford Focus who was just over the line oh-so-slightly. Well, it was worth a try. I squeezed into the space, barely touching on either side. As I slowly opened my door, cupping the edge in my hand so I wouldn't dent the Focus, I eased my not-so-tiny middle aged body out of my not-so-big fuel economy compact, and at last, I was free from the bondage of my campus commute. As I looked across the parking lots, I regretted not having my binochulars with me as I was very curious to know if the shadows off in the distance were actually the college campas or a mirage of some sort.

Before wearing out the soles of my Skechers, I finally made it to the door of Building number 5. I was elated to know that I only had to walk through three buildings to get to my lecture. Because I had left so early, I was still on time and might even be able to meet up with some of the other students in the nursing lounge. What more could one ask for? So, I started the trek.

The drumming in the distance was faint at first as I tried to distinuish it from the loud chorus of jungle sounds that engulfed the trail leading to the nursing department. As I made my way through the foliage of bulletin boards, roped signs and hall monitors directing new (and maybe some not-so-new students) to their huts, I could see the raw activity taking place as the creatures swung from overhead light to light, slithered and scampered in between slower moving life forms and the overwhelming sounds of chattering into little boxes being held next to the ears of many of these overly stimulated creatures. I tried to be mindful. I really did. But then the stimulation became more and more overwhelming, escalating to such a loud culmination of noise and activity that I felt a climax of some sort approaching. Grabbing my head in my hands and looking up into the flouresecent lights, I found, deep within the recesses of my mind, my own voice audible only to myself screaming at a very high decible..... Quiet down and go do your homework!!!!

Pause.

Well, the noise and activity didn't slow down but I sure felt a lot better from the release.

Okay. So yesterday was not a good example of my minfulness. I admit it. I lost it. But fortunately, only I was aware of the tulmultuous, racing thoughts inside my poor head as I finally reached my destination and sunk into the solitude of a quiet, composed lecture hall. (Did I contribute to producing a jungle like atmosphere like that when I was 18? -- probably) The problem is, I'm not 18 anymore. I'm just saying..

Today I am starting over again. Like a clear, white canvas waiting to accept its new creation, I will again find a way to quiet my mind, focus, and enjoy the moment at hand.

If you ever watch a toddler learning to walk, he rarely ever just gets up and goes. He takes a few steps, falls down, and then picks himself back up and tries again. Eventually, he learns how to run. If, when he fell he was too afriad to try again and just stayed there, we'd all be scooting around on our behinds instead of walking upright.

Well, I'm viewing my quest for finding inner peace to be the same way. This was one tumble and there will be many more. But, I refuse to scoot around on my derrier because of one lapse. Tomorrow I go to campus again. This time I will come prepared. No, not with Xanax, but with a full tank of gas, an earlier start, a larger cup of coffee and some positive thoughts. Every moment has something to offer. I'm sure this one will, too.

On Grieving

I've experienced grief in my lifetime as most people my age have. I've lost my parents, friends over the years, relatives and pets... I teach courses in Grief and Loss and have attended grief counseling workshops. I understand the major theories like Kubler Ross' and know about the individualness of each person's experience and all of the variables that can make it unique. What I never understood, though, was that there may be a different way to perceive grief.

Today was a rough day after feeling my Boo gently pass away in my arms yesterday. But, I've been approaching it in a little different manner and I think I'm on to something here. The concept of mindfulness suggests that we can observe our own experiences without judgement, recognizing that they are what they are. Today, several times, I was able to step back in my mind and just watch myself experience my loss. I felt the waves of emotional pain, but at the same time recognized it for what it was and it somehow made it a little easier. I just realized that Terri is going through this process because she is capable of loving. By watching myself objectively, I also began to understand that this is a fleeting moment in my life and, as with my past experiences, this too will soon become a comfortable, warm memory that I will be able to tuck away in my heart and take out whenever I want to feel his love.

Life will always be full of challenges and painful moments, but maybe there really is a way to soften the bumps just a little or even learn to embrace what we think is bad. Or, maybe its just all about discovering what we already knew.

In loss

His soft, velvet gray fur tickled my nose as I drew a deep breath, taking in his smell one more time. His limp, warm body cradled in my arms as he rested his weary head in the crook of my arm. This gentle soul, body ravaged and spent from his illness. It was time to let him go. Even after his last breath, his presence lingered, leaving his newfound peace behind to dwell with us within our hearts.

Today I learned that, in facing our most significant moments, living in the now takes no effort at all. Every second is precious and counts and we don't want even one of them to escape.

My Boo Kitty left us today, but being totally present during his last moment was a gift that will never leave me.

Gazing up through the trees...

From my journal, August 25, 2009 while camping in Western New York State:

Gazing up through the trees, I never thought about how much life is going on all the time. Nature is a busy, busy place. Quiet and solitude are actually busy intersections of buzzing, chirping, rustling life happening endlessly and uninterupted.

The smell of woodsmoke, bug repellent, earth and flora permeate my senses. A light breeze oh so gently caresses my cheek, awakening me to take in the green forest morning with it. Not all the same green, mind you, but multiple shades and intensities which change and mutate as each leaf and blade alternates between being kissed by the warm beams of sun piercing through from high above, and the cool darkness during its rest.

Funny how every leaf is dancing. As they catch glimpses of light then go back into shade, the effect is that of glittering diamonds.

See how straight and stoic the tree trunks stand, densly populating the forest like the many hairs on my head. Tall and proud, they have withstood years of challenges beyond those which we think are so overwhelming in our day-to-day lives. Yet, there they remain, if nothing else, taller and stronger as a result of their test of time. Perhaps if we dig our roots deeper into the soil of our knowing, and when preceived adversity penetrates our thoughts stand taller and stronger, once it passes, we, too, can be more like those trees. Just keep our faces towards the light bathing our crowns like the tops of these trees. It will pull us through the stormy days, into a stronger, more solid existence.

A glimpse of the now...

Wow, this is a challenge. If anyone reads this, maybe I should discuss, just a little, what I'm trying to accomplish here. I am a novice and have a lot to learn, that is why I'm blogging. However, I've done enough research to know that this is something I really want (need) to master.

This summer, I read several books that seemed to interestingly follow this same theme. First, I have been a huge fan of Wayne Dyer for many years. His latest book, Excuses Be Gone brought a lot of this to light for me. If someone is reading this and wants to know what I'm talking about, you really have to read this book.

Anyway, he talked a lot about how now is the only reality that really exists. Memories are over and but an illusion, and the future hasn't happened yet. Now is the only thing that is real. Thus, he contends that we need to stop using our mind to constantly relive what is over, or anticipate that which isn't even real yet. If we focus on the moment, we won't lose so much of ourselves. I also read Eckhart Tolle's book The Power of Now, which took this even a step further. This is where the practice came in. By focusing on the very moment and working on stopping the "mind" from getting away from us, we can experience life to its fullest.

Now, shutting out thoughts is easier said than done, and I'm sure many people who have tried this will agree. However, there were several moments over the past few weeks where I managed to accomplish this and it was beyond description. By really focusing on the very moment I discovered that colors are brighter, scents are stronger, sounds are more musical and clarity is suddenly a reality. You know how it is when you watch a movie that is in slow motion, or you see a photograph taken with just the right lighting and you suddenly feel like everything stands still? Well, that is what it is like. Suddenly, everything at that moment slows down and there really is a feeling of peacefulness that I can't explain yet.

Mindfulness, I've heard, is one of the foundations of the Buddhist philosophy. I'd like to explore that further. If we can find that peace right now within ourselves, maybe all the other "stuff" that clutters our lives would lose its impact a little. Maybe Heaven or Nirvana can exist within us and we don't have to live in the darkness.

I took a train today from Penn Station to my home in Upstate New York. I actually tried to do this in Penn Station (ha...right?). I'm not one for crowds or excessive commotion. I sure picked a good place to be. :-)

Anyway, I stood in the terminal watching the masses of people run, push... scamper... totally oblivious of each other. And guess what? As I focused on the moment and stopped the mind chatter, it all seemed to slow down somehow. I saw each person as a unique, important part of a bigger picture. They all suddenly became very special and unique to me. Crazy sounding? Who knows. But, as I focused on each one and tried to experience "our" reality, it suddenly occured to me that we really are all connected. I think we are just using different paths and experiences to reach for the same things.

Quantum physics says that beneath the cellular level, we are all made up of the same energy and there really is no such thing as "solid" matter. If, somehow, we could see beneath the nano level, we would find that we are all one mass of life which many explain as God. I think it was Dyer that once compared us to drops of water that plummet into the ocean. We are separate, yet part of the same thing. So, when they say we are "children of God" maybe that's what it really means. Like branches of a tree, we are God spreading his/her fingers, experiencing and allowing us to evolve at the same time.

Wow, so much to think about!!!!

So Here I Am

I'm Terri. A fifty-something woman whose thirty-something adult child thinks she should blog. Well, that's certainly a good start. No, actually, the "good start" was learning what a blog really is, how to start one and what to do with it. Well, we're all set up. Let's go...

I'm on a quest right now... I'm at that place where suddenly whatever I do with my life matters so much more to me on a spiritual level than it ever seemed to before. My parents and their families all died in their 70's (or younger.) Great gene pool, right? That means that, optimistically, if I outlive them all I have a good thirty years left to "do it right."

What does that mean? It means finding the optimum meaning in every moment that I can muster. Being present; making a difference; leaving my mark.

I've recently become familiar with the concept of mindfulness -- being focused on NOW and learning how to exclude as many unrelated thoughts that I can in the process. I'm a baby in this journey, but I've already felt the surreal results of stopping and experiencing the now. Then, the clarity of making that difference seems to creep in like the fog creeps in during the early morning when everything is still and quiet. Gradual but very present.

I have a lot to learn and a lot of exciting goals for my last 30 years. I am studying to become an RN (crazy or what?) I want to work with people who are nearing the ends of their lives and help make that experience as easy and peaceful as I can for them and their families. As St. Francis said, "I want to be an instrument of God's Peace."

In order to do that, I need to become stronger; thicken up my skin a little. No matter what the heart's intentions are, it is a very challenging world out there and I need to learn to stand up to it a little in order to the the work I feel called to do. I need to slow down my thoughts; practice more gratitude; not try to please; enjoy the moment; carpe diem. What a process.

I think this will help, writing about my experiences and how this all comes together. Maybe someone will read this who is also trying to make the most out of their last 30 years. Maybe not. But, it doesn't really matter as long as it helps in some way.

To my adult child? Thank you for new possibilities. To my God? Thank you for letting me be. Can't wait to get started.