Category: Life

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The Accident

accident picIf you or someone you love has been hurt in an accident….

No it’s not a Saiontz And Kirk commercial … it’s a perspective you might not have considered. Or maybe you have … and you just need to hear it again. Here’s the story of My Accident…

I was sixteen years old with a learners’ permit. I was working a relatively new job at a restaurant and I was scheduled to close that night. During that time, the first year of my first “real” job, I was getting “hazed” (for lack of a better word) as the new girl. And the girl, or should I say, the completely grown and educated senior staff person who was closing with me that shift, was particularly cruel that night. She was doing absolutely everything she could to make my life and my job miserable as she and I tended to our closing duties. She was rude, made me do things twice and criticized my every move. And I was bound to follow her command because she was the well-respected senior staff and I didn’t know any better.

I had already confided in my parents about the ‘mean girl’ behavior that had been going on for quite some time now and had on several occasions, talked about quitting. But my father wouldn’t have such a thing.

“Don’t you dare let them win!” he said. “You keep going back and you do your best. You’re not going to let them drive you out. That’s what they want. You quitting means that they have won.”

So, by this night I had already made up my mind to push through and not be defeated. But it made me angry … really angry! I was done crying about it and now I was just pissed.

And by the time I clocked out and walked to the car where my mother waited in the passenger seat to allow me to drive home … I was furious.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “Why are you so angry?” Angry words spewed out of my mouth and in response to them came “You’re not going to talk to me that way”, “Knock it off”. In an effort to curb my anger, she made me more angry.

A back and forth banter between a teenage girl who had just been torn to shreds and a mother who couldn’t understand her ensued.

Eventually, it became, “Pull over the car, you’re not driving.”

But it was too late … I was too angry … I didn’t pull over.

It was raining and we were headed down a portion of road that had only one lane in each direction with a speed limit of 50 mph. Going the full 50, in the rain, fighting … before I knew it, I had lost control of my vehicle. I jerked the wheel, fish tailed and sailed into oncoming traffic, hitting a truck head-on. The combined impact of both vehicles led to a 100 mph impact. No one had a chance to brake.

I have no visual memory of the impact or the seconds leading up to it. I woke-up to by-standers prying my door open and my vehicle filled with smoke. It was hardly recognizable. Both air bags deployed and the dash was pushed into the car. My mother was beside me, incoherently moaning, and I could see fluids pouring onto the street. As the two men pulled me out onto my feet, my feet gave out. I didn’t realize at that time that I had jammed my feet into my legs from the high impact. I heard one of the men say, “Hurry…this car is going to blow.” And inside that car laid my mother, too hurt to be moved.

I cried out to the men, “This is my fault!” And a sweet, broken english, well-meaning voice said to me in my ear “Shhh … don’t incriminate yourself.” The men carried me to the guard rails where I sat in pain and watched the only view of the accident that I had caused. My mother was in too much pain for the men to carry her out and the truck doors were too mangled to open. Alone, I sat there and sobbed. I caused this accident. It was all my fault and tonight, I thought, someone might die because I let my anger get the best of me.

When the first responders came, I remember my mother wailing as they pulled her out of the vehicle and I asked a paramedic who was evaluating me if my Mom was going to die? She looked right into my eyes and very sincerely said, “I don’t know honey. But we’re going to get her help as fast as we can.” She then asked me what happened to my clothes. For the first time I looked down at myself and saw that my red work polo and khaki shorts had been shredded – from the seat belt? from the shearing force of a car slamming to a halt under 100mph impact? … who knows? Right then, all that I wanted to know was that everyone was going to be ok. I was the only one sitting outside of the vehicles and that wasn’t fair. I alone should be paying the price for my mistake … not these people … not my Mom.

The entire stretch of the road was shut-down. The ‘jaws of life’ were brought to the scene to open the truck from the top and to get its passengers out. My Mom was pushed on a stretcher all the way down the street to a helicopter waiting in a near-by parking lot and then flown via medevac to Shock Trauma. I was later told that the street was lined with parked cars and people on their knees in prayer. They transported me via ambulance to a different trauma center to avoid the trauma teams receiving two critical patients at once. Because of the high impact of the accident, it was protocol to assume our injuries were life threatening.

Inside the ambulance with me, was a passenger from the truck that I had struck. When they closed the doors and the sound level dropped inside the ambulance, I said to the man, “I am so sorry sir.” “Yeah, well my leg is all cut up because of you” was his response. He didn’t need to accept my apology. I hurt him and the people he was with and that was on me. No one was there to tell me it would “be okay” or that it was “just a mistake”. I fucked up royally and I knew it.

Eventually my Dad and sister got the call and made it up to the hospital to see me. I was stable, miraculously, no major injuries other than my feet, a badly strained neck and back and some bumps and bruises. They soon left to go see my Mom who was expectedly in worse shape.

And then no one else came. The news apparently didn’t make it to the rest of my family that night. I sat in my hospital room until the following afternoon, alone. And I wondered if my Mom pulled through. I wondered if the other people survived too. I wondered if because of my moment of anger, I was responsible for killing someone. The burden was so heavy, I just wanted to die.

You see, I’m convinced, if you’re a normal human being … nothing is worse than unintentionally hurting someone else. Knowing that I was responsible for hurting people was the worst punishment I could have ever gotten. So when I was later found “not guilty” on all counts due to the fact that the police officer in court had not witnessed the accident and the other party did not show … I hadn’t “gotten off”. Fines and a delayed ability to get my license wouldn’t have mattered at that point. I had already paid the price. Hearing my mother wail as they pulled her out of the vehicle, being told that she might not survive, sitting in that hospital room wondering what had happened to everyone … praying and crying in the dark, alone … that was my price! That was living hell!

I later found out that everyone in the other car survived with minor injuries and were released from the hospital the next day. My Mom too survived – with a shattered wrist, cracked ribs and bruised lungs, but our relationship took way longer to heal than our wounds did. Because she, like so many who are hurt, wanted me to pay a price. What she couldn’t understand that day is what so many people can’t understand. Sometimes the natural consequences of an action are the most impactful. And life-long cycles of anger in a home can have devastating consequences.

What I did get from that day (aside from chronic back pain and weak ankles) … was a very serious respect for driving. It was my father who made me get back behind the wheel before fear paralyzed me from ever driving again. But never again would you find a reckless driver in my seat. Nor would you find me in the passenger seat with a reckless driver next to me. – Later in my teens I was known to tell any one of my friends to pull over if I thought someone’s driving was unsafe and I’d start walking. No racing or “donuts” in my youth. I had already used my “how to cheat death card”. There were no more second chances. Life was precious and I needed to feel safe again.

I learned the importance of controlling my anger and the gravity that not controlling it could cause. And I learned that no amount of bad examples set for me would excuse me for the consequences of my own actions. Just because I grew up in a home where anger was often uncontrolled, it didn’t excuse me from the harm that I myself had caused.

I learned that people don’t have to accept your apology and they don’t have to see your perspective … but you still owe them that apology and you still owe yourself a lesson.

I learned that although my father may have been right about not letting people “win” by pushing me out … I still let them get the best of me by allowing myself to get so angry. And in doing so, I almost paid the price with a person’s life. So I did lose.

I could have left the scene of the accident forever changed with anger and blame and a lack of personal responsibility. I also could have left the scene with paralyzing guilt and fear. Instead, with time and serious soul-searching … I gained respect, experience, and perspective. And I learned how to admit when I was wrong and to take responsibility.

As I started out saying … this isn’t a law firm commercial. If you’ve been hurt by someone’s negligence … by all means get your bills paid for and your life compensated …but while you heal your body and your home … heal your heart too. And consider for a moment that the negligent perpetrator may not be a monster after all … but a hurt little girl who with a split second jerk of the wheel will hold a lifetime of regret.

And if it was you who’s at fault … own it, pick it clean for lessons, put those lessons in your backpack and continue on your journey called “life”. Your pack may be little heavier now … but it’s filled with tools that may one day come in handy.

(follow-up note: Those “mean girls” at one point in my life or another all came back and apologized to me. I admire each of them for their maturity and they’ve grown to be lovely adults. And I’m really glad I didn’t quit that job … because I ended up meeting the love of my life there a few years later. Ain’t life funny that way!)

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Finding a way to give thanks

holding hands pic

Anyone who follows this blog or knows me personally knows that many aspects of my life have been less than ideal. My earliest memories include snapshots of the poverty, abuse and loss that continued throughout my life; like a movie reel on repeat … only the years and the characters changed as my life evolved. Mental illness and substance abuse have plagued generation after generation of my family and its heartbreaking inevitability in our genetic make-up, no matter how educated one becomes, yields to a feeling of  helplessness at times. And sometimes, even sheer “bad-luck” and accidents seem unfairly distributed.

For a long time, I was angry. I was angry that we were poor. I was angry that genetics and a lack of resources led to significant loss in my life. I was angry that my parents were rigid in their rules and discipline. And I was even more angry that those rules felt imbalanced with their display of love and affection. I was angry that I had to work so hard for things that others were simply handed. And as life continued and loss and abuse found me yet again as an adult, this time outside the context of my family, I was again angry. Angry that sick people continued to spread their sickness to those around me. Angry that myself and others were seen as objects instead of people. I hate being hurt and I hate disappointment. My disdain for those two things have changed the way I see and deal with the world. And yet they are an unavoidable part of life. As I grew, I was faced with the challenge of handling my hurt and disappointment without allowing anger to consume me.

I needed to grow as a person, to accommodate my pain and disappointment without becoming bitter. I knew that the Scrooges and Grinchs in life were simply people who were hurting. I understood them but I didn’t want to end up like them. Why are some people destroyed by their pain whilst others are able to use tragedy as a catalyst for positive change? Well, ongoing and effective therapy and treatment is certainly a must. An end to the causative factors and proper support too, yield to higher success rates and recovery. And sometimes, I simply think personality and a strong constitution determined by genetics give some people a “one-up” in life. They are the “survivors”, the “soldiers” in life.

I have done the things I mentioned above. I’ve gone through therapy and encourage others to do the same. I have removed myself from environments and people who cause me pain and I have built myself an army of people who love me and support me and understand me. I have fought tirelessly to create a different life for my children than the one I had. And I do believe I have done well. In many ways, I believe I have altered the course of my future. My life, my marriage, my professional success is much more positive than I ever imagined it could be. And I’ve managed to raise kind and sensitive children too. And yet genetics and cycles of abuse always seem to find a way of sneaking back in. There is no way to completely wash your hands of your past. You must embrace the ways it has changed you and then fight to make those effects positive ones.

So how does one deal with this on the day-to-day? Outside of the therapy couch, how does one cope with the reminders of life’s unfairness? Well, after the anger, after you’ve yelled and screamed and cried yourself to depletion … you start to heal and then,

You find a way to give thanks.

One by one you face your demons and you pull them apart and you find a positive thread wherever you can. Because with every negative, there’s a positive. And with every tear drop, somewhere we can find a reason to smile.

I am thankful that I know and understand persons with addiction and I am thankful not to be plagued with the same. This has allowed me to help countless friends and patients who suffer from this disease and to see all people as humans, no matter how flawed. We all have different demons, addiction is only one of them.

I am thankful that I know the pain of being picked last. I was never the popular kid. I have explained this feeling to my children and always encouraged them to include others and to treat people with kindness and fairness. While the honor roll is a rare occurrence in my home, I am frequently stopped by parents and teachers who tell me “You have really nice kids.” I thank the universe for the pain that allowed me to build “nice kids.”

I am thankful that I grew up with less money than the average person. It motivated me to work hard and to have a different life. Going to the same family beach house every year created wonderful memories but it also motivated me to travel more, to see the world beyond my little neighborhood. Had my grandparents not bought the bay-side trailer that they did, I’m not sure we’d have ever had a vacation. Poverty encouraged me to strive for better things, not to settle for complacency. And it taught me to appreciate the things that I have. In a culture of disposability and instant gratification and entitlement, I am thankful to have lived with less. Everything I have, I have earned. Poverty taught me to make-do and to take road trips … two of my better skills!

I am thankful that I know the face of mental illness because I know it isn’t what the world as a whole thinks it is. It is much more “normal”, much more beautiful, much more complicated than the world recognizes. I am thankful that I can see both its beauty and its complexity and yet understand the pain it causes as well. Seeing it, recognizing it, is the first step in treating it. Knowledge is power. And early intervention is key. I am thankful that I know mental illness when I see it. And I am thankful that I don’t contribute to its stigma and that I am a safe place for those who are suffering. You can’t change your genetics but you can use them to identify and treat a problem when you see it. I am thankful for the insight to intervene sooner.

I am thankful that I learned how to work hard from an early age. I started working at the age of 12. That made working four jobs in college a doable task. And working four jobs while in college full-time, made working three jobs as a mom, plausible. Being a hard worker always pays off. I am thankful that I learned how to be a hard worker.

I am thankful that I was once a dancer. While I am not everything my mother wishes I was, when I was a child, she always wanted me to be a dancer. She scrubbed the floors of the ballet studio so that I could take classes there. And when I finally stepped away from those classes, she let me, without restraint. I love dancing and will one day return to the studio. Through the art of dancing, I learned an appreciation for all of the arts – the portrayal of emotion through the movement of the body, the visual experience of colors and movement and light when they are combined, and I learned to hear music in a deep and meaningful way. I have passed my love for the arts onto my children and as much as they love to kick and flip and run, they are giddy with a trip to the theater. The arts are lenses to the beauty that lies in the world and learning to see through those lenses opens one up to seeing beauty in all things. I am thankful that I can see the beauty around me.

I am thankful that I appreciate and understand charity.  Friends, family and strangers showed my family charity when we were in need and that charity that was shown to us, was in turn, shown by us, to others in need. Had we not been in need, I may not have understood just how meaningful that charity was. From my earliest years, we were blessed and we in turn, blessed others. Be it donating hand-me-downs, volunteering in soup kitchens or handing an extra sandwich to the homeless, we learned to help those in need. And by doing that, we have spread that sense of charity to others. This winter, my children piloted a homeless gift bag assembly project with their 4H club. The bags that we have been making the last four years as a family, are now multiplied by the families in 4H and many more people in need will be shown that goodness. I am thankful that my family is spreading goodness.

I am thankful that I am resilient. Suffering, though painful, once survived, creates a stronger, more resilient person. At times I worry that my children will struggle more as adults, because they haven’t had to struggle to survive their youth. And yet, I’ve used the positive struggles of my youth to teach them. They’ve learned to do chores, to wash their own laundry, to cook. I don’t take their homework up to school when they forget it and they’ve gone hungry on days that they forgot their lunch. But they still feel loved and safe. I’ve tried to allow them to struggle and work hard with my loving support and I hope that benefits them in their future. And as the heartaches of motherhood have plagued me, I remind myself that I am resilient and I am thankful to be not only a survivor, but a conqueror.

I am thankful for tradition. My family did an excellent job building and maintaining tradition. Especially around the holidays, I am thankful that my mother passed down the family recipes and set the table with glass dishes. I am thankful that my Dad used glitter glue to write each of our names on our stockings and that our Easter baskets were always homemade. I am thankful that no matter how strained we were financially, Santa and the Easter bunny always came. I am thankful for siblings to camp-out with the night before the holidays (we always slept in the same room the night before Christmas and Easter) and to share the holiday excitement with. I am thankful for large family dinners on the holidays and for the same Italian sausage from the same Italian deli every Christmas breakfast. All of these traditions, I’ve passed down to my own children and I am thankful to have them.

I am thankful that the persons who have hurt me have shown me “how not to act.” I have learned through the faults of others, how words and actions and attitudes hurt others and I have strived not to repeat their mistakes. Granted, I make many of my own mistakes and I am, for certain, a flawed individual. While the battle is a constant one, I try everything within my power not to repeat the mistakes that were made with me. And if I do … if I catch myself repeating that cycle of dysfunction, I am thankful that I have the hindsight to recognize the beast and to know what pain it causes. It is much easier to fight a beast with fervency when you know the strength of its bite. I am thankful for the insight of the aftermath of destructive behaviors.

I am thankful that I found someone who filled my empty tank of love. Physical affection and encouragement are two things my life lacked. And not because my parents didn’t want to offer them. It wasn’t shown to them and I think they didn’t know how. I could have ended up in a dysfunctional, co-dependent relationship as a result of my un-met need; but instead I found a man who showers me endlessly in the love and affection that I craved for years. He is both amazingly fulfilling and tolerant of my constant desire for physical contact and affirmation. It is no accident that I was drawn and fell in love with the latin culture because it so embodies those characteristics. I am thankful for not only a partner but a whole family of in-laws who provide me the love I need.

I am thankful that I am a young mom. A surprise pregnancy at the age of 21 meant that all of my friends were partying and traveling the globe while I simultaneously studied, lived on oatmeal and changed diapers. But that pregnancy had a way of making everything come together. My relationship was rocky, school was hard and my apartment was bare. I don’t ever recommend intentionally becoming a young and single mother. But I didn’t choose motherhood at 21, motherhood choose me. It motivated me to work harder and study harder. It taught me that all things were possible and my momma-bear instincts drew me to higher-standards. Through that dedication and hard work, I managed to create a solid relationship, a fulfilling career and two awesome kids. The hardships I battled as a young mom mean that I’ll be young enough to enjoy my independence as they age. And I am thankful for my youth as I travel the challenging road of mothering a teenager.

I am thankful for my education. At the time, I hated the uniforms, the rigid rules, the holier-than-none culture and the rich kids. I hated working every summer, only to have to use my money to buy the books for the school that I really didn’t like. But my private school education kept me in-check and it made college a breeze. And since a pregnancy complicated my educational path, I’m glad my studies weren’t any harder for me than they already were. At the age of 25, I graduated with a BSN RN and found myself gainfully employed. While my highschool education provided me a path to my college education, my college education opened my eyes to the world of science and world beliefs and cultures. It was because of the diversity of the people at my state college and the diversity of my education that I began to realize that the beliefs I was raised to embrace weren’t the only way of viewing the world and I began to find more tolerance of other cultures and belief systems. I also blossomed in my social behaviors and love for writing.

I am thankful for people. I have lost more than my share. But each person that I have lost has left an imprint on my soul and they have taught me not to take a single individual for granted. People are why we are here. People are what we live for. People shouldn’t be pushed aside. They shouldn’t be ranked in worth. Each person brings something to the table, find that thing and thank them for it. Every life carries worth. We are all temporary. Don’t live with the regret of not appreciating one’s worth while you have it. Be thankful for the people you have.

I am thankful for perspective. I am thankful that I understand first-hand that not every person who grows up on food-stamps, continues the cycle; some people just need a little help. I’m thankful that I believe women when they say ” Me too”… because I am “me too”. I am thankful that I know wonderful immigrants who help and not harm. And I am thankful that I know immigrants who have abused their privilege. I am thankful for a family of blended cultures. I am thankful for my colorful life because black and white ones are artificial and boring. Color adds depth and perspective.

So this season, be it in church, at your dinner table or simply when you are alone and you have an opportunity for self-reflection, when you are asked “What are you thankful for?” Try to think beyond your kindergarten response of “family”, “friends” and your “new puppy”. Think beyond the obvious and the easy and find a source of heartache and pain. And then break it apart. Separate it into all of its parts and see if you can find even one positive outcome that came from it. And then, find another.

We can’t change our past but we can learn from it. We can use it to empower ourselves and alter our futures. We don’t have to be a prisoner to our pain. We can use our pain as a tool to help ourselves and others. The happiest people in the world aren’t the ones who never suffered, they are the ones who in the face of suffering … learn to give thanks.

 

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“I’ll sleep when I’m dead”- Recollections of a night-shift nurse and humorous stories from other people who find themselves trying to function in their over-worked, zombie-like states

coffee

I suppose you could say I have four jobs. In addition to writing, I have two other jobs which pay the bills. I work full-time as a labor and delivery nurse (at night) and part-time as a nursing instructor, which I do during day hours. My fourth and most important job, of course, is mothering my two children. Different jobs on opposite shifts plus two kids makes for one sleepy Momma. I understand “tired.” I also understand “over-worked” and “zombie-like states”. I live like that most of the time.

I’ve worked nights for the past twelve years because it works for my family. At the start of every shift, I introduce myself to my patients and explain that I will be taking care of them from 7p-7:30a. Most nurses work twelve-hour shifts, but somehow, twelve hours at night is always more shocking to people than twelve hours during the day. And the question I most often get from my patients at night is “Do you always work the night shift?” To which I reply with a smile, “For twelve years.” The reaction to that reply is usually one of surprise and sometimes confusion, “Wow, twelve years?!”…. translation: “OMG! Why would you choose to do that for so long?” And then the follow-up question is always “Aren’t you tired!?” And my reply to that one is almost always a little laugh and then something along the lines of “I’ll sleep when I’m dead…” or “It’s amazing how you can learn to function on little sleep”… cop-out responses, I’ll admit. Other times I just tell it straight “Yeah, I’m always tired … but this phase, like every other phase will one day end. And don’t worry … you’re in good hands with me tonight!”

I like my autonomy at night. I like the culture at night. I like my coworkers. In fact, I like just about everything about the shift … except for the constant state of exhaustion. And in regards to my other job, as an instructor, I love that job too! Except that it has me waking up at 4:30 am some days. That’s life. Life is hard. But to get where we want to be and to have the things we want/need, we have to work hard for them. And in addition to working hard, I am also gaining fulfillment from each avenue in my life and that helps to ease the pangs of exhaustion.

Fortunately, my children don’t know any different. I’ve worked the night shift for as long as they can remember. It’s not weird for them that their Mom sleeps during the day. Although, their sympathy for me is frequently lacking. “You’re always tired!” is a common line in my house. And when they were little they’d tell people, “My Mom just sleeps during the day,” forgetting to explain further that I work at night. While it has allowed me to be more present for them during the day, for things like school events and the afternoon pick-up, homework time and dinner; my frequent state of exhaustion has certainly led to some interesting moments as well.

So whether you’re a single person who is over-worked or a parent who hasn’t gotten a solid 8 hours sleep in years … whatever state of life has you feeling ‘rode hard and put away wet’…. welcome to the club! While there are days that I am so tired, I want to cry … like anything in life, I believe tiredness is best digested with a dose of humor.

So, brew yourself a cup of coffee and allow me to present to you, a humorous recollection of stories from myself and other people, who, like you, have had their own moments of exhaustion and survived to not only tell the story, but to tell it with humor. If we can’t laugh at ourselves, then what’s the point of being here? Seriously, life is too short!

••••••••••••••••••

Amongst the many ridiculous text messages I’ve sent that made no sense, or the times I’ve answered the phone slurring my words … for every time I’ve had to explain to a teacher that “I work at night and I’m tired … I don’t have a substance abuse problem,” or the times I’ve overslept and left my kids sitting in the front office waiting to be picked up … I have learned to apologize and then laugh about it. Here are a few of my other shining moments:

One day, post night shift, I got held over because it had snowed over-night and several day shift nurses were late getting-in. When I finally left the hospital, I had worked 16 hours straight and still needed to clean off my car before I could head home. With my gloves on and ice scraper in hand, I found my car. Ice had sealed the door closed and I had to chisel it off before I could even get in and start the de-froster. When I finally got enough ice off that I could open the door, I stood there, balancing on a sheet of ice, hitting the unlock button over and over again. “Why wasn’t the door opening?! Are the locks frozen?” I peered through the hole in the ice that I had chiseled and looked inside the car, looking to see if the passenger-side door was unlocking. “Wait…where did that stuff come from? Where’s my rearview mirror decoration? Oh my god…this isn’t my car!” I sheepishly snuck away hoping someone nearby wasn’t calling the police because a crazy woman was trying to break into their car. When they did return to their car I’m sure they wondered why a portion of the driver’s side door was cleaned off! I’ll consider it an accidental act of charity.

It’s not just the wrong car door that I’ve tried to open with my remote opener. I’ve also stood at my house door hitting the car door remote and waiting for the house door to unlock.

And on multiple occasions, I’ve brewed an entire cup of coffee, with my single serving coffee maker, into the spill catch, having forgotten to place the cup under the drip. In case you were wondering, a standard-sized single-cup coffee maker has a spill catch that holds exactly one traveler-sized mug of coffee in it. Bonus-it didn’t run all over the counter! Bummer-I wasted a K-cup!

I’ve gone to a parent teacher conference wearing two different color flip-flops … I mean, black and brown … forgivable, right? I’ve accidentally worn my 12 year olds leggings to work (black…we both have black) and gone to pick up the kids with my yoga pants on inside-out.

And my favorite sleepy word-mix-ups are:

I was packing-up my dinner and additional food to share with coworkers before heading out to work. My mother, who was at my house that afternoon asked, “What’s that for?”  I replied, “Work for food.”.  “Oh, is that some new organization you’re a part of?”, she inquired. “Huh? No, its WORK for FOOD!”, I said again. “I know”, she said, “Is that like a meal donation program that you’re doing?”  “Mom,” I became annoyed, “it’s food for my work!” She than kindly pointed out the err in my words. Tired people are also grumpy people sometimes.

And another time, when I was discussing a kind-hearted person who adopted disabled children, I instead said she “disabled adopted children.” How’s that for a switch-up in the meaning of the story? 

And here are more fabulous stories from other, very tired people:

Colleen tells about the time she thought she lost her wedding rings. “I searched everywhere before deciding I had probably knocked them into the sink and they were stuck in the pipe below. I called maintenance to have someone come over. As I wiped the tears from my eyes, a shimmer of light caught my eye. My diamond ring and wedding band were on my right hand ring finger.”

Kelly recalls pouring coffee into her cereal bowl.

Tammy tells of a time she was nearing the end of a very long shift, “Back in the day (i.e.–when we charted on paper, with pens, instead of computers) after being awake for 56 hours (of a 72 hour call stretch), I charted a progress note for a labor patient, updated the orders, and handed the chart to the patient’s nurse. She handed the chart back to me, and said, “You might want to take out the sentence about the giraffe.”

Erin recalls her own post night shift moment: “I had worked three nights in a row and after my last shift, I decided to stay up and get some things done. At the end of the day, I had Monday Night Football on. It took me until the third quarter to realize I was watching the game in Spanish.” Erin doesn’t speak Spanish.

Kat remembers when she lived in an apartment building and took the elevators to and from her apartment. “I used to always say “have a good night!” … when it was 8 am and I was getting home from night shift and ready to crash. I’m pretty sure I’ve also said “good morning!” to people at 5 pm when I was first waking up.” They must have been a little confused!

Gretchen remembers cooking dinner in her sleepy state. “I was cooking a chicken and I could not figure out why the hell the chicken would not cook. I kept checking the temperature and the thermometer kept reading 90 degrees. So I kept putting it back in and re checking it. Finally, I realized the thermometer was in Celsius. I over-cooked an entire chicken by a few hours.” 

Another time, Gretchen recalls ordering a custom sign for her house. The sign read “Home Sweet Home  est. 2012.” When the sign arrived, she proudly showed it to her husband, “It’s nice”, he said, “but our house wasn’t built in 2012.”

Annie spoke of her long days working in a city hotel and the grueling commute that compounded her day and her sanity. “I left fairly late at night and I would always leave by the hotel entrance. This entrance had a revolving door with two regular doors flanking each side. The revolving door had a motion detector that started moving upon human approach. After a long day, not once but twice, I stood in front of the normal doors flanking said revolving door, waiting for it to somehow detect my motion and open. I would stand there in a daze for a solid minute or two before cursing myself and opening it. What a tired dunce! One day I thought I would outsmart my tired self and go through the revolving motion doors, only to snag my tote in the segment and fight the door to get it out. Those doors still have me laughing. Thank goodness nobody ever saw me.”

Chrystie, a veteran in sleep deprivation, begins with “Oh where do I begin?!” She starts by listing the places and times she has fallen asleep, “…in Starbucks waiting for my coffee, burping a baby, on the phone with a coworker, during a heavy metal concert, while my hair stylist was doing my hair…”

She then recalls things that she’s done whilst in a sleep-deprived state:
“I’ve put my laptop in the fridge, gotten a food container to put leftovers in and put the container of food BACK in the cabinet, worn my pants backwards and inside out, and only put makeup on one eye. Another time, a woman stopped me because it looked like I had a “weird stain” on my pants- my infant daughter had spit up on me just before I left the house and the “stain” was the ENTIRE length of my left leg. My pants were black. I hadn’t noticed!” 

Laura recalls the time that she pulled up to a stop sign and sat there waiting for it to turn green. She waited so long, in fact, that she fell asleep (with her foot on the break thank god!). A police officer then proceeded to pull up and perform a field sobriety test on her. While she balanced on one foot in the freezing cold she respectfully responded, “Officer, could I please perform a breathalyzer instead … I really don’t think I’m going to pass this test and I assure you I am sober. I’m just really, really tired.”

Joe submitted a photo of a metal handicap door button with this story: “At my corporate headquarters I went to the rest room. In an attempt to leave, I was trying to figure out why swiping my badge wasn’t opening the door. I stood there so long I decided to take a picture of the button”. You mean those things don’t also have a badge swipe?

Beth remembers her overnight shifts in the military often involved going to the bathroom to take a ” mini power nap” in the bathroom stall in an effort to survive the night and remembers that she drove home every morning but often had no memory of her drive.

Rosemary recalls her days with a young infant. “I was trying to get her to fall asleep and she kept fussing every time I’d take my hand off of her. My legs were tired of standing there waiting for her to drift off to sleep. So, I climbed into the crib with her. I woke up hours later … wondering why I was sleeping in the baby’s crib.” 

 
 So there you have it! You’re not the only one who’s state of tiredness has them questioning their sanity!

For everyone out there who is trying to be productive while fighting a daily state of exhaustion, you’re not alone! But be careful! Don’t be afraid to ask for help. It takes a village, if you don’t have one, form one. When I first moved to my neighborhood, I knew no one within a 20 mile radius. So I made friends at the preschool and hung out at the playground everyday, getting to know other parents and building relationships. Some of my best and most reliable friends came from that playground. And they have saved my butt more times than I can count. It’s those friends, who know when they receive an incoherent text message from ‘Amanda’ that it’s probably because I worked last night and can’t seem to wake myself up enough to text coherently, much less drive. And without further explanation, they will bring my children home to me. And on my days off, I return the favor. While I’d like to think that I’m super-woman and can do it all alone, we all have our limits and an injury (or worse) isn’t worth your pride. For every one of these funny stories, there’s another story that’s not so funny. So, be safe. And then, once you are safe, look for the silver lining and learn to laugh at your struggles. If you can’t, who else will?!

Further more, don’t forget that life is about balance. Anyone who knows me, knows that while I work hard, I also play just as hard. Stop saving your vacation hours, use them! My response to people when they say “You guys are going on vacation again?!” is always “Every chance I get.”

I guess the motto here is : “Work Hard, Play Hard, and no matter what you’re doing … keep finding reasons to laugh.”

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Our Halloween House

 

I remember when we moved into our first single-family home. Family members who were "in the know" discovered the property and had helped my parents to make it happen. It was on the other side of town and needed A LOT of work, but it was a generous offer that allowed our family of six to move out of a single trailer and into a larger space- four bedrooms, a den, dining room and a living room and even our own fenced yard. We were excited, but only at first.

You see, a motorcycle gang had previously resided on the property and although it was summertime when we acquired it, it looked very much like a "Halloween House". With only one other house beside it, it was removed from the rest of the neighborhood. There were holes in the doors and spray paint on the walls. The old wooden floors were stripped of their finish. The fence, doors and shutters were painted black. And the property was completely over-grown. The steps creaked. There were mice. And across the street, there was even a cemetery. "This is where we are going to live… in a Halloween House?" My 6-year-old brain tried to wrap my head around it. "What was wrong with the trailer park?"

It took a village to clean that place up and make it our own. Long days with the blood, sweat and tears of many a good soul turned that sad-looking property into one that we could be proud of. Lots of elbow grease, new carpet, fresh paint, even some new plumbing, and the broken black and white house turned to a sunny white and baby blue cottage. And there were azaleas, and lilies and tulips to boot. And right in the very front of the property, just behind the fence, sat the most-wonderful oak tree with the most- perfect branches for climbing. My father attached a small swing to it for my baby sister.

Irony would have it, that when we got all moved in … we missed our trailer; the kids did anyway. My parents couldn't believe, after all the effort that went into restoring the property, that we were asking to "move back to the trailer park?!" I had gotten used to sleeping in the living room there. We were all so close together. It was cozy. Sleeping in my bed in the "new room", I felt so far away from everyone; even though my parents' door was just a few feet from my own. My brothers were now on an entirely different floor. This house sounded different. My siblings and I missed the instant community and playmates that waited just outside those aluminum steps on the cement patio that we had learned to walk on. This house was more removed and there weren't many kids in the area. It was just the four of us now, to make play with one another. We had out-grown the trailer and my parents knew that. It was time to move-on and make a new place feel like home.

In September, we started at a new school; a private school that was academically challenging and required that we wear uniforms. It wasn't an easy transition – to leave our friends, a community where we could have 'the run of the place' and a school where we were "comfortable." Even though we weren't getting what we needed from school or life, we didn't know it back then. My parents were wise to make the move, even though we hated it.

That fall wasn't a fun time for us. So in an effort to jazz things up a bit, my father, forever the Halloween King, spent one weekend in October constructing a "Halloween Hunt" (as we used to call it). He had done it the year prior, in the trailer, and we loved it. He planted clues throughout the place, scavenger-hunt style, which would ultimately lead us to a "treasure box" filled with small toys and candy. But this house was bigger with a much greater potential for hiding clues and decorating. And so, the Halloween King took us on a spectacular hunt around the house, back into the dark den, down into the unfinished basement, outside facing the tombstones, into the yard covered in orange and yellow leaves … all in search of our treasure. And with that, and time of course, we grew to love our new home. You see, despite all the effort that went into repairing that house, it didn't feel like the perfect house … until … it became Our Halloween House.

And no matter our ages or life's happenings, the Halloween festivities and the 'Halloween Hunts' continued, each year becoming more and more elaborate. And just when Dad would say "Guys, I don't think I can do it this year," our disappointed faces would give him the motivation to pull it off, yet again. One year there were clues attached to the fallen leaves, nailed to the ground. Later, when we were older, the hunt led us into the cemetery that we had grown so accustomed to living next to. And with little money but a whole lot of creativity, he always found a way to make our homemade costume ideas come to fruition. From our earliest years, through high school and even into college, we always dressed-up and we never repeated a costume idea. In our family, it didn't matter how old you were, fantasy always resided there.

When we left the house and started families of our own, the 'Halloween Hunts' stopped but an 'All Hallows' Eve Bash' replaced it. Instead of spending days typing-up clues and putting together a hunt, my father spent days making invitations and putting together goody bags for the trick-or-treaters. It took him an entire month to decorate the house! And while few trick or treaters came to our house in my youth, because of its location on the outskirts of the neighborhood, as the decorations grew, so did the numbers of visitors, up to the hundreds. Many came by car just to knock on the door of the "Halloween House". The celebration of the season never faltered. Even into his sixties, my father climbed into that tree to hang lighted plastic jack-o-lanterns that became a signature landmark every fall. The front yard became a cemetery of its own (faux of course), growing bigger every year. The lights that covered the house and the yard got brighter too; even brighter than at Christmas. Our empty bedrooms were filled with boxes of Halloween decorations. My mother's curio cabinets, left behind with the divorce, were filled with monster collectibles. And the den became a permanent set-up for a Halloween village.

Having moved out of my hometown when I started my family, if ever I had a patient or ran into someone who said that they lived there, I'd tell them that that was where I grew up. They'd ask where I went to school and what neighborhood I lived in. Then, I'd ask them if they knew "The Halloween House". Everyone always did. "That's my house," I'd tell them, "My Dad, the Halloween king, still lives there. Stop by sometime, he'd love to show you the inside." For however impressive the outside was, the inside had even more. It was a Halloween lover's paradise. And everyone who drove-by it was impressed and they were even more impressed to meet someone who once called it "home."

 

 

Life is a series of choices and circumstances, some of which we can control and others, which we can't. Life would have it that 'Our Halloween House' would fall into a similar state of disrepair that we once found it in. And my father would find himself making the hard transition that we once did, thirty years prior. This time, it's the kids who know it's time to move on. And as we learned in our youth, just because "it's time", doesn't make it easy. Like the avocado-green aluminum trailer, our Halloween House had its place and its time, but its era is now over.

It is fitting that our good-bye party there falls on the weekend before the infamous holiday. No decorations this year, those are all packed away. No lighted jack-o-lanterns, no Halloween village. This year, it's like a true haunted house. And really, the decorations aren't needed. It already looks spooky enough. But the people will still come. The kitchen, with its roof caving in, will still smell of mulling spices. Old Halloween tunes will still play through the open windows and a fire pit will still warm cold toes. Out back, my pets are still buried. And in the front, still stands the most-perfect tree with the most-perfect branches for climbing. I'll hoist my kids up into it and tell them, once again, which branch "belonged" to me and which ones belonged to their aunt and uncles. Its orange and yellow leaves will once again cover the ground and I will remember the way it used to be.

Good-byes are always bittersweet. You couldn't pay me enough to rehab that house again. And just as the house has changed, I'm removed from that town now too and it no longer feels like 'home'. Many of my memories there are not good ones. And the house was never a perfect one. It was always drafty and always creaked, but it was our house. It gave us a place to lay our heads and call our own. It gave us a yard to play in and a tree to climb. The community pool is where we became avid swimmers and the school that we once hated was just the beginning of a most appreciated journey upwards in academia.

There is more story to be told, many more chapters of life still to be written. It is with a sigh of relief but also angst that we turn the page of that chapter of our lives and look ahead to new adventures. But you can be sure that it's a chapter that will never be forgotten. Like all things in life, things change, but Halloween will always be celebrated. Until I'm old and gray … when the weather turns cooler and the leaves change, when candy corn appears on the shelves of stores and children begin to imagine what they will reinvent themselves as for the night of trick or treat, I'll always recall my youth and what Halloween was like with a Dad who was is the 'Halloween King' and the magic that the season held, living in "Our Halloween House."

halloween househalloween dad

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Remembering Tiny Feet

trigger warning

baby feet black and white

I still remember my first loss like it was yesterday.

She arrived to the unit in labor, uncomfortable but excited and obviously full term. She had waited a long time to meet this baby and today it was her turn to become a “Mom”.

Placing the monitors on her belly, it didn’t take long for the horror to unfold. It’s a moment every labor and delivery nurse prays she can somehow escape and a moment every mother doesn’t even want to consider to be in the realm of possibility. It’s the OB and the radiologist who make the final determination, but its the nurse, who has already looked into her eyes and regardless of the words she chooses to use, has offered her condolences before the confirmation is even made.

And hours later upon the culmination of her labor, it’ll be the nurse who holds her hand and helps her navigate the greatest horror she’s sure to ever endure. She delivered with me. And no amount of training could prepare me for the expected but absolutely gut-wrenching silence that would occur with his birth. The silence that would make this horrible nightmare come to fruition for his mother and her wails would replace his cries.

He was perfect … absolutely beautiful … his little lips hung like a bow …. and he reminded me of my own infant son when he was sleeping.

Maintaining my composure I handed her her baby and stood with her as she tried to process her nightmare. I marveled at his perfect condition. And when she questioned why he had a blueish hue and why his skin was so delicate, I put on my nursing hat and explained the lack of activity of the heart and the amniotic fluid that he spent his entire life in. I did a good job providing her the care and support that she needed. I didn’t cry. I was clear with the information I provided but I was compassionate. I set up a bath right on her bed and together we bathed her baby boy. Then I helped her dress his limp body in the outfit that she had packed to take him home in. I wiped her tears while I managed her bleeding. I rubbed her back while I monitored her vital signs. It was all just like I had been trained to do.

I was “just doing my job”…. but “my job” was really hard that day. Outwardly, I was just another labor and delivery nurse. Inwardly, I was dying and I just wanted to go home and cry.

A coworker must have noticed my internal struggle when I finally exited the room to begin filling out the dreaded mound of paperwork waiting for me. She came to me and said “Amanda, how are YOU?” And I all I could say was …. “His mouth … it looks just like my son’s when he sleeps.” And I swallowed hard and diverted my eyes.

“This isn’t your loss.”, she said.  She could see my pain as a mother. She could see that every time I looked at that baby boy, I saw my own. She knew the weight of the assignment as a nurse. She knew the sorrow I felt as a mother and the guilt that I felt as a human being because I was able to take my healthy baby home. Despite doing everything “right”, this patient would leave our unit empty-handed and that just wasn’t fair. She knew that. And she knew the challenge that it was for a new nurse to confront death … from every horrendously, inevitable aspect. And she guided me and mentored me and she helped me to become the nurse that I am today.

From that day on, it became my goal to become more comfortable with these situations, to not feel so overwhelmed the next time I was faced with a similar outcome. I wanted to be able to navigate these experiences without being consumed by my own grief. I wanted to provide excellent medical care, know the paperwork and at the same time, not sacrifice one drop of sympathy and compassion for grieving families.

So I started volunteering to take these patients even when it wasn’t my “turn”. And my passion for the perinatal bereavement movement and community grew. I attended conferences and eventually became a certified coordinator. I mastered handprints and footprints, making ceramic casts of all size baby feet and taking photos few people will ever see. I made connections with amazing volunteers who make the most beautiful baby clothes from donated wedding gowns. I’ve attended various events in support of infant and fetal loss and I’m a unit resource for all of the nurses who feel the same sense of being overwhelmed when it’s their turn to say “I’m sorry.” And no matter how many stories I hear, no matter how many tiny feet I hold, no matter how many tears I wipe, it never stops being hard.

There is no sound like the wail of a bereaved mother. There is no silence as heartbreaking as the silence of a baby’s birth. There is no harder place to stand than alongside a sobbing mother as you hold her newborn whose heart no longer beats. There is no worse place to be than in the place of a mother who has lost her child. And there is no greater honor than to hold a baby few people will ever know. There is no greater service that I can provide. And there is no person in greater need of guidance, assistance, nurturing and memory building, than a parent who has been robbed of their child’s life time.

Over the last 12 years as an OB nurse, I have helped dozens of parents through the loss of their babies. I no longer feel as overwhelmed as I did that first day because I know the inevitability that these circumstances have in my field of nursing and I know the importance of the service I have to offer. While I don’t always cry on my way home anymore, each time I cradle a baby born still or born too soon, their tiny feet leave an imprint on my heart and the tears of their family become a part of me. I am forever changed by the fleeting presence of these little angels.

Not all of us are called to do this work. Nursing as a profession and post-mortem care of an infant is enough to break some people. I get that. But as family, friends … human beings, we all have an obligation to these families. We have an obligation to try to understand them and support them to the best of our ability. According to the March of Dimes, 1:4 pregnancies end in loss. You will be confronted with someone’s loss of a pregnancy during your lifetime and you can help.

From my experience, these are some of the truths that I have learned:

  • A mother’s love for her child begins not with the first sound of the heartbeat, not with the first movement she feels, not with the first cry. A mother’s love begins when she is a young girl and she first dreams of becoming a mother. That seed of love then grows stronger every step of the way. Infertility, early miscarriage, death due to severe prematurity or birth defects … they are all painful because they all involve the loss of a dream. The seed of love had already been planted before that mother even considered planning a pregnancy. Every baby is loved beyond measure by the parents who dreamed of their existance, no matter their size or age.

 

  • A mother’s love is forever and no matter the condition or the age of her baby she will see only beauty, tragic beauty … but beauty … even if the rest of the world doesn’t see it; and it lives FOREVER. A mother will never forget the child she lost. Whisking the baby out of the room won’t save her from anything. Pretending that it didn’t happen, won’t fill the void in her heart. Let her hold her baby, dress her baby, read to her baby, love her baby. That baby is her beautiful creation and she needs to embrace it, not be protected from it. Whatever imperfections we as outsiders might see, a mother always sees the beauty.

 

  • While we can’t always prevent tragedy, we can build memories and bonds in the face of tragedy. And these are worthy and essential practices that allow for faster healing and closure. Studies and statistics support this. Allowing parents to have time with their baby – to hold them, dress them, read and sing to them, introduce them to family and friends and younger siblings, allows the parents to feel that their baby’s existence held meaning and that their baby truly had a name in this world.

 

  •  People need to grieve and grief is labor. No one can do it for you. No amount of “It’s time to move on” or family members taking down the nursery and packing away the clothes will hasten the process. Parents need to cry in their empty nursery and pack it up themselves. Don’t rob someone of their grief process. Instead, support them, hold their hand and wipe their tears while they do it themselves. Whilst painful, it is a necessary journey. – This is an important generational change that older generations, in particular, need to be made aware of. We have learned that the “old way” of packing everything away and neglecting to acknowledge the truth was not only un-helpful in “moving-on”, but it was painful to the parents and led to a dysfunctional grief process.

 

  • In an effort to offer comfort, we must be careful not to make comments that are unhelpful or dismissive. This often happens because people are uncomfortable and don’t know what to say. They are often well-meaning in their intentions but the comments themselves are hurtful to the grieving parents. In infant and fetal loss these comments often include: “At least you can get pregnant,” “It happened for a reason,” “Maybe it’s better this way,” “You can have another baby,” “It’s better than having a baby born with problems,” “Maybe you should/shouldn’t have eaten/done that,” “You’re young…there’s plenty of time,” and “You’re lucky to have other children.” Instead, “I’m so sorry,” “I’m here for you,” “You’re a wonderful Mom/Dad!” and even respectful silence are much more helpful and exude your support.

 

  • Different cultures have different rituals surrounding death. While one family may take their baby home and hold a vigil and viewing for their family and friends to meet their baby in their home, another family may feel bound to their religious practice to bury their child within 24hrs and the mother may not even be released from the hospital yet. It is vitally important that these beliefs and practices be protected. Allowing someone to practice their own rituals allows for an inner peace that promotes healing and closure and helps prevent regret. We wouldn’t want an outsider to dictate how we choose to plan our loved one’s final disposition. So, we must be careful not to do the same for others.

 

  • Back to that forever love … intentionally not mentioning the name of a lost child doesn’t save their parents from additional pain. Every day of their lives they remember that child. Mentioning their baby’s name won’t make them suddenly remember him/her or make them sad. They always remember and their sadness is from their loss, not from your remembrance. Instead, mentioning their baby’s name shows them that their child was a person and that they have meaning and worth and are remembered; though the context of the moment should be appropriate and the remembrance should be a respectful one. Reading people’s body language is essential when navigating grief- back-off if they appear uncomfortable; and there should never been any prodding for details. But don’t be afraid to bring their name up, a simple inclusion of their name validates their existence and that is powerful for a parent to hear.

 

  • In life there are things that we can’t begin to understand, horrible things, unfair things. We will ask “Why?” until the day we die and rarely will we ever get an answer. This should not be received as a lesson to fear the unknown but instead as a lesson to relinquish control. Nothing we can do can prevent certain tragedies from happening and we have to stop kidding ourselves that we can control every part of life. As parents we can only do our best, and then, we have to hope that it works out in the end. And if it doesn’t, we need to know who to call. We need to know who will be there to hold our hand and help us navigate and cope. Sometimes the very best parents lose their children. Regardless of the age or cause of death, we need to help them alleviate any sense of guilt and uphold them.

 

According to the March of Dimes and the CDC, approximately 4.4 million pregnancies are confirmed every year in the U.S. About 1 million of these end in loss. 500,000 end in miscarriage before 20 weeks gestation, 26,000 end in still birth, 5,000 die from birth defects, 24,000 infants die in their first year and about 3,700 infants die from SIDS. And while the infant mortality rate in the U.S has dropped by 15% in recent years, it is still ranked incredibly high, at 5.8 deaths per 1,000. This is terrible in comparison to other developed countries.

Infant and fetal death awareness not only shows our community how to provide the support that grieving families need, but it also calls attention to a much-needed area of concern. Awareness yields research and research can help us to understand causes and lead to prevention.

I have never lost a child, and I hope to god I never do. Maybe that’s why my work in the perinatal bereavement community works so well. Maybe if I had lost a child, it would hit too close to home. Maybe it would be too hard to separate my “nurse” self from my “Mom” self. But as long as I can do it, I will. Because those parents need support more than anybody. Because the stigma associated with the death of a child needs to stop. Because losing a baby shouldn’t be “taboo”. And every person, no matter how small, should be remembered. Because the “Mom blame” that occurs every time a child dies or doesn’t reach their “potential” is poisoning our culture and killing wonderful mothers everywhere who are dealt the shittiest hand one could ever be dealt. It’s our job, everyone’s job, to change these ideas and give parents the support they need and their babies the remembrance they deserve.

In October of 1988 President Regan proclaimed October as “National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness” month, because he recognized that these families needed more support and that these babies needed to be remembered.

October 15th is International Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. A practice was started to remember these babies with a “Wave of Light” across the world. On October 15th, from 7-8pm, your time, light a candle and place it outside. The idea is that a wave of light will travel across the world as each time zone takes a turn burning a candle for their babies. You can find more information here: http://www.october15th.com

And if you have been affected by infant or fetal loss and are in need of additional help and resources, there is a ton of help out there and you are not alone. One such site is http://nationalshare.org/online-support/. And there are many, many more. Contact me via this blog if you need further assistance.

I trust my heart will never stops aching for the babies who came but couldn’t stay and the shattered dreams of parents who would’ve given it all for a different ending to their story. But despite the tragedy that is very much a part of my work, there is still hope and strength and so much goodness. With much humility, I thank the families who have allowed me to enter their very precious and sacred space, to know the baby that few others knew, to hear their stories and learn from their grief. I am better because you let me in. And I hope I helped you too. And I thank the workers, the volunteers and all of those who didn’t avert their eyes, but instead sacrificed their own comfort to stop and to listen, to understand, to help and to support. In our weakest moments, it is our pillars who come to stand beside us and hold us up, that regardless of relation, become our family. It is an honor to be a part of the perinatal bereavement family.

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Navigating our way to a happy marriage

sailing-ship

“A successful marriage is like an elegant ship sailing through the waters and storms of life. The problem with all ships is that they get barnacles, ugly little unseen monsters that attach themselves to the bottom of the boat. Soon the vessel is stuck dead in the water-like the marriage that is going nowhere as the partners peacefully coexist. Little things, like the irritations of misunderstanding that come with wrong expectations, build up.”-Hans Finzel

 

My marriage is my most favorite expedition yet … and no one gave me a compass.

Fernando and I are often teased about our constant state of “being in love”. We don’t apologize, instead we accept it as the compliment that it is. Having both come from broken homes and given our life circumstances, it’s a small miracle that we’ve done as well as we have. But it didn’t come without a ton of hard work, sacrifice and forgiveness; no happy marriage does. Still, it can at times feel awkward with so many of our close friends’ marriages ending in divorce and still others who continue to look for their perfect match.

I’ve eluded before to the fact that the success of our relationship, while certainly a product of hard work, is also due in-part to sheer good luck. And I still maintain that stance. You might call it God’s grace and I’ll say the universe cut us a break; but sometimes science and psychology simply can’t explain why a particular circumstance was met with so much success, while others, who have what seems to be the perfect sailing conditions, end up shipwrecked. The sea of life is full of so many obstacles and weather conditions and each brings unique challenges that couples must navigate. Sometimes, despite a couple doing everything right, there are just too many stressors or differences for the marital vessel to stay afloat. With so many factors that may influence a relationship, it is impossible to truly predict its long-term success … even my own.

Nevertheless, I do believe that given the right mate – hard work, true grit, and a selfless heart are the most vital components to any marriage. And that age, money and even shared interests have much less to do with it. My husband and I have a significant age difference, grew up on different continents, in different generations and started our relationship with nothing-not even an air mattress. Be it luck, hard work or mere compatibility, the man I fell in love with fifteen years ago still very much holds my heart and he still calls me his “Queen”. We are an unlikely match who have managed to not only keep our marriage alive but to stay ridiculously in love doing it. And that is the measure of a marriage’s success … it’s not merely staying together. What good is a marriage if you’re simply tolerating one another? Life is too short to spend with the wrong person, but a marriage is certainly worth fighting for.

So I thought I’d take the opportunity to share the things that I have noticed have helped us to remain successful in our marriage. Many of these things seem to be missing in other relationships that I have seen fail, but it doesn’t account for all of them and it certainly doesn’t account for the sheer good luck that we’ve had. It’s not a simple formula or the end-all-be-all … there’s no such thing! It’s not the viral internet list that says “Never go to bed angry” and “Always kiss good night.” It’s not about how you met or the silly little rules girls in particular try to make (like “If he doesn’t propose in two years, he never will.”). Love is just not that simple. Instead, I’m sharing what I believe has helped us to not only stay afloat but to sail the rough waters of life in unison, with humor, grace and strength.

 

⇒ Take your time saying, “I do”. Fernando and I caught a lot of flack that we had been together for five years and had two children before we finally took the plunge. And certainly, other couples with a much shorter history have been beautifully successful. However, my stance is and always has been – if a person is your soul mate today, then they’ll be your soul mate in five years. Waiting for marriage won’t change that. But, if a person is deceiving you, time will usually reveal this. Allow your relationship to have that time.

Marriage is a life-long commitment. We took that commitment very seriously. Which meant waiting until we had no doubt about our decision. And by the time Fernando and I said our vows, we knew exactly who we were committing too. Making that final commitment too soon could be a painful and expensive mistake. Most of the marriages that I have seen fail, have been ones that were rushed into. Be it pressure from life circumstances, a pregnancy or simply youthful eagerness to take the next step … had they taken their time, they would have seen the fatal habits and character traits that ultimately led to the marriage’s demise. It’s a promise of a lifetime … don’t rush it.

⇑ Aside from time together, conquering life’s challenges and stressors together is another “must-do” before marriage. I’ve known couples who courted for 2 years and went to take the next step and it was a disaster. Why? Because in those 2 years they never took on any challenges together. They each lived in their own homes, their finances were stable, nobody close to them died, the seas of their lives were calm. And then suddenly, the waves started rolling in and the person they thought they knew, was someone else entirely. Stress does that to you. The five years that Fernando and I spent prior to our marriage were filled with so many challenges that by the time we said “I do”, there was no question who we were marrying. Divorce, death, poor finances, an unplanned pregnancy, working four jobs and going to school … we knew that if we could survive all of that … we could survive just about anything. You can’t plan for misfortune; but I’d be extra cautious if I was making a life commitment to someone who I’d never seen under high stress. Again, take your time!

⇐ Just like you’d never embark on a journey without studying the waters that you are about to sail upon, we too must study our partners. Take every opportunity to know them and understand them. When you understand someone, you can better attend to their needs and provide for them. My husband isn’t a talker. When he is upset, he wants to be left alone and likes to process his problems quietly before he cares to share them with me. I on the other hand, want to talk about my issues ad nauseam. This took some learning on both our parts. He had to learn how to be a listener and I had to learn how to leave him alone when he came home upset. Had we not taken the time to study one another, we might have assumed that each one processed our stress the same and we would have been grossly unsuccessful in supporting one another.

⇓ When you embark on the journey of marriage, you are co-captains. I am no one’s first mate. Together, we navigate and explore and build. If I submit to him, it is because he made the better call and on another day it will be him submitting to me because I had a better view. We are both equally responsible for the condition and path of our ship. The old-fashioned idea of “my husband is the head of the household” is often times used as a cop-out to blame him for his failings and to avoid conflict and responsibility. If my husband is making the wrong call, it is my obligation to speak up and fight for what is best. I will not let him make a fool of himself or do detriment to our family. And he too, is equally obligated to respectfully inform me when I am out-of-line.

⇒ Being co-captains means that our obligations lie in one another. As a result, some of our other relationships will suffer. It’s an unfortunate but inevitable price that a good marriage has to pay. Fernando is my best friend. And I have best girlfriends too. However, I have a lot less friends than I used to. Most of our friends are other couples and I have even fewer single friends and male friends. This is the opposite of what I had when I was single. I always hung with the guys and rarely hung-out with any couples. But now that I have a marriage to protect, the relationships I choose to hold onto must also cherish my marriage. I cannot engage in any relationship that would pose a threat to us. And so my best girlfriends are the ones who fight as hard for my marriage as I do. They’re the ones that remind me how wonderful my husband is and tell me to “take it easy” when I’m pissed off and come to them to vent. They’ll never be the ones that say, “Forget him, come drinking with us”. And my guy friends must also be good friends with my husband. If at any point one of us says, “I’m not comfortable with you hanging out with that person,” we are both obligated to comply; lest our marriage pay the price. It feels tragic at times, the relationships that have fallen by the wayside … but in order for your partner to be your number one, I think its inevitable to lose others. Being married has made me “picky” in a way that I never was before. I have a treasure that I must protect and only those who have gained both our trust are privy to it.

⇓ Marriage, like parenthood, isn’t for the selfish. It means putting another person before yourself. It means swabbing the deck and sending your partner for a well needed nap. It means preparing the dish that they like, exploring the places that they wish to see, and loving them the way they liked to be loved. And if the marriage is balanced, the other person does the same. My husband once told a friend of his, “I don’t worry about myself, all I worry about is Amanda. And I know that I’ll be fine, because it’s Amanda’s job to worry about me. All I have to do is love her the best that I can. She’ll love me in return.”

Sure, we all need to indulge ourselves here and there … a pedicure, our favorite snack. “Me” time is important and a sense of “self” and accomplishment is certainly a necessary component in life. One can not lose themselves completely in an effort to serve others. Having a profession or a hobby that provides a sense of pride and accomplishment fuels self-satisfaction which in turn fuels the relationship. But I believe that if we’ve picked the right person and we put our efforts into loving them, then we will need to do very little for ourselves; because our partner will see all that we have done for them and they will be eager to love and support us in return. If they don’t, then they aren’t the right partner. You don’t have to be compatible in all things … you have to be selfless.

⇑ And being selfless means sacrifice. It’s a leap of faith. It means doing things that make us uncomfortable because it is good for our partner and trusting that they will do the same. It means attending someone else’s work events, following through with a request even when we’re really freaking tired and giving up that thing that we’ve been saving for because another expense came up that is more important to “us”. It means working really hard for a long time and maybe not seeing results yet, but continuing to work. It means giving up your night-out with the boys because your wife is sick and overwhelmed (not because she told you not to go). And it means telling your husband to go, even when you’d rather have him home, because you know he deserves it and you can handle it.

We’ve all seen that marriage that ended because someone had an excessive buying habit for things that they enjoyed. And we’ve also seen those couples who’s spouse bought them their dream car after 25 years of wishing, because they knew that they’d never buy it for themselves. Which couple understood selfless love and sacrifice? And which couple suffered from selfish indulgence?

⇐ Along with selflessness and sacrifice comes another point that I feel very strongly about. As marriage partners, we should make every effort to say “Yes” to our partners requests – so long as it is not to the detriment of our self, our home or our family. Guys, that means letting her have a night-out with her girlfriends, so long as those girlfriends are not a disrespect to the marriage. Men need to understand the value of female camaraderie. Ladies, that means giving him sex when he asks for it … and enjoying it! Convince yourself that you’re a high paid escort if you must, but play the part. It’s simple. Keep one another happy and the marriage stays happy.

⇑ If you don’t do constant maintenance, your ship is gonna spring a leak. I think a lot of people, make the commitment and think “That’s it!” They’ve found their person and they no longer need to go through the tedious work of courting anymore. They stop suppressing their bad habits, stop wearing make-up, stop opening doors and bringing home flowers. The routine of the everyday creeps in and frozen meals replace the home cooked ones that we used to make to impress. We all get comfortable … and we should, to a degree. We shouldn’t be marrying someone who we can’t be ourselves with. And let’s be honest, we all put on a few pounds post nuptials! But we should never stop trying to impress.

Burps and farts, while an understandable part of life are still gross, even when you’re married. For the benefit of your partner, you don’t need to belt them out. And date nights are a-must, even if it’s a date night at home. Find a way to make it special. Open a bottle of wine, bring home a fancy dessert, cook a favorite meal, put on a clean shirt. Make-up, a sexy dress and some stilettos gets my husband fired up every time. And when he holds me by the small of my back and opens the car door or pours me a glass of wine without me asking … I swoon all over again.

Your viewpoint going into a marriage shouldn’t be “Shewww … now I got ‘em … now I can relax.” Or worse yet, “He/She’s lucky to have me.” It should be “How lucky I am to have this gift, how can I be sure to have it always?” Not a day of my marriage goes by that I think I am immune to its failure. There are women prettier than me, smarter than me, and kinder than me and if I thought for a second that someone wouldn’t scoop my husband up if given the opportunity, I’d be fooling myself. Possessiveness and jealousy aren’t the solution. Everyday I must strive to be the best partner for him so that his eyes never feel the desire to wander. And, if they did, if he strayed and left me anyway… he could never say that it was me, the marriage would end on my clear conscience because I gave him everything that I could.

⇐ Sticks and stones can break my bones and words can ruin a marriage. No one respects a captain who doesn’t respect his first hand. I know a few couples who would argue this point but I’m going to maintain my stance. Your spouse is to be cherished and your words should reflect that. Even if you think it’s being done in good fun, the moment you begin to disrespect one another through your word choice, is the moment your marriage begins to crumble. It may crumble very, very slowly but it inevitably will crumble. And if you manage to stay afloat anyway, congratulations! You just taught your children how to tolerate someone disrespecting them. Words can build-up or tear down. You can’t call names. You can’t tell one another to “Shut up”. You can’t make false accusations. We all have our moments and we are all human, but there must be a conscious effort to exclude these things from our homes. They’re toxic. All great feats are won by compromise and reasonable discussion, not screaming and name calling.

This was a skill that I had to learn, as my upbringing modeled all of these negative behaviors. And it required that I learn how to de-escalate and calm down before I could talk about something. It was Fernando who taught me that. Sometimes, that meant that I had to go to bed angry and once in a blue moon it meant that I had to take a drive. But when I returned, or in the morning, after some sleep and some time to process, we could reasonably talk-things-out without using hurtful words and saying things that we didn’t mean. The “I feel”s and the “I am concerned because” make for much more effective conflict resolution than the “You always” and the “F**k you”s. And it doesn’t take an expensive therapist to learn this skill either. While paid therapy is sometimes necessary and is certainly a viable option; a good couples book, the desire to improve and continual practice are oftentimes all you need to learn healthy communication.

⇑ Unlike toxic words, humor is the salve to most things. Not hurtful humor, not selfish humor or inappropriate and untimely humor … but a simple ability to laugh at ourselves when life flops a big ‘ol cod up on our deck or we find ourselves accidentally standing on the sail ropes. Mistakes happen, life happens and it helps if we don’t take them too seriously. The best couples are the ones who laugh together!

And in my bag of marriage tricks, one trick that I think few people utilize, and it works like a charm, is complimenting your partner in the presence of others. Try it! Their head will swell and they will love you for it!

 

I don’t know what the seas up-ahead have in-store for us. And I don’t know how long life will allow me to have a co-captain. But as long as he’s here, my hands will be next to his on our ship’s wheel. And together, we will fight the angry waves that come. We’ll shift our sails when the winds dictate a change in course. And we will continue to look onward towards our next adventure and our newest discovery. And with some grit and good luck, we’ll do it with grace and confidence and humor. Our course is endless and our love is our compass. The universe gave me a sailing partner and with him, I’m having the expedition of a lifetime!

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Snorkeling the Waters of Life: A tale of life with anxiety

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We were so excited! Our road-tripping adventures that year had landed us in the Florida Keys and we were ready to take full advantage of the stunning waters that surround the tiny chain of islands. We had never explored tropical waters before and were giddy to get out there and have a new experience. Having done my research on the best spots to snorkel, I booked us a boat ride and snorkeling trip from Marathon Key to the beautiful Sombrero Reef. A 30 minute boat-ride would arrive us to the reef and we’d spend an hour or so in the water, snorkeling some of the most breathtaking waters on the planet.

Having only played around with a snorkel and mask a few times before, it was recommended to us that we spend some time practicing off-shore before our paid excursion. So the day before, we headed out to Bahia Honda State Park, gear in-hand. I expected that I’d be a natural. I’m a strong swimmer and with so many beautiful things to see, how could I have any trouble keeping my face in the water and breathing through a tube?

We waded out into the crystal-clear waters until we began to see coral and vegetation and little colorful fish. I secured my mask, placed the snorkel in my mouth, submerged my face in the water and went afloat. The life I saw swimming around me was amazing! Never before had I witnessed such a clear view of sea life just feet from my body. I wanted to stare at it all day.

And then, about 60 seconds later … I began to panic. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I started hyperventilating. My initial awe of the sea life around me crashed and I couldn’t see the fish anymore. I was so consumed with my angst of breathing that the rest of the world blurred out of focus.

I shot-up out of the water. The peaceful sea and near-by snorkelers were still there, just the same. “What is my problem?!” I thought. Again, I tried. Again, I began to panic. “Why is this so hard for me!?” “Slow your breathing down”, I told myself. I made it a few minutes longer and then again, I was pulling my head out of the water and the tube from my mouth because I felt like I was suffocating.

I wasn’t the only one … the other adults in our party too found it harder than expected to regulate their breathing. But I was disappointed nonetheless that what appeared to be so simple was a struggle for me. Nevertheless, I was determined to master this skill before our expedition the next day. We had all day at the beach …. and I was going to figure this out!

I used the skills I’d learned as a nurse to assist my patients through labor as well as the tips I had received from other snorkelers and I continued to try. Still unable to focus on the fish, I put all of my focus into taking slow, deep breaths. I spoke to my inner-self, “You’re ok. Nothing is wrong.” I reminded myself to relax. Becoming more aware of my body, I realized how tense I had become and it took a conscious effort to relax each set of muscles, one at a time. It’s much harder to breathe and float when your muscles are tense. Each time I put my face in the water, I lasted a little longer before I felt the urge to lift up and pull my snorkel out. And each time, I tried again.

Then I started to find a rhythm. I breathed ….. in …… and …… out ….. in ….. a ….. slow …. and …… purposeful …… pattern ….. and my body began to relax. Slowly, I began to see more of the ocean bottom and felt less consumed with my breathing. My focus shifted from what I was doing and how I was feeling to what I was seeing. And by the end of the day, submerging my face in water while breathing through a plastic tube became second nature. And then, I didn’t want to leave. In fact, I was so in love with witnessing the goings-on of the ocean floor that I didn’t even hear my then 11-year-old screaming above the surface that there was a six-foot shark approaching, mere feet behind me! LOL, Oh well, that’s Florida for ya! The shark swam-off like they usually do (humans aren’t that tasty) and I continued with my explorations. The disappointment that had darkened my day shifted away and the initial excitement I felt, returned. It ended up a good day after-all.

The next day, we embarked on our excursion to Sombrero Reef … and we were blown away! The sea life that had impressed me the day before was nothing in comparison to this. Sombrero Reef was bursting with life. The moment we entered the water we were immediately surrounded by schools of colorful fish. There were purple and yellow brain and fan corals, giant parrot fish and angel fish, striped fish and spotted fish, more varieties than I could possibly know the names of. It felt like I was in a live-action version of ‘The Little Mermaid’ … minus the mermaids. Nurse sharks lurked on the seafloor and even a barracuda was minding his business in the shadows. Every second was breathtaking. It felt like I’d somehow jumped into the page of a National Geographic photo and I didn’t want to look away for even a second.

My family and I were changed that day. We are adventure takers and we are always looking for new and varied experiences. To this date … while many moments have come close, none have topped that day.

As we boarded the boat to return to shore, we couldn’t contain our excitement. And for the rest of the night, none of us could stop talking about the wonders we had witnessed first-hand in those Florida Key waters. I was so thankful that we had taken the opportunity to explore them. A 30 minute boat ride from the shore and $30/person proved to be worth every penny … and more. But I was even more thankful that I had gotten the advise and taken the opportunity to practice the day before. That trip would’ve been wasted had I not.

I have an adventurous spirit, I am a skilled swimmer and I have never before considered myself to be an anxious or fearful person. Experiencing what I did that first day of snorkeling was sobering; but it happened. I wasn’t thrashing around or acting a fool, but I was panicking. What I thought would be easy and second-nature, required purposeful intent and repetition in order to master it. But I persevered and I worked through my episode of unexpected anxiety; and when I did, I gained confidence and discovered a new favorite thing to do.

This past month, my family and I had another opportunity for a snorkeling adventure when we swam with the manatees in Crystal River. The setting was completely different as it was barely dawn and the water there, whilst clear, is fresh and cold and full of vegetation (perfect for manatees). It had been two years since we snorkeled the Keys and while we had peered at a few fish here and there on various beaches after that, we hadn’t done any prolonged snorkeling since that trip. This was a 3 hour adventure that started before the sun even rose. Unlike fish, manatee are harder to find, more easily spooked and are protected as an endangered/threatened wildlife species. This trip required that we remain calm and still in the water. We were instructed to float and not swim, to use slow subtle movements and to whisper so as not to disturb or frighten the manatees.

I sunk into the water, floated onto my belly, placed my snorkel and submersed my face in the cold, dark water around me. And as I took my first few breaths, that feeling of panic began to creep in again … but this time, I knew just what to do. Like labor breathing or riding a bicycle, my body remembered how to cope and my mind allowed it. Within a minute or two … I clicked right over to that purposeful, rhythmic breathing that I had mastered in the Keys … and I was at peace, floating with the manatees.

Another life-changer for the books!

 

Life is an open sea full of wonder. There is so much to do and witness and be a part of. Seeking out those adventures, searching for new opportunity and making the effort to follow-through and try something new is sure to yield more rewards than you can ever imagine. ‘In the end we’ll only regret the chances we didn’t take’ and the times we quit too soon. And yet nothing will stop you from taking a chance or encouraging you to quit faster than fear and anxiety. It is the biggest bully and the darkest demon.

The older I get, the worse it is. It’s genetic. Anxiety has paralyzed the people I love from socializing, making new moves and trying new things for decades. Whether it was a fear of failure or a lack of self-confidence or simply being overwhelmed by life itself, they have missed-out on so much because they didn’t try. Surrounded by that in my youth, I looked to others who took chances with admiration and I modeled myself after them. As I grew, I prided myself in being one to take on new challenges and new experiences, even when the anxieties of others discouraged me. And I have grown to be an accomplished and confident woman with few regrets because I broke away from that pattern. I am frequently complimented on my ability to remain calm, be it at work as a nurse or at home as a mother. I am good at remaining collected in stressful circumstances and I work well under pressure.

But the truth is … what no one knows … is that be it genetics or hormones or a learned behavior … sometimes … no matter how calm, cool and collected I am on the outside … on the inside, I am fucking terrified. And instead of pushing forward, sometimes all I want to do is run away. It’s weird how I can resuscitate a neonate who isn’t breathing without hesitation … and yet a phone-call can sometimes be paralyzing.

I know I can’t let fear and anxiety win. I have worked so hard to break away from that pattern and I have been rewarded so many times for doing so, that I know I have to continue to fight. I can’t allow my inexperience or my disadvantage or my genetic make-up to exclude me from anything that I have been given the opportunity to do. I must always try. And once I have tried, I must continue to keep trying. Life is too short not to.

 

Anxiety is the most common mental disorder in the United States … by a landslide. Studies show that anxiety affects 1:5 adults in the U.S. While it was once thought to be a disorder that largely plagued young people and children, recent studies now have mental health professionals altering their views. Many people are reporting an onset of anxiety later in life, though the type of anxiety experienced does tend to vary with age. According to this article posted in NCBI [https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3263387/], “Phobias (particularly social and specific phobias) may predominate in childhood; panic disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) may be at their highest prevalence in adulthood; while worry disorders (ie, Generalized Anxiety Disorder) may be most common in old age.”

So, I guess I’m not alone.

If you haven’t yet experienced an episode of anxiety, odds are, one day you will. And regardless of whether or not you ever experience it yourself, it’s important that everyone understand it so that they can be a help to those who struggle with it. For too long society has shamed or dismissed it and even excused it. None of those actions are acceptable.

If you had been with me that day in the Keys, what would you have said to me? Would you have shamed me by saying – “What the hell is your problem?” or “Yikes … you need help.”? Would you have dismissed it by saying – “You’re fine! Just don’t think about it. Just do it. It’s not that hard.”? Would you have excused it by saying, “It’s ok, you tried … it’s just not for everybody. Don’t feel bad … let’s just get out and go sit on the beach.”? If you had … you might have robbed me of one of my now favorite activities and a life changing experience at the reef.

We have to do better than that!

The same way I was unable to take-in the wonders that laid beneath me amongst some of the most beautiful waters in the world because I felt like I couldn’t breathe – people with anxiety can’t take-in life because they feel like they can’t breathe … or move … or think … or control it. And like me, it usually rears its ugly head at an unexpected time and they hate that it is happening. Shaming them, dismissing them or excusing them are all equally unhelpful. Instead they need someone to coach them. They need someone to teach them how to relax and breathe slowly and deeply. They need someone to tell them that they are “Ok” and that they “can do this”. They need calm, positive energy not aggressive or negative words and actions. They need help. And while medication is definitely a necessary tool for some people, often times cognitive-behavioral therapy (like education, problem solving skills, relaxation techniques, and sleep hygiene) works wonders!

Trying new things is scary … it can be terrifying actually. But with purposeful intent and practice you can master it. And when you do, the treasures that you will discover will more than compensate you.

If you struggle with anxiety, don’t stop trying because you’re scared. Hold someone’s hand and jump in … and when you do, make sure it’s someone who will teach you how to breathe …. and then, open your eyes to the wonders around you. Life is breathtaking when you are focused on the right things and you have the coping skills to enjoy them!

photos aken by Amanda Meneses at Sombrero Reef
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Combating Racism: A response to the Charlottesville attacks

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I've been out-of-town for the past couple weeks and so when the Charlottesville rallies and the responsive actions of the nation occurred, I was for the most part "unplugged" (aside from catching a few headlines and Facebook statuses here and there). I needed this vacation immensely and my efforts to relax and disconnect were absolutely intentional and necessary. So, with late and limited knowledge and the desire to remain relaxed while contemplative and meaningful, it has taken me some time to compile a response.

After scouring multiple news sources, I have learned that the images I saw involved a group of several hundred people, mostly men, who gathered in Charlottesville, VA to protest the removal of a Confederate Statue – which was scheduled to be moved and sold after a city council vote determined this would be the course of action. They named this rally "Unite the Right". Despite the fact that Charlottesville is a very liberal town, multiple white supremacist groups (Neo-Nazis, KKK, etc.) from around the country were attracted to the area by the news of the impending statue removal and have used it as a gathering place. Over the past several months, they have on several occasions, convened there and at least one other time held a torch-lit rally with little-to-no repercussions. When counter-protestors (many from the near-by university) arrived and gathered, the number of torches grew and the number of injured and dead climbed. Amongst the various messages, the white supremacist groups, now collectively being dubbed the "Alt Right" were photographed performing the Hitler salute and waving Nazi flags.

Following the events that occurred in Charlottesville, several cities, including Baltimore, made the decision (through due process) to remove confederate statues from the city. The law does not require a vote from its residents in order to do this and given the attention the Charlottesville vote had and the unfolding that resulted from that attention, I think the Mayor made a wise decision for the safety of its residents, to remove the statues quickly and quietly overnight so as to discourage further rallies and potential violence. Baltimore after all, didn't handle the Freddie Gray rallies very well. And still in the name of history, in the name of fairness, the debate continues and our country remains divided.

And divided as this country may be, the problems here aren't new ones and the solutions I believe are simpler than we realize.

The kind of hatred and racism displayed in Charlottesville isn't new. It's not because of a certain president (though his attempts to rebuke the "Alt-right" groups that support him were pathetic) and it's not because a certain political party holds the majority. The inhumanity of our past has trickled down for centuries in the form of oppression, prejudice, and bigotry. Much the way drops of rain fall out of the sky and then work their way through the layers of earth, this hatred has continued to percolate the minds of one generation onto the next. And before we can begin to stop this flow and prevent further inhumanity, we must first acknowledge it's existence. Fortunately, thanks to cultural exposure and education, oppressive and racist ideologies such as white supremacy are less and less popular and acceptable with each coming generation. And yet, here we are two weeks post Charlottesville and it's obvious that there's still a lot of work to do.

I remember when I first learned about the KKK, civil rights and the Nazi regime. A child in a classroom, I was horrified when I learned what injustices and sheer evil had been done to our citizens of color and the jewish people, not to mention the other minority groups who were persecuted. As we stared at the horrifying images of nooses hung from trees, gas chambers and countless unmarked graves, I peered around the classroom sheepishly at my friends and classmates who came from such heritage. My heart ached for them, their history, their ancestors and I wondered how they were feeling – sitting in our predominately white classroom. I was only a child and still I felt the shame for the way some human beings, predominantly human beings of my color, treated others and I wanted to fix it.

If you had asked me at that time what 2017 would look like, I would've told you we'd be flying in space ships and wearing rocket booster shoes. I would've thought we'd have a colony on Mars by now. Everything in my mind's eye saw progression, a world of unity working together to not just coexist but to thrive. I never would have believed that in this year there would be a mob of angry men carrying lighted torches and claiming their superiority over others based on the color of their skin. Seeing the images of Charlottesville made me feel like I had woken-up in a fucked-up version of 'Back to the Future' and Doc Brown had mistakenly sent us back two hundred years instead of forward. And in my mind I could hear the sassy voice of my friend/coworker, "What year is this?"

Obviously the images there were disturbing and disgusting. Any decent human being with even a fraction of a heart can see just how wrong it was. So to focus on that aspect of the attacks would merely be stating the obvious.

I want to focus on the solution. Once we acknowledge the problem, the semantics of "Who-did-what?" are less of a priority. What group gathered where, who was holding a torch and who was holding a bat really doesn't matter. The problem is that there is racial tension in this country and there are groups of people who believe they are superior and want to eliminate other races. That has to change. And in order to move towards the path of healing and recovery we must make a conscious effort to reach out to the other side. It is only after we bring together the edges of our wound that it can start to heal and mend. Concern, understanding, passion and a desire to repair can guide our hearts the way a surgeon's hands guide his sutures. And pure human love and kindness are the perfect salve. We must work together and we must work hard to protect our future generations from the perpetual ooze of hatred and sickening ideology that is festering in this painful wound and further contaminating our society.

But how? How do we start? Where do we start?

On a quest for answers, my heart searched for words of goodness. And my ideals were confirmed.

Gandhi: "Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent then the one derived from fear of punishment."

"I suppose leadership at one time meant muscles; but today it means getting along with people."

"A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history."

Haile Selassie: "Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted, the indifference of those who should have known better, the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most, that has made it possible for evil to triumph".

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p style=”padding-left: 30px;”>Albert Einstein: "Peace cannot be kept by force, it can only be achieved by understanding."

And then of course, there's the ever infamous and ever inspiring "I have a dream" speech by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. As I reread it, I in some ways was again inspired by his powerful and influential words. Yet, there was another part of me that felt the speech was in some ways antiquated now ….. or at least it should be. The "For whites only" signs are gone and yet the subtle signs seen when a cab driver drives past a black family or when a police officer racially profiles someone….. or when white men march with torches …. proves that we haven't come as far as we should have.

"I have a dream … that little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers……"

Seriously? We're not there yet?  As a country, why aren't we there yet? Why do races who work and live side by side still feel uncomfortable with one another? Sure, in the scope of world history, it hasn't really been that long since white men owned black men in this country. But still … we need to work harder to overcome this.

 

So, here is my response to the Charlottesville and racial issues in this country. My response is in the form of a challenge. And it's for every person regardless of their color. My challenge is for you to step outside of your social circle. Find a person in your neighborhood, work, school who comes from a different place and who wears a different color on their skin. Initiate a conversation. Ask them questions. Build a relationship. And I don't want to hear "I have black friends." Find a new one. And enter that relationship with the purpose of trying to understand them and enjoy them, not just mingle with them and certainly not to judge or change them.

We all carry biases. We've all heard the stereotypes. We all have questions in regards to other people's cultures. And the best way to get answers, the best way to understand, the best way to tackle the stereotypes and understand where their origins lie is to explore them, not ignore them. Have you ever wondered why so many black people do something? Or are afraid of something? Ever wondered why white people have a certain tendency towards something? Stop hiding your curiosities. Stop joking about it amongst your safe circle of like-colored friends. Establish a trusting relationship with members of another race and you can begin to get your questions answered. It's hard to hate, it's hard to fear, what you understand.

Now. Once you have this relationship, once trust has been established and a solid effort has been made to nurture that relationship, take that relationship another step. Invite that friend into your home. Sit them at your table. Cook for them your best dish. Share with them stories of your upbringing and your family. Share a meal with them. Few gestures indicate kindness, generosity and love towards another human being more than inviting someone to break bread with you. There is a humility and vulnerability that comes with welcoming someone into your dwelling and sitting them at your table to share the foods and culture of your upbringing. And my hope is that as this relationship continues to blossom, your dinners will one day include more family members so that they too can learn.

We have statistics to show us the numbers of hate crimes that continue to occur, the crime ratios based on race, the number of interracial marriages, the racial breakdown of our communities and universities … but no where can I find a study that shows the number of people who have in the last year (or even lifetime for that matter), invited someone of a different race to share a meal with them. And my bet is that if we did conduct such a study, we'd be ashamed of the results. The segregation signs are down and yet we continue to separate ourselves – in the night clubs, in our neighborhoods, in our work place break-rooms. And my bet is that as we begin to hear other people's stories and ideas and feelings and we share our own in return, that we will begin to understand one another. That understanding will yield comfort and togetherness and ultimately loyalty. As Albert Einstein so geniusly stated, understanding is what will bring us to peace, not force.

Imagine if everyone in this country picked just one person of another race and made it their goal to understand and enjoy them - Just one more person to learn from, one more person to share with, one more person to love. Imagine how the world would change if we could get our questions answered, if we could reduce our discomfort and our fear and expand our world views and perspectives. We can't wait for someone else to reach out. We can't wait to be invited. We have to take that leap. We have to be the one that reaches across the aisle. We have to be the one that tries. Learning to understand another human being, seeing them as a soul instead of a number or a color …. that's something no political party can fund, no history book can teach and no statue can build. That I believe is what will heal our country and make our children's world a brighter …. or shall I say, more colorful one.

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Do as I say … not as I do ….

chalk board pic for blog

"Do as I say, not as I do"….

Not sure who came up with that one-liner but clearly, it's bullshit. You don't have to be a child psychologist to know that children learn most from what they observe in adult behavior and much less in what they are instructed to do. If you tell your kids not to curse, but everyday you fill their ears with obscenities … odds are they will grow up talking like sailors. If you tell your kids to eat their veggies but you yourself always pass the salad and live off of carbs and protein … I promise, you will have a hard time getting your kids to comply with eating the green stuff. It's simple.

Statistics have shown very clearly that our children tend to copy the behaviors we display. According to many studies … teens whose parents are current smokers are substantially more at risk to become regular smokers at an early age or to experiment early on with cigarettes than kids with nonsmoking parents. Studies on alcohol abuse carry similar results. Study after study confirms the propensity for cycles of abuse. Be it verbal, emotional, physical or sexual … those who are abused tend to abuse others. And anyone who has survived this in their youth needs to seek professional help to learn how to break those cycles. Hating what your parents did to you typically doesn't create the skill that is needed to initiate positive change. You need help to learn how to behave differently.

These findings are no surprise to anyone. But what about the more subtle habits and behaviors we display? How do they affect our children? What messages do our word choices and body language and home environment teach our children? If we roll our eyes and dismiss our children, will they feel important and validated? (Ugh … that one is hard with teenagers … but one I am working hard to fix!) If we mock them or criticise them for their display of emotions – be it crying or feeling angry, will they grow to be emotionally vulnerable adults or will they shut down and become hardened? Can we teach them that feelings are real and emotions are vital and still teach them self-control?

What if we replied to the complaining child "I understand that this is frustrating, nonetheless, this is my decision." – rather than "I said shut your mouth" or, in the other direction, "Fine, go do what you want … I'm tired of your complaining." What do those words and actions teach our children? And in reference to the constant rec sport debate …. No, not everyone needs a trophy, but we can praise them for playing their best and teach them to shake hands with the other team. This "snowflake" generation is a direct response to a hardened generation and the right way, as always, is somewhere in between. We don't need to coddle our children, but we do need to respect them. Not everything needs to be sugar-coated but it doesn't have to be a smack in the face either.

Through either action or inaction, our habits, mannerisms and body language speak volumes. Through our words too, we teach our children when we talk to them, about them and around them. Our word choice, voice inflection and tone send messages much louder than the actual speech we may be giving.

It's no secret now that what we say to our children shapes what they think of themselves. Calling them "dumbasses" or "sluts" doesn't typically yield intelligent and self-respecting individuals. But fewer people discuss how our words and behaviors in regards to other people shape what our children think of themselves. God knows I am far from a perfect mother, but my hope for myself and others is that as we reflect on our own childhood, we learn to be better parents and role models every day.

I can still remember times that my mother criticised other girls behind their backs and how I, despite her best intentions, turned that criticism inwards. She wasn't talking to or about me, but I saw myself in those other girls. When we criticise the way other people act or dress or behave in an unkind way – we teach our children not only to exclude or to judge other people, but we create insecurities in our children. We send them the message that we look down on certain types of people.

And the truth is, we don't get to choose who our children become. We can help shape their character, but who they are is deep within them and we can't change that. You can make them go to medical school but you can't make them enjoy being a physician. You can tell them to get married but you can't make that marriage work. A "my way or the highway" mentality doesn't usually work unless you have super passive kids and super passive kids never grow up to change the world. But nurturing our children and gently guiding them allows them to build strong roots and to grow.

Remember that flamboyant guy you imitated? … Maybe your son is grappling with his own sexuality. Making fun of that man could end-up delaying your son's ability to come out for years. Don't approve of homosexuality? Well … our nations history shows us that ridiculing it, didn't stop it. People simply stayed "in the closet" and families were hurt because of it. Would you rather your son feel hurt and rejected and carry on a secret lifestyle or would you rather show him respect and tolerance and give him a safe place to call home?

Remember that girl who dresses sexy, who you referred to as "the little hooker"? Your daughter will one day want to look and feel sexy. Do you want her identifying herself as a "hooker" when she does? Or is there a way to channel your reasonable concern and focus on safety and self-respect rather than character, to encourage her to make positive choices in the future?

Remember how you rolled your eyes or giggled at that kid who was dressed "weird". Maybe your kid liked the way he looked and your reaction sent the message that he can't reeaally be himself. Are you sending the message that your kids can only be themselves if it meets your liking?

Remember how you talked about someone or teased them for crying/being fat/not doing something right? Your child was watching … and will likely copy your behavior and do the same to others. …. Even worse, they will choose a mate who behaves like you … and their spouse will be making fun of them for crying, for gaining weight, for not doing something right. Think you're immune?… Then you're about to get served a big 'ol dose of humble pie. Parenting is good for that. Teaching your child that they "Can be anything they want to be!" means nothing if your criticism of others and body language says otherwise.

As a mother, I have had my moments. Sometimes it's hard to teach my teenager that the way they or their classmates are acting is less than ideal without using the words "obnoxious", "ridiculous", "annoying", "attention-seeking", "dumb"…. but I've discovered that "bothersome", "unnecessary", "unkind", "unsafe", and "disrespectful" also convey the message I am trying to send without the dismissive and hurtful tone. It's equally hard not to roll my eyes when they are being dramatic but I'm perfectly okay with "You're going to need to take it down a notch."

Being a parent requires us to always be "on" and I am a work in progress. I wear my emotions on my sleeves and my thoughts seems to drool right out the side of my mouth. But I'm trying. I don't want to cause my children the hurt that I experienced as a child. I don't want them to pretend to be something that they aren't in order to meet my approval and I also don't want them to pull away and rebel because my expectations were too aloof and my rules were too rigid. And yet, I want them to be safe and I want to create the best human beings that I can.

My god, it's hard! Parenting is rarely the beautiful thing I once thought it would be. In fact, it's quite ugly most of the time. But my hope is that my results will one day reflect my efforts. Plenty of times I screw up and say the wrong thing and hurt my children without intending to do so. I am human. I swear like my father and I worry like my mother. I can't change everything or break every generational cycle. But my hope is that the more aware I am of myself and my tendencies, the more I will improve. And if I use the mistakes of my parents as inspiration to do better instead of excuses to repeat them or a reason to be angry, than goodness came from a dark place. And unlike parenting, that is always a beautiful thing.

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Teaching our Children: Christian Lessons Carried on by a Self-proclaimed Non-believer

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If you follow my blog, you already know that not every behavior my parents modeled for me was a positive one. I challenge you to find one set of parents that did. Despite the dysfunctions that plagued our family, there were also positive aspects to be had. And I fear, I don't often focus on these positives enough.

A large part of my childhood revolved around our church community. And many of the lessons I was taught stemmed from a fairly fundamental view of Christianity. Dr.Dobson was a favorite in our home. If you follow my posts, you already know that religion is no longer something I subscribe to. I think a lot of unhealthy habits and behaviors can easily grow from fundamentalism including exclusion, judgmentalism, revenge ("an eye for an eye"), and even violence and abuse -("spare the rod and spoil the child").

But I think it's only fair to give credit where credit is due. While I have many gripes about my childhood and even more about religion, there were many things that my parents did well. And they used Christianity as the basis for much of it. In a spirit of taking the good with the bad…

Here are some lessons taught by Christians … and carried on by this Non-believer:

 

We always ate dinner together at the table. Meal time was community time. It encouraged family togetherness and conversation and it created an awareness of each other's lives. It's harder to be self-centered and disconnected when you share a meal with someone and are aware of their days' struggles.

It's a practice that I've carried-on in my family today. One of the reasons I continue to work night shift is that it allows us to continue to eat dinner together. Many days it's the only time we all have together. Not hungry? Too bad … you sit at the table anyway. For that 30 minutes we commune as a family. And I've found that often times, that sulking teenager soon has something to share about their day that we wouldn't have otherwise heard.

Thirteen years of dinners we have had together and now the kids are dumb-founded if someone is missing from the table one night. While their growing independence may create a desire to pull away from this tradition, the sense of normalcy surrounding this routine is one I hope they continue to appreciate.

My parents taught me to be a friend to the less fortunate and to appreciate people for their genuineness, not their popularity. My father, in particular, had an affinity for the unusual and less popular kids and he taught me to not only discover their worth, but to celebrate their treasured uniqueness. Most of my childhood, I was friends with the dorks and still am …. dorks usually grow-up to be way cooler than the cheerleaders anyway 😉 Ok ok who's judging now … point taken.

They taught me charity. I remember my mother holding the hand of a homeless man in church once. When everyone else stepped away because he smelled bad, she stepped in. She always volunteered for the projects for the poor. Through her, we learned that there were many people much poorer than we were and that their misfortune was usually due to a history or unfortunate life events and not through some direct fault of their own.

Consequently, I've raised children who sympathize with the less fortunate. They carry extra snacks with them, to pass out to the homeless, every time we go into the city and donating clothes and bagged lunches are monthly practices for us.

They taught us to appreciate the things we had and to take good care of them. It was a lesson in respect for the work it took to buy the things we had. Nothing came free and every gift, no matter how small was to be cherished. I still have quite a few items from my childhood, in good working condition, that I have been able to share with my children. In a world of disposability, I cherish this lesson and continue to teach the same to my children.

Focus on the Family is a Christian ministry that focuses on helping families thrive. Family Game Night was one of the suggestions my Dad took from this and he practiced it regularly with us kids. Being able to escape from the current stressors and focus on something less serious, to spend time together just having fun was crucial to our survival. Some of my favorite memories came from those family game nights and it brought-out a youthfulness in my father that I rarely saw. My mother didn't usually participate on these nights and instead used it as an opportunity to have some "quiet time". As a mother, I now understand that need and have used my disappointment of her absence as a child as an opportunity to understand and improve.

Game night is a common practice in my household and while it is sometimes a challenge to pull my teens/tweens away from the screens, once the game is underway, it is almost always a great success! I love that Game night gives my kids another opportunity to see me as a fun-loving person and not just a parent all the time.

 

Leaving my childhood, there were a lot of things my parents told me to do/not do … and many of them I chose not to subscribe to …. including religion.  Although, my father and sister have also since left the faith. But regardless of where I now stand and what my current beliefs are, I did manage to carry-on many positive practices that were rooted in the church and practiced by my then-completely religious family. And while I still found myself holding on to some bias and judgment and a restricted view of the world, I'm learning to overcome that.

We all have unhealthy examples set for us and the sources or reasons behind them vary. But by hearing people's stories, seeking out different perspectives and being willing to accept that lessons can be learned from so many different places, I have learned how to shed a lot of that bias and yet still hold on to the goodness that came from a religious household.

The same way I learned from my parents to befriend the unusual, to play with my children and be to silly, to appreciate the community of a family meal, to be charitable to those in need and to appreciate the things I have … my children can learn from me. And my hope is that they learn their lessons not just from me, from any source they can.

The world is full of lessons we can learn and opportunities to improve …. regardless of where they come from. If I can learn from the addict, the prisoner and the fallen, then I can learn from the Christian. I am thankful for many of the lessons my parents and my church taught me. I am thankful that they taught me to fight for and believe in my family. I am thankful that given their limited resources, they sure as hell did try to create an intact and happy family. The church and it's teachings are full of good lessons to learn from, even if you don't buy into the whole package, even if you're a non-believer.