I have come to believe that the “Empty Nest” syndrome is highly overrated. I hear stories of parents, mothers in particular, who feel lost, abandoned, aimless, when their kids leave home. I had my first child thirty six years ago, and until last week had one or more children and/or grandchildren living in the same house. I have fantasized about the time when they would all be gone on to find their way in the big world, on a different piece of real estate, never believing that it would really happen. Well, now it has.
In the 1970’s, The Walton’s was my favorite TV program. I loved it so much I actually named several of my children after characters on the show. Seeing the multiple generations living together on the farm gave me a warm fuzzy feeling after every episode. The big kitchen, full of three generations of women working to prepare the family meals seemed so appealing. When they all gathered at the table to discuss their problems, or sat around the radio listening to world events, I just knew I wanted my family to live like they did.
I lost track of the times that the shed next to the farm house was redone to accommodate one of the Walton children and their growing need for independence. It served as a private writing place for John Boy, a newspaper office (again for John Boy), a home for Ben and Cindy when they got married, and numerous other incarnations as the seasons progressed. When we bought our farm, I imagined the same kind of life for us. Our children were having children, and this was a place that could grow and change with the family. Sadly, life does not imitate art in the way that I would like it to. I imagined that we would be like the Walton’s, and in reality we are more like the Simpsons.
In my real family, the kids fight, run away from home, take drugs, won’t clean up after themselves, and generally conspire to drive me crazy. Thus my change of attitude toward the “Empty Nest” syndrome.
During the last season of the Walton’s, the mother is conspicuously absent. She is away “contributing to the war effort” and finally “in a sanitarium in Arizona because of her TB”. Then in the last few episodes, the father disappears, supposedly to join mom in Arizona. I found this to be highly disappointing. At the time I felt that Mama and Daddy Walton would never leave their children behind to fend for themselves. Now I think I understand completely.
Exploring the depths of my being, hoping to shed light on the dark side of my soul.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Monday, May 3, 2010
Endings
In 2005, I accompanied my uncle to a doctor's appointment. He was going to be hearing the results of some tests that were performed in the weeks before. I suspected the news was not going to be good, and it was not. Stage 4 prostate cancer, already in his bones and lymph nodes. My uncle never married, he had no children. I was his "person". We walked out of the doctor's office, I hugged him and promised him that he was not going to go through it alone. However, I felt totally unprepared for the task of acting as patient advocate, caregiver, support person for someone with a terminal diagnosis. I only knew that it was my duty; to him, my deceased mother and grandmother, my family.
Some people would fall into depression at a diagnosis of terminal cancer. My uncle bought a three wheeled bicycle, tricked it out with flags, horn and various other accessories and proceeded to ride around town like an eight year old without a care in the world. He continued to be involved in all of the things he most loved, rarely missing a meeting, event or scheduled volunteer opportunity. He never complained, ever. He made sure that his affairs were in order, and went about the business of living.
In the ensuing months we both learned more than either one of us ever wanted to know about the workings and failings of the human body. Hormone therapy, radiation treatments, blood transfusions, creatinine and hemoglobin levels all became topics of our conversations. We came to know the nurses and office staff at the cancer center very well. We memorized the drink menu at the coffee shop in the lobby. I bought my knitting to pass the time while he received intravenous medications and blood transfusions. We watched the news and commented on the state of the world as he fought for his life.
I did not feel equipped to care for him, to make this difficult detour on his journey with him. But he led the way. He demonstrated a quiet dignity and grace throughout the next four and a half years that inspired me in so many ways. Mostly I just needed to show up, to sit with him, to let him talk about whatever he needed to talk about. It was only at the very end that I needed to step up, to act on his behalf and do the most difficult things. As I held his hand in those last few hours I wished for more time, to say the things I hadn't said, to ask the questions that only he knew the answers to. I would like to say that I am satisfied with the way that his last days and hours played out, but I am not. I will probably always feel that I could have done more, that my best just wasn't good enough. I can, however, accept that I did the best I could, and that is all he expected of me. I must be content to know that he was not alone, that his life was wonderful and sitting by his side as he left us was a gift he gave to me, not the other way around.
Some people would fall into depression at a diagnosis of terminal cancer. My uncle bought a three wheeled bicycle, tricked it out with flags, horn and various other accessories and proceeded to ride around town like an eight year old without a care in the world. He continued to be involved in all of the things he most loved, rarely missing a meeting, event or scheduled volunteer opportunity. He never complained, ever. He made sure that his affairs were in order, and went about the business of living.
In the ensuing months we both learned more than either one of us ever wanted to know about the workings and failings of the human body. Hormone therapy, radiation treatments, blood transfusions, creatinine and hemoglobin levels all became topics of our conversations. We came to know the nurses and office staff at the cancer center very well. We memorized the drink menu at the coffee shop in the lobby. I bought my knitting to pass the time while he received intravenous medications and blood transfusions. We watched the news and commented on the state of the world as he fought for his life.
I did not feel equipped to care for him, to make this difficult detour on his journey with him. But he led the way. He demonstrated a quiet dignity and grace throughout the next four and a half years that inspired me in so many ways. Mostly I just needed to show up, to sit with him, to let him talk about whatever he needed to talk about. It was only at the very end that I needed to step up, to act on his behalf and do the most difficult things. As I held his hand in those last few hours I wished for more time, to say the things I hadn't said, to ask the questions that only he knew the answers to. I would like to say that I am satisfied with the way that his last days and hours played out, but I am not. I will probably always feel that I could have done more, that my best just wasn't good enough. I can, however, accept that I did the best I could, and that is all he expected of me. I must be content to know that he was not alone, that his life was wonderful and sitting by his side as he left us was a gift he gave to me, not the other way around.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Solstice Thoughts
I have always dreamed of writing one of those beautiful Holiday letters. You know, the ones that tell all of the marvelous things that have happened throughout the year? Well, this is the year. The problem is, if I went into detail about all of the events in our lives, you would probably run screaming for the medicine cabinet for either a nausea remedy or something to combat depression.
So, rather than go into all of the details of our barn burning down, our daughters tragic automobile accident, month in the hospital, the ensuing thousands of miles driven to doctors appointments, the tragic loss of a friend’s son in Afghanistan, the death of two other dear friends to cancer, etc, etc, etc., I will tell you what I have learned in the past year.
I have learned that possessions are the least important things in my life. Losing everything in my barn was an inconvenience, not a tragedy. I have learned that insurance companies are not our friends, they are not on our side no matter how much you pay them.
I have learned that your life can change in a second. One minute you can be watering your flower beds, and the next minute racing to the scene of an accident. All of your plans can go right out the window, sidelined by the needs of someone else. I have learned that the love of friends and family can sustain you through the darkest moments. I have learned that having someone provide a home cooked meal for you means more than anything, and that a friend coming over and cleaning your bathroom can lift your spirits like nothing else can. I have learned on a whole new level that I am not in control of much of anything in my life. I have learned once again that love is not a feeling, it is an action, it’s what you do when things are really, really hard.
I have learned gratitude for the simplest joys in my life. I have learned to embrace the struggles of my own and those that I love. I have learned that loss is a tool for growth. Through our grieving we discover who we really are, what we are truly made of.
The Winter Solstice is a time for embracing the dark and rejoicing in a return to the light. In celebration of the cycles we all endure, I cherish the dark and frightening lessons which lead me to a more enlightened understanding of myself and my place in the world.
So, rather than go into all of the details of our barn burning down, our daughters tragic automobile accident, month in the hospital, the ensuing thousands of miles driven to doctors appointments, the tragic loss of a friend’s son in Afghanistan, the death of two other dear friends to cancer, etc, etc, etc., I will tell you what I have learned in the past year.
I have learned that possessions are the least important things in my life. Losing everything in my barn was an inconvenience, not a tragedy. I have learned that insurance companies are not our friends, they are not on our side no matter how much you pay them.
I have learned that your life can change in a second. One minute you can be watering your flower beds, and the next minute racing to the scene of an accident. All of your plans can go right out the window, sidelined by the needs of someone else. I have learned that the love of friends and family can sustain you through the darkest moments. I have learned that having someone provide a home cooked meal for you means more than anything, and that a friend coming over and cleaning your bathroom can lift your spirits like nothing else can. I have learned on a whole new level that I am not in control of much of anything in my life. I have learned once again that love is not a feeling, it is an action, it’s what you do when things are really, really hard.
I have learned gratitude for the simplest joys in my life. I have learned to embrace the struggles of my own and those that I love. I have learned that loss is a tool for growth. Through our grieving we discover who we really are, what we are truly made of.
The Winter Solstice is a time for embracing the dark and rejoicing in a return to the light. In celebration of the cycles we all endure, I cherish the dark and frightening lessons which lead me to a more enlightened understanding of myself and my place in the world.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Love
Much has been written over the eons about love. Mostly romantic love with all of its ecstasy, pitfalls and drama. There is the love we feel for our children, our animals, our new car. People are liable to say that they "love" a new t.v. show or celebrity. So, really, what is love? It's easy to say that you love someone. It's pretty easy to feel love for someone. The really difficult task is in truly loving them. Love is not a noun, it is a verb, an action. Without the action, all the pretty words mean nothing. When your three month old baby is crying incessantly at 3:00 in the morning, do you get out of bed for the umpteenth time and try to soothe them because you feel this great love for them, or because you just want them to shut up so you can get back to sleep? Love is the thing you do when you do not feel loving, when a person is the hardest to love, how do you act toward them?
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Family
My family is very close, loving and full of co-dependent and/or addicted folks. The majority of us are smart, smart-assed, funny, creative and extremely interesting. I love them all fiercely and sometimes they drive me crazy. I recently heard a sermon regarding the souls that we have chosen to spend our lives with, and the lessons we learn from each other, and how we are mirrors for one another. I have to ask myself, "Am I learning from these people, or am I fighting against the tide of my spiritual journey?"
I have heard it said "there is the family you want, the family you got, and the family you choose". I guess that many of us have this fantasy family where everyone acts like Ward, June, Wally and the Beav. I don't really know anyone who has a family like that, but surely they must exist somewhere. Or were they the product of some 1960ish t.v. writers longing for a family where dad and mom did not get all liquored up and make a scene in the front yard on Friday night? Have we all been duped into believing that families can be like the Anderson's on Father Knows Best, or The Brady Bunch, or The Waltons? I loved the Waltons so much that I actually named some of my children after the characters on the show. I wanted us to be like the Waltons, but I think we more resemble the Simpsons on a good day.
I don't know if I could really describe the family I want, it is such an elusive ever changing thing, but I can tell you about the family I've got. My parents loved me, but were often consumed with their own issues and were not always available to me in the ways that I wish they could have been. My brother and I fought like wild savages when we were young, and he died before we could really be grown ups together. I was blessed with many grandparents who spent time with me and gave me a sense of security, although their marriages were not an example of blissful cohabitation. My aunt and uncles have shown me strength and humility and courage in the face of their many challenges. I married a man who gave me four wonderful children, but we eventually went our separate ways due to irreconcilable differences. Those children have been the source of my greatest joy, my deepest pain and my most valuable lessons. My current husband is my best friend, my anchor in a sometimes crazy world, and he cannot seem to put my power tools back where they belong. I have stepsons and daughters in law who I love and admire, and grandsons who are the light of my life. I have the dearest friends who have helped me to grow into a better person, and loved me when I could not love myself. And you know what? In the end, this is the family I choose.
I have heard it said "there is the family you want, the family you got, and the family you choose". I guess that many of us have this fantasy family where everyone acts like Ward, June, Wally and the Beav. I don't really know anyone who has a family like that, but surely they must exist somewhere. Or were they the product of some 1960ish t.v. writers longing for a family where dad and mom did not get all liquored up and make a scene in the front yard on Friday night? Have we all been duped into believing that families can be like the Anderson's on Father Knows Best, or The Brady Bunch, or The Waltons? I loved the Waltons so much that I actually named some of my children after the characters on the show. I wanted us to be like the Waltons, but I think we more resemble the Simpsons on a good day.
I don't know if I could really describe the family I want, it is such an elusive ever changing thing, but I can tell you about the family I've got. My parents loved me, but were often consumed with their own issues and were not always available to me in the ways that I wish they could have been. My brother and I fought like wild savages when we were young, and he died before we could really be grown ups together. I was blessed with many grandparents who spent time with me and gave me a sense of security, although their marriages were not an example of blissful cohabitation. My aunt and uncles have shown me strength and humility and courage in the face of their many challenges. I married a man who gave me four wonderful children, but we eventually went our separate ways due to irreconcilable differences. Those children have been the source of my greatest joy, my deepest pain and my most valuable lessons. My current husband is my best friend, my anchor in a sometimes crazy world, and he cannot seem to put my power tools back where they belong. I have stepsons and daughters in law who I love and admire, and grandsons who are the light of my life. I have the dearest friends who have helped me to grow into a better person, and loved me when I could not love myself. And you know what? In the end, this is the family I choose.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Honesty
Addiction breeds dysfunction breeds dishonesty breeds unhealthy relationships. It goes on and on. The question of the year for me is "where will it end?" I have spent most of my life living in dishonesty, mostly about my motives and about who I really am. This is not usually intentional dishonesty, mind you. My inability to recognize the truth goes so deep that I am very easily able to believe that I am living a forthright life when in fact I am full of shit.
True honesty requires more of us than merely telling the truth. If we are to live an honest life, we must continually look for the motives that drive us to behave in ways that do not express our true selves. This is not an easy task. The pressures of our families and our culture can lead us to think and act in ways that express the expectations placed upon us, rather than letting our true selves shine through. I am striving to live an authentic life, one which feels right to me on a cellular and spiritual level. The quality of my relationships is directly affected by my ability to interact honestly with others. I do not mean the kind of brutal honesty that can be hurtful, but a frank expression of myself. If I am to reach the end of my life and feel that I had an existence that was meaningful, it is imperative that I continue to search for the truth, my truth. Not your truth or their truth, but my truth. But will I know if it is the truth, or more bullshit?
True honesty requires more of us than merely telling the truth. If we are to live an honest life, we must continually look for the motives that drive us to behave in ways that do not express our true selves. This is not an easy task. The pressures of our families and our culture can lead us to think and act in ways that express the expectations placed upon us, rather than letting our true selves shine through. I am striving to live an authentic life, one which feels right to me on a cellular and spiritual level. The quality of my relationships is directly affected by my ability to interact honestly with others. I do not mean the kind of brutal honesty that can be hurtful, but a frank expression of myself. If I am to reach the end of my life and feel that I had an existence that was meaningful, it is imperative that I continue to search for the truth, my truth. Not your truth or their truth, but my truth. But will I know if it is the truth, or more bullshit?
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