sueeeus

I am happy to bid adieu to 2012.  I would say that 2012 took me for a ride, but it would be more honest to say that I let 2012 take me for a ride.  I could call it the ride of a lifetime.  Woohoo!  Put a bright spin on it.  A ride indeed.  I think I may have experienced some of the highest highs and the lowest lows of my life in good ‘ole 2012.

It’s all good, really.  My life is full.  My children are happy and healthy.   We have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our bellies, and warm beds to sleep in.

There is beauty and wisdom in all things, no matter the circumstance.  It just takes a certain perspective to be able to see it.

I won’t say that losing one’s children to the slaughter of a mad man has any beauty in it, but the shock and the horror force (some of) us to take note of our family circles, be more vigilant, hold our children more, and be more grateful for every little moment, and embrace it all.  Even when we’re at our wits end and drowning in frustration.  All these things are trifles.  I want to drink it all in.  Treasure. Every.  Moment.

The time that the children are children is fleeting.  I blinked my eyes and see so many of my nieces and nephews and my friends’ children are already grown.  Grown!  Where did the years go?

My hair is turning (more) gray.  My skin is starting to show its wear.

Professionally, I did well in 2012.  I had some lofty goals and I had actually admitted defeat to myself as well as my boss that it was unlikely that I’d be able to finish the super project before the end of the work year.   I pressed on, and somehow (by the grace of God and the skin of my teeth) I did it!  I felt like a superstar, and it was a great sense of accomplishment.  I don’t think it really mattered much to anyone but me, that I finished by the deadline, but it did matter to me, and I was/am pleased with myself  –pauses to pat self on back.  I suppose I ought to acknowledge that being a superstar for a moment barely compensates for all the days that my performance was distracted and disjointed from the emotional fray that I was buried in for the better part of the year.

Spiritually I’ve had some growth in 2012.  Not the sort of growth that a mainstream Christian might acknowledge or agree with, but I’ve learned some things and for that I’m grateful.  I thought that I wanted to settle into a church family, but realize that I’m truly not drawn that way.  I love the people, I love the worship.  But I belong to a church that is not made with hands, and that church is my home, wherever I am.  I don’t hunger for the company of a congregation, and I’m secure in the knowledge that I am a child of God.

This year has been a rough ride for me emotionally.  I’ve endured much.  I’ve made my loved ones endure much.  I tried so very hard to do more than I am able to do.  Like that image of a circus performer spinning plate after plate after plate.  I had so many plates spinning, but I just couldn’t keep it up, and they all came crashing down.  Lord, how I tried.  I gave it a good shot, though!

Physically, the twists and turns and ups and downs have taken their toll.  Whereas I’ve maintained my weight for most of the year, the past few months have seen a dramatic change in overall physical well-being.  From the moment that I made the decision to re-find myself, I’ve put on weight and my blood sugar has climbed.  Something’s got to give, I suppose.  I’m trying not to panic.  I’m attempting to take it in stride and breathe deeply, knowing that things will settle once I get a stronger grip on the emotional side of my life.

So where am I now?  I don’t really know.  In transition, I suppose.  I’m not settled.  I’m not where I want to be.  But I’m changing and standing faithfully where I need to stand.  I tell myself not to be afraid.  I tell myself that everything will be okay.  And it is.

adieu 2012

All around me, the people I love are struggling.  I see my niece and nephew, teenagers without a dad.  I had a dad, but he wasn’t there for me, and when I was a teenager, I especially needed the love, support, affirmation, and validation of a dad.  My niece and nephew don’t have a dad, because their dad was my brother, and my brother is gone.  Who do they have in their season of need?  Who do they have to help them navigate these teenage years?

I get so caught up in my own world that I don’t even notice this struggle they have, yet, if I take a moment to be there for them, to be with them, I see their need.  My heart weeps for the gaping void that is the absence of my brother, their father, their dad.  They need a dad.

And what of my own children?  Their dad is not present, and is lost in his own reality that I simply cannot comprehend.  My love is there to be a dad for them.  My beautiful man.  We are a heavy load, and stepping into a broken family, trying to pull the pieces together amidst the insanity that is our situation is overwhelming.  Navigating the emotions and perceptions and differences in opinion is so very difficult.  Sometimes it seems like it’s too hard and too painful to try to continue, but if we can step back and take a deep breath for a moment, we might see the rainbow and the sunshine and realize that we are strong enough to prevail, and that love will find a way.

All around me, the people I love are struggling.  I see families in which the parents are exhausted and consumed by the demands of very young children coupled with the demands of making a living and staying afloat, simply trying to make ends meet.  Thresholds are short, emotions flare.  The love is there, somewhere, but it’s nigh on impossible to carve out together time in which to nourish and replenish and edify one another.  Who do they have besides each other in their season of need?  Where can they draw strength to navigate these toddler years?

I get so caught up in my own world that I overlook this struggle they have, yet, if I take a moment to step out of my own chaos, I see their need.  My heart weeps for the growing void in their marriage.  They need rest.

We gather together, each of us holding our own expectations for this family time, each of us hoping we will be nourished and that this time will help draw us out of the dark places where we find ourselves stuck.  And if we don’t get out of our own heads to see the struggles all around us, we are quickly overwhelmed and nearly crushed with despair.  But if we do find a way to look beyond our own suffering, to see that we aren’t alone, we can put our own troubles into perspective, and suddenly they don’t loom so large.

When we do this, and talk with each other, we reminisce about the good times when we’d gather.  We were younger, the collective stress seemed smaller, or at least different.  We laughed and sang and played and ate and painted and played and sang and laughed and ate.  We had so much fun.  Life for all of us is different now, but we try to step away for at least a moment, and stay up late to play board games, allowing the kids to mill around us, trying to recapture at least a glimpse of the way things used to be.

Facebook is great for rediscoveries.  I recently stumbled upon one of my very first boyfriends.  We were so young — back then when going together meant sitting next to each other in the lunch room, or secretly holding hands on the band bus, en route to an event.

teenage awkwardness

Teenage antics.  There was a dance called the ‘morp’ – the opposite of ‘prom’ – in which roles were reversed and the girls asked the boys .  I wasn’t planning on going, and at the last minute, my girlfriends said they were going, so I decided to jump on the bandwagon and find a companion so I could go too.  I ambushed this poor boy with my invitation, after school on the day of the dance.  I was a sophomore, he was a senior.  I think he was stunned, but he agreed, and barely had time to rush home, take a shower, and return.  I don’t think we’d spoken a word to each other prior to the ambush, and we may have barely exchanged a word throughout the entire dance.  In fact, I might have actually ignored him completely, and hung out with my girlfriends.

And that is where we began.

puppy love

We never actually went out, other than the morp and the prom.  We were kids, poor, living out in the country in different directions from town, with very little freedom to wander.  But we were an item for that school year, and we’d sit next to each other in front of our lockers, and hang out whenever we could.  It was so sweet and innocent.  We were so sweet and innocent.

I’ve always had fond memories of that year; that chapter of my life.  I was coolly pragmatic, though, and when graduation time arrived, I let him go, broke his heart, and didn’t look back.

Through the years I’d wonder about him, off and on.  In my early twenties I heard through the grapevine that he had kidney troubles and might not have long to live.  I remember it was hard to hear that sort of thing, and I felt guilty for dropping him like a bucket of hot rocks and leaving him to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart and somehow patch them back together again.  I couldn’t process the thought of death at that time, so I did the cowardly thing and put my head in the sand, and went on with my life.

Thirty years passed.  The world wide web arrived, opening the floodgates for rediscovery.

Wonder of wonders, he survived the kidney failure(s) and is alive!  And not only that, he lives relatively nearby.  I apologized for my youthful cruelty, he graciously let bygones be bygones, and we arranged to meet, to catch up on the last three decades.

There is something warm and comforting about reconnecting with childhood friends.  We shared those formative years, and perhaps the bond feels tighter because we grew up in such a small town where everybody knew everybody.  It was a sweet reunion.  As adults, we live out of the hub in opposite directions, just like when we were kids, only the hub is much larger and the distance is much further.  We met in the city and walked arm in arm along the downtown streets and talked for hours.  We stopped for coffees, got drenched in the rain, stepped around puddles, and strolled and talked and talked and strolled.  We shared our stories of our families and friends, and reminisced about the innocence of youth.  Every now and then we’d giggle over catching glimpses of our childhood selves in expressions that crossed our aged faces.  We walked and talked the night away.

It was just what the doctor ordered.  I’m inspired to reconnect with more of my childhood friends, and awaken more fond memories.

• morning
• waking up in a cozy, comfortable bed
• a brand new day
• a hot cup of tea (builder’s tea)
• being part of a big, wondrous family
• watching my children sleep
• snuggling with my kids
• romping with my kids
• a day off
• gazing  through my window and seeing trees and sky

adorned

Today I honored myself.

I bought some pretty things to adorn myself.  Pretty things to celebrate me.  Pretty things to make me feel more pretty.  This year I’ve lost 38 lbs, without dieting and without trying.  I think the hot mama in me is re-emerging.  She’s been buried for a very long time.  She’s coming back, because I’m coming back.  I’m finding myself again, rising from the rubble of the past fifteen or twenty years.

Today I had a migraine.  Today I took vicodin.  Today I had a massage.  Today I shopped.  Today I walked.  Today I had ice cream.  Today I walked through a mall with no anxiety.  Today I had the worst Thai food ever.  Today I told my kids I love them.  Today I dreamed.  Today I smiled.  Today I laughed.  Today blue eyes looked into brown eyes.  Today I talked to people I love.  Today I remembered people I lost.  Today I shared precious memories.  Today I learned new things.  Today I embraced.  Today I kissed.  Today I listened.  Today I talked.  Today I heard music.  Today I danced.  Today I stretched.  Today I did yoga.  Today I sang my heart out.  Today I cried my eyes out.

Today I realized that everything is going to be okay.  Today I am ready to let go.  Today I let go.  Today I am at peace.  Today I am ready to rest.

Today was a very good day.

Man with a capital M

I’m not sure what he thinks of me, at this point.  (Other than that I’m whacked, which I fully admit.)  I hope that in time he will find the warm places in his heart that we shared, and that he will be able to smile and be grateful for having had those experiences and feelings.

I’m grateful.  I’ve recently been contemplating much about the path I’ve walked thus far, and realized that he gave me something that I’d not really experienced before.  Thrill.  He is manly among men.  M.A.N.  He’s confident and carries himself with a swagger.  His arms are gloriously defined and he’s strong as can be.  M.A.N.  When he smiles, he lights up the room.  And he smells good.  He wears a variety of colognes that are completely tasteful and he has the sense to wear them with subtlety, which makes him that much more enticing.  In fact, his personal hygiene is impeccable.  He’s always clean and fresh, and while we were together, I could nibble on him for hours if he’d let me.  I can’t recall any other time in my life where I’ve wanted to do that.  The smooth feel of a freshly shaved face, and the rough feel a few hours later, both equally delicious.  And what woman wouldn’t thrill at the embrace of a strong, manly man?  Somehow, it makes a woman feel more like a woman.

Lying side by side, he would lift me, effortlessly (I could finish the sentence, but I don’t think that part is necessary).  That act, which consumed only one or two seconds in the fabric of time, is imprinted in my mind, hopefully forever.  And with each recollection, I can relive the thrill and feel the butterflies in my stomach and the goosebumps on my arms.

In one sense, it’s kind of tragic to have lived forty five years and experienced so very little intimate thrill, but in another sense, I count myself blessed to have gotten to experience it at all.

I tell him that I love him, but I can’t really explain how and why we don’t fit.  I will always have a warm place of love in my heart for Skills, the beautiful man who woke me up and made me feel alive again.  And somewhere, in his heart of hearts, beneath the oh, so very tough and manly exterior that protects him, the place where we met and stayed for a while, I think he will preserve a little love for me.

these hands

These hands are strong and capable.  They are not afraid to work.   They are eager to help.  These hands are soft and gentle.  They touch the ones I love.

these arms

These arms hold my children.  These arms embrace the ones I love.

these legs

These legs are sturdy and strong.  They reach the ground and take me where I need to go.

these feet

These feet have walked in foreign lands and felt the touch of foreign sands.

this belly

This belly carried my babies and kept them safe until they were ready to face the world.  The marks are a badge of honor, earned while I swelled to accommodate the beautiful babies that grew within me.

these breasts

These breasts brought forth the life-giving sustenance that nourished my babies for two full years.

these eyes

These eyes are the windows to my soul. Wide open, they hide nothing. These eyes have cried an ocean of tears. They’ve sparkled with joy and flashed with ire.

this smile

This smile can light up a room.

this skin

This skin is soft and silky.  Feminine.  It speaks, and what it has to say is “I am woman.”

these lines

These lines have stories to tell.  Each wrinkle unique to me, and only me.

these scars

These scars bear testimony of joy and pain.  Each one carries its own memory and evokes the seasons and the senses.  This one, a burn, came on a hot summer night, in the company of family and loved ones, while the secret sorrow of another lost baby distracted my mind.  I treasure each scar, which represents some chapter in my life.  Each one is a part of the story of who I am and how I came to be the me who is here now.

this mind

This mind is at times sharp and quick. At times misunderstood. At times blocked. At times stubborn. At times witty.  At times at war with itself.  Always hungry for resolution, reason, understanding, wisdom, peace, and harmony.

this face

This face is a fortunate happenstance of genetics.  It wears the years well.  This face says, “This is me, here and now.  I am strong.  I am kind.  I am good.  I mean no harm.  I am trying to do my best and to be my best.  I am alive.  I am real.  I am blessed.  I am not broken.  But I am sometimes sad.”

this heart

This heart is learning to honor the vessel that holds it.  This heart is full of love.

In the stars His handiwork I see

On the winds He speaks with majesty

When I was young, I clung to those words, and many like them.  They gave me great comfort, and grounded me.  They came from spiritual songs and they planted a seed within me that eventually took root.  In a way, I think they formed me.

~*~*~*~

I’ve been thinking a lot about my life path.  I know I’ve written about it before, when counting my blessings and contemplating gratitude.  When I put my mind in that place, I realize that every moment of trial and tribulation was a moment well spent, because each of those moments contributed to my life path that put me here, now (or there, then).  I have so much!  I have my children.  It was by no means an easy journey, and I suppose accomplished more by brute force than by faith, but accomplished just the same.  It was the dream of all dreams.  Granted, it didn’t come in the packaging I’d envisioned, but I can see now that even that near decade of a life less lived still placed me here, now.  And here, now, at this moment in time, I am effervescing with the thrill of seeing a future with endless, magical possibilities.  Here, now, at this moment in time, I am bursting with the delight of this very moment.  This.  Very.  Moment.  It takes my breath away.

~*~*~*~

I recall contrasting my marriage to the relationships of others I know, and marveling at the friendships they shared.  I recall thinking, how is it that something so simple and divine as friendship can be seemingly so readily had by all these others, but not by me?  Am I so imperious that there is no place for a meeting of the minds?  Why is it out of my grasp?  It ripped at my heart, and completely confounded me.  Ultimately, it jaded me.  I was resigned to doing what I could to make my marriage work, so I was resigned to accepting the fact that that level of intimacy was not written in the stars for me.  I was defeated.

Until.

My life path changed.

The epiphany and ensuing flurry of events that brought me here, now.

~*~*~*~

I believe in miracles.

~*~*~*~

The universe conspired so that my life and that of another collided.  We are thrilling in the joy of discovery.

~*~*~*~

We are speaking.

We are listening.

We are hearing.

We are laughing.

We are crying.

We are learning.

We are understanding.

We are smiling.

We are healing.

We are treading ever so softly, Skills and I, to gently tend this garden we are growing.

We are thanking God, and bowing down in humility, reverence, and gratitude.

It’s really great to have friends out there who are so kind and supportive.  You know who you are, and I thank you.

~*~*~*~

It’s interesting how one’s hopes and dreams change through the years.  Some things remain constant, some simmer in the background, some are dropped completely.  There were certain hopes and dreams that I had dropped, because they couldn’t or wouldn’t be shared or realized.  I rearranged my thoughts to embrace a future without that set of hopes and dreams.

We never truly know what tomorrow will bring.  The twists and turns that life gives us.  And here I am, making a new start, realizing that if I wanted to, I could rekindle the hopes and dreams that had no place in yesterday’s version of my future.  There’s a whole new canvas before me.  The possibilities are endless.

It’s thrilling, really.  Thrilling!

It’s not just the end of a year, but the end of a decade.

A decade!

Many momentous happenings.

• The birth of a nephew, and with it, an epiphany that changed my life;  saved my life, even
• The death of a brother
• The birth, life, and death of a marriage; my marriage
• The realization of motherhood; the birth of my two sons
• First teeth, first words, first steps
• Travels in far off places — Italy!  France!  Australia!
• New friends in faraway places; friends in the blogosphere
• Professional growth
• A new car
• A home of my own
• The end of my parents’ marriage
• New love and marriage for my mother
• The beginning and end of a marriage for my brother
• A new nephew; the realized dream of motherhood for my sister
• Two other brothers married
• A new niece on the way; the realized dream of fatherhood for my brother

Much love, sorrow, and joy, these past ten years, but overall, much, much joy.

Adieu, 2009.

Adieu.