For Everything There is a Season

"In order to write about life, first you must live it." ~ Ernest Hemingway

Category: inspiration (Page 1 of 3)

Leaving the “Me” Out of Facebook.

September 17, 2016 / / 0 Comments

Photo Courtesy of Myers Creative Photography

It’s a BEAUTIFUL day here in New England. We woke up to chilly weather in the 40’s and 50’s (love it!) and the high today is supposed to be 70 degrees, with lots of sunshine. Of course today is the day that my body has hit the wall, especially my already messed up ankle. I can’t complain really; I have definitely been active and enjoying my share of nice weather lately. But the second I got up and tried to put weight on my ankle this morning, I knew I was in trouble and would have to stay off it as much as possible today.

Luckily, we have a recently redone, large deck in our backyard. I improvised one of the Adirondack chairs to accommodate the back problems I have been having and I have to say, it is so peaceful and beautiful out here, I don’t even mind anymore that I am restricted on my activities this weekend.

My husband and I have been on the go a lot lately since we got back from vacation on August 26th. Some of it has been fun stuff we’ve had planned for a while and then of course, there is work for my husband, some volunteer work for me. While my Sjögren’s symptoms have been relatively quiet, I have a couple of somewhat significant medical issues going on that I have been trying to push to the background of my life until my specialist appointments, which start this week. I am more than a bit concerned about two of these issues, but it would appear that I have finally gotten a good handle on my health-related anxiety and while the issues remind me every day they are present, I have been able to carry on with my day-to-day life without that sense of impending doom.

In addition, we received some upsetting news within our family about a week after we returned from Ireland. You know, the kind of news that you never see coming until it is actually here. Possibly life changing news, but it is still unfolding, so we deal with it as each day comes. Because it is not my news to share, I will leave it at that, but I would appreciate it if you keep our family in your thoughts and prayers.

Because of all this, I have been looking for some encouragement online, mostly through social media outlets like Facebook. I follow a LOT of  Facebook groups whose mission it is to inspire optimism and all things good and encouraging, which is very necessary for me because lately, there is so much negativity on Facebook regarding politics, athletes protesting during the national anthem, racism, etc. My brain can only process so much of that stuff and it seems like since we got back from Ireland, my tolerance for the negativity, arguing, and bullshit on social media has dropped significantly. I do think these issues are important, VERY important actually, but I just don’t see much good coming from all these posts, even the ones that I put out there in the world. I guess I am more of a believer in action rather than reaction and to me, action is best done out in the real world, rather than on social media.

However, over the past few days, as I have been looking for some inspiration and encouragement, it dawned on me that I am finding the most inspiration from many of my Facebook friends and some of the updates they have been posting. You guys, I am surrounded by some very strong people-some I have known my whole life, some of whom are newer in my life, and some I only know through the online world. There are all these little, and sometimes big, acts of heroism going on each and every day.

Then I got to thinking, what if I changed the way I use my personal Facebook page for a while? Personal meaning my own private account, and not my blog one. What if instead of taking about myself and MY life, I talk about all these amazing, strong people that exist around me and talk about some of the awesome things they do in THEIR lives…the things that they do and write that inspire me?

So that is what I have decided to do. I have decided that for a while, instead of talking about myself, I am going to focus on other people. The only exception will be the two photo albums I have left of Ireland to post.

Each day, my status update will be about somebody who inspires, motivates, or touches my life in some way. I won’t be able to do this for everybody that positively affects my life because not all of them are on Facebook and just as importantly, some of them are very private with their personal lives and don’t want to be discussed on Facebook. So, I will try to honor and respect that. I plan on only sharing details that people themselves share on Facebook. And sometimes, I probably won’t share any details at all. I also have intentionally decided not to do this on my Thoughts and Ramblings blog page because that page is public, whereas my personal one is more private.

I am curious to see how this little experiment goes and if it changes anything for me personally. If it does, I will report back to you. Because let’s face it,social media can definitely become an “all about me” kind of place for all of us. It’s important to take care of ourselves,work on becoming a better person, and all of that stuff, but what would happen if we all spent some more time on other people? It could just make the world a better, more loving, place.

What Does It Mean To Love Someone?

December 9, 2013 / / 0 Comments

I have had the topic of love on the brain lately. And by love I don’t mean just the romantic kind, but rather, the love that exists between two human beings, no matter what the relationship is. I was married six months ago, I went to a family wedding recently, I have ended several relationships in the past year for one reason or another, and I have this crazy dog that is getting older whom I love more than just about anything else in this world. My capacity to love is great and my ability to receive love is even greater.

We are so reckless with the term “love” sometimes. The words come tumbling out of our mouths, sometimes without a second thought. Maybe I am a bit of a skeptic on this topic, but to me, there is no such thing as love at first sight. I can hear the readers gasp as they read this, as I have made no secret about my overwhelming and whirlwind courtship with my husband. My attraction to him was immediate, but I did not “fall in love with him” at first sight. That was more of a chemical pheromone reaction.  I fell in love with him when he talked to me on our first date about the impact that his sister’s Multiple Sclerosis has had on him. I fell in love with him when he talked about his two children and what it was like to raise them. I fell in love with him when, seeing how exhausted I was one evening, he went to find the leash and took my dog out for me before he left my apartment for the night.

I have had people tell me they love me at times and it has made me scratch my head: a new friend who tells me she loves me as she is verbalizing, in detail, all the ways in which I have failed as a friend. There is a fine line between open communication and honesty, and someone who is holding your hand to the fire while they are saying things supposedly for your own good. I have received e-mails that start with “I love you but….” while they continue to describe the ways that I have been wrong. I have also done the same; believing that by reminding a person that I love them, it will somehow lessen the blow of my honesty. I have had people tell me they love me while looking me directly in the eye and tell me lie after lie. These events are not exclusive to me; they happen to us all and as human beings, we are capable of doing them to other people.

While thinking about what it means to love, it has raised the question for me if we always understand what love is about. We, as a society, are so frivolous with the word, love, itself. We love this person and that person, oftentimes before we even develop a true relationship with them. We say we love someone based on their gregarious personality, or their compassion for other people, or maybe even because we are obligated to, because they are related to us.

But what is love really about? I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I know what it is not:

It does not envy.

It does not boast.

It is not self-seeking.

It is not proud.

It does not dishonor others.

Thank you Corinthians 13…

I know love is much more complicated than that. But we all have to start somewhere. Corinthians 13 also says that “love never fails.” But is this true? We hear it said at so many weddings nowadays, but yet half of all marriages end in divorce. Does that mean that we never really loved in the first place or is it possible for love to fail? Or maybe it is more accurate to say that we, as people, failed?

I heard it said recently that love is a verb and not a noun. I understand the point the speaker was trying to make: that love is an action. But, I disagree that it is not a noun. Yes, love is an action or a verb. We love someone. We show love to someone. We do acts of love. But to me, it is also a noun. Love is this THING that is so much greater than ourselves. It is a spiritual force that drives us to do things that we may not normally do, or even want to do. Love compels us to accept those in our lives, despite their faults. Love compels us to forgive. Love is the presence in our homes, churches, schools and such that make our souls sing…

It is patient.

It is kind.

It always protects,
always trusts,
always perseveres,
and always hopes.

That is love.

City Of Courage

April 28, 2013 / / 2 Comments
“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles. ” ~ Christopher Reeve
 

On April 15, 2013, a terrorist act was committed on the people of Boston, Massachusetts as well as on the United States of America. Two young men, ages nineteen and twenty-six, decided for whatever reason, to bomb the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Three people were killed at the finish line and another person was killed by the suspects several days later. Two hundred and sixty-four people were injured. Lives were lost. Limbs were lost. Families were torn apart.

The day of the bombing, I had just shut off the television to go and do some housework. My fiancé called from work to tell me the news. He told me to turn on the television. I was in the middle of something at the time and was distracted. I thought he didn’t know what he was talking about. How could there be a bomb at the Boston Marathon? Not my Boston. Not our Boston.

Five minutes later I realized that my fiancé knew exactly what he was talking about. The horror was all over the news. Pools of blood on the ground and people running in terror. Fear gripped me as I tried to recall in my mind if any of the runners we knew were running that day. The fear continued as I ran through a list in my head of all the friends and family we knew who lived in Boston and the surrounding area. What if one of them had been killed?

I also had other worries. Two bombs going off in Boston could mean what next? Was the state under attack? Hell, was the country under attack? There were so few details at that point and living under two hours from where this attack was taking place did nothing to calm my fears.

Cell service was down at times in the Boston area. Thank God for Facebook. I was able to find out that all of our loved ones were safe and sound. Prayers thanking God were whispered. For the rest of the day and the days following, I continued to watch the story unfold. A story that is still unfolding today, almost two full weeks later.

Boston is a special place to my fiancé and I. Besides having loved ones in that area, it is my fiancé’s hometown. As a child, I dreamed of living there and any road trip east from my western Massachusetts home to see the Boston Red Sox play or to visit the Boston Science Museum was special. Over the past five years, I have spent more and more time in the city. I used to see a medical specialist there and I frequent a Sjogren’s Syndrome support group on a regular basis. Since Chuck and I have been together, we have spent a lot of time exploring the city. It helps that I have my own personal tour guide who knows how to get to almost anywhere in the city! It has become a special place for us and one that Chuck still calls home.

When the bombing happened, I felt like someone had attacked our home. I didn’t know any of the people killed or injured but yet, it felt personal. I remember the devastation I felt on 9/11 and again during the Newtown, CT tragedy, but this was different for me. This was my home state. Boston may be over an hour and a half away, but those were my people that were hurt and killed. Those were my streets that carry the red stains of blood from this cruel act.

Yesterday Chuck and I went to a scheduled Sjogren’s Syndrome support group meeting at Tufts Medical Center in Boston. The meeting was in the morning and we planned to spend the rest of the sunny day walking around the city, which included paying our respects to those who lost their lives and were injured. We didn’t know for sure if there was a place at or near the finish line site to do this but we wanted to try. Chuck printed up a photo of Boston he had taken years ago and superimposed a quote about strength and adversity over the photograph. Something that may bring a little comfort to anyone who reads it.

There was a makeshift memorial right around the corner from the finish line in Copley Square. It was quite the scene. There were still news trucks lining the street and all of Copley Square had different memorials. There were pairs upon pairs of sneakers hanging by their laces from the fence as a tribute to the runners. Flowers, stuffed animals, and Boston sports caps abound. It was truly a tribute to those fallen and those injured.

As I was walking amongst the displays, it struck me. I was shoulder to shoulder with people. The area was very crowded but yet, it was quiet. I have never been in a crowd of people that was so quiet. Copley Square, Boston and the loudest sound you could hear was just the cars driving by. You could hear the hushed whispers here and there between people. A man telling a woman that it was OK to cry. A father instructing his daughter where to place her beloved stuffed owl that she wanted to leave at the memorial. You could hear the quiet sniffles. You could see the tears falling from underneath the lower rim of people’s sunglasses.

This was a sacred space.

Copley Square, Boston is no longer a place of fear and terror. It is now a place of remembrance, respect, and solidarity.

We then proceeded around the corner to stand on the curb at the worn, painted finish line. I looked across the street to the boarded up store windows that were smashed by the explosion. I looked at the storefront of a shop where injured people made their way into after the explosion. My mind flashed back to the explosion images I had seen on television. As I stood on that curb I couldn’t help but think of how it must have felt to be one of those spectators or one of those runners.

The fear.
The chaos.

Ordinary citizens enjoying what should have been an ordinary day.

Before evil took over.

Before that evil was then obliterated by the tenacity and courage of all the men and women of Boston, Massachusetts.

I said a prayer.

After leaving Copley Square, we decided to head back towards the Boston Public Gardens and Boston Common and include a pit stop for lunch along the way. As we were strolling along the Garden, I was struck by the amount of people out and about. People from the city, and who knows where else, enjoying the warmer weather. Taking swan boat rides. Playing frisbee. Single people, couples, families, and pets just enjoying the gifts that this area of the city provides. Showing their resilience while at the same time making a very strong statement.

They were reclaiming their city. They are not going to live in fear of the evil that descended upon Boston, as well as the United States of America, on April 15, 2013. Life is going to go on and the City of Boston is going to emerge as a stronger people. So thank you Boston. Thank you for showing those of us who do not live within the walls of your city what it truly means to be tough and courageous. Thank you for showing us that in the face of evil, human compassion and love will triumph. Thank you for being “Boston Strong”. Thank you for being heroes.

Photo Courtesy of Chuck Myers: http://myerscreativephotography.zenfolio.com/

The Smell of the Sheets

March 20, 2013 / / 10 Comments

I went to lie down on a stretcher this morning and as I got comfortable on my back and waited for the radiology technician to come back in the room, I was struck by a smell. A familiar smell. One that prompted my brain to flash various images through my head, one right after the other. Images of different procedures, some painful and some not. Images of myself sitting in a hospital bed in various rooms throughout this particular hospital where I was having my test done. Images of  emergency rooms where I have sat.

What was this smell? I finally realized, while laying on the stretcher this morning, that it was the smell of the hospital sheet covering the stretcher. All of a sudden, I realized that the smell of the hospital sheet is as commonplace to me as the smell of fresh baked cookies or bread to someone else. It is very distinct. The smell was representative of all the stretchers I have laid upon in the past several years. There are too many to count. The sheets have laid below or on top of my struggling body as I have tossed and turned in the middle of the night in my hospital room, while I have vomited on an emergency room stretcher, and while a tube has been put down my airway and into my lungs during a procedure. The smell of the sheets symbolizes my life as a patient.

I realized as I was laying there this morning that I had not smelled the sheets in exactly three months, which is when I had my last procedure or test done, excluding laboratory tests. This particular test on this morning was an ultrasound of my kidneys and bladder and was painless, as well as easy for me. Basically a walk in the park. No needles, no gagging, no fear of the unknown, as I have encountered with so many other tests and procedures throughout the past few years. But the smell of the sheets reminds me of those times and the struggles I have had.

Last fall I made a very thought out decision to see a therapist/counselor who has a specialty in seeing people with chronic illness. I was at the point where I felt like I needed some help in learning how to cope with my illness and the multitude of issues surrounding being forty-one years old and disabled. I did not like the fact that my illness seemed to consume most of my conversations with my fiancé, friends, and family. I was finding it harder and harder to discuss anything else besides my symptoms, treatments, fears, and anxiety. I wanted more out of my relationships than that. Easier said than done when you have an illness that you are physically aware of almost every minute of the day. It wasn’t that I did not want to learn more about Sjogren’s, continue my book about it, or socialize with other Sjogren’s sufferers, but rather I wanted to find a way to have Sjogren’s be a part of my life instead of the focus of it.

I was also starting to struggle with significant anxiety in relation to upcoming procedures and I was having nightmares about them as well. Not surprising considering what I have gone through in the past couple of years and even before that with my lymphoma diagnosis, both in regards to procedures and medical experiences in general. I have had incisions made in the tops of my feet and had thin wires threaded up along the lymph vessels of my legs. I have woken up during a bronchoscopy because I was not properly sedated. I have had scary experiences with my heart in the emergency room and honestly thought I was going to die. The list goes on and on.

So I have been working diligently with this therapist. I have not mentioned, previous to this posting, this fact to many people. Actually only my fiancé, parents, and minister have known. I have not kept it to myself because I am embarrassed about seeing a therapist, but I guess I did not want people to know exactly how much I do emotionally struggle with having this illness. I want to be viewed and known as a warrior; a person who can handle all this illness business without much difficulty.

Yeah, I know. That’s crap. It’s the people who know they need help that are the warriors.

I have realized recently how much working with this therapist has helped me. Many times when people have trauma issues of any type, there are certain triggers that can bring back memories and feelings surrounding the traumatic event. For me, sometimes it is the smell of the sheets. The smell that brings back those images and reminds me of the pain, fear, and uncertainty that surrounds each difficult medical event. But this morning was much different when I recognized the smell of the sheets. When the smell prompted me to play back some of the difficult procedures and medical experiences I have had, mostly over the past year, I did not have the anxiety. Rather, I remembered them just as events that took place. Events that are a part of my journey. Were the events unpleasant? Yes. But the memories no longer haunt me while I sleep.

Therapy has also made a difference in my interpersonal relationships. Sjogren’s is still a part of my conversations at times. It needs to be as it is part of who I am. However I have recently found myself able to consistently focus on other aspects of my life in conversations and dealings with others. Because despite my continued physical struggles, I no longer think of myself primarily as a sick person. Instead, I think of myself as a person who has an illness. There is a huge difference. That difference actually made me realize something about one night last week. I had attended a social event with my fiancé and five friends that lasted about four hours. Not once in that time of conversing and socializing did the topic of my health come up. That is a very good thing. Not because I don’t ever want to talk about it or have people ask how I am doing but because it means that I have been able to have a life outside of Sjogren’s.

The smell of the sheets this morning transported me back in time to my struggles, but not to my anxiety and fear. This time the smell was a strong reminder to me of my strength and my ability to endure. It reminded me that yes, I am a patient. But that is not all I am. And so I have chosen to share this experience with you. To remind you that you don’t always have to be brave and you don’t always have to be strong. It is OK to ask for help. It is OK to be human.

Mother By Chance…Mother Through Love

January 21, 2013 / / 4 Comments

“Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother. ” ~ Oprah Winfrey

Before I met my fiance, Chuck, I was married once before and engaged once before that. This gave me one past mother-in-law and one past mother-in-law to be. Neither of which I was close to. I got along fine with both of them, but the mother-in-law to be moved to Tennessee about a month after my ex-fiance and I started dating. I saw her maybe once during the entire course of our three year relationship. She and my ex-fiance were not particularly close so there was not a lot of effort on either side to visit.

My ex-mother-in-law (hopefully you are still following this) and I got to know each other a bit but then she went kind of crazy and just stopped talking to us right after our wedding. She wouldn’t return phone calls, letters, nothing. At first I thought it was me, but after a confrontation with her where I showed up alone on her doorstep demanding some answers as to why she cut her son and I out of her life, I realized it had nothing to do with me. According to her, my ex-husband had secretly severed ties with her and was lying to me about it. It was him that was the issue. I did not believe her at the time and down the road I did found out that my ex-husband was a pathological liar so to this day, I don’t know who was telling the truth; although I suspect that maybe she was all along. You can all see why that marriage ended.

Do you know that when you Google search quotes about mother-in-laws, there is not one positive quote to be found?

When I started dating Chuck, his mom, known to me as both “Nana J” and “Mom”, was living with Chuck’s brother, sister-in-law and their three boys in a town approximately two hours from where we live. I remember being nervous as hell the first time I met her and I remember exactly why: because she was so important to Chuck. But the first visit went well, as did every other visit after that.

We would go visit her every other month or so and typically there would be a house full of people during our visits and Mom didn’t talk too much during these visits when everybody else was around. Rather, she would mostly sit and listen to everyone else conversing. Because of her physical limitations and her desire to stay put at home, she never wanted us to take her out anywhere so all of our visits would take place in the comfort of her home.

Things changed though one Saturday when Chuck and I went to visit. His brother and his family went away for the afternoon and it was just Chuck’s mom and his sister-in-law’s mother, Lu, at the house. Chuck’s mom was not feeling well and resting in bed that day but one of us needed to keep an eye on Lu, who was in the living room. We took turns doing this so it gave me the opportunity to sit and chat for quite a while with Mom alone; without Chuck and without interruption. To me, this was definitely the turning point in our relationship.

What I realized during that visit was that I truly liked Chuck’s mom. Not just because she was his mother, but because of the person she is. Of course I had always liked her but now I was getting to really know her. She is a straight shooter and you never have to guess what she is thinking. She has a heart of gold and a quick wit to match. At a time where I am still trying to find my way amongst Chuck’s family, she takes a genuine interest in getting to know me as a person and not just as her son’s fiancee. She makes me feel like I matter.

About two weeks after that visit, Mom was hospitalized, which was the first of several hospitalizations in the next few months. We started visiting her with increasing frequency and each of those visits brought Mom and I closer. I don’t know if it was because it was usually just the three of us visiting together at the hospital or because of the circumstances with her being ill. Maybe both. But those visits became so precious to me. She would tell me story after story about Chuck and his siblings growing up. I learned more about his deceased father. We talked about a lot of different issues facing the world today. I had the opportunity to tell her bits and pieces about my own family and upbringing. We laughed like crazy. We established a bond. She was no longer Chuck’s mom, but a part of my family as well.

On the long drive home from one of our visits with Mom at the hospital, I burst into tears. And I don’t mean the gentle roll down your cheek kind of tears. These were the chest rising, sobbing kind. Because I knew. Even though a doctor had not said so yet at this point, I knew something was terribly wrong with Mom. The weight loss over the past year, the decline in her physical abilities, the bone pain, the mysterious things showing up on her lung CT scans, her history as a smoker, her lack of appetite, all of it.

But…
We were just getting to the good, part her and I.
And now there was not going to be enough time.

We finally got the official news approximately two weeks before this past Christmas that Mom was terminal. A failing heart and a mass in her lungs She did not want to pursue any further testing or treatment and Chuck and I support her in that decision. Chuck was devastated by the news and my first priority was, and will continue to be, to support him through this process. This is after all, his mother. The one that gave him life and raised him to be the incredible man that he is today. They have had fifty-five years together. I am so grateful to her for making sure that someone like him exists in this world.

I was struck hard by the news of her limited time left with us. Not to say that I was surprised by the news, but I began to feel an enormous sense of loss. At first, I felt like I didn’t have a right to feel like that. This was not about me after all. This was Chuck’s mother who was dying. At least that is what I told myself. But what I began to realize was that yes, I was very sad for Chuck and his loss but because of the time in which we have been able to connect and bond so much, I realized something more.

I love her.
It was going to be my loss as well.
Certainly not on the same level as Chuck’s, but a great loss all the same.

Mom has since moved to a rehab facility and is waiting for nursing home placement. We continue our visits; oftentimes Chuck and I go together and sometimes I go alone. I treasure every single moment that I am in her presence and I don’t take one minute of it for granted. We still continue to bond although because of her physical state, our visits are much shorter. My only regret, or rather wish, is that I had met Chuck sooner so that I would have had the blessing of spending the time with her that others in his family have had the privilege of having.

I will admit, it is difficult to watch someone you love deteriorate from week to week. It is even harder to watch your partner slowly lose his mother. My marriage to Chuck may still be four months away but I do not have the luxury of time. It is not on my side. I do not have the piece of paper that signifies that I am officially her daughter-in-law. But she will now and forever be to me, my second mother. The one given to me by chance and through love.

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