WORDS TO LIVE BY

It’s Christmas time AGAIN! Didn’t we just do this eleven months ago? Actually, I guess it’s been Christmas time for the past 3 months judging by the holiday displays in the stores. I think I saw my first Christmas commercial in October and the carols on the radio weren’t far behind. UGH!

For the past few years, I’ve been gifting experiences rather than things. I took my mom on a ‘girls’ weekend.’ I kept my great-niece for a few days while her parents had a babymoon. Two years ago, I gave my grandsons a trip to Seattle to experience kayaking and whale watching. And then there was Covid…The Germ That Stole Christmas! This year, I’m planning trips to the Immersive Van Gogh exhibit, theatre performances, sports events, and pool passes. Rather than asking, “What do you want?,” I suggest asking, “What do you like to do?” BAM – there’s your gift.

What I know for sure is experiences = memories and that’s the gift that keeps on giving.

That said, if you can’t resist gift giving, especially for older relatives, here’s a list I found in my Grief and the Holidays file. (Doesn’t everyone have a file entitled Grief and the Holidays?) Maybe something on the list will bring holiday joy to you and yours:

• A plant
• A gift for their pet
• A home-cooked meal delivered and shared
• A hand-made coupon book for household repairs, lawn mowing, leaf raking, etc.
• Pictures of your family (Digital photo frames are wonderful)
• A jigsaw puzzle
• A birdfeeder and the promise to keep it filled
• A book (especially if its about someone from their generation)
• A donation to a charity in their honor
• A subscription to Storyworth.com (We got this for our mom, and she loved it)
• Your undivided time and attention once a month = time well spent and may just be the BEST gift ever!

What a year!

My word for 2021 was curious, and 11 long months later, I’m curious how the heck we survived another trip around the sun. The year started with optimism and Covid vaccines. We were going to be rid of those pesky masks and social distancing in no time…or so they said. Eleven months later, at least in Colorado, we have the highest number of Covid hospitalizations since the pandemic started, the kids are still wearing masks to school (at least they are going to school), and more and more businesses are requesting that patrons mask up and be kind to protect their dwindling staff.

My beloved part-time job working with terminally ill patients and their families came to an end when my employer informed me that I needed to work full-time for less money. I’m still curious why they were surprised when I did not accept that oh-so-attractive offer. Instead, I’m seeing clients in my private grief counseling practice along with teaching and leading guided meditation walks at the Botanic Garden. It’s hard to keep a good woman down!

l will admit my curiosity got the best of me this year. I had been hearing about Critical Race Theory and White privilege and I wanted to understand the concepts more fully. I thought the best way to educate myself was to teach a course entitled Power, Privilege & Oppression. OMG! What I learned is that ‘you don’t know what you don’t know’ is no joke, AND, I’m never teaching that class again.

Don’t get me wrong…there were highlights. A vacation to amazing places with a forever friend was wonder-full. There were visits from friends and family, including one from the newest family member, a six-month old beautiful little red-headed girl named Scarlett, who reminded me why parenting is best left to those under whatever age doesn’t need 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

I would say I’m curious what the new year will bring but ain’t nobody got time for that. I’m still working on my word for 2022. Given that 2022 will include a milestone birthday…I may decide to go with three words…beats the alternative.

This has been the year for warranty work.

In January, I noticed something in my left eye that I couldn’t rub out or wash away; things looked a little fuzzy. I made an appointment to see an ophthalmologist and, much to my chagrin, I was informed I had a cataract. He kindly offered to examine my right eye, but I assured him that eye was just fine. He persisted, I resisted…until finally the office was closing, so I gave in. You guessed it, a cataract in that eye too! The procedures were simple, but the process was months long. We were on a first-name basis by the time I got the “all clear.”

In the Spring, I took a test in the AARP magazine entitled, “Do You Need Hearing Aids?” Aced it!
Before I purchased said appendages, I had to let my hair grow longer so no one would see them. (Yes, I am that vain.) I started out with the over-the-ear models but found a mask, glasses, and hearing aids felt like I had cargo trunks hanging from my ears. I upgraded to the in-ear models, which I like much better, but now I have to eat dog food until I get finished paying for them.

I’m currently researching the new-and-improved bunion removal procedure. Once that’s finished, I should be good for another 50,000 miles.

Timeouts don’t get the credit they deserve. Timeouts provide the giver and receiver a chance to rest and reset. Although often considered a reprimand by the receiver, I have first-hand knowledge that the giver can feel pretty bad about them too.

Many years ago, my son kept whining that his arm hurt after a soccer game with the neighborhood kids. I gave him the choice to go back outside to play or take a timeout. Much to my surprise, he elected the later. A little while later he summoned me to his room to show me his aching arm – which was clearly broken!
I did not win Mother of the Year in 1985.

I once sent both kiddos to their rooms for a timeout after the babysitter complained about their behavior. As they were headed down the hall I mumbled, “I should just put you up for adoption.” Sometime later, my tearful son appeared in the hallway and said, “Mom, can I ask a favor? Please don’t put us up for adoption, they never choose the older kids.” Didn’t get Mother of the Year that year either.

I don’t remember giving my daughter timeouts. As a teenager, the door slamming, piercing glares, and raging allegations of unfair punishment resulted in giving myself a timeout to escape her wrath. (Not a parenting style I recommend…but it did work…we’re both still alive). To her credit, she outgrew that phase and is now navigating corporate America with grace and finesse.

My kids are grown now and my grandchildren are perfect so they never get a timeout at Mimi’s house. Every once in a while, I still put myself in timeout to regroup and recover from the stresses of the world. I’m a firm believer in ‘just because a phone rings doesn’t mean you have to answer it’ (unless it’s one of the gbabes). The same goes for texts, emails, and doorbells. In fact, over the past few months I’ve gotten pretty good at putting myself in timeout for an hour each day. Some might call it taking a nap but what do they know?!

Did you know there are two definitions for the word committed?

The first defines committed as a dedication or devotion to someone or something. Committed is a strong and unwavering intention to do whatever it takes to succeed. We all know people who are committed. We’ve watched in awe as they overcame insurmountable odds and achieved feats beyond our wildest imagination. We also know people who remained undaunted as they tried, failed, and accepted disappointment, yet remained steadfast and committed to their goals – people who live by the creed, “Quitting is not an option.” People who took 17 years to get their undergrad. People who wanted a healthier lifestyle and lost 200#. People who decided to live their truth. People who quit their job, sold their home, and traveled the world. People who walked away from high-paying jobs to start a non-profit. People who have a learning disability, so in grad school, they listened to recordings of the textbooks rather than reading them. Can you imagine?

Then there’s that other definition of committed.

Some would contend it’s a fine line between the two. Who’s to say?

I worked in end-of-life care for 20 years. Quite often people commented, “I don’t know how you do that. Isn’t that incredibly sad?” To which I usually replied, “That’s how I feel about accounting.”

My honest reply was always, “It’s a calling, not a career.” Granted, it’s not an easy job and it’s not for everyone. Empathy and compassion are mandatory. Patience and understanding are required. Meeting people where they are and supporting them as they embark on the unknown requires courage and tenacity. Although social work is a special calling, who doesn’t do that in their chosen profession? Nurses do. Teachers do. Parents do. Police, firemen, EMT’s do. I know my coaches at the gym do. Anyone who works with the public does, in spades.

Through the years, I’ve learned some helpful techniques. Sometimes people appreciate my pearls of wisdom, sometimes not so much. There have been times when I was effective and times when I totally missed the mark. My successes are fondly remembered; my failures are hard to forget. It’s helpful to know I’m not alone.

Hands up: 
Who has spoken before their brain was fully engaged?  
Who wishes they could take back the words that caused pain or sorrow?  
Who would give anything for a second chance to get it right?

We all have a calling. We all have days when we are spot on and days we fail miserably. I think the most important thing to remember is that everyone is doing the best they can. As I was reminded not long ago…we are all just walking each other home.  

In social work school we were required to practice silence. Crazy, right? We were instructed to sit across from a pretend patient/client and not speak for 60 seconds. Do you know how long it takes for a minute of silence? It’s like two hours!

Silence is powerful. It gives the speaker and the listener time to compose their thoughts. It provides space for emotions to surface. It can bring forth additional information because most people are so darn uncomfortable with silence, they just keep talking to avoid it. Don’t tell your kids, but it works really well when engaging with them. It usually goes something like this:

Parent: How was your day?
Teenager: Good.
Silence
Teenager: We had a test in Spanish.
Silence
Teenager: I think I aced it.
Teenager: What’s for dinner?

As this school year begins, try silence; it’s amazing what you might hear.

What a year this week has been! Try as I might to be Zen and peace-filled, the past seven days have been really, really hard. As my family was lovingly gathered to sit vigil as our sister made her way to heaven, I was exactly 816.9 miles away awaiting THE call.

A little background…My sister, Cindy, the oldest of 7 children, was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy as an infant. The doctors told my parents not to expect her to live past 5; she died at the age of 70. The fact that she defied all odds is a testament to our mother’s tenacity and dedication. With every obstacle and challenge, our mom advocated for Cindy and others who shared similar disabilities.

Cindy was a hoot. She called our mom “Betty” and she smiled from ear-to-ear whenever Betty walked in the room. Cindy’s mental capacity was limited. She knew her name but couldn’t spell it or write it. She knew color words but couldn’t tell you if the flower was yellow or red (To her credit, she would keep guessing until she got it right). She loved quarters, M&Ms with peanuts, and The Best of the Guess Who (she had good taste in music). She coveted the Sears Christmas catalog and read the paper every day (sometimes it was upside down; she must have been a REALLY good reader 😊). She could cuss like a sailor, and when that proved to be problematic for Betty, Cindy made up her own curse words. If she was mad, she might call you a “spoon and fork.” If she was really p*ssed, you got called a “dishrag.” Imagine our friends’ confusion when Cindy got in trouble for saying ‘dishrag.’

For many years, we’ve watched as Cindy’s quality of life diminished. She could no longer walk, and her ability to talk was reduced to a few words. She still smiled every time she saw Betty, but it was obvious she was declining. Although none of us could imagine life without Cindy, we wished and prayed for the day she would be free from the limitations and indignities she had endured her whole life.

Betty has always said, “Nothing can happen to me as long as Cindy is still here.” Being the family skeptic, I wasn’t quite sure that’s how that works, but by golly, Betty’s faithful prayers were answered, and Cindy is now surrounded by family who’ve gone before her. Cindy was such a gift to our family. She was the best among us, and she will be dearly missed.

Cancer – possibly the most dreaded word in the English language.

The word cancer is loathed and feared – a word that strikes terror in the hearts of those diagnosed, and in those who walk the journey alongside their loved one. For the past 20 years, I have worked with people who were diagnosed with cancer. Notice I did not say “cancer patients.” The person always comes first, the illness second.

I’ve had the privilege of meeting amazing people who demonstrated courage, tenacity, and grace in the face of terror and pain. It has been an interesting study in human nature to observe the many ways people cope with their cancer diagnosis:

• I have known patients who equated their cancer experience to a fender bender…Had it, fixed it, moved on.
• I’ve known women bejeweled in pink, and women who were militantly opposed to pink ribbons.
• I know a woman who brought in a pair of granny panties with words of encouragement written all over them by family and friends because, “It’s time to put on my big girl panties and kick cancer’s ass.”
• I know a woman who deemed herself the Colorectal Queen.
• I’ve known men who were just as devastated as women when their hair fell out.
• One of my all-time favorites is a quote by a friend who had a terminal diagnosis, “Well, I guess I don’t have to be so anal about flossing anymore.”
  
  I’ve held space for patients who railed at the gods, those who begged for a miracle, and some who considered their diagnosis an opportunity to make amends. I know a young man who wants his cancer experience to bring others closer to God. Some use humor to cope; some deem cancer a vicious enemy to be defeated – there is no right or wrong way.
  
  Over the years, I’ve been changed by the pearls of wisdom patients have bestowed. Almost every time I speak with a patient, I hear the same two sentiments:

Make the most of every day.
When you care about people, tell them you love them.
Words to live by.

Platitudes. We hear them often. The well-meaning comments intended to soothe or assuage:

My boyfriend ghosted me – Plenty of other fish in the sea
My father died – Heaven just gained another angel
We had a miscarriage – You can always try again
I have cancer – God never sends us more than we can bear.

I propose a synonym for platitudes … I’m sorry.

My boyfriend ghosted me – I’m sorry
My father died – I’m sorry
We had a miscarriage – I’m sorry
I have cancer – I’m sorry.

Truth be told, there are no magic words to make these, or a host of other painful, heart- breaking situations better. As simple as ‘I’m sorry’ may seem, I think It is a perfect anecdote to false hope or well-intentioned refrains. AND, once you get used to saying, ‘I’m sorry,’ it’s so much simpler than trying to find the perfect words…because there are none.