Tag: memories

Empathy Machines

Before I get to what I really want to write about today, this:

“Reading is an empathy-generating machine.” – Dr. Vivek Murthy

Isn’t this the truth? When we are having conversations, we are typically taking turns waiting to talk. Our conversations have a tendency to veer off-topic. But when you are reading, it’s just you and the words which you are reading. And written words tend to be more soulful, more thought-out, more vulnerable, more honest than everyday conversations. Reading really helps you to understand how someone else feels about their experiences. Empathy is being able to answer the question: “How do you think this makes me feel?” for someone else, other than yourself. Reading gives you time to absorb and to understand the words, and to make conclusions about the words, without getting defensive or argumentive or confused. I absolutely love to read and empathy is a wonderful by-product of reading.

And also before I get to what I really want to write about today, this:

Credit: @woofknight, X

“Oh to have impacted someone so much that they find bits of your soul and hold the memory of you in things and places when you’re not around.” Isn’t this a beautiful part of the human experience? Isn’t it wonderful to have people (and pets) in your life who come to mind often, even when they are not around. And isn’t it also great to be the person who someone is reminded of, when they see or experience certain things? These are the types of aspects of living life, that my soul crushes on, hard.

Okay, finally to what I planned to write about today:

Yesterday, our youngest son called me around 11 am. And my heart fell to the floor. I knew that my son was at work, my kids rarely call me (texting is king), and also, he has epilepsy. Thankfully my son was fine, but he was letting me know that he had just gotten an emailed letter stating that his longtime neurologist/epitologist’s practice was no longer taking my son’s health insurance.

This was the final push, which we have long-known was coming, to force us to go about finding my son a new practioner. His neurologist is getting close to retirement age, he practices in a town three hours from where our son lives, and he is technically a Pediatric Neurologist. Our son turns 24 at the end of the year.

Already I have a lump in my throat, writing this. Our son was 14 when he was diagnosed with epilepsy. He started with the small seizures called “absence seizures” or “petit mal” seizures which had probably been going on longer than we think. I often thought that my son was ignoring me or distracted with daydreaming, which I know is not out of the realm of things that teenage boys do. (he has two older brothers) However, the summer that he was diagnosed with epilepsy, our daughter and I picked him up from a summer camp (where he had gotten very little sleep) and my son’s disjointed, disorganized, “filled with stalls and stares and pauses” stories about the camp made it clear that something just wasn’t right. Later that night, I found some videos of children having absence seizures on “YouTube” and my stomach filled with dread. I took our son to our beloved pediatrician the next day only to have him confirm my fears, and to quickly recommend one of the best pediatric neurologists in town.

It took a long while to see Dr. W. He had quite the waiting list of people from in town, and from out town, who wanted to consult with him. We went to see his younger associate first, and while this young man was fresh out of medical school, and was eager and obviously brilliant, he spoke entirely too fast, and too matter-of-factly, to parents who were quickly coming to terms that life as we had all known it, had come to an end, and a big change was in store for our family. We decided to wait for an appointment with the heralded Dr. W, to see what he had to say about our son’s condition.

I quickly understood why Dr. W was so popular with his patients (and all of the medical staff). He was kind, down-to-Earth, patient to answer all of the questions and challenges that I was peppering him with, and he took a genuine interest in our son, outside of his epilepsy. It turns out that Dr. W had grown up in a farm town, and he took an interest in studying neurology because he had an uncle with epilepsy who chose never to get it treated. (This uncle would often ride around on large tractors, to the dismay of his family.)

Over the years, we have had many ups and downs with our son’s epilepsy. Epilepsy is tricky because it is treated with heavy-duty brain medication, with heavy-duty side effects, and these medications work differently, with each individual and they can stop working as one’s body changes. There is not a “one medication fits all” situation with epilepsy. There are always more questions than answers with any condition involving the brain. Currently, what is thankfully keeping ours son’s seizures at bay, are three different medications, taken two times a day. Some people with epilepsy can never keep their seizures at bay. We are lucky. This I know. I have never been more grateful for anything else in my life. It took us a long time, and a lot of scary moments with our son having many major seizures, to finally get to this combination that currently works for him. And all of the while, Dr W. did everything in his power to support us, but more importantly, to support our son, as we went through this long process of finding meds with the least side effects, that still stopped the seizures. Dr. W cared for our son throughout high school, throughout college, and throughout starting his sales career in his young adulthood. Dr. W has been a constant in our son’s sometimes otherwise unpredictable experiences.

My son was an easy patient. His mother was not. I was a totally desperate, semi-hysterical, pain-in-the-ass, many, many times. (I’m pretty sure that my son and Dr. W probably have some private jokes about his neurotic mother who thinks she knows everything due to her intimate relationship with Dr. Google, and do you know what? I effing love Dr. W for this fact. Dr. W always made our son feel nothing less than a totally normal, awesome guy with an unfortunate affliction which we were going to find a way to control. Usually Dr. W spent the appointments more focused on these sincere questions: “What did our son think about that game last night? Whose our son dating now? How’s school going? Who can I reach out to at the DMV, to let them know that it is now safe for you to drive?”)

When you are going through something tough in life, you are never alone. God sends angels. They are usually in human form. Dr. W will always be one of these “angels on Earth” for me, and for my family. Always. He took “bedside manner” to a down home, yet ethereal form.

So yesterday, with my voice cracking, I told my son that he should reach out to Dr. W for a recommendation of whom he should go to now, for treatment of his epilepsy. The time that we long knew was coming, has now come. Thank you Dr. W, for everything. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, from the bottom of the deepest wells of my heart. I am a grateful witness and recipient, to you living a well-purposed life.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

938. What is the most beautiful city in the world?

Days

Is there anything more precious than your happiest memories? Don’t take the bad memories out. Leave them in the dusty corners of your mind. Open the treasure box that exists in your mind (and always will, no matter what) and think of your favorite memories. Imagine the scene. What was the weather like? Who was there? What were the sights, smells, tastes? Most importantly, what were you feeling? Feel those feels now as you run your happy memories through the reels, again and again. What does it take to make new happy memories? Your treasure box in your mind will always expand to hold these lovely memories. Make the memories. Let them happen. As I always tell my kids, Let Life love you. Go with the flow.

“Memory is the diary we all carry with us.” – Oscar Wilde

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

1312. Do you keep a journal? Does it help you?

Forgetfulness

I saw this poem the other day and I had the idea to keep it until Sunday (poetry day on the blog), but I feel like writing about this today. So I will. As I have entered into my fifties, I am more cognizant of everything that I forget. I’m actually pretty good with birthdays and anniversaries and taking out the trash days, mostly because I am obsessive about writing things down. I scare myself with the things that I do forget though. I instantly forget names of movies and books and the characters in them. I stumble with the words that I want to use when I am relaying a story in conversation, I forget the names of towns I have visited, I couldn’t tell you what cars my friends drive, and I often mix-up our kids’ and our dogs’ names when I am talking to them. But honestly, I think that I have always been that way. I really don’t believe that I am headed towards early dementia.

The things that I do recall clearly, are like they happened yesterday. I’ll recall a story someone had relayed to me years ago, and their mouths drop open. “I can’t believe you remembered that,” they’ll say. I remember the oddest things. I remember a lot of random moments, I guess because for some reason that moment struck me as emotional, or unusual, or important in some nuanced way. Most of us writers are curious. We are always looking to understand, to see the deeper meaning in things and experiences. Most of us writers are observers and “sensers” (not censors). We are always looking for the right words to describe the way things feel. We are a little possessed with the question, “Why?”

I wish that I could remember names and numbers and historical facts better than I do. But I’m grateful that I can remember how a moment felt, what was really being said behind what was being said, tiny trinkets and plants and artwork that marked both sets of my grandparents’ homes, and trivial stories told to me by strangers that turned out to have a lot more meaning to them, when I was willing to explore the plot twists.

My memory is fickle, but it is deeply entrenched in what is really important to me- the heartfelt connection we have with each other and with the Life Experience in general. My heart remembers better than my aging computer of a brain ever did, or ever will. And honestly, that’s all that really matters to me.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Here is the question of the day from 3000 Questions About Me:

1394. What sound relaxes you?

Monday – Funday

Credit: @thewitchbrmclst, Twitter

There is a funny thread trending on Twitter this morning. It starts with “#InThe80sNoOneSaid” and here are some chuckle-worthy, relatable answers:

“In the ’80s you never called someone on the phone and then asked “where are you”

“I’m going to sleep in on Saturdays and watch my cartoons on streaming later. You woke up for those Saturday morning cartoons or you didn’t see them!”

“Is this too much hairspray?”

“Put on a helmet.”

“How safe are those jarts/lawn darts for kids really?“

“Damn, left my phone on the roof…“

“I’ll have a Venti Iced Pumpkin Spice Latte, please.”

“what’s the WiFi password?”

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Starry Skies

My sister used to say that everything has an expiration date. We were actually talking about hair stylists at the time. My current hair stylist is wonderful. I have been going to her for several years now, and unless she retires, I don’t see an expiration date in sight for using her services. But I have had several hair stylists throughout the years and at the time of having that conversation, I was feeling guilty about wanting to try a new one.

I was reminded of this conversation because recently my middle son was lamenting about feeling uneasy about a friendship that he is no longer interested in pursuing. He has had this friend since they were children, but they are going on two completely different paths in life, and they have very little in common anymore. The glue that keeps them together is little more than “guilt” these days, and perhaps a little bit of a sad nostalgia for “what was”.

I’ve had meaningful relationship experiences with people I was only with for a day – a nurse who held me and soothed me when I was crying about my miscarriage, an almost all night long, deep, meaningful conversation with other teenagers whom I had met on a summer vacation across the country, and a cancer patient whom I met on a long flight. She and I ended up sharing a pleasant lunch together at an airport. I have never forgotten any of these people. Obviously. I am writing about them now.

How long a relationship lasts does not indicate how profound or meaningful it is to your life. Healthy relationships are built on mutual connection and affection. Unhealthy relationships are based on fear, obligation and guilt. What was once a mutually healthy, growing relationship, can become unstable, and stale, and even toxic. Everyone and everything on this earth is involved in a constant process of change. Sometimes these evolutions bring you closer to others, and sometimes these transformations show that the time has come to go our separate ways.

Sometimes it’s necessary to love people from afar, and from a distance. Sometimes it’s comforting to reflect on all of the connections that you have made in your own lifetime, and to remember these relationships and experiences fondly and gratefully for the growth that they have created in you. It is sort of like gazing at the same stars, in the same sky. We all have stars of connection that we have shared with others throughout our lifetime, and the light from the stars of those same shared connections, continue to shine brightly, in our hearts, in the form of gratefulness and of fond memories. By the end of our lifetimes, we will have created a star-filled sky of connections for ourselves, and at the same time, we know that we are a shiny, brilliant part (no matter how distant) of many others’ star-filled skies of lifetime connections, relationships, and bonds. No relationship is ever truly over if it is always remembered. We just have to look up at the starry skies at night to understand this pure truth.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Reminiscence

I was twenty-five when I had my first child. He went everywhere with his two young parents – weddings galore, hiking adventures when he was just a couple months old in a colorful baby carrier, and a trip to Puerta Vallarta, Mexico where his favorite part was the bumpy ride on the public bus. Yesterday, when we were reminiscing with him about these times, before his three younger siblings were born, it occurred to me how somewhat reckless and fearless (and maybe even clueless) we were, and yet thankfully, it all turned out just great. Our eldest son is as independent and adventurous and “alive” as they come, and we still have a blast adventuring with him. Sometimes I wish that fearlessness and that bravado of my youth would come back to me. I long for that inner assurance to trust life, and to go at it with pure gusto. I desire to easily let go of so much caution, and to allow that caution to be thrown to the wind. Interestingly, I do feel my courage circling back again, now that I am into the first few months of my empty nest. However, it’s not blind anymore. This courage is not a cocky courage. This courage is full of knowledge, experience, and wisdom about the frailty and the preciousness of life, and all things in this life. And thus, it is a clearer courage. My middle-aged courage is clear and conscience about risks, and also clear and conscience about what you miss out on, when you don’t take risks.

I am headed out on an adventure with my curly, ginger haired 26 year-old baby boy today. He towers over me. My son teaches me a lot about the things that are popular with his young generation. Yesterday, he ordered a rare Korean thistle for dinner. (and I tried it and it tastes like chicken – kidding, it tasted like spinach) When we go on our adventures for today, we will both be brave and excited. He will have that fresh, free, unscarred curious courage of youth, and my braveness will come from my wisest most weathered place in my heart, which fully understands the risks of almost everything, and knows that it is important to take some of these risks in order to experience the uncontrollable exuberance of a fully lived life. The circles of life constantly circle back, in slightly different form, but always with the same simple lessons: to live fully, to love unabashedly, and to trust the experiences you have in life, and all that these experiences have to offer you.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Uniquely You

RIP – Angela Lansbury (Darn, we’ve really lost some good ones lately, haven’t we?)

On a positive, hopeful note, Angela Lansbury was days before turning 97-years-old. Loretta Lynn died recently at age 90. Both women worked at what they loved, well into their elder years. This common trend towards longevity means that us middle-agers still have a lot of life to live, and a lot passions to explore. Vida!

The other day, my husband and I were riding through a car wash and I smiled to myself when the long stringy flaps moved up and down and all around our windshield. I was remembering being a little girl in a carwash with my Pop-pop. My grandfather used to call those washing flaps, “the dancing ladies”. Yesterday, the picture on my blog held this quote from Cesare Pavese: “We don’t remember days, we remember moments.” How true is that statement?! Sometimes I remember the oddest of things. I wonder why certain, seemingly inconsequential “moments” stick in my mind. This quote does remind me that when we remember, and when think of people, we think of their “idiosyncrasies”, like my grandfather calling the carwash brushes, “dancing ladies.” When we think of the people whom we love, we think of moments with them, that make them unique to us. All of the little habits, and the ways of people are what makes them special and distinct and interesting to us. Even in a field of daisies, each little daisy has its own way of being, and dancing in the sun. Each little daisy is wonderful in its own way and helps to make the field of daisies what it is – a feast for the eyes.

In other news, I read a good article today that discussed the difference between having “expectations” versus having “requirements”. The article said that when you set expectations you allow for a little “wiggle room”. You are being hopeful, but you often set yourself up for disappointment. Requirements are more ironclad. Requirements mean business. Requirements require clear communication and boundaries and consequences. Are there areas/relationships in your life where you could step up your expectations to requirements, for access to you and to your precious time? Are there promises which you’ve made to yourself that could use the reinforcement of “requirement” status?

Now I’ll leave you to your day, my little daisy. Before you leave, this is a REQUIRED assignment: Take this moment to think of a trait that makes someone whom you love “so them.” Now think of a unique trait (positive only please) that people would think of when they would think of you. Smile and have a wonderful Wednesday.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Fleeting

Good morning! Happy First Day of Fall! I had a little gut punch earlier this week. I walked into the Fresh Market and they had their cinnamon brooms up front. Every year since my daughter was probably in middle school, I would buy her one of those brooms for her room because she loves the smell of them. She would hang it on her ceiling fan and I would whack my head on it, more times than I can count, but I loved that the aromatic broom made her happy. I am not sure that her college roommate would love the strong scent of cinnamon as much as she does, but I’ll have to check in, to see if we should keep the tradition alive.

The Fresh Market also had their pumpkins in full display, right at the store’s entrance. Every year since middle school, my daughter had a tradition with a friend to meet at our home to carve pumpkins before Halloween. They always had elaborate and difficult designs in mind, but at the end of all, the girls usually got giggly and settled for simpler, conventional jack-o-lantern faces, along with good conversation and fancy coffees from Starbucks. This friend of my daughter’s wasn’t in her tightest circle. They never had classes together, and her friend was busy with the swim team, while my daughter was entrenched in the tennis team. Still, they always made time to get together to carve pumpkins, every single year.

Both of these young ladies now go to separate colleges far from each other. The carving tradition will no longer be possible to be kept. My daughter and her friend may see each other in passing, during future holiday outings – those occasional times when kids who went to high school together often reconnect. The friendship has changed, as all relationships do. Still, the memories will remain happy ones, for all of us.

I read an article over the weekend by Pema Chödrön, the proflic writer and Buddhist nun. She says this:

“Realizing the fleeting nature of everything and the freshness of every moment is equivalent to realizing that we’re always in a state of transition, an in-between state . . . Like a shooting star, a visual fault, a candle flame, an illusion, a dewdrop, a water bubble, a dream, lightning, a cloud . . . “

Chödrön teaches the importance of understanding that all phenomena is the same in our lives. Everything that we experience has a beginning, and then immediately starts the continuous process of changing, and at a certain point, will inevitably end. The nature of life is its “fleeting quality.” In other words, “change is the only constant.”

I don’t think that it’s in our human nature to gracefully accept life’s fleeting quality. The things which we love, we don’t want to be fleeting. And the things which we hate, we struggle against, and we resist, and then we try to force the fleeting to go faster. We have so much trouble letting go of control, and just being and experiencing. It’s the dual nature of our analytical minds. It’s the underbelly of being able to think and reason.

Right now, I am enjoying a peaceful morning, my dogs at my feet, as I write this post on my beloved blog. It is a still, calm, sun-filled morning here. I smile to myself, remembering the waft of cinnamon sticks, every past autumn day when I would wander into my daughter’s room. I smile at the memory of the crooked smiles of jolly jack-o-lanterns made by two young ladies who enjoyed each other’s company enough to make a point of inventing this tradition of “crafting” together every Halloween. This morning is well on its way of passing. It’s been a good morning. This morning is in the process of phasing into hopefully, an enjoyable, peaceful afternoon, and then at sunset, the day will draw to its inevitable close. This morning, this afternoon, this whole day will transform into a memory, as all things do. And that is the way of the fleeting nature of life and all things in it. But beautifully, the memories stay alive.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Hospitality and Honeymoons

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

We lived nine years in Charlotte, NC before moving to Florida. Where we ended up landing this weekend, was a quintessential southern-flavored town, right on the white sanded, Florida beach. It felt as if Charlotte had landed up on the beach. It was lovely to experience again the southern charms of excellent biscuits, babies with monograms and big bows, and drinks filled with mint leaves. No one could ever deny the unsurpassed-ness of southern hospitality.

My husband and I did a lot of biking and swimming and playful flirting. This is the first trip that we have taken in a while, where we could just focus on the two of us. We noticed a sweet young couple cuddled together, taking a luxurious nap on one lounge by the pool. Almost 28 years ago we were that sweet young couple, swaying on a hammock, all snuggled together, on a beach on our honeymoon, dreaming about what was to come ahead in this life that we would share. Wow. It would take volumes of books, full of depth and nuances, to explain the intricacies and the lessons and the adventures and the joys (and also the challenges) of raising a family of four children, to that young couple huddled in a hammock. I think if I saw honeymoon me now, I would just say, “Darling, it’s going to be amazing. Sometimes incredibly challenging, but always amazing. Treasure it. Experience every moment, knowing that you have just made the best decision of your life.”

The Last First

Today, I took our annual “first day of school” picture by the front door. We have been doing this for 20 years now (My eldest son, the eldest of four children, is 25). It is my daughter and our youngest child’s first day of her senior year of high school. This will be the last “first day of school” picture that I will ever take of our children. I’m feeling a little sniffly. I am trying not to sob. This is going to be an emotional year.

I’m the eldest “child” in my family. I was even the eldest grandchild on both sides, by five years. Frankly, I didn’t always love the pressure of the spotlight. I didn’t love always having to be the lead dog, and having to figure things out for myself (often the hard way). But, I did feel special and important and mature. I guess in some ways, I even felt a tad entitled. In my mind, for the burden of being the eldest, I “deserved” the biggest bedroom or to stay out later. I think that I always felt that I should have a “bigger say” in my little sister’s life, than she should have in mine. I now realize that’s silly. We deserve(d) equal respect.

I feel for my daughter. I am trying not to dump all of my emotional baggage into her backpack as she heads off to her last year of her childhood. She doesn’t need to be weighed down. I realize now that the youngest children in families, have to share all of their own milestones, with the entire family. The eldest children mark the beginning of it all, and the youngest children are the “official closing ceremony” of the raising of any particular family. That’s a heavy burden for the beloved babies of any family. Too much attention can be a big burden, especially when it is laden with emotion and melancholy and an endless reel of memories. This year, I’ll do my best to keep in my own lane, as I process this “ending/new beginning” stage of my own life, and this new stage of our family life. Hopefully, my baby will not notice (or at least pretend not to notice) when I hug her to me, harder than ever before.

27 Funny Tweets About Being A Youngest Child | HuffPost Life

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.