I’m sorry, readers, but my son’s epileptic seizures keep on happening, despite the fact that he is now taking five different anti-seizure medications at once. I have no words today. My family and I are worn thin right now. I lose a piece of myself every time that I witness my son lose a piece of himself. Epilepsy sucks. So, I’m just gonna sit here and be a little blue. Thank you for coming by, and sitting with me a little bit.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
When I’m feeling particularly lowly, I dig a big old deep introverted rabbit hole and I go down to the bottom of it and I hang out there. It makes me feel safe. Luckily, I like my own company – even the frowny version. Mercifully, the people whom I love the most, get that about me. They don’t force me to crawl back up, before it’s time. Occasionally, I hear some shouts from the top of my rabbit hole, and a long rope, with a bucket attached to it, is lowered down, and the people who love me most attach little notes and texts, telling me that I can stay down here, as long as I need to, but in the meantime, here are some cards and gifts and reminders that when I decide to crawl back up towards the light of the sunshine, there will be people waiting for me, who care about me, up at the top. If that’s not hope and love, I don’t know what is. Thank you. I love you. I’m just recharging down here. It’s all going to be okay. I’ll be back up soon!
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Our middle son is a first year medical student and on our Family Facetime last night, he told us that he was shadowing the orthopedic doctors in the emergency room on Friday night. He described a man who had lost the tip of his finger and then he told us about another poor man whose hand was completely disconnected from the rest of his wrist and was describing how he had to help hold the arm of the man (who was in agonizing pain), as the orthopedists worked to get the man’s hand back into proper position before it would be too late for the hand to have any hope of any sort of recovery. My son was so enthusiastically describing all of these maladies and remedies, that it got to the point that my younger son said, “Okay, Hannibal Lecter, pipe down.”
Our middle son swore that the only reason why he was smiling, while telling us about his latest medical experiences, was because the mortified and horrified expressions on the rest of our faces, were absolutely hilarious to watch. Every time that he describes one of his medical school experiences, such as holding a cadaver’s heart in the palm of his hand, I softly and weakly say, “So, honey, are you sure that this is still your calling?” And our son is always so enthusiastic in his response, “Yes, Mom, YES!”
Medical professionals, I am in awe of you. I am so grateful for you, and for what you do, and for what you are able to handle. I have trouble digesting our son’s stories, much less witnessing them, or having to be a vital part of these stories. There is no doubt in my mind, that like so many professions, medicine is a special calling. I think that if we would all listen to our deepest selves, and follow our own callings, we would see a world like no other. At the very least, it would be a happier, more passionate world. Thank you to all of you who are living what you are called to do, and made to do. It makes all of the difference in our shared world and experience. We all have our part to play. We are all a thread of The Tapestry. We are all a single cell of The Body.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
“I think in the future we are going to have 15 minutes of anonymity.” – Erica Rhodes
We got a new Firestick for one of our TVs and interestingly, all of these old pictures of our family, and of our past pets, etc. are showing up on the TV, as a screensaver. No one asked the stick to do that for us. Alexa took it upon herself, I suppose. This reminded me of a time (way back when you had to get your pictures developed, just to even view them), that the photography technician took it upon himself to blow up and frame a picture of my two little middle sons, in their matching green dragon Halloween costumes. I was equally delighted and creeped out by that gesture, all at the same time. (And yes, of course, I couldn’t resist buying the whole kit and kaboodle in the frame, and it still sits on our picture shelf today.)
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Leave it to a truly great poet, to describe it best. Sundays are devoted to poetry on the blog. Poetry is pure discovery. You start writing a prose piece, and you usually have an outline in mind. When you write prose, you are usually working hard at “making sense”, and being clear and wrapping everything up, in a neat little finish. However, you start writing a poem, and you end up surprising yourself. You discover a delicious, mysterious part of yourself that you didn’t notice before. Your feelings start showing up, in the form of word play. Discover a little piece of yourself today. Write a poem.
Here is my poem for today:
Why is it that I never think about my heart,
Until I pay too much attention to what is stored inside of it?
Everything that is precious to me,
lives boldly and passionately,
bulging with movement and rhythm,
Inside of my heart, creating the beat and the motion of my life.
And in good times, that beating is strong, and vital and fearless.
And in confusing times, that beating feels unguarded, uneven and exposed.
In those times, I remind myself
Of an extraordinary heart that knows how to beat itself,
One vital heartbeat at a time. And I let the drumsticks fall to the floor.
And I stop thinking about my heart.
I trust my heart to keep beating on towards better moments just around the bend.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
“Wanting to be liked can get in the way of the truth.” – Delia Ephron
I really liked this quote when I read it. In today’s “cancel culture”, I think that it applies more than ever. I think what I worry the most about all of this cancelling, is that it will stop fruitful conversation. It will stop people from earnestly trying to get to the core of pure truth, with honest and open conversation. The people whom I trust the most in the world, aren’t always my favorite people. The people whom I trust most in this world, don’t hide their truths. They say things exactly as they see it. They live their truths. They don’t apologize for being themselves. There is nothing sneaky, or manipulative or covert about these types of people. You can trust this “what you see is what you get” quality about them. It’s a solid way to be. It’s a brave way to be.
Now my truly favorite people in the world are the people who I described above, who also have a big heaping spoonful of open-mindedness to go along with their honest suredness. Though they feel comfortable and solid with their own point of views on things, they are curious about others’ views. They start “touchy” conversations, not with an intention of stirring the pot, nor to stuff their own opinions down other people’s throats, but with a real desire to learn and to understand where the other person is coming from. They are open enough to test their own “truths”, by exploring other people’s ideas and perspectives. Seeking truth is a lifetime activity for these people. They aren’t afraid to be “wrong” about something. These people are strong, but pliable. The strongest, most hardy plants in the world have many cells called collenchyma. Collenchyma cells are what allows plants to be flexible and strong, all at the same time, in order to withstand winds and storms. I wonder if my most favorite people in the word, have their own secret store of collenchyma cells, helping them to be strong, rooted, open and pliable, all at the same time.
What worries me most about our current “cancel culture”, is that it will make people “too careful”, and too “under the cuff”. I think that we may end up losing a lot of authenticity and variety in our society, if we make people too afraid to be themselves. We will lose real understanding and progression, because we won’t know exactly what we are really dealing with at the base of anyone, anymore. What anyone thinks about anything will be kept under a cloak of secrecy, in order to be accepted and liked. Crimes and meanness need to have big consequences, of course, but lesser crimes and misunderstandings sometimes just need a gentle nudge in a different direction. These nudges won’t happen if everyone is operating under invisible cloaks. Cloaks need to be opened in order to let the light of wisdom and understanding stream into anyone’s consciousness.
I’d much rather have a wide variety of choice in my own one precious life, as to what to read, what to watch, where to go and what to experience, what to wear, what to hear, what to buy, than to have all of these choices whittled down to some “acceptable”, bland sameness. I trust my own choices. I don’t want my choices to be made for me. I don’t want your choices to be made for you. I want to know YOU, not the surfacey mask and cloak that you wear. I want to grow and learn from YOU, not what has been programmed into you, at any particular stage of your life by polite society. Most importantly, I don’t want to lose ME. I think any individual life’s purpose is to fully explore that deep core beingness, of our own selves. Cloaks off. We are strong enough to handle discernment, tolerance, vulnerability, variety and authenticity. We are strong enough to handle Truth. Maybe the Truth is that we are all just really made of the same stuff – Love. Let’s try to look through the lens of that Love in all of our interactions. Love can’t be destroyed. Love can’t be cancelled.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Hi friends! Welcome to Favorite Things Friday. On Fridays, I typically keep things “light” and I list three favorite things or songs or TV shows or books, etc. that have added sparkle and excitement to my world. Please check out previous Friday postings for loads of my favorite things. Today, however, I only have one favorite to share. Lately, while trying to get my son’s epileptic seizures under control, and yet also trying to keep things as “normal” and as “sane” as they can be at this time for myself and for my family, my mind hasn’t been focused on the fluff and stuff of life. We are keeping a simple, quiet, uncluttered routine here in my realm, lately. We are taking things ODAT here (One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus). ODAT is what always works for me best in any crisis period.
So without further adieu, my favorite for today, comes from a post on Nightbirde’s Instagram. I have listed Nightbirde on a previous Friday Favorites blog post. Nightbirde is the insanely gifted and inspirational singer who is currently struggling to survive her third bout with cancer. While Nightbirde is a wonderful and talented singer and songwriter, I believe that her prose writing skills are devastatingly good. This post of hers is one of my most favorite pieces of writing that I have read in a long time. Enjoy:
A journalism professor in a long gray sweater taught me the difference between a story worth writing and a public relations stunt. A real story still has meaning even if no one ever hears it; a PR stunt only matters if people are watching.
And that became a new item on the list of promises to myself: That I would never let my life become a public relations stunt. My life would have meaning, even if no one ever knew it. I wanted to write a story I was proud of, even if nobody read it.
I used to dream that I’d grow up and dazzle the world. But time and disappointment chipped away at me until only the real stuff was left, and it wasn’t very dazzling. I just had some sad stories and a sack of regrets, and a new reverence for the pieces of me that survived.
All of these shipwrecks have stranded me in desolate places where I stared at my hands and realized that I couldn’t offer the world what I had hoped to. Dreams shatter, and eyelashes fall out, and lungs aren’t big enough to carry the song sometimes.
But I still wake up in the morning and draw my hopes on the sidewalk. And every time so far, they’ve been trampled over, or hosed off, or the rain rolled all of it over the curb.
But I pick more flowers, write more stories, dream more dreams. After all that’s been destroyed, maybe it’s foolish to still be speaking this way, but at least I’m a fool with a soul alive. I swing open the doors on my chest and I offer to the world the only thing that I can: myself. I get it now.
We are not all we wish we were, but we are here, and we are trying, and we are awake. We are not public relations stunts. We are stories worth hearing, even with no crowd in the stands for us. We are the heroes. We are the poem, we are the song, we are the gift.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
These are the tweets that spoke to me today (the adorable baby Starbucks is easily my favorite, how do I order one???):
(Credit: @ClaudetteGGibs1 – Twitter)
“Your essence is never gone, regardless of how many times the world breaks you. It’s what distinguishes you from the rest. That foundation will always bring you back to life. Every single time.” – @TheDragonflySky – Twitter
“You are driving on your own journey, which is the challenge for a comedian. You have a hard time making trains because you don’t want to be with the crowd. You are a lone voice of insight, humor and grace. The train people reflect a cacophony of chaos, noise, and unoriginality.” – @davidkrell – Twitter (addressing the brilliant comedian, Erica Rhodes)
” . . . You have to be strong here, you need yourself more than ever now. Don’t get down on yourself, don’t be hard on yourself. This is a hard time in your life right now and we have to figure out a way to get through this. Feel free to reach out. I can’t do much, but I do understand. Sorry this is happening to my friend. WE will find a way to get through this.” – Statechain1, r/Epilepsy
Yesterday, I had to tell my fifth-grade mentee that we would have to meet online again for a while via Zoom, until we can straighten out my son’s epilepsy medications. My husband was working from home yesterday, while I met with my mentee, but he does need to go back to his office, so I will need to be home with my son, for safety reasons right now. My mentee and I met online all of 2020, so we were thrilled to be back “in person” with each other this year. My mentee was understanding of my situation, of course, but she was also understandably sad. We both were sad. It was interesting to me that after we talked about the change, my mentee didn’t stay in her seat. She got up and wiggled around a lot. She distracted herself with bouncing her stress ball and she crawled around on the floor looking for crumbs which we may have dropped. It struck me that her little kid body, knew to keep moving. Sadness can really bring us to a stand still. The wisdom of her body, told her to get back up on her feet and to keep moving. Keep moving . . . . Keep moving. Just keep moving.
We were at the hospital all yesterday afternoon. Again. My son sprained his shoulder while having another seizure. My regular readers know that my youngest son has epilepsy. And currently his seizures are not being controlled by medicine. My son is totally drained. My husband is totally drained. I am totally drained. I know that things could be worse. I know that there are many others who have it a lot worse, even with epilepsy. I know that I have been blessed in so many other ways, but right now I am honestly too numb to care. I am thankful that my son is alive. I am thankful that we have more medicines to try, and more medicine combinations to try, and more doctors and specialists to see. I am thankful that we have the means to pay for these opportunities. When there is life, there is always hope. But right now, I am totally drained. It is exhausting to even type this blog post. I believe that the storms always pass in life, but right now my family is stuck in a standstill doozy of a non-moving hurricane. And I am totally drained.
Surround yourself with people who pray for you behind your back .. those are yourpeople, those are your tribe
@TammyAIDip, Twitter
I feel your prayers, my friends. Thank you. Working through the trauma that comes with my youngest son’s epilepsy is a process, but the process feels lighter with the loving and kind energy of prayer and well wishes, moving through it. Again, thank you. I treasure you, my tribe.
“I always like for other kids to know that my kids’ mom is a little bit psycho.” – @emily_tweets, Twitter
I love this tweet. All of my children and their friends know that I have my quirks, and that I usually proudly own my quirks. I think that it is my middle son (the matter-of-factual medical school student) who would most deeply relate to this tweet shown above.
My middle son is reserved. His teachers used to love to accuse him of being shy, but that’s not honestly the case. There is a big difference. My middle son is confident, he just doesn’t care for spectacles. My middle son has a stealth self-containment. In the midst of chaos, he isn’t chaotic, but it turns out that he is often that sneaky instigator of the tumultuous happenings all around him. You know the type.
When my middle son was in elementary school, parents took turns organizing surprise “Fun Friday” activities for his kindergarten class. Now my regular readers know that I love Fridays. Fridays put me in almost a holiday kind of spirit. I get giddy, sometimes even ecstatic, on Fridays. And my closest friends and my family know that, unlike my middle son, I’m not particularly reserved. So on my turn of heading up a Fun Friday for my son’s class, I decided to go all out.
My middle son is an automobile enthusiast. He’s going to be that guy whose garage will always be more pristine, and probably larger than his house. He has loved cars since he could steadily hold one or two brightly colored Matchbox race cars, in his precious little chubby baby fist. He can name the make and model (and probably even the year) of any car he sees, like he is a walking Blue Book. So it was inevitable. I decided that I would go all out with “the car theme” for Fun Friday.
We were living in Charlotte, NC, at the time, and we had friends who worked at NASCAR, so I asked to borrow a racer’s suit. I also borrowed another friend’s motorcycle helmet. That Fun Friday, I proudly promenaded down the hall of the elementary school, donning my race gear, like I was a model on a catwalk. I had bags full of activities and stuff, all related to cars, that we were going to enjoy in his kindergarten class’ Fun Friday. And I, on that particular Friday, wasn’t just wearing a race car suit . . . . I was a race car driver, and a good one. On that day, me and Jesus, had the wheel.
I confidently opened the door of his classroom, where the children were sitting on the floor with each other working on a math activity. I stood in the doorway, hands on my hips, and then I whipped off my heavy helmet with panache. I smiled broadly (and probably in my son’s mind, a tad fanatically), as I eyed him, wondering, with glee, what he thought of my surprise entrance.
My middle son looked at me, eyes widened, and he gasped in horror. He turned to his friend sitting next to him, and in a loud whisper aimed towards his friend’s ear (and anyone else in close proximity), my son firmly pronounced, “Yeah, don’t mind her. She’s a little kooky!”
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
