Death as Opportunity?

As part of my first-ever-true-attempt at end of year cleansing, I did an online tarot card reading.
My opportunity for 2016? Death.

Death is the card I drew.  As an OPPORTUNITY.  Grasp that?  I couldn't.  At first.  But then, I paused.  I calculated.  I looked inward.

Death may not be literal... as in... I am dead.  Death could be the death of a past anger or harm done. Death of a bad idea.  Death of a sadness, a grievance, death of a dead end road.
In that spirit, I say, rest in peace.

Next card?  Courage.  Courage to let go of the past.  Let the dead rest.  Have courage to embrace the new.  Hey, why not.  I have courage.  I've always had courage.  Had to... because I do not believe that courage is a choice.  Courage is cast upon us in times of angst and illness and pressure and pain.  Then, we find courage.  If we don't, then something far worse will find us.  It will strangle us.  It will hold us in its death grasp as we struggle against "it".  So, sure.  There's the courage thing.  That's the challenge.

The resolution?  Cleansing.  Is there a greater cleansing than death?  That final ending that is surely a new beginning?

I am not sure how I, someone so led by The Spiritual, has never checked out this "tarot card thing"... this turning of cards to spell out the future.

Knowing these three cards have been dealt me, will I choose to let these words and deeds open the new year for me?  Or will the cards choose for me?  Can't say I'm sure how this all works.  BUT, I know how I work.  Whatever 2016 offers, I will face it.  I will find courage.  I will be cleansed of the harshness that 2015 brought.  The bitter taste that lingers in my mouth will be washed away.  There will be a lightness in my step, a brightness to my smile.

I am finding a true catharsis in the route of cleansing I have chosen.  I am ready for the death of the person who was held under water in 2015.  The one who held her breath and gasped for air.  I am ready to fill my lungs with fresh, clean air and open my arms to new possibilities.

Opportunities are right at my fingertips.  Close your eyes.  Reach out.  Let butterfly wings brush the tips of your fingers. They will carry your dreams all the way to Heaven, my friends.

The Jungle Gym

This meme on social media this morning brought elementary school rushing back to me in one flat moment.  I was the playground chicken.  The girl who always wore dresses and skirts and refused to play kick ball.  I was the kid with the book under a tree or sitting on a barely rocking swing while others pumped legs with skill and fervor and flew high into the sky.  I imagined my toes touching the breathy branches of a tree like my friends... but, only imagined.

We had two jungle gyms.  One, much like the photo in this post.  The other was a ladder with a fireman-like pole to slide down once you reached the top.  My friends would flit to to the top and slide down over and over and over again.  I would watch.  I didn't even WANT to do it.  I did, however, believe I HAD to do it.  

It is a fuzzy blur now.  Did someone dare me?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Did I get a hankering to try to climb up there?  I find that impossible to believe.  For whatever reason, one spring day, not far from summer vacation, I decided to Climb To The Top.  Climb I did.  I got to the top.  I gingerly made my way to the pole and... froze.

This girl was not going to take that step and slide down that pole.  Nope.  Not happening.  Soon, a small group surrounded the pole.  Kids I barely knew were calling for me to come down.  They became one blur and one foggy sound as I clung to the steel pole and my teeth shivered.

Someone got the recess aide.  "Come down", she prodded sweetly.  I shook my head, "no".  "Come down", she insisted with less sweetness.  No.  No. Never.

After what seemed an eternity, out came the school janitor with an extension ladder.  This man's name is lost to me, but his demeanor remains in my heart to this day.  He was a wonderful man who loved children.  He was so good to me, even as I clung to the pole and shook my head adamantly at his soft command to reach for him. I was not taking that step.  I began to think of my life consisting of this.  This playground.  This jungle gym.  What would happen when I had to pee?  I was getting hungry.  Would I miss lunch?  Still, I grasped the silver steel with a 7 -year old's death grip and refused to budge.  I remember that the Principal, Mr. Marcott, ended up outside.  I know he stood below me and spoke to me.

I do not remember getting down.  I do not know who talked me down or when I took that big step.  I wish I did.   I wish I could clearly recall the importance of that moment.  I do not remember the victory of achievement.  I only remember the fear of letting go.  The belief I would fall.  The deep seeded gut wrenching belief that No One Would Ever Catch Me.

I returned to that playground one summer of my collegiate life.  The jungle gym looked so small and dauntless.  I placed my hands on the top rung with my feet safely on the ground.  I thought about climbing up and jumping and sliding down the pole to safety, but decided against it.  After all, I was alone.  Who would catch me if I fell?

In many ways, I am still that seven year old girl.  The one who prefers her feet on the ground and her nose in a book.  The one who wishes for small adventures and safe landings.  The one who declines jumping into things because she fears that no one will catch her if she falls.  I still wonder, Who Will Catch Me If I Fall?

Only Words

I have chosen My Word for 2015.
Done.  My word is done.
2015 brought me great joy.  My daughter's high school graduation and 18th birthday were major high points.  Celebrating my 30th college reunion and reconnecting with true friends was magnificent.  I have found outlets for creativity, I have de-cluttered my personal space and I have grown in many ways; both big and small.
Done.  I am, however, done with 2015.
I am done with small minded gossip and hurtful social media.  I am done with adults who resort to name calling and think that it is OKAY to do so.  I am done with those who think that friendship is a small town cult where you are allowed to bash someone repeatedly and find it impossible to Let It Go.
This is it.  My official letting go.  I am in a professional position where I must make a stand to do what I feel is best for those around me.  Agree or not.  It is simply my position.  Follow it or not. There are always open doors.  But... this door... the one looking back on 2015?  Closed.

I am pondering words for 2016.  Words have always been my strong hold.  Written words give me reference and peace.  They lend me comfort when spoken words and harmful words of others bring me pain.  I am carefully choosing my words for this new year.  Words like Forward and Dauntless... Focused and Promising.

I am beyond thankful for those who surround me with love and friendship.  I have a tremendous family, and a passion that is my business.  I am able to pay my bills.  I always find a way to make a day "okay"... and, even this day is okay.  This day when social media threatened my personal feelings and beliefs- even this day is okay.

I would like to shun "okay".  I would like to be dauntless and rush forward with focus into a promising new year.  So, ya, I am done with you, 2015. And,  I am okay with that.

Therein Lies The Rub

It has been a journey, these past few months.
Dreams meeting bumps in roads.
Friends Unfriended.
Friends Reunited.
Some dreams lost.  Some dreams found.
Therein lies The Rub.

It seems impossible, at times, to discern truth from fiction.  Fact from gossip. 
If beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, so, it seems, does The Truth.
Truth is a multi-faceted little gem, don't ya think?

When an attorney takes on a case and argues the truth for the verdict of his choice, he may sometimes have to face the fact that the judge or jury does not embrace his truth.  They reach an alternate decision.  They find a different truth, or believe the other side of it.

Perhaps, in the end, the truth does not even exist.  Perhaps, in fact, the truth is nothing more than perception. 

Many, many individuals will perpetuate their version of a truth via words, images, gossip and such.  Social media feeds this frenzy.  It seems to me that, in this world we live in, silence is the equivalent of guilt.  Gone is the gracious time when loose lips sunk ships.  Today, he whom posts most double entendre memes and gets longest list of "friends" to add comments WINS.  Right?

Therein Lies The Rub.  What a shallow victory this is.  What a false definition of friendship.  Of winning.  Sitting around and gossiping with many about one you say is a gossip seems childish, at best.  At the least, it is gossiping.

Truth is, social media continues a frenzy of falsities.  It allows adults to embrace childish notions.  It brings common sense to its knees.  It makes decent individuals turn to unrecognizable beings.

The Clique does not define the truth.  They define their own boundaries of the truth they embrace.  The individual who stands through the storm, embracing their own truth and holding their head above the storm... I ask you to pause and reconsider that person.  Silence is not defeat.  It is not agreement or acceptance.  Silence is embracing their need to understand their own truth. 

Maybe, before you put up that nasty meme touting and spewing your side of a situation, you might pause.  Perhaps.  Unfortunately, people will continue to use Facebook and Twitter and Instagram to force their opinions and beliefs on others.  Unfortunately, people will see these social media posts and believe that This Is True.

Me, not so much.  And... therein lies the rub.

Sparkles and Such...

Somedays are ultra sparkly.
Days of pageants and dance routines and tiaras and bobby pins.
When we are living in them, the stress can dull the sparkle.
The Momma Knot in the pit of your stomach and the un-asked-for chills up your spine and down your arms as you wait to watch your child take the stage is blinding.
More blinding than the thousands of rhinestones under stage lights.
That, my friends, is ultra- blinding.

I am very happy that I made one binding choice many years ago.  As a Dance Studio Director, I decided and declared (loudly and repeatedly) to my clientele that, when my daughter was on stage, I was NOT Director.  I WAS her mother.

I did not answer tugs on my sleeve or pause mid-run-to-catch-her-perform  to discuss another child's hair or costume trauma.  I did not reply to anxious whispered questions or irritating texts.

I focused on my Momma Knot.  I embraced it.  I enjoyed it.  I bathed in it and I engraved it on my heart and in my brain.

Madi will be 18 this week.  Eighteen years filled with sequins and tap shoes.  With hand held microphones and squeaky speaker systems.  Eighteen years topped off with me sitting in the Clayton Opera House last night as she represented her platform and her ideals and her undeniable beauty in the Miss Thousand Islands Pageant.

The knot was HUGE.  The tears were welling.  My heart was pounding.  Not for The Sparkle. Madi doesn't need a crown on her head or a sequin studded gown to glow.  It was just the Momma thing.  That's My Girl. 
She walked like a model, she showed her spunk and intelligence.  She sang with fervor and beauty.  She was undeniably wonderful.
So, after... when she did not take home the crown nor the sash nor even a certificate-- I reevaluated that Momma Knot.  The one I have felt inside so prominently for almost eighteen years.  I examined its twists and turns and strong, unyielding bond.  I realized something momentous.  Perhaps, just perhaps, that knot wasn't fear for her.  It has never been about my fear or my fear for her.  It has always been this growing mass of pride.  Pride for her strength and talent.  Not pride that comes before a fall.  Not pride that blinds... pride that makes me see.  See that my daughter is more than I could have ever imagined.  She sparkles so bright... And, in that moment, the knot lessened just the teeniest bit.
Just enough for me to exhale. 

Empty Nest- The Poem

Empty Nest

It isn't Empty Nest Syndrome

It isn't tears on somewhat sunken cheek bones or looking in the mirror to see a tired stranger

It isn't holding my breath when she shakes hands with Principal and grabs diploma with other and I can't hear for the roaring in my ears

The pride chanting in my head

The love bursting my veins

The hollow hole growing in my solo soul

She says every time I cry I owe her $5

I am already poor

She is my wealth

I am the single mother of a special needs daughter

I have walked away from everything and everyone else in this world

To run to her

I have sat vigil in cold hospital rooms

Stroking her face

Side swiping stray hairs

Caressing her tiny hand

I have slept in the curve of her feet at the bottom of her hospital bed

I have brought her home after 39 surgeries and fought with myself not to hold her hostage in the safety of our home

I have watched her fight to walk 

To walk on

To walk away

I have hung on to let her go

And here we are

High school over

Success heaped on success

Smile painted on my thinning lips like a too bright lipstick

My hand aches for her little girl fingers to wrap around mine

But I see my hands now

Veins exposed

Wrinkles forming

Nails ignored

Unadorned left ring finger

I have not been His Wife

I have only been Her Mom

Open palm to fist and Palm again

I cannot question 

I try to accept

Fly little bird

Mama's nest sits empty 

It's the Little Things

It is the Little Things on a journey.
The nurse who gives me $1.25 for the vending machine because I am a "good mama who needs chocolate".
It is the janitorial staff member who sings to your daughter every morning... Because he loves to see That Smile.
The amount of kindness a surgeon musters to dance a jig to relieve her pain cannot be underestimated... All 6'4" of stern manliness a-jumble at her bedside.
Thirteen years and thirty-nine surgeries. Amazingly, despite the pain and beyond the tears, the multitude of kindnesses shown us are what makes my heart flutter.
And... There was always Emma. Emma first met us when Madi was four. She was an LPN and Madi was a toddler who had already Had Enough. I was an exhausted single mom. IV meds were the worst. No one seemed very sympathetic when my daughter screamed in pain. They shrugged off her tears and smirked a bit at all The Drama. Not Emma. She believed Madi and sought a solution. She brought in a stock of hand warmers for Madi's bedside stand. Just a heat pack... Such relief.  Emma began "The Book of Madi" for the nurses station and insisted evey nurse treating her look it over. Meds were to be pumped on "turtle speed" and heat packs applied. Madi's baby blanket should always cover her IV sight--- she didn't like to see it. Her trusted Ellie the Elephant must always prop her arm for comfort.
Simple tasks brought about by a woman whose kindness and compassion amaze me to this day.
When Madi was nine she was finally correctly diagnosed. Her rare condition included restricted blood vessels that were very thin. Meds administered through an IV felt like ice water roaring through her system. The Doctor told us that this pain was, indeed, "unbearable". Thank you, Emma, for believing my little spit fire when no one else would!
Today, Emma is an amazing nurse. Madi is a high school graduate. They are best of friends, sharing life via snap chat and meeting for lunch or dinner when we return to Children's  Hospital... 7 hours away.
Madi has chosen to attend college close to her hospital. I am anxious and worried, but will certainly sleep better knowing her favorite nurse will always be on duty and on the lookout for my kiddo.
A lunch out, an extra hug... And certainly, a heat pack if it is needed.
Thanks, Emma. Your kindness makes this world such a better place!!!!