It is my first full day of double fives. I must share that it felt like the very best birthday ever. We've all had parties, where we dress in our finest clothes to suit whatever theme is chosen for us. We're showered with hugs and kisses, we imbibe a bit too much on those wonderful fruity cocktails and we share too much about all the things we hate about getting older. Our puffy eyes, our sagging bodies, our weight... a lot of complaining about stuff that truly doesn't matter.
For me, it was very different this year. It is two years since my cancer surgery today. And on my birthday, two years ago, I spent the day at our local Cancer Center - traumatized and fearful of the world that awaited me when my pathology results would return. It was the saddest birthday, wandering the hospital floors seeing those who had traded their hair for survival, IV's moving along the halls banging against wheelchairs of people who looked desperate for peace. I felt deaf that day. The endless information being told as I sat unable to process anything but cancer, death, fear and the feeling of being completely alone. If there is ever a moment you doubt you are alone in this world, this experience will validate it for you. It's a harsh reality. But it is also truth.
This entire experience showed me clearly what I was made of. How strong I could and needed to be. And I look back at that as a gift of sorts. It brought a lot of amazing experiences into my life and taught me about myself. It swung the windows of my mind open, to let the light of truth in brightly.
Fast forward two years. So many things I had prayed for to be stable still remain a challenge. I was planning to retire at 55 and that is a distant memory. I live outside the mountains and I miss their strength and how they envelope me with protection. But there is so much more. So many greater, more meaningful things. My family is intact and we love deeply. We are genuine friends that respect each other. And we are safe under one roof in a home filled with compassion, kindness and big human, as well as furry canine and feline, hearts. Most importantly, we are healthy at this moment and embracing our health and that good fortune of having a roof over our heads, the beauty of our life's work surrounding us and a well stocked pantry. Life is good.
Simply put, the smallest experiment of my belief that ones life is all about love and the relationships you make as you navigate your path through the years, came true for me. I expected nothing and received much. Not in the way most expect, but through words and gentle expressions of kindness. Through the loving remembrances of friends. Tales of love and connection. A blanket to keep me warm. Food to feed my soul. Some bubbly to savor the moment. Flowers to connect me to the beauty of our earth. Hugs. Kisses. Laughter. Appreciation. And most important of all, gratitude to the universe for allowing me to have another birthday. To feel that kind of love and to tell others how much their love and remembrance meant to me.
Thank you to all of you who made this day exactly the way I had hoped it would be. All of you. Those who surround me here in the city, those who live in my Ida-home, those scattered around the world - you have all touched my life in ways I cherish. You are all a part of my life's story book and have decorated those pages with brilliant colors and words; you validate the ever so small contribution I have made in your life that you hold dear by remembering me. And that is the ultimate gift. To be remembered for goodness. I do love and care for you all and thank you so much for making this the happiest birthday ever.
Each birthday to come is an incredible gift. But life offers no guarantee so I will live with great joy in this moment. Thank you for loving me. How lucky am I?
Today, I have come to the decision that everything that is wrong with my car is a direct reflection of my life. Strange as it sounds, I have done so many cosmetic repairs to my vehicle at my own expense that were caused by the carelessness of others. No accidents that I have caused. Just random acts of violence against what was once a loving shade of grey, green and blue paint. It has become so frequent that I finally called a truce with it's sleek metal body. I gave up repairing it when I reached $5,000 in body work out of pocket.
The signs are clear that I have finally ceased to believe it is possible to keep it looking smart. My front bumper is half gone - almost to the license plate. The wheel well on that side is missing it's sleek, black coated trim. Two separate events. The glow of the silver duct tape that holds the side to the front is lovingly pieced. It reminds me of good upholstery work I would expect as a designer. I must say, if vehicles could hold with tape, mine would be exquisite.
My automatic side door jambs and complains by grinding itself after being hit by an errant grocery cart. Or maybe someone threw someone else against it. It is hard to tell because I wasn't there to defend it. The bumpers have all been dented or scraped by what I can only assume are people that really NEED backup cameras so they are warned when a car is within striking distance.
For whatever reason, while attending to my morning coconut mocha at the Starbucks drive-thru, my car began to speak to me. It started as a little cry for help and then escalated to a squeal. Like a fork being dragging along a metal plate. Obviously, the brakes. I am no genius when it comes to cars, but I do know that when I hear this on another car, I cringe. I have never let anything in a vehicle I have owned get to this point without repair, so quite frankly, it was shocking.
Now I can barely get by the embarrassment of the front end with my damaged "Explore Glorious Idaho" license plate. but as I travel down the sand laden roads of what was once winter in Edmonton, my vehicle screams continuously in utter disgust. Like it is being violated by the driver. Meaning me. Attract attention much? What is worse, is I am told a two week wait to get in. Nothing is more mortifying than thinking I must allow my good car to wait this long.
There is no drowning out the contempt coming from my Odyssey. I have tried to turn up the stereo as loud as my speakers will take. And despite me, it gets louder. I am not sure why I think that if I can't hear it, that everyone else can't either. I just put on my sunglasses and look straight ahead.
So here's the rub. I have been dealing with grief in my life since the impact on our family of the economic turnaround of 2008. Grief is not just a process you move through when someone passes on. It comes in many forms. The loss of my home by short sale, the loss of my retirement to someone at Leiman Brothers (who I am convinced is sailing the Atlantic coast to Barbados), the move from my home of 18 years in the mountains (where I loved to live), the loss of my job working in mental health (that I loved and did so well), the loss of my closest friends (who were my family), the loss of my husband's peace of mind and health due to a stroke (likely from the stress of everything), the insult of the $3,000 increase in my husband's health care premiums (which we had faithfully paid into for 18 years) and the later loss of my health to a bout of cancer and hereditary arthritis. All this in a short, six year span. When I look at it on paper, it is really more stress than most could endure. But my father raised me to be a good, strong Irish girl so I remain soft-hearted, yet stoic. My core beliefs have helped me through it all. And a lot of love from my husband and daughter.
But that damn screaming car! The violation of it's beautiful body and it screaming for attention symbolizes everything that has occurred in my life in the past 6 years that was done without my knowledge. My acceptance. My permission.
There are no concrete reasons for what happened to me and my family. I can't find my retirement (we would BE retired now - but that doesn't look promising) and I don't know where the 6 figure equity in my house disappeared to. I am not sure why my physically fit husband had a stroke (which he thankfully recovered from), why insurance companies who have received over $350,000 in premiums from yours truly think it is OK to gut you when you are down or why I was selected to endure a battle with cancer that blindsided me. I know that moving was essential because of the elevated cost of health insurance so it was a decision we had to make to keep us safe. But not unlike all of this, I am not sure why my sweet car has been the target of so many unkind and uncaring people who have damaged all four corners of it without leaving their name or even a note to say they are sorry.
Maybe it is acknowledgment of the damage that is important to me? Or maybe I want to believe that people are better than this. I think that it all goes back to accountability, integrity and character, which are incredibly important traits in anyone I choose to build a friendship with.
One of the greatest lessons of the past 8 years is that I control nothing. Absolutely nothing. I had a false sense of safety and control. My husband and I believed we were secure. We followed all the rules we were taught. I park within the lines. I read what I sign. I believe in a hand shake. And for some foolish reason, I want life to be fair. So maybe this life is about learning that I must live in each moment with gratitude and be thankful that I am surrounded by love and relationship, despite all of the damage being done around me, to my so-called "stuff". Sure, it has impacted me greatly. It has shattered so much of what I believed and trusted to be true. But I am still here. I am still a forgiving and kind-hearted person that hopes for only goodness from others. And I still fight for fairness for all.
Until a unicorn appears, I think I better go buy myself some ear plugs and hope that the "Brake Pad God" hears my fondest wish to get my sweet, reliable car into the garage as soon as possible.
I love to write. I write a lot. Pretty much constantly I'd say.
It isn't a substitute for talking really. I just feel as though my written words have an authenticity and heart that my spoken words can't convey.
This isn't my first blog either. Actually, I have a private blog with entries I am incredibly proud of. It is so personal, I never share it. It is also from a time that has long since past and because of everything I have experienced in the past 2 years, I have become much more of a person who lives in the moment, than one that rues for the past or longs for the future. I know now that I am only guaranteed this very time, so everything I do must be with a passion for life and a gratitude that I have made it this far.
And so this gets me to my story.
There are many gifts we receive as we walk our life's journey. One of the most special was a pocket rock, given to me by a close friend named Shannon. She saw that I had lost my way. I was wallowing, feeling that the roadblocks around me were insurmountable.
That happens to me sometimes. It is easy for me to sink when I think of all of the stress I endured to find the peace I experience now. I am hard on myself for circumstances I often can't control. Somehow wishing for things to be different creates a sad longing. I remind myself, I can only do my best. If I knew better, I would do better.
So I made it. The triumph is that I survived and am able to share my story. I have plenty of battle scars and I am proud of them all.
More about this special angel.
Shannon came into my life at a time when girlfriends were few. I was fairly new to the city, enjoying my job and preoccupied with concern as to how well my daughter was adjusting to her new school, friends and environment. There just wasn't time to seek out and cultivate girlfriends. My priorities were elsewhere.
She walked into our office and I remember being instantly drawn to her strawberry blond hair - "Is she Irish like me?" - I wondered. I noticed that when I spoke with her, she couldn't look me in the eye. It made me nervous because I felt she was afraid of something I didn't understand. I had never experienced that before.
At my insistence, she was hired. It was exciting to have another female in the testosterone dominated granite factory. As we learned about each other, we had many differences. But we also have many similarities. Those similarities are core to our essence in that we give, we come from an authentic and truthful place and we love our gift of creativity. We also view our daughters as our greatest gift to this world and take our raising of them very seriously. I can count on her and I know, she knows, she can count on me. Shannon is very bright and forward thinking. I love that because it inspires me to do better.
She is a super mom to Kami in that she is a professional photographer and has taken beautiful photos of her that we cherish. Kami thinks she is pretty cool and let me tell you, that's awesome coming from a teenager. Thank you Shannon for everything you have done for my little girl.
I missed her birthday (because the gosh darn gift wasn't here yet) and never got to spend Christmas with her as I had hoped. She has been reaching out to me and I have been busy, occupied, swirling in my life tornado - I did not realize that this would hurt her deeply. It feels very bad to hurt the people you love. Shannon made me recognize that my world was closing in on itself and I was isolating; I do so much better emotionally when I am socially active. Not to mention that I miss her.
So Shannon, I want you to know I am grateful for your honesty. For showing me that I am lovable and forgivable. And most of all for sticking around me when I do these things. I have been known to push people away as a relationship deepens because of my personal childhood trust issues. This isn't going to happen here.
So remember when I said she couldn't look straight at me? Well - she does now. It seems she harbors the same hurt as I do for many of her own personal reasons. I love the clarity and beauty that radiates from those eyes and I feel honored she shares them with me. It is such a gift.
Gratitude. I have plenty.
