Category: People I know

Bouncy Ball in a Dark Room Trying to Find its way out

by CrazyUsPeople I know4 Comments on Bouncy Ball in a Dark Room Trying to Find its way out
Pink Flower

 

I always like to describe my mid-twenties like this: I play the part of the bouncy ball. My world at the time is a dark room, a room that only has a few, hard-to-locate ways out and Life (my choices) plays the part of a hand that throws the bouncy ball into the dark room. Looking back, I think that the bouncy ball had way too much misguided bounce.  I blindly bounced  and bounced and bounced until somehow I was living with these girls in their garage. Seriously, I set up shop in their unused garage/cement-floor-covered storage room. My sister Dominique could tell you because she came to visit me there.  I still remember the look on her face as she said, “Beth, you are living in a garage?”

I dragged a mattress onto the rug I had found,  made up my  bed all snuggly, lit some candles, had my Sony Boombox/CD Player, and I believe I hung my clothes on one of those metal moveable clothing racks, the ones you see at the Laundromat. At the time, I had a pretty good job doing Marketing for large shipping company (you can probably guess which one) yet I always seemed short on cash. I even tried donating plasma a few times, until the day when I passed out with that giant plasma needle stuck in my arm and then promptly threw up upon waking. (That is another great story for anther day.)

As I think about this very awkward and stomach-in-knots time, I see things through my loosely-based-Zen Philosophy, which is that all of our actions and choices take us where we need to be (if we let them). Living on that garage floor was where my choices had taken me and I guess I needed to be there.

Prior to moving in, I knew one of my soon-to-be housemates.  She was the one who had invited me to live with her. She kept calling and kept pressing me to commit. “Beth, I found this place. We are signing the contract today! Are you in? Are you in?” And literally as I was packing my things to move in she called and said something like this, “Beth, I gave your space to “T.”  Her brother, “Q” is so cute and so cool. And he is friends with Dave and I like Dave.” (Thank God not my Dave.) “Really, really? What am I supposed to do?” “Beth, you have to understand. I like these boys and I want to get in with them. They are so cool. I want them to think I am cool,” was how the conversation went. “You selfish selfish person,” I thought and then asked some mutual friends what to do. “Beth, you know here. She means well. She has had it so rough.”  I threw her the sympathy card and because I also knew that I was stuck with my things in hand and was not ready to sleep on my mom’s couch, I suggested I sleep in the storage room/garage until I figured something else out.

Somehow  I committed to move in with her eventually committed to drive with her to San Francisco.  She needed to see her family (really some boys she liked) and she could not find anyone else to ride with her. I know. I know. Don’t say it. I was blind. We were all packed and I had the most terrible feeling as we were heading out the door. I had tried to back out several times, but I was weak. “I really don’t think I should go. I don’t feel right about it.” I said. “Beth, you can’t back out on me now. What will I do?” I should have backed out. I didn’t . I got in the car, buckled up and prayed. Hindsight tells me that many growing-up years later that now she and I both would have handled things differently  or at least that is what I like to think.  Like I said, I was young and weak.

San Francisco was crazy. I mean, crazy. I spent time with some of my own friends and then “my roommate” trotted me around to see all of these different boys, some I kind of knew from BYU. It was so weird.  After a few very awkward experiences, I realized that I was not comfortable as her sidekick so I called some other  friends and found other things to do. One of those things included hanging out with T’s brother, Q (T is the one who was given my room). Q was cool, normal and really nice. Sure, he partied, but who didn’t party in their 20s? Ok, yes, with my Mormon background no one partied ever, right? Wrong! Most of the folks I knew who partied the hardest were the Mormons, but because partying was so taboo, it was always on the down low. T’s brother, Q, was not on the down low and because I am pretty straightforward (don’t like secrets and don’t care for double lifestyles) it was much easier to hang with him. I asked Q if I could crash on his couch (he had a girlfriend and like I said he was just normal). So I crashed on his couch and “my roommate” picked me up the next morning.  We drove the fourteen hours back to Salt Lake City, fourteen hours of her trying to pump me for information. My mistake. I told her the truth. As I have gotten older I realize it is ok to say things like, “That is really none of your business,” or, “I am not comfortable talking about this.” Back then, I just gave in.

Finally back in the SLC, I walked into the house and before I could finish my thought to T, I hear “my roommate” on the phone and I hear her talking about me. “Did you know Q uses drugs? So does Beth (UM NO I DON’T & NO I DIDN’T. T is so upset about it and blah blah, exaggeration, lie, blah, lie, exaggeration, lie, blah, blah, blah.”  I walked right up to her. She smiled and looked at me, holding her finger up, “Just a minute. I am talking to Dave.” As if I would be proud of her succes too, she eventually hung up and started telling me how awesome Dave was and wouldn’t I think he was awesome too? Of course I asked her why she said what she said.  “I like him and I was bored so I lied about you.”

What happened next you can call either a lucky bounce or a brilliant choice, I found the opening and I bounced my way out of that dark room. Best bounce ever!  I packed my things,  ditched the mattress, moved out of the garage, swallowed my pride and moved to my mom’s couch.  I never looked back. Shortly there after I began dating MY Dave. Had I not found my way out of that dark room, Dave would have never seen me. Our choices, even the really misguided ones, may be the kick in the pants we need to move forward.

Topics Chosen by My Sons: The Economy, Difficult Friends & Crazy Mom in the Snow

by CrazyUsArchives / Family / mommy blogs / People I know
My Family

Me: “Hey Eli will you give me a topic?”

Eli: “How about the Economy?”

[we all break into laughter and Eli and his friend run off.]

Me: “Now that is broad.”

I wait a few minutes. Kyle is playing Blokus with his friend. I think I will try this again.

Me: “Hey Kyle what should I write about?”

Kyle: “I know. How about dealing with your friends? You know, Difficult ones?”

Me: “Really? Another complicated subject.” And then I think to myself, “Way too complex and anything I say about friends will surely offend someone out there.”

[I pause.]

Me: “Come on. Seriously. I need your help. Give me another suggestion, please?”

Kyle: “Mom, I know. Write about dealing with claustrophobia — because you live in the snow?”

Me: “hmmmm?”

[contemplative pause]

Kyle: “Mom, really you know the snow! The snow. Because you do not like it. Yes, I am talking about you and how you do not like living in the snow.”

[Again we all laugh. Kyle and his friend put their game away and walk off.]

I am left here thinking, By golly, “I think these boys know their mom.”

Yes, Eli is quite astute suggesting I write about the state of the economy, either Salad Days or Tap-Water-Only days, I am always worried about money and I see that my boy knows it. Maybe I am worried because this is how I roll. Maybe I am worried because I did not grow up with much and I have seen how quickly it can all slip away. And maybe even I think a lot about the state of our finances because I have a super-coupon-using husband, a husband who does not let me walk out the door without one of his Happenings Coupons, Groupons, Living Social or any various specific store or restaurant coupons. Online he is a PRO at quadrupling his discounts. He seriously could have his very own TLC show called something like, BIG DADDY DOES COUPONS. I have learned early to love and be grateful (come on, he saves us money) for this fact about Dave. And if Kyle and Eli absorb anything besides my will-you-please-pick-your-coat-up-off-the-floor-and-hang-it-up-and-stop-wiping-your-boogers-on-everything motherly requests, well maybe, if they have absorbed anything, they will absorbed our crazy, yet measured frugality.

The topic of  friends and friendships go is a dicy one. I know Kyle has no grasp of  internet wrath, or better, Kyle does not understand the intense horror when one encounters a pissed off woman! I am kind of relieved that he has been spared such as dealing with the wrath of an angry friend. It’s a gamble. Even when I think I am writing something nice or measured, I have learned that my nice or my measured may not convey.  So to address the topic of friends and friendships, the only way I could write about friendship difficulties is to go all Fight Club on this post. You know what I mean?  What I say on this post stays on this post [wink wink].  I say most of this in jest because I, myself, have learned in the hardest of ways online and offline that you should just keep your mouth shut. As a vocal woman, shutting my mouth can be difficult. Thank God for Dave, my personal sounding board. Were it not for him, my head would surely explode.

What I can HONESTLY say to my sons is that all friendship is an opportunity. If things do not go the way you want them to, then reframe, maybe move on and look at what that friendship has taught you. I know I learn every single day from my boys and from the very happy and extremely heartbreaking moments they have experienced as they learn how to be a friend. Healthy friendships are something to be mastered. What I can give my boys is my example. If I make a mistake, I own it. This morning, for instance, I completely lost my shit when I saw that my son (who shall rename nameless, but you have a 50% chance of getting it right), well, my son covered a nice custom-made ladder with stickers. Sure, the ladder was in his room. And sure, he thought it was his. Yet, we he and I have talked many many times about how he cannot cover furniture in his “cool” stickers.  Further, if he thinks he would like to cover the furniture in stickers, he should ASK me first! As he and I scraped and scratched the gooey, sticky mess off the ladder, we talked about owning it.

“Hey, you know how when I do something wrong to you (like yell too much), I tell you I was wrong, say I am sorry and try to make it right. You know that, right?”

“Yes.” He said and then I continued, “That is the best we can do.”

Most definitely I would say friendships, actually any relationship, is never a piece of cake. He is smart and he gets it; the power of owning it, dealing with it and moving on. We did not have an school moment such as a hug. Instead, moments later he told me a joke, which let me know that all is well.

I have covered their two topics (friends and coupons). Now I need to address my S.A.D., which I like to call. “Crazy-Mama-in-The-Snow.” How I am dealing with the snow now (it took me long enough) is is to pretend that the SNOW is is not there. Picture a landscape absent of white, glistening snow is easier to do this year. Why? Because we have not had a lot of snow. Here is how I do it. When I look out the window or step out of doors, I simply look up and over the white stuff covering the ground. The darkness, well, it is just an excuse to take a much needed nap. I know my Snow-Hate has been hard on my family. Believe me my seasonal depression is something I am working on. And if I am working to make peace with the crappy snow, what more can they ask for, right? Ok, I know. They can ask for a mom who will ski with them as much as their dad does. I will, however, go to the beach with them any time they want.

The Economy, friends and Crazy-Snow-Mom, have been discussed and I hope the boys approve of what I say. I do not think it matters because now they are off shooting their Nerf Guns (hopefully not at anyone’s eyes) and looking for Zombies in the basement.

 

The Underachieving Co-Room Mom: Holiday Style

by CrazyUsMy Three Cents / People I know3 Comments on The Underachieving Co-Room Mom: Holiday Style
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The Underachieving Co-Room Mom: Holiday Style

  • Easy E with Completed Christmas Tree Waffle Cone Craft

  • Finished & Slightly Devoured Christmas Tree Craft

Currently, I am what you would call an under-achieving Room Mom. I mean, Co-room mom. (See, I can’t even be trusted to do the job myself). Somehow this year I was asked once again to be a Room Parent. Did Eli’s teacher not hear what a phone-it-in job I did when I was Kyle’s Room Mom two years ago? He he he! And because I LOVE Eli’s teacher and because I also LOVE my CO-Room-Parent Partner, I laughed, I took a deep breath and said, “YES!”

As a room parent two years ago I had it made. I flew under the radar while simultaneously assuaging my need-to-volunteer guilt. I was there to support the head Room Mom. (I do not know who decided she was the head Room Mom, but really, I was SO ok with it.) Like I said, I was there to support the greater good while the head Room Mom made the decisions, planned the parties and picked the gifts. I did not suggest a Barnes & Noble Gift card nor did I complain when she thought the teacher would LOVE pottery with all the kids’ fingerprints stamped on it. I was blown away that she went into class with her active baby, inked the pads of every child’s stamp finger, then pressed the ink-stamped finger on the Ceramic thingy and then helped each child clean off their fingers. I would have bitten some kid’s finger off before I could even attempt to do all that stamping, ink & clean up. Did I mention that she then made each finger print into a tiny little frog creature?

When asked to ask for more money, I did. I emailed every single parent yet again to ask for more donations. I kind of liked being the Robot Mom. It took until Kyle’s very first class party where I also realized Kyle’s class had a super-awesome-rabbit up their sleeves. See, there was a girl in Kyle’s class who is an only child and whose mother happens to be the the most fantastic & extraordinary professional party planner Park City has to offer. (You should see the Halloween Parties she throws. They take months to prepare and people stop by just so they can take pictures of the creepy cool decorations.) I quickly learned that I would never need to stress about any of Kyle’s class parties again. All I had to do is send my email, collect the money, buy random gifts and show up. Before I even arrived, the Party Planning mom was there setting up her very own mix CDs and super cool party-planning games. And yes, by the way, she always had prizes! (Score!) I would arrive at the class party, ask where I should be, visit with the other moms, then watch the head Room Mom (with new baby in tow) and The Party Planning Mom spin Magic into the room.

This would be party number two this year and as Co-Room Mom, it was my job to get my party planning on. My Co-Room Mom (who happens to be a teacher herself) and I made a spectacular, yet simple, game plan. She is super easy to work with and wants to make everything run smoothly for everyone else. I cannot give out her name because I promise you she is the room mom that everyone will want to room mom with. She and I decided we would do a little rinse, repeat & adjustment of the Halloween Party. We would still do a craft (but an easier craft than before). We would NOT play BINGO. There was too much stress with BINGO. All the kids wanted the Parachute Vampire Dudes and I did not buy enough Parachute Vampire Dudes. Finally, instead of decorating Halloween Cookies my creative neighbor gave me the idea for another craft.

I have several friends who also happen to be room moms, and of course, we have compared notes. I hear about their lovely art projects and well thought out gift bags (we did gift bags for Halloween and will not be doing them again. Most of the kids “forgot” them at school.) I also hear about their healthy snacks and I think to myself, “The parents in Eli’s class are going to HATE me after I fill them up with all of that much sugar, which will perhaps send them into shock or a maybe even a coma.” Oh well! Truth-be-told I decided I would try to level the little monsters out before I pumped them full of various colored high fructose corn syrups. I suggested popcorn. My Room Mom Partner suggested the Clementines. Brilliant and the room smelled so healthy.

I was at the school at exactly 1:57 PM and the party started at 2:00 PM. I had just driven up the canyon from REI, where I had purchased gift cards in $50 increments, because that’s how we do it in the PCSCD. My car was full of party supplies, my knee was in a brace and I was trying to remember exactly who donated money for the teacher gift so I could sign their name on the card. I kept dropping the pens and the gift cards as I got my leg stuck in the door. A mom, who had offered to help me carry stuff in, knocked, with her five-year old son, on my window. Another mom showed up and they started grabbing whatever out of my car. When I say whatever, I mean, “Why would you need the Sports Authority receipt at the Party?” We walked down long hallways and into the class. My Co-Super-Star-Room-Mom was already leading the class in a craft. As I walked in, the kids ran up and hugged “Eli’s Mom. Eli’s Mom,” (me) and they are so lucky I did not kick or push any of them.

We plopped all of the supplies in the back of the room, ripped open bags of candy, pulled out the plastic knives, spread out a bunch of plates, opened all the green frosting and started organizing my neighbor’s craft idea, an ice cream cones that the kids could flip over, frost and decorate like a Christmas tree. I do think the moms are already used to me, because when I said, “A lot of candy. A lot of frosting. They need to cover their trees,” the lovely moms did not hesitate and proceeded to fill the plates full of Skittles, marshmallows, frosting, yucky spiced-ring gum-drops and tiny tiny candy canes. It was mad, hilarious, crazy chaos.

I was delighted watching the kids take their giant frosting/skittle/marshmallow covered ice cream cones and shove them into their mouth, devouring the entire sticky creation in seconds. I had to use Waffle Cones because all the stores were out of regular sugar cones. I loved watching one of the moms frantically run around the room, watching the trees fall, and then standing the trees up as soon as they began to tip. She would get one tree back up and then another would fall over and then another and another. In desperation she tried to stand the trees up by sticking them into a clump of frosting. I quietly walked over, not wanting to break her rhythm and broke the uneven pieces of cone off of the bottom of the tree and stood them up. The trees that did not stand up were pretty awesome too. They stood sideways like Christmas Tree Rockets. As the Christmas-Tree-ice-cream cones came to life Eli’s teacher, my Co-Room Mom and another parent all said, “Great idea!” to which I most certainly gave credit to my neighbor. “Do you think I could have come up with that on my own?”

All through the party one sweet dad, who was there because his wife was sick, kept asking what he could do to help. I know him because our kids are on swim team together. He said to me and I need to quote, “I thought you were the super mom,” to which I responded, “Oh, you have that wrong. Don’t you see. I bring the supplies, get my part started, sit back and watch the other moms do their thing. These other moms are pretty amazing.” I think I am finally learning this whole know-your-place concept. I am good at buying things. I am good at getting those things into the classroom. Even when I am hurt I know to call and ask for help. When I get into the room, however, I am good at stepping back and letting the magic happen. When the magic happens, everyone is happy (or maybe it is just all the sugar I pump into the kids).

Yesterday was Grandpa’s Day and then I fell down the stairs

by CrazyUsFamily / Health / People I know / Stevens Johnson Syndrome11 Comments on Yesterday was Grandpa’s Day and then I fell down the stairs
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Yesterday was Grandpa’s Day and then I fell down the stairs

  • Kyle

  • Me

Yesterday before I went plummeting down the stairs I had what I thought was a beautiful post started about Darryl, Dave’s Dad.  Darryl’s funeral and birthday were both a year ago yesterday (December 1).  Happy Birthday Grandpa! I had lovely things to say and had been thinking about them on my way to and from the school to pick up Eli.  Eli and I walked into the house as I was walking up our stairs, I tripped, consequently slipping and then dropping straight down on my left knee while facing towards the stairs. I happened to be holding a drink in my hand and in a bold effort I did what I could to save my  ice tea. You can either cheer for my brilliant save or boo for my silly attempt, because in an effort to save my drink, my left knee cap slammed right into the stair, taking the full brunt of the fall. Eli watched in horror as I screamed, “DAMN IT! (and maybe something a little stronger),” while I, stunned and immobile, continued my death grip on the ice tea.  Frantically trying to figure out what to do,  Eli ran past me and pleaded, “Mom, are you ok? I am going to call dad!”  He picked up the phone, dialed Dave’s number and as I stood still immobile I heard Eli say, “Dad! Dad! You need to come home now! Mom is hurt!” In that moment, my extreme pride completely overrode the intense pain. Go Eli!

Somehow and quickly I pulled myself together. Eli took the drink from my clutches and helped me up the stairs. I thought I would be fine. I am not fine.  Turns out 24 hours later and lots and lots of and knee pain and  RICE  (rest, ice, compression & elevation), I have decided to suck it up and  have it checked. Moments from now I will do just that. I will keep you posted.

In the meantime I really want to finish what I started before that whole fall-down-the-stairs-landing-on-my-knee-cap-and-not-dropping-my-drink thing happened. . .

Yesterday, on the one year anniversary of his funeral, I had Grandpa on my mind.   See, earlier in the day I met a friend for lunch.  I was not in the mood for lunch and because this is a friend I am just getting to know, I was not sure how to cancel. Dave encouraged me to suck it up so I went.  Once there, we ordered. In line my friend asked so I explained my crazy food allergies, then the Cafe Rio guys did their usual and hilarious comeback to my request for “no cheese,” and all shouted, “Extra cheese,”  she paid, we filled up our drinks (foreshadowing to my knee injury) and we sat down.  As conversations often do, one topic led to another and then I found myself crying, which I rarely do these days, right in the middle of the Park City Cafe Rio.  As I told my friend about December 1, 2010, I filled with buckets of love for Grandpa and then I thought about Kyle.

Dave’s dad had been in poor health for years.  When Kyle  was first diagnosed with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome, Darryl was on his last legs.  It was around Thanksgiving 2010. Kyle had been in then out and then back in the hospital for the past month.   Dave’s brother, Uncle Denny, was staying in Maryland with Grandpa while Dave’s mom was away visiting her ailing sister. As weak as Grandpa was, he was also very aware and very concerned about Kyle.  During his two stays at Primary Children’s Hospital, Kyle often mentioned Grandpa and would say things like, “Mom, you know I was thinking. Grandpa really understands what I am going through. I think I am starting to understand what he is going through too. I feel sad that he is so sick. I remember playing games with Grandpa. Being sick is not fun.”

During our long days and even longer nights, Grandpa easily became Kyle’s long distant and most comforting Teddy Bear. Just knowing that Grandpa understood helped Kyle feel like he was not alone.  At the end of our frequent Grandpa conversations, Kyle  would often say a simple, “I love you Grandpa.”

After a seemingly successful 3-day treatment of IVIG, Kyle was finally allowed to go home. We called Uncle Denny so he could share the good news with Grandpa. Just about thirty-six hours after Kyle came home, Grandpa passed away. My boys loved their Grandpa and we knew we all had to be in Washington DC.  Kyle was still very ill and so extremely fragile. The effects of his illness, the medications and the steroids, specifically, were terrible and completely changed who he was inside and out.  We thought about leaving him home, but because we were completely terrified to leave him out of our sight, we crossed our fingers and boarded a plane.

Kyle is the oldest grandson and wanted to say something at Grandpa’s funeral.  “There was not a dry eye in the chapel, ” I continued to tell my friend, “Kyle had only been out of the hospital for a week when he spoke. He wore a hat to protect his misshapen face. His eyes were still so red and he was so pale.  (He was very uncomfortable being around people and uncomfortable having his picture taken.) He was brave, tender and you could feel Kyle pulling Grandpa right into the room. The gift Kyle’s sweet, tender and vulnerable disposition gave us was that were all able to feel that sweet and tender love for Dave’s dad. And when I say people were crying, I mean, many of us, with tear soaked faces were hyperventilating. I was breathless as I watched Kyle speak. It was otherworldly” I knew my friend got it and I had to stop talking so once again, I could catch my breath.

. . .Tonight as I finally finish this post, I found Kyle’s talk.

Here is what he said:

Happy Birthday Grandpa!

 Hello.  I am Kyle Adams. I am the oldest Grandchild of Darryl and DeAnne Adams.  My family currently  lives in Park City, UT.  Today I am speaking on behalf of Grandpa’s seven grandchildren.

 Eli is my brother.  James, Thomas and Sage, belong to Denny and Jaqui and Andrew and Nathan belong to Dori and Jeremiah.

 This morning at breakfast  I reminded everyone that today is Grandpa’s Birthday. My brother Eli suggested we all sing him Happy Birthday so we did.  I am sure Grandpa was there listening.

 Just over a week ago I was released from Primary Children’s Medical Center. I have something called Stevens-Johnson Syndrome, which is where your body has a reaction usually to medication and then attacks all of its mucous membranes and sometimes skin.  I was in the hospital for a almost a month. I am still recovering.  In the hospital I was scared and I was in a lot of pain. Often when I was really struggling I would tell my mom that I know Grandpa understands how I am feeling. 

 Grandpa died less than two days after I was released from the hospital.   I think he stayed alive to know I was ok.  My Uncle Denny, who was with Grandpa before he died told my mom that Grandpa knew I had been so sick and also knew that I was getting better. I was so happy that he knew I was ok before he died.

 Often this past month when I have been sad or in a lot of pain I say prayers asking Heavenly Father to send messages to Grandpa asking him to let Grandpa know we love him and we are thinking of him.

 At breakfast this morning I asked my cousins and my brother if they had messages for grandpa or memories of him.  James told me how much he loves Grandpa and that he misses him. My brother, Eli, always being silly said, “Grandpa always made the best snacks.”  Tommy, age 3, said, “Hi Grandpa.”

 I remember going on walks with Grandpa. I remember when he took me, my brother and dad fishing. We spent most of the time catching worms, which was a blast.  I loved just hanging out with Grandpa and playing board games with him.  He was tough competitor.  I remember the last time I saw him I knew that I would probably not see him again so I gave him a lot of extra hugs. My parents tried getting me into the car because we needed to get to the airport and I just could not stop hugging Grandpa.

I love you Grandpa!

 

 

Life Does not Discriminate

by CrazyUsFamily / People I know / Travel9 Comments on Life Does not Discriminate
My beautiful Grandma

There was a time when I could not wait to write. I formulated. I thought. I wrote entire posts in my head and when I finally had a free moment, I would race to my laptop, sit down and the fresh, new words could hardly contain themselves before they lept out of my brain, through my fingers and onto the page. I do not know it if is because I am older, much more protective of what I say, more resolute (meaning less unhinged) or just simply because I am so out of practice. Nowadays, instead of flowing like an easy river,  I have to twist, shove and push myself to even sit in front of my laptop. And words, well, they seem much more comfortable staying right where they are, stuck in my brain.

Just two days ago I attended the funeral of a dear friend’s father. The man who died was almost eighty. He was kind, well loved and had been sick for a long time.  I am guessing that after years of suffering, he was tired and ready to go.  And if you believe that there is something beyond this life, like I do, then you probably would have sensed what I did. It felt like my friend’s dad was somehow there with us and that he was letting us know that life moves on and that he is happy. I don’t always experience that kind of happy peace when someone dies.  I did this time.

What I could not get out of my head, however,  was all of us who have been left behind.  Maybe it was what Dave said at some point during the weekend, “Everyone’s dad seems to be dying and it is getting a little weird.”   Maybe it is that all my peers are getting older and thus our parents are getting older and closer to the end. Maybe it’s the fact that the days we have in front of us are shorter than the ones we have left behind.  Maybe its all of these things.

I keep trying to find the right group of words to convey what I saw, what I felt and what I experienced this weekend.   I am still struggling.  What I do see is how completely delicate life is. Instead of watching our grandparents die, Dave and I are at this weird sandwich space (that I have mentioned before). We are raising our own children while instead of watching our grandparents die, now it’s our parents. Just a few years ago Dave’s dad was hiking with us at Sugarloaf Mountain, MD and now he is gone. It is also strange and difficult for me to see my own parents, who I always saw as so strong and so knowledgeable,  lose who they once were.  When my dear mom forgets that she told me the same thing already, instead of admitting that she is more forgetful because she is getting older,  I rationalize and say, “Well, I do the same thing myself.” It scares me, makes me really sad, and I am just not sure how to express it. I am totally freaked out by this. I cannot stop thinking.

And then at the funeral, there was this moment, a moment where a beautiful young woman, who seemed about my age, was wheeling her stroke-stricken mother up to their seat. As they passed, I looked into the mom’s eyes and as I watched her try to communicate without words and really any motor control whatsoever, I could see that she was trapped. She totally knew what was going on and could do nothing about it. Then, I started to cry.

I am getting old. We are all getting old. I know people of all ages deal with all sorts of health issues. I have watched my own young son deal with his own life-threatening and life-changing health issues. However, if you somehow missed bad health in your youth, life has this very cruel way of  evening things out.  Life does not care who you are, how much money you make, how pretty, how rich, how mean or even how sweet you are. Life does not discriminate. If  arthritis, heart disease, a stroke, cancer, Parkinson’s, ALS or all the other cruel diseases do not get you, then life seems to go for the mind and I just do not understand.

We are raised to strive, to thrive, to succeed and to better ourselves. hen, each and every one of us, gets old and we die.  And even if there is nothing beyond this life, I want there to be. I need there to be and that is why I believe there is. I like to think my dear Grandma is just a thin layer beyond my reach. I would like to believe that when I sat in that room in my house on 1500 South and 1300 East all those years ago, that I really did feel Grandma Koener there. I want to believe that she was hanging because she really liked our guest room and that she wanted to reach across and let me know that she is still here. I need to believe there is more.

So when I saw that beautiful woman at the funeral trapped, I want to believe that she will have beyond, that her kids will see her well and that she will be free.  When life strips away our beauty, our physical strength, our vitality and our mental facilities, I need to believe that this is not the end. And  mostly because  life can be absolutely cruel, I need to know that after we die, that we somehow keep on living.

Am I conditional?

by CrazyUsFamily / People I know12 Comments on Am I conditional?
Dog Sign

I just scrapped yesterday’s post. I spent hours trying to say something and I just couldn’t seem to force the words out, or at least force them out the way I wanted them to flow. Coincidentally, the reason I tried to write yesterday’s post in the first place was pretty simple. See, I called my friend and asked her for writing ideas. I needed a little break from talking about health issues and knew she would have something thought-provoking to say.

Hilariously she responded, “Oh man. I should keep a post-it pad with me. I am always having ideas and I think, ‘hey, Beth should really write about this.’ Wait.  Wait. I had one. Give me a second. Give me a second. Nope. It’s gone.”  I was determined to get a nudge. With that we moved on and tried to think of more ideas. And you know what trying to think of more ideas does, don’t you?  It leads you to that scary land of really deep thoughts. We talked some more anyway.

We talked about our small town, which we both agree should seriously have its own Real Housewives of Park City  TV series.  We talked about the industries we have both worked in and then we got really profound (or at least I thought we were profound) and talked about the state of the world around us. What we concluded is that our world seems to have drifted into this very conditional space, a space where our actions seem based on a set of qualifications and requirements we project onto ourselves and others? And within this very conditional space there seems to be a sort of disconnect between the way people really are and  how they want to the world to see them (that was her lovely husband’s input, by the way).  As we continued our conversation, I wondered what, if any, specific thing was the cause of all of this strings-attached living?  Are we conditional because we have been hurt?  Are we so protective of our own space on this planet because of the conditioned need to succeed?  Is it the bad economy or  are we so self-serving because we just have opportunities to achieve so much? I was searching for something to blame and never could quite put my finger on any one thing.  Seriously, who am I to point a finger anyway? As we continued, I  realized that even if I do not know what the cause is that this conditional way of living seems to bleed into every aspect of our lives.

Eventually and searching for a metaphor, I said something like,

“It is like once you get to the top of the mountain there is only so much space.”

To which my friend responded,

“Once there are you someone who will smile and give someone a hand and help them up,”

To which I immediately interjected, “or someone who will push the person reaching for your hand over off the cliff?”

We talked around this sensitive issue. I mean, come on, who wants to see themselves as selfish, exclusive, self-serving or just plain mean?  I don’t.  Eventually and probably because we had kids and life and jobs to focus on, in one lovely breath my friend summed it all up. Here is what she said,

We live in a world formed by a set of tacit rules that nobody would write down or dare say out loud because they are so awful.

“Brilliant. That is brilliant.” I told her.

Since our conversation I have been thinking, thinking a lot and asking myself, ” Do we really have this ugly set of  unwritten rules and conditions we live by?  And if we really do have a list of unwritten rules, I want to be and hope I am a what-you-see-is-what-you-get person, but am I?”  I have been thinking so much my brain filled itself with a giant and overly analytical log jam.

After all of our talking and all of my thinking, I have tried to break it all down. I have concluded that there seem to be two (at least) aspects to a person: One is the person we like to see ourselves as and  the other is the person we really are. The sting is that if this is the direction humanity is going it isn’t very pretty, you know what I mean? Of course I tried to come up with some examples of each and here they are:

How we see ourselves: I think I am open to all people and I imply that I am open and generous.  I want you all to know how easy going I am because I am.  I am so comfortable in my own skin.  I would give you the shirt off of my back.

and

The unwritten rules or who they really are:  I would rather have a bigger car then help you.  It really does matter how you look.  I do care how much web traffic you get or how many people follow you on Twitter. I feel terrible about myself and that is why I say terrible things about you, use botox, make myself throw up, starve myself,  exercise for countless hours, think about drinking all day long, care about how I look and who I hang out with. I do care if you go to the gym. When you leave the room, I do talk about you.  I do care how much money you have or if you fit into the right social group. If you don’t, I do not want to be around you.  I will only talk to you when others are not looking. I will notice you once someone else notices you. I think you are weird because you do not drink. My kids cannot play with your kids because you do not go to church. My children are perfect. Your kids are not. . . Most importantly,  my love and how I treat you is absolutely conditional.

Truth be told, I think we might be a little of both.

. . . When someone reaches for a space beside me will I smile and give them a hand, pretend I do not see them or do my best to push them off the cliff?