The times they are a-changin’
“Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command.” ~ Bob Dylan
Parting the water…
“I fish better with a lit cigar; some people fish better with talent.” ~ Nick Lyons, Bright Rivers, 1977
My dad loved to fish. I can close my eyes and see him sitting in his boat with a big “stogie” in his mouth and his fishing line in the water, waiting for a bite. I can smell the pungent cigar smoke and the fishy lake water. I can hear the water lapping against the side of the boat. I can feel the hard seat of the boat, and see my dad’s hands letting line out, reeling in, rhythmic whether the action was fast or slow.
At least one of those memories includes a trot line. We were sitting in the boat, waiting. I became aware of another fishing boat moving slowly toward us. They were checking their trot line. One of the men would reach into the water, pulling the line up out of the water, into the air, to check that hook for fish. Even though he was only checking that hook, I could see other hooks rising out of the water. At descending heights, all connected by the wire that spanned a section of the lake.
It was a simple and beautiful sight, that line of hooks. Each rising in its turn out of the water as the fisherman held the one hook he was checking high in the air. There was the light reflecting off each hook. The water parting like a small miracle as each hook emerged. Droplets stretching from each hook until they let go, falling back into the lake.
At some point in the loss experiences of adulthood, I remembered that trot line, and realized how much it was like the presence of grief in our lives. All those losses put to rest below the surface, pulled up through the waters of our heart by today’s grief. Grief upon grief, as though this day’s sorrow alone is not enough. And so it goes with grief and loss. A line connecting past and present. Pulling other hooks into the air to be held again, felt again, lost again.
Perhaps one of the biggest differences between this side of death and the other, is that death is an event. Living is a process. A process that changes us through an unpredictable mixture of joy and sorrow. The process of becoming in this life can be complicated and messy. Sometimes losses happen too close together and joys seem few and far between. Isn’t it ironic that part of how we learn to live through loss is that we lost, and did not die. That our ability to feel the depth of our joy is its contrast to the loss that preceded it.
“If you ain’t got no pain in your life, how would you even know when you was happy.” ~ Black in Cormac McCarthy’s Sunset Unlimited
The Lazy A
Oh! dear old barn, where my childish days
Were passed full oft, how I long to be
Only a child again, to play
Beneath thy roof with the old-time glee!From The Old Barn, by Mary Dow Brine (1816-1913)
The inconvenience of truth…
I do most of my radio story listening in the car. I hear bite size sound spurts while going to and from work, running errands, or some other quick trip reason. Sound bite stories can be frustrating if you want the whole story. Sound bites stories can be great, if what you love is the seed they plant that sends your mind chasing after ideas. One of my sound bite seeds came several months ago while listening to “The Takeaway” interview with Ted Danson.
The part I heard introduced me to Oceana: Our Endangered Oceans and What We Can Do To Save Them, a book co-authored by Danson. I was listening,…sort of, knowing the story would be interrupted by me getting out of the car. As I pulled into a parking place, I heard the host refer to Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth. I was out of the car, but the seed of “an inconvenient truth” had been planted. An inconvenient truth. I began to think about the dilemma of what to do with truth that is inconvenient. We’re used to hearing about the inconvenient truth of climate change and environmental concerns. Are there other inconvenient truths? What makes a truth inconvenient anyway? That it’s difficult, or unpleasant?
That’s when it dawned on me that the main thing that makes a truth inconvenient, is that it is true. That in fact, much of the truth that matters in this world is terribly inconvenient, and that it usually involves change. A changing world. Changes we need to make. Accepting change in someone or something else. Truth often asks us to take a stand, in spite of great cost. It doesn’t get much more inconvenient than that. The possibilities are ever “changing”. When I think about it,…
- It’s inconvenient to discover the truth that being a parent means setting limits.
- It’s inconvenient to balance the hard and soft jobs of parenting, when our kids think we’re great, and when they don’t like us.
- It’s inconvenient that relationships stretch us, scrutinize us, call us to grow.
- It’s inconvenient to do what we said we would do, to be who we said we would be.
- It’s inconvenient to be criticized, sometimes for doing the right thing.
- It’s inconvenient to look at the impact our choices have on other people, places, and things,… and perhaps redecide.
We can focus on avoiding and escaping these small and large inconveniences…but we can’t escape the fact that inconvenience doesn’t make truth any less true. Anyway you spin it, truth can be real inconvenient. What is the most inconvenient truth in your lesson plan today?
“Men stumble over the truth from time to time, but most pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing happened.” – Winston Churchill
Valentine’s Day and the other 364…
I don’t know how true it is in other countries, but in the United States we are big on Valentine’s Day. You only have to walk in any store by the first of February to witness our commitment to this heart felt day of expressing our love for the important people in our lives. Aisles and displays of stuffed animals, boxes of candy, flowers, in a million shades of red and pink. Valentine’s Day is all about love and loving.
So why would anyone want to cast a shadow on this day of love by bringing up domestic violence? Maybe because no matter how much we love this one day, I want to know about the other 364 days of the year. We have a problem 364 days of the year. Actually it is such a big problem that it happens on this special day of love too. We have a serious problem with domestic violence. We are violent toward those we say we love. We hurt each other in private, in public, and in front of our children. We see cuts and bruises and we keep our silence.
The Makers of Memories Foundation have identified:
Top 10 Alarming Facts About How Domestic Violence Impacts Kids
1. 63% of all boys, age 11-20, who commit murder kill the man who was abusing their mother
2. 75% of boys who are present when their mothers are beaten were later identified as having demonstrable behavior problems
3. Children from homes characterized by domestic violence are five to seven times more likely to experience significant psychological problems relative to children in the general population.
4. Domestic violence exposed children are four times more likely to visit the school nurse.
5. More than half of school age children in domestic violence shelters show clinical levels of anxiety or post-traumatic stress disorder.
6. Researchers have linked exposure to chronic abuse and violence with lower IQ scores, poorer language skills, decrements in visual-motor integration skills and problems with attention and memory.
7. Cognitive problems associated with exposure to violence and abuse comprises one of the most direct threats to the developmental task of school adaptation and academic achievement. Read the complete article…
Make this the most loving and significant
Valentine’s Day ever.
Love responsibly.
Find your voice.
Speak out
Against domestic violence.
Gifts re-gifted, or paying it forward…
I would like to thank Jen of step on a crack…or break your mother’s back… for nominating GrowthLines for the 7 X 7 Link Award. Thank you, Jen for setting a worthy standard that proves writing can contain both clarity and beauty. That in a single sentence, writing can guide our steps and document our journey. You remind us that we can write with both honesty and integrity.
I created the GrowthLines blog for many of the same reasons I became a therapist. I wanted to observe and understand the world. To think about what it means to be a self, an individual. And at the same time to acknowledge and celebrate our drive to connect to each other. I wanted to explore the possibilities of being human when we push past all that threatens to hold us back. I wanted to be curious and kind. I wanted to show that we could talk about hard things, without doing it in a hard way.
I still want to do and be all those things, and more. Thinking out loud can be risky business. Managing words can be a little like herding cats. They have a mind, and intent of their own. They’re not above taking you in a direction you hadn’t planned on going. Although it can be unsettling in the moment you’re losing control, this independent streak of words is actually one of the things I like about the process of giving our thoughts a voice, written or spoken. If I take the risk of following the process, I usually appreciate where the words take me. The GrowthLines blog has become a doorway to amazing people, greater self awareness, and the opportunity to be a part of something good. Thank you for stopping by, joining the conversation, and paying it forward.
As a 7 X 7 participant, I am to:
- Share something about me that no one (in the blogging community) knows…
- Link up to 7 posts of mine that I feel worthy:
- Nominate 7 bloggers for this award and inform them (with pleasure):
Something no one in the blogging community knows…
As a child, I was a dreamer. In fact as late as college I still had a wide range of things I wanted to be “when I grew up”. The varied options included being a professional barrel racer, an opera star, a youth worker. In my defense, I grew up in the era of Dale Evans, singing cowgirl and advocate for children
My real reason for the uncharacteristic self disclosure? To say thank you to the host of grown ups in my life who encouraged me to dream big and listened to my oversized musings without throwing cold water on them. I think they knew that the process of living would shrink my list over time, so they just listened and encouraged. I took it for granted at the time, adults encouraging me to dream and dream big.
I sit with kids everyday. Sometimes they tell me their dreams. Some of them seem pretty outlandish. I try to remember to be listen carefully, without judgement, without cold water. I hope I’m not the only adult hearing their stories.
Sometimes I sit with kids who have lost their dreams. Too much life, too soon. Too few listeners. Too much cold water. I try to listen in ways to revive the dreams. It can be hard to breathe life into dreams when innocence is gone. Hard, but maybe not impossible. Be a dream listener pure and simple, to the kids in your life. If we listen well, they may trust us to help edit the dream when the time comes.
Seven posts that I feel are worthy of revisiting…
One of the time intensive aspects of accepting the gracious gift of an award from a fellow blogger is discovering and deciding who to give a gift to. These exploratory trips into to Blog Land have also become the gift that keeps on giving to me, as I find written treasures and new voices. They speak honestly, with hope and humor, with encouragement and information. Most of those recognized in this post are new to me. I’m excited about having found them. Their thoughts and experiences have touched me and made me glad I stepped into the blogging community. I have linked to a specific post on each blog. I hope you will explore their entire territory.
Seven bloggers I would like to nominate for the 7 X 7 award…
An old piece of clay.
“You cannot help but learn more as you take the world into your hands. Take it up reverently, for it is an old piece of clay, with millions of thumbprints on it.” ~ John Updike
Blogging for Mental Health, 2012
I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2012 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.
I am happy to express a “Thank You” from the bottom of my heart to Jen at Step On A Crack… for passing the Blogging for Mental Health Pledge on to GrowthLines. Jen is an insightful soul writing powerful and poetic thoughts about life as the child of an alcoholic mother, about losing too many too soon, about growing through the hard places. She talks candidly about the ripple impact of Wernicke-Korsakoff; alcoholics dementia, on the alcoholic and their spouse, children, extended family, friends, and community. In Jen’s words,
“This is a cautionary tale. I hope it will be of help to those who live with alcoholics, are active alcoholics and those who are in recovery.”
It is a tale well worth reading. Jen was courageous enough to start the conversation. I hope you will drop by Step on a Crack, and join in. Thank you, Jen
My Mental Health Map, Chapter One
Good News, Bad News
Two important characteristics of maps should be noticed. A map is not the territory it represents, but, if correct, it has a similar structure to the territory, which accounts for its usefulness. ~ Alfred Korzybski
Frankly I am struggling a bit with the idea of posting my “mental health” biography. Not for reasons you might assume. I’m not ashamed or incapacitated by my history, although I do have some regrets and scars due both to choices I made and things imposed on me by others. No, my struggle has more to do with a) being a pretty introverted, private person, and b) the value I place on finding a balance between knowing I bring my “self” into the therapeutic relationship and knowing that “it’s not about me”.
I came out of childhood with an array of “good news, bad news”. The bad news was attached to learning that life can hurt, disappoint, and change you. I lost people close to me, discovered that grownups you trust aren’t always trustworthy, and had to face the outcome of foolish decisions.
The good news is that I experienced childhood surrounded by people who loved me. I experienced the wisdom, love, nurture, and discipline from three generations of grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles. I had the luxury of celebrating childhood with cousins and close friends. My childhood wasn’t idyllic. It wasn’t awful. It was a mixture, and I am still learning and being shaped by the whole of it.
My Mental Health Map, Chapter Two
Seeds, Earthquakes, and Rogue Waves
I hope you will stop by later for “the rest of the story”. The part I love to talk about. I look forward to thinking out loud about the joy of being a part of the mental health community, of the ways my life has been enriched, of the continuing education I have received under the tutelage of clients and colleagues. Another day, another conversation.
NOW, the fun part. I (we) get to ask five (5) other people to take the pledge for blogging for mental health. Please join me in supporting and encouraging mental health by visiting these voices:
Our attitudes and daily effort will determine our misery or happiness going forward. Healing is possible and likely if you do the work. You have to believe you can heal and practice that belief daily.
Grief: One Woman’s Perspective
Every person’s grief is unique. Every person – and their own “factors” - are unique. Every factor plays a part in how a person grieves and how long it takes to integrate the loss into the fabric of life. Because we live in a society that is distanced from grief, it falls to the bereaved to teach others how to help. This is a daunting task, especially for a bereaved parent already dealing with so much. This blog is written using selected journal entries I have written since March 2002. My only goal is to give some insight of what it’s like to be on this side of the fence. I hope in some measure it can be of some help.
The world needs better men. This blog is simply my journey to becoming a better man every day and the lessons I learn along the way.
The beginning of my mother’s ending
Like a compass needle slamming from South to North! My life was eventually turned from disaster and depression to hope and gratitude! I only look back in order to remember how difficult it is to find serenity and direction when first sober.
The rules of the pledge are:
1) Take the pledge by copy and pasting the following into a post featuring Blog for Mental Health 2012
I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2012 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.
2.) Link back to the person who pledged you.
3.) Write a short biography of your mental health, and what this means to you.
Singing my ABCs…
I want to say big thank you to Debbie at Two Minutes of Grace, for sharing the ABC award with me. The time it has taken me to respond is no indication of how much I appreciate being thought of by Debbie.
The ABC instructions are:
Add the logo to your site.
Pass the ABC award on to other bloggers.
Use the alphabet to make a list of words describing you so readers will learn more about you.
I am pleased to pass the ABC award along to these wonderful bloggers:
“No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally, and often far more, worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.” ~ C.S. Lewis
Debbie, I borrowed your C.S. Lewis quote to introduce my ABC list, not of words, but of children’s books I love. Some are from my own childhood, some from my daughters, and some I have enjoyed reading to my grandchildren. I have used many of them in my therapy practice with people of all ages.
An Alphabet of Children’s Books
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day – Judith Viorst
Angelina Ballerina – Katharine Holabird
Are You My Mother? – Phillip D. Eastman
Best Friends for Frances – Russell Hoban
Corduroy – Don Freeman, Calamity – Camilla Ashworth
Dinosaur’s Divorce – Marc Brown
Ella the Elegant Elephant – Carmela & Steven D’Amico
Franklin in the Dark – Paulette Bourgeois
Giving Tree, The – Shel Silverstein
Guess How Much I Love You – Sam McBratney
Horatio’s Bed – Camilla Ashforth
I Promise I’ll Find You – Heather Patricia Ward
I Was So Mad – Mercer Mayer
Just Like You – Jean Fearnley
Just Go to Bed – Mercer Mayer
Kissing Hand, The – Aubrey Penn
Llama, llama, Red Pajama – Anna Dewdney
Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane – Kate DiCamillo
Midnight Farm, The – Reeve Lindbergh
Not A Box – Laura Vacaro Seeger
Oh The Places You’ll Go – Dr. Seuss
On The Night You Were Born – Nancy Tillan
Polar Express, The – Chris Van Allsburg
Quiet Book, The – Deborah Underwood
Ride a Purple Pelican – Jack Prelutsky
Stellaluna – Janell Cannon
Snowy Day, The – Ezra Jack Keats
Talking Like the Rain – X.J. & Dorothy M. Kennedy
Up and Down – Oliver Jeffers
Velveteen Rabbit, The – Margery Williams
Whale’s Song, The – Dyan Sheldon
Pooh’s Xylophone Book, closest I could come to get an “X”.
You and Me, Little Bear – Martin Waddell
Zoo for Mr. Muster, A – Arnold Lobel
How many of you have found yourselves singing the ABC song in your head, maybe even under your breath, when trying to put something in alphabetical order? Please tell me I’m not the only one.
a motherless child
“Sometimes I feel like a motherless child. Sometimes I feel like a motherless child. Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, a long way from home,”.
Reading this post may be like sifting through a pile of scattered thoughts. A reflection in itself of the fact that losing a parent is an experience that covers the lifespan. My hope is that you will see it as a continuing conversation, not a final answer. And that you may find some encouragement and strength for your journey.
The loss of a parent may be one of the broadest experiences of loss. No stage of life guarantees us that our parent’s death will go unfelt or unmourned. No stage offers us immunity from feeling that loss, or facing the change it brings.
The younger we are the more our loss may encompass grieving the parent we never knew. For a child, the death of their parent can mean living with the nagging feeling of having been left. Not unlike being left on a hiking trail without our guide, before we’re confident of our ability to find our own way. When one parent dies, a child often loses the other parent to their own grief. We may feel isolated as we try to protect the other parent from feeling our shared pain. Sometimes we arrive in adulthood carrying the wounds of childhood losses experienced before we had an older, wiser, more forgiving language. A language to help us both describe and soothe our pain.
The feeling of being left can come at any age. As though the color of abandonment is present for each of us, just in different shades based on the time and circumstances. When my dad’s mother died I recall him saying reflectively, “Now I’m the oldest living member of my family”. There was sadness, resolve, and a touch of uncertainty in his voice. I was surprised. There were ways he had lost her long before that moment, to the dementia that swallowed her up one bite at a time. And even before that when her 13 year son died suddenly from spinal meningitis. She was forever changed, and at age 11 my dad lost his brother and became the oldest son, bearing the weight of hopes and dreams not yet lived. It struck me that all of those losses, sudden and progressive, did not protect him from the finality of that moment. Of knowing that he would never have more of her in this life than had been gathered from his birth up to the time of her death. And that in the starkest of realities, the buck now stopped with him.
Our experience of loss may also be colored by the gap between who we needed our parent to be and who they actually were. We can believe that an abusive parent’s death will bring relief and freedom from our pain, only to discover that in being rid of harm we also lost all possibility that the parent we need would someday appear. Whatever has been left unsaid, the acknowledgement of harm, the “I’m sorry”, the “Please forgive me”, will forever be unspoken, silenced by our parent’s exit. It can be a devastating and confusing loss.
Words said that can’t be taken back. Words never said that we wish could be spoken. Questions never asked. Choices never explained. Stories never told. All these and more are frozen in time for us when a parent dies. Their weight varies depending on where we are in this marathon. From being parented in infancy through the love hate race of adolescence. From the renegotiated relay of adulthood to the discomfort of accepting the baton to run this final leg of the race as our parent’s parent. And if they cross the finish line before us, to know it is ours to grieve the success and failure of their life, ours to allow them to rest in peace in their death. Ours to learn to run our own race untethered by what is now behind us.
“I am amputated, inconsolable. My father has died.
Now I must invent him, perhaps fictionalize, mythologize him.
Most of all, I will have to find a way to mourn him.
E. M. Broner, Mornings and Mourning: A Kaddish Journal
