Day 16: Inner Child

What does your inner child like to do and how can you do more of it? What does your inner child need from you?

 

Believe it or not, this short piece took over a half hour to write.

 

I asked my inner child Catsie “What would you like to do?”, and she started singing “I Want To Break Free” by Queen. 

 

I asked, “Does this mean you want to break free of ME?”

 

And Catsie answered, “No, not really. You protected me all those years, and I love you for that. I hope you did it because you love me.”

 

“Well, yes,” I answered after a moment of hesitation. “But I didn’t really know about you until after I was all grown up and got therapy.”

 

“I know,” said Catsie. “That’s why I need to break free sometimes. Someday I would like us both to be one person.”

 

That surprised me. “I thought we were one person. You’re little Me.”

 

“Yes,” Catsie answered patiently. “But most of the time I’m in the upstairs attic room. You forget about me sometimes and I don’t like that. I get lonely.”

 

“Geeze, I’m sorry.” I felt awful. “I didn’t ever mean for you to feel lonely. What can I do so you aren’t lonely?”

 

“Invite me out to play with you.”

 

“I don’t play much now. I’m 68 now and my body doesn’t bend, twist, or run so easily. You are still 10. Give me your energy and I will take you outside and go for more walks. We can plant a garden together with Ted, Bill, and Tomas helping us.”

 

Catsie clapped her hands. “I would like that! All you have to do is think of me and I will be there.”

 

“I will think of you more often. I don’t want you to feel lonely. You’ve been up in the attic alone too many years.”

 

“I want us to tell my story. I want you to write it.”

 

“You want me to write about you?”

 

“Yes, you can see me and look into my mind to see what it’s been like for me, and how sad I felt when we sort of separated. I know it happened so that you could be brave and handle all that bad stuff. It was too scary for me.”

 

“You were too little. You are the child I was supposed to be, but you didn’t get a chance to grow up.”

 

“I can start growing up if you see me and hear me more. Then you and I will be one again.”

 

“I want to hug you.”

 

Catsie practically leapt into my arms. I held her close. I want to give her what she needs most of all: unconditional love.

Once again, this is my pledge to write for at least a half hour every day:

I am participating in the American Cancer Society’s challenge to write for thirty minutes each day in May. I do a lot of writing and I can meet this challenge. I plan to make a blog entry each day with what I’ve written.

I wanted to participate in memory of loved ones who fought cancer bravely but succumbed:

My brother-in-law Jeff

My sister-in-law Ann

My dear friend Kay

My Uncle Bob

My Uncle John

 

I also wanted to help raise money to support research and a cure for those currently fighting this vicious disease.

My Facebook to the fundraiser is here. 

Day 15: Hard Lessons

DAY 15: HARD LESSONS - Write about a lesson you had to learn the hard way

Here is a lesson that I’ve learned the hard way and still struggle with: I have no control over people or their behavior. I can only control myself. It took a lot of therapy and twelve-step meetings to convince me that I was wasting time and energy butting my head against a stone wall.

When I was twelve, my parents were already heavily invested in going to their Deaf social club and drinking heavily. I was left in charge of my 10-year-old brother. My parents would tell us to go to bed at ten. My brother usually conked out around then, but I stayed up. I had it in my head that if I stayed awake until they came home, they wouldn’t get into a car crash and die.  This kind of magical thinking went on right through my high school years.

It seems silly now, thinking that staying awake would control the safe return of my parents.

I mentioned in another post that Mom suffered from an undiagnosed mental illness. The drinking worsened for the mail her symptoms. I used to think that if my brother and I stayed on our best behavior and tried to please her, we could control her outbursts.  That was another failed attempt to control someone’s behavior.

Even though it was an ineffective method of coping, a need to control things so everything would be all right had become ingrained in me through adulthood. 

In truth, being a Coda sort of reinforced that strategy. From a young age, I was my parents' interpreter. The older I got, the more they would depend on me to make the best choices on how to react to issues that would arise. They would tell me, "You're hearing. You know the right thing to do."

I wrote earlier that my first husband, Rich, was diagnosed with Marfan Syndrome. Marfan Syndrome affects the whole body because it stretches connective tissue. It was the reason why Rich suffered congestive heart failure at age 28. A surgeon at Johns Hopkins saved him by replacing his aortic valve but he needed to make behavior changes: he needed to stay away from cigarettes, and he needed to lose weight.

Rich struggled with both. We quit smoking cold turkey when I became pregnant with our firstborn. I set down a rule: No more smoking. Not at home, not at work, not ever. I was able to stick to it, but Rich wasn’t. We didn’t work for the same company anymore, so he would smoke there.

One day, I smelled smoke on him. He tried to say it was another co-worker smoking near him, but it was on his breath, and I wasn’t buying it. I made a great big stink about it and pulled a guilt trip on him. If he continued to smoke and hurt his heart further, he might die and then what would our child and I do?

I thought guilt-tripping as a way to control Rich’s smoking worked.  I didn't detect any relapses for the next ten-plus years.

I was wrong.

After he passed away, co-workers brought all his personal effects. They included books of matches and an ashtray. I was surprised. “Did Rich smoke?” I asked.

They looked uncomfortable and then one of the guys admitted that yes, Rich would sometimes smoke with them outdoors during break time.

So, trying to control Rich’s smoking was a total failure too.

The thing is, by that point, I knew it was an ineffective strategy.  I’d been to therapy and twelve-step meetings, but I guess I hadn’t really and truly admitted that I had no control over anyone. I could only control my own thoughts, feelings, and behavior.

I am participating in the American Cancer Society’s challenge to write for thirty minutes each day in May. I do a lot of writing and I can meet this challenge. I plan to make a blog entry each day with what I’ve written.

I wanted to participate in memory of loved ones who fought cancer bravely but succumbed:

My brother-in-law Jeff

My sister-in-law Ann

My dear friend Kay

My Uncle Bob

My Uncle John

 

I also wanted to help raise money to support research and a cure for those currently fighting this vicious disease.

My Facebook to the fundraiser is here. 

Day 14: "What Is Something That Adds Sweetness To Your Life?"

 Love adds the largest dose of sweetness to my life.

 I have been blessed to have the two greatest loves of my life. First, there was Rich. He came into my life at a time when I was sure I would never marry and never have children. But he, with his gentle and loving ways, showed me that there could be a marriage of spirits that didn’t include bitterness and domestic violence.

 

I lost him in 2001, when he was only forty years old. At 28, he’d had congestive heart failure due to cardiomyopathy. After a consultation with a cardiac surgeon at Johns Hopkins, a geneticist was called in. Rich was very tall, severely myopic, double-jointed, and had unusual stretch marks on his shoulders. The geneticist determined that he had Marfan Syndrome. The cardiac surgeon replaced Rich’s leaky aortic valve with one made of metal. When all was quiet, the kids and I could hear Rich tick like a watch. In fact, he put all our cranky babies to sleep by placing them on his chest.

 One morning, we found he was gone. No more ticking.

 Rich, as his health declined that year, said he wanted me to go on and find someone else after he passed away. I was horrified. I didn’t want to think of the possibility of Rich’s passing. If he did, there could be no other.

I blogged earlier about how I came to meet Ted.  I signed up for a 3 month membership with a dating service because I was lonely and looking for a pen pal. When Ted’s profile first appeared in my email, I deleted it. His photo reminded me of Rich, and his interests were similar. I deleted a lot of other profiles, too. There were one or two who lived in the Midwest that I corresponded with briefly, but we didn’t have enough in common to continue. I decided to cancel my membership.

Just as my membership ended, Ted’s profile showed up again. As my finger moved to the delete button, I heard Rich’s voice say, “Give him a chance.” So, I did. Ted lived in New Jersey and the kids and I lived on Long Island. We began emailing each other. We had so much in common, and he really was a lot like Rich. It was semi-painful but also comforting. We began calling each other and spent hours chatting back and forth. Then we began a real long-distance relationship, taking turns visiting each other and going out on dates.

 I didn’t think I would ever find a love like the one I had with Rich. It’s almost miraculous that I have such a strong love again with Ted. It’s the same but also very different. At this point, Ted and I can just about read each other’s thoughts, finish each other’s sentences. We are in tune, body and soul.

 

There is even more love adding sweetness to my life: my children with Rich, Bill, Heidi, and Kristin. I couldn’t be prouder of the wonderful young people they’ve grown to be. I look at them in wonder sometimes because in their growing years, I was full of mothering doubt. Was I like my mother, who was mentally ill and abusive? Sometimes I felt confident I’d learned enough not to be. Yet there were times I became angry and yelled. Did my face look demonic then, as my mother’s had to me? But now as I reflect, I believe I must have done something right for the way they’ve turned out.

 

When Ted and I married, we blended our families. He had two grown daughters, Michele and Linda. Michele was already married then with three little ones and Linda was dating a young man named Kennan. Blending wasn’t easy. Michele and Linda missed their mother dearly. My kids missed Rich.

 

Over the years, though, we’ve learned to accept and love each other. Michele was widowed a few years ago. Recently, she re-connected with a guy she knew from her high school years, Gary. Just a couple of weeks ago, we celebrated their marriage. We supported Michele all the way. We’d been in her shoes, and we knew the fall out from kids missing their deceased parent. Michele and Gary are in the midst of blending their families.

 We have eight grandchildren between Michele and Linda. Sadly, all but one live far from New Jersey. Three are with Linda and Jay in Virginia; Michele, Gary, and Michele’s adult kids are all in Tennessee. One grandchild is in New Jersey, Linda’s firstborn with Kennan. Tomas is and has been a source of love and joy for all his nineteen years.

 

I absolutely cannot leave out our four-footed feline babies: Gus, Bandit, Bootsie and Nugget.

 

 

Nor can I leave out the love of my dear friends.

 My life would not be so sweet without all the love that’s been added to it.

I am participating in the American Cancer Society’s challenge to write for thirty minutes each day in May. I do a lot of writing and I can meet this challenge. I plan to make a blog entry each day with what I’ve written.

I wanted to participate in memory of loved ones who fought cancer bravely but succumbed:

My brother-in-law Jeff

My sister-in-law Ann

My dear friend Kay

My Uncle Bob

My Uncle John

 

I also wanted to help raise money to support research and a cure for those currently fighting this vicious disease.

My Facebook to the fundraiser is here. 

Day 13: Personal Resources

I am participating in the American Cancer Society’s challenge to write for thirty minutes each day in May. I do a lot of writing and I can meet this challenge. I plan to make a blog entry each day with what I’ve written.

I wanted to participate in memory of loved ones who fought cancer bravely but succumbed:

My brother-in-law Jeff

My sister-in-law Ann

My dear friend Kay

My Uncle Bob

My Uncle John

I also wanted to help raise money to support research and a cure for those currently fighting this vicious disease.

My Facebook to the fundraiser is here. 

 

 "Write about something that you always have with you."

Wherever I go, I carry the book I’m reading. Sometimes I have two books with me, leaving one in the car. That’s my “in case” book, the one I’ll need if I happen to finish the one I’ve got under my arm.

I started this practice back in junior high. Often, I was finished with a class assignment before everyone else. I grew tired of feeling bored waiting for everyone to finish so I always made sure I had my library book with me. Other students who also finished early but didn’t have a book fidgeted. I had plenty of patience. I could read all day if I could.

I can’t tell you how annoyed I was when I took the PSAT and SAT in high school and wasn’t allowed to read while I waited for time to be up. What did they think I was doing, cheating? We weren’t allowed to read or doodle. Finger drumming and pencil tapping weren’t permitted either. What was there to do but look out the window at … nothing going on.

Reading in the car or on the bus didn’t make me carsick. When I was tired of looking out the window, I would pull out my book and read. It made a six-hour drive from Baltimore to Long Island pass quickly. My brother would stare glumly out the window. He didn’t care much for reading.

While we lived in Baltimore, we didn’t really need a car much. I took two city buses to get to high school and frequently rode other bus lines to get where I needed to go. I would pull out a book to read while I stood waiting for the bus to arrive. The wait didn’t seem so long, and my feet didn’t seem to hurt so much standing in place. The book would come out again as soon as I sat down on the bus.

Having a book with me has helped me endure long waits in the doctor’s office. Even when a tech finally brings you back to a room, there is still another long wait for the doctor to make an appearance. I have even pulled out a book to read while waiting in a long line at the bank or at a store.

Some years back, Ted convinced me to try a Kindle. I must admit I was intrigued by the idea. It’s become harder to hold a big book. The weight of one of the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon was enough to make my wrists and hands ache. Being able to read such a long story on a little bitty Kindle seemed miraculous.

I couldn’t do it.

I tried; I really did. It just wasn’t the same. My Kindle didn’t have the heft of a “real” book. There wasn’t a physical sensation on my fingers in turning the pages. There wasn’t a new page scent.

I am on my third Kindle. I think I’ve used it a handful of times since Ted got it for me as a Christmas gift two years ago. I still download free eBooks to it. I just haven’t read any of them. I don’t know if it’s because I’m old school or because some folks, old or young, just must have the “feel” of a hardback or paperback book.

I’m breezing through my latest book, Small Mercies. It’s written by one of my favorite authors, Dennis Lehane. Some writers just have a way with words that pull me into their stories. Dennis Lehane, Wally Lamb, John Irving, Stephen King, James Clavell, Amy Tan, and Diana Gabaldon are on that list. I would also include Betty Smith, a favorite from my teen years. She wrote A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Joy in the Morning.

I find new favorites every time I walk into the library.

I am at the point in my life where carrying a book with me wherever I go has become second nature. I’m never at a loss for something to pass the time pleasantly, no matter where I am waiting.