Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts

Monday, February 17, 2014

Your Life, Your Movie


"Stay In Your Own Movie"
 
~ DeVon Franklin
 
When my son was a young child, he would talk about going to various friend's houses to play and how wonderful their house was, how great their snacks were and how nice their parents were and how perfect everything always seemed when he was there at whatever friends house he happened to be.  Sometimes he would even tell me that the parents of some of his friends never even ever argued.  Ever.
 
First I told him that they were waiting for him to leave so they could have their argument and then I would smile and tell him that I was glad he liked to go and play with his friends at their house and that his friends were always welcome to also come to our house to play.  And they would.  A lot.  And as my son grew up it was wonderful to see many different friends run in and out of our house as he hung out with lots of his friends, old and new.
 
My son's vision of other people's lives as perfect is something that I fall into too and maybe this happens to you too.  It's easy to look at another person's life, whether a friend or someone you don't know well at all, and think that just because it all looks good, you know what I mean -- the house, the car, the children, the spouse, the job -- that theirs is a perfect life.  However, here's a major spoiler: It's not.  I'm not saying that if someone else's situation looks good then it's got to be bad.  I'm just remarking on the possibility that behind all those things that  look good sometimes there lurks a lot of burdens and troubles and problems because they aren't always obvious to others.
 
The parental insight I offered to my son goes something like this: there will always be people who have more than you and there will always be people who have less than you.  Yes, it's a normal thing to want to improve your life and work towards goals that get you to a better place but don't set yourself up by comparing your life to theirs because you might end up being dissatisfied and unhappy.
 
Instead, look at the blessings and gifts in your life and be happy and proud of what you have worked hard to earn or achieve.  Your talents are unique and not like anyone else's.  It is hard not to compare because sometimes it is so in your face.  But there is more to someone else's story than you know and there are always trade offs being made for what arrives in your life.  I have found there is a certain quiet grace to having the confidence to live within your means and being at peace with the path you have chosen.  Your life is just as special as anyone else's.
 
Continue to develop your gifts and appreciate the wonders in your life for there is always something new to learn, something new to discover. 
 
Focus on what is happening in your life instead of comparing your life to someone else's.  Comparing is a waste of time.  You only have a partial picture of what is going on with others.
 
But you know the whole picture of what is happening to you so put your energy on you and the people you care about.
 
It's your life, your movie, so stay in it, as DeVon Franklin says, and try to make every day a block buster!!
 

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Falling Can Make You Stronger

One of my sisters sent me the video posted below that's about Moms and the endless, loving support they give their children.  In the case of this video, it shows Moms and their budding athletes in the beginning stages of learning their sports skills and then the years of repetition, the daily practice, practice, practice performed by the children until they reach the ultimate competition of the Olympics.

It's a wonderful video, tracing the path of infants and babies falling, getting back up, trying again and again, finally learning to ice skate, snowboard and ski so that they may perform more accomplished routines.
 
 

On another level, the video is also about raw persistence, resilience, determination and the commitment to never give up on your passions and your dream no matter what you decide to pursue in life.

Emotional resilience doesn't come to you just like that.  Unfortunately, you don't wake up one morning and suddenly you are resilient.  But don't be discouraged.  Resilience is the ability to become strong, healthy, bounce back or rebuild again after a loss, or a personal crisis.  The good news is resilience is something that can be developed within you.
 
You can gain strength through pain.  And little by little I bet you are doing it every day and you may not realize it.  Always get back up.  You can do it!
 
Here's the "Thanks Mom" video:
 
 

Friday, November 1, 2013

Taxi Dad

Today's post is a shout out to all of the men out there who have lost their wives or partners and are working hard to juggle the never ending responsibilities of working a paying job while raising their precious children.

I think that women in this situation tend to receive more attention than men due to the sheer numbers of women who find themselves widowed with young children.  But men are also out there too doing their part and running around -- as all parents do -- trying to keep all the plates in the air.
 
I was reminded of this earlier in the week when I jumped into a taxi and had a casual conversation with the young driver.  It was one of those casual chats that starts out as nothing but then it became more.   We were talking about the cost of living in Washington, DC and the price of gas and then it evolved into stories about our children and life's priorities.

 
The taxi driver had two children, one who just started college and the other who was around 10 years old.  He tapped the dashboard to show me the picture of his younger child which he had taped by the driver's wheel.  "This is the reason that I don't work on weekends even though that's the time I could make a lot more money," Taxi Dad told me.  "My wife died in 2009 from cancer so I am doing it by myself, you know?  I don't have time to go crazy and spend money and time on other things.  Do you know what I mean?"
 
Yup, I told him, I did know what he meant. 
 
I have been a single parent for ten years and being a single parent, just like being a parent with a spouse or partner, is a lot of hard work.  It's also incredibly rewarding and sometimes heartbreaking.  Many times I found myself in uncharted territory in ways I never imagined and sometimes I got through the day by just going with my gut instinct as I tried to be both Mom and Dad.  Whether it's something that happens at school, a decision to be made about a friend's party or sharing the car, I second guessed myself a lot.
 
Instead of saying, "I don't know.  I'll have to talk to your father about this," I would try to buy some time on making a decision by just being honest and saying, "You have to give me some more time to think about this."  Sometimes, I would call a friend and sometimes I would call one of my sisters but you definitely need someone you can talk to whose judgment you trust because you need parental feedback and I didn't have anyone else to help me figure it out.
 
I think widowed Dads probably learn to set up their own support systems and find other guys or family and friends to help them navigate the surprises of trying to work a job and raise children by themselves.
 
Taxi Dad is just one of thousands of Dads out there who try to arrange their work schedules to support their children's needs just as women do. 

As my ride and our conversation ended, it felt good to share our stories about how we handled our losses and connect for a short time with another parent who had also lost a spouse.  Me and Taxi Dad are doing our best and that's all we can ask of ourselves.
 
Here's to the Dads who man up every day and make it work!  

Monday, October 21, 2013

Kindness In a Me, Me, Me Culture

No matter what our age or place in life, we always remember the people who are kind.
 
For instance, during the homily of a friend's funeral, I found myself sitting by myself because I had a arrived a little late and my friends were in another part of the church.  As I listened to the beautiful words of the priest's eulogy, I put my head down as tears began to roll down my face.  I will never forget the simple gesture of the woman sitting next to me who gently put her hand on top of mine for a few minutes.
 
Simple acts of kindness remind us that we are all in this together and if we help each other out, it will go a little easier.  Plus, being kind makes you feel better about yourself.
 
There have been a lot of stories in the news recently about bullying.  Not just regular ole bullying that has been around since the beginning of time, but fierce, relentless, coldhearted bullying that continues to the point that the targeted person takes their own life.  I'm not going to go into all the factors that drive this new kind of bullying although I have my own theories. 
 
Kind behavior is not a show of weakness. Kindness and manners can be thought of as the same thing.
 

 
 
Which is essentially, acting on the idea that life is not all of about you or me.  Kindness is thinking beyond yourself to how the other person feels. 
 
You might not think being kind is important until you are on the other end of someone else's mean behavior to you.  And then, very quickly, you have a light bulb moment and you then probably get it.
 
According to Letitia Baldrige, who was Jacqueline Kennedy's chief of staff in the White House and America's number one best-selling authority on manners, when a child asks "Why do I have to be kind?" the answer should be careful but immediate.
 
Baldrige says that like a winning pitch in a baseball game, The Golden Rule should be tossed out as an answer whenever possible.  "The Golden Rule?", says the child.  "Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"
 
"Yes", says the parent.  "Here is The Golden Rule: Think how you would have felt if you were in his/her place and a stranger helped you -- just like that.  You'd be grateful!"
 
Baldrige advises to avoid nagging children about being kind or constantly using their good manners for that turns a positive into a negative.  "A child who is constantly told how bad or selfish he/she is will start to believe it and not care about the rewards of kind manners," Baldrige writes in her book, Letitia Baldrige's More Than Manners! 
 
Instead, whenever an opportunity presents itself to point out or make an editorial observation about someone else's kindness or good manners, you might say to the child, "Wasn't that great of him/her to do that?"  Or maybe, as the parent, you can show your child what it is like to pay it forward.
 
Holding the door for another person, saying hello, saying good-bye, keeping your mean thoughts to yourself, saying please, turning off or putting away your cellphone when someone is talking to you, helping a disabled person across the street.
 
It's a mad, mad, mad world out there sometimes and the little things, such as kindness and good manners, only take a few minutes to practice and they make life run so much smoother!
 
 
 

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

A Silly Ode to October

I know the calendar says it's the month of October but there have been days when it has felt as though it were July. 

When it feels like summer I am definitely one happy camper!!  It's all I can do to stop myself from driving to the beach!!  But then there are the shorter days when it now gets dark earlier and earlier and that is difficult for me to deal with.  It's really a downer to come out of work at the end of the day and it's dark already.

Autumn may not be one of my favorite times of the year but there are a few things about October that make me smile.  And when I smile, I relax and breath deeper, which in turn releases any physical tension I may be feeling.  Here goes:



-- Sweet childhood memories.  As a child, one of my favorite things to do was to shuffle my fee through the piles of leaves and collect the leaves that had turned color and fallen to ground.  I would take the leaves home and press them between pieces of waxed paper with a warm iron.  Moving the leaves around on the waxed paper, I would create different designs and when I found the one I wanted I would place another piece of waxed paper on top of the leaves (the waxed sides facing each other inside so that they can melt together) and slowly press the iron moving it over the veins and stems of the yellow, red and orange leaves.
 
I hope young children still get involved in crafty projects of this sort but probably not, right?  I'm not even sure that children still make their own Halloween costumes anymore but I'm hoping that they do!  I remember many times when my siblings and I just went into our closets and put costumes together for trick or treating and we always made a mess but had a lot of fun!

-- Pumpkins!  I love the pumpkin flavor plus I love actual pumpkins of all shapes and sizes.  Warm pumpkin pie is hard to resist and one of my favorite muffins is a pumpkin muffin full of cinnamon and nutmeg.  So yummy! 

Have you checked out what is going on with decorating pumpkins?  People are now painting them white, silver, gold and black and decorating them with circles and other groovy designs.  Pumpkins are not just for Halloween anymore!  I've seen them as decorations as weddings and centerpieces at gala dinners.  Use your imagination.  Since October is dedicated to celebrating the medical strides made towards fighting breast cancer, you could paint your pumpkin pink!

--Every month has its own personality and when award-winning children's book author (Where The Wild Things Are) Maurice Sendak wrote Chicken Soup with Rice A Book of Months, he made up a silly rhyming story for each month.  Here is Sendak's short ode to the month October: 
 
In October I’ll be host to witches, goblins, and a ghost.
I’ll serve them chicken soup on toast.
Whoopy once, whoopy twice, whoopy chicken soup with rice.
 
My attitude is the game changer in creating a happy and fulfilling life whether it's October or July. 

October is a month filled with possibilities.  I have no idea what great things could happen next to you or to me.  
 
Let's stay open to the positive and see what happens!!



Sunday, June 16, 2013

Your Dad Is Here

I see my husband in my son in small ways:  the way he rolls up his long sleeved shirts, the set of his jaw when he is annoyed or determined to do something he really wants to accomplish and the way he plays chicken with his car's gas tank and won't fill it up until it is almost empty.

When I see those traits it is bittersweet: they make me laugh and but they also make me feel a little sad and wistful.    "He is still with us," I think to myself.  My husband had a very strong personality so I am not surprised that I see some of him in our son.  It's just when those quirky things appear, they always have a way of taking me by surprise.
 
 
 
My thoughts today are with fathers and the important role they play in their children's lives.  While my son's father died nine years ago, I appreciate the important role he played in our young son's life and how his influence can still be felt today.
 
Please read the timely story below which I found on the insightful website, Hello Grief (www.hellogrief.org).  The author, Abigail Carter, sweetly reminds us of the importance of Dads everywhere; the ones who are with us today and the ones that we forever hold in our hearts.
 
Happy Father's Day!
 
 
 
Every Day is Father’s Day
By Abigail Carter
June 8, 2010 

Father’s Day never held much importance for our family until the death of my husband, Arron, father of our two young children.
 
The day usually began with a childish command for him to stay in bed so he could be the lucky recipient of a sticky tray of burnt pancakes and watery coffee, and be handed a construction paper card with “I lov you dady,” in bright red crayon, or a popsicle stick picture frame with a blurry Polaroid of a proud pre-schooler.
 
Later in the day, as he jiggled the kids around on the heavy metal lumber cart at Home Depot, I refrained from my usual “step away from the power tools,” and allowed him to run amuck, our list of supplies forgotten in his pocket. For dinner I would make one of his favorites – chicken stew, or if the weather was nice, a steak grilled on the BBQ and a glass of wine after the kids were in bed.
 
Our first Father’s Day after his death was spent in the company of several other widows on a deserted New Jersey Shore beach watching our children romp around in the waves or play in the sand, wishing we had the ability to play so freely, wishing we could have our old lives back. The male volunteers who grilled hot dogs for lunch just seemed to add salt to our wounds.
 
The days and weeks afterward were spent in a heightened state of agitation to which we were oblivious – fighting, frustrated, exhausted – until someone pointed out how difficult Father’s Day must have been. Finally able to connect the dots between the day and the aggression that had settled upon my family, the black moods eventually dissipated, at least until the next event that needed to braced for, like one of the kid’s birthdays, or another wedding anniversary. Year two was a repeat of year one, the bracing, the beach, the fatherless kids, the male volunteers, the loneliness, the anger, the exhaustion.
 
Friends and family, while well-meaning often added to the stress, building the potential heart-break of the day by calling to offer sad Happy Father’s Day wishes, or to offer to take the kids away, thinking that what they needed was to spend time with a man, one that was usually someone else’s father.
 
There was another year, the year I picked my son up from Pre-K after his class had been busy making presents for their fathers, and when we got into the car, he threw the present at me, something square wrapped in emerald green tissue paper. “Who am I going to give this to?” He yelled. “All the other kids have dads and I don’t!” In one day, with the realization that he was not like all the other kids, he had gone from a sad child to an angry one – anger that eight years later is only beginning to dissipate.
 
For many widows with children, Father’s Day creeps up and pounces on us. Sometimes we just anticipate it with dread – more glaring evidence of what we have lost. Everyone (not just widows) tries to celebrate the day in some meaningful way, trying to honor that special Dad. Newspapers and television ads are filled with things we are meant to buy, sentiments we are meant to feel. There is so much pressure to ‘honor” our loved one properly, even when they are alive, but no one seems quite sure how to go about doing so.
 
We have tried a variety of different activities on Father’s Day. Things my husband would have enjoyed: bike rides in the park, planting a shrub in the garden, an IMAX movie downtown, a steak on the BBQ. The day has become less sad, held less meaning as the kids grow and have adapted to their life with only one parent. But with each passing year, Father’s Day becomes less and less volatile.
 
The kids have almost passed the period in elementary school where presents are being made in class. And if they are, the kids have adapted. Presents have been awarded to grandfathers or other men of importance in their lives at the time. I considered last year a kind of breakthrough when my son, still in elementary school decided to participate in his class’s annual Father’s Day craft project. When the day arrived, he presented his gift to me saying, “since you are pretty much like our dad as well as our mom, this is for you.” It was the compliment of a lifetime, and reminded me how far we had all come.
 
This year will be our eighth Father’s Day without a father to honor, and again, it will likely be passed with very little fanfare. In other years I have felt guilt for wanting to ignore these events, making up for it by forcing a celebration with trips to the beach, riding bikes, making Mickey Mouse pancakes – pretending that our family was still whole, pretending that my husband could still appreciate these efforts. It was my son who finally reminded me of the pressures I was putting on all of us when he asked, “Why do we always do all this stuff on Father’s Day when we don’t even have a dad?” I thought we had been doing it to remember him, but I realized that really I was doing it because I felt like I had to. My efforts were stressing me out and doing nothing to help us remember Arron, let alone honor him.
 
Instead of pancakes and bike rides and beach trips one day every June, I realized that all it takes to celebrate Father’s Day is for me to recognize one of my husband’s goofy expressions in our daughter, or his familiar glint of mischief in the eye of our son and laugh saying, “you look just like your father when you do that!”
 
That way every day is Father’s Day.
 
* * * *
By guest writer, Abigail Carter. View more of her essays at www.alchemyofloss.com [2] and learn more about her at www.abigailcarter.com [3].

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

A Friend's Good Bye Letter

Last week a childhood friend of my father's died.  They had known each other since they were in grade school and met each other while playing on the black top when they were about seven or eight years old.  They both went on to attend the same high school, playing basketball, and later both went into the insurance business working for different companies.

 
 
Over the years, they stayed in touch with each other as best they could.  They both worked very hard while trying to raise large Irish Catholic families.  My father and mother had six children and my Dad's friend and his wife had eight children.  Our families didn't really mix, not because we didn't want to, but more because the ages of the children were different we didn't live close to their neighborhood and there basically was just too much stuff going on to try and coordinate anything.
 
When you have known someone for as long as my Dad and his friend knew each other it is hard to let go.  My Dad knew that his friend was not well but didn't know how sick he was until he received the news of his friend's death.  One way to keep the person connected to you is write a letter to the person now deceased.  I don't think this is morbid.  In fact, I think it's very healthy.
 
The person who died is someone who had an important place in your life.  The person is physically gone but the friendship is still there.  Sharing memories -- whether it's through writing a letter or talking to others about this person -- is a healthy way to process your feelings of grief and to establish  to yourself that the friendship or perhaps love in other cases, is still there and will always be.


 
 
Now my Dad is writing a letter to his friend's widow and their adult children about his special friendship with this man and it is bringing back a lot of great memories for him which he hopes will also be a comfort in the days and years ahead as they and my Dad work through their loss.
 
Don't ever unestimate the importance of a note written from the heart.  After my husband died, I received cards from people who worked with my husband or were friends with him and some wrote notes to me about how they knew him and their experiences with him.  I saved those cards because those notes were like little pieces of a puzzle that was my husband.  Sometimes the stories caught me by surprise and other times I only knew the story from my husband's point of view and the handwritten note reveal a different side of him to me.

Let me be honest, sometimes the stories weren't always the best but either way, the notes were part of dealing honestly and openly with our feelings of grief and trying to find comfort in reaching out and sharing.
 

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Angelina's Health Decision

Angelina Jolie made a powerful decision.

It's not a decision that every woman has the opportunity to make, but I stand and applaud her courage and wish her a future of wellness.
 
Faced with medical information from her doctors that she had an 87 percent risk of developing breast cancer and a 50 percent risk of developing ovarian cancer because she carried the BRCA1 gene, she decided to take control of her health and be proactive.  She decided at the young age of 37 to have a double mastectomy which means she had both of her currently healthy breasts surgically removed.
 
Jolie didn't want to wait around for the cancer to come and claim her.
 
Jolie, the winner of an Academy Award, two Screen Actors Guild and three Golden Globe awards, wrote an op-ed piece which appeared in yesterday's New York Times about her medical decision and I think every woman who read it paused afterwards and thanked God for their good health and blessings and maybe at the same time they also thought about someone they had already lost to breast or ovarian cancer or is in treatment.

Whether a mother or a daughter, grandparent, sibling, or friend, chances are very good that almost every New York Times and Cry, Laugh, Heal reader knows someone affected by fbomb cancer.

Actress Angelina Jolie and her partner, Actor Brad Pitt, with their six children
I imagine that every woman, when first diagnosed with breast cancer has two burning questions, "What am I going to do?" and "Will I lose my breast?"  As the mother of six children and the daughter of a woman who died from cancer at age 56, Jolie said she had all the information she needed to face her scary health dilemma, stare down her future and go forward.

Her New York Times op-ed is amazing and for me, her most inspirational words came in the last two sentences:

"Life comes with many challenges.  The ones that should not scare us are the ones we can take on and take control of."
 
Cancer can many times take us to the land of grief and, believe me, it is not a place anyone wants to visit.  But once we find ourselves thrown there, we can and must find a way to get through the tears and the pain and work to find a new way of living our lives.
 
It is about trust, and love, and being human.  And it is most of all about hope.
 
Please don't ever give up.
 
You've got the power.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Grief In the Office

Even though your world probably stopped when you lost a loved one, the world around you has continued  with its usual routine.
 
I know it's kind of a shocker to find this out but it's true.
 
You are racked with pain but unfortunately you still have bills to pay and possibly children to feed and keep on track as best as possible.
 
 
In my case, my husband's funeral was on a Monday and the work project I was involved with required that I go into the office on the Thursday of that same week to participate in a conference call.  I did go into the office which felt totally surreal, and somehow kept it together.  The young girl who sat in the conference room with me during the call did her best to let me know she was sorry I had to sit in on the call but was still uncomfortable because I think she thought I was going to randomly start crying.
 
I didn't start crying but I wanted to.  There were no tears because I was afraid to cry.  I was fearful that if I showed my work colleagues what a mess I was, then I would lose my job and then I would really be up a proverbial creek.
 
Coming off the elevator to my work floor, I began to see that there were usually two reactions from my work colleagues: either people acknowledged to me in their own way that they were sorry to hear that my husband had died or they acted like nothing had happened.  There was no middle ground.
 
Having been through this experience, I have to say that the best reaction is the honest reaction: someone either hugs you, holds your hand, says "I'm sorry for your loss," or asks if there is anything they can do.  I never understood the people who came up and talked to me as though nothing had happened.  You may also find yourself dealing with a vibe that seems like you are contagious with some kind of disease that NO ONE wants to be exposed to.
 
Even if you are uncomfortable or nervous in talking to someone who has just lost a loved one, I think you can always manage to say something that indicates you are a human being and that you and others have feelings about what happens to them.
 
God knows that today's competitive workplace is hard enough to navigate.  Work is a place of business but work is also a place made up of human beings.  Offices with forward looking management probably have thought about this already and have policies in place to help co-workers deal with their colleagues personal crises.  Or maybe not.  If not, it's definitely time to pull one together.
 
The Washington Post's Karla L. Miller addresses the issue of work bereavement policies and how being unprepared can lead to hurt feelings and graceless comments from colleagues.  Here's the link to her column in the Washington Post magazine: 
 
 
 

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

A Solid Sistahood

When I am with my good solid girlfriends -- women whom I have known for years and years and years -- I know I am blessed.

When we get together we may be going on about our children, our hair color, a new diet or some story we heard about on the news, but the under current of all of that warm wonderful and familiar chatter is the inner knowledge that we are sistas who have each other's backs and always will!

Through beautiful and great times, times of trauma and then those other ugly times when you need to just pull up your big girl pants and get on with your life as you heal and rebuild, my girlfriends have been there for me and I have been there for them.  Life is richer with my amazing friends for they are the glue that holds me together and in turn, I hope I do the same for them.

Whether you have girlfriends from childhood or adulthood or if you are extremely lucky you have a mix of friends from diffferent ages of your life, please read Ann Hood's compelling story recently published in PARADE magazine that takes us to her mother's house on a Friday night where a group of women known as "The Girls"  have gathered to play cards.
Views by Ann Hood: Remember 'The Girls'
Photo: Tim Klein/Gallery Stock
Loyal, loud, tough-talking—these were friends impossible to replace.

The Girls
By Ann Hood
 
Every Friday night, they gathered at one of their houses in a cloud of cigarette smoke and Aqua Net. They came in twos or threes, dressed in velour sweat suits, skirts with matching sweaters, elastic-waist jeans, and shirts that said BEST MOM or DECK THE HALLS. In their hands: coffee cans filled with pennies that clanked as they walked. Some wore wigs, big bubbles of fake hair. Or wiglets or falls, bobby-pinned in place like the mantillas they wore to church on Sunday. There were 12 in all. The Dirty Dozen, they called themselves. But more often, they were just The Girls.

Most had grown up together in Natick, R.I., a small village in a small state. Their houses all sat within a mile of each other. Yet they arrived in station wagons, the ones they drove to and from school, the beach, and the park, overloaded with kids.

Their husbands were foremen in factories. Others worked on the army base or ran the produce department or the deli counter at the local store. One of The Girls—no one could remember how she came to join them—was married to a doctor. She wore a blond fall, cat-eye glasses, drank Chablis. She didn't fit in, really. The Girls married young and stayed married. This one had an affair and left town. Then they were 11 around the kitchen tables covered with plastic cloths.

My mother was part of this group. For as long as I can remember, Friday nights were sacred, hers. The hurried dinner—maybe tuna casserole, eggs in purgatory, fish and chips from the takeout place. Then her disappearance to get ready. She left my father in charge for the evening, which meant popcorn and Dr Pepper and staying up late. But never late enough for me to hear her come home.

Best was when it was my mother's turn to host. She began cooking on Wednesday. Marinating. Peeling. Simmering. Friday we were banished to the TV room so she could set up metal trays with small bowls of chips and dip, platters of cold cuts or fried chicken or meat loaf. Always a salad. Always cake or pie.

On my mother's nights, it was impossible to fall asleep. The excitement of The Girls, so many of them! All squeezed around our small table, laughing and smoking and playing poker. I would creep down the stairs and sit on the harvest gold carpet, listening. They shared worries: about husbands and children and money, always money because there was never enough. They told each other "I hate you" and "I love you" with equal passion and frequency. They were not like mothers on television. No, they were rough around the edges, high school dropouts, secretaries, and assembly-line workers. They spoke with a hard accent that dropped r's and added s's. Kmahts, they said, instead of Kmart. "Your deals" instead of "your deal."

Years of Friday nights passed. Three of The Girls moved away. Then cancer struck. Colon. Lung, twice. The Girls dwindled from 11 to eight to five. Alzheimer's dropped them to four. They broke hips and had cataract surgeries, knee replacements, and lumpectomies. Still, they met every Friday night.

After their families were grown, they took trips. To Atlantic City. To Foxwoods casino in Connecticut. Overnights and weekends and afternoons. They met for coffee and counted their pennies and planned more trips to more casinos.

Then one day, one of them was driving home from my mother's when she was hit broadside by a teenager in his brand-new car. She died instantly. That Friday was the first Friday that The Girls didn't play. The next week, another one was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer; she lived only four months.

Unsure how to help my mother heal, I signed us up for bridge classes with my 19-year-old son. I imagined finding a fourth player, setting a new routine. I imagined I could convince her that things weren't as bad as they seemed, even though I knew they were.

The day before the last class, the teacher announced that we were all bridge players now. "You can go home and teach your friends," he said triumphantly.

"My friends are all dead," my mother said softly.

I glanced over at her. She had turned her head so that no one could see her crying. How foolish I was to think that a new foursome, could replace The Girls. I realized in that moment that there are some things for which there are no substitutes. There are some things that we must mourn and cherish and say goodbye to.

Every so often now, on a Friday night, I drive to my mother's. I bring her treats that make her smile: a bouquet of zinnias, an apple pie warm from the oven, a bunch of flat-leaf parsley. I drink coffee with her and talk about things that don't matter. She'll look around the empty table and say, in a voice filled with wonder, "Just yesterday, we were all here playing cards." I take her hand, bent with arthritis, rough from hard work, and I hold on tight. Or as tight as I can before I let go.

Ann Hood's new novel, The Obituary Writer (W. W. Norton & Company), will be published this week.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Widowed Fathers Reaching Out

I know a few widowed mothers and have great respect for how they handle the role of single parent.

I don't know any widowed fathers so I have always been curious about how they juggle the demands of raising children and handling their work careers. 
 
I imagine that a family member helps them; maybe a mother, a sister or even a brother.  Or maybe the fathers had already hired someone to help them when their wives sadly became too ill or were weakened by treatments.
 
But after reading the insightful New York Times story below, I found that widowed fathers and widowed mothers essentially struggle and try to deal with the same issues: school, bed time, personal responsibilities and housekeeping.


 
 
At the end of the day, it is not possible for one person to physically and mentally juggle it all.  It takes a lot of support to parent your children and take care of your broken heart all at the same time.  And it's okay to admit that.
 
You are not SuperParent.  You need help.
 
Asking for help doesn't mean you are weak.
 
Asking for help is a sign of good mental health.  It means you recognize that your efforts are not changing your situation the way you thought it would and something different needs to be tried.
 
Asking for help is a sign of strength.
 
It doesn't feel that way when it is happening but it's true.
 
I am always in need of help.  Many times I would call my grief counselor and my voice would be shaking and my hands would be shaking and I would try my best to keep it together but it wasn't happening.  Sometimes I couldn't even put together a simple declarative sentence.  All my words would come out in a jumble.
 
It's hard to put yourself out there when you are most vulnerable and in need of kindness and support.  And as a single parent, you feel you have to be strong for your children and show them the way to go.  I'm always asking other parents what's going on with their children and then telling them something that is going on with my child to see if a particular thing is common to them. 
 
"Well how did you get them to eat that?"
 
"What time does your child go to bed?"
 
"Have they asked about blankety-blank yet?"
 
Please read this great New York Times story below focusing on widowed fathers and the wonderful way these guys handled their unexpected situations:

A Lifeline for Widowed Fathers



Three springs ago, Joe Ciriano was living in a fog. He had just lost his wife of 21 years to breast cancer. He was now the sole parent of a son and three daughters, one with Down syndrome. The children, ages 6 through 19, all had different needs and levels of understanding.

Mr. Ciriano, 51, an accounts manager in Burlington, N.C., was riddled with doubts about his ability to carry on as a single parent and was struggling to keep his head above water. While deeply mourning his wife, he was unsure of how good a parent he could be.

“What is normal?” he wondered. What should he say to the kids about their mother? How should he treat them? Could he handle his family and do his job?

With no one to share day-to-day family responsibilities and decisions, and to help fill both his and his children’s emotional and physical needs, life felt “overwhelming,” Mr. Ciriano said in an interview.
Then something wonderful happened. He and Karl Owen, a 49-year-old software engineer from Chapel Hill whose wife had died, of lung cancer, three weeks after Mr. Ciriano’s, were asked to form a support group for fathers widowed by cancer who had children at home.

At the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Dr. Donald Lee Rosenstein, a psychiatrist, and Justin Michael Yopp, a psychologist, weren’t sure how openly these men would talk about their feelings and struggles. But the researchers saw a pressing need to help them and their children through this trying life experience.

Too often, they’d found, widowed fathers contend with social and emotional isolation — a profound aloneness — and suffer in silence.

“I’m not a support-group kind of guy who wants to talk about touchy-feely kinds of things,” Mr. Ciriano said. But finding himself “lost at sea,” he was willing to give it a try.

The result has exceeded all expectations. The eight widowed fathers who formed the core group, led by a professional facilitator, quickly learned that their feelings, doubts and concerns were shared by all and offered one another insights and suggestions on how to cope.

“All the men were exhausted and suffering a crisis in confidence, fearful of screwing things up,” Dr. Rosenstein said. “They faced countless daily issues — school problems, struggles with discipline, bed times, expectations and a tendency to let things slide a little, which really doesn’t work well for kids.”

Mr. Owen said in an interview: “A lot of things that seemed abnormal in our lives were common to the other guys in the group. Someone would bring up a situation, and the rest of us would nod, ‘Yeah, me too.’ These issues were very difficult to discuss with friends who hadn’t been through a similar experience,” said the father of two children, who were 9 and 12 when their mother died.
 
“We were all in a place in our lives we hadn’t prepared for,” he said, “and collectively we could share experiences and help each other navigate.”

Participants in the group developed a remarkable bond, a level of friendship and sharing that is rare among men, who even now are expected to be strong and resilient, and many of whom still avoid talking about deep feelings and doubts.

Three years later, four of the men continue to meet monthly and have benefited so much from the experience that they are reaching out to help other fathers newly widowed by cancer.

Meanwhile, Dr. Rosenstein and Dr. Yopp, who said they could find no similar support groups for widowed fathers, are trying to get others started at cancer centers around the country. They would like to conduct a formal study to determine “what is most helpful and what isn’t to these men,” Dr. Yopp said in an interview.

Ideally, he said, every major cancer center would have a support group for widowed fathers, whose experiences and needs are different from those of widowed women and older men. (More information about how the group works can be found at singlefathersduetocancer.org.)

Cancer is responsible for more widowed fathers than any other cause of death, Dr. Rosenstein and Dr. Yopp noted in an article in the journal Psycho-Oncology. An estimated 100,000 children are living with widowed fathers in the United States, and the trauma of losing a mother at a young age can seriously disrupt a family’s structure and the children’s development, sometimes with lifelong consequences, they wrote.

“There is a pressing need to understand the experiences of these widowed fathers and to develop supportive interventions for them and their children,” they said.

I can attest to the value of such support. I was 16 and my brother was 12 when our mother died of cancer in 1958, leaving my father emotionally, physically and financially drained by her yearlong illness.

To stay afloat, he worked two jobs and had little time to enforce routines and discipline at home. I soon departed for college, and my brother was left to cope on his own with the devastating loss of our mother at so vulnerable an age.

“Men traditionally do not play the role of the more nurturing parent; therefore, as widowed parents, fathers may be less likely to employ child-centric or nurturing parenting styles and more likely to feel unprepared than widowed mothers,” Dr. Yopp and Dr. Rosenstein wrote.

They said various studies had found a clear “link between the mental health of the surviving parent and the adjustment of the parentally bereaved child.”

A major issue for widowed fathers, Dr. Rosenstein said, is providing parental consistency with love and understanding. Good parenting requires structure, clear expectations, well-defined limits and reasonable consequences.

“What I’ve seen happen a lot is the former family order melts away and no new order is put in place,” the psychiatrist said. “This can be tough for kids, who feel cared for when there are limits and consistent discipline.”

The trauma of a young mother’s protracted death from cancer can be exacerbated by the patient’s understandable wish to live as long as possible for her family, Dr. Rosenstein added. These women often choose aggressive therapy until the bitter end, missing the comforts of hospice care and the opportunity to express their love, wisdom and wishes for the family.

In an online survey conducted by the two researchers, nearly half of 144 widowed fathers said their wives had had no chance to say goodbye to their children.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

A Heavenly Summer Wind

Happy Birthday Love today to a Special Person in Heaven.
 
The Birthday Boy was an abrupt-on-the-outside, marshmellow-on-the-inside kind of a guy who was my husband and my friend for 17 years plus.  He was an old school kind of Dad to five talented and fantastic children and took a HUGE amount of pride in his work as an award-winning reporter/writer.

He never forgot his New Jersey roots, having been born and raised in Red Bank, and was a die hard Giants and Yankees fan.  He loved everything about New Jersey: the infamous jokes about exits, the rumble tumble way of life and the edgy personalities of those hailing from the Garden State.
 
In honor of his birthday, I am posting a video of Hoboken's own Frank Sinatra singing one of his favorite songs: The Summer Wind.

Happy Birthday To The O:


Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Unplugging & Tuning In To Each Other

Today we have a guest blogger, a fellow writer, Melissa Knights Bertrand.  In the interest of full disclosure, I work with Melissa's brother, Aaron Knights, and through being Facebook friends with Aaron, I am familiar with Melissa's writing for her local newspaper, The Buffalo News.

Melissa is the mother of three young and dynamic children and she has a beautiful writing style.  I have no idea where she finds the time to reflect and write about the unique things that happen to her and her children, but she does, and we are happy readers because of it.
 
Two stories she previously wrote that I shared on Cry, Laugh, Heal were Melissa's story about the memorial walk/run that was established a little over a decade ago to honor and support the memory of Melissa and Aaron's Dad who lost his fight with cancer (December 2012) and another story Melissa wrote in July 2012 about a handwritten letter from her Dad being a timeless memento (July 2012).
 
Today Melissa writes about the cellphones, iPads, iPods and Blackberry devices which are everywhere whether we like it or not.  Yes, these devices can improve the amount and the speed with which we receive  information from one another but that doesn't mean that we should use them 24/7 with no regard for others. 
 
We can't let electronic devices replace our much needed human connection.  I'm not talking about the casual and annoying connection I get when I am in the check-out line at the grocery store and I get to hear the conversation of the person behind me with their spouse or friend that gives me WAY more details about their life than I ever wanted to know.
 
I talking about the connection between people who care about each other or who are trying to be polite with each other.  Nothing can replace a face-to-face conversation.  That is when we look into another person's eyes and see the true meaning of their words, hear their tone of voice and pick up on the gestures they use to communicate with us.
 
And don't forget about quiet time.  No chirping, no tweeting, no loud and sudden ringtones.  No electronics is quiet time.  No electronic is healing time.  A time to myself, when I can think, when I can read, when I can breathe.
 
Off is not a permanent state.
 
You can always turn them back on.

Don’t Let Electronics Replace Real Interaction
By Melissa Knights Betrand
The Buffalo News.com
March 29, 2013


Melissa Knights Betrand

“It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.” –Albert Einstein

After weeks of Christmas prep, school functions and charity projects, I scheduled a little “me” time late one afternoon and snuck out for a quick mani/pedi.

Armed with my cellphone, I looked forward to a full hour plus of Words with Friends, reading email and replying to day(s) old texts and Facebook messages. As I surrendered my hands to the angel before me, I had an experience that stopped me in my technological tracks. Another escapee, in full wet-nail mode, took an incoming call on her cellphone and proceeded to have a personal conversation … via speaker phone!

I listened to her chat with her hubby about whether she had picked up the raspberries and where they should meet to exchange cars, among other things. No shame or whispering that she would call back in a few minutes. They had an entire conversation, complete with irritated voices, and never a mention that he was conversing in front of an audience.

Upon reflection, I feel compelled to throw the tiniest of pebbles from my little glass house by proclaiming that I do believe cellphones and iPods are adding tremendous stress to our lives, destroying manners and short-circuiting the properly developed social skills of children at tender, young ages.

Look around any public place, from waiting rooms to restaurants, and you will be hard-pressed not to see most everyone with some sort of handheld electronic device. Instead of talking to one another, the world has become programmed to expect, demand even, instant gratification, often mistaking immediate electronic feedback for true connection and authentic relationships.

For many, this begins well before basic social skills and manners have been age-appropriately and fully developed.

Consequently, the unfiltered thoughts and knee-jerk reactions of children and adults can and do go far beyond what is typical of face-to-face interactions, often wounding, leaving scars and causing social repercussions that are sometimes irreparable.

As the mother of one teenage son and twin “tweenage” girls, the introduction of cellphones and iPods – which are thinly veiled iPhones when connected to Wi-Fi – into our household has added a heaping dose of drama and nearly driven me crazy.

Though these devices do entertain and make communication a breeze, I find myself in an almost constant policy-making position; policing, paring down usage and eventual docking times and locations almost daily.

In the midst of this madness, I’ve discovered that when infractions occur which result in the loss of electronic privileges, my children (after a period of withdrawal) become softer, nicer human beings who actually play and interface the good, old-fashioned way. Imagine that? I now find myself actually looking for reasons to take them away and, at times, I think they are as relieved as I am.

I must confess that what began as an attachment to my cellphone has blossomed into a full-blown love/hate relationship, causing me to evaluate even my own behavior. I am striving to walk the talk, however, and have begun to set firm boundaries about when I will and won’t let the demands of the outside world into my present personal time and relationships. Though I am a work in progress, the results continue to be eye-opening and have convinced me that we should all try a little harder to keep technology in its proper place.

If we strive to power down our electronic addictions, humanity just may prevail.
 

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Reflections of Nora Ephron's Son

 
Nora Ephron
Crying is unsettling.  Especially if you are watching one of your parents do it.
 
My son hates it when I cry and has said that when I would cry all the time immediately after his father/my husband's death, he would feel this mix of emotions that he didn't want to feel and so he would walk away.  I understand it and think his reaction was perfectly normal.  He was thirteen years old and dealing with something that adults find hard to handle.  He was just trying to survive.
 
Now, at twenty two years old, my son explains his reaction this way: "When children see their parents cry, it's like a wall being broken.  It messes everything up.  I wanted you to be my Mom but when I saw you cry, it's like you weren't my Mom anymore.  You were a person and I didn't want that. I wanted my Mom."
 
It makes sense to me and I love him all the more for his insight; as painful as it was, and sometimes still is, for both of us.
 
That is why Jacob Bernstein's long and loving story about his mother, Nora Ephron, is so powerful and compassionate.
 
It's a universal story of how children feel about their parents as children, and as adults, and especially sons and their feelings about their mothers.
 
But having an accomplished, high-profile, multi-talented mother such as Nora Ephron is a unique story. And Jacob Bernstein writes it beautifully.  I knew it was a long story so I only intended to read the first page and then come back to it later, but then I couldn't stop reading it until I reached the end.

His mother is proud.  He took good notes.

Please click on this link to read Jacob Bernstein's story as it appeared in the New York Times magazine this past weekend:

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/10/magazine/nora-ephrons-final-act.html?_r=3&hp=&adxnnl=1&pagewanted=1&adxnnlx=1362652331-n02tv3ThoWXX1qcUk6JoRw