A World View

Something To Think About. . .

"The world is before you

 

and you need not take it 

 

or leave it as it was when you came in."

 

~ James Baldwin

 

 

Heavy Fog Rolls Into New York City
NY Metro Weather via Earthcam

 

Fathers & Sons

Today I'm going to visit my Dad and celebrate Father's Day a day early.

My son won't be joining me because he is out of town visiting his girlfriend.  Even if my son were here in town, I would still be emotionally torn on Father's Day.

My Dad is still alive and our family is lucky and blessed to have him. But my son's father, who was also my husband, died nine years ago and the celebration of Father's Day makes me feel guilty and conflicted. Guilty because my father is alive and his isn't.  Conflicted because I want to make my son and my Dad happy about this day but I can't.  I know, I know, life is never fair but I wish my son could have had more time with his father when his father was in better health.

 

The memories that hold true for my son of his father involves hospitals, doctor's offices, medicine, and constant badgering from me to get his father to do the things he needed to do to stay healthy.  My son was too young at the time of his father's good health to truly remember the Halloween outings, Christmases, beach vacations and other fun times we did have as a family.  There are lots of pictures to remind him, but that's not the same.

 

 

I can't change that for my son but I still wish for it.

I've asked him about his feelings when Father's Day arrives and he just quietly says he doesn't like to watch other people with their fathers. That's probably the understatement of the century. He also says that he forgot that this weekend was Father's Day. Right. When he does see fathers and sons together, I know his mind starts to wander and he thinks about how it might have been different for him if his Dad hadn't gotten sick and died when he was 13-years old.

And that makes me feel bad even though I have no way to change the situation.

So full of guilt, I go visit my Dad and hang out with him for awhile and wish I could make things different for my wonderful son who deserves to have his healthy Dad with him today.
 

Silver Linings Playbook

 

 

Bradley Cooper & Jennifer Lawrence

 

I applaud the wonderful movie, Silver Linings Playbook, which came away from the Academy Awards last night with Jennifer Lawrence winning an Oscar for Best Actress.

I had heard a lot about this movie before I recently saw it and I wasn't disappointed.  It definitely lived up to its reputation as a solid, slightly edgy, movie and it stands out because its story and its actors are courageous and hopeful.  The movie shines a light on two subjects that make people uncomfortable: grieving and mental health, and weaves these sensitive issues in a romantic-comedy-drama about families, resilience, growth and love.

 

In Silver Linings Playbook, the characters played by Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence are trying to put their lives back together and not always succeeding.  Bradley Cooper's character is dealing with a bipolar diagnosis and Jennifer Lawrence's character has just become a widow after learning her husband was hit and killed by a car. 

 

I don't want to reveal too much about the movie because you really should see it for yourself.  But I think it's safe to tell you that both of them talk directly and honestly about the ways they reacted when their traumas crashed into their lives and how those out-of-control decisions took them to places they didn't want to be but at the time, they couldn't help themselves.

 

And yet their characters never give up.

 

They are vulnerable and heartbroken and always trying to put their lives back together.  They believe there is a Silver Lining out there for each of them and this is where I fell in love with the movie.

 

Both characters put themselves out there in incredibly fearless ways given what they are dealing with because they are determined to find new lives. 

 

You see how hard it is for them to change but they keeping going at it.

 

I know it's only a movie but it can be an unexpected source of strength to watch actors or people you know go about the painful process of making changes within themselves and finding the will to take actions that, as small or as large as they might be, reveals to them and to others that they and we are stronger than we might have ever thought we were.

 

As a widow, I know how hard it is to stay positive about life but I found that staying positive can really make a difference in the decisions you make.  There were and still are plenty of times when I screw up but if I didn't believe that things were going to get better I would find myself in a sad place and I don't want that for myself or for you.

Unexpected sources of strength are within us and around us.  Dig down deep within yourself or reach out to to others.

Move forward and surprise youself.

 

 

Catching My Breath

Kelly Clarkson Singing at President Obama's Inauguration

Five days a week, I drive to and from work and during that time I usually listen to the radio.  I have five stations that I randomly listen to depending on my mood and the pace of the traffic.

These days the song that currently makes me go directly to the volume button is Kelly Clarkson's "Catch My Breath."

It's a song of strength, a song that gives me a boost of positive energy.

To me, the song has the vibe of someone who has survived some kind of a personal journey and come out on the other side it, more sure of life and the direction they want to go.

The lyrics of "Catch My Breath" remind me of a time in my life when I was trying to keep up with so many changes that were happening so fast that it was hard for me to get a breath of air. 

I've spent most of my life

Riding waves, playing acrobat

Shadowboxing the other half
Learning how to react
I've spent most of my time

But the lyrics also take me to a place of seeing life in a simplier way and realizing that you cannot let worries keep you down.  Focusing on being carefree, laughing and spending time with the ones that I love is really what brings me happiness and that I should grab as much of it as I can.

Making time for the ones that count
I'll spend the rest of my time
Laughing hard with the windows down
Leaving footprints all over town
Keeping faith kinda comes around
I'll spent the rest of my life
 

Please listen to Grammy Award winner Kelly Clarkson sing, "Catch My Breath," a song I currently consider to be my musical Red Bull:

 

Steve Martin Remembers His Father

Comedian Steve Martin in 2011

Comedian Steve Martin is obviously an incredibly multi-talented, award-winning funny guy.

 

To me, Steve Martin is one of those celebrities that I just accept as being the way they are as they present themselves in their work.  I don't think of him as a little boy or as having parents.  He is who he is as he appears in the roles of his television and his film work.

 

To the public, Steve Martin is the hysterical stand-up comedian who played the "wild and crazy guy" and many other characters on Saturday Night Live or he is the star of the movie "Father of the Bride" along with lots of other films.

 

So I was surprised when I was googling for an article on hospice care and up popped this story that Steve Martin wrote in 2008 about his father.  Thank you Google!

 

It is touching and sad and sweet and serious.  A whole other side of Steve Martin that is usually kept private.  I'm happy he decided to share this emotional story with us because it brings home and poignantly reveals how we all have complicated relationships with our parents whether you are a celebrity or not.

 

Steve Martin grew up thinking that his father didn't love him.  As a child, Steve Martin's father was stern and distant but all that changed as they both grew older.

Please read Steve Martin's story:


The Death of My Father
By Steve Martin
January 2008

 

In his death, my father, Glenn Vernon Martin, did something he could not do in life. He brought our family together.

 

After he died at age 83, many of his friends told me how much they loved him—how generous he was, how outgoing, how funny, how caring. I was surprised at these descriptions. During my teenage years, there was little said to me that was not criticism. I remember him as angry. But now, ten years after his death, I recall events that seem to contradict my memory of him. When I was 16, he handed down to me the family’s 1957 Chevy. Neither one of us knew at the time that it was the coolest car anyone my age could have. When I was in the third grade he proudly accompanied me to the school tumbling contest where I won first prize. One day, while I was in single digits, he suggested we play catch in the front yard. This offer to spend time together was so anomalous that I didn’t quite understand what I was supposed to do.

 

When I graduated from high school, my father offered to buy me a tuxedo. I refused because my father always shunned gifts. I felt with my refusal, that somehow in a convoluted, perverse logic, I was being a good son. I wish now that I could have let him buy me a tuxedo, let him be a dad.

 

My father sold real estate but he wanted to be in show business. I was probably five years old when I saw him in a bit part at the Call Board theater on Melrose Place in Hollywood. He came on in the second act and served a drink. The theater existed until a few years ago and is now finally defunct and, I believe, a lamp shop.

 

My father’s attitude toward my show business accomplishments was critical. After my first appearance on Saturday Night Live in 1976, he wrote a bad review of me in the newsletter of the Newport Board of Realtors where he was president. Later, he related this news to me slightly shamefaced, and said that after it appeared, his best friend came into his office holding the paper, placed it on his desk, and shook his head sternly, indicating a wordless “no.”

 

In the early ’80s, a close friend of mine, whose own father was killed walking across a street and whose mother committed suicide on Mother’s Day, said that if I had anything to work out with my parents, I should do it now, because one day that opportunity would be over. When I heard this remark, I had no idea that I would ever want to work anything out with them, that, in fact, there was anything to work out at all. But it stewed in my brain for years, and soon I decided to try and get to know my parents. I took them to lunch every Sunday I could, and would goad them into talking.

 

It was our routine that after I drove them home from our lunches, my mother and father, now in their 80s, would walk me to the car. I would kiss my mother on the cheek and my father and I would wave or awkwardly say goodbye. But this time we hugged each other and he whispered, “I love you,” with a voice barely audible. This would be the first time these words were ever spoken between us. I returned the phrase with the same awkward, broken delivery.

 

As my father ailed, he grew more irritable. He made unreasonable demands, such as waking his 24-hour help and insisting that they take him for drives at three a.m., as it was the only way he could relax. He also became heartrendingly emotional. He could be in the middle of a story and begin to laugh, which would provoke sudden tears, making him unable to continue.

 

In his early 80s, my father’s health declined further and he became bedridden. There must be an instinct about when the end is near, as we all found ourselves gathered at my parents’ home in Orange County, California. I walked into the house they had lived in for 35 years and my weeping sister said, “He’s saying goodbye to everyone.”

 

A hospice nurse said to me, “This is when it all happens.” I didn’t know what she meant, but soon I did.

 

I walked into the bedroom where he lay, his mind alert but his body failing. He said, almost buoyantly, “I’m ready now.” I understood that his intensifying rage of the last few years had been against death and now his resistance was abating. I stood at the end of the bed and we looked into each other’s eyes for a long, unbroken time. At last he said, “You did everything I wanted to do.”

 

I said the truth: “I did it for you.”

 

Looking back, I’m sure that we both had different interpretations of what I meant.

 

I sat on the edge of the bed and another silence fell over us. Then he said, “I wish I could cry, I wish I could cry.”

 

At first, I took this as a comment on his condition but am forever thankful that I pushed on. “What do you want to cry about?” I finally said.

 

“For all the love I received and couldn’t return.”

 

He had kept this secret, his desire to love his family, from me and from my mother his whole life. It was as though an early misstep had kept us forever out of stride. Now, two days from his death, our pace was aligning and we were able to speak.

 

My father’s death has a thousand endings. I continue to absorb its messages and meanings. He stripped death of its spooky morbidity and made it tangible and passionate. He prepared me in some way for my own death. He showed me the responsibility of the living to the dying. But the most enduring thought was expressed by my sister, Melinda. She told me she had learned something from all this. I asked her what it was. She said, “Nobody should have to die alone.”

© 2012 The Reader's Digest Association, Inc.