In death I knew you

I recently learned of the death of a friend. She was a friend I knew from long ago but reconnected through Facebook. Our correspondence was little which didn't matter as we were the type of friends that could pick up right where we left off and feel like no time had passed. I have very few close friends but those that I consider kindred spirits seem to effortlessly fall into that category. We automatically know how each will react to any situation, and even though we live our lives quite differently there is a complete acceptance and connection that allows for unconditional love. I have read recently about the disconnect that occurs through today's social sites and the digital age as a whole. While I agree on most fronts that we as a society are sitting all alone in our isolated rooms trying desperately to connect to the world outside without putting the physical effort which only leads to feeling more isolated, I can't help but feel that Facebook did me a huge service. I too feel guilty for ever getting on even if only for a few minutes a day. I truly limit my time partly because of the social stigma but mostly because of the feeling of uselessness that begins from the moment I open the app. That being said, I would never have know of her passing had I not gotten curious as to why I hadn't seen a post for a bit. Every now and then my Spidey senses itch and I check on people to see if they are still part of my life. I say life because my words effect how people feel even if they are typed in a post. Their words effect how I feel and what I think about. I hear about struggles and pain and try with what ever kind words I can to comfort and lift. I see an injustice and react with outrage to allow for social change. I rejoice when I see the efforts be rewarded and people sharing their joy and my heart simply aches when my friend dies. There are those who complain about the perfect lives they view on Facebook and how fake it all seems, but I guess I have been blessed to have people who simply share the good, the bad and the ugly intermittently because that is what life is; ups and downs. I never feel that these people are putting on a show because my page is filled with real life happening in real time. Right now there are those struggling to find work, asking for prayers because a mother is sick, pleading for help to sell a home, celebrating their children's accomplishments, fighting to overcome sickness, thanking people for their thoughts, and being bored because they are home alone. My athletes are running marathons, my politicians are arguing the latest trend in the economy, my authors are plugging books, my mothers are birthing babes and my friend died.. I missed her before she went. I searched her out and found that she was gone.... So thanks for the service Facebook. We never would have reconnected to share the very short time she had left and I say thank you because she changed me for the better.

The Last in the Nest

There has been a monumental shift in the dynamic of the Mele family. My daughter, the baby, turned 12 years old. This insidious year crept up undetected like a thief and "BAM!", she is no longer my little girl. Maybe this is a bit dramatic but as I am not the girly, drama kind I will defend my position. I am the mother of two very rambunctious and masculine boys. Boys go from being little dust devils to larger tornadoes. The very fabric of their being is rough and tumbly. They run, chase, wrestle, spit, pick boogers, shoot at invisible targets all the while making the strange sound of machine gun fire out of the small hole in their face. When they reach adolescence they rut out. Their necks enlarge, legs get hairy, and arms stretch the length of the room. The sounds coming out of the hole are the same only lower. When boys get older they are still boys and generally  remain so for the rest of their existence with a few refinements that allow them to catch the girl. Girls are a completely different story.

From the get go I have wanted my girl to have a healthy streak of masculine. I grew up as my fathers daughter that should have been his son and in said case I was treated like a boy. I worked like a boy, fought like a boy and to a large degree thought like a boy. I knew I could easily best any boy in speed or strength and as the only girl in my father's karate class I took pride in making boys cry. I also knew how to think for myself. Unlike most girls who travel in packs I chose to participate in activities based on my desire not according to the general consensus of the alpha female. I was a cheerleader but practiced by myself, developed all my tryout routines alone, and went out to celebrate with my parents instead of Sally blah, blah blah's house. I wanted the same for my daughter.

Halfway through the preschool year I was helping in class when the animal song came on. This spurred a frenzy ranging from animal movement to free dance. Every child seemed to be enraptured in their own world except a small group of girls that caught my eye. There were three of them moving away from the crowd. The middle was in charge and the two flanking her were focused on mimicking every move she made. If she stood, they stood. If she danced, they danced the exact motion. Their eyes never left her and she stared straight ahead reveling in the power she had over these little minions.  I glanced over to see what my kid was doing and to my relief she was blissfully unaware of any other human in the room let alone the three robots to my side. The music had taken hold and she was deeply enthralled. A few weeks later at Parent Teacher Conference I revisited the subject with her teacher. I began by expressing my desire for my daughter to be independent minded and un-swayed by the crowd. I rehearsed the event with the dancing and wanted to know if Keana ever participated in that kind of mindless following. My fears were allayed as the teacher stated, "Oh no. Keana is very popular but she marches to the beat of her own drum. She isn't easily influenced."

Now she is twelve. She has spent the last few years developing her own kind of beautiful and is definitely not easily swayed, but she isn't the same little mite skipping through my house with carefree wonder either. She frets over getting a phone and how many people follow her on Instagram. She can't understand why girls are so fickle and instead of blowing it off she stews about it. She gets a bit emotional and tells me I am rude sometimes when I bluntly answer her questions or joke around. I feel a bit of panic when these events occur but I remind myself that this too is a bridge that each girl must cross before settling in her own skin. As I reflect back I remember the emotion and insecurity I felt as hormones replaced reason and breasts sprouted. I remember mourning the loss of my freedom with my first cycle and wondering who I was. I still liked to make the boys cry but I also wanted them to like me just a little. I didn't get girls and still don't but thankfully I have devised safety precautions to deal with said demons. Looking at my little creation there is little doubt that she will emerge just as strong and equal to the task but still...... I will miss her shiny, free spirit that will no longer bounce into the room. I will miss her bright little eyes unfettered by the cares of the world. She still comes in to cuddle up in the morning but she has changed, and I will miss the last of my children...., being a child.  

Aged

Midway through the temple ceremony I hear a blow horn effort at whispering from behind that prompts me to glance back only to witness an elderly woman asking for a glass of water. The matron was desperately trying to process the request and keep the woman to a dull roar. This is an odd request as once in the room there isn't really any noise let alone water breaks. There is the most quiet reverence with exception to instruction. It is clearly understood that the situation is akin to deep meditation and that the matrons are not car hops.

When I enter the temple a transition occurs as I step through the doors. My countenance softens, my stride recedes and my manner becomes less coarse. I own that I am a force of nature and coming to the temple to worship allows me to round that edge. I caught myself immediately irritated at this woman's lack of respect and then I looked back again. She was nearly 90 years of age, stooped and unable to walk without support. I could see her discomfort clearly etched upon a wrinkled brow and her plea to the matron was simply that. She needed water and the matron though perplexed at this unexpected request quickly collected herself and returned with the water. The brother in charge approached with some hard candy to suck on and I quickly realized my mistake.

 Many people this age are resigned to their cozy chair situated in front of the TV. There aches and pains are too much to bare out and they do as little as is required to pass the day. This little stooped woman used all the energy she had to get herself to the temple. The session was mild as usual (there isn't a physical prowess necessary to participate) but before the end she could not even stand when needed. I couldn't help but admire her tenacity, her determination to keep moving forward with the life she had left. I reflected on my own purpose that day and wondered what hers might look like. Was she just praying to get through the next hour? Minute? Was she feeling uplifted or renewed? I wanted so much to ask her though such a conversation could not be held in the temple at a low enough decibel. I had to satisfy myself with the notion that she was there to teach those of us perseverance and endurance. Oh and patience.

Leaving the grounds I felt the softness leave me as I hurried to my car to re-enter the chaotic world. I thought back with shame on my initial reaction and then realized I had witnessed a rare insight. I had viewed the capabilities of man and what is possible with the right outlook. You are either decaying or moving forward. There really isn't an in between and so I thought to myself... will I be the woman in the chair passing the day with my TV or the doer 'til the end?

Reflections of a mother

As I sit here all alone reflecting on my past year as a mother I am not surprised that it's a relief to be alone. Most mothers would be saddened by the fact that they are not surrounded by their off-spring or doted on by the husband. I was given a gift last night. My husband is out of town on business and though I would love to have him home today it was nice he was not. My children and I went down Saturday to celebrate with grandmas and they all wanted to stay. My sister volunteered to bring them home and I set off to be alone. Why was this such a gift? Why is this so delicious to me as I sit chronicling this day? Well, some of you may be familiar with the feeling of mommy overload. It's when the very sound of their voices (and ladies be honest husbands often have the same effect as children) demanding your life force makes your ears bleed. The constant pawing at your skin hurts and the ever present exhaustion replaces the guilt you feel from choosing yourself over them just once into a closely guarded, fangs bared..., "GET OUT OF MY ROOM! ALL OF YOU!"

This past year has been a bit overwhelming and the culmination of events has led me to this space I now occupy. Some of you will take the stance of indignation. Some will quietly agree but keep the plastic smile on to appease the indignant. Some of you are blissfully ignorant. It's not my place to dictate your phase of life, but there will be some who identify and ladies there is nothing wrong with that. Mother's Day is something different to everyone. Maybe you are mourning. Maybe you are not in touch with your mother. Maybe you are having the perfect day of luxury and appreciation or maybe you are overwhelmed, under appreciated and needing some precious alone time away from a relentless job that while very fulfilling can lead to a sudden urgency for selfishness once a year. 

I do appreciate all the ladies in my who have been my "mother" including the woman who gave me life and raised me to this point. Yes she is still doing things that change my behavior and help me see the world in a better light. I appreciate these women for helping me to be stronger and love myself despite the voice that sometimes tells me I am not enough. It's a small voice that I can usually stamp out or dismiss and thankfully because of the women in my life I detect it's false motive right away. Happy Mother's Day ladies where ever you are in life. Keep your chin up and remember it's OK to take a minute for yourself. Just stare down the indignant faces and do it anyway. Ooops! There's my dog whining to come in. I should have left him with the others!

Be thou humble

Today marks the loss of another friend. No one died but a friendship has been altered and closed forever. There will still be contact, though strained. There will still be run ins, though uncomfortable. It's breaks something inside when those you let in so close to your core cannot abide that space anymore. It slams shut the open flow of joy and peace that interweaves the strands of two separate people. It is death and it throbs. You stand looking at one another talking with the expectations that what you are saying will penetrate because this one knows you, your intricate way of thinking, the true meaning behind your intent. You blink at the first blow and shake it off knowing nothing could possibly be meant by those words. Trying again, you state your meaning more clearly but are met with rising anger that stings as you stand back to see what is going wrong. It does not become more clear but is clouded by a void that keeps growing with each attempt. As the viciousness escalates you simply resign, and the aching begins with the loss that cannot be mended.

When approached about a wrong doing it might be worth it to simply acknowledge the wrong and apologize. I have never gone wrong with that approach. It is even more freeing than the anger that we hold on to trying to cover our guilt from the wrong we committed. That feeling chokes out the calm and collected side which should preside between friends. It swallows it whole and like a poison starts infecting our actions and words. We start to defend and try to protect that "wrong" because we think facing it would kill us. Facing anything with truth cannot kill you. It simply strengthens the best part of you. It whittles away the proud façade and creates a humility that will topple the largest stumbling block dropped in your path. It stops the ache before it starts. It keeps them in your core for just one more day.   

Watch you words

There appears to be a new insidious twist on interactions between we humans. I believe that some of us are innately good and want to make the world around us a better place at least for ourselves. You might say we are selfish but in a way that has a "butterfly effect" that extends to the greater good. I have come to realize, however, that there are a number of people bent on changing the good for that which only appears to be good. There has been an influx calling for more positivity. People are tired of the constant barrage of negative attacks, discouraging posts, demeaning claims. Understandably so. We are not structured as humans to function at our potential when the medium is so toxic. 

Everywhere you look you might be seeing more positive posts, people encouraging others to stand taller, speak softer, lift those around them. That is hopeful but there are those using this same vehicle to force their agenda all the while pulling those they have relegated to the opposing side down. Change is not something we all relish. It is something that is constant and evolving and some would argue that to accomplish change limits must be pushed and even trampled. I would say no.

Case in point, political disagreement. My first employer noted wisely that one should never discuss politics, religion, or money in polite conversation. That notion has been unscrupulously thrown out the window with the advent of Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, etc.., There is nothing on the table that cannot be discussed and "polite conversation" has been murdered. Do not misunderstand. I revel in a lively discussion but the moment base tactics of demoralization are employed I'm out. I might try appealing to my discusees   sense of conscience. I might try using logic or commonality, but should that fail I will end it. The moment you must employee name calling, belittling or personal attacks you have already lost the battle anyway. It exposes your true motive for conversation which is to elevate yourself while thrusting those around you into assigned seats of subordination.

This is particularly true in relation to events of the day. I take no stand on social issues per say as long as they do not break the law or harm others. What you choose to do with your private time is your freedom of choice and I afford that to all as I expect it for myself. That being said, to attack another because they don't see your cause as acceptable is ludicrous but that is exactly what is happening in our current political forum. Whether it is gay marriage, gun rights, healthcare; those who oppose the current push are demonized. Yes demonized for the opinion that they have every right to hold, practice, and do so without punishment. You can choose to be befuddled and even outraged but choosing to attack only engenders hate and discord. I find that extremely interesting because the very people so ready on the attack are very much opposed to war. They were the same people screaming out against the wars of our recent past and present. Do you not understand that these wars did not occur on the grand scale to start. They began with the very menacing speech we employ each day with one another whether in person, email, or social media.

I remember in the 6th grade we all stood to say the Pledge of Allegiance. I was so put out by the student who refused to stand. In my mind he should stand out of gratitude alone for the very country that allowed him the freedom to practice this religion which told him not to salute the flag. I was outraged. I never mentioned this because at the same time I was reminded that he was exercising his right to freedom of religion, one of the foundational building blocks of our country. It gave me a sense of peace knowing that I was not being cheated because he was free. We were both free to exercise the very existence guaranteed everyone who lives in this country.

Summarily, it is the very choices we make to approach each situation with the attitude required in the "Golden Rule" that will create the lasting and "good" change we all crave. What is good for you must also be good for the other whether they stand on the same side with you or not and your words are where it begins.

Mammogram

Tuesday morning I went in for my annual mammogram. It was the usual unusualness. They always assume it will be one normal mammo, but it inevitably leads to extra shots, ultrasounds followed by even more mammo. It was with intimate consciousness that I reflected on the last 3 experiences. When I found my lump 3 years ago it was the first sense of fear I had in 20 years. By nature I am the antithesis of fear in body and mind. There I lay probing my breast over and over the strawberry sized lump in an attempt to knead out the collection that would not move. I went from breast to breast feeling and re-feeling to make sure the intruder was really there. After twenty minutes of insanity I finally lay limp, tears streaming my face, defeated. I didn't tell anyone for a week. In fact I told myself we were not going to think about it. My mind carefully tucked away the fear behind the fog of denial. Each day I seemed to gain back control until that Monday with no warning, I broke. Crawling into bed with Keith I lay there sobbing. He rolled over worried as I am not a crier. I revealed I had a lump to which he immediately searched for the offender. Shoulders slumped at his discovery and he held me while I shook out the fear. After calling for the appointment we both sat in a stupor. It's like nothing you can explain sitting with no forward moving thoughts. Just sitting. I went in the next day walking in a  surreal out of body awareness. I dressed and ascended the table keenly aware of the nervous energy coming off the nurse. She treated me like glass. As the doctor came in he asked some questions and began probing. He confirmed the size and I began to cry again. It was ridiculous. Both doctor and nurse stopped and turned to me. With tenderness he told me that we should not worry until we get the results, patting my leg. The next day I went into the Allison Women's Imaging Center for my first mammogram. The receptionist could not hide her surprise at my age. I sat waiting, fidgeting. As they called me back I couldn't help but notice the demeanor of my technician. She knew my fear. Her actions were sure, deliberate and deeply kind. Her words were soft and reassuring. As would be the case from here on out they would require an ultrasound. The room was dark and quiet. So much so that I had difficulty quieting my thoughts. It must have been apparent to the tech because upon wrapping it up she squeezed my hand and told me I had nothing to worry about. She had asked permission to allay my fears and the radiologist had consented. It was a moment of intense relief. I walked out to the car in a daze. I sat holding the wheel trying to piece the events together. I prayed, thanking my Heavenly Father for His help and comfort, thanking Him for putting these kind people in my path today and just thanking Him. In stark contrast; Tuesday I went in and was still treated different for being young but it was lost on me. My smile and easy demeanor allowed for casual conversation with the techs. There was even laughing which I supremely prefer to crying. They still had the confused look after the ultrasound but said everything was in order and they would see me in 6 months. I walked out trying to remember where I parked, another task off my chore list. The relief was there but muted. I still gave a prayer of gratitude as my life is always in His hands, but my fear was gone.....or maybe just sleeping lightly. I think on my kids and sometimes it stabs through, but I tuck it back in it's place until next time.