I Never Needed It More...

I had another birthday this week. My birthday is the one day I truly sit back and revel in my good fortune. The one day I count my blessings....every single one of them. Unabashed and unashamed I let the good wishes and love my family and friends offer drench me from head to toe. It feels so good, I need it so much.

I have always felt rich in family and friends but it was ever so evident this week. I appreciated every card, note and gift I received. I cherished every gesture no matter how great or how small. They told me something. Told me that I am cared for, appreciated, loved.

These last months have been challenging for me. So many things have been out of balance and often I have felt out of sync. So it is these gestures that lift me and sustain me. They remind me that I do not walk this path of mine alone. It's not often that I flounder as I have been. It's unusual for me to show a proverbial hair out of place. So I am ever more appreciative for having those who take time for me, take time to make sure I know they care. Take time to celebrate a day that is special for me.

I never needed it more....
Indeed

Fumble!

My youngest had a bad night Friday. He got into the Varsity football game for a few minutes at the end of the 4th quarter. The team had a comfortable lead and the coach was playing the younger kids. The trouble hit when he snapped a ball to the quarterback who bobbled it and dropped it. The fumble turned the ball over and my youngest was back on the sidelines.

He was uncommunicative on the ride home from the game. He simply did not want to talk and stared straight ahead. Apparently he'd been beating himself up over the fumbled ball and had decided it was his fault that the quarterback dropped it. He was embarrassed, he felt badly. He knew everyone saw it. One of the few things he said... was the thought that everyone saw it made him feel so stupid.

When we pulled into our driveway I had had enough. I felt badly and didn't think he should be so hard on himself and told him so. I told him that he was going to fumble many more balls during his playing years. I told him everyone fumbles, the best players fumble. It's a mistake but it's going to happen. No one means to fumble. I know he's heard this all before but I still needed to say it. Don't be so hard on yourself.

The truth of the matter is that, in life as well, everyone fumbles....not just football players. We all do. Later that night I lay in bed thinking about all of the things I had fumbled in my life. It's not easy to look back at some mistakes. Sometimes the memory is as painful as the event itself. I felt some familiar stings as I recalled particularly troublesome fumbles I'd made in the past. Things I wish never happened, things I wish I could forget, things I wish no one else knew about.

Fumbling isn't so bad when no one knows, no one sees. We can retreat and recover privately. We can take a shot at redeeming ourselves with no one the wiser. No one waiting and watching to see if we fumble again. Private fumbles can be brushed off and we can move on with no one but ourselves to face.

Public fumbles are quite another matter. Sometimes we see the grimace on another's face, hear their disappointment as we bobble and drop our "ball". We feel that white hot burst in our stomach as we struggle to keep our composure. We try so very hard to keep our head up as we walk on, as our faces burn with the thought of feeling so exposed. We beat ourselves up because we know people saw us. People saw us fumble.

Sometimes just remembering the fumble, brings back the shame, brings back the embarrassment. Remembering that someone saw it is difficult to bear. Sometimes there are people who can't resist reminding us of our fumbles, reminding us that they saw it. Some people just can't resist taking a measure of pleasure from another's mistake, another's misstep. They watch and judge as if they never have made a mistake themselves. As if they don't know the feeling.

Unfortunately not everyone fumbles under bright lights with a big crowd watching....but they should. Everyone should. Just so they know what it feels like.

Indeed.

Who Wrote The Book Of Love?

I saw one of those online Q&As this week that travel through the Internet. This particular one listed a series of partial statements like I wish, I want and I am, and the exercise was to complete the statement. One of the statements was I wonder and the response I saw that interested me was ... Who wrote the book of love.

I found that response both clever and interesting. Clever because it was a nod to the 1950's hit by the Monotones, I Wonder Who Wrote the Book of Love. Interesting because it made me think about who it was that wrote my own book. Immediately in my mind I thought ... I hope there is a sequel.

I have read many books over the years and, often as I read that last sentence at the ending I would wish there was more to the story. I wish for more if the ending was not a good one because I usually want things to work out for the characters. I want them to end up happy. I wish for more when the ending is happy...because I want to experience that happiness with the characters for a time. I want to see evidence that things can and do work out...even if it is in just fiction. I like it when a writer will leave that door open just a crack, just enough to allow for possibility. Just enough to allow for something more. I like to believe there might be more to come. More to come... someday.

I have the same wish about life and about love. I hope there is a sequel because I always want things to work out. I hope the possibility of a different ending is left open. I hope that there is another story that hasn't yet been told. A better story, a more satisfying story. A real love story.

Who wrote the book of love?

I didn't write it but I do hope there is a sequel.

Indeed.

Getting Out of Your Own Way

Get out of your own way.

If I had a dollar for every time someone has said that to me I'd have a stash of cash worthy of any smart mobster's wife. I digress.

I think the reason certain individuals have had occasion to tell me to get out of my own way is because they seem to think that I am standing in the way of my own success, standing in the way of my own happiness. That I am holding myself back from achieveing the things I want in life. That couldn't be further from the reality that is my life. Couldn't be further from the truth.

One does not necessarily need to run at full throttle toward what it is they want. Sometimes good sense and wisdom cautions a slow step, an almost snail's pace, in order to temper reason and validate the direction one's path might travel. Sometimes standing stock still, directly in ones own path, assures a mistake-proof journey at the end of the day, assures that the path will continue. When one stands still the chance for missteps, the chance to fall off of cliffs, the chance to be derailed decreases exponentially. At least I think so.

Then again...there is something to be said for getting out of your own way. Sometimes you aren't the only person you are holding back. Sometimes there is someone standing with you, someone by your side, someone who walks the journey with you. Sometimes the kindest thing a person can do is get out of their own way and let the other keep going, let the other pass by. Let the other reach their own happiness and contentment.

Sometimes the greatest act of love is a simple sidestep that allows another a clear path, a smooth journey of their very own.

Getting out of the way either clears the path for them to move on, or gives them room to turn back and say, "come with me".

Sometimes you just have to get out of the way.
Indeed

Puddle of Love

A Puddle of Love. I was immersed in a Great, Big Fat Puddle of Love this weekend.

My daughter and her fiance hosted an engagement party at their home this weekend. It was a semi casual event with approximately 85 guests in attendance. The party was held outdoors under a tent with tables elegantly decorated in whites and silvers and purples, tall white pillar candles, and white rose petals scattered about. White twinkly lights sparkling here and there on a crisp night made it all the more magical.

The reason I was in that Puddle of Love was because love was everywhere I looked. We came together to celebrate this next step in the lives of this couple...so dear to us on many levels. My daughter's housemates from college, all five, drove from New Jersey to be with her. Each one took a moment to talk to me and express joy at her choice of husband as well as relief that she didn't marry the boy we were afraid she would have. They love her so they were worried then, they love her so they were here this weekend.

The Puddle was there from watching my Dad, just out of the hospital. He was enjoying spending time with his family and especially his sister who drove up from Virginia because she loves her brother... and she loves us all as well.

Watching my Dad sneak into the house to watch Notre Dame football on TV with my sons who love him so much...more love puddling between them. Setting out the food, most of it catered, but with special dishes that my daughter's girlfriend cooked for her because she loves her. Puddles.

Sitting outside watching some of the neighbor's children join the party made more puddles. They love her and call to her when she's outside so she was gracious and invited them to come over. Most people who meet my daughter love her, she's just a sweet soul and you love being near her. Watching my future son in law glance at her with an unmistakable look of love when they opened their gifts. That Puddle grew.

The biggest Puddle came at the end of the evening. My husband was marveling at the size of the party and the amazing job our daughter did to bring it all together. We were talking quietly, discussing how the event went. He leaned close and said, "she's just like you...look at her". He put his hand on my back and squeezed my shoulder. That Puddle of Love grew deeper from the happy tears that started to flow.

Puddle of Love

Indeed

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep...

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul will take.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John
Bless this bed I lay upon.

Mother Mary, full of grace, watch me as I sleep.
Amen

This was the prayer I recited each and every night from the time I was about four years old until I was a grown woman. My three children recited the same prayer as I had taught them.

I can recall lying in bed, tucked into the soft cocoon of blankets, with only a strip of light visible from the tiny crack my mother would leave my door ajar. She kept a night light on in the upstairs hall and it projected a soft and low glow in the room. I liked being able to see the statue of the Blessed Mother I kept on my nightstand. It made me feel safe knowing she was right there. Especially since I asked her each night to watch over me.

As I grew older my prayers evolved. I never wasted a good prayer on frivolity. We're Irish and if nothing else we're practical about such things. One can dream about a great many things but I never could bring myself to ask God for something so frivolous as the red crushed velvet coat in the window at the Boston Store. Nor did I ask to pass tests, get picked for cheerleaders, or other good fortunes. I figured God would not award selfishness so I kept it simple. My prayers, practical as they were, revolved around my family life. I was manic that we would all be safe and sound and far from harm.

Growing up in the sixties even the most vigilant parents could not keep dreadful news from tender ears. Our country's leaders were assassinated, three Mercury astronauts perished in a fire on the launch pad at Cape Canaveral, a war in Vietnam was raging and young men from my town were killed. I had a lot of worry swirling around me so I prayed that no one in my family would be shot, die in a fire or be sent to war. I thought that covered it.

Then in the fifth grade my grandfather passed away and I prayed that my family would all live a long long time....longer than me because I didn't want to lose anyone else. In the sixth grade a girl in another Catholic school was followed by a man and killed on her way home from school. I started to ask God to keep me safe. My prayers were getting even longer.

In the 9th grade a boy in my high school was killed in an auto accident so I prayed no one I cared about would be in a car crash. In 10th a boy I had a crush on died from Hodgkin's Disease and I prayed no one in my life would get cancer. That same year my best friend's mother went to sleep one night, shortly after Christmas, and never woke up again. She had an aneurysm. Around this time I was praying for my friends now along with everyone else. That prayer grew and grew and grew. So many things worried me and I prayed about them all.

Much later, when I married, I prayed for my husband. I prayed that he would be safe, prayed that he would always love me and I prayed that I would pass away before he did because it was unimaginable that I would be without him. I prayed incessantly when my children arrived, sometimes to the exclusion of all else. I prayed, and I prayed..."Don't let anything bad happen to us".....

In that bed, in the dark, I said my prayers each night, faithfully. "Don't let anything bad happen to us". I never missed.

I still don't miss but my prayers have changed. I have learned to stop praying for things not to happen. They happen anyway. They happen no matter how much we pray. God doesn't give you a pass because you call dibs on safety. No one, no matter how hard they pray, is exempt from the reality and heartache of life. What I have learned to do, what I have learned to pray for... is help. I lay in the dark and pray for help. Help me get through this.

Help me get through this covers just about anything that can be thrown at me. Help me get through this allows me to accept what happens and not be frightened. Help me get through this doesn't make me feel overwhelmed at what I need to get through. Help me get through this makes me believe that I can...get through it. Help me get through this leaves me with a feeling that, when it is all said and done, I will still be standing.

Help me get through this.
Indeed
Amen.

Underneath The Stadium Lights

Friday night was my youngest son's first varsity high school football game. It was an away game and on the 30 minute drive to the opposing team's stadium, my husband and I shared some thoughts. This is a new journey for us with our last child. A journey we both had hoped would be possible. A journey we will enjoy as much as possible.

My husband was an athlete, a gifted one. I say was only because both of his knees and one shoulder are shot from his own athletic pursuits. His time has passed, painfully. He is proud of our son and understands better than I do what it's like to play on a football team. He understands better than most people actually.

As we sat in the stands I could see my husband's mind had gone off to a place I know nothing about....and mine went to my own personal and private one. The lights in the stadium were turned on, blazing and blinding, up over a grey and pinkish sky about to fade to black. It was a gorgeous late summer evening, warm and clear. I sat there thinking about other football stadiums I had sat in over the years when my thoughts were interrupted. The teams were ready to take the field. We stood, the national anthem sung and we settled in to wait for kickoff.

That's when it hit me. The band began a cadence to punctuate the kickoff. I sat there frozen in time...it was the same cadence I can remember from 1975, my senior year in high school. I shut my eyes and I was there, sitting in the stands, with my friends on another warm September Friday night. Waiting for the whistle to blow, waiting for the game to begin. With my eyes shut I hear the cheerleaders, I hear the band and I hear the excitement in the crowd. I was right back there in an instant.

I opened my eyes and came back to the present and saw my son was lined up, waiting for the whistle. I wonder if he could hear the crowd or did his pounding heart drown out the noise. I wonder how it feels for him, under those lights, in place waiting for this chapter in his life to begin. I wonder if he knows how lucky he is, if he knows how quickly this chapter will pass. I wonder if he knows how special this will all be someday.

I wonder if he knows that his father's big hands are balled up tight and his jaw is clenched. I wonder if he knows that every muscle in his father's body is clenched and tight waiting for that first contact. I wonder if he knows he's not alone out there on that field. I wonder if he knows that his father is right there beside him.

I wonder if he knows just how much his father loves him, how much he worries about him. I wonder if he knows how proud his father is at this moment and how overwhelmed he is with emotion. It isn't the lights in the stadium that has his dark brown eyes glittering. No it is not.

If my husband were to glance in my direction he would see that my eyes are glittering right along with his.

Right along with them.
Indeed.

The Highs and the Lows

There are some songs that no matter when you hear them or where you are when you hear them....you stop and let the song wash over you. One of those songs, for me, is Desperado written by Glenn Frye and Don Henley. It's a song with a hauntingly lonesome melody but the lyric is what stops me cold. It's a guy's song of sorts but I have always identified with it. The lyric's message has always made me think of those times in life when we are alone by choice. Those times when we separate ourselves from friends and loved ones because it's just too hard to be around people, just too painful.

One phrase is the heart of the lyric for me. The one bright spot, the redemptive moment that always stops me and reminds me about how to live a life worth living.

You're losing all your highs and lows
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away....

Life is hard, living is hard and walking life's journey can hurt with every single and solitary step. When we separate ourselves we attempt to insulate. When we insulate we stop feeling. When we stop feeling I think we stop living. It's a place I never want to be. For as much as we want to protect ourselves from hurt when we insulate we also can't feel the highs, can't feel the good, can't feel the wondrous happiness that can be found in life. If we wrap that insulation around us too tightly the feeling really does go away. We end up feeling nothing.

This was a week of highs and lows for me. I felt buried under a weight I could hardly bear. I insulated, I separated from friends and was quiet. I was fearful of losing a very special part of my life. I was also fearful of life's changes and what they would mean to me. Then....out of nowhere the high came swift and sweet. I was a witness this week to my daughter's life as it begins a beautiful new chapter and my father's as it begins to end. I was a witness to how little in life I can control and how desperately I want to do just that. The insulation does protect but it doesn't let us feel. It doesn't let us live.

Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away....

Highs and lows.

I pray it never goes away. For my sake, I pray it never goes away.
Indeed.