Abby's room is clean! I can see the floor and there is nothing lurking under her bed. You may ask why that is worth writing about but in the case of mess Abby's is her mother's daughter. This weekend she is with her dad as we officially begin a visitation schedule. In cleaning the rest of the house yesterday I realized many things needed to go back into her room. I was hesitant to add mess to mess.
So, I began slowly and methodically to pick up clothes, get rid of junk, and vacuum the room. As I worked I watched an episode of "Hoarders" that reminded me that this was nothing compared to the mess some people need to clean up. I'm proud to report by early this morning - with some sleep in between- the room looks pretty good and I am feeling great about it. Drawers are organized, the floor looks great and we are all set to bring her new bed in later this week.
Last Saturday, in the midst of what has been a very stressful time I stepped on the scale. I had never weighed as much in my life. On Sunday I began a diet which I have religiously followed for the last week. Today I am twelve pounds lighter and motivated to do much more (truth be told - in total I need to lose about 100 lbs).
What I'm finding though in losing this weight is that I'm also adapting a better outlook. Things which have been out of control for so many years are coming back . Just like the weight is starting to drop off I can feel the change happening.
A wise friend of mine told me this week that you can't do it all and when it is overwhelming you just have to take everything in chunks and deal with little bits at a time. As someone who boldly tries to juggle several balls in the air at once and feels like a failure if any fall it is a great piece of advice. He also reminded me that worrying about what wasn't getting done doesn't help anything.
So, today I am feeling good taking one step at a time. The darkness is starting to recede and as everyone has told me it would things are starting to move forward. Keep tuned maybe like so many have said, the best is yet to be.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
The Wagon Wheel Coffee Table
One of my favorite movies is "When Harry Met Sally". I have forgotten how many times I've seen it but each time I do watch it I laugh like I'm seeing it for the first time. It provides such insight into male/female relationships and allows us really to laugh at ourselves as we have all at some time or another exhibited the behaviors of Harry and Sally.
In one scene Harry is newly divorced. His friends Marie and Jess have decided to live together but are arguing over including the wagon wheel coffee table Jess owns in the decor of their new apartment. Harry, raw from his recent divorce, is doubtful about the prospect of lasting love. He loses control and reminds them even if they think their relationship is perfect today they will one day be fighting over the ugly wagon wheel coffee table. We all laugh because we understand how things - even the ugliest of possessions take on significant meaning in a time of transition and loss.
For me my wagon wheel table was a headboard. It belongs to a bedroom set of Dan's. Twelve years ago my mother's neighbor was dying of cancer. With her only child halfway across the country my mother saw to it that she was not alone as the cancer progressed. When she died, her grateful son offered my mother a bedroom set from the house. I remember the day my mother arrived at our house in Pennsylvania with the set. Although it was at least fifty years old it looked brand new. She wanted our son Dan to have it. The headboard was for a double bed so Dan never used it and soon Gary decided it would work well in our bedroom.
Last week Dan told me that he was moving over his bedroom set to my house with the exception of the headboard. "Dad is taking that to the new house," he said. "What, "I thought to myself, "how dare your father break up this set for his own purpose." On Sunday night, as Gary stood in the driveway and we discussed this further I could feel my anger intensify.
If truth be told, the headboard is the ugliest piece of this set. It is a classic 1950's piece of furniture and I would be hard pressed to admire its beauty. Yet what it represents to me is something deeper - a lack of respect, a failure to understand the tremendous loss I have felt over the last several years, and what I perceive to be a lack of feelings. Surely it would be simple to ask if this is something I want to keep rather than break up a set of furniture willy nilly. It reminds me too much of the demise of our marriage where respect was thrown to the wind for perceived individual happiness without any opportunity for my input. These days, I feel like I am the only one mourning and realizing the finality of everything. As a comedian once said, denial is not just a river in Africa.
So, am I just a sensitive person or someone who is destined to move through her grief now so I can comfort others later? Twenty years ago I attended the funeral of the mother of one of my grad school friends. At fifty she had fought a twelve year battle with ovarian cancer and lost. She left behind a grieving husband and five children, the youngest who was just thirteen. Trying to make sense of this early death her son said it best in her eulogy. "The role Mom played," he said, "was to always be one step ahead of us to prepare us for what was to come." It was fitting that even in death she was playing this role.
So today I yield the ugly headboard - my own version of the wagon wheel coffee table with a hope that I provide an example of cooperation to my children and soften the blow of what we have all lost. I hope but don't expect that one day Gary will give pause about what happened. For now though, I need to move forward so that I prepare this new version of our family for what is to come.
In one scene Harry is newly divorced. His friends Marie and Jess have decided to live together but are arguing over including the wagon wheel coffee table Jess owns in the decor of their new apartment. Harry, raw from his recent divorce, is doubtful about the prospect of lasting love. He loses control and reminds them even if they think their relationship is perfect today they will one day be fighting over the ugly wagon wheel coffee table. We all laugh because we understand how things - even the ugliest of possessions take on significant meaning in a time of transition and loss.
For me my wagon wheel table was a headboard. It belongs to a bedroom set of Dan's. Twelve years ago my mother's neighbor was dying of cancer. With her only child halfway across the country my mother saw to it that she was not alone as the cancer progressed. When she died, her grateful son offered my mother a bedroom set from the house. I remember the day my mother arrived at our house in Pennsylvania with the set. Although it was at least fifty years old it looked brand new. She wanted our son Dan to have it. The headboard was for a double bed so Dan never used it and soon Gary decided it would work well in our bedroom.
Last week Dan told me that he was moving over his bedroom set to my house with the exception of the headboard. "Dad is taking that to the new house," he said. "What, "I thought to myself, "how dare your father break up this set for his own purpose." On Sunday night, as Gary stood in the driveway and we discussed this further I could feel my anger intensify.
If truth be told, the headboard is the ugliest piece of this set. It is a classic 1950's piece of furniture and I would be hard pressed to admire its beauty. Yet what it represents to me is something deeper - a lack of respect, a failure to understand the tremendous loss I have felt over the last several years, and what I perceive to be a lack of feelings. Surely it would be simple to ask if this is something I want to keep rather than break up a set of furniture willy nilly. It reminds me too much of the demise of our marriage where respect was thrown to the wind for perceived individual happiness without any opportunity for my input. These days, I feel like I am the only one mourning and realizing the finality of everything. As a comedian once said, denial is not just a river in Africa.
So, am I just a sensitive person or someone who is destined to move through her grief now so I can comfort others later? Twenty years ago I attended the funeral of the mother of one of my grad school friends. At fifty she had fought a twelve year battle with ovarian cancer and lost. She left behind a grieving husband and five children, the youngest who was just thirteen. Trying to make sense of this early death her son said it best in her eulogy. "The role Mom played," he said, "was to always be one step ahead of us to prepare us for what was to come." It was fitting that even in death she was playing this role.
So today I yield the ugly headboard - my own version of the wagon wheel coffee table with a hope that I provide an example of cooperation to my children and soften the blow of what we have all lost. I hope but don't expect that one day Gary will give pause about what happened. For now though, I need to move forward so that I prepare this new version of our family for what is to come.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Casting Off- To Throw Away or Begin Anew?
I am procrastinating today - needing to organize my garage so I can move the last of my things from my old house this week. The garage will serve as a temporary repository of these things. From here I will decide what to keep and more importantly what to cast off.
Clutter experts will tell you that people often hang on to things for the sentimental value they instill in the owner. I am guilty as charged. My garage will soon contain several pieces of furniture that belonged to both sets of grandparents. Long deceased, their things remind me of a simpler life without the complications of loss.
In moving forward I am trying to hold on less to things and more to ideas. Do I need my grandmother's dresser to remind me of her resilient nature in the face of significant life challenges? What I am finding is that I have incorporated her spirit into me and if I give myself the time to quiet myself and listen she is there to support me on my journey.
This week I had coffee with one of the smartest men I've ever met. While he was book smart, he was also life smart. An hour into our meeting I cut it short because I felt intimidated. This man, who had lost so much of material value in his own life, understood that we all are seeking unconditional acceptance from one another. To be loved for who we are warts and all. With him there was no song and dance - no freakish side show. It was just this is me. How powerful a statement that was - told in such a quiet and simple way. It was overwhelming.
So on Wednesday, the old house that I once dreamed would be the perfect family home will be emptied. Twenty years ago I began a relationship that I thought would yield the perfect life. What I now understand is that the ideal life is one without my constant striving for perfection. It will be one in which I can be accepted for who I am and not what I do. It will be filled with elements of respect and tolerance. I won't need the clutter of the past to remind me that I'm lovable. The journey continues but each day my backpack is getting lighter. In both senses of the phrase I am casting off.
Clutter experts will tell you that people often hang on to things for the sentimental value they instill in the owner. I am guilty as charged. My garage will soon contain several pieces of furniture that belonged to both sets of grandparents. Long deceased, their things remind me of a simpler life without the complications of loss.
In moving forward I am trying to hold on less to things and more to ideas. Do I need my grandmother's dresser to remind me of her resilient nature in the face of significant life challenges? What I am finding is that I have incorporated her spirit into me and if I give myself the time to quiet myself and listen she is there to support me on my journey.
This week I had coffee with one of the smartest men I've ever met. While he was book smart, he was also life smart. An hour into our meeting I cut it short because I felt intimidated. This man, who had lost so much of material value in his own life, understood that we all are seeking unconditional acceptance from one another. To be loved for who we are warts and all. With him there was no song and dance - no freakish side show. It was just this is me. How powerful a statement that was - told in such a quiet and simple way. It was overwhelming.
So on Wednesday, the old house that I once dreamed would be the perfect family home will be emptied. Twenty years ago I began a relationship that I thought would yield the perfect life. What I now understand is that the ideal life is one without my constant striving for perfection. It will be one in which I can be accepted for who I am and not what I do. It will be filled with elements of respect and tolerance. I won't need the clutter of the past to remind me that I'm lovable. The journey continues but each day my backpack is getting lighter. In both senses of the phrase I am casting off.
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