On Forgiveness

Lets talk, for a moment, about forgiveness. I posted (as my status today) the following few sentences:

Forgiveness, strange as it may sound, is not something we do for other people - it is not the forgetting or condoning of a past action. It is something we do for ourselves - it is the freedom of the spirit that results from refusing to continue to hurt over a past injury.

Forgiveness, for me, is an evolving concept; I am sometimes better and sometimes worse, I sometimes remember and I sometimes forget. Usually, it takes coming to a place where I am incredibly uncomfortable before I am truly able to let go.

As I understand it today, forgiveness must start with self. We must accept our humanity - accept our hurt - before we can even begin to forgive the other person.

An example then.

For the past few days, I have been in quite a considerable amount of upset about a business contact failing to get back to me regarding an issue that directly affects my housing situation. First, I have to accept that I am upset - this is different than the realization of upset (clearly, I am aware that I am unhappy) in that it requires the willingness to be upset, rather than change anything. For the most part, being upset is uncomfortable, and I would rather escape the emotion than truly experience it. When I am able to accept being upset, I can sit with it for a moment and see what it is that has me be this way in a way that is different from blame. Blame is counter productive - it is a defense mechanism rather than a path to emotional healing. When I am blaming, my mental conversations sound something like, "Okay, why are you upset?" "Because she didn't get back to me!" When I am looking at what truly has me bothered, things sound more like this: "Why are you upset?" "Not having this information threatens my sense of security. I'm scared."

It's okay to be scared. Knowing what I'm afraid of is the first place that I can begin with forgiveness of myself. Can I be okay with being afraid? Can I accept that I am not perfect? That I don't have all of the answers? That, every once in a while, I am going to feel like a three year old, without the luxury of a temper tantrum? This is the first place I can start. Yes - I can, moment by moment, forgive myself for being a human.

In my ability to forgive myself, I find that the upset and the hurt that I was accepting and forgiving (paradoxically) seem to melt away. I also (almost counter-intuitively) find the ability to (moment by moment) forgive the previously 'offending' party.

This forgiveness, as I mentioned early on, is distinctly different than forgetting or condoning the actions taken by the party. It is nothing more, and nothing less, than freeing yourself from the pain of your own humanity.

104 days to the wedding.

Luxury problems.

Another Day

I'm getting obsessive about checking my email lately; I keep hoping for a response on this house that W and I were so hopeful about. I have to give it a rest; all I'm going to be doing is making myself insane. Misery lies in obsession.

Hope for me though, alright, guys?

W and I went and looked at a couple other places today, put in a few phone calls so that we don't get caught flat on our backs if the place we're hopeful about falls through. I could really use a little bit of a break now, Universe. We all could.

106 days until the wedding - I put together an example of an alternative 'guest book' for the wedding; I hope W likes the idea - the relative sterility of traditional guest books kinda turn me off of them, and I rather like the... familiarity... in the type that I put together. Hope hope.

I also went and bought lingerie yesterday; for those of you that know me, you know that this is, in some ways, herculean. While W bears the brunt of the playful harassment about being old fashioned, reality states that he's really only slightly more conservative than me. That said, it's a fine line to walk between 'interesting' and 'whore-ish'. I think I did a pretty good job. Hope hope hope.

There's been an increased amount of... thoughtfulness?... going on recently. I was wondering in particular about what it was that had W start dating me, just over 2.5 years ago. It's hard to believe that we're closer to three than to two. W is 31 years my senior; we started dating on December 7th, 2007 - I was 21 years old, and, to the best of my recollection, very much like your average 21 year old at the time. While I know that we all must start somewhere, and we are all in a constant process of growth, in remembering the person I was when we met, I am still vaguely embarrassed.

So naturally, I asked him.

His response was that I seemed to be as crazy as he is, and he liked that. He also said he sort of sensed that there was something different... We both seem to have felt that while we didn't have to date, we couldn't not date.

Funny story...
Last night, the two of us went into the city to meet up with some friends at a new-to-us bar. W, naturally, got dressed with a heavy emphasis on the earthy tones of his life; last night, in particular, he went with a bear theme - bear shirt, bear necklaces, bear bracelet, bear belt buckle... bears everywhere.
Only as we arrived at our destination did we see how interesting of an evening this could prove to be; the bar our friends had selected was a Bear specific gay bar. (For those not familiar with the jargon, a 'Bear' is a gay, (generally) middle-aged male with a hairy chest.
W meets all of those criteria.
He was the most popular straight guy around last night, I'm pretty sure.

He is my better half, just as I know he thinks I am his.

I'd like to give another mention to Life's That Way, by Jim Beaver. I don't know what to say about the book, except that it makes me feel less afraid. It's a book that I'm going to hold onto, because it gives me faith that, should the worst thing I can imagine ever happen, I won't be alone.

I wish I could tell the author that.

I've never felt connected to a person, just because of a book.

Not that you'll ever see this, Jim Beaver - and thank you.

I love my fiance.

107 days.

Yesterday was my brother's 21st birthday; it's such a strange feeling to know that not only are we both now 'legal adults', we're also no longer 'minors' in any sense of the word.

W and I have been putting together more wedding stuff - invitations are being addressed, dessert arrangements are being made, the ceremony is finally completed (I'm sure there will be minor adjustments as we get closer, but all of the major components are included now), and we're counting down day by day at this point. 108 days until the wedding, as of today.

I'm reading this book, by Jim Beaver, called "Life's That Way". It's pretty phenomenal.

That's all I've got for now. Maybe more later.

Another Infusion

W and I took his mom in for treatment again today; every other week she goes in for these infusions, and all considered, this particular session was probably the best one she's had. It's definitely the best one I've been present for. They gave her a valium to help her relax (part of the disease is generalized anxiety, especially when outside of familiar surroundings), set up the line for the infusion, and she slept through the majority of it, while W and I were able to get out and go get something to eat during the middle part of the treatment.

Overall, these treatments seem to be making a difference - not necessarily improving her short term memory or her ability to retain new information, but definitely having markedly slowed (possibly stopped) the slide that she was on prior to starting this course.

We got her back to W's house after the transfusion, and she was doing pretty good - a little sleepy from the valium still, but mostly well balanced and emotionally stable. Now she's become combative and frustrated, indignant and childish. A few moments ago she hollered at W that she wants to move out, and told me that "[she] should go to an old folks home."

That isn't happening. Not only would she hate it, but W would hate it, and I would hate it, and the entire situation would be taxing in a completely different way - a way that would eat all of us from the inside out. I read somewhere that life isn't always about making the right choices - its about making a choice and then being able to live with the consequences. I know that this is one of those times.

I don't know how W does it - he does this all the time, and this is his mom. I at least have some distance from it, though I do care deeply about them both.

I just know, as well as he does, that he could never, ever live with putting her somewhere else.

W is my best friend, my better half (a saying I never thought I'd be able to mean when I used, until he came into my life); he brings out a side of me that I never knew I had. When I'm not with him, its as if a half of me is missing. I am sure that I have said this before, and I will probably say it again (over, and over, and over).

When two people agree to get married, they are, also, making the agreement to be the one that outlives the other.

I have no idea what that would look like.

In more ways than I really like to admit, the man makes me the woman I am.

Lets talk a little bit more about W's mom though, the one undergoing treatment. She will, from here on out, be known as B. B is 86 years old - she was born in 1924 - and she misses her first husband incredibly. He's been gone nearly forty years, and she still talks about him all the time - I don't know how much of an active of a missing this is, except around the holidays, and particularly around Christmas - and I know that she misses him incredibly then, and talks of him with great fondness often. B grew up on the east coast, and she was an incredible marksman in her youth. She loves golf (a sport I have yet to fully appreciate), and order - a clean house, good meals, gardening and plants. She's not as good at these things as she was in her youth, and they are the stories W tells me continuously.

That man loves his mother so much. He deserves so much credit that he'll never get; the things he does for her are things that I'm sure others across the nation do for their parents every day, and they all deserve so much more support and compassion and respect than anyone will ever know. It is amazing, and heartbreaking, to see such love.

She (B) has her good days and her bad days, like all of us, and I can only imagine what it's like for her to be entirely across the country from the area she was born and raised. I can only imagine what it must be like to be old in a society where technology advances so quickly that even those who create it can barely begin to keep up. I can only imagine what it's like to have a disease that destroys your brain - kills off the nerve cells necessary for cognition and disintegrates your relationship with the world around you.

I know what it's like at the other end.

Tonight we've tried to keep her seated, so that she wont fall from the disorientation caused by the medication she's been given; her response was to yell at W that, "You sit! You're fat! You're nice and fat, you do the sitting!" He went outside to take a breather, she insisted on going to the bathroom, so I watched down the hall to make sure she'd stay steady and on her feet as she went along. When she came back, she proceeded to tell me how horrible he is, and how if he kept up this sort of behavior she'd leave. She went to the kitchen, did some dishes (under my distant but watchful eye), and began to run the dishwasher. Something as simple as my reminder that we don't run the dishwasher until after eight began another tirade, this time directed toward me. W stepped in then, they argued for a moment, and she left, off to her room as we watched her, guarding her balance from afar.

We remember that the person that's combative isn't B. We remember that the hurtful words and the anger and the anxiety and the yelling and the screaming... that's the disease. That's what Alzheimers leaves in its wake; Dis Ease.

The blessing is that in the morning, she will have forgotten. It may not even take that long. She wont remember that she's angry, and we'll get a fresh start - a fresh B, a slate that hasn't tipped sideways yet, and off into oblivion.

She's back now, and she's feeding the bird.

A Gentle Reminder

Those of you that know me, know that it is part of my daily routine to actively work to 'better' myself as a human being. Some days it is reading, some days mediation, some days writing, some days a mix of all of the above; being that it was Father's Day yesterday, I fell out of my usual routine, and skipped my usual Sunday evening self-work, telling myself that I would make it up tonight. I did my usual Monday writing and reading this morning, and as the day progressed, I found myself debating about whether or not I would take the time this evening to 'make up' yesterday.

About this time, I stopped in at a little mom and pop hardware store, and (while using their facilities and noticing the amount of trust they must have in me as a human being [they used much of their bathroom as a stockroom for small supplies which would easily have fit into someone's pockets or purse]) I spied this sign over the mirror behind their sink.


I went and did that 'extra' work tonight.

And, because it's somewhat relevant, I'll share with you the letter that I wrote to my dad. The past 23 months or so have been actively devoted to my growth as a human being - mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. The results have been pretty... dramatic. I think back to the person that I was when I met W nearly three years ago, and I'm almost embarrassed; that, however, is beside the point. The letter I was able to present to my dad yesterday is a direct result of the work I've been doing, and that work has been fueled in part by reminders like the one I saw today. So, without further ado, I will:

"Dad,

Almost two years ago, in November of 2008, I was absolutely terrified that I was going to get my heart broken, again. Even more than that, I was petrified to tell you why I was so upset - it wold mean being more vulnerable in more ways than I already was; the thought was like pouring salt on an open wound, only the open wound was still beating behind my ribs.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, because it gives me this story to tell) I am a girl, and as such I have the tendency to cry a lot, which somehow made my statements of, "I'm fine," a little less believable. When I told you why I was upset, you didn't do the things I had expected. You didn't try to fix it; you didn't try to tell me what to do, or what I should have done, like most dads would. You simply said, "It's going to be alright."
You are not most dads.
All I ever wanted as I was growing up was for you to be happy with, and proud of, me. (They tried to teach me something about this in the Young People's Forum - it's taken me an additional decade and a half to understand what they were saying...) While I am finally realizing that I can't 'make' anyone happy, I am also reaching the point where I have achieved something greater.
I have become, with your guidance, a person that can be happy with, and proud of, themselves.
I am a teacher. Sometimes in a dojo, sometimes in a classroom, and sometimes in something no more official than a conversation....and I am always a teacher. I am a mother, a father, a nurse, an educator, an instructor, a hard-ass, a comforting hug, and a maid. I've held kids as they cried, with a 102 degree fever and a wracking cough; changed their diapers, changed their clothes, changed their lives. My second graduating class will be moving up at the end of July. My first class of [the group I'm teaching now] are pre-k now; they will be heading out into the world to face all of its joys and sorrows, and all I can do is hope that I've given them something worthwhile, and that they'll find something meaningful for themselves.
I am an animal lover. I have forgotten more about the natural world than most people will ever know; words like 'rhacodactylus' and 'vitticeps' catch my attention. I have been bitten, clawed, scratched, tail-whipped, peed on, pooped on, burrowed into (ow!), hissed at, run from, constricted, nipped, licked, and nuzzled. I have performed emergency surgery and had thousands of crickets spilled on my feet; I have nursed animals back from the brink of death, and comforted them as they died, hatched geckos out in a tupperware container, and held wild butterflies in the palm of my hand. I am in love with the magic of nature, and with every creepy crawly I am immediately presenced to the beauty and mystery of life.
I am a writer.
I am an artist.
I have an "excellent" credit score.
I have a relationship with my family. I am open and honest with the people whose approval means the most to me. I can trust my parents to accept me as I am, and the things that bring me joy, even when they would not choose them for themselves.
I have a brother who is more of a best friend. We talk, we share, and even on days when we'd rather give the other person noogies than hugs, we share the bond of being related not just by blood, but by choice.
I am marrying an incredible man, who is my perfect partner. I have become a person who - in times when money is still tight - has people flying in from multiple countries and numerous states to be at her wedding.
I am a person who tries her best to be courageous, generous, of-service, honest, accepting, independent, self respecting, respectful, right-sized, patient, considerate, secure, loving, trusting, and kind. I am never perfect, and I am always learning.
I am a person who dedicates her life to people being amazing, in the best ways I know how.
This is the person you've raised.
I am not most people, because I have had the love, guidance, and support of someone who is not most dads.
Thank you,
and happy Father's Day."