Why do we wait until someone dies to reevaluate our life? It's the ultimate game of chicken. My friend's father died suddenly and unexpectedly this past weekend. In his early 60s, he was far too young to have left this place.
We all have visions of how our life will unfold. A lot of the time we get so caught up in reaching the endpoint that we forget to enjoy the journey. I didn't know him well, but from the wake and funeral it was obvious that he preferred the journey to the destination. It's enviable because we are all going to reach the same destination whether we realize it or not. No one escapes death. But not everyone can say they have squeezed the essence out of every single day. This man had done that.
Ever since my breast cancer diagnosis and treatment I've tried to live purposefully. I'm not sure I'm doing a good job with this. Sadly, I don't think you find out till your funeral. The theme for this man's life was service. He spent his time loving his wife, daughters, grandchildren and family. And from the outsider's perspective, there didn't seem to be any regrets. That is what I want for me and my family; a life of no regrets.
There have been dozens of books and songs about this but with Hurricane Harvey swirling around my back door, I can't help but want to reemphasize some of the bullet points. As Eminem points out:
"You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go.
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime you better.."
If Eminem has if figured out, surely the rest of us can do a better job? (And no disrespect to Marshall Mathers, BTW). Why do we get so caught up in the stuff that doesn't matter? If not plucked early and often, petty grievances are like splinters that become festering sores. It should be simple. Love one another. Isn't that what Christ told us to do. Love one another. One simple commandment (besides the love your God with all your heart one) and we can't get it done. We can find all sorts of justifications not to love someone, and I get it, some people are difficult to love. But that's not what he said. He didn't say love only the lovable. You can ignore that really annoying one over there. As a matter of fact, he specifically told us to go love the annoying and unlovable and stinky.
I think what it boils down to is this: I really miss some people. I want to be close to all of my people all of the time. Life flies by at breakneck speed and if you're the dead one it doesn't matter so much. But if you are the one left behind, that could be devastating. You can't recover missed opportunities the way you recover deleted files. None of the other stuff matters. Teslas don't matter. Being a size 2 doesn't matter. Having an enviable Instagram doesn't matter. Being the jefe doesn't matter. Most things don't matter. Isn't that the whole book of Ecclesiastes?
My 90 year old grandmother, Nana, died recently. I had her for almost 49 years. I'm grateful I was able to spend time with her right before she died but I'm even more grateful that I spent so much time with her over the past 49 years. Time is so intangible and yet so priceless. It reminds me of another song that my boozy parents listened to in the 1970s when they were in their early 20s and too young to be nurturing anything other than a hangover:
"But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with"
Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce
Nana taught me so many things; unconditional love, humility, graciousness. She lived an exemplary life. She lived a difficult life full of sorrow but it gave birth to a woman with a most remarkable character. If I had not spent time with her I wouldn't have known her. I might have known about her, but I wouldn't have known her. I don't regret a single summer vacation, Christmas break or Easter that I drove to Laredo to see her, even if it was just 48 hours. She's perfectly etched in my memory and she is alive and well in my mind.
So the bullet points I promised you earlier:
** love, truly love
** forgive often and easily
** ask for forgiveness
** don't be afraid to make mistakes but see 3rd bullet point
** spend every possible moment you can with the people you love
** worrying robs you of precious time
** call your parents and your grandparents. they did they best they could
** giving your time is far superior to any other gift you could give
** own a dog. they are the definition of unconditional love
** practice gratitude. we aren't owed anything. every breath we take is a gift
** take time to thank God for everything you have
** be the change you want to see in your relationships and your world
** kindness should be demonstrated as mush as humanly possible. You don't know the next person's story
** travel and learn about people who are different than you. It's a big world out there
** listen to old people. the external package may be dusty but inside are hidden treasures
** laugh often and out loud
** appreciate this planet we've been loaned. it's a masterpiece
The storms may be raging outside, but within you can be a sea of tranquility. I'm sad for my friend and her family but grateful for the lessons learned by a life well lived. And selfishly, I wish I could still drive down and see my Nana, but she's waiting for me in a better place.
Friday, August 25, 2017
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
Impenetrable
My teenagers squished me into a mom sandwich today; first my two boys and then middle boy and daughter. I underestimate how much they need me to be there for them physically. The boys have a technique where they both whisper in my ear on opposite sides of me while pretending to be Nicholas Cage giving me secrets to find the National Treasure. Two giant boys who are man-sized squeezing up on me on the couch breathing their hot, stinky teenager breath down my neck. Then they decided to air-drop me obnoxious memes, machine gun style. I couldn't reject their requests fast enough and even when I did, they'd just resend the same meme. This went on for a good 30 minutes.
Daughter wanted to look at dozens of pictures of finger monkeys (as the name implies, a monkey small enough to sit on your finger), mini pigs and sugar gliders and hypothesize which animal would be next to join our family. She loves cute furry things for about 10 minutes and then bores of their company. She needed my undivided attention and if my eyes wandered off the screen, she'd redirect my gaze. Her older brother, the middle kid, joined us on the couch. They flanked my either side and then the miniature schnauzer jumped up and sat on my lap.
She'll only take a photo with me if she makes a funny face or sticks out her tongue. That's the thing about adolescents; they want to be near you but they don't want to seem like they want to be near you.
To parent a teenager one must become impenetrable. Their words and their actions rarely coincide and their thoughts and emotions bump around like pinballs. One minute you can be bloodied from a barbed tongue and the next you must reassure their insecurities. It's as much fun as hanging out with a swarm of angry bees or playing with broken glass. In my experience this can be worse with girl children.
My husband sent me an article about parenting last week. The author stated the decision to become a parent was selfish and driven out of a prehistoric Darwinian need to perpetuate your genetic pool. He hypothesized that there is nothing selfless about having children because it's about preservation of your blood line. That might be correct. Why else would a perfectly sane and rational person decide to subject a giant portion of their life to irrationality? However to nurture a living being beyond insemination some self-sacrifice must be involved. It's this realization that you are no longer the center of the universe that makes being a parent so challenging. I still don't have this perfected.
I used to think I was cool, nerdy cool, but cool nonetheless. Then the next generation comes along and usurps you. They mock everything you say, wear, listen to, eat, enjoy,...The way I chew my food drives my daughter to the brink of sanity. When her father and I eat, she has to leave the room. The boys think their father and I are cute, as in slightly crazy and demented cute. But all 3 of them greatly value our wallets. New Cole Haan loafers at $160; that is serious stuff that is needed and suddenly everyone appreciates mom and dad. Want a ride to a friend's house and the parents are amazing. Wanna stay up late listening to podcasts and we are the wisest people in the greater metropolitan area.
I don't like the descent into obscurity any more than the previous generation liked it. In my own youthful arrogance, I never thought it would happen to me. Regardless of the daily lesson of humility that is parenting, I still would do it all over again and with the same kids. The finished product has light years until it's complete. In the meantime I'll keep sitting on the sofa with my kids and provide them with mockable material. It will come full circle in the end and that's when Lee and I will get our rightful reward. When I sit with them I get glimpses of who they are becoming and that is all I need.
Daughter wanted to look at dozens of pictures of finger monkeys (as the name implies, a monkey small enough to sit on your finger), mini pigs and sugar gliders and hypothesize which animal would be next to join our family. She loves cute furry things for about 10 minutes and then bores of their company. She needed my undivided attention and if my eyes wandered off the screen, she'd redirect my gaze. Her older brother, the middle kid, joined us on the couch. They flanked my either side and then the miniature schnauzer jumped up and sat on my lap.
She'll only take a photo with me if she makes a funny face or sticks out her tongue. That's the thing about adolescents; they want to be near you but they don't want to seem like they want to be near you.
To parent a teenager one must become impenetrable. Their words and their actions rarely coincide and their thoughts and emotions bump around like pinballs. One minute you can be bloodied from a barbed tongue and the next you must reassure their insecurities. It's as much fun as hanging out with a swarm of angry bees or playing with broken glass. In my experience this can be worse with girl children.
My husband sent me an article about parenting last week. The author stated the decision to become a parent was selfish and driven out of a prehistoric Darwinian need to perpetuate your genetic pool. He hypothesized that there is nothing selfless about having children because it's about preservation of your blood line. That might be correct. Why else would a perfectly sane and rational person decide to subject a giant portion of their life to irrationality? However to nurture a living being beyond insemination some self-sacrifice must be involved. It's this realization that you are no longer the center of the universe that makes being a parent so challenging. I still don't have this perfected.
I used to think I was cool, nerdy cool, but cool nonetheless. Then the next generation comes along and usurps you. They mock everything you say, wear, listen to, eat, enjoy,...The way I chew my food drives my daughter to the brink of sanity. When her father and I eat, she has to leave the room. The boys think their father and I are cute, as in slightly crazy and demented cute. But all 3 of them greatly value our wallets. New Cole Haan loafers at $160; that is serious stuff that is needed and suddenly everyone appreciates mom and dad. Want a ride to a friend's house and the parents are amazing. Wanna stay up late listening to podcasts and we are the wisest people in the greater metropolitan area.
I don't like the descent into obscurity any more than the previous generation liked it. In my own youthful arrogance, I never thought it would happen to me. Regardless of the daily lesson of humility that is parenting, I still would do it all over again and with the same kids. The finished product has light years until it's complete. In the meantime I'll keep sitting on the sofa with my kids and provide them with mockable material. It will come full circle in the end and that's when Lee and I will get our rightful reward. When I sit with them I get glimpses of who they are becoming and that is all I need.
Saturday, August 12, 2017
Quality Time
I've had the good fortune of spending the past 2 weeks in Western Australia with my daughter. It's been nothing but pure joy and a gift that I will forever treasure. We were imported over by close friends to help with their newborn and herd of boys and that has been wonderful on its own, but I will never be able to thank them for this opportunity with my girl. Everyone should have the opportunity to go away with each of their children individually. And if you can go to the opposite side of the planet far away from everything familiar, that's a bonus. This morning I looked at her and told her how much I love her. She had headphones in her ears and thought I was ridiculous, but it counted. My heart beams with pride for this kid and when she saw the tears in my eyes, I explained to her that some day she'll understand that you can love something so much that it hurts. Earlier this summer I went away with my oldest son and on both trips I've learned what I need to do better with both kids. My middle kid is long overdue his individual time. It's been hard work, raising these kids, but I like who they're becoming and in terms of investment strategies, it's been the best ever.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
2016
2016:
Lee's anemic. Has colonoscopy
Mom almost dies. Has a prolonged hospitalization and recovery.
Jake has a bumpy year. Moguls
My pelvis gets drilled. Thankfully not cancer in the bone.
Nothing is any better with a relationship.
It's been a rough year. A lot of the time I feel angry. I don't know why. I'm not owed anything.
I'm irritable. I don't know if I'm doing a good enough job with my kids. Mostly they are good, but they aren't perfect and when things fall short of perfection it irks me. One doesn't clean up after herself. The other has mediocre grades. One has a problem with honesty.
I harbor resentment at times. I give it to God and then I take back a tiny piece of bitterness. It's hard to unclench my fist. Maybe I'll never understand it.
Maybe it's menopause. I still haven't cried. I might need to cry all of 2017 to catch up.
Lee's anemic. Has colonoscopy
Mom almost dies. Has a prolonged hospitalization and recovery.
Jake has a bumpy year. Moguls
My pelvis gets drilled. Thankfully not cancer in the bone.
Nothing is any better with a relationship.
It's been a rough year. A lot of the time I feel angry. I don't know why. I'm not owed anything.
I'm irritable. I don't know if I'm doing a good enough job with my kids. Mostly they are good, but they aren't perfect and when things fall short of perfection it irks me. One doesn't clean up after herself. The other has mediocre grades. One has a problem with honesty.
I harbor resentment at times. I give it to God and then I take back a tiny piece of bitterness. It's hard to unclench my fist. Maybe I'll never understand it.
Maybe it's menopause. I still haven't cried. I might need to cry all of 2017 to catch up.
Saturday, September 17, 2016
Love Letter to My Children
We've been dealing with a kid who doesn't want to go to school. I know that seems like a redundant statement. What kid wants to go to school? There is your typical run-of-the-mill "I don't wanna go to school" and then there is the flat out school refusal. We have the latter. To say that it's been a challenge is an understatement. After my residency in internal medicine, I completed a 2 year fellowship in adolescent medicine. Teenagers don't have a set of medical illnesses more so than the rest of the population so it's not like gynecology and it's not like doing a subspecialty in an organ system like cardiology or gastroenterology. Teenagers have teenager problems. The stuff we'd see as practitioners of adolescent medicine, that wasn't an STD or a gynecological issue, was mostly related to the psyche. And the teenage psyche is both complicated and not fully developed. So, you can have a fully grown man-child or woman-child but their behavior is more fitting of a 5 year old and yet they can speak in complete sentences, but so much of what they might say is completely irrational. The 2 biggest chief complaints that we would encounter in the adolescent medicine clinical practice were eating disorders and school refusal. At the time, I found the process of caring for a teenager/family with either of these problems to be ridiculously frustrating and tedious. While calmly laying out an interdisciplinary treatment plan that included a whole host of health care professionals I found myself, in the back of my mind, screaming: "Just f-cking eat!" or "Just f-cking go to school!". I knew it was never that simple otherwise these seemingly rational and normal parents would not be at their wits end and in our clinic.
Fast forward to my own adolescents living in my home. There is a reason God makes children cute when they are little. It's so you fall in love with them because once they hit puberty, they cease being cute (unless they are asleep and then you can still see some remnants, vestiges of their former adorableness). Sure there are lots of great things about having a teenager in your house. Generally, they are very witty. They keep you current in the humor department. You can have conversations with them about "big" topics (politics, religion, current events) and these conversations give you insight into the inner workings of their mind. But, as I think I've mentioned before, their hard-wiring is not yet been completed. There are incomplete circuits and routinely you will get inappropriate power surges. A packet of hormones might explode within them at the same time you are discussing feeding the dog and all of the sudden your kid has a volatile and tear-filled response to putting kibble in the dog's bowl. The dog is the innocent victim. And you are too. Getting hit with friendly fire is a daily occurrence as the parent of a teenager.
In regards to school refusal, I was texting my dad the other day and appraising him of the situation. It had been a particularly frustrating day and I just wanted a "You are an excellent parent. Teenagers are crazy. You go girl." At almost 70 years of age the distance between being both a teenager and the parent of a teenager is farther for him. "Just make him go!" was his suggestion. "Well holy shit dad! Why didn't I think of that?" It was unfair for me to think he'd have any solutions and I'm sure I just agitated him by proposing a problem with such an simple and obvious solution. At the end of the text dialogue he suggested that our kids were somehow more poorly equipped to handle the complexities of life because, as doctors' kids, they are coddled and have no grasp on anything other than first world problems. Maybe accountant's or plumber's or Peruvian villager's kids don't have problems similar to my own kids. Or maybe accountants and plumbers and Peruvian villagers are just better parents. Who knows? I'll talk to him (my dad) in a couple of days and he won't have any lingering resentment about the conversation or even remember it for that matter. He'll remember, but in his mind, it won't have the significance I've given it. "What, your kid won't go to school? Dammit, he has no choice. Doctors' kids!" He doesn't remember the bullshit I put my parents through because that was 35 years ago and, as the non-custodial parent, he wasn't in the trenches like my mom was. That poor lady had poo flung at her on a daily basis (by me, not my brother. He was a saint.).
I don't have a solution for the school refusal. We are working on it along with a team of professionals (which we can afford, for better or worse, because we are doctors) and every day is a new beginning but not in the inspirational meme sort of way. It the "Holy F*ck, what's gonna be behind door number 2 today?" sort of way. Seriously, I can go to work and manage a complicated patient with heart failure, diabetes, chronic renal insufficiency, hypertension and hepatitis C but this stuff reduces me to a weeping pile of rubble. I know one day said child, his father and I are going to look back and laugh and joke but right now it's like a million little daggers being thrust into my side with a generous heap of rubbing alcohol being poured on top for just the right amount of sting. You sit there and think, WTF is wrong with my husband and me that we can't get our kid out the door and into the school building? It's probably worse because we are doctors. That kind of hatred towards academics and goal setting has never been in our framework so not only is it maddening to not get them out of bed, it's absolutely mind-boggling that someone, someone that you made and has your DNA, does't get the same life-affirming fulfillment from completing assignments and having the teacher like you and making good grades. How could a child of mine not like to plan and make mental lists and organize? What is wrong with this person? That's the thing with parenting; it pushes you beyond your natural limits. I'd never, in a million years, choose this challenge. If this were a category on Jeopardy and I was a contestant, this would be the absolute last column I'd choose. For me, this is kind of like sky-diving or bungee jumping or getting a tattoo. I'm intrigued and have respect for people who fall into that category, but I just couldn't do it and not out of judgment or belief that it is right or wrong, but because I don't have to do any of those things to complete my tasks in life. I can detour around those options. But you can't detour around the option of raising your kid even when you feel entirely unequipped to raise that kid to maturity. In my mind, a pack of angry wolves would do a better job than my husband and I are doing right now. And at least they have the option of eating their young.
None of this is to say there is anything wrong with my kid (other than he doesn't want to go to school right now, but that is a temporal problem that will be solved. And in his defense, he's incredibly smart so he probably can miss about one third to one half of the school year and not really miss anything and still make good grades). And honestly, there is nothing wrong with Lee or me. I think most parents have this same dilemma a million times a day for a million different scenarios and at all stages of their children's lives. Some people quietly deal with it in their own way but not me. I need validation (back to the text conversation with my dad). I need validation from complete strangers and from my parents and from Stacey the mailman. I really am that insecure and maybe it makes a little bit of sense that my spawn might have some anxiety. I always have this internal dilemma of whether or not I'm going to post the stuff that I write onto a wider platform (because I am so insecure and crave validation) but usually I show it to a few people and the process of typing it out helps me make it sense of it all. Someday I hope my kids read this. They can read it now but it will make more sense when they are older. It's a decoder for them, in a sense; a key to why mom was the way she was. An archeological relic that helps you understand a society or a people. So Evan, Jake and Annie, I write this for you and know that if nothing else, you 3 are the best things in my life. Even in the most challenging of times and circumstances. I am prouder of producing you 3 than anything else I've ever done in my life. I know I've messed up along the way and will continue to do so but you 3 are all that matters. Take that with you to the grave and apply it to your own families and children. It's what keeps society moving forward. You will always be my greatest legacy. I love you.
Fast forward to my own adolescents living in my home. There is a reason God makes children cute when they are little. It's so you fall in love with them because once they hit puberty, they cease being cute (unless they are asleep and then you can still see some remnants, vestiges of their former adorableness). Sure there are lots of great things about having a teenager in your house. Generally, they are very witty. They keep you current in the humor department. You can have conversations with them about "big" topics (politics, religion, current events) and these conversations give you insight into the inner workings of their mind. But, as I think I've mentioned before, their hard-wiring is not yet been completed. There are incomplete circuits and routinely you will get inappropriate power surges. A packet of hormones might explode within them at the same time you are discussing feeding the dog and all of the sudden your kid has a volatile and tear-filled response to putting kibble in the dog's bowl. The dog is the innocent victim. And you are too. Getting hit with friendly fire is a daily occurrence as the parent of a teenager.
In regards to school refusal, I was texting my dad the other day and appraising him of the situation. It had been a particularly frustrating day and I just wanted a "You are an excellent parent. Teenagers are crazy. You go girl." At almost 70 years of age the distance between being both a teenager and the parent of a teenager is farther for him. "Just make him go!" was his suggestion. "Well holy shit dad! Why didn't I think of that?" It was unfair for me to think he'd have any solutions and I'm sure I just agitated him by proposing a problem with such an simple and obvious solution. At the end of the text dialogue he suggested that our kids were somehow more poorly equipped to handle the complexities of life because, as doctors' kids, they are coddled and have no grasp on anything other than first world problems. Maybe accountant's or plumber's or Peruvian villager's kids don't have problems similar to my own kids. Or maybe accountants and plumbers and Peruvian villagers are just better parents. Who knows? I'll talk to him (my dad) in a couple of days and he won't have any lingering resentment about the conversation or even remember it for that matter. He'll remember, but in his mind, it won't have the significance I've given it. "What, your kid won't go to school? Dammit, he has no choice. Doctors' kids!" He doesn't remember the bullshit I put my parents through because that was 35 years ago and, as the non-custodial parent, he wasn't in the trenches like my mom was. That poor lady had poo flung at her on a daily basis (by me, not my brother. He was a saint.).
I don't have a solution for the school refusal. We are working on it along with a team of professionals (which we can afford, for better or worse, because we are doctors) and every day is a new beginning but not in the inspirational meme sort of way. It the "Holy F*ck, what's gonna be behind door number 2 today?" sort of way. Seriously, I can go to work and manage a complicated patient with heart failure, diabetes, chronic renal insufficiency, hypertension and hepatitis C but this stuff reduces me to a weeping pile of rubble. I know one day said child, his father and I are going to look back and laugh and joke but right now it's like a million little daggers being thrust into my side with a generous heap of rubbing alcohol being poured on top for just the right amount of sting. You sit there and think, WTF is wrong with my husband and me that we can't get our kid out the door and into the school building? It's probably worse because we are doctors. That kind of hatred towards academics and goal setting has never been in our framework so not only is it maddening to not get them out of bed, it's absolutely mind-boggling that someone, someone that you made and has your DNA, does't get the same life-affirming fulfillment from completing assignments and having the teacher like you and making good grades. How could a child of mine not like to plan and make mental lists and organize? What is wrong with this person? That's the thing with parenting; it pushes you beyond your natural limits. I'd never, in a million years, choose this challenge. If this were a category on Jeopardy and I was a contestant, this would be the absolute last column I'd choose. For me, this is kind of like sky-diving or bungee jumping or getting a tattoo. I'm intrigued and have respect for people who fall into that category, but I just couldn't do it and not out of judgment or belief that it is right or wrong, but because I don't have to do any of those things to complete my tasks in life. I can detour around those options. But you can't detour around the option of raising your kid even when you feel entirely unequipped to raise that kid to maturity. In my mind, a pack of angry wolves would do a better job than my husband and I are doing right now. And at least they have the option of eating their young.
None of this is to say there is anything wrong with my kid (other than he doesn't want to go to school right now, but that is a temporal problem that will be solved. And in his defense, he's incredibly smart so he probably can miss about one third to one half of the school year and not really miss anything and still make good grades). And honestly, there is nothing wrong with Lee or me. I think most parents have this same dilemma a million times a day for a million different scenarios and at all stages of their children's lives. Some people quietly deal with it in their own way but not me. I need validation (back to the text conversation with my dad). I need validation from complete strangers and from my parents and from Stacey the mailman. I really am that insecure and maybe it makes a little bit of sense that my spawn might have some anxiety. I always have this internal dilemma of whether or not I'm going to post the stuff that I write onto a wider platform (because I am so insecure and crave validation) but usually I show it to a few people and the process of typing it out helps me make it sense of it all. Someday I hope my kids read this. They can read it now but it will make more sense when they are older. It's a decoder for them, in a sense; a key to why mom was the way she was. An archeological relic that helps you understand a society or a people. So Evan, Jake and Annie, I write this for you and know that if nothing else, you 3 are the best things in my life. Even in the most challenging of times and circumstances. I am prouder of producing you 3 than anything else I've ever done in my life. I know I've messed up along the way and will continue to do so but you 3 are all that matters. Take that with you to the grave and apply it to your own families and children. It's what keeps society moving forward. You will always be my greatest legacy. I love you.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Class of '86
I just returned from my 30 year high school reunion. I wasn't the most popular person in high school. I wouldn't say I was unpopular, just regular. High school is such a crazy time filled with sturm und drang. At no other time in your life are you filled with such uncertainty and anxiety. Physically your body is morphing into its adult version of itself and you have no control over the changes. Everything is hairy and pimply and weird and back in the 80s, we were just starting to talk openly about things, but mostly we hid our shame. Had your period at school and bled through your clothes? That was embarrassing shit that you just didn't tell anyone other than the school nurse. If your parents couldn't get you or bring you a change of clothes, it was a fate worse than death. It's not that boys had it much better. There is that pesky thing called a penis that has a mind of its own and erections can happen at the most inconvenient times; math class, lunch, homeroom, locker room. I'm not sure what is worse.
Anyhow, back to the reunion. Once you've lived long enough to make it to your 30 year reunion you've gotten to the point in life where you are okay with yourself. You've passed the point of caring what anyone else thinks about you (this happens at about age 40, like clock work). You go back and everyone is a doughier, wrinklier and sometimes hairless version of their 16 year old self. At the 5, 10 and even the 20 year (still not 40 years old yet) there is still vanity, though it is inversely proportional to the time it's been since you graduated. At the 30 year reunion, you're not interested in putting people back into their Breakfast Club category; criminal, princess, athlete, brain, basket case. Because you've lived your life (and gone through all the "adult bullshit" as one of my classmates so eloquently phrased it), you just want to actually know these people you've known forever. It's a shame because one or two nights is just a tease. How can you possibly search the soul of every single person in your graduating class when you only have 2-4 hours. I want to know every single person's story. The ups and downs, the heartaches and the joys, the disappointments and the victories. I want to know the names of your children and your grandchildren. I want to know how you've made your living, who you married, who you divorced. In essence, I want to know how you've lived your life. I want to squeeze it down to an ingestible form that I can swallow and digest and make part of my fiber. When you share history with someone there is a covalent bond, unseen and hardy. These are the people who share the most fundamental and intimate of memories with you, memories that you don't share with even your spouse (except for the rare exception of childhood or high school sweethearts); snow days, school trips, substitute teachers, football games, skipped classes, crushes, embarrassing moments, nights out. The memories are trapped in your head (and sometimes your yearbook) like a vault and no one else has access to these things except the people who were there when it happened. It's instant validation that these experiences actually took place and helped shape who you are. We shared the same air for several years. You are a part of me and I am a part of you. And when you are at your 30 year reunion and pushing 50 years of age, you are going to have the conversation with those people you wished you had talked to back in high school. We are each others people.
I'm raising 3 teenagers of my own right now. I don't remember adolescence being this hard. I remember adolescence being exactly this hard. You remember the feeling and the emotions (Oh the emotions. So many, many emotions) like a distant cousin. It's all oddly familiar and yet at the same time, so inconvenient and maddening and fast. How can this person who lives in my home, who I call my child and who calls me parent act so odd and alien? How can they be filled with so much angst about something so inconsequential? Do they truly think the earth orbits around them as though they are the anchor of the universe? How can they be so sweet and then so evil? I took my 14 year old kid with me to one of the gatherings. He was mildly amused at first and then infinitely bored. I'm glad he came with me not just because I like to spend time with him, but I hope on some rudimentary level he absorbed the inconsequentialness of temporal worries. You grow up, you move on, you reconnect. You glean the ripeness out of every situation and you keep going. These people who show up to things. They are good people. All 3 of my kids, they will encounter hundreds if not thousands of good people who have a different set of burdens. Their burdens may be lighter or heavier but they are burdens nonetheless and everyone has their own breed. I hope that he, and my other 2, are respectful of that; we all have our junk. People are fragile and exercise caution because even though you may not see it on the outside, everyone has stuff on the inside. And while each person's poop may be different, it's also the same. We all have poop and that's what makes every single one of us vulnerable. And vulnerability is not bad. I just hope it doesn't take them 30 years to figure it out. It's gonna be okay. It's all gonna be okay. Even when it isn't okay, it's still gonna be okay. You got lots of other passengers on your ship with whom you can share and ask for support. Weakness can make you strong.
Thanks Class of '86 Chamblee Peeps (and Class of '81 Huntley Hills) for setting the mold. XOXO
Anyhow, back to the reunion. Once you've lived long enough to make it to your 30 year reunion you've gotten to the point in life where you are okay with yourself. You've passed the point of caring what anyone else thinks about you (this happens at about age 40, like clock work). You go back and everyone is a doughier, wrinklier and sometimes hairless version of their 16 year old self. At the 5, 10 and even the 20 year (still not 40 years old yet) there is still vanity, though it is inversely proportional to the time it's been since you graduated. At the 30 year reunion, you're not interested in putting people back into their Breakfast Club category; criminal, princess, athlete, brain, basket case. Because you've lived your life (and gone through all the "adult bullshit" as one of my classmates so eloquently phrased it), you just want to actually know these people you've known forever. It's a shame because one or two nights is just a tease. How can you possibly search the soul of every single person in your graduating class when you only have 2-4 hours. I want to know every single person's story. The ups and downs, the heartaches and the joys, the disappointments and the victories. I want to know the names of your children and your grandchildren. I want to know how you've made your living, who you married, who you divorced. In essence, I want to know how you've lived your life. I want to squeeze it down to an ingestible form that I can swallow and digest and make part of my fiber. When you share history with someone there is a covalent bond, unseen and hardy. These are the people who share the most fundamental and intimate of memories with you, memories that you don't share with even your spouse (except for the rare exception of childhood or high school sweethearts); snow days, school trips, substitute teachers, football games, skipped classes, crushes, embarrassing moments, nights out. The memories are trapped in your head (and sometimes your yearbook) like a vault and no one else has access to these things except the people who were there when it happened. It's instant validation that these experiences actually took place and helped shape who you are. We shared the same air for several years. You are a part of me and I am a part of you. And when you are at your 30 year reunion and pushing 50 years of age, you are going to have the conversation with those people you wished you had talked to back in high school. We are each others people.
I'm raising 3 teenagers of my own right now. I don't remember adolescence being this hard. I remember adolescence being exactly this hard. You remember the feeling and the emotions (Oh the emotions. So many, many emotions) like a distant cousin. It's all oddly familiar and yet at the same time, so inconvenient and maddening and fast. How can this person who lives in my home, who I call my child and who calls me parent act so odd and alien? How can they be filled with so much angst about something so inconsequential? Do they truly think the earth orbits around them as though they are the anchor of the universe? How can they be so sweet and then so evil? I took my 14 year old kid with me to one of the gatherings. He was mildly amused at first and then infinitely bored. I'm glad he came with me not just because I like to spend time with him, but I hope on some rudimentary level he absorbed the inconsequentialness of temporal worries. You grow up, you move on, you reconnect. You glean the ripeness out of every situation and you keep going. These people who show up to things. They are good people. All 3 of my kids, they will encounter hundreds if not thousands of good people who have a different set of burdens. Their burdens may be lighter or heavier but they are burdens nonetheless and everyone has their own breed. I hope that he, and my other 2, are respectful of that; we all have our junk. People are fragile and exercise caution because even though you may not see it on the outside, everyone has stuff on the inside. And while each person's poop may be different, it's also the same. We all have poop and that's what makes every single one of us vulnerable. And vulnerability is not bad. I just hope it doesn't take them 30 years to figure it out. It's gonna be okay. It's all gonna be okay. Even when it isn't okay, it's still gonna be okay. You got lots of other passengers on your ship with whom you can share and ask for support. Weakness can make you strong.
Thanks Class of '86 Chamblee Peeps (and Class of '81 Huntley Hills) for setting the mold. XOXO
Friday, September 2, 2016
The Middle
Hi friend!
I miss you. Life gets so busy with the ‘musts' and ‘shoulds' that it's easy to get bogged down; water logged with responsibilities. While you have been busy raising your babies on the other side of the world, I have been doing the same over here. Neither one of us has an easy job. Toddlers and 3 year olds are just as complicated as teenagers. The fear over their physical safety and development is every bit as real as the fear over their physical safety and development.
I've been burdened with worry over my child. The worry has been smoldering for several years and on the eve of matriculation into another phase of adolescence, I am anxious that I have waited too long to take action. The only problem is there is no clear path. It's like trying to carry soup in a paper bag.
This kid of mine is not like the others. He is of me but not like me. I don't know how to decode him. It is pushing me past the natural limits of myself.
Not sure when I wrote the above. It must have been in the spring. Now it's the fall. And things are no better. We've been to see the psychologist as a couple, individually and he's seen her. We've been to 3 different psychiatrists and we are starting a third medication. I am sick with worry. My husband is sick with worry. We don't know how to reach this boy. Some days he is with us. Parts of days he is with us, but mostly he is detached. The latest medication is supposed to treat an underlying depression which is probably the result of unrecognized anxiety. Once the medication takes affect and the depression lifts, then he'll want to engage. Hopefully.
This is the kind of fear like no other. When they were little I'd worry that they'd harm themselves unintentionally. Now I worry about him harming himself intentionally. He assures us and the mental health professionals that he isn't suicidal. He told me he could never do anything to make me sad. He doesn't realize the irony of that statement. He has no idea the depths of my sadness. How can I be happy or have peace when my boy is in turmoil.
The beginning of the school year has been rough. He doesn't want to go to school. He hates school. He's certainly not stupid. The standard model of schooling doesn't fit him. It's uncomfortable and constricting. There is no room for independence and questioning and movement. I get it but I don't get it. I've always been a rule follower. Give me a set of rules and I'll follow it to my death and get a gold star in the process. I'm also very creative but that creativity has been more active as an adult. I guess in many ways I was stifled as an adolescent but I was too scared not to follow the rules. I feared consequences. This one doesn't. Or maybe he does, but he is so anxious/depressed he can't make himself follow through.
We've looked at alternative forms of education. We've toured 3 different schools in the past 2 weeks of school. Nothing is the silver bullet. The issues are still going to be there but they'll just be housed in a different environment.
Reluctantly on my part, we are starting an selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitor on him. It's funny because as a physician I don't mind prescribing these drugs and I can extol the virtues for my patients and even for myself. But, when it's my boy, I am paralyzed by fear by the "what ifs". What if he becomes suicidal? That's my biggest fear.
No one can prepare you for how much you will love your children and how much you will agonize over them. How your heart will break in ways you didn't even know was possible. How you will pray continuously and not even know for what you are praying. How you will loose sleep, imagine the worst, hope for the best, plead with God. How you'll love your spouse and also hate them because you have a b s o l u t e l y n o c o n t r o l o v e r a n y t h i n g and the only thing you can lash out at is the one you love the most. You can't believe it will happen to you. Not your kids. They will be different. No evil will befall your house. How you'll fold laundry and wash dishes with a blind ferocity because at least by doing this you are accomplishing something.
All I know is I love him but I don't know how to love him. My best efforts are lost in translation. Again and again, I offer him up to God like Abraham did with Isaac. "He is yours, God. He is yours.", is my breathless chant. I get some small glimpses now and again of my boy and I cling to that and to His promises. Meanwhile, my heart aches and I am waiting for the skies to clear.
I miss you. Life gets so busy with the ‘musts' and ‘shoulds' that it's easy to get bogged down; water logged with responsibilities. While you have been busy raising your babies on the other side of the world, I have been doing the same over here. Neither one of us has an easy job. Toddlers and 3 year olds are just as complicated as teenagers. The fear over their physical safety and development is every bit as real as the fear over their physical safety and development.
I've been burdened with worry over my child. The worry has been smoldering for several years and on the eve of matriculation into another phase of adolescence, I am anxious that I have waited too long to take action. The only problem is there is no clear path. It's like trying to carry soup in a paper bag.
This kid of mine is not like the others. He is of me but not like me. I don't know how to decode him. It is pushing me past the natural limits of myself.
Not sure when I wrote the above. It must have been in the spring. Now it's the fall. And things are no better. We've been to see the psychologist as a couple, individually and he's seen her. We've been to 3 different psychiatrists and we are starting a third medication. I am sick with worry. My husband is sick with worry. We don't know how to reach this boy. Some days he is with us. Parts of days he is with us, but mostly he is detached. The latest medication is supposed to treat an underlying depression which is probably the result of unrecognized anxiety. Once the medication takes affect and the depression lifts, then he'll want to engage. Hopefully.
This is the kind of fear like no other. When they were little I'd worry that they'd harm themselves unintentionally. Now I worry about him harming himself intentionally. He assures us and the mental health professionals that he isn't suicidal. He told me he could never do anything to make me sad. He doesn't realize the irony of that statement. He has no idea the depths of my sadness. How can I be happy or have peace when my boy is in turmoil.
The beginning of the school year has been rough. He doesn't want to go to school. He hates school. He's certainly not stupid. The standard model of schooling doesn't fit him. It's uncomfortable and constricting. There is no room for independence and questioning and movement. I get it but I don't get it. I've always been a rule follower. Give me a set of rules and I'll follow it to my death and get a gold star in the process. I'm also very creative but that creativity has been more active as an adult. I guess in many ways I was stifled as an adolescent but I was too scared not to follow the rules. I feared consequences. This one doesn't. Or maybe he does, but he is so anxious/depressed he can't make himself follow through.
We've looked at alternative forms of education. We've toured 3 different schools in the past 2 weeks of school. Nothing is the silver bullet. The issues are still going to be there but they'll just be housed in a different environment.
Reluctantly on my part, we are starting an selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitor on him. It's funny because as a physician I don't mind prescribing these drugs and I can extol the virtues for my patients and even for myself. But, when it's my boy, I am paralyzed by fear by the "what ifs". What if he becomes suicidal? That's my biggest fear.
No one can prepare you for how much you will love your children and how much you will agonize over them. How your heart will break in ways you didn't even know was possible. How you will pray continuously and not even know for what you are praying. How you will loose sleep, imagine the worst, hope for the best, plead with God. How you'll love your spouse and also hate them because you have a b s o l u t e l y n o c o n t r o l o v e r a n y t h i n g and the only thing you can lash out at is the one you love the most. You can't believe it will happen to you. Not your kids. They will be different. No evil will befall your house. How you'll fold laundry and wash dishes with a blind ferocity because at least by doing this you are accomplishing something.
All I know is I love him but I don't know how to love him. My best efforts are lost in translation. Again and again, I offer him up to God like Abraham did with Isaac. "He is yours, God. He is yours.", is my breathless chant. I get some small glimpses now and again of my boy and I cling to that and to His promises. Meanwhile, my heart aches and I am waiting for the skies to clear.
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