Ever feel like you're know you're meant to do something different than what you're doing but you're just not sure what? I feel like I'm stuck in this rut and I'm trying to get out, but nothing is working. I'm ready for a change, albeit it frightening; I'm ready to feel like I'm valued, like everything I do is actually recognized and appreciated.
I had a test in patience and gratuity this week, and it wasn't easy to swallow. Despite what I think I deserve, sometimes the world just doesn't cut the pie fairly. My father's favorite saying was always "I didn't ask if it was fair." So true in so many ways. I had to pause and remind myself to be thankful for what I actually do have. I do have a loving husband who comes home to me every day, I do have a caring family that I know I can count on in the good times and the bad, I do have a paying job that allows me to get by in life, I do have my health. I have a lot that many probably don't, and for that I have to bite my tongue and simply be satisfied.
In the meantime, I can only do my best, go beyond what is expected of me, and live up to the work ethic I'm proud that my parents taught me.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
grief...
Grief is one of those things that everyone deals with differently; it's part of our own personal make-up and sometimes it's harder to decode than a lot other emotions we experience with other people. I know for myself, I'm guilty of bottling it all up inside until it overwhelms me at the most inopportune times (most often when I'm at work). On more than one occasion, my husband will find me in our bedroom crying or realize in the middle of the night that my pillow is wet with tears. I think it stems from feeling like crying is a sense of weakness combined with my own vain knowledge of how horrid I look after a good cry - the puffy red eyes, runny nose and overall disheveled result doesn't really look good on anyone. I know for myself, though, that if I've reached that breaking point, I just want to be able to cry it out.
Being the comforter instead of the comfortee comes with its own challenges, though. In most cases, when it comes to grief, there's really nothing anyone else can say to take away the pain; it's something that can't be fixed and if it can, it's not by you. It's such an entirely uncomfortable place to be to know that you are completely incapable of doing anything to make this person's pain go away. Especially when you've never been in that place before and you can't pull from your own experience. It's at that point, that you'll literally do anything to bring a smile back to the face of the one you love.
I have been here and my instinct is to just be close - hug, rub their back, kiss their cheek, offer up a prayer. It's my hope that this somehow makes a difference.
Being the comforter instead of the comfortee comes with its own challenges, though. In most cases, when it comes to grief, there's really nothing anyone else can say to take away the pain; it's something that can't be fixed and if it can, it's not by you. It's such an entirely uncomfortable place to be to know that you are completely incapable of doing anything to make this person's pain go away. Especially when you've never been in that place before and you can't pull from your own experience. It's at that point, that you'll literally do anything to bring a smile back to the face of the one you love.
I have been here and my instinct is to just be close - hug, rub their back, kiss their cheek, offer up a prayer. It's my hope that this somehow makes a difference.
Monday, July 2, 2012
58...
This past weekend, my family got together with the purpose of just spending some time together and remembering my father as June 30th would've been his 58th birthday. In anticipation of our get together, my grandfather kindly drew up a list of talking points we might consider while we were together, but in lieu of creating a complete sob scene in the middle of Millbury's LongHorn Steakhouse, we just said a few words and opted to simply enjoy our time as a family.
However, re-reading through my grandfather's list, I felt like it might be important to really think about some of the things he wrote and lay out who my father really was to me. The very first thing that comes to mind about my dad is his presence. He was 6'4", rough around the edges and intimidating to anyone meeting him for the first time, but under that calloused, leathery skin, he was a complete softy. He had a passion for life, a desire to laugh and a quiet love. I always think of his strength - both physical strength and strength of character. He made new friends wherever he went and he wanted to share his love for Christ with them through his desire to help in whatever way he could.
One particular scene that sticks out in my mind about his underlying softness was when he and my mother decided to get chickens; they purchased 6 chicks, and for a couple months the kitchen was filled with the sounds and smells of baby chicks. They quickly transformed from animals into pets and craved the attention we all gave them, often peeping if they couldn't see or hear any of us in the room. One night, my father was sitting at the kitchen table reading, as he often did, accompanied with the trusty bag of potato chips, and the chicks were being particularly loud. He moved his chair in front of their cage which was on top of a chest of drawers, and simply sat there, reading, occasionally consoling the chicks with a quiet conversation. I also remember the first time one of the chickens laid the very first egg. He went into the coop to see what all their cackling was about and emerged triumphant with a fragile, tiny white egg held high in his hand.
My father taught us a lot of things - not so much in specific lessons, but simply in the man that he was. He taught us how to work hard, how to earn the money we made, how to stand up for what we believed in and how to fight for what was right. He taught us the everyday things in life, but in so doing, he taught us how to be strong individuals. I remember going with him to work on weekends, learning how to hammer nails, sand down drywall and use power tools. He taught us how to laugh at the little things in life and to treasure what really mattered. He in no uncertain terms was perfect, but showed us the difference between right and wrong and made sure we knew when we were the latter.
My father loved to smile and especially loved a good joke. He always loved that slapstick humor like The Three Stooges and the Monty Python movies, and I remember spending Saturday mornings with him watching the Mystery Science Theater spoofs and not being able to resist his contagious laughter. He loved Pinky and the Brain and Robin Hood: Men in Tights, Bill Cosby, and anything by Pixar.
It's hard to focus on one thing that I miss the most about my father... I miss him - everything about him. I think the thing I've missed the most especially lately is his voice and its many qualities; his no-nonsense tone, his pensive 'I know everything about everything' tone, his laughter and especially the way he used to lovingly call me Punkin'. I sometimes feel like I'm forgetting what it sounded like and it scares me. It makes me fear what else I may forget as time goes on.
I think about the last morning I saw him alive, how he was taking my air conditioner out of my bedroom window and I wish I'd said 'I love you' but didn't. I know he knows...but sometimes I just wish I'd said it one last time.
However, re-reading through my grandfather's list, I felt like it might be important to really think about some of the things he wrote and lay out who my father really was to me. The very first thing that comes to mind about my dad is his presence. He was 6'4", rough around the edges and intimidating to anyone meeting him for the first time, but under that calloused, leathery skin, he was a complete softy. He had a passion for life, a desire to laugh and a quiet love. I always think of his strength - both physical strength and strength of character. He made new friends wherever he went and he wanted to share his love for Christ with them through his desire to help in whatever way he could.
One particular scene that sticks out in my mind about his underlying softness was when he and my mother decided to get chickens; they purchased 6 chicks, and for a couple months the kitchen was filled with the sounds and smells of baby chicks. They quickly transformed from animals into pets and craved the attention we all gave them, often peeping if they couldn't see or hear any of us in the room. One night, my father was sitting at the kitchen table reading, as he often did, accompanied with the trusty bag of potato chips, and the chicks were being particularly loud. He moved his chair in front of their cage which was on top of a chest of drawers, and simply sat there, reading, occasionally consoling the chicks with a quiet conversation. I also remember the first time one of the chickens laid the very first egg. He went into the coop to see what all their cackling was about and emerged triumphant with a fragile, tiny white egg held high in his hand.
My father taught us a lot of things - not so much in specific lessons, but simply in the man that he was. He taught us how to work hard, how to earn the money we made, how to stand up for what we believed in and how to fight for what was right. He taught us the everyday things in life, but in so doing, he taught us how to be strong individuals. I remember going with him to work on weekends, learning how to hammer nails, sand down drywall and use power tools. He taught us how to laugh at the little things in life and to treasure what really mattered. He in no uncertain terms was perfect, but showed us the difference between right and wrong and made sure we knew when we were the latter.
My father loved to smile and especially loved a good joke. He always loved that slapstick humor like The Three Stooges and the Monty Python movies, and I remember spending Saturday mornings with him watching the Mystery Science Theater spoofs and not being able to resist his contagious laughter. He loved Pinky and the Brain and Robin Hood: Men in Tights, Bill Cosby, and anything by Pixar.
It's hard to focus on one thing that I miss the most about my father... I miss him - everything about him. I think the thing I've missed the most especially lately is his voice and its many qualities; his no-nonsense tone, his pensive 'I know everything about everything' tone, his laughter and especially the way he used to lovingly call me Punkin'. I sometimes feel like I'm forgetting what it sounded like and it scares me. It makes me fear what else I may forget as time goes on.
I think about the last morning I saw him alive, how he was taking my air conditioner out of my bedroom window and I wish I'd said 'I love you' but didn't. I know he knows...but sometimes I just wish I'd said it one last time.
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