Not The Decider

I am watching the movie, “My Sister’s Keeper” and experiencing the struggle of a mom fighting for her cancer stricken daughter. I hope I never have to have that fight. It is all about trying to make the right choices and decisions, pursuing the best interests of the patient, being the decider.

I came close with my dad. He was cancer stricken. He died. But I never had to be the decider. I did not even have a chance to fight for him.

He said how it went, what he wanted, what he did not want. He chose when to start the process of dying. Yes, the cancer would have taken him, but he got a head start and kept the lead ‘til nearly the end.

I never had to tell the doctors to turn off a machine, to stop treating him, to not resuscitate him. I did not have to spend weeks or months feeding him, changing him, cleaning him, and giving him his medicine. I did not have to make any decision that led to his death. He made them all, I supported him. He chose when to stop eating and drinking. He chose when he was not going to take his medicine. He chose not to pursue chemo. He decided three-score and ten was enough for him.

On the one hand, I think if I had to make those decisions, I may have been broken spiritually. On the other hand, in an odd sort of way, I feel robbed… and deficient. Somehow, I did not do enough. Yet, I know it is a feeling, not a truth.

Nonetheless, I cannot help but feel moved by the heroic nature of this character, Cameron Diaz playing Sara Fitzgerald, who has devoted more than a decade of her life to her daughter, Kate. She had to be the decider, make the choices, and suffer the consequences. In her case, she switched into fighting mode and fighting mode became her. The time, the resources, the stamina all make her look admirable and valiant. The family, strong and united (sort of) looks the better for the suffering and struggle.

But then I remember, I am watching a movie. The reality is not this. I am not sure what the reality would look like but I know it is not what I am seeing on the television screen. The reality would likely contain way more mess, trauma, strife, depression, grief, fecal matter, vomit, and irate patients (patience too).

I heard a line in a song during the movie…. "you'll feel better when you feel anything at all." I guess I am glad I am feeling something. Lord, knows for most of 2010 that has not been the case. My dad grew ill in 2009 but the official battles leading to the end of life accelerated in December of 2009 and ended on February 28, 2010.

Caught between feeling guilty for not doing enough, feeling robbed of an opportunity to serve, and feeling sorrow because I miss my dad, I guess I am feeling better because, at least, I am feeling something.

Mostly, I am just feeling glad not to have been the decider.

How Much I am Loved

Originally published on Sunday, February 28, 2010 at 8:58pm

Mandisa sings, "Do you really know how much you are loved.... Take the depths of the deepest ocean and go deeper, take the top of the tallest tower and go higher... take the best day that you ever had and try to imagine better than that. Still don't come close to how much you are loved."
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9IbUYRpQSA)

Saturday, February 27th, 2010 was the best day I ever had and I cannot imagine any better than that. It was my father's homegoing and lucky for us he scheduled it and we hosted it before he died as opposed to after. The entire day was filled with beauty and light. I am so absolutely grateful and joyful for the day, for the people, for the sunny skies, the brisk, wind, the tantalizing food, the laughter, the card playing, the music, the hugs....

I had no idea the amount of joy that could come from the warmth of loving people coming to tell Phil Jackson and his family how extraordinary he was. Though he was no longer conscious, I never doubted for a moment his ability to hear, absorb, and appreciate the generous words, gestures, and gifts. ..

I give thanks to family and friends who celebrated a day, all day, in such a wonderful way. We were so loud, we laughed so hard, we hugged so much... I am a bit surprised that the man did not wake up!

Mandisa sings that God's love goes out to everyone....that includes me and you. I am so comforted by and confident in the universe's ability to care for us, to gift us with loved ones, and take them away from us in a way that does not break us but , rather, makes us stronger and better.

I was loved. Deeply, profoundly, powerfully, persistently. I was cared for, valued, appreciated, nurtured and so much more. And I let that love wrap its arms around me very hard. My dad loved me and though he is now gone from this worl, I can still feel the strength of his grip on me. He held me with his care and concern for me for decades, even as an adult and a new mom, he gave to me and cared for me like a mother would a baby. It was figurative, not literal, and felt just as good. He taught me how to parent my son, he created the space for me to grow and prosper, to rise and shine, to live and love as deeply and powerfully as he. Most of all, he granted me peace by helping me to grow confident and trusting in my own voice, my own way, my own abilities. And all of that was in the last seven years, never mind the thirty-some odd years before that.

Through the late hours of the night on Saturday and as the early Sunday morning hours began, the laughter and friends and family faded, but his grip remained on my hand and in my heart. I felt such joy at being able to be the one to hold his hand through the night, to wipe his brow, to administer the morphine, to feel his heartbeating, barely, to hear his raspy breathing, barely there. I felt such gratitude and pride in waking up before the alarm clock to make sure the drugs never wore off so that he never felt pain or suffering.

His homegoing was his way and on his terms. I respected him and his choices and am grateful beyond measure to have been trusted by him to help his life end graciously, sweetly, peacefully. I am also grateful for my sister, my beloved, beautiful, brilliant sister who partnered with me in this journey these last few weeks. Our experience is forever and always a treasure, a collaborative union filled with the pain of losing a dad, the joy of serving him lovingly, and the comfort of being together struggling to make the right choices, not wanting to mess it up for dad!

Saying God is good all of the time sounds trite... though it is true. What is more appropriate is that we, only on special occasions, acknowledge that God is good all of the time.

What I really feel is that God is gracious and merciful all of the time and we take it for granted, do not always notice it, and would benefit tremendously if we were to wake up! Unlike my dad, I still can.

Friday Night Dinner

Originally published Thursday, March 11, 2010 at 10:42pm

Today it was a commercial for Outback Steakhouse. I saw the commercial, reflected a moment, my memory was jogged, and the tears began to trickle. My eyes sting. They dry up. The moment passes. My head hurts.

I never know what it will be that makes me think of my dad and cry. Sometimes I think of him, and I don't cry. Sometimes I just cry.

The Outback Steakhouse was where we were heading for dinner a few Fridays ago. It seems like a lifetime. Yet, it was one month ago, Friday, February 12, 2010. The snow storms, the biggest to hit the DC area in seven years had just finished and he had been discharged from the hospital in the midst of them. Snowbanks two feet high covered much of the region and that Friday was the first day back to work for most people after four days off.

Traffic was horrible. My twenty minute commute picking up my son at school to travel to my father's house took three times as long. Dad was patient. Then, it took a major effort to help him out of the house and make it to the car which I could not park in front of his house. I had to park four houses down in the middle of the road (I use the term park rather loosely; stop the car is more accurate).

Our fifteen minute ride to the restaurant took over an hour. Traffic lights were out, travel lanes were not plowed. Congestion abounded. Amazingly Quinton was sane in the backseat enjoying his Ipod and Dad and I just talked. We talked the whole time. It was probably the longest uninterrupted, adult conversation he and I had had in years.

But we never made it to the Outback Steakhouse. He would have ordered the Prime rib, Quinton would have had the mac and cheese, and I would have had the grilled shrimp. I know this. That is what we always ordered. We always tried to get there early on the Fridays we went, like by 6:30 or so to beat the night time, date time crowd.

Up until that night, Friday night dinner had been our family tradition for years, four to be exact. We started in January 2006. I had started training to run a marathon and needed to get up early on Saturdays so Dad started staying over on Friday nights to watch Quinton. We started doing Friday dinner and then we would come home to my house together instead of him going home to his house. I would be up and out at 6am, or 5am when summer came, and Dad would be there when Q woke up. They would hang out cook breakfast or go out to eat. I would make it home by 10 or 11am. We did that routine for ten months until the October date for the Marine Corps Marathon. I ran it. Finished in just over five hours. It was one of the most life changing experiences I will ever have. I grew so much in my abilities to persevere and to ask for help. I fell down… a lot. And I got back up. I relied on a community of people to help me achieve my personal goal. I accomplished success for others as well. I raised money for AIDS while I trained. And I taught myself, my dad, and my son what the power of the words “I can do it” meant coming out of my mouth.

When the race was won, we kept up with the Friday dinners. But Dad no longer slept over. He went home afterwards. I don’t blame him. I did not have a guest room. All those months, he slept on the sofa. Never complained, never commented, never showed any signs of anything other than duty. He taught me in that way. Put your head down and do the thing you committed to do. No costs assigned to the requestor. Just do the thing.

That last Friday dinner did not happen at the Outback because they had lost power and had no electricity. The Home Depot and the Giant grocery store across the way, the traffic lights, and the entire Prince Georges Plaza mall area on the south side of East West Highway was out. We went to the Olive Garden across the parking lot instead.

Everything worked out really weel. We found parking, got a table quickly, Dad ate pretty well. It was there, for the first time in our 200 plus Friday night dinners, that I learned for the first time that Friday night dinners out with his folks is what he did when he was younger. I had never known. I do not even remember how it came up. I asked some question about when he was younger, the age Quinton is now. He described the restaurant and the building. The name escapes me now. He said that his family, his mother, father, sister, and himself, went out most Fridays for years. Interesting.

I loved my dad. I enjoyed his company. And long ago he taught me the ability to enjoy being in someone’s company without having to fill up the space with words or television or other entertainment. He allowed me to experience unconditional friendship and companionship. I learned to respect him and his space and to let him be. I learned to accept him as he was and let go of any wishes for him to be different…. For our time to be different.

We did not laugh and talk and fill up Friday nights with good cheer and happiness. We just went to dinner on Friday nights. Sometimes it was fun, sometimes it was quite, sometimes it was long, sometimes it was not. We went all over town... College Park, downtown, Chinatown, Silver Spring, Hyattsville, Baltimore, Capitol Hill, Union Station, Wisconsin Ave., and, more. When the recession hit heavy, we started eating in at home, cooking or ordering Chinese food.

I have not figured out what to do about dinner on Fridays yet. In time I know I will. For now, I can look at the Outback Steakhouse commercials, but the Olive Garden ones tear me to pieces.

Multitasking-less

I notice that in this era of advancing technology we are more and more capable of doing many things at once.  We can do more, do it faster, do it longer.  At some point in recent years, we became a nation that prided itself on its ability to multitask. Yet I also notice that as I age my personal ability, my internal technology, seems to be moving in the opposite direction.

I liken the experience to that of a juggler.  In my twenties and thirties I became a master juggler quite successfully. Now, in my forties, I still am. The difference being that I had responsibilities the size of tennis balls back then and today the issues before me are the size of bowling balls. I am successful at the juggling but as I handle the bowling-ball-sized responsibilities, the tennis-ball-sized-items that get tossed my way often fail to get picked up or handled well.

So, for instance, as I work hard in my role as mother, focusing on homework every night, I work to make sure my son is mastering the lessons, applying the exercises for practice, and absorbing the knowledge in his long term memory banks. I do this while working full-time at my job and volunteering part-time at his school and at our church.... the "bowling-ball-sized items".

I am mothering, teaching, directing, all with the intent and focus on my son's intellectual, behavioral, and social development. And now, as the fall season moves quickly toward winter, I notice the boy has no pants.... which ought to be a tennis-ball-sized matter... until November comes.

The boy has grown three inches since April and has insisted on wearing shorts the entire time. We are deep into October and the one pair of pants he has worn to church every week for months has finally given out at the knees. 

I am sure this sounds like a really minor problem. I can afford to buy more pants. Yet the multitasker in me cannot figure out when and where and I have zero time to get it done before they will be desparately needed and their absence will cause him to be labeled inappropriate and me to be labeled a bad mom (or at least a weird one).

I will manage this somehow... but what I notice more than the temporary pantless situation is how fried my brain became when I realized we lost the only pair of pants we had.  I am certain the issue is more complicated by my son's firm belief that he should not have to wear pants (thus, I suspect, the lack of forthcoming communication about the insufficient quantity of pants). Once the situation finally penetrated the fog that has become a permanent part of my head, I became paralyzed, frozen, stuck. I had plans, agendas, maps, and dates... this was an interuption. A problem. A challenge. One that I did not feel compelled to rise to meet, but rather compelled to fall under. Better yet, crawl under. Somebody please stop this ride that is my life. It is going too fast and I want to get off.

Stop it now.

Rhythm of Life, Part 2

I notice that my habit is to be on my best behavior so that I can model the right way for my son. The older he grows, the more of a camcorder he becomes. He absorbs what he experiences and replays it in his own actions. When he and I are not doing well, his performance in school suffers. When I am having a rough time and lose my temper, his behavior slips. Maybe this is the plight of living as a solo parent with just the two of us in the house.

I feel like I work really hard to behave well, to be a person of character, to be my word, because he is looking and watching me. He sees me talk the talk and walk the walk. I have strong character because of my desire to be a good mom.

My habit is to share and be generous with my time and talent. My son watches how I spend my time, how and when I volunteer, and how much I work hard for our church. He is developing a habit of community service as well.

My habits are to keep my word, follow the rules, and not run red lights no matter how late I am.

I cannot help but feel like there many of us around... but that there are not yet enough of us striving to be good role models for their children or other people's children.

If there were enough of us and we all were succeeding, shouldn't this country look better and be better? Would it really be that much of a struggle to get health care reform and other public policies that benefit the least of us the most?

When do we have a tipping point in our community and culture?

The tipping point where enough people care about the well-being of all of us more than caring about personal success at the expense of us.

The tipping point when a majority of us who are prosperous arrive at the place where we can see that we have more than enough and we are willing to give generously to ensure that others' lives are bettered.

The tipping point when enough of us have a habit of valuing our children as the gifts from God that they are, rather than seeing them as possessions or trophies or nuisances... when we value, respect, and appreciate those who care for and educate our children rather than attack them, undervalue them, and under compensate them.

Tip, tip people.

Read more about Malcolm Gladwell's book, Tipping Point http://www.gladwell.com/tippingpoint/index.html
It's a book about change. In particular, it's a book that presents a new way of understanding why change so often happens as quickly and as unexpectedly as it does. It's that ideas and behavior and messages and products sometimes behave just like outbreaks of infectious disease. They are social epidemics. The Tipping Point is an examination of the social epidemics that surround us.

The Rhythm of Life is a Force of Habit

I am listening to Oleta Adams who is singing about the Rhythm of Life and a line in her song says that the "rhythm of life is a force of habit."

I then think about those quotes about habits that circulate regularly:

Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.

We are what we repeatedly do.
Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.
Aristotle (Ancient Greek Philosopher, Scientist and Physician, 384 BC-322 BC)

First we make our habits, then our habits make us.
Charles C. Noble

Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going.
Jim Rohn (American Speaker and Author. He is famous for motivational audio programs for Business and Life. )

This may all seem a bit cliche but the question that forms in my mind is what am I in the habit of?

The basics are obvious.

I am in the habit of going to work every day, showing up on time, and doing a good job.

I am in the habit of getting my son to school and/or summer camp on time, with proper nourishment and appropriate clothing, rested and ready to be taught and to learn.

So it could be said this behavior comes from thoughts of mine that I value education and care about having a good work ethic.

So now what?

What destiny do I enjoy because I have habits of being dedicated, timely, and dutiful which lead me to be of strong character. Am I a good person now? and thus was not one before?

Am I destined for greatness because I get my child to school on time every day? Maybe he is destined for greatness because his school record is spotless.... what about me? where is the Parent's Place? Who has the Oscar/Emmy Awards for Best Parent?

We could have the Gimme' (short for Give me) Awards for Parenting!!

We could have Best male and female parent awards for starring in a high drama of the elementary school children!

How about the Best Parent in supporting role of nag and nuisance but I got my kid graduated from high school and off to college somehow!

How about an award for Best parent starring in a solo role, head of household, busting one's butt with no relief seven days a week, fifty-two weeks out of the year.

(Someone please nominate me!)

Truth be told, there is no celebration, reward, gift, grant, or significant other public acknowledgement of some of the most important work done in the world. The job of parenting is a reward unto itself but comes in the face of opposing forces, cultural distractions, and insufficient economic support.

Personally the joy of a job well done and the heart warming love and affection of my child ought to be enough. Yet I would not mind being awarded the Nobel Prize for Parenting (also known as the Nobel Prize for Peace). I think there is $1.5 million attached to that, right??

Baby, baby, no baby

Having a baby is not the same thing as parenting a child.

When I hear talk of having a baby, let's have a baby, I want to have a baby... I think of pregnancy, and romantic notions like the creation of life. I envision man and woman, or two partners, nurturing the life yet to be born. I see the beauty of the bulge and the glowing sweetness that comes with the gift of grooming new life. I remember the delicate, tender feelings of love and joy when I looked into my own newborn's little face all wrinkled and scrunched up... when I felt him cuddled beside me or in my lap, snuggling me, seeking comfort and security and needing little else besides some milk.

This is all well and good.

Yet the reality is that a baby turns into a child and children require good parenting.

The work of good parenting is about paying attention, exercising self-control, modeling good behavior, making sacrifices to put the child's interests first, and so much more. It is about discipline and dedication and being a warrior for the very best outcome that can be generated. This is how I view my job.

I am a mother. I have a job. I was not hired but I am employed and my performance evaluation will come in about a decade or so. Will I have contributed to raising a responsible, mature adult who is a positive contributor to community and country? or will I have contributed to raising an adult who is less than productive and not responsible and not self-sufficient? Will the person be emotionally and socially healthy? well-developed and educated?

These are the things I think about now. So when I was asked about "giving my man a baby" I almost screamed and cackled.... give him a baby? why on earth would I do that knowing how high the probability is that he will "give" the baby back? Yes, that sounds cynical, but the reality is that no one gives a baby to anyone.

Two people meet, fall in love, perhaps, decide to marry, perhaps, decide to have a child. Usually the conversation is that I want to have a baby...but the conversation really ought to be that I want to parent.

That is the real conversation to have. Do you want to parent? how will you parent? are you ready for the sacrifices (and the joys) that good parenting requires? are you prepared for fifteen to twenty years of hard labor? If you have already put in some years in the trenches of parenting, are you really ready to start over and do more? Who are you parenting with? are they as dedicated and dutiful as you? will they be committed? will they be consistent?