Father's Day

I spent this last Father’s Day in silent, burning rage at my dad, and it’s taken me three months to sort it out enough to write.

To Your Health

My Facebook feed is full of grief right now.  Grief is permeating the very air right now.  Many people I know are dealing with severe illness and/or death of a loved one due to COVID.

Honoring Jaime

Today is my birthday.  It’s supposed to be “my day,” but I’d like to share it with someone special.

I recently learned that I had a birthday twin.  Her name was Jaime Guttenberg.  If that name sounds familiar, it’s because she was in the news a few years ago.

Five Years

February 15, 2018.  Five years.  FIVE YEARS.  It’s been five years today since the first arrest and I gained two small children.

I was by no means prepared mentally, emotionally, or physically.  I was anemic and sick, and devastated by the nightmare we were facing as a family.  I was terrified by the possibilities, and five years later, I still am.

Dear Mr. President

This is a letter I am sending to President Barack Obama.

Dear Mr. President,

I know I speak for not only myself, but for many other Oregonians, when I offer a deep, heartfelt apology for the way you were treated when you visited our state.  As as native-born Oregonian, I'm embarrassed and ashamed by one of the most unpatriotic things I have ever witnessed.

Holiday Peace

Ever play with one of those Chinese finger traps?  You stick your fingers in and they are stuck.  The harder you pull, the more stuck you are.  This is how I am feeling during this holiday season, and I know I’m not alone.  There seems to be a huge sense of expectation built up this time of year, to make this the “best one ever,” like life is some kind of Hallmark movie.  Worse yet, there is almost a sense of societal obligation to be cheery.  After all, who wants to be accused of being a scrooge? 

For a variety of reasons, there are several people who won’t be coming to Christmas in my family this year.  Some are no longer with us, some are in a life struggle that is taking precedence over family and holidays, and some have changed their religious views to no longer include Christmas, or the family get-togethers that have accompanied it.  For me, this time of year has always been about family, and the sights and sounds of Christmas this year have a hollow feel to them.  As a matter of fact, I have mostly avoided any shopping that is not absolutely necessary, in order to avoid the dreaded Christmas music, which makes me cranky or depressed, depending on the tune.

I’m not saying any of this for sympathy, or attention; my problems are miniscule compared to some people's.  I’m saying it because it’s my truth, and it’s been weighing on my mind.  So much is beyond our control, not only during this time of the year, but all throughout the year; yet there’s this undeniable pressure to “make” it a great holiday.  Sometimes you just can’t.  It is what it is.  Call me Scrooge, but I feel resentment at that expectation, because it minimizes people’s reality.  There are many times in life that we are walking with privilege and are unaware.  One form of privilege is getting to be with your family and being happy.  Right now, I have several friends going through divorce, several friends grieving a death, a friend dealing with major legal issues with her son, and another friend whose little grandson is at the brink of death from cancer.  Why do we have this pressure to “fake it” when things are not well, just because it’s the holiday season?

A couple of weeks ago, a man I know killed himself.  I don’t know why, and it seemed to come as a surprise to everyone who knew him.  I don’t know what pressures he faced, or what kept him from talking to someone and asking for help, but I don’t think our society is very good at encouraging that.  That expectation to “be tough” isn’t always very helpful.  I’m not blaming society for his death, just wondering what role this might have played.

The only way to get out of a Chinese finger trap is to relax, and push both ends of the trap toward the center.  Reduce pressure, find a place of balance, whether that’s in the center or wherever, because it’s different for everyone.  Stop pulling against the pressure.  And recognize that in the long run, we can attach meaning to a day but it’s still just a day.  We can find new ways to honor our lives, every day.

My friend Deb always ascribed to the Platinum Rule, which is to treat others as they wish to be treated.  I won’t assume that everyone celebrates Christmas and has a Hallmark life (or wants either).  I just think we are all here doing the best we can, in each moment, and that seems more than enough to expect.

Peace is a loaded term.  And for me, I am seeking peace this holiday season by providing joy and comfort where I can, to myself and others.  Staying out of the ways of others when I am feeling grumpy, because it’s not my intention to be a wet blanket.  Looking for the positive in people and situations.  And perhaps most importantly, not feeling guilt if I don’t choose to partake in the Santa hat-wearing, jingle-belling, fake cheer I’m “supposed” to feel.  It's a great opportunity to boil the season down to what is really, truly important.  I’m a little busy this year missing some people, and I’m going to concentrate on loving the people I can. 

If you are reading this, my wish for you is peace of mind and heart, comfort, and love.  If you are sad or struggling, know that you are not alone.  And it’s okay to be sad, because sometimes life is sad, it just is.  There’s nothing wrong with you if you don’t feel “cheery,” or if you do.  Regardless of who or where you are, I wish you peace.

Grief and Gratitude - A love story

Tonight, my plan was to post part II of A Time for Reflection.  But something happened today that was too special not to share, so I will post it tomorrow.

The weather matched my mood today: gray and cloudy, and cold.  I was feeling the weight of the recent shooting event, and other typical life stresses, and in addition, today marks three months that have passed since the death of my dear friend and co-worker, Deborah (Deb) Yund. 

Only Deb knows how many times I have looked at the 8 x 10" framed picture of her on the bookshelf, in our lending library at the office... for inspiration, guidance, or just to remember.  Deb was more than a co-worker.  She was a confidante, co-conspirator, mentor, and possibly the smartest person I ever met.  She made work fun, and everyone adored her.  Her death was unexpected, and has been extremely difficult to accept.

About a month ago, I was in the mail room at work, waiting for the printer to finish spitting out hundreds of copies.  Deb's empty mail slot caught my eye, and I felt that old familiar lump travel from my gut, through my chest, and into my throat.  I noticed a piece of purple paper, and on an impulse, began cutting out little purple paper hearts.  Purple was Deb's favorite color.  I wrote "I miss you" on each little heart, and slipped them into the mail slot.  I felt a little better knowing that, wherever she is, Deb got the message.

Within a few days, I noticed something: other hearts were appearing in Deb's mail slot.  Different colored little paper hearts, with little notes and phrases written on them.  The little collection grew as my co-workers paid their silent tribute to Deb, and I would smile every time I looked at her once-empty mail slot.

About a week ago, we had to move our little heart display as we needed her old mail slot for a new employee.  We put all of the hearts into a blue glass vase that sits in a place of honor on the bookshelf by her photograph, ready to be added to anytime.

Today, as I struggled with that same old lump in my throat, which kept threatening to spill down my cheeks, I posted a simple comment on my Facebook page: "It's been three months today. Deb, I miss you so much."  

After work, I stopped off at my daughter's house to pick up the grandkids.  While I waited for my granddaughter to find her shoes, I noticed I had a notification from Facebook on my phone.  I checked my Facebook page, and there, under my comment, were six comments from my friends.  No words, just hearts.  

My daughter wondered why I was bursting into tears, and I explained about the hearts we all gave Deb, and the hearts my friends gave me, and she said, "Maybe Deb is letting you know she is still around."

I agree, and it's more than that.  Love never dies.  No act of love is ever wasted, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem at the time.  That heart you post on someone's Facebook page, that smile, that five minutes of being a good listener, offering to help do some small thing... it all means something... more than you know.

At a time when most people I know are stressing out over gifts, love remains the greatest gift of all.  I wish everyone reading this love.

"...and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make."  The Beatles

Thank you, Deb

Book Review - a must read

I just finished an incredibly important book, and hope others will read it.  The book is called, “The Invisible Wounds of War: Coming Home from Iraq and Afghanistan” by Marguerite Guzman Bouvard.  I figured it would be interesting stories about returning veterans, but it was so much more than that.  It was really a call to action for all of us.  

Military spouses and family members, and the vets themselves, will feel validated and heard as their see their lives reflected in the pages of this book.  And it’s a story that needs to be told. 

The first chapter gives a detailed explanation of the timeline, and many of the intricate politics involved, in both the Iraq and Afghanistan wars.  While this is important information, I have to admit I skimmed it and will need to reread it later, because I was anxious to get to the stories of the vets themselves.

One of the many factors in the high rate of veteran suicides (18 per day) is the understandable reluctance of vets to ask for help.  Military culture discourages vets from seeking the help they need, not only by characterizing those who ask for help as “weak” or “failures,” but also by penalizing those who come forward with denial of promotions, even in some cases dishonorable discharge.  Over and over the author heard fear of reprisal from vets who desperately needed life-saving help.  When they finally did ask for help, they were shrugged off, put on long waiting lists, or just handed sleeping pills.  We as a society have a responsibility to challenge the mindset that stigmatizes PTSD, or face even more suicides. 

The book is also a reminder that we have a war going on right now, which many people have managed to tune out.  Military personnel are only 1% of the population (yet 20% of suicides), and they tend to be ignored by the media.  This is seen as a huge betrayal by military families, who are resentful that deaths rarely merit more than a mention on the ticker at the bottom of the TV news.  They are also sick to death of hearing how their loved one “volunteered,” as if that somehow invalidates the suffering and the need for treatment of PTSD, traumatic brain injury, hearing damage from IED’s, etc.  

Prepare to be outraged at the lack of services and support for these people who stepped up to serve their country.  Prepare to be horrified and saddened by their stories, their poetry, and their pain.  Prepare to be deeply touched by the determination of their families to advocate for their loved ones and for all vets.  Most of all, prepare to feel a deep sense of compassion, and a responsibility and commitment to spread the word about these injustices.  The book is filled with resources, and the names and information about many programs which are working innovatively to help our vets.

Every young person who is even remotely considering a military career should read this book, especially young women.  It should be required reading for high school students to help counteract the lies told by recruiters.  They deserve to know what they are really getting into.

Tomorrow I’m reluctantly returning this book to the library, but its words will echo in my mind for a long, long time.  I plan to buy the book, and reference it frequently.  Most of us really want to support vets; this book shows how.  It claims to be neither anti-war nor pro-war, but any logical person with an open mind could not be pro-war after reading it.

This song kept running through my mind as I read:

"Hero of War" by Rise Against