My children

   Feeling down? Feeling blue? Has something been weighing heavy on your heart and keeping you from really enjoying life? I have the solution and stumbled across it by accident. If you ask me it should be standard therapy for those who are, or think they are suffering from depression. It requires children. You’ll need a little league ball field and some knowledge of baseball. Throw in an adult child struggling with trying to better themselves and all of your worries about yourself will melt away.

   My youngest (the boy) started little league ball this spring. My middle child (the girl) started softball. My oldest child (the woman) is working through college. Watching all of them go through something new, challenging and at times difficult for them lifts me out of the doldrums without side effects and without the involvement of medical professionals. The boy had tryouts the other night and on the way there he told me he was so excited his stomach hurt. He was eager and looking forward to something he knew nothing about without fear and trepidation, but rather with excitement and eagerness. We arrived early and had a quick orientation and he went through the coaches’ drills with gusto, giving it his best effort. He couldn’t wait to tell everyone about what he can do and show off his gear.

   My youngest girl is signed up for softball. She did not have to try out but yesterday we had to cover the basics and she was determined to at least be able to look like she knew what she was doing. With determination and grit she practiced batting, throwing and even ran a lap or two around the field for dad. Exuberant is the way I would describe both of their approaches to this new endeavor. The girl knows she may get hurt, she knows she can’t play very well yet, but with my guarantee that she will get better over time she presses on.

   My oldest (the woman) is married and working full time; starting a life with her husband and trying to make it the best possible. She is forever looking for new ways to make more income and improve things in their lives’. She is finishing college which many of us know is no mean feat even without the added pressure of a marriage and a full time job. Yet she pushes forward confident in her abilitity to get it done and optimistic about what her future will look like. She will call with problems and questions and generally work through them on her own with my only contribution being to listen and agree with her. She is facing a difficult climb and yet she is also confident that with the passage of time and some hard work she will finish and her lot in life will improve.

   Three children, all mine and all facing challenges unafraid and ready to do what it takes to be better and have fun. It is amazing what our children can teach us for they are indeed mirrors that show us what we already know. Their strength and courage came from their parents. Their exuberance for life and trying new things comes from examples set by their parents. Their confidence that things will be alright and turn out better than they hoped comes from watching us as adults plow through life’s difficulties, knocking down barriers and persevering no matter how hard the road, how long the journey, how unknown the outcome. We teach them that for a reason. The same reason our parents taught us the same lessons. My new personal mission statement, “It’s life! Quit crying and live it.”,  and watching my children believe me when I tell them all will be well guide me now and assure me that all will be well. I will let them show me how to live and move forward with courage and laughter as I start over, over 50.

Mardis Gras

   Mardis Gras, Fat Tuesday, a time for excess and in some cases base debauchery. Our lives mirror this annual cycle for Christians and enjoyed by nonbelievers if only for the excuse to act boorish. It seems to me, from my limited time on Earth, we go through our lives for periods of time unfocused on any self examination, clamoring for instant gratification and ignoring anything beyond our immediate wants and desires. Self reflection is necessary and we should not wait for some reminder to consider self sacrifice and things bigger than us.

   Every failed relationship of mine has mirrored the progression towards Fat Tuesday and the Lenten season. I rock along unconcerned, focused on the meaningless things, forgetting introspection until I reach the point of Mardis Gras, or Fat Tuesday. That day may represent months for me, but I spend it the same way. Awed by gaudy and glitzy things, intoxicated with my own arrogance and oblivious to the world around me, the needs of others, or that others even exist.

   Eventually Fat Tuesday ends and I am left with an emotional hangover as bad as any alcohol fueled illness. I wake up alone, in the gutter of the world trying to remember what happened. I look around at the remnants of the season before, the litter of hurt feelings, unspoken kind words and deeds, and wallow in the ignorance of the existence of anyone else but me. It is then that a price must be paid, a pound of flesh given. The glitz and flash are gone. The happiness and self indulgence are over and an inventory must be taken.

   So here I am on the Ash Wednesday of my life, penitent, broken and ready to sacrifice anything to show that I am worthy, my life has meaning and I am capable of love, that I am capable and worthy of being loved. I am forced to give up something for Lent, something that I need and is dear to me, but isn’t that the purpose of Lent? To show that we can give up some measure of something important, that we can suffer to show our worthiness and after forty days we can get back to living our lives and receiving grace and love. I enjoyed the party and I am ready for the sacrifice, albeit a forced one, but I am resigned to my fate, I have received the sign of the cross on my forehead and forgiven myself as I start over, over 50.

  

No title needed

   I have not written anything in a long time. Not surprising, at least to me. One of the reasons I started writing about this was to be brutally honest with myself while trying to keep moving forward. It is that honesty that slowed down my production. In retrospect it all seems like so much drivel anyway. The title of this effort is Starting over, over 50, but to be able to start over you have to finish and leave something else behind and that’s where I get hung up.

   They say what does not kill us makes us stronger. I am going to be an emotional Hercules when I get to the other side of this. I grieve today as hard as I did 6 months ago. Mostly I grieve for my children who deserve none of this, yet have to be a part of it forever. For the rest of their lives these times will define and shape much of what they become. I know this because I am the product of one of the millions of broken lives and families dashed upon the rocks like so much flotsam from a wrecked ship of dreams.

   Honesty? I cry the entire way to work nearly every morning and do the same thing for the return trip home. To this day I cannot talk about my children or what once was and what is to be without coming to tears. I choke up and cannot get the words out. Just a glance at an old picture or the random memory that pops into my head can cause crippling grief that takes my breath, stops my heart and brings me to my knees. I am not depressed, but I grieve so strongly that sometimes I am just as debilitated. I was told by a professional that I am likely grieving from a lifetime of loss. Feelings that I once pushed down, drown, or tried to chemically wash from my psyche are now rushing to the surface like a millennia of lava held down by the highest mountain.

    Yet, while I grieve I remain optimistic. I still function, the children seem happy and like I have been told time is serving to ease the pain. No matter how deep the wound scar tissue eventually starts to form. I no longer fight the grief, the sadness or the pain. I embrace it and nurture it and allow it to come forth unabashed and with no shame. It is the truth and I will no longer deny it. After all, right now the truth is all I have as I start over, over 50.