The last two weeks have been really heavy. If you've read many of my posts, you have probably noticed that many times people are referenced vaguely or by initials. You might have even noticed I say that some stories are not mine to tell. It's a little odd to break that habit with someone who really does go by initials. She's been AB for years. I really don't remember when it started, but long enough ago that AB holds more affection than Aunt Becky. As could be expected from her, one of our conversations tweaked my thinking a little. AB's cancer is back. Typically, I would make a vague reference and say it isn't my story to tell, but include it in my blogs because it impacts me, deeply. Today, for her, I am not going to tiptoe around "the C word". We speak a lot. By a lot, I mean she is one of only four people who can get my phone to alert at any hour. In one of our conversations, she asked me, "Why do people sneak around and talk to others about me? I mean after all, do they think I don't know I'm dying? Afraid to cry in front of me or make me feel bad by reminding me?? " Her cancer, her terms. So I asked permission to write about her and she said of course, it could be good for both of us. When AB had her first battle with cancer, I felt guilty showing up because so much family was there waiting with what I felt was more right than me to see her since I was only her niece. I popped in after her surgery to give her love and to leave a butterfly. Butterflies are a way to remember Gramma and know love in a moment, so it seemed the best piece of myself I could leave. Let me tell you though, when you see a strong woman you love in that condition, you leave a piece of your soul behind. Life experience rarely comes cheap and this experience thumbed across the scars of losing my grandfather and my father and exacted its price in emotional anguish and a splinter of my peace of mind. Every year after, though, the celebrations of life and her being cancer free helped to numb that sting, leaving it to linger and hide among other memories. There is no gentle way to hand the word cancer to someone, but I can tell you there is a loving way to do it. AB went through Tony because the woman knows no way but direct, but she is compassionate as well and her heart was aching to have to deliver the news. She sent a photo of her butterfly. Honestly, I had no idea she still had it, and Tony was lost thinking she was speaking in riddles. But there it was. Cancer had barged back into her life, but she was determined it would flitter into mine until she was sure I could hold the weight. Immediately my mind buffered the intake of information by insisting she had survived before, so she would again. In the following days, in our chats, she said she was focused on helping people with acceptance. That was the first visible crack in the illusion my mind was fashioning. There were other blows. She explained what her diagnosis could mean. Smack. She was complaining about anti mask people and how she knew she would die of cancer but they had no right to take any of the time she had left. Smash. The weekend after her doctor visit when she was sure I was with Tony, she laid out the reality of what her diagnosis meant this time. And even though she had prepared Tony in advance, there really wasn't much he could do but hold me while I sobbed. This conversation took a sledge hammer to my illusion and the words blew across the rubble leaving me to stare at the stark reality remaining...my aunt is going to die of cancer. So here we sit knowing that this is how the story will eventually end. For my part, I am stuck between feeling selfish if I focus on my own feelings and yet determined to continue to share my life honestly with my aunt. This means we trade the new memories, the life struggles, the deep love, the inappropriate humor and laughter, and the not so great stuff, too. There will never be enough, you know. She will die before I am ready. This is a reality I have let my fingers run lightly across but not grab. I have heard so many times from people facing grief, said it myself even...I wish I had had one more day. I wish I could say I loved her one more time. You realize what the alternative is, right? Well, AB, it's been a good run, and I have hugged you and seen your face enough times to last a lifetime. Bye Felicia. And if you can't laugh along with us at that comment, you can sit there sipping your tea with your pinkie out gasping to yourself because these women have some living and remembering to do. We will continue to live our story together, as she will with everyone that is willing. While cancer has a seat at the table now, it doesn't hold the pen for her story. Hell, cancer isn't even a major player in this story. Today, I am too spent to truly share AB with the flair she deserves. My words are tangled in sorrow right now, but in the coming weeks I will introduce you fully to my AB. For today, I'll leave you with some photos and this truth about her. If you asked any of AB's nieces and nephews who she loves the most, we'd all answer, "Me!" and we'd all be right.
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This week I have been reflecting on a Snap sent to me by BAH where he mentioned maybe I needed inspiration for my blog. I was surprised to learn a couple of months ago that he reads every post. Of course when I expressed doubt, he proved his point in true BAH fashion by mocking a poignant moment from a post I would least expect him to read. As much as I hate to admit it, those boys MIGHT, maybe, have inherited their mother's snark, humor, and wit. In the snap, he was telling me a story about his grandpa and how that anecdote from his grandfather still impacted his thinking. He recalled that Grandpa Richard had told him not only would he wear the soles off of his shoes but would snap his ankle if he kept dragging his feet while riding his bicycle.
This memory of his made me giggle about the many creative half truths or outright lies we tell as parents to maintain order when "because I said so" runs out of currency. I once told my children the car wouldn't move if they didn't buckle their seatbelts. Granted with my child that took feathering the gas and pumping the brakes while shouting, "Who unbuckled?!" when he decided to test the theory mid journey. My own childhood ensured that I would keep "compliance lies" in the realm of the fantastical so that my kids would easily recognize them as adults because I didn't want them believing ridiculousness. Not to mention I failed spectacularly with Santa Claus, so the level of creativity required to lie to BAH was a tremendous expenditure of energy most times. BAH approached me one day with the age old question, "How does Santa deliver gifts to all the houses in the world?" So I fell back on the tried and true answer of, "Magical, flying reindeer." That was my first fatal error. He took this opening to launch a full frontal logical assault barraging me with question after question about the logistics of raising magical reindeer and growing alfalfa at the north pole. He even demanded to know where Santa buys the greenhouse materials for said "climate controlled growing area in a greenhouse." Weary from the mental battle of being pinned under a barrage of questions forcing larger and larger lies, I acquiesced, "What do you really want to know, BAH?" The victorious grin as he asked, "Are you Santa Claus?" illustrated the success of his battle plan. In moments like those, I really questioned what happened. Where did they learn this nonsense? After all, we've all looked at our spawnlings and thought...must be from the other parent. Then they will go and show you exactly where they learned that nonsense. Probably one of the most illustrative example came from two year old BAH. One day I was running behind with my errands and just in a generally grouchy mood. I am not going to say my attitude was aggressive that day, but at one point from the car seat in the back I heard, "Nice turn signal, ASSHOLE!" In that moment, I did the single worst thing a parent can do, I laughed. Do you know how long it took me to get him to stop saying asshole? Okay, I didn't but, not only that, he learned humor was currency with me. Sigh. BAH is really in tune with feelings and moods of people and is probably one of the most wonderful caretakers I've ever met. He would make a wonderful medical care professional if he could handle the sight of blood. One day he was able to broach a difficult conversation with me through humor. I'm sitting on the sofa working, and suddenly a king sized Reeses Peanut Butter Cup comes flying in and lands on the floor. I hear from a distance, "Is it safe?" In my confusion I said, "What the hell?" Cue another candy bar, "That's all I've got, but I brought a diet Dr Pepper back up." As soon as he heard the laughing, he peeked around the doorway smiling. After that, it became a running joke that it was Reeses time. There are thousands of marvellous memories I have of those two. Being their mother has been a difficult and life altering voyage. My heart is light thumbing through all the memories I could retell, from how BAH became Bird to BAH's first word. I absolutely love to stroll through memories with them and hear their version of the memories and hear the memories that shaped them and how. Growing up with me probably wasn't always the easiest road to travel, and I value knowing their journey. Often I find myself wishing there was a way to preserve these memories so I could hold them when we are apart or so they can have them even after I am gone, but the story itself isn't the gift. The gift is how memories sculpt the person you are and that is so much harder to gift to someone. Just as BAH was shaped by his Grandpa's story, I have those memories as well. I can remember one time my AB asked me, "Do you actually wash the handles of your silverware or let it sit at the bottom of the sink and rinse it last?" At the time I had this awful plastic thick handled cutlery, so I replied, "Of course I wash it." And she laughed. From that moment, I have never skipped washing the handles of cutlery but I have absolutely no idea why that throw away question stuck in my mind like a cocklebur in dog hair. But then, AB is one of "those" people for me. AB was not very old when I was born, and I know she fawned over me like one of her own. I was often invited to stay with her and my uncle, and while these memories are too fuzzy to provide the fine chiseling into my personality, the adult knowledge that she was protecting me in the best way she knew then, is indelibly etched in my person. Given infinite time, I'd still miss examples of how she has not only fashioned my personality but held my hand and walked with me to show me how to do it for myself. The way she loves is one of those powers you cannot describe but only feel. Through her own dark travels, she has learned and grown and endeavours to bring others along. I can tell you that this is the woman you want beside you in the darkest times. She's been there when I was a scared runaway coming home, when I was a new mother grieving the loss of her baby, and when I was a young woman struggling with adult life. More importantly, she has been there when I realized as a grown woman that I still needed a mom. Through patience and love she has shown me that I didn't need a mom, I needed an AB. I can't say for sure that I know what a grown child and mom relationship is all about. I don't have that with my own mom, and my adult relationship with my own boys is still blossoming. But I do know, following her example has never led me astray. When we were young, she was the mom that simply said, "Go get them," when she learned we had tied our younger siblings to a tree and left them in the pasture. She bought chemistry sets so we could be mad scientists, and she had found the barrel for us so we could roll down Mt Potatohead. She had, still has actually, high expectations and could/can convey an ocean of disappointment with a glance. There is no doubt she lost her shit on us...we did some really stupid shit on the farm...but the contour of her memories is compassion, understanding, and love. Even when facing a half dozen kids covered in cow shit from a cow patty fight, she could find a smile. It's really no wonder that she tends to be the first person I tell news to. Not surprisingly, she knew about the NBF weeks before any of you. I have taken her with me to so many places in my life, and often she sits in the highest places in Norway with me for chats. There are walks I take simply for her because she wonders what is over the next ridge. She will always be a person that is largely to thank for the woman I have become. My mind and heart are really with her so much more these days as I can only watch the next trek of her journey from afar. She knows I will be there in the lowest places in Kansas for chats. She knows that I will show up to love her on purpose and be there with butterflies. More importantly, she knows I treasure the gift of her for all she is just as I know even in the deepest, darkest places of my heart that she treasures the gift of me. So this week, take some time to chat down memory lane with someone you love and think about the gift that they are to you. Even considering the circumstances and consequences of facing a global pandemic, Norway is trying to prioritize the happiness of the residents and citizens. This week, all of us that were living in the disappointment of boyfriends but not grandparents received an early Christmas gift from the government in the form of an announcement that additional family members will be allowed to visit. Included in that list are children over 21, which means I can fly my boys over! Regulations would require them to stay in quarantine for ten days, but I think that is a small price to pay. Needless to say planning has begun. Somehow even the knowledge of the opportunity makes my heart lighter. While I am feeling lighter, the skies are definitely darker. October 15th is a day when students learn about the importance of wearing reflective clothes and items when they are out in the mornings before school and soon in the afternoons after school. Three of the kids in my class have little reflective moose that they clip to their backpack, and I REALLY wanted one. Of course, being six, they had no idea where it came from except that mom bought it. This weekend when I was out shopping with Tony, I saw one. Have to admit, I felt all of six asking Tony to buy it for me, but he simply smiled and said, "Of course, but is there a bird also?" Sigh...the thousand reasons I love this man. These dark nights mean there are beautiful sights though. I was sitting on my couch and saw Janus sitting in the window staring out and thought I should be enjoying that myself, so I got bundled and ready for a walk. In all of my jackets, I keep gloves and reflective straps because that is the reality here to be safe. My mind pushed into this area, safety, as it started to get progressively darker on my walk. I hadn't given a second thought to leaving the house in the evening knowing full well it would be completely dark by the time I came home. There is a fairly popular social media thread asking women what they would do if men vanished from the earth for twenty four hours, and feeling safe going about life is at the top of the responses. Several women answered, "Take a walk alone at night." The only adjustment I needed to make was to alter my route to be on walking paths instead of the rugged terrain of hiking trails. Perhaps if I had a light, then I would do that, but I am also well aware of my clumsy nature so maybe not. I never would have done this in Andover. This isn't to say that Norway is a magical land without crime and shitty people. I am painting broad strokes here which means your experience may be very different than mine, and honestly, I am happy for you. However, I do know assholes live everywhere, yet I still feel safer here. One example that sticks out in my mind is the reaction of people when I tell the story about one man that came into the service station where I worked. I was squatted down to get into a cupboard to make fresh coffee and get supplies, and this man ran his hand through my hair. Then he told me how beautiful my hair was and how he had always wanted to touch it. The general reaction of people in the states to that story is to say that man is a fucking creep and they hope I kicked him out of the store or that he deserves to have his ass kicked. The general reaction to that same story here is "What do you mean he didn't get arrested?" There is simply a different societal set of norms at work here. I can also honestly say the way Norwegian men will appreciate a woman's looks is very different as well. There isn't the stare, follow to stare more, and make lewd comments type of behavior. Most of the men here tend to do double or triple takes but quickly go about their business if you notice their glances. I'll stop there because I feel I am quickly sliding down a slope where I will need to justify my comments, and that isn't my point today. I will simply say, I raised boys in the states, so I understand the different viewpoints. Walking along that trail in the dark, I fully appreciated the fact that I didn't have to be as concerned about listening for others. I didn't have to hold my phone in my hand ready to dial emergency. I could listen to my music, and truly enjoy the nature and solitude. That is something I have never felt before moving here. That feeling of safety along with all the beautiful sights has prodded me to intentionally consider my life here and compare to the states. There is so much to appreciate about both places, and in the end I feel like I am fortunate to have had this opportunity to grow and live a different life.
Autumn is my favorite season. So many colors appear and the world takes a huge breath and exhales before settling in for a cozy nap. The foliage has dressed for a formal gala to dance recklessly with the wind and scatter to new places. It won't be long until the last leaves pirouette down the road leaving the dance floor to the snowflakes. The sun plays its role to set the mood ensuring only the brave and bundled wander out in the cool darkness to catch the last glimpses of summer. The mornings have grown quieter as the birds, seeking warmer places, are not nesting in their usual spots and the fog dampens the sound from carrying down the roads. Autumn offers me the opportunity to channel my inner child into blowing big breaths to watch the puff dissipate, kicking and dragging my feet through leaves collected by the curbs, and leaving fingerprints in the dew. Even the trees celebrate by dropping confetti maple seeds in the air to glide and spin to the ground. The scent of crisp air and changing winds invigorate the body and imagination.
Don't misunderstand, I am not a full on autumn, pumpkin spice, Ugg boots basic bitch, but I am all about digging out my sweaters and cozy, warm clothes. Autumn is also a chance to do extra baking without heating up the house like you would in summer...not that I worry about that here. Filling the house with scents like baked breads or cinnamon rolls adds an extra layer of homeyness that draws you in to linger. Blankets and outdoor fires offer a special touch to any crisp evening of star gazing and cozy conversation. I also think I enjoy the autumn so much because when I was young it was my first experience with falling in love. There is certainly something special in the innocence and giddiness of wrapping up in a boy's jacket and sitting close at a Friday night football game. While the winter had shattered my mommy heart, autumn was the season I brought a chubby baby boy home for the first time as well. There really is so much magic and wonder in the changing seasons. The magic and awe isn't all positive. Autumn is when we watch the beauty and color of the summer season wither and dim as nature is preparing to survive a harsh and cold winter, so of course change is inevitable. This year Autumn has brought some extra pain and change, and while the world is taking its deep breath, so am I. My heart is heavy and feeling pain for friends and family. Recently, a friend lost her son. I don't know the pain of losing a grown son, however, I do know the pain of losing a child, and my heart aches for her. This event has intensified my feelings of missing my own children as a natural way to cope with a tragic event like this is to cling tighter to that which you hold precious. Unfortunately, for the foreseeable future, that clinging will be virtual. I have looked into traveling back to the states to visit, and it would be quite an undertaking. Upon return to Norway, I must quarantine for 10 days, and since the government has classified the United States as red, any missed days of work are not covered with sick leave. It would undoubtably reflect badly on me to plan poorly or face circumstances that force me to remain in quarantine when school resumes. My boys aren't the only ones on my mind. There are other family members that have stories that are not mine to tell but that make me feel like a visit is all the more important. Powerless is the word that flashes neon in my mind, but really I am not. Sure, events and quarantines are out of my control, but how I choose to react to all of it is mine alone to own. In the end, I cannot change the outcome of many things. My task is acceptance. So, you'll find me leaning into Autumn and enjoying all of those things that make Autumn so special and magical. The magic hasn't disappeared but perhaps my vision is blurred some, so maybe I will even go above and beyond. I'll message my boys too much and savor the moments I capture with family. You might find me buying fuzzy blanket number sixteen (don't judge) or special scented candles. Maybe I will even be daring and see how well Norwegian marshmallows toast up over a fire. Maybe I don't get the full say in how my story in this world works out, but I can tell you I am not going to waste the words or opportunities I do get. In the moment, I cannot know the value, power, or significance, and life is too short to constantly think..if only I had. Spinning and spinning, and my mind keeps coming back here, so I guess I will attempt to put words to feelings. These blog posts are quite possibly my least favorite as they expose a part of me that is vulnerable and private, but also because they clog up the writing pipes until I clear them through. And no, it doesn't help to keep them in the draft box. I have tried. I might have become a master strategist at self preservation in these matters. At any rate here goes...
When I think about the things I want my students to learn by the end of the year, handling emotions is a huge part of that. It is a vital part of human development to be able to name feelings beyond happy, sad, and mad. Also important is learning strategies for dealing with all of those emotions in an appropriate manner including a socially acceptable manner. (Believe me, Little Johnny, I have wanted to throat punch many people in my life as well.) Not to mention, students are so much more ready and willing to learn when their minds are not occupied elsewhere. As the product of a disfunctional family, I realize that this learning and practice doesn't always happen at home. In fact, one of the hallmarks of a traumatic childhood can be a lack of ability to effectively deal with the emotional load of life, and that is something that I recognize in my own life and have made tremendous effort to address. When you couple this with high expectations, deep empathy, and a profound sense of right and wrong, it can become seemingly impossible at some points to master. So here I sit...doing that hard work this weekend. I might mention, it isn't only a negative emotional load that can become overwhelming for someone like me. Have you ever wondered why a toddler will have a tantrum even when things are going their way? This is why. That emotional regulating part of their brain becomes overloaded and often a physical release is the only way to process all of the emotions. They simply haven't learned effective strategies. And don't worry, I haven't throat punched anyone or thrown myself to the ground screaming...yet...I do have some strategies. Some days feel like walking through syrup, and lately I have had my fair share of these. The level of missing my kids is TDH! I have never been away from either of them for this long, and it does not help matters that I have to string together fifteen days to have three days with them. Having this situation sitting solidly in the "there's nothing you can do about it" corner is not comforting in the least. The logical side of my brain understands I cannot miss that much work, and that my kids understand. However, the anxiety part of my brain still kind of believes that a mom will find a way and perhaps I am just not thinking hard enough. Of course, my kids aren't the only ones I miss. I have other family I would love to see for various reasons. One aunt in particular could really use some extra love and I am frustrated that all I can manage is virtual hugs and photos. Again, my logical brain knows that she understands, but my anxious brain is fretting away about myriad scenarios. Thanks anxiety. 🤨 And let us not forget the best of what anxiety and struggling with emotional balance does to positive experiences. My job is really fun, and I am enjoying every part of the challenges I am faced with. This year has allowed me to explore and grow and to draw on passions and education I was beginning to think I might not use. There are some pieces not quite falling into place, but nothing feels out of control. THEN...anxiety says, "Yeah, but..." "What if..." Dammit, anxiety. My relationship is also going well, so what better place for anxiety to really bear down than there? I really don't want to give voice to all of the nonsense that runs through my mind with nothing more than anxiety for fuel, but let's just say I'm busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest trying to wrestle the wheel away from the anxiety and emotions. Who knew it was possible to become emotionally overwhelmed because someone tells you how much they love you? Not to mention I had a near panic attack becoming "FB official" and establishing my first ever relationship status. Which then of course leads to the slippery slope of "you realize he's going to know you are a hot fucking mess, right?" Don't even get me started on the disaster that crying in front of him become. Lawd, girl, just stahp. Syrup y'all. I am trudging onward, and I can feel the weight. But if I as an adult can feel myself pulling at the seams and struggling, can you imagine the kiddos? They need strategies, information, and practice now rather than later. Because face it, who want to be learning this shit in their 40s? One only has to peruse social media to see the lack of coping skills and the plethora of poor coping skills. This time since COVID appeared has given me time to reflect on a lot of things, and I keep coming back to the importance of connection and coping skills. When the kids and teachers come back, I will focus there again because we need to. This situation isn't going to be resolved any time soon, so we learn and we do better when we know better. Everyone deserves that! Another constant I have learned is that water can get my anxiety to STFU like nothing else, so I'm off to walk and wonder and call some people I miss. I'm not worried about myself like I would have been a few years ago, and the fact that I am publishing this post is proof of progress. See you next week with an autumn post. It is simply gorgeous here. |
Nellie HillJust a woman leaping outside her comfort zone and telling the tale. Archives
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