I spend my days with kids who are unruly, defiant, oppositional; who are wounded in ways the world cannot easily see. I usually find something to like, even love about these kids. However there is one kid with whom I am struggling. He is hostile, crude, sly, salacious and downright cruel. I have read  his history, it is not pretty or kind. He was born into a family of violence and abuse. He has had the odds against him his whole life. I try to be kind, empathetic, caring but he rejects my attempts. He doesn't let me in and won't talk. Only one other time have I encountered someone like this. I pray for and about kids like these.

In contrast I spent yesterday at a statewide church sponsored talent show. I watched as teen after teen sang about God, Jesus, their longing for grace and mercy. I watched parents cry and smile and cheer their kids on. I watched as families and friends hugged, held hands, prayed together and celebrated both wins and losses.  I watched kids cheer each other on, support each other, love each other. I watched people being vulnerable and real, unguarded and open.

I couldn't help but contrast these weekend kids with my weekday kids.

I saw the stark contrasts so clearly: family support vs family rejection. Love vs disdain. A life of the spirit vs a life of the flesh. I thought about how my teen years could have been different if I had not been born into a loving supportive family. How my nieces and nephews and their children could have turned out if my siblings and I had not shown them love and support.

And it hurt. It made me both incredibly grateful and incredibly sad. Honored and humbled. It made me want to show kids that there is love in the world. That there is hope and healing.

I want to be a light in a dark world. Even if the kids won't let me in, I want them to realize there are shadows in their life but somewhere a bigger light can chase out that darkness and turn the shadows into nothingness...

2012

A new year. A new beginning. A time to reflect on the past and wonder about the future.

I used to love New Years. As a teenager and well into my twenties, I would spend New Year's Eve with my mom and sometimes her sisters and brother. If we did the family thing, we would stay up telling ghost stories while eating pinto beans and cornbread my uncle Hoss made. Of course after I moved to NYC, I didn't make it home very often for New Years Eve.

On one particular New Years Eve, I kissed one of my best friends and everything changed. We fell in love in that moment. It didn't make sense, it wasn't on my list and I never expected it to be him. He was my friend. I did not want to wreck that relationship. After 24 years, we haven't. It has been stressful at times. We have been through so much, losing family, friends, pets and our home. I almost lost him to cancer last year. But through it all we held on. Yes, we have had days when we really didn't like each other very much. Where we have shouted angry words to each other and stormed out. But we have always calmed down and come back to each other.  We are more than just husband and wife.  We are BFF's.

Since that kiss we have not shared another New Years with anyone. It has become our private party. We treat ourselves to fancy snacks and a quiet night. We toast in the New Year and then go to bed. Over the years it has gotten harder to stay awake. This year we lost ourselves in a Harry Potter marathon. We had not read the books nor seen all the movies. Then this year I read the first book and was hooked. Suddenly I wanted to see all the movies and then read the books.

So for Christmas I received all the movies.

They are wondrous. That such a world could come from one person's mind amazes me. That the stories are not really about  wizards and witches, but about the magic healing power of Love. Love that goes on forever. Love that lives in our hearts. Love that connects us all, the weak and the strong, the good and the bad, the human and the world...

There is so much more in the story than I realized. I am glad we started 2012 focusing on a Love that shines in the darkest places, a love that redeems us and heals us.  A love that never dies...  A love that I share with others but most importantly that I share with my husband.

At last...

I haven't blogged for a long time. I was so overwhelmed I couldn't find words to express myself. The past 2 years have caught up with me and I grew weary of hearing my own story. When I look back at the blog, I see so much loss, so much grief...

But the tide is turning. I still mourn my lost loved ones but I have turned a corner. I passed my LCSW (licensed clinical social worker) exam. This has been a goal since I returned to grad school back in 2004. I knew then I wanted to be a therapist, and I wanted to earn my LCSW license by the time I turned 50.
Life took a couple of turns and I ended up earning it when I was 51, a year off, but goal achieved!

The hubster is doing really well. He ran a 1/2 marathon and is working part time at the YMCA. We have a 3rd dog, Taz, a blue heeler. He was my brother's dog and has come to stay with us while BB2 travels America in his RV.

We are moved but not totally unpacked, however we are settling in nicely. We have a cozy den lined with books. We have divided the house between cat land and dog world and everyone seems to be dealing well.

I am looking forward to 2012...

Mr. Bones

This is a poem I wrote many years ago before so many deaths had occurred in my family. I found it today, its a little rough, a little irreverent, but kind of interesting...

He comes at night
a shadow to fear.
A light tap on the shoulder
and they disappear.

He strolls the garden
in earliest morn
his robe dew damped
bedraggled, worn.

He dances away
the minutes of day
Tick Tocking
Time to Decay.

Mr. Bones
comes a'tappin'
Took my love
whilst he was nappin'

Be gone, Fine Death
come no more
to take my love
my soul no more...

Pisgah

Today I walked among the dead,
resting quietly in their graves.
I wandered among them
speaking aloud
a name
a date
a sentiment,
carved in coldest stone.
Speaking them into being
for just a moment
just a breath of time.

It is peaceful
away from the living.
The quiet broken
only by birdsong,
breezes rustling
the leaves beneath my feet.

Sun warmed granite
rough to my touch.
Alabaster,
cool even at midday
with the sun arching
over us all
warming the cold ground
beneath me
above them.

I embrace the solitude.
I revel in the peace that flows
across time and being.

I have no fear.
I have no quarrels with the dead.
It is the living that presume.

Beautiful Boys

I work with a lot of teenage boys. They are awesome in ways I never imagined. Bold. Strong. Fragile. Insightful. Forgetful.

They are dreamers, schemers and preeners.

I feel for these kids. They have had tough lives, spent years with people labeling them as stupid, dumb, just another redneck/gangbanger/poor white trash/poor black/stoner/trailer trash kid...

They are not those labels.

They are scared. They put up a tough front and that scares some people. But I choose not to be afraid of them. I talk, I listen, I praise them. They sometimes blush at the praise and grow silent. I don't think they know how to respond to kindness or positive words. They only know the negative. That they can respond to, they can get angry, they can hit, they can yell, they can lash out...

But kindness, that catches them unprepared. That throws them at times. But I don't stop. I keep telling them what they do right. I praise their efforts, I celebrate every success however small.

Today I met with two of my boys. Two boys the school staff told me were incorrigible. Two boys the staff had given up on. Two boys on probation in court. Two boys they warned me I should be afraid of because of their anger and violence.

One holds the door for me, answers "Yes M'aam", "No M'aam". The other who looms over me, waits til I am seated before he sits. In telling about a rough day, he cannot bring himself to curse in front of me, instead saying, "Ms. Martha then I said the "f" word."

Today I reviewed their grades. Both were passing all the classes for the term. Only one F for the nine weeks and that will be brought up when more homework is turned in. I praised them for their efforts. I told them I knew how hard they had worked. I said, "I am so proud of you!" and I meant it. Both blushed. One said he was proud of himself. I broke out in a big grin and laughed with happiness. This was a kid who had once said his purpose on Earth was to feel pain, and today he was beaming with joy.

I can't take the credit. They did the work. They made the effort. They were the ones who chose to change. All I did was listen and tell them the truth about themselves. They are winners, they are strong, they are all beautiful boys...

What love looks like.

I realized he was the age I am now when she entered his life. He had been lonely for a while, had been to dark places in his mind and felt his heart would never know love again.

On their first date he took her a red rose.

They shyly introduced each other as "my sweetheart".

Their children, all in their teens and twenties, began to accept each other as siblings. Then they began to have grandchildren. The two of them became "Pa" and "Mammy". They became ever more happy.

When they had time and the day began to cool, they would walk the boundary fences of the farm. Talking, laughing or maybe just being silent, holding hands as they walked beneath the glorious sunsets.

He built a porch on the side of their home. This is where they would sit in the mornings drinking coffee together peacefully, watching as does and fawns emerged from the woods to greet the light of morning.

She would jump into his truck in her jeans and flip flops,  not caring what she wore or that her hair would get messed up as they roared down country roads. She just wanted to be with him and he was glad.

They planted gardens, harvested the yield and cooked and canned it together in their kitchen, laughing and joking. They sneaked in  hugs and kisses between the beets boiling and the corn roasting on the grill.

She kept their home clean and orderly, not letting chaos into their lives, tossing out stuff with no meaning, letting in only that which was beautiful and precious.

Together they carved out happiness despite setbacks and worries. He preached in a church that needed them. He built onto it and she was happy to help in any way she could. She attended every Sunday she didn't work, singing and praising God as he stood behind the pulpit, telling of his love of Jesus, a humble man doing a mighty work.

Too soon though, a shadow crossed their path. It loomed larger and larger until finally it had a name. Cancer. Together they fought it. So many treatments. So many pills. So many tears.

But even through this dark time, she stayed. She walked with him when she could. She held his hand. Together they laughed and prayed and cried. She brought her radiant smile into his darkened room every day. She kept the children, grandchildren, siblings and church family strong and believing in a miracle by her example of faith and perseverance. She taught us to have faith despite all odds.

When the Cancer got worse, she did not stray from her faith or from him. Every moment she stayed by his side. Helping him to face the inevitable. Calming his fears, drying his tears, holding his hand. She called the family and let us into their intimate world, that thin place where Life and Death stood shoulder to shoulder, waging war over his body but not his soul because she reminded us again an again, his soul belonged to Jesus. And we knew his heart belonged to her.

On the day he died, she was there. Holding him, whispering prayers, loving him and finally telling him it was okay to go, she would go on even as her own heart was breaking, shattering into a million pieces with a pain sharp as glass, tears flowing down her face, bright trails of sorrow.

He left this world surrounded by love and prayers and went Home to his Maker. She went home to an empty house where their love had lived and grown into something bigger than all of us could fathom. She went back to work. She cleaned the cabinets, swept the floor. She kept chaos at bay. She goes on even now, showing us again what Grace and Mercy look like in action. She continues to be an example of Faith. She is bravely walking into the void, holding tight to memories, carving out a different life than she had planned, holding strong even as she cries.

She lives her life as a beacon of light to the rest of us. She is what Love looks like.

This too shall pass.

It is a quiet Saturday morning. I have awakened from dreams that were like long pleasant movies filled with laughter and friends. In these dreams there is sunshine, beautiful forests, lakes that are blue and clear. I talk with friends and cannot tell if I am actually awake or dreaming. Lovely.

For the past two years I have had anxiety dreams, waking up in panic, drenched in sweat with my heart racing. I usually cry.

For two years my life has spun wildly out of control. Cancer, death, foreclosure, fear, anxiety have swirled through both my waking and sleeping life. I have hung on to the power of my faith with the love of family, the support from co workers and bosses, the aid of a good therapist and psychiatrist and sheer determination not to be beaten down.

Cancer has taken several loved ones in the past year, but the love we shared lives on. Their spirits are shining and strong, dancing in Heaven. The house is gone, handed over to a young man willing to take on the challenges of maintaining and improving upon a house with "good bones". We are settling into a smaller, more efficient home. Fear and anxiety are drifting away.

I feel with each loss there came a new beginning. A new birth into a different life. A friend sent me a quote that in essence stated that rock bottom is a good start for a firm foundation. I feel that my feet are back under me. I feel that I can sort out the debris of the 2 years of chaos without dissolving into a weeping mess. I believe that I can start over, keeping the precious while casting out the unnecessary.

For two years I have repeated over and over "This too shall pass." And it has.

Robert III

Today I am grateful for endings and beginnings.

We closed on the old house. A young man named Robert bought it as his first home. I had not met him but the hubster had. He was rooting for this person to buy our house. The husbster told me that Robert listened to as the husband told our story, walked through the house at a non-peak time and still saw something that spoke to him.

Young Robert worked hard to secure financing and finally today, closed on what is now his house.

As I handed him the keys, it occurred to me that it was right and fitting that he should take over the house. We bought the house from a man named Robert, the hubster was always called Robert (not Bob which he goes by usually) by the neighbors. And now a third Robert shall reside in the house.

I think our prayers were answered and once again, God showed his sense of humor by sending another "Bob" into our lives.

Goodbye 1038

Yesterday I sat in the old house and burst into tears. Today, I locked the door and walked away.

So much was going through my mind: loss, sorrow, shame, frustration, memories and more.

The house is in pretty rough shape.  With the pictures off the wall, the furniture gone, the curtains hanging in the new house, every little flaw is obvious. Every room needs painting, the floors need refinishing and the whole house needs a lot of TLC.

I remembered when we first walked through the house, newly painted and fresh 15 years ago. I remember wandering room to room planning our future. We even brought a bucket of KFC and had a picnic on the empty living room floor. I remember the possibility of it all. We were in our mid thirties and had finally bought a house! We sat and laughed, dreamed and planned. Then Life happened.

Jobs were lost and income varied. We made what we thought were good decisions but turned out to be serious mistakes. Finally the recession caught us and then the husbster got cancer. Everything changed in 2008 and I gave up on the house. I did fight for it for a couple of years all the while ignoring the debris, the gloom and the deterioration of it. I fought with blinders on.

Today I sat surrounded by the reality of dreams that never came to be.  The walls never got painted in cheerful colors. The floors never got refinished and show 15 years of life with pets. The house echoes with my sobs. Outside, in symphony with my crying, it thunders and the rain begins, I remember so many times sitting and listening to the rain in this house. I loved that we could hear the train whistle and the rumble of the cars as it passed a few blocks away while the scent of lilacs drifted through the open window. I remember the relief of coming home after a long day at work to be greeted by my husbter and pets.

I miss all the pets that we had in that house, Higgy, Sniffypie, Mo, Buddy, Molly, Dennis the fish... I walked through each room remembering funny things they did. I find old cat toys and dog chewies in out of the way places. I see grooves where Buddy scratched the 2x4 studs in the basement, sharpening his claws for 14 years. I see the corners of walls  Higgy marked by rubbing his cheeks against them leaving a faint brown mark about 12 inches above the floor. I feel their ghosts around me, circling as memories that are both joyful and heart rending.

I cried for the 30 something couple starting out full of hope and promise and the 50ish couple we have become. We are older, wiser and closer having survived the hubster's cancer and we are starting on a new journey. But first we must dispose of the debris of the prior stopping place. There is so much stuff. So much that we have held on to, hoarded, ignored. Stuff we thought we would use someday and now have no space for. Things I found or bought planning to fix up and incorporate into our home. Projects that never got completed and now are destined for a garage sale or dumpster.

Finally we have everything out. The floors are swept clean. The blinds are lowered and lights are turned off. I don't walk through the rooms one last time. I need no more pain. I remember the frustrations, the fear, the anxiety of the past two years. Two years of fighting with the bank over refinancing,  scared to death we would be homeless. I recall the day the hubster walked up to me in the living room and said, "Hey, Em, can you look at this?" and saw the huge lump that would be diagnosed as Stage IV squamous cell carcinoma. I remember that this is the house where we got the phone calls that told us that my aunt, my brother, my cousin and my friend Alan also were diagnosed with Stage IV cancer the same month as the hubster. I remember that this is the house where we decided when it was time to let go of our suffering pets and returned later with a box of ashes.

Over the past few days I have become physically ill walking into the house. I thought it was the heat but now I wonder if it wasn't the last of my anger and bitterness working its way out.

The closing is in two days. But I have already signed off on this house.

I pray that the new owners who saw the potential as we did once, can actually make their dreams come true. I hope they can hear the echoes of laughter and love and not see the shadows and suffering we endured. I hope they will be happy and the house will bloom with their care.