A talk from Dad

First a few things...

There are several parlor tricks that I can do now.

If your phone is ringing on my left side, I always look to my right. Bad joke, I know. It's not funny to be mostly deaf in one ear, but some days I feel like laughing about it.

I have selective hearing.  If I don't want to listen to you, I can turn my head and pretend I don't hear you. I know this is dishonest and slightly rude, but I look at it as a temporary perk, as I suspect people will catch on.

I've lost about 60 lbs from my first seizure weight last July/August. I'm pretty sure that's the size of a 1st or a 2nd grader. Some days I laugh about that too. I mean, it would have been nice to lose that weight awhile ago. I'm about the smallest size I have been since I was 20 or so. Although jeans have changed - a lot. Now you can sssssttttrrrreeeetcchhhhh into a size if you really want to. But I'd say I'm pretty legit into that size now. (The integrity of the fabric is still intact!)

I used to space out into another dimension and pretend you aren't even here. It was kind of a nice break, I have no idea where I went or what was there, but I'm sure it was some sort of crazy other dimension where Charles Wallace and Meg went to save their father from IT.  A Wrinkle in Time, anyone? Buehler? My bother used to read me that book.

None of this is part of the suffering, all of it is the humorous glass half full stuff. And recently it's none of the crap I've been writing about. I have about 3 really, really long blog posts about doubt and darkness and all of the junk that clogs up your heart and soul and I just realized no one really needs that. I don't need it. I went to re-read it and I even stopped.  There's nothing new there, nothing helpful, nothing inspiring, no hope and I figured it should just sit there.

I have been in the funk. I recently let some stuff really get me down. And I say that I let it get me down, because it's definitely my fault. This is stuff I could have ignored.

So today I talked to my dad.

You may or may not know that in my teens and early 20's my dad was really sick. I mean quintuplet laminectomy (Laminectomy is surgery that creates space by removing the lamina — the back part of the vertebra that covers your spinal canal. Also known as decompression surgery, laminectomy enlarges your spinal canal to relieve pressure on the spinal cord or nerves), brain surgery for an Arnold Chiari brain malformation (Chiari malformation (kee-AH-ree mal-for-MAY-shun) is a condition in which brain tissue extends into your spinal canal. It occurs when part of your skull is abnormally small or misshapen, pressing on your brain and forcing it downward) sick. The kind of sick where I never imagined he would ever be able to walk me down the isle. But, as you can see, he did.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it,  he's my current expert on suffering and recovery.  The main difference is that he was sick for more than 10 years off and on. He recovered and got sick again several times. At one point my younger brother and I used to joke that the only thing my dad needed to get better was another surgery because each time he'd get a little bit better and then get worse again.

My dad has lost a lot. He lost his job, he lost money, he lost physical strength, years of his life, and he's still on disability today. My mom and I had to take care of him for several years, feeding him, making sure he showered, and at one point he was in a hospital bed in our living room barely able to function.  Once a doctor told me he had only 6 months to live.  Obviously, they were wrong. I think the biggest loss for him is that he has very little memory of those years. He missed a lot. I feel his biggest loss was saying goodbye to his son and my brother. He has very little memory of his funeral and that whole experience, I'm not sure how much he was able to process or if he has any regrets...even though regrets aren't really his style.

I'm setting this up to tell you that he's my expert. But he's also my expert on positive thinking. Even when people say things to me over and over again, no one gets credibility like my dad does. Probably annoying for most, sorry. I guess it's a father and daughter type of bond "thing."  He has always been my chief adviser and sounding board. Unfortunately, my mom gets the brunt of emotional complaining, well because she's just more patient; my dad, not nearly as patient.

So, I haven't talked to my dad a lot throughout the process. I'm not really sure why. Maybe it's because I know he's helpless to do anything and I know it's hard for him to hear me in pain. Maybe I don't want to listen to him spout positive advice because I want to be miserable. I don't know.  But I started out talking to him about something completely different today and within that conversation he said something that helped...

But, I have to go back in order for you to understand why.

You see, when we were kids, there was something my dad referred to as the "expectation."  Whenever we did something good or great, he always expected it. There was never a surprise or a big celebration. As a matter of fact, I never really heard him get the least bit excited about any of our accomplishments unless he was telling someone else. He would explain that his kids always got the "citizenship" awards in class every year for being nice kids. He explained his kids always got straight A's. He explained his daughter always made all-star for softball, made the travelling soccer team and was a natural leader.  But we never really discussed this.  Instead, my dad offered up a different expectation for me...we often had conversations about what success truly was...nothing about accomplishments, something he mentioned about some Emerson quote about animals and kids and helping people. It was a nice chat and then we'd "car dance" to Paul Simon on the way to a soccer game. He almost always volunteered to be a coach even though he worked full time and put so much time and energy into games and activities to help us "get better."  (Although rather than getting better we focused on playing in the mud and talking about boys.)

Side note...anyone else wonder how our working parents did this???  How did they make treats, ran girls scout troops, coached soccer, make homemade Halloween costumes, homemade birthday cakes, built swing sets, put toys together, did home repairs themselves?  Were they superheros?????  And they lived on no money at all...no vacations, no extra cash, barely paid the bills and were desperately in love and still are.  I'm in pure awe of my parents!

Once my dad got a little bit better, he was never bitter. He had practically lost 10 years of his life, his wife had struggled to pay the bills and they had lost almost all of their savings in the process.  But, he was happy. He was ecstatic!  His friends were loyal, they had never left his side. Once he started getting a little better different friends took him out to lunch almost once a week, something my dad started doing for a gentleman in South Carolina for a while. He had a new lease on life and was not afraid to make decisions.  So they moved and bought a house down South.

So what does any of this have to do with me and where I am at?

I'm not mad about that expectation thing, but it did have one negative side effect. I was never really confident about my abilities. I was never really proud. I learned to fake it for interviews and for my job but I always worried about my ability to perform or achieve, even though I had in the past. I never took credit so I never really thought I could do it. I even came off as arrogant because I had to force it sometimes, but it's definitely not natural for me, I suck at it.

But today something switched and it was a good switch and I have thought about what he said over and over and over again. And he probably has no idea how profound a statement he made unless he reads this.  But he said to me, "You'll get through this, and you'll be better for it. And that will happen because you're you." And he said it again and again but in a different way. And I realized that it was one of the first times I think he gave me credit for making things happen for myself. He said it in a general way that it was because of my abilities that I would be better than I was before, that I would find a way to make it better. And I guess something just clicked. That he believed in me AND my abilities and that it wasn't just by accident. That it was intentional.

Someone else has probably said the same thing. I've probably said the same thing. But it doesn't mean as much, sorry. It means more from the man who sewed overalls for a 2 year old me (yeah he can sew too), it means more from the guy who screamed and encouraged me to run for the ball from the sidelines (we have video of this, it's pretty hilarious), it means more from the man who watched me struggle through every college course I took and wheeled himself in a wheelchair into my college and ask the woman for help because I was too depressed to continue when I was taking care of him. It means more because he got a nine year old girl up at 6 in the morning and ran figure 8's with her through the goal posts with a stopwatch to help her get faster in order to make the traveling soccer team. It means more because now he knows me, he's seen me through so much and will continue to do so until his last breath.

Only in the past couple months has my dad paid me a new type of compliment, (or that I've paid close enough attention to notice).  I remember when I got a really great job, I mentioned in one of my first posts, I thought I would be able to say to myself, "I've arrived, I'm here, I'm done," and take a deep breath.  I also thought my dad would be really proud that I bought a nice house and have a nice family with a nice car and a yard and a dog.  But the best compliment he gave me was when he said that he was really proud of me when I lived above a law office in Oak Park, living simply, hanging out with friends. He said that I lived like church mouse and paid my dues. He said he was really proud of me. That meant a lot. It's funny the things you think your parents want for you...the things you think they want you to achieve. But, it's the same thing you want for your child, happiness.

My dad will spend his last days in service to others. He's a good man and a family man. He has given me a great love for simple joys, Paul Simon and a respect for all living things. He yells at his dogs and he has a tendency to injure the same finger over and over again. But I won't hold that against him. He's a great dad and is working his way on becoming a really great grandfather, but hey, that's just the expectation.

What's Write or Forgotten

I have a confession to make to my ever-growing readership I've established, I think I'm at 3 people now, Google should start using me to advertise! (Thanks for reading Mom, Dad and Randy!)

Anyway, my confession is that this whole writing thing didn't start as a "pour my heart out - ask for help on my own because I'm that evolved" sort of thing.  Honestly, it was an assignment from my therapist.

Of course, she didn't tell me that I had to be so open and honest, or to make it public or anything like that. I decided to go ahead and put it all out there. But, yes, it wasn't totally a self-starter type deal "thing."

What I've learned in this process so far is that I have a really hard time remembering events. Not just because I've been through a lot of crazy stuff, but because there was an enormous amount of life that happened in a small amount of time.  At the very beginning of the crazy, I kept a small written list of medical happenings so that I could report them to my doctor if I had to. I realized after I wrote the list that if I hadn't kept it, there was no way I'd ever be able to remember what happened.  If there weren't records of doctor visits, ambulance rides, plane tickets from visitors and seizures on calendars, I'm not sure I would remember much at all.

There are plenty of reasons I could explain that away.  And definitely medical ones for sure. But I started thinking, I spend a lot of time focused on what's coming next. Like my life is one exciting mystery novel and I'm hung on the next word, the next page.  I have another confession, I always cheat at books - flawed again.  I always read the last page before I get to the end.  I know, I know, it's a waste of a book then.  That's just how I feel if I'm being honest.  I would skip to the last page of my life if I could. Would you? But there's a bigger question, and I've thought about it a lot in the last week, and I think about it when people post  #tbt pictures - which for anyone who isn't Facebook or Twitter literate (Mom), it means "throw-back-thursday." Don't ask me about the # sign, I think it has something to do with a rotary phone - kidding.

But how much do I look back?  I think about what my book would look like. The book of my life, my story. Would I be able to complete an 8th grade level comprehension quiz on my own life? I don't even think I would know which chapter basic events happened...that is...

Unless I wrote it down.

Writing isn't just cathartic for me anymore. It's become a record of my soul and life. I'm not sure how I'll ever go on without it anymore, it sort of feels like breathing.

And the connection I feel with the events I've written down and the learning that's come from those events, I'm starting to feel that if I'd only learned sooner...

I definitely think once you've written things down, it's almost like a lesson you can cross off your list, like something you've picked up at the grocery store, or an item you've found on a scavenger hunt.

Side note: Scavenger Hunt: (Generation Z and the end of Generation Y's): this is not a computer game or played on a phone. And it's not just something you do for Bachelorette parties. A scavenger hunt was/is a game, played usually during sleepovers, where we collected random things, we were allowed to play this game OUTSIDE in the DARK and we rang the doorbell of our NEIGHBORS, well...because we actually knew them, weird, I know.)

When I think about some of the lessons of the past, I think if I had taken the time to write them down, to think about them, to really understand what happened, maybe I wouldn't have had to repeat them. I'm not really making a new observation, I guess I'm just getting there in my own way, It's the classic tale that you live the same lessons over and over again until you "get" them.

But it's not just the things your forget is it? It's really odd the things you remember when you begin to reflect on how much your life has changed in one year. As I've started this writing assignment, one particular moment jumped out at me. It seemed a fleeting conversation, definitely a question I would have missed on an 8th grade comprehension question of my life. And it happened less than a year ago.

But here it is..

I remember crying to Randy one night, I was completely exhausted, I was in my work clothes and it was after 7 PM at night. It had been a particularly bad day at work, (the details of that day, I couldn't tell you, funny how that works.)  What I do remember is crying, not able to eat dinner, beyond exhausted, sitting in my work clothes, slumped over the couch with my feet up, sad that he had to put the baby to bed before I could snuggle with him.  I was unable to eat or move.  Randy came back downstairs to comfort me, and we talked.

I remember the words so clearly now it almost takes my breath away, In a completely ugly cry I said, "I'm so tired Randy, I just need time, I just need a break.  I just want to know what it feels like to be bored again. I want time, it's the only thing I can't get more of right now. I just want to be with the baby."

Now my stomach just drops every time I think back to it.

I keep thinking that I should be careful what I wish for...

I'm not in anyway saying that I caused my dilemma, or that God, in all his glory, decided to teach me a lesson and struck me down for being so ungrateful. No, not really.  But what I am saying, is that maybe I wasn't really in the right life.  Maybe I wasn't happy. Maybe it wasn't authentic and I was working for the wrong things. Maybe there needed to be a shift to make things right.


I don't know the answer to that. I don't really think I'm there yet. I have many more questions to answer before I can begin to understand why this happened and where I'm at and where I'll go and all of that.  (See my previous post.)  I'd like to think I'm a changed person, I'm reformed - I'm trying not to skip pages. I'm trying not to skip paragraphs anymore.  No more sneaking peeks. If you haven't noticed, I've spent a lot of time reviewing and summarizing the last few chapters. Maybe not from the beginning, but I had to start somewhere. Somewhere is good. Right? I think I might be ready for my quiz - maybe we should make it an essay.