I am a nurse by trade, but most of my days are spent doing something much bigger.
I seek out miracles.
It sounds like a long-shot, but I am successful. Every day.
It’s 11am on a Saturday, and here’s today’s miracles…so far.
1. I woke up.
We are in the middle of a pandemic. Many people went to sleep last night praying for this miracle, and did not receive it.
2. I don’t have too much pain today.
As a person with chronic illness, even a mild reduction in pain is a blessing.
3. My children are happy (as far as I can tell) and safe.
Research statistics on addiction/bullying/foster children/suicide. Too many parents pray for this miracle which has been given to my family.
4. I am sharing company with a man who authentically shows up for me every single day.
I am only capable of receiving him because I learned how to show up for myself first. Anyone who follows along with my journey understands this miracle.
5. I have learned to allow space for opinions that differ from mine, at least for today.
To be able to craft a well-written response to a political comment, then delete it before posting because you remember that you don’t have to show up to every debate you are invited to is a miracle. At least for today…
It’s 11:45am. The sky’s the limit, my friends. What’s your miracle?
This post was written in response to Linda G. Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday
They say your vibe attracts your tribe. Like attracts like. I guess I’ve still got some work to do, because I don’t always see this.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got some kick-ass people in my life. There’s actually quite a few Jami-tribes around here. I’m good. I laugh. I smile. I belong. I’m surrounded by love.
But…
There’s those few. I might work on this the rest of my life and never truly understand how anyone can so easily walk away from love. Friend love. Romantic love. Family love. My love. Yes, I understand how our experiences affect how we respond to things. I get it.
But no, I don’t really get it. Despite shitty experiences or faulty conditioning or lack of emotional toolboxes, how fear can be so strong, miscommunication…I just don’t understand. Life is so fleeting. We get this one brief blip, one shot, and then we are gone.
Or maybe you are still here, but I’m gone.
I believe there will be regrets.
My attachments are fading. As much as I’ve been praying for this, part of me doesn’t want to lose them. I don’t want to get used to letting go of love so easily. I ache letting go of love. Love is a gift, a blessing… but I don’t think you realize this. Maybe like doesn’t really attract like, after all.
My tribe is strong. Solid. I’m good. But I’m holding space for you, just in case.
This post was written in response to Linda G Hill’s Stream of Social Consciousness Saturday, found at the link below. I’m grateful for the weekly writing nudge.
Today’s Stream of Social Consciousness word prompt by my friend Linda G. Hill is “Earworm“. At first glance, I turned my nose up at it. I was thinking “earwig” and thought, “how the hell am I going to writeabout a creepy bug?” I then spent the next 10 minutes or so wondering why I always called it “earwig” when it appears the correct name is “earworm”. Anyway, I finally googled it and realized she was not referring to the creepy bug, (which most definitely is named “earwig“). “Earworm” refers to a song that gets stuck in your head. Oh yes, I thought. I can write about this…
When I was about five years old or so, my family drove from Massachusetts to Disney World. We took my dad’s blue truck. The back pickup bed had a cab on it and we slept in there on blankets and pillows, goofing off and playing games to stave off the boredom. God, it’s amazing any kids at all survived back then…how did people think popping kids in the back of a truck with nothing to secure them was a good idea? Anyway, on one particular stretch of the journey, I was riding shotgun with my dad. My brother and sister were in the back cab, while my mom was napping in the back seat. This was in the mid 70s, so no CDs or cassettes for music. I’m sure we probably could have had an 8 track player in there, but Dad didn’t roll like that. He was old-school. We were in an isolated area of endless highway with no radio reception, so he ended up just turning it off. I’m not sure if it was the last song on the radio, or maybe it was the only popular song I knew, but I started singing “Country Roads” by John Denver. The problem was, I only knew the chorus. “Country roads, take me home….to the place…I belonggggggg…..West Virginia…mountain momma….take me home…country roads….”. I must have sung that chorus for a good 3 or 4 hours. After about the 50th round, my dad looks over at me, sitting there in my pigtails, crooning to him and says, “Don’t you know any other words to that song? Or any OTHER songs?” I giggled and said, “nope!” and kept on serenading him, until we finally reached an area of reception and my anthem was replaced by something else…probably Crystal Gayle or Gordon Lightfoot or someone like that.
Throughout the years, my dad and I would reminisce about that day, and one of us would sing the chorus and we both would end up with wide smiles as we returned to that blue pickup truck. It unofficially became “our song”.
I’m 46 now. My dad is 77. Life has it’s funny way of not working out the way you plan, you know? Families sometimes become fractured and before you realize what’s happening, relationships are just gone. I don’t really get to talk to my dad anymore, and it’s kind of weird how that song seems to be popping up everywhere lately. Except I don’t find myself with that wide smile any longer…instead, I end up with kind of a tight throat and a tear or two rolling down my cheek….like right now. Maybe life will figure out a way to turn things back around again. God, I miss him.
(This post is a part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Basically, I’m supposed to write organically…no rewrites or edits, just let it flow. The word prompt is “pretty”. ) So, here goes nothing…
This Thanksgiving was pretty amazing. It went down pretty much the same way it’s gone down the past several years…my mother in law (and her dog), sister-in-law and her husband, my husband’s two nieces and their husbands (and their two dogs), me, my husband, my two sons and our dog, all at my house. It’s only my husband’s family, not mine. Everyone comes around 2pm, as is tradition. I cook the turkey and desserts and they all bring a side dish, as is tradition. We eat dinner then move on to playing board games while drinking and being merry, as is tradition. Someone inevitably brings up politics or some controversial conversation, which of course never ends well when people are drinking. Someone inevitably starts yelling, which I think is pretty common at family gatherings…especially when you combine alcohol and dysfunctional family dynamics. This time, it happened to be about Trump and Muslims. (Funny how hidden family racism is not so hidden after a few bottles of wine). Nothing ever too major, since this family is used to fighting, and nothing that can’t be smoothed over with a few distractions…then we go on with our business of having a good time, as is tradition. The majority of the evening is full of laughs and quality time spent together. I especially enjoy the nieces and their husbands. They are all in their 20s and a blast to hang out with. I’ve known the girls since they were little kids, so it’s cool to have a relationship with them as adults…as equals. Around 1am, everyone (including the 2 boxers, 1 golden-doodle and 1 bulldog) packs into our 4 bedrooms and spends the night. (Someone usually passes out on the couch from having one too many shots…and one of them fell in the bathroom and crushed my dryer vent this year…one more thing to add to my appliance repair list). Every year, this is what we do. Same food, same conversation, same games, same fights, same drinking. It’s a giant dysfunctional family sleepover, and even though someone always has an argument, and most are extremely hung over the next morning, they all seem to love this tradition. My boys laugh so much at the bantering and storytelling. It brings me joy to see them interact with family.
So, what makes this dysfunctional Thanksgiving sleepover “pretty amazing”, compared to all the other ones? My husband and I separated a month ago. He moved out, and I am living here in our home with our two children. It’s still fresh…the separation. Some heavy shit went down between us this summer. Yet somehow, despite all of said heavy shit, we have been able to continue being a family with our two boys. Last week, we went to the Patriots game (damn Seahawks…grrrr….) as a family. The other night, he came over for dinner. And last night, he and his entire family came and we broke bread (and wine glasses and dryer vents) and laughed and enjoyed each other’s company. Why? Because I want my children to understand that family doesn’t end just because Mom and Dad don’t live together anymore. I can remember family holidays when I was a little kid. We would all gather at my grandmother’s house…my uncles and cousins…so much fun. Then, one by one, they all got divorced. And next thing you know, there’s no such thing as family gatherings anymore. No more bonding. After the age of 10 or so, I never saw my cousins again…and two of them lived the next town over. We finally reconnected in my 20s, when a cousin happened to deliver a pizza to my house. We looked at each other for a few seconds, and realized “hey, you look familiar…” We rekindled our relationship and have since become close, but I regret the time lost over the years. I don’t want my boys to know the feeling of family disappearing. It leaves a void, whether you realize it at the time or not. I want my boys to feel as much love, as much belonging, as much happiness as I can give to them. Things may change down the road. I have no idea if my husband and I will still be amicable a year from now. I have no idea if one of these dysfunctional drunken fights will be between me and him instead of my mother in law and sister-in-law. I have no idea if he will be married to someone else next year. All I know is this year. All I know is we are amicable right now. So right now, my kids just had a great, fun, traditional family Thanksgiving, bonding with their grandmother and aunt and cousins and mom and dad, a month after their dad moved out…and that’s pretty amazing.
