Graduation

It's been 2 years since my last article. And yes, I said that in my head as if confessing to a priest. Since I am not Catholic, my confessions stay mute and my articles unwritten. The unquenchable need to write is anguish when the words refuse to come. However, if I am honest, I think the real issue is I have refused the emotions needed to reach into the creative pit to find those words, because that pit also houses the power to destroy me.

So today, I will start with a small story about perspective.

So much has occurred in the last few years, so much I wouldn't even begin to attempt to explain. In May, my middle son graduated high school and left for the Army. I would not spend his 18th birthday with him. I would not get to spend an 18th birthday with either of my sons. I was overwhelmed with emotion as I was preparing the photos and such for graduation parties and all the "lasts", thinking of all the have-nots and didn'ts. I was lost for awhile in the loss of time and innocence. But as I sat there with my tear-stained face missing the young boy that this young man once was, I realized the last time I put pictures of a life together, we didn't get to move forward. The last time I gathered pictures from birth to age 17, it was for a funeral.

If you think that was a sobering thought, you'd be right. When I put pictures together celebrating a life that was gone too soon reminded me that my oldest son, Austin, the boy who came from me, who I loved for 17 years and will love forever, the boy who was now gone from this earth unexpectedly, I was suspended in the things that were lost. I was lost in all of the things I didn't do and now couldn't do and would never do. I was lost in all of the arguments and the missed opportunities and all of the things that were taken from him and the world. Putting those pictures together for his funeral made me, for the briefest moment, remember that my son LIVED. That life wasn't perfect, but I loved him so entirely and I tried. We had millions of happy moments. I struggle daily to remember that and not the things that were lost. Most days I lose the battle. But the war rages on.

When I put pictures together for my middle son, Brandon's, graduation, without realization or comparison, I was wrapped up in the loss of his childhood and all of the things that I did not do. But when I realized the last time I had put pictures together was for a funeral,  it changed everything. Where all my mistakes and shortcomings still there? Yes. Will they always be there? Yes. Can I change that? No. But I saw the boy who came from me, who I loved for 17 years and will love forever and gets to go forward. That little boy who I loved so entirely grew into a young man and overcame more obstacles than he should have had to. We, as a family, were broken and then nearly destroyed, and we rebuilt. We struggled, we still struggle, we fought, we cried, and we are still here. My middle son GETS to go on. I get to see him do whatever comes next for him. And what is even more important, I know, without a doubt, that this son knows how wholly I love him.  I was able to put pictures together for something so wonderful and see his life and the man he has become AND I am able to see where we go next. There is a next. Nothing is promised. Not ever. So even though this next chapter is hard as hell too, I am so thankful for the time to come.

I am not healed. I will never be. I am not ok. I will never be. There is a pain and hole in my heart every single day that I feel. It will never go away. I am a master at adapting and cloaking. But perhaps, I've also graduated.

40

Today was my 40^th birthday. 40. Wow. I arrived at this day, kicking and screaming, dragged through the mud by life the whole way.

I want to be graceful. I want to look at 40 and say “Hell Yea! I made it here. No one, including myself, thought I would! I understand so much more about myself and embrace the next 40 years. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and been through a lot, but now I have so much more knowledge and so much to offer others! I look and feel great!” But, I cannot. Grace and I don’t really get along. In fact, the heavy depression that is my shadow has been stalking me heavily, as of late. It has been whispering in my ear all of the things I have not done, have not accomplished, will not accomplish. Speaking in hushed tones of the time that is slipping, so quickly, away from me. Reminding me my babies are not little anymore. That one has left this earth, untouchable. And every day, I must fight this dark passenger (a joke for you Dexter fans), and it is exhausting.

Most of my friends are between 38 and 50. I know several, really great people in their 60s & 70s as well. They are good people. I do not look at any of them and think they are old. Or that they should have it all figured out by now; that they should never make a mistake or get off track. Quite the opposite. I try to offer them understanding, and second chances and support.  Most of them are in the prime of their life. Most of them are the most beautiful they have ever been, inside and out. And the ones that aren’t, well…those aren’t really people I associate with anymore. Because I’ve learned something, at least. But, that beauty, in the good ones, it shines so bright. Maybe that is what scares me. The fading. The downhill. The slope. Moreover, the fact that I cannot do anything about that.  And, somehow, all the things I forgive and feel about others, I fail to apply to myself.

At the end of the day-I may not have the amount I want in my savings account; I may not be or ever see my ideal weight or have the cup size I wish for; I may not always have the best health; I may not have the helicopter, the house with a staff and a lazy river; the endless vacations or any of that fluff.

However, what I do have is priceless. I have a home, a family, food in the fridge and clothing in my closet and a job I love. I am surrounded by the absolute best people. They may not cure cancer or solve world hunger (although they might), but they are amazing individuals. They are smart, thoughtful, caring, funny people who continuously show me love and support and loyalty. They, for some unbeknownst reason, care for me and understand my brand of crazy. They show up at 40^th surprise birthday parties 40 days before my birthday, like that’s not weird. They stay up late at night planning something so special it will pull a tear from my restrained dry eyes. They are there when the days are dark and rainy. They are there when the sun shines, and it is time to celebrate. And they are beautiful, inspiring and astounding. I have the most thoughtful, considerate husband in the world. Who puts together a birthday party with a million balloons and reminds me every day that I am loved, and that there is always hope. That I am not alone. I could write a book on this man, and perhaps one day I will. He could give lessons. He is the definition of amazing. And more.

And so…with all of those amazing people surrounding me, with all of that hope and positivity, I put my 30s to bed. They are gone. I cannot do anything about this. I have lost more important things. It is beyond my control and I will accept defeat, this time. I will take the advice I gave today and realize life never makes sense to us. You can wish for what you want or you can work towards a goal, you can fast forward through the crappy stuff, but in the end, you miss all the important things if you do this. All those heartbreaking moments where you share a tear, all the ordinary moments of making dinner and laundry and homework, all the times you lend a hand or offer friendship, or the sharing of humor and a cup of coffee,  they add up to an important life that touches many.

I have seen so very much in my 40 years. Not as much as most, and more then some. 40 years, think about it. The Bears won a Super Bowl. Spaceships flew and fell. Wars have broken out. Wars have ended. The state of the Union has changed drastically. I lost a classmate in 2^nd and 4^th grade. I still miss them. The Soviet Union dissolved. Cults have murdered their followers. I have seen 7 presidents work their way through the White House. I made lifelong friends. I lost friends who I thought would be lifelong friends. I got married. I got divorced. I had 3 beautiful children. I buried my father. I watched my nieces and nephews grow. I played Volleyball on a bar league. I raced my Trans Am at Byron Speedway. I rode horses. I loved Heavy Metal. I traveled to Ireland. I used a Commodore 64 as my first computer. I skipped a lot of high school. I got in a lot of trouble. I remember the sound of the internet modem dialing up. I got my motorcycle license. My first cell phone was a bag phone. I have seen the emergence of technology beyond belief. I have walked in a Suicide Awareness fundraiser. I remember our first VCR. It was about the size of a microwave. I ran/walked, but finished a 5k and tore my meniscus in the first 30 seconds, which led to the removal of 75% of it a few months later.I have been a friend. I have been an enemy. I have watched the debate on abortion, GMOs, stem cell research, cloning and civil rights. I have learned to cook well. I have watched the towers fall and a nation mourn. I have stepped on Ellis Island where almost all of our ancestors came through. I have fallen in love. I have married. I have seen the fall of the Berlin Wall. I have seen my children do things they didn’t think they could. I have witnessed miracles. I have watched their first steps and held them to my chest. I have seen compassion where it was not expected. I have found music that touches my soul. I have rolled my jeans. I have learned to drive a stick shift. I have made people laugh. I have buried a son. I have seen the most beautiful sunsets. I have swam in rivers, lakes, pools & the ocean. And probably a puddle. I have seen puppies, kittens, foals & babies born. I have been the partner for a friend in a Lamaze class. 

And along the way, there were those people. You people. Thank you all for loving me, even when I am unlovable. Or at least tolerating me. You mean more to me than you could know.

Here is just a little insight into what 40 looks like on me and what the year leading up to the big 40 looked like.