I Want My Old Job Back

I WANT MY OLD JOB BACK

It’s taken me five years to accept the fact that Kevin has moved to Florida and isn’t going to be coming home any time soon, if ever (except for rare holidays and the occasional wedding. But everyone’s getting married off, so I don’t know how I’m ever going to get him home as often). My ‘only begotten’ was cool with moving on with his life. The nerve!  I’m not kidding when I say it’s taken me close to 1,825 days to emotionally let go and accept my new identity: unemployed super mom.

I didn’t like having to turn in my ‘mom card’ the day he moved away. Kev doesn’t call to ask advice anymore. He doesn’t call me to tell me where he’s going (which is a healthy thing.) However, when he does call I save his messages. I have the last three years on my voice mailbox. He doesn’t call too often, which is why I save them. There are only 10 messages, but whose counting? Don’t judge me; I know it’s pathetic. 

 I was pretty invested in doing life with Kevin. It started with carrying this little endowment from God in my belly 270 days (+ 10 more to keep me waiting--giving me a heads up what was in store). Kevin from Heaven; he was the pride of my life and he knew it!

I also raised an Alpha Male (affectionately a.k.a ‘The Kid’ in my circle of friends), so the day after he turned eighteen he moved out. Although, according to him he was kicked out. The truth is he no longer wanted to be parented and live under our terms of agreement (we each have our own separate versions of many things that happened between the ages of 17-19). Roughly 6,570 days of my life were centered on being a mom (give or take the weekends he was with his dad, the days at camp, the nights sleeping over at a friend’s house, and the few months he moved back home--for reasons we will save for another story). So now, seeing him once or twice a year for 3 days doesn’t fill up my ‘mama tank’.

The day Kev drove off to FL came like a sucker punch. Our goodbye at the O’Hare Oasis was difficult and complicated (BTW-I have been give permission to freely write about The Kid. (Our agreement is if I ever write articles or a book someday and he’s in it, he gets dibs on a percentage. Deal!).  Anyway, even though our separation wasn’t a storybook parting (cue the music), in my heart I knew I still had so much I wanted to say. I wanted to bless him. I wanted to admit the errors I made (but that came a year or so later). Like when Thorin, in the The Hobbit who recognizes just before he dies he was wrong about Bilbo Baggins – he didn’t see him for who he was because the battle loomed larger. In the King’s way he asks for forgiveness and says, “There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly west. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure.” I knew there were no do-over’s. That ‘was it’ the day we parted.

 Things have settled down in my heart. I don’t cry as often or wait for the phone to ring. I do miss seeing the hilarious, interesting, and offhand things that Kevin used to do day-to-day. And I miss being able to point out the good things I saw in him. I also know I did my share of pointing out things that concerned me. But that was my job back then. I’ve just about nipped that habit in the bud too. Who am I kidding, I even miss (some) of those good old days: our verbal sally - each trying to out-fence the other with our riposte. I miss Kevin’s smile (which he refuses nowadays to give me if I’m holding up a camera for posterity’s sake). I miss his organic brilliance: the holes in Kevin’s fibrous mind absorbing up information causing it to swell. The information in his head trapped until he has a willing audience to share how the Trebuchet was a vital medieval siege attack weapon, similar to the catapult, which is used for hurling heavy stones to destroy castle walls. I miss his humor. It’s gotten bawdier the older he’s gotten (but I’ve mellowed out). We each have a good sense of humor, so we can share an unrestrained pee-in-your-pants laugh together (well, I pee, but that’s what happens when you have kids). Kev’s a hard worker, so I miss those days when he would fix the brakes on my car or anything around the house. Not that you want your kids to do things for you, but I do. I’d rather have him put up the Christmas lights than my husband Rich (Mr. Depth Perception), who falls off ladders.  Also, having the opportunity to eat exceptional French food growing up, Kevin acquired a fine-tuned culinary appreciation for food. Which means, whether it’s sushi or steak, it has to be the best if we go out to eat. I can’t remember the last time we ate at a Denny’s together? But that’s because his parents still pay the check. Even so, it makes me smile because he’s delighting in something he enjoys; and he always says, thank you. Besides, those meals are so few and far between. Don’t get me wrong; he’s not a food-snob. When he returns home from Florida, he always does the Chicago Food Tour: Deep dish Pizza, Italian Beefs, and 10 packs of White Castles. Another thing I miss doing together is going to movies, especially as he got older. Not being into sports or sports cars leaves me minimal ability to connect about high-octane activities with guys. I can hang in there for about 15 minutes on all things testosterone and then ‘I got nothing’. But most movies are gender neutral and you can talk about it afterwards. You name it we saw it old or new (usually the day it came out). We saw all the Jackie Chan movies, Jurassic Park series, Charlie Chaplin, every Raiders of the Lost Ark, Star Wars, even the Austin Power’s Movies (hey, wait a minute, those were guy movies!). Now I text him or he texts me and occasionally we tell each other what movie we saw, or what we need to see next. Just the other night, I asked if he saw Boondock Saints II (we saw the first one together), and was it worth seeing On Demand? But this Mama would rather go see the movie with her son. I know he’s only moved south to Florida, but to me it may as well be Paraguay.

However, letting go has its perks: I get to travel more than my friends do. I had Kevin at 21. I’m footloose and fancy-free while they are still carpooling and picking old French Fries out of crevices in the car seats. My calendar looks uncluttered. I look more relaxed. The furrows in my forehead have softened since the days of running the Spanish Inquisition in our home (the teenage years) and keeping track of Speed Racer. I was actually offered a job by the CIA because my BS detector skills were unmatched. I usually get a good night sleep now because my super sonic hearing isn’t necessary to awake myself when my son comes home late at night. Nor does the phone ring at odd hours (plus I wear earplugs because Rich snores.) Nobody tells me I’m lame anymore, or holds up the L-sign with their fingers over their forehead if I wear sweat pants and flip-flops to pick up the dry cleaning. Fred (my dog) never talks back to me. My house is clean and doesn’t smell like gym-shoes or stale pizza.  I never have to remind Rich to pick up his belongings or leave an open path to the door in case there is a fire. Gosh I miss those days.

Those years went by too fast. Next time you complain that your kids are driving you crazy, go hug them. Soon they will be off and on their own (and you’ll be crying in the frozen food section because you no longer have to shop for a household. Plus your memory is fading and you can’t remember what their favorite candy is anymore!). Mama Bears, if you have the slightest leanings towards co-dependency, brace yourselves. Stock up on Kleenex and build a team of compassionate girlfriends around you who will let you fall apart for a few years. It will pass, but you will probably gain a few pounds before prying your hands off Twinkies and Hershey Bars; which is only code for grieving and letting go of your ‘Baby Bear.’

Acceptance will come gradually when you get still and quiet; when you begin all over with just yourself. Instead of drawing from the old deep ‘parental’ well of nurturing feelings, you draw from a new untapped well of kindness and drink for yourself.  

I really liked being a mom more than anything in the world. Can you tell? It was the best gig I ever had. When Kevin was little he used to quiz me: “You have to love me mom, but do you like me?” Yes, I liked you Kevin, and still do! Sure, I’m pretty bummed that he lives in Florida and we can’t go grab a bite to eat as often as I’d like, especially on his birthday. But I’m happy for Kevin - and proud of him too. He is making his own way in life. I have my own new journey - a fresh new identity.  I think it’s funny because Kev tells me that he’s proud of me for finally growing up too. I think he got pretty tired of me ‘guilting’ him for not calling his mother all the time, or wishing he was still eight years old again. I remind myself my job isn’t to mother Kevin any more. But instead, it is to only to walk along side of him from time to time. If I could get my old job back I would, but I can’t. Dr. Seuss put it best: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” 

On a side note: 25 years ago today, I became a mom. Happy Birthday Kevin. Wish we could take you to dinner, instead, I'll call you later.

I love you, Mom.

Polly

Life’s Mindful Moments:

I have a busy day ahead of me: teach a yoga class, finish a project, run some errands, and later tonight meet with people I love to laugh with from high school. But my head isn’t in the game yet. I feel flat. I’m thinking about Polly.

I hardly know Polly. I met her at church; saw her at a party here and there while I lived in CA. My friends Steve & Susie from California know her much better. In fact, I’m sure they’re feeling even more flat, if not deflated and heartsick this morning. Polly’s son Ben was killed in a car accident yesterday. I can’t shake it. When we “bear one another’s burdens” what does that mean to you? For me, it means that I stop and pause and try to put myself in someone else’s shoes. I don’t know how Polly is handling this heartrending loss? I’d be undone.  What I remember of Polly was a mighty little lady who was generous with her time and affection towards people she cared about. When Steve and Susie’s son Caleb was in the hospital with leukemia, Polly looked after their other son, Noah, after school. I once went to her house to pick Noah up. I remember her home, and kid’s buzzing around, and Polly being fully aware and at peace. Her home had the most spectacular view of the Sierra Mountains. To me, that explained why she seemed so peaceful. I wanted to be her friend just so I could sit on her porch, take in the view, and have lingering conversation over a glass of ice tea. We never became friends. I moved from California back home to Illinois not too long after that. I wonder this morning if one of those kids buzzing around Polly’s house five years ago was her son Ben? Noah, the view, Polly’s generosity is all that I remember.

Sometimes living in the moment doesn’t always feel so Zen like. Sometimes it feels like you got punched in the stomach. Regardless, we allow those feelings to come. When Jesus friend Lazarus died, the shortest verse in the bible lets us in on his emotional state: “He wept.” I am mindful that Polly and her family are weeping as the sun rises on this unthinkable day. I’m aware that my friend’s Steve and Susie are weeping too, and feeling powerless to console their friends. There will be more weeping in the days ahead. In this moment all I can do is ask, “God of all comfort, be with all of those who loved Ben. Be with Polly and her family. Be with Steve & Susie, Noah and Caleb. I know you will. However, it doesn’t take away this feeling like that there isn’t enough air in our lungs. Fill us all up with your breath of life so we can do what we need to do today regardless of how good or agonizing it may be as we move through this day.”

Missing Hallmark Moments

^{There is a Chinese proverb that says, In a broken nest there are few whole eggs.}

^{When I was 18 years old, I left home in my 1972 Pinto that my dad gave me when I got my driver’s license at 16 and a pillowcase full of personal belongings. (Later I was asked to return the Pinto, which didn’t surprise me. My punishment never fit my crimes.) As I was walking out the door that day, my father sarcastically said, “I hope your Christian friends take care of you.” To which I replied, “Fuck you!” I couldn’t even believe that came out of my mouth. I was terrified of my father--he resembled Tony Soprano to me, in more ways than one. My brother’s and I would duck going down the hall when we walked past him. He hated that, but would smack us upside the head and then say, “There, now you have something to duck about.” His silence as a kid (and as an adult) annihilated me. I felt sentenced to a life of wondering what I did to deserve such unkindness. It took me 45 years to realize I didn’t deserve it. But I did have to accept it. God knows (and my husband too) the Herculean effort it’s taken to live this truth.}

^{My dad lives in AZ. When he first moved out of state, he didn’t even let me know (his own daughter). Who does that? We have no real relationship. It’s always been that way. He’s my biological father in theory, but not in love. He’s not been the kind of father I wanted or needed. Oh, don’t get me wrong; even though he’s caused some epic damage in my soul, I still love my father. It is a simple and undemanding love. I’m not sure why, but I have always been able to see past my father’s faults. He is a hard, distant, proud, and unforgiving man. When I’ve been angrier over his behavior, I’ve stated that he had no backbone and was a coward. Which always surprised me because in my eyes, he was a strong and fearless person. Yet despite his inadequacies, I’ve seen kindness in my father’s eyes like Halley’s Comet; its glow was there but for a moment, then gone. If I knew that in 75 years it would return, I’d park a soccer chair out on my front lawn and wait for it to return. I lived for those radiant moments when my dad gave me a flicker of hope that we were going to be okay. I gave him every benefit of the doubt that he'd come to his senses, step up, and just be my dad; that life could be normal between us.}

^{That’s not going to happen. My dad isn’t going to show up at my door and tell me he’s sorry he missed out on the best years of my life (or my son’s life). He’s not going to ask me to hang out to have long friendly talks over ice tea (or a beer for him). I’ve given up; neither wishing nor waiting was helpful to my wellbeing-as those closest to me can attest. I had to let my dad go; and with him, all the fantasies that I was ever going to be a daddy’s girl. It’s kind of sad because I had some great father-daughter scenario that I would have loved to see happen. For whatever reasons that are beyond my comprehension and control, he’s chosen to extinguish our bond. Had my father died, I think it would have been easier than seeing him move on in life without me; without his consideration for how it would bankrupt me. He didn’t divorce my mother (although I wish he had), so I don’t have a father who bailed on our family. No, my dad stayed through the good and bad. He was a good provider and my brothers and I never wanted for anything growing up-except his unconditional love and acceptance.}

^{I’ve had to grieve my father over and over and over. I miss him and that makes no rational sense except that I was created by God to love my father. I’ve stopped apologizing for having moments of agony over this loss. Once in a while it racks me and I have to sit things out for a day or two. I’ve given myself permission now until the day I die (and when my father dies) to grieve when those emotions bubble up (like today on Father’s Day). It’s okay to attend to your heartache when someone you love dies. Our relationship has died. It is buried in a grave of regret (like telling my dad, ‘Fuck you’ at 18), buried in dreams that will never be fulfilled (like him not knowing my son or the kind family that I married into), buried in lies, buried in unspoken words of forgiveness that will never be stated out loud.  I forgive my dad. I also forgive myself. I’ve done everything in my power to speak my truth, to reconcile and make things right; it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t do it all by myself.}

^{I decided that if I was going to write about life (mine and others), in a blog or anywhere else, I was not going to give you the sanitized Christian version just so I appeared like someone I’m not (or accommodate anyone else’s sensibility about how I should believe, think, act, or behave). Life is messy, confusing, cluttered with unpleasant happenings. (It’s also glorious, mysterious, and astonishing, but that’s something I can write about on another day.) Anne Lamott encourages, “You can’t get to any of these truths by sitting in a field smiling beatifically, avoiding your anger and damage and grief. Your anger and damage and grief are the way to truth. We don’t have much truth to express unless we have gone into those rooms and closet and wood and abysses that we were told not to go in to. When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in-then we will be able to speak in our own voice and to stay in the present moment.”}

^{I’m not the only daughter in the world who has emotional contusions from her father; who’s questioned her self-worth because their dad didn’t have the tools or skills to be a dad. I know there are men too who have wondered honestly if their father really loved them for who they really are. This side of Heaven, some questions will never be answered. However, no matter what our losses, we are never entirely by ourselves. Trust me, it’s often hard to wrap my mind around the thought: ‘God is always present, loving, and surprisingly, delights in me.’ Even so, I’ve known this to be true in my life in spite of things going horribly wrong in my family of origin relationships. Maybe you’ve found this to be true in your life as well? I’m thankful that God said he would never leave us or forsake us. The one verse that alleviates the sting the most, like Neosporin is Psalm 27:10, Though my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will receive me. Psalm 27:10.}

^{I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said that verse to myself throughout my adult life. But if I’m honest, I want something else other than a verse to hold onto. I wanted to hold my dad’s hand. I want what (seems like) everyone else has: I want to be standing in Hallmark like 103 million other people looking for a Father’s Day Card. Life just isn’t going to give me that. So today, I will pray (for my dad), meditate (for myself), and do some breathing and more letting go to get to a still place in my soul that can accept things, as they are this Father’s Day. I like how Robert Frost put it: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.}

^{Life’s Mindful Moment: I was in AZ in May for three weeks for additional yoga training. I knew the possibility existed that I could run into my parents who live in the same town I was staying in. (Even though the odds were one in a million I had in fact experienced a couple of close encounters on previous visits to AZ. Well, not actual encounters, but sightings. It’s like the Universe keeps trying to tip me over on my own axis.) However, since these sightings had happened before, I mindfully decided that if I ever ran into them again, I was going to be nice. Sure enough, one afternoon as I was walking into Safeway and out comes my father pushing his groceries to his car (which was parked in the handicap spot). He looked right at me coming out of the store, then gave a small shake of his head and looked away, as if to say, “Oh shit.” I started to wave like a little kid. He didn’t even look at me. We had 20 feet between us and there was no getting around not passing each other. When I came along side of him I genuinely smiled and said, “Hi Dad.” Our eyes met. I think he grunted but clearly was uncomfortable. So I kept walking in to the grocery store. Once inside, my legs felt like Jell-O. That was my dad. He just ignored me again. But I was proud of myself for two things: first, I didn’t act like him. Second, I didn’t fall apart. I just acknowledged the feeling, the moment, and allowed my heart to come back to a normal beat per minute then finished my grocery shopping. I’m so glad that I have learned after so many years to simply live in the moment, but to no longer allow myself to stay stuck there.}

YOU ARE HERE

Do you know where you are?

When I was a single parent, I was fortunate enough to live within minutes of Six Flags Great America and have season passes. I would pick up my then, 3 year old son, Kevin, from the babysitter and head over to the park. I needed to spend a little mommy-son time together before the nighttime routine: dinner, bath, pajamas, story time, prayers, and good night kisses. I felt guilty that I worked and that the babysitter got the best of my son during the day. Not fair, I wanted to be his mommy all day not just at night. I was determined to create as many good experiences as I could to assuage the heartbreak of not seeing Kevin smile, laugh, play, (or even cry) throughout the day. I’m not the only parent who suffers with this shortage. So what better way than scurrying off to Bugs Bunny Land in between my afternoon commute and evening routine for some fun, right? Nothing, except most of the time I was honestly tired after a long day, and so was Kevin. He’d get a little whiny and demanding and would drag his heels through the park.

The din of Great America rang in our ears as we walked hand in hand through the bustle of commotion. Synchronized screaming could be heard from the roller coasters and water slides. Pipe organ carousel music was competing with the venders shouting, ‘Hot Dog’. A single whistle blew in the distance. Kevin looked up at me to ask with his eyes.  I said no with my eyes: No to the hotdog, no to the train ride. We’re on our way to play in Bugs Bunny Land!!

Suddenly, Kevin pulled away from my hand and left Daffy Duck Boulevard and walked about 10 feet off the path. I didn’t call him back to my side. Instead, I let him explore for a few moments. Maybe he wanted a break from hurrying from one place to the next? A flowering bush caught his eye, and with purpose, his little blond-haired self bent over to pause and smell a single yellow rose.

I can still see it in my mind. I am not sure why, but I felt in that second, Kevin wanted me to stop too. “Mom, you gotta come smell the roses!”  The cliché of it all made me smile. I wish I had a camera that day to capture my enlightened little 3-foot Zen master. Note to self: Remember this moment. YOU ARE HERE.

Luckily, the photo memory remains; I pull it up all the time. But only in the last few years have I understood what it means to truly stop in the moment; just BE wherever I am and appreciate being. Sounds simple all this being, huh? It’s having awareness of our being that’s hard.

Back in the day, out of my need to generate memories and squeeze out the last drop of energy we both possessed, I’d hustle Kevin through the park to get to Bugs Bunny Land (or any land) so we could start ‘our time’ together. Little did I know that our time together began the moment I picked him up from the babysitter. I was thrilled to see Kevin. However, I was unaware that I wasn’t aware. I was decompressing the day in my head and thinking about what to do that evening. It’s a conditioned habit. I wasn’t always mentally present with Kevin. I didn’t even know what that meant back then. But Kevin did. Kids do this naturally. Adults have to meditate and practice it.

Kevin will be 25 years old this month. I can’t believe over two decades have gone by. I can’t believe in all that time they haven’t come up with a cure for cellulite beside stop eating sugar (like that’s going to happen). Mostly, I can’t believe it’s taken me two decades to learn how to stop and smell the roses; two decades to learn how to ‘live in the moment’ and just BE. It’s my new occupation. It doesn’t pay much but the benefits are worth it. I’m realizing that I only really have THIS present moment. In the amusement park, there is always a sign somewhere that will tell you where you are if you need a little direction: YOU ARE HERE. It’s always a relief to find your bearings again. However, you are not so lost if you live in the present moment-directionally speaking that is. I love what Jon Kabot-Zinn says, “Wherever you go, there you are!”

Life's Mindful Moments: It began to rain so I decided to run Fred (my furry-child) out to the grassy postage stamp that is my back yard to do his business before it started to downpour. (Nope, didn’t grab the umbrella. That would have been too easy.) Fred sniffed around to find the spot he wanted to mark. Everything in me wanted to rush him to go as fast as he could. “Come on Fred, my shirt and hair are getting wet!” As if it was his fault. He just lifted his leg and stood in focused tripod doggie-pee-pose. So I paused, took a deep breath to accept all my wetness then realized it was an opportunity to embrace my inner kid. I smiled and turned my face up to the sky and let the warm rain fall on my cheeks, my nose, and my eyes. I don’t think I’ve purposely let my face get wet by rain since I was a kid Zen master. Eventually, the inner adult came to her senses and dashed back inside. What do you do when you’re all wet? Shake!!