Aging with Humor and Love

I just realized that's it's been a good long while since I shared any of my life lessons from the senior couple I spend time with every week.

The really good news is that "Momma" came home a while ago from the rehab center and is adapting well to be home.  I'll have to share more about that later because she's taught me a lot about adapting to change. 

By the way, I affectionately refer to her as Momma because of her matriarchal position in her family.  She didn't want me to call her Mrs. ___ and insisted I call her by her first name.  I have a tough time calling her by her first name.  It's a respect thing for me.  I wasn't taught or allowed to call my grandparents by their first name.  When a person is old enough to be my grandparent, there is no way I can call them by their first name.  So a compromise of "Momma" would be it.

As is often the case, not much time goes by without me learning something from them or about myself.  Sometimes, the lessons I learn come with a major change of heart for me.  I'm hoping that the one of the most recent will be of some value to you too.

A couple weeks ago, the couple faced a huge tragedy in their family.  They lost their youngest child and only son.  Even without being a parent myself, I know the loss of a child is undoubtedly one of the hardest losses a parent can ever suffer.  It's a loss that will sting for the rest of their lives.

After learning of the news, I had a very natural reaction.  I didn't want to contact them.  I justified my feelings by telling myself that I needed to give them time to grieve and surely they were bombarded with calls or visitors and I wouldn't know what to say to them anyway. 

Really?  Did I really  believe that? 

No!

It was a mere excuse to hide the condition of my own heart.  I didn't want to be uncomfortable.  I didn't want to feel additional pain.  I didn't want to see them hurting because I wouldn't be able to make it better for them. 

As I fielded calls from friends and church family, I found the same thing.  One after another, people shared the same excuses for not contacting them directly. 

I'm not pointing fingers here, I was doing it too.  It was way easier to use the excuses than to step outside my comfort zone and into the mess they had in front of them.  The truth is that I was doing exactly what I despised others doing to me.  Using excuses to avoid the mess. 

If you've never been in a giant mess, let me tell you something.  At the ugliest, messiest points in my life, those were the times when I needed someone to jump in next to me and just be "normal" with me.  Those are the times when I MOST needed people to check on me, help me out and even do for me what I couldn't do for myself.

So, that's what I did.  I pushed myself past the threshold of my own comfort zone.  I picked up the phone and made the call.  I had a lot of trepidation, wondered what I would say and tried to talk myself out of it many times.

Once I heard the gentle voice on the other end, all of my fear dissipated.  Despite the sadness and obvious grief, the conversation was like every one I'd had with him up to that point.  He did as usual...when I asked him if he needed anything, he replied, "Yes, you can get me that million dollars." 

I think it was the familiarity of his voice and words that calmed my heart.  It was probably at that point when I realized my place in this mess.  I needed to be the "normal."  I needed to be just as I always had been.  Sure, I would need to be a bit more gentle. 

Throughout the week following, I continued to field calls and questions from other friends and church family.  I encouraged most every one of them to reach out to the couple and show their love.  I encouraged them to be "normal" during this time of great loss.  I encouraged them to push past their own fears.

I would never tell you the week following was easy.  It was heart-wrenching to watch people I care so deeply for hurting.  I would never tell you that anything I did to maintain a normal routine was any comfort to them.  

It was only during a conversation the week after that when both the husband and wife thanked me for just being around and being "normal."

I share that with you not to pat myself on the back, but to let you know that there is a benefit in pushing past your comfort level in these situations.  There is a peace that can be brought to those who are hurting by not backing away because of fear. 

Before I close, I want to share a very personal observation on this same subject.  If you saw me at church, you'd likely find a seemingly happy person who is somewhat reserved but laughs and jokes with those I know.  It's a superficial front I've learned to have in church.  The reason?  Because early on I found that nobody really wanted to be in the mess with me.  If I wanted to be loved by my church family, I needed to smile and suppress any and all emotion.  Why?  Because whether I sat in the pew or stood in the bathroom or huddled in a corner of the foyer feeling my feelings, which usually brought tears, people ignored me.  They wouldn't push past their own discomfort to talk with me, comfort me or just be with me, let alone continue to wade through the mess with me.  That hurts!  I'm probably getting into another blogpost altogether, but I wanted you to see my point from an additional angle.

It's not easy!  But, the next time you find yourself in one of these situations, I encourage you to look past your own discomfort.  Look past it and into the other side.  The person you want to avoid, probably needs you the most at that moment.  Whether it's a friend who's suffered a great loss or the loved one who's lost a job or just a random person you don't know crying at church, step past your anxiety.  Comfort them in whatever way you can, whatever is necessary, whatever is "normal."  

Unusual Contact From Home

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone for us.  We spent most of the day traveling and napping and feeling the sting of disappointment.  No traditional meal.  No family.  Just the husband and I with our three furry pups.

It goes without saying that we had strategically planned our vacation to avoid our typical holiday funk.  I had every hope that this year I would be able to overcome my general depression over being one of the few people I know who would not see one family member over Thanksgiving. 

I was doing fairly well despite our massive change in plans.  That was until I received a text message from home. 

My sister-in-law sent me a text from my brother letting me know that my aunt and uncle from Minnesota were in town and he thought I'd like to see them.

Whoa!

Let me start by saying that it isn't completely unusual for my sister-in-law to send me a text on holidays.  No biggie!  But this was different.  Not in over five years has there been anything close to an invitation or letting me know anything about family visiting from out of town.  Heck, there's not even any info sent when someone dies, gets married or a baby is born.

Just a side note here, you might find it strange for my extremely dysfunctional family to have had no deaths in over 14 years; only 1 marriage in over 12 years; only 1 baby born in the last 7 years, no divorces in over 6 years and that extends through 3 grandparents, 4 aunts, 4 uncles and 12 cousins.

With the text coming in just a few miles from Branson, there was not chance we would be able to visit them anyway...even if I'd wanted.

The sad reality is that I would have wanted to see them.  I haven't seen them since the last time we saw them on a trip to Las Vegas about seven years ago.  So much has changed since we saw them last.  Honestly, my desire to see them would be entirely selfish and likely make them uncomfortable.

This is the aunt who during a visitation hearing in court accused my grandparents of abusing and inappropriate sexual acts with my cousins.  It was literally the closest anyone in my family got to getting caught.  I have a crap ton of questions I would love to ask her.  Probably the hardest one would be how she reconciled in her own heart enough to go stay in the same house with the same person she accused of abuse. 

Needless-to-say, I failed miserably after that at keeping the holiday depression from kicking my butt. 

I swapped a couple surface text messages with my aunt and knew they were all celebrating Thanksgiving together as one big happy family.

Now I fully understand that even the most dysfunctional family can make themselves look good for a short time.  But the idea of being the only one left out of it all was a bit more than I could stomach.

This is something I have been grieving for over five painful years.  I would rather here nothing at all than tidbits.  I would rather live with what I assume than what I know.  Reality and truth is just too hard and avoidance is how I cope. 

I hope the level of difficulty I'm having getting through Thanksgiving isn't a foreshadowing of what Christmas will bring. 

What a Difference a Day Makes

Last night excitement filled our house, as did the many suitcases laying around.  We were all smiles and laughter as we packed for our long awaited vacation to New Orleans and week long cruise.  What a difference a day makes.  Tonight the air is somber as we continue to pack.

You see, we had to cancel all of our travel plans today.  Non-refundable, refundable, it didn't matter.  It all had to be canceled. 

My husband left work this morning to deliver the bad news to me in person.  He had been told he needed to cancel his vacation with no forecasting of when we could reschedule. 

To say I was angry, crushed, sickened, would probably all be accurate.  Now, I'm realistic enough to admit this isn't the end of the world.  There are far worse reasons to have to cancel a vacation, which I'm glad weren't the case for us.  But I'm definitely unhappy!

We chose to forgo a summer vacation to have an extended vacation this fall.  We had made all the preparations and had only packing left to do.  If the news had come only 7 hours later, we'd already have officially been on vacation and it wouldn't have mattered.

I'm frustrated more for my husband.  He works hard and works a lot.  The man has 3 jobs.  Weekend trips or shorter vacation are always interrupted by one or more of the jobs.  Literally, leaving the country on a boat without cell or email availability is the only time he ever gets a break.  He rarely gets excited about anything, but he was excited to be rested.

He works 3 jobs!!!!  The uninterrupted quality time we get to spend together is precious and rare.  I wanted and needed this vacation to have some quality time with him. 

Ok, I needed it for me too.  I may not have a job, but I have other stresses in everyday life and the activities I choose to participate regularly.  I needed that break away too, for my own sanity.

Here is an interesting factoid....Out of all of our vacations, we have never been to New Orleans.  We had a cruise scheduled to leave New Orleans on October 2, 2005.  That was exactly 35 days after hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans, causing our trip to be moved to Galveston. 

I have to wonder if there is a good reason why we shouldn't visit New Orleans. 

Needless-to-say, we will be taking full advantage of the offer from my husband's company to make this right.  When I get to a point when I'm not so disappointed and just plain pissed off, maybe I'll be excited about planning our vacation again.  But it's just a little soon for that....so off to pack for Branson I go.

Vacation

Yes, it's true...I must put my husband on a boat in the middle of the Carribean without a telephone and computer for him to take a solid week off.  Hopefully in a couple weeks I'll be able to share photos of a restful vacation, white sandy beaches and lots of fun for us. 

Custard Pie

Sorry to disappoint, but this isn't going to be a recipe blog post. 

I cannot believe that Thanksgiving is next week and we have barrelled through another whole calendar year.  It really isn't that I didn't know it was coming, it's that I have been wishing it away.  Begging for time to slow down.  I could feel it coming, felt it in my soul.

Maybe it would surprise you to know that even the most dysfunctional families have traditions.  I'm not even talking about some sick twisted take on some average families' tradition. 

My filthy-mouthed, pornography-loving, run-around-the-house-naked, pee-off-the-front-porch, cigar-smoking grandma was the one who carried out the most traditions in my family.  And, believe it or not, she was most traditional at Thanksgiving.

I must add a disclaimer in here.  The whole thing was still covered with the blanket of dysfunction.

However, it was literally one of the more normal things that would ever happen in my family.  Only now, as an adult, can I pick it apart and see the many layers of dysfunction that were still woven into what looked like a wholesome family tradition.

She made the entire spread herself and would start days in advance.  There were several women in the family besides her.  I had two aunts and, of course, my mom.  What the heck?  Not once do I remember any of them ever lifting a finger to help with anything.   I do remember my parents supplying the ham or turkey because their employers would give them one.  It probably won't be too surprising to learn that my aunts and mom were not only extremely lazy women, they had little to no ability in the kitchen.  Oh yea, and some of them were drunk all the time.  (For any of you who have eaten my cooking, rest assured my skills did not come from this side of the family.)

So, my grandma made it all.  She hand made noodles and they were always bright yellow.  Why?  Because she always added yellow food coloring.  Why?  I don't know!   I wouldn't even know that was wrong or not needed until I tried to make noodles after I was married and my new husband questioned what I was doing. 

She made everything by hand, literally by one hand.  The other hand always had to be free and clean for her smokes.  She was definitely the epitome of the old lady you see on tv smoking over every dish they ever cook or eat.  Eww!!!!!!!  When you grow up with a family of smokers, you don't think much of it.  Now, there's no way I'd purposely eat anything made by someone cooking like that.  No more ash ingestion for me, thank you very much!

Eating her ham and turkey was the reason I never liked ham and always ate dark meat from the turkey until recently.   (I still can't eat ham, but because the preservatives wreak havoc on my body.)  Now, as an adult, I understand that most hams are already smoked and need little cooking or baking to finish them.  Before she would put the ham in the oven to bake for 5 hours, she would cover it in salt.  Ick!!!  Ham does not need to be salted.

I think it is Christmas Vacation that has a scene where they are about to cut into the turkey and it pops open with a cloud of dust.  Well, that might be a little extreme in describing her turkey, but not by much.  A giant, 20+ lb bird would yield about 3 cups of meat or less.  It was so dry, she would serve it with butter.  I wish I were joking.  She would let the bird set in one side of the zink (that's what she called the sink) for a couple days before Thanksgiving.  She would get up at 3 am on Thanksgiving morning and pop the bird in the oven.  She would pull it out at about 1 pm.  No seasoning, no basting.  She baked it for over 9 hours, no wonder it was super dry!  Wow!

She made all the pies too.  She would make lots of pumpkin, which she always over-baked.  It wasn't until I started baking that I realized you could have a fully cooked pumpkin pie without a long crack in the center.  She made chocolate and banana meringue.  I've still got to respect that, they were perfect and something I can't do well.  But my favorite was custard pie. 

Honestly, I've not had any custard pie since the last Thanksgiving my grandma was alive.  It's not a pie that you find very often and I've only seen in one or two grocery stores.  It's the one thing though that always reminds me of the tradition and not the dysfunction.  I'm not sure why, it just does.  The thought of it alone is like the ultimate comfort food. 

Unfortunately with my lazy mom and drunk aunt and aunt that moved away from the dysfunction, all of the tradition died with my grandma.  There's been no Thanksgiving tradition since 1997. 

Don't get me wrong, the holiday was still incredibly difficult despite the meager traditions.  There was never a lack of people fighting in the family.  And, of course, never a lack of traumatic experiences caused by my dad.   But, I miss the tradition.

I often get pushed further into my holiday depression by seeing everyone around me so steeped in their own family traditions.  It isn't that they aren't dysfunctional.  It isn't that I am jealous.  It's that so deep in my heart and soul is buried that longing to belong to a family.  Really, it's my God given desire to stand shoulder to shoulder with loving people while the rest of the world is doing the same thing.   Sadly, it's the foundation that traditions are formed on that my heart so longs for and I realize that I never, ever had.

I Want His Faith

As is sometimes the case, I can't share all of the details but have a story that begs to be told. 

About a month ago with a prompting I can only attribute to the Holy Spirit, I delivered a meal to a church member who lives alone.  I knew some of his story and knew he was living alone on a limited budget, as was his brother with disabilities. 

I called him to let him know my husband and I would be bringing some leftovers from our weekly meal at church.  He was extremely thankful. 

As I packed the meal up, I found milk that we had no use for before it expired.  I found bags and bags and bags full of spaghetti, garlic bread, pulled pork, fried chicken.  None of it could be used and we were running out of freezer space.  I found lettuce and tomatoes that would spoil before we could use them.  I loaded it all up. 

We stopped by our house.  Since we buy things in bulk, I had several cases of beans, soups, pasta, etc. laying in the kitchen from the trip we'd made the night before to Costco.  I loaded up a couple bags of miscellaneous items and grabbed some homemade loaves of bread from the freezer.  By the time we arrived with a meal, we had no less than 7 bags of food and a gallon of milk.  

He met us at the truck and was overjoyed by what we had brought.  But it's not what we did for him that is so wonderful and humbling.  It was what happened next, it's what he did for me.  In fact, we had really done nothing compared to what was needed.

As we carried the food into the apartment, it was eerily dark and empty.  A lamp without a shade and a stove light is all that lit the apartment.  There was one chair and an air mattress in the bedroom.  The cabinets, fridge and freezer were nearly empty. 

On the stove was a small pot of macaroni cooking.  Through some discussion, I learned it was the only meal he would eat that day.  His son, who was visiting, was elated to have milk to use in the mac and cheese instead of just water. 

Because of the way I grew up, I know what it's like to live without food and without many things.  But, I'm certain that I was never as happy as this guy.  He never complained.  He was happy with all he did have and had hope things would improve.  He has no vacuum and even wiped his feet in the hall so he didn't track in dirt because he wanted to keep his apartment nice. 

We've continued to take food to this man and his brother.  I've been happy to do it.  I know regardless of who has upset me or what turmoil my life is in, this man is going to minister to my broken little heart in ways he could never know or understand.

I've been hurt so many times inside the walls of the church, I'm a bit cynical about Christians and Christianity.  I'm often carrying around some current hurt or stress with church or fellow Christians.  I'm usually wrestling in my gut whether with what I truly believe.  But every time I drop off food to this man, I see an unbelievable faith. 

He's thankful for what most people take for granted.  There is a sense of gratitude that is amazing.  Most people would turn their nose up at leftovers or 2 day old salad.  Not this guy.  If you saw the weekly exchange, you'd think I was some kind of food fairy.  He's so incredibly grateful for anything he is given. 

And I meant it, he has incredible faith.  It's the kind that when you hear it, you might think he's a little crazy.  He is content to wait on God.  He is submissive to God in ways most people spend their entire lives striving to be.  He trusts God to provide everything.  He prays with expectation that God will answer all prayers, even if it isn't the answer or timing he would choose.

Wrap your head around that!  Somebody with absolutely nothing is living out his faith in the most obvious way I've ever seen. 

Here's the truly humbling part of this, the part that is beautiful.....

Each week after he thanks me over and over, he always says, "I'll be praying for you." 

Me?

Comparatively, on the surface, in all physical things, I have everything compared to this man.  I have a warm house with lots of lights and two giant tvs.  My fridge, freezer and cabinets are packed full of things. 

I'm ashamed to admit, the first night I walked away thinking exactly this, "Sitting in your cold, dark apartment in your ratty, lonely chair, you are going to pray for me?  You need to be praying for yourself.  You have nothing and I have everything.  Don't waste a moment praying for me, pray for yourself."

Oh my goodness...

I was so wrong.  He really has everything and I have nothing.  I don't have that kind of faith.  I don't have that confident relationship with Christ.  He may have been hungry, but I was the one starving. 

The idea that this person who has such strong faith would take time to pray for me, well what more could I ask for.  I don't know what or how he prays for me, I just know he tells me every week he is praying for me.  What I do know is that he prays with an expectation and confidence that God is hearing his prayers for me.

As crazy as it sounds, I want what he has. 

I want that kind of faith.

Driving

I'm guessing most anyone reading this is also old enough to drive.  I'm also guessing that it is something most people take for granted.

I know, it's an easy thing to do.  I've said it before, but driving is one of the things I miss the most. 

Not being able to drive when I want or need to leaves me feeling absolutely trapped most of the time. 

It is sort of like being that age of almost old enough to drive and all of your friends are already driving.  Or that time in life when all your friends had cars, but you hadn't gotten one yet.

So that I clear this up early for anyone who may not have read any previous comments about driving, I do know how to drive.  I didn't lose my license for any reason, in fact I've never had so much as a speeding ticket.  It is the disorder I deal with and chronic insomnia that prevent me from driving. 

I'm feeling especially trapped lately by my inability to drive. 

It isn't that I'm not appreciative of those who have helped me out at times by giving me rides different places.  However, lately, I only have my husband and one other extremely busy person who help with any sort of consistency.   I'm completely at their mercy, when and where is convenient for them.

I want to be able to go.  I want to be able to do my grocery shopping at Trader Joe's, which nobody has time to take me to on any regular basis.  I want to shop sales that fall only on one day of the week.  I want to be able to go get my hair cut any time besides 8 pm.  I want to not have to wait two weeks for allergy pills. 

Honestly, I've had people think I am angry or emotional or just plain pissy at times.  I'm telling you, a lot of it is related to this issue.  It sucks not being able to go like everyone around you.

There are so many days that I do feel like that teenager again...."I just want to do what my friends are doing." 

The Bestie

In a couple hours, one of my friends will be coming over to spend part of the afternoon with me.  Not just any friend, but my best friend.  My bestest bud.  My closest confidant.  My stabilizing force.  My solid rock.  My sounding board.  My voice of reason. 

Yes, there are a spattering of good things in my life and I do enjoy sharing those too.

This is Tina.  In the friend world, she's my better half.  Literally, we are complete opposites.  And, true story, we've often been mistaken for sisters.

I met Tina during this time of year in 1998.  She interviewed for the company I was working for and was offered the job.  A couple years younger than me, she came in quiet and a bit mousy.  If you'd known me back then, you'd have though no way we'd ever be friends.  I was a tiny bit more ferocious and extremely uncomfortable with anyone quite so shy.

Newly married, transplants from small towns and without any children, we became fast friends.  Our husbands' love of the WWF would allow us become a friendly group of four. 

 

After a few years together in the marketing field, I'd leave for the big world of eye care.  A few months later, I'd drag Tina right along with me.  We worked at eye care together for nearly 10 years before my issues would force me into a permanent medical leave.

There's so much I could say about our relationship.  We take care of each other's dogs.  She's the one I call when I am in desperate need of something.  She's the one I can say anything to without fear of judgement. 

That's the broad summary of our relationship.  But wait....there's so much more.

We've been through so much together. 

Let me start with the natural stress working together will put on a relationship.  At both companies, I was put into positions of management over Tina.  It was difficult.  I wasn't always kind or fair or the least bit good at managing someone who was also my friend.  I tended to be harder on her and expect more of her because she was my friend.   She handled it all with grace and love. 

There were times when others targeted our relationship as a tool to hurt me.  When people in a business are fearful of unity through relationships, they will go out of their way to be cruel and hurtful.  We nearly let co-workers drive a wedge between us during what should have been the best of times.  Thankfully, we didn't and became closer through it all.

Tina has been by my side through a lot of down times.  She's waded through some gross stuff with me, stuff neither of us understood.  She saw the ugliness of my disorder before we knew it was a disorder.   She stuck by me through it all.  Even though she doesn't really understand it now and I think it makes her a little nervous, she's never left me. 

We've been through some difficult times at work outside of co-workers.  It's hard to learn a trusted person in the office stole nearly a half million bucks.  At a time that shattered everyone around us, we were able to stand together through it all. 

She has been with me through the lowest of lows in my marriage too.  The ugly, nasty messes I got myself into with my husband, she was right there.  There was little she could do most of the time besides listen and that's what she did.

Through some of the more difficult times, there have been times of great joy.  We have shared the joys of pregnancy during some of the same times.  Even though mine ended in loss, I was able to be there after the birth of each one of her three children.  Somehow, she managed to offer a sense of gentleness and sharing that never hurt. 

Probably the most recent loss we've walked side by side through is her mom.  Sure, there have been many along the way.  But, her mom was the hardest.  It's been a few years ago now, but still so fresh.  Diagnosed with breast cancer at the beginning of the month and passing by the end of the month, there was little time for her to fully grasp the loss until long after.  This was probably the only time I ever saw her vulnerable and weak.   I'm not sure I offered her much during this time beyond giving her space to grieve, but I know she knew my heart was breaking for her.

It's been more difficult to spend time together now that we don't work together.   I don't see her near as much as I used to, but that's not put any distance between us.  In fact, she's not working full time now either.  That makes the time we spend together more intentional and valued.

When we spend time together, it's because we want to.  It may only be once a month or every 6 weeks, but it's always a good time.  Whether we go shopping or out to lunch or just hang out, it's always worth the wait. 

Sometimes I forget there's someone (besides my husband) who's been in my life for so long....14 years.  I often forget that there's someone with no obligation to me who loves me and has for years.  She's loved me through the good, bad and ugly...REALLY UGLY.  How thankful I am for her.  I love her dearly and hope she always knows how much I treasure her friendship.

Understanding the Little Things

As you might imagine, I have many little things in my life that make me feel "different."   Part of changing those little things is learning exactly what has caused it. 

And, usually a mixed bag when I do figure it out.  It becomes a work in progress, but I'm always saddened by the reason.

Recently, either my pants have begun to get larger or with no effort by me my waist has been getting a tiny bit smaller.  Regardless, I have been finding myself constantly pulling up my pants that fit two months ago.

It would seem the problem could be easily remedied by using a belt.  However, nothing ever goes quite that easy with me.

I've never worn belts.  Always bought pants just tight enough to not have to mess with them.  If a pair of pants didn't fit, I bought a different pair.  Having only gotten to wear some of these jeans a few times, there was no way I was going to replace them already.

So, I grabbed my belt out of the closet and looped it through my pants.  Simple enough. 

Within minutes, I had completely changed clothes.  I tried again the next day, no luck.  After a few minutes of having the belt on, I was so angry that I had to change clothes.

By the third day, I had to think through exactly why I was uncomfortable and angered by the belt. 

The switch flipped on for me and over 20 years of refusing to wear a belt made sense to me.

A belt was a weapon used against me.  For years and years and years, belts were used to beat me, tie me to objects and nearly choke the life out of me. 

It seems like a fairly obvious thing, but it took me a long time to figure it out.  Literally how I have dressed for 20+ years has been altered by this. 

Abuse definitely leaves scars that sink deep, deep into your heart, mind and soul.  But I'm always amazed out how the simplest of things in life are forever altered by it. 

Putting on a belt is something people do everyday without thinking about it for a second.  My husband does too.  Probably the most pressing thought in his mind as he puts on a belt is whether it needs to be black or brown.  I on the other hand cannot wear one at all because subconsciously it throws be back through warp of traumatic events in my life.

Understanding doesn't immediately fix the problem and unfortunately I have a lot of work to do in front of this one.  However, someday maybe I'll be able to wear a belt.

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

We got married in 1998, long before the digital age we are in now.  So, I had to sit for four hours to scan negatives of my wedding photos to make them digital.  Not going to lie, it was pretty emotional.

If you've never read the post about my wedding, feel free.  It was a fiasco.  My pictures tell that story too.  It wasn't a very happy day, even though it should have been.

Of over 200 photos, there are only a few where you will find a true smile. 

I want to share one of the photos with you.

I'm not going to lie, this photo ignites frustration, hatred, anger, and pain in me unlike any other.

Notice, no smile for me.  I was miserable.  It should have been the happiest day of my life and it wasn't.

Sadly, you won't find a copy of this photo on facebook, in a frame, not even in my house.  This is the only time you'll ever see a photo of my parents anywhere.  Likely, you wouldn't find a picture of me in their house either since my mom only claims to have two sons.

Most of you reading this don't know my parents.  Let give you an idea of the kind of first impression they give people. 

My mom would come across very reserved and quiet.  She might even present herself as so painfully shy that she seems stand-offish.

My dad would come across pleasant and out-going.  He might find reference in something about you, leading to casual conversation that is at times endearing.

On the surface, neither of them would come across like the monsters I've shared about in other posts.  However, they would be one in the same.

This picture was taken a good 9-10 years before I would come to fully know and understand the depths of my horrific past.  But you can see even then, I was miserable, unhappy.

Yes, my parents are the epitome of wolves in sheep's clothing.

Perseverance

Perseverance:
1. steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose, a state, etc., especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.

2. Theology . continuance in a state of grace to the end, leading to eternal salvation.

 

The Internet makes it incredibly easy to find the definition of anything.  Google a word and seconds later you know exactly what it means. 

 

Why can't it be so easy to find the answer when you come to a crossroad in perseverance?  To proceed on or back away, know it wasn't the right road for you?  Why can't you google that?

 

I'm at one of those points in my life with a particular thing. 

 

This thing, this place in my life has brought great amount of pain to me.  It's been a long, long road.  Sure, there has been some good along the way.  Just not enough to supersede the bad.

 

But here I am at a point where I have to make a decision...go all in or get all out.

 

It's not one of those decisions that are circumstantial or are made for you.  The weight of the decision is fully on me.

 

Could going all in and not bailing bring more pain and consternation?  Could it cause me great regret, sometimes daily?  Will it be hard?  Am I fearful?  Yes, Yes, Yes, AND YES!

 

Is it the right thing to do?  Could there be great rewards?  Could I find my hearts desire where I least expect it?  Is there potential for this to seem like just a bump in the road at some time in the future?  Yes, Yes, Yes AND YES!

 

But how do you press on?  How to do you force yourself to focus on the positive possibilities instead of living with the negative ones?

 

I'm empty.  I'm weak.  I'm vulnerable.  I'm tired.  I'm afraid.

 

It's true...the right thing isn't always the easiest thing and the easiest thing is often the wrong thing.

 

I'm still unsure what I need to do with this particular thing.  I do know that I can't continue to on, can't persevere through this alone.  Can't do it.  I'm empty, weak, vulnerable, tired and afraid.  Even trying to do it alone is a recipe for failure if I choose to move forward.

 

 

Tired

I know not everyone will understand this, but I'm tired of living in a dark, deep hole.  (This is some of that darkness I warned you was looming a couple posts ago.)

Emotionally, physically, mentally, I'm in a dark pit right now.  No, you wouldn't know it if you saw me in person.  I've perfected the ability to look happy and well-adjusted to just about everybody around me, even those who know me well.

Times like this suck.  If I could do something about it, I would.  I hate these times in my life.

Like many other times that have been difficult like this, I feel completely alone.  Sure, I have one or two people who know me well enough to know what life is like right now.  However, those people only have limited ability or time to help me. 

It's easy to feel like I'm completely alone when there are so few people who understand or even know my story.  Lots of people think they do, but they don't.  If I were blind or deaf; depressed or anxious; physically or mentally disable, it would be so much easier for people to see and understand.  None of that is the case for me.

Only .01% to 1% of the world's population faces the same problem as I do.  Therefore, I don't necessarily expect people to understand.  It certainly adds to that feeling of having to go through this alone.

What adds to the darkness that consumes my life right now is my own inability to understand myself.  The disorder I have makes it impossible for me to understand or even control my decisions, thoughts, actions and so much more.  Even during the best of times, my life is completely out of control. 

It's not feeling alone that's the worst of it though.  It's feeling as though the darkness is going to swallow me whole.  When the idea of living hurts worse than that of living.  When thinking about tomorrow comes with a fear of pain that resonates from the pit of your stomach.  When the future doesn't hold any promises beyond more darkness, loss and pain.

The past couple months have been filled with moments when I think there might be hope, but they quickly fade away.  The past month hasn't had hardly any. 

It's hard to go day after day after day after day not having anything positive to hold onto.  In fact, my life has been filled with a lot of drama, hatred, misunderstandings, and just plain negativity.  I'm not talking about things I can control either.  Most of it is environmental or people I have contact with repeatedly. 

I know there are positive, loving, caring people nearby me.  I'm just not fortunate enough to have them closer.  I'm not worthy of their time.

Despite my smiling face and "Great, every thing's fine" responses, I've been discouraged, depressed and ready to leave a hateful world.   I hate living that lie on the surface.  It's almost as painful as breathing.

There, Yet Gone

Have you ever missed someone who's gone from your life?  Someone you've lost.  A close relationship that didn't last.  And, I mean missed them so much that you physically hurt?

I'm sure you have.

But, have you ever missed someone who's never been in your life?  Missed a relationship you never really had?  Missed it so much it doubled you over in pain?

(I think it's important to note this isn't the first time I've written about this.  That's how painful it truly is for me.)

The truth is that before I get too far into each and every day, I am physically sick thinking about my mom.  I would like to say it's only been that way for a few months, but looking back I realize that as early as this summer I said something similar.

My mom, the woman who gave birth to me, is very much alive.  As I've been told, she proudly displays photos at home and work of her two sons and grandchildren.  For a brief recap, the last time I spoke to my mom was early September 2007.  I shared with her that I was being baptized.  She hung up on me and I'd not hear from her again.

The separation between us has been the healthiest thing for me.  I am much healthier and safer to not have a relationship with this woman.

In all honesty, she isn't a mom.  She really is just the woman who gave birth to me.  I know some people would argue that giving birth to me should be enough to warrant some respect for her.  Those same people would not understand the real monster I know her to be.

My mom horribly neglected all of her children, physically and emotionally.  She never made sure our physical needs were met.  We weren't given proper direction in hygiene nor adequate supplies.  She didn't make sure we were fed.  We lived in filth.  She failed miserably at making sure we were cared for when we were sick.  We didn't have appropriate clothing.

Aside from that, she failed to provide any type of emotional support or guidance.  It went far beyond her not hugging us or telling us we were loved.  She laughed at us when we cried.  We were slapped when we got hurt.  Our pain was her pleasure.  Everyone's pain was her pleasure.  We were an annoyance, burden and unwanted part of her life and she was unafraid to tell us or treat us as such.

Probably her worst offense wasn't the neglect, it was the abuse. 

I've said it before, a mother would protect her children. 

She stood idly by and watched my dad abuse me, drug me, sell me to other men.  She bears a good deal of guilt for that as well as the ways she physically and sexually abused us. 

My mom was a miserable failure in all ways as a mom.  Therefore, she is no more than the woman who gave birth to me. 

I never had a mom.  I never had a woman in my life who loved me, protected me and cared for me. 

Honestly, I missing something and someone I never had my entire life.

You might be wondering how I can miss something or someone I never had.  Or, how why now at 37 years old am I in so much pain over this.  Fair questions, I wonder the same things.

I have more exposure today to healthier mother/daughter relationships than I ever have been. There's a common theme I see in these relationships.  Whether the daughter is 18 months old, 18 years old, 38 or 58 years old, I see that they always have their mother by their side.

When the baby falls, she runs to momma and finds comfort in her arms.  When the teenager's first love ends in heartbreak, she runs to mom and finds comfort.  When the 20-something has problems in her marriage, she has her mom to comfort and guide her.  When the 30-something has defiant children, she can go to her mother for direction.  When the 40- or 50-something has a health crisis, they run back to their mom for more comfort.

These are the things I've seen.

While those things aren't necessarily by story, I have a bunch of hurts in my life right now.  Some big, some small.  Maybe not literally, but I want to curl up in my mom's arms and find love and comfort.  I need my mom beside me to face the ugly world, to withstand the pain I'm wading through each day.  I need direction and correction that only a mother could give.

I've never really wanted those things as badly as I do right now.  I know my mom wouldn't make it all away, but at least I'd know I didn't have to face any of it alone.

There's no chance of this happening.  She's the source of so much of the pain.  She's  one of the primary reasons for the dysfunction which still exists in my life.  To be near to her could quite literally destroy my entire life.  That's not an understatement.  I've just glazed over a portion of a portion of a portion of who she is and what she's done.

I've prayed, begged, bargained with God to take this desire away from me.  I know, I've said that before too.  Wanting a mom by my side is a natural desire that I can't shake, can't make go away.  I need it to leave me.  I need to not want this, not need this.  It can't happen and I need this desire to depart from me forever. 

I don't want to spend the rest of my life painfully, exhaustively wanting and grieving something I never had and never will have.  I have enough hurt in my life without this.

Fear of Judgement

As the number of people reading this blog increases, I find myself writing less the past month.  Well, I'm not really writing less, I'm just posting less.

I've written and re-written; posted and deleted or reverted back to drafts; edited and set aside.

Why?

It's that fear of judgement again.  What if this person sees my blog post and thinks less of me?  What if that person reads that my life or my outlook on life is messy and judges me?

I've found myself being less and less true to myself.  My outlet, my honest evaluation of myself and my life has become a source of fear. 

That's not what I want.  I want honesty.  I want transparency.  In sharing the good and the bad, I want to be myself without fear.

My life, this season of my life, it's messy.  It's ugly and nasty a lot of the time.  I'm only five years removed from a life without Christ.  I have even less time, if any, removed from a family with severe dysfunction.  In the big scheme of things, I'm still learning and learning is hard.

Each tentacle of my life stretches out in areas of great pain or at least a bit of tenderness.  There's not a lot of joy.  There's not a lot of cheer.  Not right now.  Remember, this is not my forever but it is my right now.

I have so very few people who know the ugliness and the mess.  That makes it even more difficult.  The idea of wading through the mess alone only makes it harder and harder to keep it to myself.

So, I can't keep it in any more.  It's going to be ugly.  It's going to be messy.  But I hope, hope, hope, hope that if you see my mess, you'll withhold judgement. 

Sure, I could start each post with the proverbial, "I'm a sinner, so please excuse what I'm about to say."  But, that's simply not me.

I hope someday that I'll be able to look back at the mess and see there was a reason for it.  I hope I'll be able to look at my life someday and see complete restoration.

If this sounds like something I've written before or you've heard me say, it's because I constantly have to fight the fear of judgement and remind myself to be honest with and about myself.  Such a difficult thing to do.

Beautiful Wind

Today, the wind was beautiful.

I know, that's a relatively random thing for me.

I slept a few hours last night and dreamed about my dog, Kristi.  Kristi has been gone for over five years and I can't remember the last time I dreamed about her.  My dream was so real.  We went for a walk and then curled up in bed together.  All the years I lived alone, she slept right beside me and often curled up in the fetal position at my chest with my arm around her.  Even though I love the dogs I have now, it was sad to wake up and know it wasn't real.  That dog stayed on my mind all day.

My day didn't offer much improvement.  One thing after another smacked me in the face.  Nothing too terrible by itself, but collectively enough to break me down.

It wasn't just about missing a dog.  It wasn't just a bad day.  It's been a bad several weeks, maybe even months.  I can't begin to tell you all the stuff that's happened the last several months.  You might think I'm focusing just on the negative.  The truth is, I've had very little positive to focus on or I would. Without going into the details, I can tell you that lately most days end with no desire for a tomorrow.  That's just me being incredibly honest.

As I sat listening to a speaker at a conference today, I had one of this-room-suddenly-got-hot-and-the-walls-are-closing-in-on-me moments.  So I left.  I searched the building for a quiet place to be alone and recover from the overwhelm.  With no place to have an alone moment, I headed outside.

I found a nice shaded spot outside.  Took a deep breath.  Did my best to fight back the tears.  Failed miserably. 

Once I caught my breath and wiped away the tears, I began to feel the wind whipping my hair around.  It's all I could hear.  As I watched the leaves being rolled, tossed and moved across the yard, I desperately wished the wind would whisk me away from this painful spot.  Oh how I longed at that moment to be carelessly whipped away from this time and place. 

Much to my surprise, the roaring wind cleared my head and restored my breath. 

It only last a few minutes.  I already want them back.  I'm ready to sit in the wind again, longer.  It was beautiful.  I want, no NEED, that kind of beautiful thing in my life everyday. 

A Good Change

I went to sleep sometime around 1:30 and have been awake since 3:00.  So much to do, so much swirling in my brain.

As I spent some time doing my early morning workout with Mr. Mixer and Mrs. Springform Pan, I worked diligently to defer my thoughts from all that was bothering me.  With only 1 1/2 hours of sleep, not an easy task.

My focus became trying to find something good from the day before.  Let's face it, I have been way too busy to think back beyond a day right now.  The problem was that yesterday was no stellar day.  Any day that draws to an end with me having a full-blown meltdown, bursting into tears and unable to speak, probably isn't going to be most memorable for the good that day had to offer.

Oddly enough, the one thing I was able to latch onto was a bit of change in our lives.  I know, change typically isn't something we adjust well to and certainly takes a while to deem as "good."

Yesterday, like most Wednesday evenings, we ate dinner at church.  Throughout the school year, our church offers a Wednesday evening meal before activities begin.  Since I've not been in any other churches, I have no idea if this concept is common or unique.  What I do know is that I love the idea.  For a small fee (way cheaper than you could eat at McDonald's and with way better food), families and people of all ages can come eat without the hassle and hustle of fixing dinner before church activities.

My husband and I were fairly regular in attending the meals for the first few years after joining the church.  In addition to the convenience, we had a desire to meet some of the people in our church.  The meals seemed to be the perfect place to do just that.

I'm just going to say it...things didn't work quite that way for us.

For those first few years, usually one of two things happened week after week.  More times than not, we sat at a table by ourselves.  The other tables were usually full or we didn't receive a warm welcome when we tried to set with other people.  We'd eat and head to bible study within 30 minutes of sitting down. 

The other thing that happened often was that parents (who we didn't know) would bring their children to our table, leave them and then go eat with their friends.  That just got to be extremely awkward.  I understand that we always had a lot of extra space since we were sitting alone, but we were strangers to these people.  I suppose since we were in church, people could have just assumed we were "good folk."

Needles-to-say, we finally stopped attending the meals completely.  There were a few other determining factors, but this was the biggest.  It wasn't really meeting any of our needs in getting to know people in our church.

For various reasons, we have been very consistent in attending meals for the past six weeks.  As I thought about it this morning, I realized just how much things have changed.

In all the weeks we have been there, we've not set alone once.  In fact, we usually have a full table. 

But wait, there's more! 

There is usually a fair mix of children AND their parents. 

But wait, it gets even better!

We are having a good time!  There is talking.  Yes, real conversation.  And, laughing too. 

Once we sit down to eat, I find that the time flies by and even goes too fast.  Regardless of who fills the seats around us, I constantly find myself wishing the time didn't have to end.  I love spending that hour with people we know well and others we are getting to know better and even meeting people we don't really know at all.

This is a pretty big change for both of us and such a good one. 

Instead of leaving the meals down and discouraged, I think we both walk out the door looking forward to next week.  We both look forward to that next time we can sit down with friends and have some conversation or laughs over a good plate of food.

Reconnection

My life has gone from a bit too slow to warp speed over the past several weeks.  Thankfully and sadly, it will go back to being too slow after the next week is over.

In the midst of the craziness, my husband and I decided to take a short trip.

It was just a few hours away to Branson.  However, it was a deep breath and break for us.

Between my crazy schedule and him working non-stop, we really hadn't gotten much of a chance to have a real conversation since summer.

We left the computers behind.  Muted the cell phones.  Put the family issues aside.  Really, just left the whole world behind us.

We had no schedule.  No plans.  We napped when we felt like it.  Ate whatever and whenever we wanted. 

In fact, it was cold and rainy half of our trip and just blustery cold the other half.  The weather phased us none at all.  Although, I LOVED the weather.  We even had freezing rain for an hour late one night. 

It was refreshing, relaxing and just flat out needed.

I don't think I had realized how badly we needed time to just be ourselves with each other and reconnect.  Yes, I think I crawled in the car with a stranger on Friday evening as we headed out. 

Not that we had been fighting or unhappy with each other, that wasn't it.  We had just gotten into a rut of not communicating because our only time to do so was 10-11 pm.  My husband wakes up between 3-4 am.  Conversations at 10 pm are useless.

It felt so good to have real conversation with him.  We got to laugh together too, something we hadn't done much of lately.

I don't think I knew how much I missed him.  Good grief, I don't think I knew how much you could miss someone when you live in the same house with them.

Whew...thankfully, I returned home on Monday with the husband I adore and not the stranger I left with Friday.  I really do love this man! 

Aging with Humor and Love

Wednesdays continue to be my favorite day of the week.  It's the day I get to spend with the senior adult couple from church.  They've really transitioned from a senior adult couple from church to just two aging people that I love dearly.

Even though the wife is still in a care center, I did get to see her today.  She wasn't feeling well and I didn't get a chance to talk much to her.  But, she's been on my mind all day.

When I was helping pack the couple to move from their home to the apartment, I got to learn a lot about them and specifically the wife.

This woman is meticulous!  Her filing system was amazing.  Everything had specific places.  She has the organizational skills that most people only wish they had.  It's no surprise that she was the same with how she looked.

The thing that's been rolling around in my head today is something she said while we were packing.  She said if she doesn't feel good about the way she looks, she just doesn't feel good.

How true is that, especially for women?  Bad hair day, an outfit that doesn't feel right, running out of your favorite make-up.  It can all make for a bad day.  What I hadn't really thought about is that you don't have to be young to feel that way.  Our need to look ok, so that we feel ok stays with us.  I'm not talking about obsessing over what we look like, but merely caring about ourselves enough.

When I worked in a nursing home, I never understood why some of the ladies were so crabby about not having particular accessories or lipstick.  Now I know.  It's what made them feel ok, normal.   And when life is rocking all around you or everything is changing, I suppose it's the small things like make-up that you hang onto in hopes of maintaining a level of normal for yourself.

I don't want to forget to mention the time I spent with the husband.  My plan was to walk him from visiting his wife back to his apartment.  The sun was quickly sinking into the horizon before I could get him home.  Since his buggy doesn't have headlights, we had to call for a ride.

It was only a few weeks ago that we were going out for walks with the buggy so he could learn how to use it better.

As I watched him drive his buggy up the ramp and into the bus, I felt a bit overwhelmed.  Not in a bad way.  Walking away, I wondered if that was how a parent feels the first time they put their child on the bus to head to school.  It was definitely a "aww, he's growing up" moment for me.

He has learned how to run his buggy so well and has become more independent. 

I waited in the driveway for the bus to pull up and felt much the same way when he came back down the ramp.  It made me smile and was a little emotional to see him making progress in big ways. 

I continue to be incredibly thankful for the time I get to spend with these two.

The 1st Proposal

I had one of those a-ha moments today that was big enough to stop everything and write it down so I never forget.  It's one of those, changes-history-forever moments.

It is no secret that I have always been disappointed in the way my husband proposed to me.  Really!  When my friends share their romantic proposal stories, I'm always the one who starts off with, "You're not going to believe mine." and is followed by most of my friends taking a deep sigh and collectively saying, "Yea, that sucked."

Literally, our engagement began only after I gave him the "We've been dating for almost 5 years, marry me or I'll find someone who will."  I know, I know...not very nice on my part.  But hey, a girl has to give a gentle nudge sometimes.  Me, I gave more of a shove off a cliff.

After nagging him till he couldn't stand it, a ring was purchased.  After more nagging and more nagging, I got my proposal. 

On the way to Christmas with my family in 1997, I got the ring box tossed at me.  He followed with a very insincere, "Now you can tell everyone you're engaged." 

Eight months later, we were married and still are over 14 years later. 

Now, my husband has stuck by the same story for 15 years.  He had every intention to propose in a romantic way, but I spoiled it by nagging him.  Maybe, maybe not, nobody will ever know!

I've long since gotten over my anger and haven't used it against him.  At least not for a long, long time.

Now, if I can step back a little bit further...

I met my husband in January 1994.  Long, long, long story short.  I dated his good friend, he dated my roommate.  Most of our dates were double dates and oddly enough, because of the guys.  He was always nice to me during those 4-5 months of double dates.  In fact, a little nicer to me than he was to my roommate.

Toward summer, his friend and I split.  My roommate had a one-night-stand, got pregnant, had an abortion and then they split.  I may or may not have been devious enough back then to tell him about the turmoil with his girlfriend.  You might call it devious, you might call it being caring and saving him from a life of misery.  Whatever you call it, I don't regret it. 

My former roommate married my ex/my husband's friend.  They've been married for over 16 years and have two wonderful kids.  It was obviously a move I supposed to make, therefore I can't regret it.

Didn't I tell you it was a long story?  That's not even half of  it, but I digress.

In July 1994, I would start dating my then boyfriend.  He lived in Wichita and would return home on the weekends.  We would go out on Friday night, spend half the day together Saturday and then have dinner with his family on Sunday.

He would return me to my apartment on Sunday before heading back to Wichita.  Such the gentleman, he would walk me up the long flight of stairs and we would say our goodbyes at the door.

I think I had forgotten just how romantic that was.  It wasn't that typical, dropping off at the end of the night.  It was mid day and maybe I took it for granted.

It is funny how I've always remembered this, but got such a different perspective about it today.

It was the second weekend we were dating.  He stood in my doorway.  We were two young kids, driven my a new, budding love.  We were having fun.  We weren't ready for the weekend to be over.

As he stood in my doorway, not wanting to leave, we continued to talk.  You know the small talk that comes when you are avoiding the inevitable "goodbye" and closing door.

That's when completely unexpected, he says "What would you say if I asked you to marry me right now?"

Keep in mind that I'm the girl who tucked tail and ran far, far away from any guy who got the slightest bit giddy with the "L" word was still sitting on his lips.

We had been dating 2 weeks.  2 weeks!

I said, "Yes."

He smiled, kissed me goodbye and left.

Yes friends, my husband asked me if I would marry him after dating for 2 weeks.  Sure, it took him over 4 years to put a ring on my finger. 

In retrospect, that was so romantic.  After knowing each other 6 months and dating for 2 weeks, he was already thinking about marriage.  Awww!

Now, I am probably giving the guy way too much credit here.  He's never said he didn't need to propose when he gave my the ring because he'd already done it 4 years earlier. 

However, I don't give him enough credit for being a romantic! 

Growing Old

Let's take a moment to talk about one of those semi-embarrassing things that happens to all of us. 

Yes, that's right.  Gray hair.

This morning, my husband shared with me that he was getting gray hair.  His disappointment permeated the room look a foul odor.  He is naturally bald on top.  Sorry, I mean naturally dirty blond.  A few gray hairs are going to be noticeable to NOBODY in the world, except him.

Sure, he probably thought that having a large bald spot on top of his head since he was in his 20 would somehow preclude him from ever turning gray.  I suppose we can't all be so lucky as to have only one hair debacle in our life time.

I'm so sorry. I remember how depressing it was to find my first gray hairs.  That was my loving, caring wife response.  Well...that would have been my response if I'd have dug into the sensitive, sympathetic pocket this morning.

Instead, I was overcome with a sense of giddiness and asked for proof!

As I stood looking at his beautiful, shiny gray hair, I smiled and giggled.  Even in bad lighting, I could find only 2.   Two gray hairs that blended so well into blond that I could barely see them.  Oh my, where was my empathy?

My husband is 47.  That's only 3 years shy of 50.  He's nearly 50 and finding his first gray hair.  He sees having to wear glasses and finding gray hair means he is inching ever closer to the grave.  Hasn't he heard that 50 is the new 20?  Oops, maybe that's what I'm supposed to be telling him instead of laughing at his gray hair.

I am 10 years younger than my husband.  I was in my 20's when I found my first gray hair.  Oh that day sits in my memory as one of those icky milestones you wished hadn't come so soon.  I was at a conference and was standing in front of a mirror.  There was a perfect combination of natural light and florescent light.  As I caught a sparkle in my hair, I brushed off the idea it was anything more than healthy, shiny hair. 

During the next restroom break, I stood in front of mirror with dread.  The terrible florescent lighting in those restrooms made the gray stand out like it was neon.  I quickly pulled two hairs, took a deep breath and returned to my conference with the two hairs in my hand. 

I'm not really sure what I was thinking keeping them.  Irrationally, I probably thought that if I held onto them, they would never find their way back and somehow reattach.

I was familiar with the old wives tale about pulling out gray would cause two to grow back in their place.  So a month later, I took a deep breath and took a long look.  Nope, it was just a myth.  Only the two I had previously pulled were there. Whew!

Something has obviously gone terribly wrong over the past 10 years.  They have multiplied.  Never two out of the same place, but randomly all over my head.

As my husband pointed out this morning, I color mine.  That's right!  The old wives tale about red heads having wiry, nasty gray hair is absolutely 100% true.  It also doesn't take color very well, which usually leads taking extreme measures when I get a hint of insecurity about it.

That's right, I will eventually break down and get some professional done blond highlights even though I hate them.  I have to.  My only other option is pulling them.

Oh my, pulling them is a daunting process.  Even though I grab the tweezers and stand at the mirror with what has to be my own version of super hero music playing in my head, I never get them all.  I don't even get a portion of them.  I usually only get the wiry, crazy ones right in front.

Thankfully, my naturally curly hair hides them well for now.  However, I have been working on a mental strategy to deal with them.  As I shared with my husband this morning, I try not to look at my gray hair as a sign of aging.  In fact, I am trying to look at them as a well-deserved sign of perfection. 

Once I am completely gray, there will be nothing left to achieve (in the hair world, that is).   Each gray hair puts me that much closer to achieving perfection.  Hey, I didn't say it was a good strategy!  But evidently, you think crazy things like that the younger you are when you find your first gray hair.

If genetics are at play for my husband, he probably doesn't have to worry about going completely gray.  Neither of his parents are completely gray at all.  His mom has two gray spots on the back of her head.  His dad is just now salt-n-pepper gray in his mid 70s. 

I think the best part of all of this is that even though I'm 10 years younger than my husband....I'm growing old with him.  Gray or not, we're growing old together.  That just makes me smile.