WHEN I HAD TIME TO SPEND TIME

In the last few months, I’ve been reminded of the infamous words of my sister/friend’s mother upon learning one of her siblings had move to Glory;  “my circle has been broken.”    It’s with despair that I repeat those words because that little lady has a special place in my heart and I hate the thought of her being hurt.  

Suddenly, I can remember the days when I had time to spend time with those I love.  I’m not clear about what’s really eating up so much of my “precious” time of late but it’s all soaked up with one thing or another.  If I were put on a witness stand and sworn in – I’d have to say that most of what I’m spending my time on isn’t what's most important to me. 

I guess a fair portion of this missing time has been spent on just trying to hold on to my sanity.  Let’s face it – I’m getting older and my tolerance – while never much to write home about – is less than I’d like at this time in my life.  I won’t even talk about the hot flashes and aching bones and joints (probably just joints but when a thang is hurting who is to really say). 

Another portion of this missing time is spent on working.  I’m in the home stretch of my “career” where I hope there is the possibility of retiring sometime in the future with the ability to remain living indoors without another job and a piece of health!  Yeah, I could be 14-20 years close to retiring – ummmm….. that sounds depressing (LOL). 

And I’ve noticed that it suddenly takes me all day to do nothing!  There are actually times when I ask those around me if I spoke out loud because I can’t remember what I was about to do despite being “really about to do it!”  

I’m not even going to mention the impact of three little ones and my grands on my current living situation.  Or my consultant role to the young married couple and watching my baby negotiate his neurological condition.  I’m also not going to mention my concern over my own aging parents (although the three of them seem to be younger than I am) and my aching heart as I listen to the worries my sister/friends mention about their parents and kin. 

Honestly, I understand that I’m on the backside of my life instead of being on the side heading up to my peek!  And, I’m not satisfied with the way some of the things have worked out in my life (but praise the Lord I do have health and a portion of my mind – despite pre-menopaus/menopaus chipping at my memory and such).

Do I really have to explain what all the short circuits in my hormones do to my personal relationships and bids for romantic love?  Really?  No, I won’t even go there – okay? 

But, back to my ‘broken circle;  my baby cousin (still feels odd just knowing she’s gone) and one of my Great-Aunties (via the number of years of association and marriage; I’ve never known life without her in the wings) moved over to Glory.  

I’m beginning to lose links in the circle of my life.

My blessing was in having seen my Auntie just prior to her death.  I didn’t get to thank her for all of the hours she’d spent over the years telling me stories that would make me bust a gut; or thanks for sharing books with me when I was in my 20’s; or how good it felt to be hugged by her; or just knowing that I was accepted by her.  I didn't get to share my memories of running errands for her like I did for all the rest of my folks and I know I got talked about when I goofed up the list (which I did a lot – smile).   But, thank God, I did have the opportunity to tell her I love and to kiss her face one last time.  

Another blessing was to have the opportunity to spend a little time with her daughter and my cousin.   I love this cousin.  My love initially took root out of how others like my mother and other cousin feel about her.   But my joy in being in her company has grown from the person she is. 

Surely you’ve had the experience of seeing someone and knowing them and caring for them based upon viewing them through the eyes of someone else?  This is exactly how I made friends with my beloved frienemy that has also moved to glory.  I had the opportunity to first know him through the eyes of his sister as she spoke with pride and joy about a gift he’d given her. 

Anyway, once during my time with my beloved cousin, she explained the anguish of watching her mother in pain and not having the power to do anything to ease that pain or to heal her.   She’s courageous.  

I can remember looking forward to spending my Saturdays with my Great-Aunties.  I mean it was the real highlight of my week.  I want the life I currently have to be fuller.   

I want the people back.  I want the sitting around talking and just being together back.  I want that joy back.  I’m not sure WHAT THE HECK IS HAPPENING with my time and/or time management, BUT I've got to get this corrected!

I can't get some of the links I've lost from my circle of life back but I can strengthen the links I've got left and add to them.  I just don’t want to regret not spending time with those I love while I have the time.

The Concept of Poverty; Another Parenting Moment!

I recently became distressed in thinking that perhaps I’m failing my niece.  My mother and I were engaged in a deep conversation about one thing or another and I mentioned being broke - you know just poor.  Now what you need to know about this niece of mine is that if there is a conversation going on and she’s around – she honestly (and innocently) believes she’s a part of the conversation.  (I mean really like she’s an equal partner in what’s happening – drives me crazy!)
 

The niece butts into the conversation and asks, “What is poor.”  I was simply floored!  I turned to my mother and asked, “Have I failed this child?”  I took the time to explain to her the definition of poor in the context in which I used it and immediately felt like I’d missed an opening to discuss something much deeper and meaningful.  But I wasn’t able to recapture the moment because – well the chick is 8 years old and things just kept rolling on in her world. 

 

I approached my hour of rest with a heavy heart.  On one side of this bitter pill, I recognized that it was a lovely thing that this 8 year old child didn’t have a “depravation” understanding of poverty but on the other side of it - had I offered her enough information and opportunities to fail to understand the blessings in her life that keep her from feeling “poor?” 

Yes, we talk about the value of money, the price of items, the need to take good care of things because they cost money and money is not to be wasted.  Yes, we talk about treating others the way we like to be treated (this is a hard lesson to “get” at this age) and being a good person (to avoid depravation of character and spirit).    

Anywho, as sleep enveloped me, I decided that on some level; I’ve been giving my very life energy to make sure this child (my nemesis love niece) didn’t have to feel the cold loss that poverty can inspire – “I don’t want her to know that!”  Truth be told, I don’t want anyone to know that! 

I slumbered with all of that on my mind and when the morning arrived, I determined true wisdom was in numbers and purposed to ask my family, friends and peers their thoughts on the matter.  “When you were 7 or 8 years old, did you think you were poor?” 

I know I can hear you all saying, “WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH HER?”  But honestly, I didn’t think about any ole festering sores one might have when I took it upon myself to get to the bottom of the concept of poverty. 

See, I can remember when the bad news was broken to me.  I was riding with my mother around this age and was telling her how bad I felt for poor folks when she felt it NECESSARY to let me know that I was one of the poor folks.  I can still remember howling with indignation that “I’m not poor, I have toys!” 

Honestly, that wailing little kid continues to reside in me when I think of those that live in poverty, neglect, abuse and abject contempt by our society!  I mean who really bucks against children eating or sick folks having medication or struggling families having decent housing?  Okay, I won’t even go there right now. 

But, being who I am – I forged ahead and subjected my poor family/friends/& co-workers to the burning question.  I deeply apologize for any discomfort this may have caused but also feel very grateful to those that pushed through to share with me anyway. 

A number of folks had no clue one way or the other because if they were without anything they didn’t know it at the time.  I heard plenty state that they had what others had so they didn’t feel deprived or poor.  Others indicated knowing they were poor and some of the embarrassing clothing choices they endured as their families attempted to provide weather appropriate sturdy items.

So, after gathering my data what conclusion have I arrived at?  Well, before I tell you that let me share this one pearl with you:  in my life – right now – whenever my energy gets low and my resources tight – God provides what the kiddos need?  How do I know it’s God?  Who else could help a people endure making bricks without straw? 

Because the kid (my niece) doesn’t know poor – I have not failed her.  I’m giving her what I had – security.  She feels secure AND has plenty of time to develop her own definition of poverty.  When it is her time to determine how to best handle her perception of poverty – she’ll have the example we’re working to provide to use as a template on her own journey. 

What do you think? 

 

  

Peonies & a Casserole

Today - I feel a keening in my soul.  I have not cried but my body feels racked with deep sobs and wailing.  It took a few phone calls and some time to realize she was speaking in English and her words were true.   

Yes, I know we all die.  I just never considered that the kiddo locked in my heart’s memories might move to glory before me.

I was not able to stay close to her but I knew her when she wore diapers.  I use to comb her hair and get tickled when she would say, “hey, take it easy up there.”  She didn’t take no mess from anybody!  I remember the magic shows she would put on for all of us.  We use to vote for Nadeana’s Casserole (or was that just me) - do ya’ll remember? 

I, well… I remember lots of things about her and her siblings; my baby cousins.  The girls all grew to be babes and the fellas are all muffins.  It is difficult for my mind to hear that she is gone.

You know, over the years, I’ve witnessed “the struggle” in the lives of my peers.  Although the older generations (and now I must also consider that perhaps even the younger generations) in our lives hope to move to glory before we do; I think we secretly hope to move to glory before they do because we don’t know life without them. 

I believe that it is in that secret world of hope and despair – things change; we mature; the wholeness of our true character is revealed and we “grow up.”  One of the additional miraculous things about these transitions is that there is a blessing somewhere in there for all those that are “around” the circumstances. 

At this time, I’m reminded of a story I recently learned when I noticed one of my co-workers walking past with a lovely vase of pink peonies.  I figured she was going to add more water to the vase.  The flowers were very pretty and I must admit that I felt a little envious of the beauty she’d thought enough of to stop and enjoy.

In the last few years, I met a dearly beloved, older couple via this co-worker and their daughter.  Oddly, she’s never spoken much of her childhood but has always captured my attention with the stories of the love between her parents. 

Her father has experienced some decline in his health and she often went to see about her parents.  Her mother and father lived a few hours away in a retirement community.  Over time, her father’s health continued to decline and a decision had to be made regarding more intensive care. 

Naturally, having been married more than 66 years, the thought of the two not being together at all times, was anguish provoking – unbearable - for all involved (including me – the outside witness).  However, the best care options for her father had to be the priority. 

I watched my friend struggle through deciding when to press her mother to make the decisions and other times fretting over the potential of having to make the decisions on their behalf.  What a position to be in!   

Her mother finally determined that her beloved husband required more care than he was getting.  Although she never had to see her sweet love moved away from her, I believe this decision simply broke her heart.  She moved to glory within the week. 

The two still had much love between them.  Sure, memories had begun to fade along with some physical abilities …. but still heavy on tap was love.  In fact, some days “I love you” were the only words that passed between the two the entire day.

I know some others that are struggling through the same kind of experience my friend and her family is working through.  I admire the character and love it takes to do right by those relatives.  My heart so grieves with them.

Previously, I mentioned the blessings that all in close proximity can experience.  The day I’d seen my friend with the flowers, she explained her grandparents once owned a peony farm.  Her grandfather made hybrids from some of his favorite blooms and named them after his wife and children.  My friend and her siblings all have bulbs in their yards. 

Apparently, hybrids bloom early and on a day when she was missing her mother, the flowers opened.  So, you can imagine my joy upon entering my office and finding said fantastic flowers on my desk! She chose to share with me the Lois blossoms (my blessing). 

I sure hope, should I have to make such decisions for my parents, I will have the same grace and poise as my friend.  I don’t have a field of peonies to remember my baby cousin by but I will treat the sweet memories of the kiddo my heart loves as the first beautiful blooms of every season.

This was created for Nadeana as her entry into the Headstart cookbook that year.  I never thought it odd that she should have a dish named after her.  It was a Na thing. 

The flower business is still in my friend's family.  The flowers were wonderful and all of my office mates got joy from her gift.  We also got the story so it was a great couple of days all the way around! 

PSALM

If you didn’t know this; I’m really a crybaby.  I cry at good 30 second commercials; when I see sweet things happen between folks in relationship; when I think about folks and situations that have deeply touched me; and sometimes when the missing of loved ones (that have moved to glory) takes me under.

I remember the first time I saw Mel Gibson’s (okay the only time) Passion of the Christ.  My son and I went together.  He was a young teenager – hanging with his moms.  Oh how I cried, flinched, got angry, sat in awe of the depth of the sacrifice made on my behalf, and cried some more.  I clearly concluded…”Ya’ll better be glad I wasn’t called in Jesus’ place cause ya’ll sure would have been lost!” 

Yes, the story was heart wrenching and the beatings were truly traumatizing but I tell you the truth (little King James Version for your day) those are not the things that really messed me up in that movie.  No, the thing that got me was this:

Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

John 15:13

I could add a lot more here.  I could tell you I can hear the ole saints at church shouting, “Good God!, Great Day in the Moring!, Glory!, and Hallelujah!  But, I’d rather invite you to celebrate with me - that Christ is Lord and He has RISEN!

Toiz Psalms to God ©

5/18/04

My Friend, my Savior and my God.

You are everywhere and in everything.

You are the great I AM, the Bright and Morning Star, The Living Word.

Truly you are worthy to be praised and I praise you Father – not for what you’ve done for me-

But because you are God and God all by yourself.

I’m so thankful for your intercessions on my behalf.  You’re so lovely, so mighty, just, faithful, magnificent, gracious and awesome!

Lord, I appreciate the gifts of tests you send my way because I understand that you trust me to be successful at passing the test – and you will be glorified in the process.

Jesus, you’re my revelation and my comforter.  You are Holy, honorable and everlasting.  I’m grateful for your patience.  You are the lover of my soul and I’m so humbled by your persistence.

My Father, you’re my creator, you’re the creator of all!  You’re good, strong, pure and the prefect-or of peace.

You’re so involved, so big, unchanging, reliable, so precious, fair and sweet!

You surprise me Father with your fierce vengeance for me.  You are my re-regard.  I know you’ve got my back against temptation.

I thank you Lord for your correction.  I know you love me and that you are love.  You’re a burden bearer, a way maker and a healer.

You are all powerful, the anointed one and you are able to do the unimaginable.

You are my encouragement and I will be victorious because you are my provider.

Amen

CIRCLES, CONSTELLATIONS & SKIPPJON JONES!

Let me begin by apologizing to my mother and dear friend and co-worker LM.  The mini hero I’m about to tell you about makes them sick (actually, I think my joy over the mini hero is what gets to them).  I “met” Skippjon Jones© many years ago.  When I met him he was teaching children colors and shapes in books so I didn’t realize a thing about the whole world of Skippyjon Jones© although I wondered about his funny looks.  I liked the way his name rolled out of my mouth when I would read the book to my little friends at work.  Around the same time, one of my cousin’s got a teacup little dog (yes I know teacup = little but the dog was really little) who looked suspiciously like Skippyjon Jones©.

Anyway, as I often do, I’ve digressed;  I went to the teacher/parent conference (yes, I do know it’s parent/teacher but I figure they call the meeting so it’s really teacher/parent conference) only to run into the annual book fair.  I love books! I found a Skippyjon Jones© book and bought it without flipping through the pages. 

It was upon reading the book I learned about the world of Skippyjon Jones©.  He’s a cat not a dog (which explained his funny ears) but he thinks he looks more like a Chihuahua so he says that’s what he is.  He’s a really cool kiddo that has a stick horse and imaginary playmates.  The book I had (someone has my book but no one is confessing – the children are tired of me asking about it and I guess based on my tone they automatically know what I’m about to ask for because they respond “we don’t have your book”) my sweet little hero steals bones from the dog next door. 

His mother tells him he best put them back but he ignores her.  The next thing you know, the dog is at the door and my hero wakes up on the couch with a Band-Aid on his head asking what happened?   I love the little dude’s imagination, his stick horse and I love that his mother let him experience some natural consequences.

Anyhoo; somehow (I can’t imagine how it happened) my co-worker’s became aware of my luv for Skippyjon Jones©.  One co-worker gave me a puzzle book of him as she thought me and the children would enjoy it (as if I’d let them touch my book) and another co-worker showed me my cute little hero’s animated stories (that did it) and even found me the cutest little stuffed Skippyjon Jones©.

However,  my joy over being with my little hero daily made some folks jealous in the office and he was kidnapped! I received a ransom note but didn’t have time to adequately respond to it.   I took it well for a little while but thought I would have to file a police report when he was gone for two weeks.  I gathered forensic evidence upon his return and planned to call some investigators I know to come in and sweep the building (if they had time to join our fun and games) but, things got busy and I didn’t get the chance.  I also got smart and figured out whoever stole him knew what a fool I was acting over my cute little stuffed doll so I calmed myself and tried to let it go so they couldn’t have power over me! 

The next thing that happened was there was an office auction and I was gifted a beautiful (tongue in cheek - she has scary eyes) grey cat (I thought to keep Skippyjon Jones© company like a surrogate mother) but later learned the cat had devious plans for my little hero.  Then…. he was stolen again!

By that time, the tension in the building over pending and looming changes were too deep for me to get into the game of investigating who stole my Skippyjon Jones© but he was never far from my mind.  Okay, I bet you’ve guessed that I work with a bunch of NUTS!  But we sit with and and wade through a great deal of trauma with the Soldiers and Families we serve so comedic relief is welcomed. 

There are always changes in life.  We’ve experienced some and I will not be working daily with some women that I’ve grown to respect and care deeply for which saddens my heart.  I admitted (I think I knew but just admitted) that I really don’t adjust well to change but I’m leaving it in my resume as a strength – smile. 

On the last day we were all together; Skippyjon Jones© and I were reunited (and it feels so good)!  It was the culprit I thought it was or was it?????  I don’t think I will ever know because as she was in my office so was another co-worker who had previously been involved in the kidnapping of my mini hero (somehow). 

Although I can’t fully digest how much my day job will stretch and change, I know I will miss them.  They’ve added a great deal to my professional and personal growth.  We’ll never be the same constellation again.  I will miss the laughs but most of all I will just miss them. 


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MelPKaT8PpU

MY WELTSCHMERTZ AND THE SOLIDER

Sometimes we simply fail to speak one another’s language.  When this happens we encounter a failure to communicate.  This can create disconnect and a level of frustration with self and the other. 

I recently attended an event at work.  I will tell you the truth, it was with mixed feelings that I made my personal plans to attend.  However, one of my true loves is the theatre and the closer the event got the more excited I became. 

I was excited to be back in the beloved theater and I was also excited to see the performer.  I was excited to see him because of the TV shows he’d played characters in.  Thinking about those shows brought back very happy and fond memories of my Grandmother and time I’d shared with her and my Grandfather. 

I really didn’t know what the one man show was going to be about but as it unfolded, I was deeply touched by the message.  I looked around at those that attended and it appeared that they too appreciated the message.  But a portion of my heart was saddened. 

Generally, I believe those that show up are the ones that the message was meant for.  However, I couldn’t help but think that we’d somehow managed to not get the news out to some of those that desperately needed it. 

I don’t often speak about my job. I do a lot of belly aching over the minor irritations we all experience on the job.  My office is too cold; my office is too hot; some body’s coffee is burning; how many times does the same piece of information have to be shared before everyone understands; one more email and I’m going wacky in this place; who gave out my phone number; is it Friday yet… blah, blah, blah. 

And I must admit that the tension level in the work place has increased between the needs of our clients, the demands of Command, clashes with co-workers, and the realities of the budget.  In the last few weeks, I’ve been downright cranky!  But I don’t often speak about my job in terms of those my co-workers and I serve.

We serve Soldiers and their Families.  Some of them are very young and already have the great responsibility of Duty and parenthood.  Some are very far away from their Families and have not made meaningful, helpful connections in the area.  Some don’t have Family to reach back to and are struggling to find their feet in the place and time they currently find themselves. 

Some of them came to the Army with many pounds of weighty emotional & psychological baggage that has been further impacted by the demands of their jobs.  Some have had their limits tested by the job and find themselves far from being who they once were – and not in a healthy way. 

Some trusted that they’d found the truest love of their life but the everyday demands have dimmed the love and they can’t find their ways back to each other.  Some find old addictions raging full force and some develop new addictions – places and things they never thought would be a part of their lives – all in an effort to make sense of their present reality.  They find themselves turning into the very people they never thought they would be; the enemy of themselves, their spouses, their children – their Family. 

Some of these families have children and spouses with extreme special needs and the Army affords them the ability to get their beloveds top of the line medical care…but it’s still hard to juggle everything they face.  Finances are often very tight.  Despite the misconception that Soldiers are rolling dough – they really don’t get paid much for all they’re asked to do. 

I don’t know about you – I know someone has to serve – I’m grateful it isn’t me.  Until I worked for the Uncle – I just didn’t understand how much we ask of Soldiers – young people and for the most part – they carry it well. 

I also don’t often speak of the dedication my co-workers have.  I’m talking about some folks that work all the work and keep on ticking.  There are times when as a whole team we feel discouraged and unable to continue but some Soldier or Family will approach with a need and we get the job done. 

My co-workers are very conscientious.  We spend a great deal of time assessing the ethics of things.  We’ve tapped one another and anyone else we thought might hold the key to the solution the Family before us has a need of receiving.  We’ve been known to use our own resources too. 

Sometimes to cope – we develop elaborate plans to change the world.  Sometimes these themes are incorporated into our internal language and keep us chuckling for a while.  Other times, we just cry. 

I don’t want to get too deep into it but I do want you to know this is the first job I’ve ever had where the Man of God is a major part of the team.  They are a major pillar in Army Community.  The Chaplaincy has much integrity and I really like the Chaplains I’ve had the opportunity to work with. 

So, you may be wondering how we do the “job.”    Our goal is to assist these Soldiers and their Families in such a way that we prevent child abuse/neglect and spouse abuse; but should an incident happen (before or after we meet) then we work to help them to heal and to not re-experience such an incident again.
 
“Wow,” I can hear you saying.  “Now, just how do you do that?”  And that my friend is the crux of this piece.

We have lots of plans, lots of classes, lots of good advice and fantastic support to offer.  However, all services are rendered to those that voluntarily opt to participate.  We can’t seem to come up with a snappy (and appropriate – you know we have some ideas - smile) phrase to see the idea of don’t beat/neglect your children and don’t beat your spouse. 

Somehow, we’ve managed to miss the language of our Soldiers and Families.  I also fear our focus is on the less important matters which also keep us further away from speaking the “right” language.    

This makes me anxious.  As a country, we failed to connect in a meaningful way with a significant number of Soldiers that served in Vietnam.  I’d hate to be among those that fail to do the same with this new generation of war fighters. 

The failure to do so all those many years ago is still reverberating through our society.  Many individuals and Families were and have been forever changed. 

And suddenly, it occurs to me that maybe the real problem is that we’re speaking.  Maybe the real solution is in the connection and our willingness to stand with Soldiers and their Families as they move through these places in their lives.

My co-workers and I have an opportunity to make a connection – I don’t want to fail.  I pray we don’t fail this time; but periodically, I feel weltschmerz even though I know God is in control and so very Able.    

Weltschmerz ?: 

• A mental depression or apathy caused by comparison of the actual state of the world with an ideal state
• Sadness or melancholy at the evils of the world; world-weariness
• Literally; world pain

The Event: 
The production was called, Above The Call Beyond The Duty by James McEachin.  You can visit http://abovethecallbeyondtheduty.com/ for more information. 

TRANSLUCENCY

I wrote the following in September of 2011.  I entered it into a magazine contest.  No, I didn't win but I was pleased that I followed through and entered it on time - smile.  My mother hates being my muse but you tell me... am I wrong?  What a chick she is!  I want to wish you all a wonderful Valentines Day.  Please celebrate the love you have with all that you have. 

A question was posed regarding when one first truly understood love.  I pride myself on being “hip,” up-to-date and able to speak with compassion and conviction on such deep matters as “what is love” and decided the question was one I should be able to answer.  As I began to consider the topic and formalize my response, I very quickly learned that I didn’t have an answer. 

In fact, for weeks (which turned to months), I wrestled over the posed question and actually found myself a bit frightened by the continuing blank I kept drawing.  After all, for years, I’d searched for the elusive, seemingly unattainable romantic “love” to only see it dissipate in the palm of my heart when it showed itself to be anything but love. 

But, “COME ON!” I’m reasonably intelligent, a fast learner, willing to admit the areas I need further growth, kind, caring, giving, compassionate, direct, and capable of loving and deserving love in return.  I just knew I could answer this question! 

However, during the more quiet times, I began to ask myself could it be that I’ve been unable to capture romantic “love” because I didn’t really know what it would be like when I found it?  Honestly, I was feeling mighty defeated by the posed question:  “when did I truly first understand love?”  I got very frustrated with myself!  How complicated could this really be? 

ALL RIGHT!  ALL RIGHT!  ALL RIGHT!

Did I first understand love the day I was told that I was expecting and I felt an immediate connection to my sweet little baby?  Or was it the time my son pulled me to the side, looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Mom, I’m so proud of you” for a community project I’d developed with some friends? 

Perhaps it was the day I watched my beloved Grandmother decide if she would attend the funeral of her youngest child.  I watched her vacillate between going and not going as her health was failing and she was being told it would be too much for her.  I watched her hold her head high and march out of the house in a bright suit to be present at the celebration of her baby’s move to Glory.  

Was it the time my great Aunt turned the layout of her house totally around because it would make things easier for my great Uncle and his many medical needs?  Was it the time, as a child, we all swooped out of state because my cousin was killed in a tragic manner; to include my father who was visiting me in person for the first time I could remember? 

Was it when I watched my firstborn as she got her adult feet planted well beneath herself?  Or the time I thought my heart was going to be pounded to powder as I listened to my son wail through the vents in our home because his heart had been so deeply wounded by his beloved father?

Was it the time that I heard the confession of my great-Auntie about the way she’d treated some of her nephews when they were young; and her dismay that one of those boys – then a man by many decades – embraced her and told her how good it was just to see her?  Or, was it the times I stayed on the phone late into the night with my other great-Auntie as she told me the story of her life one tragedy after the other; and absorbed that her greatest regrets were about her relationships with her children and other relatives; and the existing unwillingness or inability to accept that she’d tried her best? 

Could my first understanding of love have been the day I held my grandbaby for the very first time?  Was it my first look at my 2 month pre-maturely born baby niece in the incubator; and being so sure God had jokes because the little baby smiled at me and I knew I’d have to be actively involved in her life?

I just had never seen such a small human and was worried that she would stop breathing!  I would rush in her room each morning only to find the most beautiful little hand sticking in the air with all five fingers extended to tell me “hold up chick – I’m still sleeping – don’t come in here with all of that noise.” 

Was my first true understanding of love cemented in my anger as I peered into the infant incubator that held my little niece that weighed 3 pounds and 1 ounce; as her parents stood by smelling to high heaven of cigarette smoke?  My anger being further fueled by knowing they’d passed by other babies that too fought for their very lives - increasing those babies breathing difficulties too? 

Was it the day my nephew told me that I got to be his mother for the day?  Or the fact that he cries for me when he feels sick and it twists my heart if I can’t get to him fast enough? 

Maybe it was the time my infant grandson, at the age of five or six months moved his little hand to my eye (I just knew he was going to give me a little punch in it due to lack of coordination) and then rubbed my eyelashes.  I was filled with warmth and amazement because his mother knew and told me he liked eyelashes and the fact that he gained control of that little chubby hand and was so very gentle. 

WHEN DID I FIRST TRULY UNDERSTAND LOVE?!?

I just couldn’t rest until I found an answer to the posed question that made sense to me.  See, I thought I understood the value, taste, texture and power of love.  I certainly have spent a fair amount of time chasing the most elusive romantic “love,” and actively participating in intimate relationships with my children, parents, extended family and circle of dear sister/friends & brother/friends.  SURELY, I CAN ANSWER THIS STUPID QUESTION!

I kept working the issue and then one day, in the midst of a few quiet moments my fogginess cleared and I knew that despite my 46 years of life; I truly hadn’t understood “love” until my 45^th year of life.  The truth of “love” crystallized for me on the day I received an email from my mother.  It was a letter she had begun for her six nieces and nephews regarding “their story” and how they came to be raised by her and my father.

At the tender age of 30, my parents accepted the commitment to raise the five children of my Aunt who suffered with severe mental illness.  One year later, the sixth child born to that Aunt joined the crowd.   

The years were long and they were lean.  My parents, with my grandparents support, had to fight for support and assistance to keep the children together.  All was not perfect, but my parents offered their all. 

The children grew up, graduated from high school and some even went on to earn college degrees.  They began having families of their own and life kept moving.    

Perhaps it is my career field, but I have not encountered many people who didn’t have a complaint (whether considered legitimate or not) about what they thought should or could have been better in their childhoods. Although there were times after the children were grown that a few returned to say “thank-you;” they projected an overall negative feelings about what they felt they didn’t get growing up. 

As I read the letter, I was reminded of the years; how much food cost weekly; spending half a day at the laundry mat doing laundry.  How happy we were when we finally got a washer and dryer!  I remember all that and so much more. 

I’m sure they don’t remember, but I’ve seen my mother shed tears of fear and concern over some of those children when they made decisions that put them at risk as teenagers.  I’ve seen my mother shed tears in anger and frustration with her sister; but not once tell her that she couldn’t come to our house to see her children. 

I also know that even now, whenever my Aunt needs things, she contacts my mother.  When it’s possible, my mother helps her sister; and when not - my Aunt hurls hateful, angry words and accusations at my mother. 

And do you know my mother has never once reminded her sister that she gave over twenty years to raise her children because my Aunt wasn’t able to do it?   My parents did this because they loved them and it was important that the children stayed together and in our family.

I asked her why she didn’t remind her sister of this true fact and her response was very simple and yet profound at the same time; she said, “I forgot.” 

And then I understood love is translucent.