Sunday, November 6, 2011
Moms and Volcanoes
It is 2:22 am this Sunday morning, November 6, 2011, which means just yesterday morning it would have been 3:22 am. After lying in bed for a whole 10 minutes after an episode I promise you will NEVER make it into any of my suspenseful romance novels, the writer in me wouldn't let me rest. I finished Ruth Myers' NO GAME FOR A DAME just a few hours ago and had written a review which will be posted in the next few hours. As I was sleeping and dreaming of the very well-written final shootout in Ruth's book, I was suddenly awakened by wet projectiles landing on my torso, face, and arms. I jumped out of bed waking to the realization that the projectiles hitting me weren't the bullets I was dreaming about. They were too wet and stinky. My 9 year old son had climbed into bed with me since he wasn't feeling well. I didn't feel like kicking a kid out of bed in the wee hours of the morning, so I let him stay. Two washers full of bedding later, I am left pondering whether I should spend the rest of the night on the couch or back in my bed where I might just end up the receiving end of a human 9 year old masquerading as a vomiting volcano. I'll probably go back to my own bed and try to guide my poor sick little guy to the bathroom for his next episode, for I know there will be more. He is the seventh one in the family to come down with this particular flu bug. Joys of motherhood. No one ever told me I'd be the Pompeii of an erupting Mt. Vesuvius of vomit. I wouldn't trade my life for anything, but I might just hide under the covers next time.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
After My Son's Suicide by Darla Isackson
What a wonderfully well-written book! It shares Darla's journey through grief and the resources she found to ease her journey. Even though I haven't had to endure the excruciating pain of losing a child to suicide, I have been through my own trials. This is a valuable resource for anyone who is going through loss. Jeffrey Jackson is quoted as saying, "Your hope lies in getting through it, putting your loss in its proper perspective, and accepting your life as it now lies before you, forever changed." There are some things that are so internally painful that you are truly "forever changed." There is no way to get over a loss like that, but there is a way to survive and thrive, and Darla has written about the ways to achieve healthy survival. Highly recommended.
Friday, September 9, 2011
9/11 Changed Our World
As any adult who witnessed the terrorist act, I remember clearly where I was and what I was doing. I was teaching pre-school that morning. Joy School. I had a house full of small children at the time. My TV was off. No radio was blaring. I was blissfully unaware that a tragic event was unfolding as I was singing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" with the group.
My answering machine picked up the call, as it often does. It was my sister, her voice in a panic. "Have you watched the news? An airplane has hit a building in New York." It wasn't the Twin Towers to any of us then. No one in my circle of friends was familiar with the landmark. New York City wasn't in our vision. Our vision was focused on mountains and schools and local churches. New York City was a foreign country. Not even remotely attached to the life I was living. Everything changed that day.
"Play time." I said brightly. The children squealed with delight and headed down the hall to a room full of toys. While they were occupied, I flipped on the TV set and watched a familiar scene play out. Two more calls were fielded by my answering machine. Another sister and my mom.
I didn’t pick up the calls. I was riveted by the scene unfolding before me. I'd seen this three previous times - in dreams. The airplanes hitting the buildings were exactly as I'd seen them. I'd wondered at the time what kind of symbolism rode in planes crashing into buildings. What psychological pain was I carrying to be sending me such a vivid and terrifying dream? And here it was playing all over again. I had always started awake after the planes hit and I saw people running in terror away from the burning buildings.
I'd never seen the scene that followed. I stood, shaking, as I watched the beautiful tall buildings collapse in on themselves. I'd only seen buildings collapse like that in planned demolitions. To watch it happen knowing there were living people inside was anguishing. I felt for them. I felt for their families. I felt for all the other millions of people around the world watching the events unfold.
As the children wandered into the living room to play with their chosen toys, I shut the TV off. I didn't want Joy School to be emblazoned in their minds as the place they learned about the evils mankind can visit upon each other.
A neighbor called, wanting reassurance and another adult to talk to. Once again, I chose to not involve the children in the event. I suggested she could come over after Joy School was over, but I didn't want to talk about the events in front of the children. Our horror could wait. It had to. This was an adult tragedy beyond any I had experienced. It wasn't something I had a right to traumatize the children with.
I don't know how my children feel about that day. We don't talk about it a lot. About the attack. About the eerily silent skies for days after the event while planes were forbidden to fly.
Our world has changed. Our children will never know a world where the United States was never attacked. Hawaii wasn't a state yet when she was attacked. As horrible an event as Pearl Harbor was, Hawaii wasn't part of the Union. New York City, even though she was outside my peripheral vision, is America. We were attacked. Life will never be the same.
My answering machine picked up the call, as it often does. It was my sister, her voice in a panic. "Have you watched the news? An airplane has hit a building in New York." It wasn't the Twin Towers to any of us then. No one in my circle of friends was familiar with the landmark. New York City wasn't in our vision. Our vision was focused on mountains and schools and local churches. New York City was a foreign country. Not even remotely attached to the life I was living. Everything changed that day.
"Play time." I said brightly. The children squealed with delight and headed down the hall to a room full of toys. While they were occupied, I flipped on the TV set and watched a familiar scene play out. Two more calls were fielded by my answering machine. Another sister and my mom.
I didn’t pick up the calls. I was riveted by the scene unfolding before me. I'd seen this three previous times - in dreams. The airplanes hitting the buildings were exactly as I'd seen them. I'd wondered at the time what kind of symbolism rode in planes crashing into buildings. What psychological pain was I carrying to be sending me such a vivid and terrifying dream? And here it was playing all over again. I had always started awake after the planes hit and I saw people running in terror away from the burning buildings.
I'd never seen the scene that followed. I stood, shaking, as I watched the beautiful tall buildings collapse in on themselves. I'd only seen buildings collapse like that in planned demolitions. To watch it happen knowing there were living people inside was anguishing. I felt for them. I felt for their families. I felt for all the other millions of people around the world watching the events unfold.
As the children wandered into the living room to play with their chosen toys, I shut the TV off. I didn't want Joy School to be emblazoned in their minds as the place they learned about the evils mankind can visit upon each other.
A neighbor called, wanting reassurance and another adult to talk to. Once again, I chose to not involve the children in the event. I suggested she could come over after Joy School was over, but I didn't want to talk about the events in front of the children. Our horror could wait. It had to. This was an adult tragedy beyond any I had experienced. It wasn't something I had a right to traumatize the children with.
I don't know how my children feel about that day. We don't talk about it a lot. About the attack. About the eerily silent skies for days after the event while planes were forbidden to fly.
Our world has changed. Our children will never know a world where the United States was never attacked. Hawaii wasn't a state yet when she was attacked. As horrible an event as Pearl Harbor was, Hawaii wasn't part of the Union. New York City, even though she was outside my peripheral vision, is America. We were attacked. Life will never be the same.
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