Oh hello blog, I've been denying you lately. Life has been busy, with finishing my Master's and on top of that it's the holidays, but those are piss poor excuses for the self-deprivation of my creative outlet. You, blog, will carry on without my musings but my cup is pouring over with thoughts that need a permanent place.
And here I am...you knew I'd be back.
It's the holidays. The purpose of holidays has served me well because I can't help but feel privileged for the family I have created around me. I have handfuls and pocketfuls of people I am grateful for and this post is in honor of them. There's a saying that floats around that goes something like this: “It takes a village to raise a child.” It only takes a couple seconds to understand the meaning, complexity, time, money, and energy it takes to have a baby and than raise him or her into an adult (and hopefully a non-deliquent adult). This quote speaks to the grandparents, teachers, doctors, coaches, librarians, driving school instructor, and the rest of the obvious ones. We need professionals, and non-professionals, to help us raise our children. Period. It is arrogant of us to think we can raise children alone. When misery attacks; ask for help. I learned to ask for help at an early age, when my mother had me in group therapy at 8 years old for children of parents with terminal cancer. Needless to say, I know how to ask for help. And now I'm in the profession of being the help.
Being a child doesn't require one to be grateful, although I hope it is still instilled. I didn't know what it meant to be grateful (even though I felt it inside) to the mothers who dropped food off at our door when my mom had chemotherapy. I didn't know how to be grateful to the parents of friends who let me stay at their houses for days at a time and oftentimes disrupt their family holiday traditions. I didn't know how to be grateful to my brothers for shielding my eyes to the sickness that drenched our house. I didn't know how to be thankful for the friends at school who would ask how I am doing. Or to the nursing aids who relieved my mom of the duty to take care of my dad. Or to the mental health professionals who helped me make sense of mortality and also, how to make sense of my brothers. I didn't know how to be thankful to the doctors, the nurses, the specialists, the crowd of people who cheered, applauded, encouraged, and loved us.
I know now, that without those people above, there would be no healthy minded me. Grateful.
It took a village to take my parents hands and walk them on mortality's road; to help them say goodbye to us (their children), to make them comfortable with their failing body's, to assist them in feeling spiritually empowered, and to ensure the lives of their survivors would continue to thrive without them. It took frozen meals and otherwise saved mileage to pick us kids up or drive her to chemo. It took the Schwan's guy (his name was Terry) to fill our basement freezer by himself so my mom wouldn't have to go down the stairs on her sick days. It took the garbage man to honk his horn when he arrived at our house; my mom would open the garage door so he could pull our garbage can and recycling from the garage for us, bring it back, and than close the door behind him. It took reading clubs that turned into support groups. It took neighbors mowing the yard, anonymous cards full of cash or gift cards, offers of grocery shopping for us, and people willing to give any amount of time to the needs of us.
You know what's amazing about this village analogy? My mom needed the village but she was also part of the village. She used to buy Thanksgiving meals for people who didn't have one. But not only that, she hosted some meals too. I will never forget our last Thanksgiving together when my mom invited two of my dad's friends from the MS Achievement Center to our house. It made sense; with our ramp in the back of the house and the accessibility of bathrooms and bedrooms. We had four people show up instead of two people; that's five wheelchairs. It appeared that dad had taken a role call, assessing who had home cooked meals and who didn't, and invited all who would benefit from my mom's meal. When mealtime came, all three of us kids were feeding someone else, and ourselves. This taught me the value of family, the value of help, and the value of a village to raise an adult.
So it goes; it takes a village to raise a child. I argue now; it takes a village to raise an adult. When I was a child living in a home with two terminally ill parents, people answered the call of help. They saw us from miles away, in every season and in every city. We were catered to for being a sick family. And now, as an adult with a small child and family members that I am not quite close to or dependent on, people have noticed my need for help. The call has been less silent and obvious as when I was a child but it's still there, like a whisper. And people have come running just as they used to.
Bear with me please, this might take a moment.....
This holiday, I am grateful for the mom's (Chris F. & Maryann S.) of my friends who give me “mom hugs” exactly when I need one and the dad's (John S., Dave B., & Scott A.) who are protective of me despite trying not to be. To Megan, who is my confidante, my sounding board, my ally, my contender, and my other mother. To Doug, for being my constant protector. To Cole, for teaching me through his innocence how to be a child in an adult world. To Allie, who has shared her home with me to share secrets and laughter and to rest well under the shelter of her love. To Kari, who without, I'd be less of a person; less me, less rational, and less able to find the humor in life's seriousness. To my teachers, who push me to think harder, to live to my potential that they see but sometimes I don't. To Deb and Alan, for being the most wonderful grandparents to the most wonderful daughter and for supporting my desire to continue my education and offering their time and energy to see it to fruition. To Derek, who is an adoring dad to our daughter, who trusts and supports my mommying decisions and who constantly strives to be a better daddy than yesterday. To my brothers, through their words and actions have taught me lessons that no textbook ever could. To the Kerns and their graciousness to my family. To Pat's commitment to my dad and the support he has selflessly given my brother's and I. To Sande and Dave and their infallible friendships to my parents, and their unwavering love for me. To Tina, for being my “lifer” friend, whose constant calm and drive serves as an inspiration and motivation to be a better person, friend, student, mother. To Jimmy, for being the brother that I have always needed but never knew I needed. To Ally, for teaching me that friendship knows no qualifications. To Ann and her kids, for being a pillar of strength to each other. To the Farley's for the countless nights spent in their home, the meals that I devoured at their table, and the unmatched friendship that I established with Kelly which got me through the greatest heartache's of my childhood. To the Massey's, for opening their home to me where I healed in their humor before I spread my wings to be a college student. To Karen, for letting her heart and home be my refuge. To Josh, Pat and John; three unexpected friendships I have established in Graduate School to men who have pushed my motivations, expectations, and learning. To Laurie, for welcoming me into her family as if I have been a fixture for years. To Alex, for teaching me how to love unconditionally and be loved unconditionally; for supporting my unconventional life and taking me into his life with both arms and his whole heart, and for teaching me that my pipe dreams don't have to be dreams at all. And last but not least, to Nollie, for pushing my limits, encouraging my constant growth of being human, and for seeing me in all my flaws as the most beautiful mommy ever.
This is my village. Thank you.
