Still Broken

November 10, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Well, it has been a week…not even a week yet. Fuck. My wife asked me how I was doing on Wednesday or Thursday, and I said I felt overwhelmed. She asked me why, as in specific reasons, not questioning my emotions. I said, “I don’t know…the end of our democracy.” And that silenced us both.

Since then, my fears have just multiplied. You may ask, “Why?” I will lay it out for you:

*Putin, seeing the election results, said that a “new world order is forming.”

*The plan for mass deportation of undocumented migrants in this country regardless of circumstances or the devastating impact on the economy.

*A federal judge striking down Biden’s program for undocumented spouses, as illegal. The program designed to keep families together.

*The undoing of the constitutional right to reproductive healthcare, including the right to an abortion.

*The blatant plan to reverse marriage equality.

*Texts sent to Black Americans telling them they have “been selected to pick cotton” at a nearby plantation. These texts went out to adults, as well as, college and high school students. And these texts were not just in Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana the states considered the deep south…were I guess people expect such racism, seriously? They were sent in New York, California, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Wisconsin, and Michigan. And that is not the entire list. What is happening?

*The rise of fear, anger, and hate, and a growing attitude of us vs them. The use of those emotions as weapons to pit us against each other…even when what we are hearing is not true.

*The supreme court granting the president almost complete unchecked power. The branches of government designed to act as the checks and balances of presidential power no longer function that way.

*The President Elect already preparing pardons for the January 6Th rioters who attempted to overthrow our government and disrupt the peaceful transition of power. People died that day. 174 police officers were injured. One was killed.

*Elon Musk promised a cabinet position where he will cut the federal budget by 3 trillion dollars. And they have told us that people will suffer.

*RFK Jr. will oversee the Department of Health…and specifically women’s health. There is nothing that makes less sense than a man appointed to make the rules or guidelines for women’s health. He is an unapologetic anti-vaccination and conspiracy theorist…which could lead to the return of illnesses that previously were eradicated by vaccines.

*Referring to anyone who disagrees with the administration as the “enemy within” and the threat of using the armed forces against citizens of this country.

*And the last thing I am going to mention (and I could go on), the President Elect plans to destroy the Department of Justice and fire all career prosecutors, to remake the justice system in his image and use it against his enemies…that would be anyone who disagrees with him.

I feel like I am living in The Hunger Games…only this is no game. I love movies, but I do not want to live in them. They are fantasy and not real…except when the leader of our country wants to make it real. The elite having all the privilege, access, and opportunity and everyone else existing to meet their needs and keep them happy. And to entertain them…fooling themselves into thinking that the game you are entering is a privilege rather than an atrocity. But in the end, it took 3 books, Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, prevails…but a lot of shit goes down before that can happen.

Back in 2020 I wrote a blog called, “Broken.” At the time I was feeling devastated because of Covid and the tremendous loss of life and the murder of George Floyd. I am sharing the link here (http://karenraines.com/2020/06/03/broken/) because I am still broken. We are broken. Our country is broken. It is easy now to feel like everything is out of our control and there is nothing we can do, but that is not true. This week I joined the ACLU and signed up to volunteer. It’s a small step but it’s a step. We all must make ourselves keep moving forward.

Here’s the thing, I always write about love. Love as a guiding principle in my life. The need for love in our treatment of other people. Seeing people who may not be the same as us through a lens of love. Love conquers hate. Love is bigger than any person’s bigotry. Love produces more love. When we act with love for ourselves, our communities, our country, our world, our actions become compassionate, filled with kindness, and a desire to connect, not separate. We come to care for one another and want the best for each other…regardless of the color of your skin, what pronouns you use, who you love, where you’re from, or what language you speak. We see and share our common humanity. In the end, what matters is how we love people. We have some serious work to do.

Love is powerful and healing. We need some healing…some big fucking healing. Is that going to happen right now? I hope so but I think we are in for a rough road ahead. While fear, anger, and hate are in the oval office love will appear to be losing…but it will not lose.

Love has been on my mind all week and I’ve been confused on how to proceed. I do not feel loving right now. I am scared and angry. So, I turned to some teachers to find comfort and direction. Buddha said, “In this world hate never yet dispelled hate. Only love dispels hate. This is the law, ancient and inexhaustible.” And St. Francis had a beautiful prayer that can help us move in a positive direction. “Make me an instrument of your peace, Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury pardon; Where there is doubt, faith….that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; To be understood, as to understand; To be loved as to love.”

Now there are some marching orders. But I am not marching right now. I am staggering. We are staggering. I still feel a deep sense of shock and loss. We need to feel all the feelings and not rush ourselves to get over it. Take time. Time to care for yourself and those around you. Think about ways to get involved and stay involved. Imagine a world where equality is the norm, and everyone has the same opportunities. Imagine no racism, sexism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, elitism…all the isms and phobias eliminated. Picture that world. Create a picture in your mind or on a vision board. Look at in several times a day. Make it the first image of your morning and last image you see at night. Look at it and believe in the possibility…the possibility of real change. Let that image guide you to the next best step for you…for us. Remember, in the end all that matters is how we love people…especially when it’s hard. Love always wins. Let’s win together.

It’s Not You…Oh Wait…Yes It Is

September 11, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

So, I’ve been reading It’s Not You by Ramani Durvasula. It’s a book about healing from relationships with narcissistic people. It’s a very good book and I recommend it…if you, like me, are wanting to go down the rabbit hole of making sense of your life…processing shit and all that. As I’ve been reading, I keep thinking the name should be, “It’s not you…oh wait a minute, yes, it is.” The “you” being me. It makes me laugh, and cringe. The rabbit hole is not for the faint of heart.

One of the best things that I have learned from studying Buddhism is that I always need to look at myself first. Meaning that I cannot control anything but me, so I need to be aware of how I am interacting with myself, people around me, and the world…all the time. This completely changed my perspective, and it’s really fucking annoying. It’s so much easier and neater to blame someone else. I guess it’s the Buddhist equivalent of Jesus telling people not to worry about the speck in your neighbor’s eye when you have a log in your own. Get the log out and carry on. Leave your neighbor alone.

If you ever want to rid yourself of false beliefs about yourself, I can tell you a sure-fire way to crush all your illusions…move cross country to Florida with your parents and have them live with you. No more illusions about me. My wife and I were laughing last night about me telling her that I always thought that I was easy going, laid back, and that I just go with the flow. We were laughing because I am none of those things…not really at all…maybe if I tried hard…nope. My wife is all those things plus a slow Texas drawl…just to hammer it home. You have probably guessed by now that I tend to talk fast. I know it’s a shocker. We are speech opposites.

I always say that my English bulldog, Abby, is me as a dog. She can’t eat gluten either and she has joint problems like me. That’s just physical stuff. She has my attitude too. Abby wakes me up every morning between 7:15 and 7:45. She does this by coming to my side of the bed and talking to me. Her talking is a cross between a growl, a soft bark, whining, and any other sound she can come up with. And she does not stop until I do what she wants…scratch her ears. Then we get up and I take her out and then feed her. Now she does not eat when I feed her. She lays down for a while and then she comes and talks to me because she wants her medicine…meaning she wants the food I put the pills in. After her medicine she lays down and naps. About an hour later, the talking starts again. Now she wants some smoothie. I make them most days and she gets a little in her bowl. After her smoothie she sleeps. Around 3 she wants to go out again. Then she starts talking to me about her dinner. She eats at 5:00. She’s early and persistent. After dinner she wants her walk so she can go to bed. Abby cannot go for a walk until about 8 pm because it’s too hot for her. I spend 3 hours telling her it’s not time and that she must wait. Once her walk is complete Abby wants to go to bed. This is different than napping because she goes into the bedroom to sleep. The catch here is that she wants me to go to bed too. I actually say, out loud to her, “It’s too early and I’m not going to bed at 8 just because you want me to.” Eventually, she gives up and goes into bed…she’ll be back in an hour or so, to stare at me clearly annoyed and wondering if I’ll ever go to bed.

This is our schedule every day…every damn day. Abby likes a routine. She likes things the same day after day. She wants consistency in her schedule. She doesn’t like surprises or big changes…or little changes for that matter. Abby is not easy going and laid back…me either. She does not go with the flow, unless the flow involves extra food. I’m not so flowy either. Abby is stubborn. Me too. I think I get that from her. My mom told me once that I was stubborn, and I responded, “What did you expect? I was born to stubborn and stubborner.”

Moving my parents to Florida was an adventure for sure. I went to St. Louis two weeks before our actual move date to help them pack. Aside from packing, I was there to encourage my parents to downsize. They were going from a two-bedroom condo with just the two of them to a three-bedroom apartment where they only had the master bedroom. Aside from bedrooms, all the space was shared. Sharing was hard for them. Letting go was hard for them. After much arguing…well, they argued with me, I didn’t say much…they sold some of their furniture.

They had so much stuff and very unrealistic expectations of what it was worth…maybe not unrealistic so much as sentimental. Their furniture was beautiful but not what people were buying in 2022. They wanted hundreds of dollars for each piece and that is not what people pay when they buy used furniture. I understand this was difficult for them. I had just done the same thing to move from Colorado. It was a lot of change.

The day we moved in, after 3 days of travel, we were all tired and ready to be settled. I remember how this scene played out…. My dad was in his wheelchair in the middle of the family room and the movers were coming in with tons of boxes and furniture. The office was filled with boxes…stacked 3 or 4 high…and this was just their stuff. My stuff wouldn’t be here for a month. The family room was overflowing with furniture. There were two recliners, a full-size sofa, a huge coffee table, a hutch/desk with a chair, a buffet, two end tables, and a wooden chair. The movers could barely walk through to unload more boxes…everywhere. So many boxes.

I felt more and more overwhelmed as the stuff piled up. So, in my laid-back, go with the flow voice I announced, “We can’t keep all of this. It’s too much furniture. We have to get rid of some of it.” My father responded, angrily, “I’m not selling anymore of my god damned furniture! You gave enough of it away already. Nothing else is going!” To which I growled, “Then you’re gonna need a storage unit.” And with her own special flair for the dramatic, my mother said, “Go ahead and sell it! Sell it all! Tell the movers to put it back in the truck and take it to the dump.” Don’t you wish you had been there? I don’t…oh, but I was.

Eventually, we did laugh at this exchange, but it took a year for it to be funny. This story is important because it is the moment I began to realize that I had a distorted vision of myself. This idealized self was beginning to reveal itself to me, as false. To me it’s better to be easy going and laid back and because I value those qualities, I guess I decided I had them. No one wants to say, look at me, I’m a control freak and everything makes me nervous and anxious. Don’t you wanna be just like me?

If you want to deal with yourself honestly, come to Florida. It’s where all the false shit gets stripped away. Maybe it’s the humidity. It’s a hurricane for your self-image. The problem was, if my false self wasn’t me, who is me? I feel like I should have been asking this question about 40 years ago…I probably did, and I just don’t remember. I think the question of who we are comes up throughout our lives. Mainly in times of transition…like moving…or losing a job, the end of a relationship, getting married, having a baby, having another baby, kids leaving home, retirement, becoming a grandparent, death, our own, our parents, spouse, child…you get the idea.

Transitions are hard. Although, in my mind, if you are laid back and easy going, then transitions are a piece of cake. You don’t worry or fret because you take it all in stride. If you go with the flow, you have a fluid and flexible understanding of yourself. Things change and you’re fine because you knew things would change. Because they always do. You aren’t derailed because it was expected.

Change makes me anxious. I did not know I was an anxious person until recently. Until…you guessed it, Florida. Fucking Florida. My wife has asked me a couple times, when I may have seemed stressed or on edge, what I was anxious about. The first time I said I wasn’t anxious. I may have even said that I don’t have anxiety. Watch out for the lightening strike….

Anxiety feels bad to me. Not the actual anxiety, the label. In my mind, and speaking for me only, it means I’m weak. It is not okay for me to be weak. I can’t look or act weak. That would be bad. I must be strong…all the time. I don’t get taken care of; I take care of everyone else. I don’t need help; I do things on my own. I’m good in a crisis. I can handle an amazing amount of shit. People can count on me, and they know that.

Now that my anxiety has been labeled, I’m noticing it often…probably not as often as it happens but more than never, so there you go. I had been trying to put more words to this feeling. Explaining words, but I couldn’t find them. Until I reached a part in Stephanie Foo’s book, What My Bones Know, where she says that she’s always on edge…all the time. That’s what I feel. On edge. I’m on edge all the time. Because of that feeling, because I don’t like that feeling, I am always trying to anticipate any problem and solve it before it can rear its ugly head…before it’s a problem. For example, when I am checking out at a store, I have my wallet out and my debit card in my hand. I am ready and waiting. Why? Because I don’t want to make anyone wait for me or slow anyone down. I don’t want anyone mad at me. I’m on edge because of fear. Fear of anger, even from a stranger. I don’t want to be in anyone’s way. Maybe I’m afraid of taking up space in the world. Maybe I feel guilty that I take up space at all. I’m not sure. But that type of situation makes me anxious…puts me on edge.

I have been thinking that I should have named my blog, On the Edge, because that’s where I live. Or since I am trying to move, Off the Edge. I like to think that I’m packing to move off the edge. Permanently. But where does one go when they move off the edge? That’s the only home I’ve known. What do I bring besides my laid back, easy going self?

Now you may be expecting me to wrap this up, all happy…at least semi-happy…with a neat little bow of acceptance and understanding. But I don’t have anything like that in my back pocket. In fact, I don’t even have back pockets. If you were raised in a home with a narcissistic parent or guardian, you are familiar with the feeling of being on edge. You might have lived in a state of chronic tension and anxiety. Waiting for the next explosion of anger or rage from the narcissistic parent…or both parents as they feed off each other’s explosive emotions. On the edge was where I heard threats of abandonment and verbally, and sometimes physically, violent fights. I spent much of my life walking on eggshells. I was trying my best not to piss anyone off…and always scared I would.

My circumstances have changed. I am an adult now…mostly. I can care for and protect myself. I don’t need to be on edge now. But those fears still impact my reactions and my behavior. I still have anxiety…just ask Florida. I feel afraid of conflict. I hate fighting. I hate yelling. I hate screaming. I almost feel panicked. I am afraid for my physical safety and emotional safety in those situations…even if there is no actual threat to me.

Living with my parents opened my eyes to a lot of things. I was not aware that I’m always on edge. It helped me tremendously to read someone else’s description of their life and to realize she was describing me. I am learning to be aware of my body and what I am feeling. I can ask myself whether there is an actual threat to me in this moment. I can pay attention to my body, because my body feels the truth of the situation, regardless of what my mind is trying to sell me. I can ask myself, what is happening right now? What is triggering me? Is my anxiety reasonable or out of proportion to the situation?

The singer, Harry Chapin, famous in the 70’s, until his death, at 38, in 1981. He had a song called Circle, and in it he talked about our lives being a circle and that the seasons keep coming around again and time passes. I think he was onto something there. I think our lives are circles in another way too. The issues we struggle with come around over and over too. I have worked through difficult and painful situations, only to have them come around again, and again. The thing is each time the pain comes around it’s different…because I’m different. I have a different perspective than the first or second or three hundredth time I’ve looked at a difficult or hurtful pattern. The problem is changed because I am changed.

There’s the hope I see. Life is circular so I have numerous opportunities to change patterns. To strengthen relationships or let them go if they are harmful to me physically, emotionally, or mentally. I can control me. I cannot control anyone else…and God knows I’ve tried. So, what does that mean for me? It means I need to focus on me…how am I acting or reacting to what is happening around me? How am I interacting with myself, with other people, with the world in general? What is my body telling me? What is my mind saying to make sense of the current circumstances? What is the story I’m telling myself and is it true? Is the story based on facts or on fears?

I have the answers to all those questions inside of me…well, I’m 90% sure I do. I need focus on my own eye log and leave other people’s splinters alone. I need to be kind and compassionate with myself. To give myself the same grace that I am willing to offer to others. Love myself, even the parts of me that feel crazy sometimes. I deserve, for myself, the same love I would extend to another person. That love will lead me to greater understanding myself and others. I cannot love you, not really love you, unless I really love me first. Love is the answer. We can choose to allow love to guide us to our authentic and vulnerable true selves. We can risk opening and allowing. I can change. We can change. We have everything we need already.

Love is the answer to all the questions. Love moves me off the edge…if I allow it. I can see everyone and everything through the lens of love if I choose to. I knew love was the answer…because in the end all that matters is how we love people, including ourselves…starting with ourselves.

When I’m 64

June 26, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

So, I had a weird thing happen this week. First, it’s my birthday week. I currently have a line from a Beatles song in my head, “Will she still need me, will she still feed me when I’m 64.” And I’m about to find out…although she doesn’t usually feed me because she hates to cook. Anyway, my wife had to go back to Colorado for work. So, I am here in Florida, and she is far away in Colorado.

In case you want to feel sorry for me, don’t. I’m not here alone. My stepson, Justin, is here with me. He just moved here about 10 days ago…and of course we have the Bulldog sisters too. That’s our dog, Abby, and her sister, Presley. Presley is Justin’s dog. They are sisters but from different litters. They are so much alike it’s crazy. They are both so fucking stubborn. And they even sleep the same. It reminds me of the theme song of The Patty Duke Show…”they walk alike, they talk alike, what a crazy pair….” Yep, I’m 64 alright…and that show was in black and white. Anyway….

A few days ago, I noticed a package sitting on the table by our front door. It seemed like it just appeared there. I asked Justin about it, and he told me he brought it in the night before. I hadn’t noticed it until the morning. I thought it was strange that the package was addressed to my dad. My dad died almost a year ago…so he didn’t order it.

Being quite brave, I decided to open the package…the next day. Inside the package was a book called Walking the Himalayas. That was weird. I had wanted to read that book for a couple years. It was in my Amazon cart. There was no note in the box and no return address. It was really strange.

I puzzled over the package for a bit and then I came to the only reasonable conclusion…my dearly departed dad sent it to me. That had to be it! This makes sense for so many reasons…my dad died so no one is sending him gifts anymore. Also, there wasn’t a note with the book. And no one would send my dad a book because he couldn’t read anymore because of his macular degeneration. And finally, it’s a book I wanted and it’s my birthday. It was definitely from my dad. I told Justin all of that and he appropriately responded with, “Whoa.” Ya whoa!

I was pretty excited to share this news with my wife when we talked that night. I told her the story and all my well thought out reasons why the book was from my dad. She did not say whoa…she said something to the effect of, “oh, crap.” Not her exact words but the emotion was there. She then told me that my sister had texted her and asked what I’d like for my birthday. Gayle told her to look at my list on Amazon…I know you’re following me here. Then my sister told her she was sending a book, Walking the Himalayas, and it would be addressed to our dad but that it was for me…and I should not open it until my birthday.

Well, my sister thought the story was funny and she jokingly asked me to thank Gayle for her. When I shared that with Gayle, we both had a good laugh. I’m grateful for the gift from my sister…even though I opened it before my birthday. I’m sure my dad would have wanted me to.

So happy birthday to me and go Rays! I’m off to a baseball game today where I can be my geeky self and keep my scorecard. I appreciate all the love for my birthday…and it turns out she will still need me when I’m 64…I can feed myself. Remember that in the end all that matters is how we love people. So, let’s love enthusiastically.

Clinging to Pride

June 19, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Eight years ago last week, a man with a gun walked into Pulse Nightclub and murdered 49 people. 49 innocent people who were out dancing and having drinks with their friends. The gunman targeted Pulse Nightclub because it was an LGBTQ+ club. The gunman was looking for LGBTQ+ people to kill. He sought out queer people to kill (for simplicity I’m using the term “queer” here to cover the entire spectrum of the LGBTQ+ community). Of course, not everyone there was queer…because, in case you don’t know, queer people generally have straight friends…we don’t discriminate. 49 members of the community were gunned down for being queer or being friends with queer people.

It’s hard to remember Pulse Nightclub. It’s painful and traumatic. I didn’t live in Florida at the time, but it didn’t matter. LGBTQ+ people all over the country were as shocked and horrified as I was. I felt like we were being hunted…and we were. I think there were some questions about whether the gunman was gay. And I remember thinking, “you’d rather commit mass murder and die than be gay.” Seriously?! If that was true, it might be one of the saddest things ever.

Now, hold that thought in your head, Pulse Nightclub, 49 people dead, feeling hunted, the fear of going out…and imagine listening to a Supreme Court justice’s wife talk about how angry it makes her to look at a Pride flag in June. How much she hates it and wants to hang her own flag instead. And she described her flag (which she said she created in her mind) as white with yellow and orange flames framing the Italian word “vergogna” in the middle. The Italian word “vergogna” means “shame.” She created a flag in her head because she is so angry looking at the pride flag. Of course, first, she’d have to take down her US flag which she had hanging upside down at her house. She said this after almost daring the media to come after her because she’ll “get them.” Take that in for a moment…a US Supreme Court justice’s wife said that. And not just that, a US Supreme Court justice had the American flag hanging upside down at his own home. Just like the insurgents who stormed the US Capital on January 6th.

Now Justice Alito claims it was his wife who hung the flag upside down…way to throw her under the bus. There’s been statements from neighbors contradicting the justice’s report. He is also on tape talking about the necessity of returning to Christian nationalism, although this country was founded on religious freedom so it’s not a return, it’s a turn as far to the right as you can go. He also talked about not being able to really work with the other side…meaning people without his same views. Let me just say this…he’s a fucking US Supreme Court justice! His whole job is listening to different sides of arguments and applying the law fairly, regardless of his own opinions…which are supposed to remain private. That explains a lot about the current state of the Supreme Court.

I used to be intrigued by the Supreme Court and the justices. I admired them…some more than others. I got to hear oral arguments in front of them once, while I was in law school. They step out from behind the red curtains…it’s all very official, and intimidating. I used to read their decisions, and the dissenting opinions, to understand the laws that they were upholding or striking down. That was when I believed that the Supreme Court did uphold the constitution, legal precedents, and the settled law of this country. The legal term, as I was taught in law school, is “stare decisis” meaning “the thing is settled.”

Enter 2024, where the court overturned a 50-year precedent and the settled law of this country, because they personally object to abortion. They took away reproductive freedom from every woman in this country with that ruling. They also took away many options, sometimes the only option, women had for basic healthcare, because of all the clinics that were forced to close. And they have laid the groundwork to block access to gender affirming care for trans people…because women no longer have control over their own bodies. My ability to decide what I can and cannot do to my body has been stripped from me, stripped from all women. Perhaps the Supreme Court is going to make our decisions for us…we should have at least had a drink first, before the women of this nation were screwed. Healthcare is a personal matter. Reproductive healthcare even more so.

It’s Pride month and I want to be all out and loud and proud but I’m not. I’m scared. I’m scared for our country. I’m scared for all LGBTQ+ people in this nation. I remember when Jerry Falwell said that 9-11 was God’s punishment for homosexuality. I thought that was about as low as a person could go with their personal views. But WTF!?? Look who’s talking now! The impartial, not allowed to get involved in politics, 5 conservative justices of the Supreme Court. The ones who promised to be impartial and stated they would not overturn settled law… and they would not allow their personal beliefs to influence their decisions, even about abortion.

And they didn’t, until they actually started hearing cases…and then the precedents started to fall…Roe, affirmative action, bump stocks on guns…one by one they all fall down. And the always helpful, and rarely involved, Clarence Thomas, has said the court needs to revisit marriage equality…also settled law. Since when do the justices announce what kinds of cases they want so they can direct the laws and the country in the way they personally feel it should go? Never mind the 75% of people in this country who support marriage equality. And never mind that people in this country don’t get to decide whether they think I should have the right to marry the person I love or not. I don’t need your approval and frankly, I don’t want your opinion. It’s still illegal to legislate hatred.

We are a nation that has lost its way. We are an arrogant, self-righteous nation that is fucked up. And my wife and I are not the the problem. When 65% of republicans say voting for a convicted felon for president is not an issue to them…we have a problem. We are a nation that refuses to learn…or maybe we’re just reluctant to learn…or can’t see well with our heads up our asses. I’m angry. I’m angry and sad and scared.

It’s asinine to claim that you are upholding the constitution while you dismantle the very rights that are the law in this country…now past tense. If you want to stick with the framers of the constitution, which is the standard rational, then all the rights are for white men. The framers were interested in protecting the rights of wealthy, white, landowners…in other words, themselves. So, there would be no right to vote for women or any people of color, it would be illegal to be gay, we’d still have segregation, shit we’d still have slavery, if you stick with the framers. Because their concerns were for people like them. And be clear it’s men like them. The constitution is designed to be a living document that evolves as a country evolves, because the framers could not have imagined the world as it is now.

I heard President Biden talking about current issues with our country, or the leaders of our country, and he said they are “old ghosts in new garments.” My first thought was, who wears “garments?” No one since the 1800’s. But he’s right. We’re a better nation when our goal is equality…at least theoretically. We’re a better nation when we are moving forward and not recreating the mistakes of the past. We’re a better nation when all different people can marry…different races and same sexes. We’re a better nation when we don’t allow cruel and unusual punishment. When we require Miranda rights for people in police custody. When we acknowledge that all people should be equal, and we set our eyes on equality as our goal. Title IX, probable cause, the right to an attorney, non-discrimination, freedom of speech…and the list goes on. We’re a better nation when we follow our own fucking laws.

So, what do I do? What do WE do? Something’s gotta give or we’re in a huge crisis…more accurately, we’re in a huge crisis and I don’t want to see it spiral out of control anymore than it already has. I’m always talking about love but really what’s love got to do with it? RIP Tina Turner…it’s got everything to do with it. If I am loving my neighbor as myself, which is the golden rule after all, then I care what happens to you like I care what happens to me. I don’t want laws that hurt you anymore than I want to be hurt. I want you to have affordable healthcare. I want you to be free to make choices about your own body. I don’t want anyone to interfere with your right to vote and to have your voice heard. I want you to have equal access to schools, jobs, careers, housing, healthcare, and all the opportunities available in our country.

So that’s what I do. That’s what we do. We engage. We pay attention. We love when it would be so much easier to hate. We look for common ground…our common humanity. We look for the strands of the values we believe in within other people. We look for ways to unite our country, our communities, because they are so divided right now. We recognize that everyone wants to be loved. Everyone wants to be part of a community, to belong. Everyone wants to be safe and happy. We take baby steps toward understanding views that differ from our own. We look for commonalities rather than focus on differences. I understand that I am not the only person afraid in our country. I can empathize with others…we can empathize with others. We can be open minded, kind, compassionate, and honest. We can choose to love over and over again until love wins. Because love always wins…it must win. It’s the perfect time to remember that in the end all that matters is how we love people. Buddha said, “Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule.” Let’s try the eternal rule for a change.

Elbow Shemelbow

June 3, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Now this blog has a huge WTF!? factor…just so you know. I went to fetch my wife…sound southern, don’t I? I fetched her from yonder Colorado. (Of course, people in Florida don’t have southern accents.) Anyway, I drove out to Colorado for two weeks to visit my kids and grandkids and to bring my wife home. When we left Colorado, we drove to Texas to see my wife’s family. Fortunately, we did not get hit by a tornado, but it was close.

The evening we arrived, I noticed my arm was red. Specifically my left, elbow replacement arm, was red around my elbow. I didn’t think too much of it until the redness spread on Sunday. That’s when I showed my wife and became terrified that I might have an infection in my elbow. Apparently, I was told, you can get an infection in a joint replacement up to a year after the surgery. From reading I’ve done it can be many years after surgery. That’s scary.

So, on Memorial Day I called to talk to the on-call doctor back in Florida. He prescribed me some antibiotics and said I needed to be seen when I got home, and I needed to call if anything got worse. Cellulitis is what he called it. It’s a bacterial infection that is usually caused by a cut or some other opening in your skin…well, I don’t have any cuts, so I thought it didn’t sound so bad. Then I started reading about it in connection to joint replacements. Thank you very much google. According to the Mayo Clinic, Cleveland Clinic, and John’s Hopkins this type of infection almost always requires surgery to get the infection out and remove the infected joint. WTF!?

Now I’ve had a lot of surgeries in my life…approximately 45 on various joints. 13 on my elbow. I’m not so afraid of surgery. I’m afraid of what it would mean if I did need surgery. If my elbow replacement needs to be removed, besides the months of IV antibiotics, I won’t have an arm anymore. Nothing will replace the replacement. I’ll have an arm with no elbow so my arm will just be decorative…because it won’t work. I’ll wear a brace and have minimal use of my hand.

When I had the surgery for my broken arm and dislocated elbow replacement last November, I was told that if this replacement failed, as others have, the only option left would be to remove it and not replace it anymore. At that time, I appreciated knowing that if that happened, at least I wouldn’t be in pain anymore. That sounded good. Until now. Now it sounds horrible. If this infection is in my joint, I’m going to lose my arm. Its not going to be amputated but it will only be for show…a useless appendage hanging from my shoulder. I feel overwhelmed and terrified. It’s one thing to hear about a possible thing that might happen in the far away future and being punched in the stomach by an inevitability staring you in the face.

Maybe it’s not inevitable. The redness is mostly gone…it’s still swollen, hot, and stiff. I see the doctor Friday. So, WTF!? I don’t know what the fuck. My work this week is sitting with not knowing…and not freaking out. I’m not inappropriately freaked out…only about a 5. That seems reasonable…given the circumstances. I did stop googling. My mind is very distracted this week on its own…I don’t need to encourage it by being sucked down the google black hole.

I need extra awareness this week. Awareness of my interactions with myself and with others. Awareness of my anxiety. Awareness of my capacity and willingness to love. Awareness of kindness I can offer to myself and others. I didn’t do anything to make this happen so being angry at myself seems unhelpful. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people…and that includes me.

Gender…To Assign or Not To Assign…That Shouldn’t Be A Question

May 24, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

In the past, I suggested that parents should have a three-day waiting period before they can name their baby. It makes sense to get to know someone before you name them. Now, I have another suggestion, and that is that we eliminate the terms male/female, boy/girl from our vocabulary. What would it be like if someone had a baby and when we asked them the “what did you have?” question they answered “a baby” because after all it’s not a puppy. So, we call it a baby and then refer to it as they or them. What if we did that until the baby grew up and decided what they wanted to be called? Or better yet what if we never needed to be called anything? We were all just people with a name. How empowering would that be? The affirmation of gender identity and expressions…and the respect of all people as unique individuals.

Gender is the first label we give a baby. We want to know what our baby is before it’s even born. We’re so excited about assigning gender that we have gender reveal parties…some of which have caused huge fires and lots of destruction…maybe that’s a sign to stop…but I digress. If we meet someone with children we ask, “What do you have?” Well, they’re children of course. Did I not just say that? But that’s not what people want to know. They want to know the assignments…how many boys and how many girls. What would someone do if we just said we had baby or two children or three adult children?

Gender is a made-up distinction created to categorize people. And to prioritize them. Men are valued more than women, so we need to know who’s most important. We put labels on people to put them in neat little boxes for our own comfort…for our own ease of living or thinking or understanding. For our own valuation and control. And we do it from birth. Hell, we do it before birth with our desire to know our baby’s gender before they’re even born. We act like it’s critical that we be assigned a gender but why? It’s only necessary because we say we must have that label…or because we need to assign value. Because that’s what we’re doing we aren’t assigning gender we’re assigning value and worth.

I think everyone should use the pronouns they/them. Then no one would be misgendered. I have been called “sir” many times. Some of the people at my mother’s nursing home asked her if I was her son. Sometimes I just called he or sir. When I was in high school, we were going on vacation I guess and a flight attendant, (then referred to as a stewardess…see how we can change), told my mom she had a nice-looking son. She was so mad at me. I’m not sure exactly why because I didn’t do anything. I tried to make a joke out of it and said, “At least she said I was nice-looking.” I’m pretty sure the reaction I got was that she should have never let me cut my hair.

I hate being called a man. It’s embarrassing and something more…it’s spirit wounding. It’s humiliating. It feels as though I’ve done something wrong…or that I am something wrong. I’m not sure there’s another way to feel less seen than being misgendered. And why do we need to mention gender all? Why can’t we refer to someone as a person instead of a man or a woman? Why must we assign a gender to everything? There’s no reason to add ma’am or sir to a sentence like “can I help you?” My gender has nothing to do with anything…unless you’re only going to help me if I’m a man, and then you have all kinds of problems.

When I was talking with my wife about being misgendered, she said, “It’s because of your hair.” She’s always helpful. My hair is very short, and I could go shorter. Why am I supposed to have long hair? Long hair is very attractive on some people, but I hate it for me. Certainly, more men are growing their hair long…and I don’t understand…it’s so hot. It’s my personal opinion that people assigned male at birth get all the best hair cuts, all the best clothes…definitely all the comfortable clothes. I’ve always been envious. Women’s clothing is too short and too tight…and shoes with 4 inches heels? Seriously? Fuck no!

When I was growing up, I wasn’t allowed to have short hair. My mom made me keep it long and then got mad at me when it was all knotted. She called it a “rat’s nest.” Thanks for that image. The thing is I didn’t sign up for long hair…she did…although her hair was short so that’s confusing. We lived in Wisconsin during my forced long hair period of my life…really it’s just when I realized I couldn’t have short hair. I had to have long hair and, to make it even worse, girls were not allowed to wear pants to school. How fucked up is that? Apparently, I talked to the principal and convinced him to drop that rule. I don’t actually remember. So, the policy changed but not my mom. She still wouldn’t let me wear pants. Fortunately, in the winter it was freezing cold, so girls wore pants under their skirts to keep their legs warm. I did that too. And then instead of taking the pants off when I got to school, I took off the skirt. That way I got to wear pants too…super clever. It didn’t work so well with dresses. Eventually I got to wear pants and in 7th grade I got a haircut…remember the shag? It sounded better than it looked.

There’s some Bible verse that says a woman’s hair is her crown…or some bullshit used to make sure women know their place. The submissive, subservient female always deferring to a man…always. I was accused of hating men once. Why? Because I’m a lesbian. That’s some bullshit…some so called “Christian” bullshit. Personally, I’m a Buddhist. Buddhist monks and nuns shave their heads. That’s definitely where I belong. How does gender labeling happen in communities where everyone shaves their heads and wear the same robes?

I heard Glennon Doyle talk about gender once on her podcast. She said she feels her gender is something she wears on the outside. She wears her female gender outwardly but doesn’t feel “female” on the inside. I can totally relate to her. I identify myself as female but by societies standards my gender presentation is more male. I like sweats, tennis shoes, and t shirts. My wife says that my shorts are “sweat shorts” not sure that’s a thing. What they are is comfy cotton shorts, men’s shorts because they are longer and looser. I told my mom that tennis shoes are the new dress shoes. She hated that as much as I love it.

I was criticized growing up for not being the right kind of girl or not being enough of a girl. I got the clear message that I was doing something wrong or lacking in some way. When I wore suits for work, I wished I could get men’s suits because they got all the beautiful suits with matching shirts and ties. You will not now or ever see me in a dress, skirt, or high heels…I wouldn’t even be able to stand up in them. When I was in law school, we had to do this argument in front of a mock appellate court. Our mentor person told us that women had to wear skirts or dresses. Now if you know me, you know I don’t speak up much in a group setting, but I told her no. I told her I wouldn’t and that I could not be given a lower grade just because I wore pants. So, I wore a nice jacket with pants, and I got an A. So there. I had a friend tell me once that I just needed to be dressed like GI Joe and I’d be happy…possibly true, but now it’s the older sweats and flip flops version of GI Jane.

We love our labels and categories. Why is pink for girls and blue for boys? My favorite color happens to be blue…although I do look good in a soft, pastel pink. Who makes these rules and why do we follow them? Several years ago, I was asking my grandson what he wanted for Christmas. Besides a skateboard, he wanted a helmet…a purple helmet. Then he added, “not girl purple, boy purple.” Now for him that meant dark purple not lavender. Where did he get the idea that there are boy colors and girl colors? Why am I steered away from dark colors to pastels because I’ve been assigned to the female gender?

I did my best to be gender neutral in toys for my own children and my grandchildren. I did buy my grandson a Mulan doll because he wanted one desperately. He loved it! So much so, he used it as a hammer, and it broke. Some things are beyond stereotypes.

Why do people get so irate over this discussion? Why should anyone care if I want to use the pronouns, they/them? Aside from not being able to classify people the way we want to, why should you care and why should you get an opinion about my identity? You may disagree with me on tons of things…politics, global warming, racism, poverty, any of hundreds of things. What you do not get to disagree with me on is who I am. You don’t get a fucking say in who I am. You don’t get to tell me that we can agree to disagree…fuck no. I say who I am. You have no say, and I don’t need your opinion.

Now Florida, the state that regulates everything but guns, is passing a law stating that you can only identify yourself by the gender you were assigned at birth. WTF!? So, that’s unconstitutional. You can’t make it illegal for me to call myself by the pronouns I choose or to say I am nonbinary or to tell you I’m a female even if I was assigned male at birth. You don’t get to have laws that codify discrimination. Who knows more about who I am, me or a judge? It’s ridiculous that the question even needs to be asked. You don’t get to tell me how I can identify myself. Sorry Florida.

I think it’s too bad that genitalia can be identified at birth, usually. It would be great if it didn’t develop until we were in our teens or maybe at 18 when you’re legally an adult. If they developed later then a child or a teenager could tell you if they were male or female or nonbinary. Or we could just drop gender labels all together since they’re made up. There would be such freedom without gender labels. Maybe we could allow our gender to be fluid and not lose our freaking minds. Why are we so threatened by this?

If I tell you my name is Bob you don’t get to call me Harry, because that’s not who I am. I tell you who I am. You do not get to tell me. If I say I use the pronouns they/them you do not get to call me she/her because I just told you who I am. You do not get to tell me who I am or how I can identify myself. I tell you.

My sexual orientation or gender identity or gender expression is up to me…only me. I know who I am and if you’re lucky I may allow you to know me. I don’t get to tell people that being straight is a sin and they’re going to burn in hell. Why? Because it’s none of my fucking business. And you have no business in my business. You do not get to debate or disagree with my identity. You do not get to tell me that who I am is wrong. We can disagree about all of our opinions all day long. My identity is not opinion. It’s fact. I identify as a woman, and I am a lesbian. That is not up for debate.

Now let’s be real…our world seems to be in a precarious place…our country is for sure. It’s time to stand up and speak out. If we stand by and do nothing, we are complicit in allowing laws like Florida is passing to become the accepted standard. What about all the children growing up and restricted from expressing their authentic selves? What about being judged and told that who you are is wrong? LGBTQ+ youth are FOUR times more likely to attempt suicide than their peers! How many lives do we need to destroy before we, as a country, pull our heads out of our collective asses and stand up for individuality? Why do we not understand you cannot legislate who people are? I thought republicans were against the government being involved in everything…well back the fuck off.

Our country runs on fear. Fear of “others” whoever that is. You don’t understand why I’m gay or why I’m nonbinary, so you won’t allow it. Make a law. The thing is it’s not up for you to allow or not allow. This country was founded on freedom…the freedom for people to be who they are or who they strive to be. What happened to that attitude. We can not legislate everything that we’re told to be afraid of, like people who are “different” in their expressions of who they are. We’re all different in our own ways.

I have a couple suggestions…why don’t we follow this sage advice, “if you can’t say anything nice don’t say anything at all.” Wouldn’t that be refreshing? It would be amazing. And how about, “treat others the way you want to be treated.” That’s a rule I can live with. Let’s make those laws. And finally, can we not just be kind and loving. I guarantee that no one will be turned away from heaven for loving people who are gay, or lesbian, bi, nonbinary, trans, drag queens (who are performing artists by the way), or straight…yes, some straight people are hard to love.

Remember that in the end all that matters is how we love people…because love is going to win. It always does.

Why Would It Be Different In Heaven?

May 15, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Mother’s Day was Sunday. I was asked several times how I was doing on my first Mother’s Day without my mom. There is no simple answer to that…or maybe no nice answer. The last two Mother’s Day’s were horrible. My mom was angry and mean. She spent the day yelling at my dad and I and slamming things around. So, it would be dishonest to say that I really missed her Sunday. I was grateful to spend this Mother’s Day with my daughter, grandchildren, and great-grandson. It was a beautiful day.

Prior to the last two years, I didn’t see my mom for twelve years. And although I sent her a text message each year, I know she didn’t read them…possibly because I sent them and also because she didn’t do texting. I always struggled to find a Mother’s Day card for my mom. They tend to be pretty mushy and sentimental…two things I don’t feel about my mom. I wouldn’t give her a card with words I didn’t mean and so I always got her funny cards, which she hated. She liked to be gushed over. The last two years I gave in and gave her sentimental cards and they didn’t make any difference to her. She wasn’t speaking to me, so she didn’t even acknowledge them.

The last time I saw my mom she was not in a great space or mood. She looked at me and pretty snarkily said, “I should have never moved to Wisconsin!” I told her we weren’t in Wisconsin. She asked where we were and then said, “I should have never moved to Florida.” Shortly after that she turned away from me, curled up, and went to sleep. That was the last conversation I had with my mom. She’s been on my mind so much.

I’ll be honest…I’m tired of grief. I am way the fuck over it. It isn’t as neat and orderly as I’d like it to be. It’s a fucking mess. I’m a fucking mess. I would like to know when I’ll be okay…when will I just feel like me again. Maybe I won’t…I mean I am an orphan after all. I would like to know something else…actually I’d like to know everything else, but specifically, right now, I want to know what it’s like to die. What does it feel like? I have some fears around dying…not so much the actual death but the being dead. I’m afraid I’ll miss people and be sad and lonely. I suppose at that point it won’t matter…it’s not like I can be suddenly undead…aren’t zombies the only people that can do that? Are they even people? I digress.

This is what happens to me when my wife travels. My mind runs wild with unanswerable questions. She had to go back to Colorado for work. Leaving my English Bulldog, Abby, and I alone in Florida. It’s the first time I’ve been here without either of my parents alive. I’d like to say Abby is helpful, but mostly she’s just sleepy. She needs her full 22 hours of sleep a day.

P!nk wrote a song after her dad’s death called, “When I Get There.” In the song she asks why things would be different in heaven than they were here. Or why would her dad be different in heaven. I think she says he was always first in line, and he always said what was on his mind…things like that. It’s funny because I’ve been wondering the same thing…mostly about my mom. Why would things suddenly be different just because someone died? Why would she be different just because she’s dead?

I floated this idea past my wife, just to see what she thought…she didn’t like it. She reminded me about all the accounts people have given of near-death experiences…I guess more accurately they are dying and being brought back to life stories. People report seeing a bright white light that’s warm and welcoming. They hear the voices of people they love who have died. This reassures her, and millions of others, that there is a heaven, and it’s our final destination.

Personally, I don’t believe in heaven or hell. I do believe in reincarnation. The energy that is the core of who we are, our soul or spirit, has to go somewhere. I think it comes back in another form. I’m pretty sure I’ll be back as a gnat or an ant, because I’ve killed many of them when they’ve invaded my home. Side note…The other day there was an ant on our counter. Now instead of killing it, I picked it up and went to put it outside. And that little fucker bit me. It left a red lump on my palm. That’s karma baby…but I still didn’t kill it. I used to tell the little kids in my mindfulness program that we don’t kill things just because we can…they would usually stomp ants anyway. I tried.

I have read several of books by James Van Praagh, the psychic medium. I’ve also seen him in person and watched him connect people in the audience with departed loved ones who have a message to give…or just something to say. He’d ask the audience if a name or specific situation, that he was describing, meant something to anyone in the audience. Someone would raise their hand and then he would begin to tell them about who was there to talk to them and what they were saying. He was able to provide very specific information about people, situations, causes of death, etc. He’s really impressive.

I have heard James Van Prague talk about what happens when we die. He had said that through his readings he’s learned that there isn’t a heaven or hell, although he does use the term heaven anyway. He explained that when we die our energy goes with like energy. If you were a loving and kind person in your life you would be surrounded by others with similar loving and kind energy. If you were mean and hateful then you would be attracted to the mean and hateful energy of the departed. So, in a sense we create our own heaven or hell. I suppose that’s good news and scary news.

Now I was raised Catholic. I come from an Irish Catholic family that has its attachment to Catholicism rooted in Ireland. My grandmother went to church early in the morning, before she had to work, at least several days a week. Then church on Sundays and confession probably every week. Now all of that is to say that there was no other option than being Catholic in my family…and it wasn’t really an option to just not be anything.

In my Catholic training (catechism classes…yay.) I learned about purgatory. Purgatory is an intermediate state between death and heaven. It’s a place of temporary suffering. Merriam-Webster says that it’s a “place or state of suffering wherein…the souls of those who die in God’s grace may make satisfaction for past sins and so become fit for heaven.” I’m gonna have to say “no thank you” to that good news…yikes!

What I don’t understand is if you go to confession, as required in the Catholic Church and you do your Hail Mary’s, or whatever the priest assigns, you’re supposed to be forgiven…so why the pit stop to be punished again? Although it sounds super fun…I’ll give it a hard “oh fuck no.” Why change if you still end up suffering before you’re good enough for heaven? Heaven being the goal for most people. I don’t believe in purgatory either. I do think there’s a gap between when we die and when we are reborn, but I don’t think it’s punishment.

So why is all this on my mind? I’ll tell you. I worry about my mom. I worried about her when she was alive, and I worry about her now. My mom was not a happy person…at least not the mom I experienced. She had a difficult life as a child and that shaped who she was and how she saw herself. She didn’t believe anyone loved her. She didn’t think my dad loved her, even after almost 70 years of marriage. She was damaged as a child and that kept her from fully accepting who she was. It also kept her closed off to recognizing and receiving love. She may not have had love as a child, but she was loved by many as an adult. It’s very sad to me that she couldn’t accept love. I worry now that she might feel alone. She didn’t like to be alone. She was scared alone. Nothing I learned in catechism told me how to address those fears.

Personally, I believe that our souls or spirits are timeless because we’ve been here before…many, many times. I don’t think that a love connection you shared with someone while you were alive is gone when you die. I think that love bonds go on forever. Maybe it’s like object permanence…even when a person you loved is gone from your presence, you know they still exist out there somewhere. And the love you shared with them continues.

I think part of the process of death and reincarnation is our souls working out past karma…karma from our current lives and past lives. James Van Praagh has explained that after death people of like minds gravitate together and share a natural attraction. So, for example, a soul like Hitler, who created mass destruction, devastation and death, will be attracted to similarly dark energetic souls.

James Van Praag describes “heaven” as having many levels and that the one that we enter right after we die is similar to our existence on earth and that people eventually evolve from these earth-like levels. He says that our soul’s movement is enabled by understanding that religion is a human tool and is not needed in the higher planes. From his experience communicating with spirits, he has learned that the only religion is love.

If we enter heaven with a similar mindset that we had while we were alive, then why would things be different in heaven? If you go to heaven as the same person you were two minutes before you died, then what’s different in heaven, besides being dead? I wonder if that’s confusing to a spirit…seems like it to me. I guess there’s no instant angelhood…I’m not sure that’s a word or a thing.

My mom was an angry person and she held on to resentments. I worry that heaven might not be great for her right now. I want her to find peace and rest but I’m not sure that’s immediately available to everyone. I don’t want her to live in an eternal place that’s as painful for her as her life was. The good news, according to James Van Praagh anyway, is that there’s no mental illness after death. Mental illness is a condition of the physical world. I don’t know who my mom would have been or what she would have been like without mental illness…maybe now she’ll have the opportunity to find out.

Honestly, I hope there’s healing in heaven…if there is a heaven…or wherever we end up. I don’t think there’s a place up in the sky where the dead, the “good” dead, reside, playing the harp and laying on clouds. But if heaven is where we go to work out our past karma and await rebirth, that makes more sense to me. If our mindset can continue to evolve and progress even after we die, then the work never ends…the work of becoming never ends. We are always becoming even after we cease to be on this planet. Maybe we have the ability for clear retrospect when we die. Maybe we can see more accurately what was available to us when we were alive. Maybe we see missed opportunities or missed understandings. Maybe we get to have all that we thought we missed out on…love, belonging, gratitude, rest, being seen and loved for who we are.

I definitely have more questions than answers with all of this death stuff…and I’m in no hurry to experience it firsthand. What I do know for sure is that in the end all that matters is how we love people. Because love wins…always.

And for you mom…May you find peace. May you find rest. May you know you are loved.

Difficult Teachers

May 1, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

I was catching up on the tv show “The Good Doctor” earlier this week. This is the final season so I guess it’ll be extra dramatic…as if a drama needs more drama. Anyway, a main character was murdered. He was killed in an anti-Semitic, anti-gay hate crime. Being a card-carrying member of the LGBTQ+ community that was difficult to watch…even when it’s not real…probably because it is real. So, Asher died and there was very sad funeral. All the people were crying, and I started crying. Pretty soon I was sobbing…and sobbing.

Have I mentioned that I’ve been having a hard time grieving for my parents? I guess mostly for my mom. I have such mixed-up feelings about her. I’ve been pretty shut down…sad but shut down. I feel confused about grieving for someone I loved so much but was angry at and deeply hurt by. I have unresolved feelings about her and I’m not sure how to resolve them or come to terms with them…or even just how to not allow her to hurt me anymore. I realize she’s gone but I have an excellent memory…and she was a powerful figure in my life.

I read a story about Buddha where he talked about a personal attendant of his who aggravated him and made him angry. His attendant was difficult to deal with. Buddha had the choice to send him away, but he didn’t. He said that it’s the difficult people in our lives who are our best teachers. Those are the people who challenge us to really look at ourselves honestly. My mom was definitely one of those people for me.

Growing up I didn’t want to be like her. I was afraid of her. I think I developed my personality in reaction to her…or reaction against her. I am who I am in large part because of her. I had an idea of who I thought she was, or how I thought she was, and I was determined not to be like her at all.

I never thought I was much like my dad either until my parents lived with us. I have some the the same quirky habits he had. My wife would say annoying not quirky. If he wanted something to eat, he’d tell you, but he’d also tell you exactly how he wanted it. For example, chicken noodle soup in a cup, not a bowl, with a chicken leg in the cup so the soup would warm it up. Or 3 crackers with a small spoon of cheese spread, and 3 olives. My mom got so mad at him for that. I got mad at him for mansplaining to me how to clean up my dogs’ vomit…so I understand the frustration. When my wife offers to make me a sandwich, I give instructions too…very specific instructions. That is why she doesn’t make me sandwiches anymore. I get that.

In a song from the musical, “Wicked” called “For Good.” It’s Elphaba and Glenda singing about their friendship. When they first met, they hated each other…there’s a song called “What Is This Feeling” and what they feel for each other is loathing. But I digress…the change song talks about people coming into our lives for a reason, which we may or may not understand. They come to teach us something. We are led to people who will help us to grow. The women say that because of their friendship they’ve been changed for good…as in permanently. They question whether they’ve been changed for the better but definitely for good. At the end of the song, they say that because they knew each other, they have been changed for the better…and for good.

I became who I am because of my parents. I was definitely changed for good…and I think for the better. There’s an ebb and flow in relationships…all relationships. There are times we’re closer to someone and times we feel more distant. Sometimes we need the proximity and sometimes we need the space. Relationships are constantly changing and constantly in motion. That continuous flow changes us. Rocks are shaped by the movement of water. Water wore through rock over millions of years and as a result we have the Grand Canyon.

People are shaped by movement as well. The movement of negotiating relationships…all of them. Personalities rub against each other and the rough edges of who we are, the things we cling to smooth out over time. They change us for good. We are not the same person we were at the beginning of the relationship. They also change us for the better if we are intentional about our relationships and our interactions. We become more of who we were meant to be…we become more truly who we are.

Some people believe that we chose the life and family we’re born into long before we are ever born. Maybe I did. Maybe I chose all the pain and challenges I was born into. I know that because I knew my parents, as my parents, I was changed for good, and I was changed for the better. I am a better person because of them.

Let’s be real…we are shaped and sculpted by all the relationships we have in our lives. And we are a force that shapes others as well. Let’s lead with love in all of our interactions. Let’s be aware of what we’re doing and how we are impacting the people we come into contact with each day. Let’s love to change people for good, and because they knew us, for better. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people…let’s love them well.

Where She Go?

April 17, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

When our soon to be 13-year-old grandson, Anthony, was a toddler, and he couldn’t find something, he’d say, “Where she go?” It was funny and adorable and not usually about a person…just something missing. He’d put his arms out with his palms up and turn his head side to side, and look around quizzically as he said, “Where she go?” I’m not sure why it was all “she.” It might have been as simple as him having a lot of women in his life. His two grandmas took care of him every day, and he had two other grandmothers, as well as, two sisters, and of course his mom. There were a lot of “she” in his life.

Yesterday I was sending out letters telling banks and creditors that my mom died. I was looking at the death certificates for both of my parents and I felt panic…where she go? How can she be gone? It’s the panic a child feels when they wander away from their mom in a store and when they turn around, they don’t see her. Where she go? Where the fuck are my parents asks the lost child and the panicked adult? Now I’m not wondering if they’re in heaven or hell…I don’t actually believe in either. I mean how could they possibly have death certificates? Only dead people have those. Why can’t I find her? She’s definitely missing.

I packed up my mom’s clothes and have them loaded up for a donation today. All that’s left is pictures and memories. I just typed that sentence and remembered Jim Croce had a song in the 70’s called “Photographs and Memories.” My sister always said I liked sad music. She might be right…I did like his music…and it is kind of sad. Pictures and memories are what I have left of my parents. They are what remains for me to remember them. It doesn’t feel like enough…at least not today.

I feel untethered. Set adrift to…I have no fucking idea where. That feels a little risky…not knowing where I’m going. I’m 63 years old. I have plans and goals. I have a family. We moved to Florida to retire. I know where I’m going. I don’t know where I’m going with my parents…or my mom. There were years that I did not see my parents or talk to them, from 50 to 61, although I’m not sure why. I’m sure they had their reasons; I just don’t know what they were. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It seems that feeling untethered is a familiar feeling after all.

There were other times my parents and I didn’t communicate for a period of years, but the 50 to 61 period started on my 50^th birthday. My mom remembered birthdays and she always called. Sometimes she’d send a card, but she always called…but on that day she didn’t call. No call and no card…I was in trouble. Why? No clue. I called my mom a week or two later, but she didn’t answer and didn’t return my call. That went on for several weeks…calling, no answer, leaving a message, no return call. And then I stopped calling. All I was doing was hurting myself by hoping she’d answer the phone…but she never did. And I quit trying.

Maybe I should have persisted with my calls. I don’t know. I didn’t want to beg to be their daughter…and that’s how it felt. Like when your child comes up to you, usually while you’re on the phone, and pokes you repeatedly in the leg saying, “Mom! Mom! Mom!” Because all urgent matters take place while you’re on the phone. All my unanswered calls felt like me jumping around and poking her leg, and still getting nothing from her. I felt unwanted, or worse…like I didn’t exist. That’s when I felt like an orphan. From 50 to 61 I was an orphan. I was an abandoned child…although not exactly a child…not understanding where my parents went. They disappeared from my life.

For a long time, I thought there must really be something wrong with me because my own mom didn’t want me…didn’t love me. I felt like I must be defective somehow. Living on the island of misfit toys, or misfit daughters. What was so wrong with me that she didn’t want me?

The difficulty with my mom was that I never knew where I stood with her. I would think things were fine and then she’d be mad at me and stop answering my calls. So, I’d call and call and call until finally she would answer the phone. She’d be cold as I ice, and I’d have to apologize and apologize some more until she’d finally let it go…but it was never gone. My mom remembered every detail of every time someone hurt her. She was easily angered or offended. And she kept score. The difficulty was I frequently didn’t know what I had done wrong. So, my mom would be mad until she wasn’t and then expect everything to go back to normal. If she was okay about something, I was expected to be okay too. Her feelings ruled.

The crazy thing in all of this is that if she had just told me that there was problem, we could have talked about it and hopefully resolved whatever the issue was. Instead, I tried to figure it out and when I couldn’t I stopped trying. It took me many years and lots of dollars in therapy to reach a place where I could see that I was not the cause of all of the problems in her life. She was the only one who could have changed anything…and she didn’t. I don’t know if she didn’t want to or if she didn’t know how…maybe she didn’t care enough to try. I don’t know and I’ll never know.

Now, let’s be real…what is my fucking point? I wish I knew. I still feel shocked that both of my parents are gone. All the years that I didn’t see them, I felt rejected. Like I didn’t matter enough for them to try. Try to see me or talk to me and tell me what was on their mind. Sometimes what I think I missed most about my parents during my 50’s was the “idea” of them. Perhaps more accurately, the “ideal” of them. Maybe that’s what I miss now too. The ideal of a mom…where she would love me just for being me. I felt the most loved when I graduated from law school. They both liked that for sure. I wanted to be loved just for being their daughter, not for an achievement.

It’s easy to look back and question or wonder…second guess myself and my parents. I’m not sure how helpful that is. I don’t need to analyze my mom as much as I need to understand myself in relationship to her. Who was I with her and who am I without her? What habits or patterns did I develop in reaction to her? I frequently felt the need to protect myself when I was with her. How did that impact my relationship with her? How did it affect my relationships with other people? Does it still affect them? It all feels confusing right now. There’s a mountain of feelings and experiences to sort through.

What I do know is that I can always love better. I’m guessing that my parents were hurt and I’m not sure how well I responded with love. And love isn’t all kisses and butterflies…it’s having hard conversations and being completely honest. It’s seriously clearing the air. Not allowing a lifetime of grievances to stack up so that even small things become a bigger deal than they need to be.

What I know is that I tried. I did my best. I’m guessing they did too. What I’m left pondering is how I could have loved better? How could I have loved more honestly? More authentically and with more vulnerability? How could I have loved with less judgment? How can I stay grounded so that I can be my best most loving self all the time?

I am grateful for the last couple weeks with my mom. While she was happy and relaxed, we loved each other. I know she loved me the best she could, and I loved her too. She knew I loved her. And in the end, all that matters is how we love people. So, we need to get busy loving people. Because love wins…every time.

Did I Mention My Parents Are Dead?

April 10, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

I realized today that both of my parents are dead. Dead?! WTF!? I know now why my kids never want to talk about my death, someday far away (I hope)…parents don’t fucking die! My kids assure me that they’ll take care of me and braid my hair. I ask them how long I will have been in a vegetative state for them to be able to braid my hair? My hair is maybe an inch long. It’s hard for them to imagine a world without me in it…it’s hard for me to imagine too.

I picked up my mother’s ashes today and suddenly all of this is very real…in a new way. When she died, I was in Colorado visiting my kids and grandkids and our new great grandson. So maybe things didn’t seem so real. My parents were never in Colorado, well not since 2009, so it was easy to think they were fine in Florida…maybe not my dad because he’s been gone a while but definitely my mom. As we were driving home it started to feel very real. I could feel her absence as I got closer to Florida. It’s weird to feel the absence of something, instead of the presence.

My mom had been asking to go to Bob Evans for breakfast and I never had the chance to take her…she got way too weak too fast. We ate there many times with my parents and had a lot of fun drinking mimosas and telling stories about our lives. I learned a lot about my parents there. The food is not my favorite, although if you like grease and fat pull up a chair. It wasn’t our favorite restaurant, but both of my parents really loved it.

Today Bob Evans wasn’t fun. It was sad. Sad because the reality of them being gone smacked me right in the head…I gotta start wearing a helmet. I can’t go visit my mom anymore and there are no more phone calls. We also picked up her belongings from her assisted living facility…the apartment, as she referred to it. One day recently, she asked me if I thought we needed that big of apartment. It made me smile. I didn’t really want to pick up her things, but it had to be done. My wife went with me and that helped. My sister and brother-in-law are coming this week too…I’m really glad.

I remember a cousin of mine telling me not to visit my mom everyday in the nursing home because then I would be lost when she was gone. She gave this advice after losing her father. I did not visit her every day, but it turns out you can still feel lost. I think I may actually feel like an orphan. Shit.

My parents and I had a challenging relationship…mostly my mom and me. Although my dad would always defend her. We had periods of years where we didn’t communicate at all or where my mom wouldn’t communicate with me. I’d try but after so many unanswered calls I’d give up…I guess that’s not great. I felt so rejected and every call made it worse. I guess I was protecting myself…I don’t know if that was a good thing to do or not, but I can only take so much. But seriously, I did not expect them to die. Parents don’t die. Not this soon anyway…maybe not at all. I’m okay with the fact that my parents were both ready to die. I’m just not okay with them being dead. If you’re confused, welcome to my world.

Given everything that went on with my mom and dealing with her anger, I thought I might feel relieved when she died. I’m looking at those words I just wrote and cringing a bit. You are not supposed to feel relieved when someone dies, especially your mother…that’ll send ya straight to hell. My physical therapist told me one day that I was a good person for taking care of my parents. What “good person” thinks they’ll feel relieved when their mother dies?

I thought I’d feel relieved that I didn’t need to be afraid of her anymore. I wouldn’t be wondering what her mood was going to be when I saw her. Turns out I don’t feel relieved…so my soul might be saved. I feel like I’m missing something. Like I went out without a jacket and am stuck outside in the snow. Like you know something isn’t right, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

And here’s a strange thing…when we picked up her things no one said anything at all. No “We’re sorry for your loss” or “We loved your mom” or “We miss her.” Nothing. No comments at all from any staff. I guess they go through this all the time. Maybe it’s old hat for them but not for me. I wanted to yell, “You know my mother is dead right?!” Say something…say some fucking thing. Don’t act like it’s just a normal Tuesday. It’s not normal. Nothing is normal. My mom died. She’s dead. She’s gone.

Let’s be real…my mom died and nothing is okay. I need to learn how to navigate a world that she’s not in, neither is my dad. Am I still a daughter if my parents are gone? Who am I if I’m not busy being their daughter? Who am I when I’m just me on my own…not me in reaction to them? Who am I if I define myself without their input or opinion? Maybe we really don’t grow up until our parents are gone. Maybe that’s when we can be free enough to allow who we really are to shine…when we can come out of the shadows. I told my wife that I spent a lot of time trying to be invisible growing up. If you’re invisible, then you can’t be in trouble or wrong or bad.

Now I need to become comfortable with visibility. I don’t need to hide in the shadows. Now I really don’t need my parent’s approval…even if I do, it ain’t happening. I loved my mom and dad. I believe they knew that…that they were loved. They had grandchildren and great grandchildren that adored them…and my sister was always there for them. My parents are gone but love continues to win. My mom wanted to be with my dad, and now she is. Maybe that’s the power of love, to take you where you want to be.

Love is a powerful force. It’s a force that needs attention and direction. Let’s love consciously, with intention. Love is not something to do half-assed…because in the end, all that matters is how we love each other…so do it with your whole self. Love must continue to win. Always.