Tag: let it go

A Matter of Perspective

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Jealousy is a funny thing…and by funny, I mean a pain in the ass and very discouraging. I consider myself a kind and supportive person. Eager to see people succeed and reach their goals. Now that’s what I consider myself to be but that doesn’t make it so. Well, I am those things but I’m also much more…for example, prone to jealousy or envy. Crap. Sometimes the truth hurts.

I have been working at losing weight for the past couple years. I guess before that I was working on gaining it. Who knew that was a job? I have changed what I eat, and I started exercising. Keeping my physical limitations in mind, I tread water for an hour a day when it’s warm out. Our pool is not heated…brrrr. I’ve made big changes, and it’s been hard. Hard to implement and even more difficult to be consistent…so fucking hard. Seems like it should be easy since I’ve developed new habits. Seems that way but….

Habits with eating are tricky because food is tricky. If I just didn’t need to eat, I’d have it made. But there are so many choices and so many things that influence my choices…my mood, what food is in the fridge, my mood, what people around me are eating, my mood, cravings, and my mood. I am an emotional eater. I’d like to say I’m not anymore but that would be a lie. I thought I’d be over it by now, but alas I am not.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a blog about my weight loss. I talked about how I lost weight with switching to whole food, plant-based eating. I felt vulnerable after that post because my weight is a very private topic to me. As I said, I am an emotional eater…and because I felt exposed, I handled my discomfort by making unhealthy food choices. Patterns are hard to break. I continued to sabotage myself for over a week. I did become aware of what I was doing…it only took 3 or 4 days to notice and then another week to decide to do something about it. Fuck. I guess it’s better than never being aware…still frustrating.

Speaking of feeling vulnerable, here’s something I’m not proud of…I feel jealous when I see the commercials for those injections that make you lose weight. My understanding is they help you lose weight because they suppress your appetite. I suppose you still make a choice not to eat. So, here’s the thing, I want shots. I want to have an easy time losing weight. I want to lose weight faster…but I can’t have the shots. The doctor said no, about 50 pounds ago. I don’t have diabetes. I’m not even pre-diabetic. That’s what I get for eating plants. Plus, my cholesterol has gone down 25 points in the last 8 months. I am happy that I’m healthier. That was my goal after all. But damn it I want shots too! I want to be one of those people in the commercials dancing and singing about lowering my A1C…whatever the fuck that is. I want to sing about losing weight…and I am definitely not singing.

As I am writing this Serena Williams is on tv injecting herself and taunting me about her 31 pounds she’s lost…seriously? What the absolute fuck?! I am frustrated…I know I hide it well. I am mostly just frustrated with myself and my attitude. You’ve gotta agree it needs work. Why can’t I just be happy for all the people of the world who are healthier because they’ve lost weight? I should be able to celebrate with them, shouldn’t I? What is up with all the jealousy and envy…and the judgement that lies behind it. I know I’m being judgy. I just don’t know why. Well…wait…ya, I know…I do know. Of course I know. Fuck. I don’t want to try. I don’t want to do the work. Even though I said I did in my blog, that was then, and this is today…moods come and go so quickly here…here being inside of me…this mind of mine.

Jealousy is “Feeling or showing envy of someone or their achievements and advantages, feeling resentful of another’s success or possessions.” It is a “complex emotion involving a combination of insecurity, fear, resentment, and suspicion; Unchecked jealousy can lead to anxiety, low self-esteem, and harmful behaviors like sabotage.” Envy is, “Wanting what someone else has, such as possessions, qualities, or achievements.” Now according to Merriam Webster I have more envy than jealousy…although I am resentful of Serena Williams…and Rebel Wilson…whatever.

Jealousy. Envy. Wanting what someone else has…being resentful. I am jealous and/or envious of weight loss being easy for other people. How do I know it was easy? Because it looked easy…from my perspective. People do dance and sing after all. So, according to me it was easy. Me in all my great wisdom…Duh, right? Jealousy…envy…I have them both. And an unverified belief that weight loss is easy with the injections and so hard for me…poor, poor me.

So, what to do…so far, I’ve only managed self pity. And I tell ya, it’s not really working. Feeling sorry for myself is not going to pull me out of this emotional soup I’m stuck in. I can’t seem to will myself out of this…so? So, what? That is the question. So, I wish I knew. I am hoping to discover something before the end of this blog. I’d like to think I have a point…don’t you worry, I’ll find one.

After I read books on plant-based eating and weight loss I became determined to change my eating habits. I wanted to lose weight, but I also wanted to be as healthy as I could, with as little pain and inflammation in my body as possible. I was training myself to enjoy healthy food…to like the taste of vegetables…I already love fruit. Then this jealousy and envy attacked me. But when did I decide that I changed my mind back? That I didn’t want to be healthy? That crappy food is more important to me than my own longevity, my own pain management. Do I like nachos and cookies more than myself? Do I want wine and cheese more than feeling better? Of course I don’t. I’m not an idiot…I can be difficult, but I am not an idiot. So where is the disconnect for me?

Food is important. We must eat to live. I feel strongly about continuing to live. But food also means so many things to us. We want cake for a birthday, champagne to celebrate an achievement…and more cake. We associate holidays with the smell of roasting turkey (at least I did before I became a vegetarian), mashed potatoes and gravy…or burgers on a grill in summer. I’ve had family or friends want to make a salad for thanksgiving and it offended me. You do not waste the precious space in your stomach on salad. Not on a holiday. You use every inch for “the good stuff.” Why is the “bad stuff” the “good stuff” for me? At least that has been my thinking…might still kind of be…a little.

When someone dies, we make a big meal to celebrate the life lost. We eat to mourn. People bring us comfort food after a loss…casseroles…lots of casseroles. On our own, when we’re sad, we reach for ice cream, cookies, candy…and of course, cake. We find comfort in food. We’ve been taught to. But do cake and cookies and casseroles really provide comfort, or do they just provide a distraction from the real source of our pain. After a loss we can feel empty, as if something is missing…and it is. Rather than sit with that discomfort, it’s easier to fill the emptiness with food. I know that I have often misinterpreted feelings like anger, that I notice in my gut, for hunger. If I feel something in my stomach it must be hunger, right? No. We feel and carry emotions throughout our bodies.

We’re meaning makers. There’s a story of our life running through us. The story we tell ourselves about where we’ve been and where we’re going. That story frames how we see the world…it is the lens we look through to view everything. How we treat our bodies is part of that story. How we feel about eating, what we want to eat, what we like and dislike, and how we eat are all part of that story. Some of it is learned…passed on to us by our families, our friends, our world. And some of it is habit…the way we’ve always done it. There are some parts of our story, what we tell ourselves, that we may not even be aware of. We make decisions based on our story, and the habits we’ve developed. Perhaps a better alternative is to become intentional in our eating.

We eat for more reasons than to just survive. We eat to nourish and restore our bodies. We can honor our bodies with the food choices we make. We can discover what is sacred to us in the ordinary. The things we do each day without a thought. What we eat, how we feel about eating, who we share meals with, and how we approach eating all shape our perspective…our story. Are we grateful for food, for nourishment, for everything that went into what we eat…the seeds, the land, the farmers, farm workers, truck drivers, grocery store workers, the sun, the rain, the person who prepared the meal…there is so much to be grateful for. Do we intentionally focus on gratitude when we eat? There are people all over the world who would give anything to have the abundance of what we eat…even a portion of it. Do we stop and notice all of that, and feel thankful, before we take our first bite?

So, maybe a change in perspective is all I really need. A shift from lack to gratitude. Recognizing that I do not lack anything just because I can’t have the weight loss injections I want. Gratitude that I can do the work. And I have done 85 pounds of the work. Intentional gratitude that I get to eat regular meals. That I have abundant food choices…including beautiful, nourishing fruits and veggies. That I get to choose…and I am not starving. Gratitude that I am not experiencing food insecurity. A deep concern for those who are. A concern that moves me to action and a determination that out of my abundance I will share…gladly and graciously.

Sometimes all you need is a new perspective…and a better attitude. Apparently, I need both. I need a perspective that teaches me loving-kindness towards others and a desire to see people be all they can be…to become who they really are. All of us fully embracing ourselves, the good and the not so great…embracing our broken and beautiful selves. Loving ourselves into the fullness of our beings. And offering others the same. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people…even when they have something we think we want. Love anyway.

Off The Edge

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

It took me a long time to recognize this low-level anxiety that lives inside me. I feel like I am always on edge. Always expecting the next bad thing…the next person to hurt me or leave me without explanation. The next person to blow up at me, blame me, or take their anger out on me. The next crisis I need to be ready for. Being mentally and physically on edge contributes to me being on edge emotionally. All the time. It is exhausting.

I have been trying to create a way to mourn the loss of my mother. I am not sure how to do that when I feel angry at her. I’m hurt that she was so mean to me. I don’t know if I miss her because I haven’t been able to get past the other feelings. I feel guilty because I am relieved not to deal with her explosive outburst anymore. I don’t miss her hanging up on me multiple times a day. The years I spent away from her I wondered why she didn’t try to work things out with me or love me enough to fight for me. The years I lived with her in Florida, I understood that she hated me. That’s what she told me. That’s how she acted. She didn’t fight for me because she didn’t want me.

Now she’s gone and I am not sure what to do with all of that. I need to find a place where I can accept the situation as it was and accept her as she was…flaws, bitterness, cruelty and all. She wasn’t one thing. She wasn’t just mean. She wasn’t just angry. She wasn’t just cruel. She could be kind. She could be generous. She could be loving.

I am not one thing either. I am not just a person on edge. I am not just someone with anxiety. I can be kind. I can be generous. I can be loving. I’m a mix of all those things and more. Just like her. Sara Bareilles has a song called, “She Used to Be Mine” and she talks about this…sings about it. This song could be about me…or my mom. I’m not perfect but I try. I’m hard on myself and struggle with asking for help. I’m messy and I’m kind. I’m all those things smooshed together to make me.

The song goes on to talk about things coming into our lives that we don’t ask for and they shape us into who we are today…even if it’s not what we asked for…or not who we expected to be. I want to be willing to take risks. To be hurt but not destroyed. I want to be tough enough that when I get bruised, I can use that to grow stronger and more sure of myself. And when I feel stuck, for example now, I can rekindle a fire inside of myself to keep moving forward toward the person I am and the person I am meant to be.

I have been trying to create a ritual for myself to let her go. To let the experiences I had with her go. And to let the things she said to me go. I have felt heavy under the weight of her thoughts and feelings about me. I recently wrote about changing my name from Karen to Kai. Needing to move away from Karen because that’s the name she yelled at me and the name of the person she hated. This week I decided to change my name legally. The new name felt like a game of make believe. And I’m not playing a game. I’m creating the path to reclaim myself as myself…not who she said I was. I’m not trying to disown her or my family. I am taking steps to own myself and my identity. That’s mine to create, not hers to impose.

I had not planned to change my name legally. I surprised myself. I filled out the paperwork and I filed the petition. It’ll take a few months for the change to be ordered. I may have to attend a hearing to tell a Judge why I want to change my name. I’m not sure it’s really anyone else’s business why…of course that will not be my answer if the Judge asks. An attitude will get me thrown in jail…this is Florida after all. There was a ton of paperwork to fill out and get notarized before I could file the petition. I guess they’re making sure I’m not changing my name because I am on the run from law enforcement. I’m not. I promise.

I was not sure how I would feel after I filed the paperwork. I felt relief. I felt like a giant chain that weighed me down, with other people’s opinions fell away. I was standing up for myself. I felt like I was claiming my own identity without the input of my mom. This is me regardless of what she thinks or what she might have said. She would have been angry about the change. She would have taken it as a rejection of her. It is not about her at all. It is about me…claiming my own power and not allowing anyone else to tell me who I am or how I should be myself. The change is because of me not her. This is who I am. This is who I continue to become.

The acceptance I want to find for myself, I want to find for her too. I do not think my mom’s life turned out how she imagined, and she was bitter. I had no control over that. I did not ruin her life, regardless of what she thought. I loved my mom. We had a challenging relationship. In the end I was working to change it…make it better. That didn’t happen but it doesn’t mean I didn’t love her or that I didn’t try.

Loving is hard. I try my best, but I am not always great at it. I hope my love can be a solid ground for someone else. I always say that in the end all that matters is how we love people. So regardless of what happens I move forward and remind myself that I did not give up on love today.

Do not give up on love today. Never give up on love. Love always wins.

Elbow Shemelbow

~ 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

~ 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.

A Letter To Brittney Griner

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

This morning, I heard a portion of an interview Robin Roberts did with Brittney Griner. What I heard made me want to write her a letter. I hope it somehow finds it’s way to her through cyberspace. So here goes….

Dear Brittany,

I saw you on GMA this morning and wanted to write you. I wish we were friends so that I could talk to you and tell you to be gentle with yourself. You made a mistake. People make mistakes…all the time. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Some mistakes might have more consequences but it’s still just a mistake. No one should be judged by one misstep. Just today my wife called to tell me that she found her pocketknife in her backpack. This is the backpack that she just took on a flight from Florida to Colorado a week ago. She forgot it was in there. Imagine that. We all forget.

I don’t think you let everyone down. I don’t think you let anyone down. You didn’t plan to commit a crime. You weren’t masterminding a scheme and hoping to get away with it. You forgot. My wife forgot. Please forgive yourself. Don’t let this drag you down anymore. You were a victim. You deserve forgiveness…your own. I’m not sure you need anyone else’s forgiveness.

I know you have a wonderful and supportive wife who fought to get you home everyday. I can’t even imagine was this was like for both of you. You’re expecting a child and I know you have twins. If there is one thing parents know about its mistakes…their children’s and their own. I doubt you would be angry at your own child or blame them if they were in the same situation you were in. You’d help them forgive themselves and assure them that you weren’t mad at them. You’d tell them you understood it was simply a mistake and that all they needed to do was learn from it.

I hope you’re talking with someone about everything you’ve been through. I hope they’re helping you. Forgive yourself so you can continue to move forward. What other people think about you or what happened doesn’t make any difference. You can’t control what other people think. I’d try and be exposed to any negativity as little as possible. Surround yourself with the people who love you and believe the best about you…and there are many…some you know and lots that you don’t. Tell everyone else to kindly fuck all the way off.

Its easy for people to judge when they weren’t there…because they weren’t there. They have no idea what you’ve been through. One mistake does not diminish or define you. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. It was just a mistake…a mistake that was used against you to make you a political pawn. I’m sorry you were used by the Russian government. I’m sorry our government didn’t get you out of there sooner. I am very grateful they did bring you home.

Don’t listen to all the bullshit from the bullshitters. You know who you are. Your wife knows who you are. Your family, friends, and your teammates know who you are. I’ve followed you since Baylor. I had the chance to see you play at the University of Colorado one year. You were amazing. You are amazing. I feel as though I know you because you are genuinely you. That’s obvious to anyone who takes the time to see.

I’m glad you’re safe. I’m glad you’re home. I’m glad I get to watch you play in the WNBA again and hopefully in the Olympics. Do what you need to do to heal. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. I’m grateful for the gift of you in this world. The world is a better place with you in it. I’d be proud to have you as my daughter. You are a kind and loving person…and in the end all that matters is how we love people.

May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you live with ease.

                                                                                                                           

Where She Go?

~ 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 50th 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?

~ 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.

Multiple Diseases of the Elderly

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

The cremation place called me this morning…maybe it’s a cremation facility…I’m not sure. Anyway, they called early this morning to let me know that they have my mom and they’re taking care of her. That seems strange because she’s dead so how much are they really taking care of her? I understand that they were telling me that her body is being handled respectfully. I do appreciate that. They also wanted to ask me if I wanted the cause of death on all the death certificates or just some, what about half and half? Of course, I ordered 7 so there you go. We’re getting 4 of one and 3 of the other. I’m not sure which way so it’ll be a surprise. 

Since I had them on the phone…and a side note here, these cremation people are really lovely. They speak softly and calmly…slowly. They are as relaxed as possible, I’m sure because they are dealing with some unstable people…like me. So, since I was talking to them, I asked what my mom’s cause of death was, because no one told me, and I didn’t think to ask. She said, “Multiple diseases of the elderly.” Multiple diseases of the elderly…what the fuck does that mean? I thought they’d say natural causes because being almost 92 is a natural cause of death. Multiple diseases of the elderly make it sound like no one really knows…she was old…elderly…so check the box that covers the most options. Like a big “I’m elderly” blanket. 

I do not agree with their cause of death. My mom did have heart failure and A-Fib. She had a damaged valve in her heart because of rheumatic fever as a child. She had Parkinson’s disease that was progressing. She had a harder time moving her legs to walk and she became so unstable that she had to use a wheelchair. Her hands were shaking worse, and eating was more difficult. She had a hard time keeping food on a spoon or a fork. I know that really frustrated her. I can only imagine. I don’t think any of those multiple diseases were the cause of her death. 

Multiple diseases of the elderly were not the cause of my mother’s death. Not eating, not drinking, and sleeping were her causes of death. Maybe loneliness because she really missed my dad. Maybe that was the heart failure…failing from sadness. The real cause of death was that she wanted to die. So, the official cause of death was a “strong will.”

Now I feel confident in saying that “strong will” is not a choice on a death certificate. That’s too bad because I think it’s one of the most common causes of death for the elderly…strong will. I think that was the same cause of death for my dad. He was ready. She was ready. My mom told me that she wanted to die, and then she’d add, “Not because of you.” I did appreciate the clarification. 

My mom felt like she had lost control over her life and that all her decisions were made for her. That really made her angry. I told her that there were 3 things she controlled: what she ate, what she drank, and whether she took medicine. She controlled those things, and no one was going to make her do anything she didn’t want to. Then I talked to the staff to make sure I wasn’t lying. It was difficult for the nurses and aides who really cared for her to let her go. They wanted to convince her to eat, just a little, or take a sip of water…but they stopped. They honored her wishes, and in that way honored her. 

I do believe my mom willed herself to die. She definitely had a strong enough will to make it happen. She shut everything down and died. Strong will is not a disease but is certainly a cause of death. What are the multiple diseases of the elderly? At first, I was thinking of the obvious…heart failure, cancer, kidney, heart, lung, or liver disease, an aneurism, dementia, a stroke, and the list could certainly go on and on. My Aunt died of COPD, my dads’ parents died young of heart problems, my mom’s mom lived until 96…96 and ½. She’s got the record for sure. Her great grandchildren called her the “energizer bunny” and said that she kept going and going. 

But what are really the multiple diseases of the elderly? A “disease” is defined as an “illness or sickness characterized by specific signs or symptoms.” Seems obvious. But what about the “dis-eases” of the elderly? “Dis” is a Latin prefix meaning, “apart, asunder, or away.” The slang “dis” means “to treat with disrespect or contempt.” “Ease” is the “absence of difficulty or effort, making something less severe, or moving carefully.” Another definition is “to free something that pains, disquiets, or burdens.” 

So…apart, away, disrespect, absence of effort, less severe, free what pains or burdens us….Hmmm. Perhaps the real dis-ease for the elderly in our society is being put away or apart, not being respected as a useful member of society or a family. Maybe it’s that we want to be free from the extra burden of caring for someone in their last years. I guess it’s not that surprising since we do glorify youth in the United States. No one wants gray hair or wrinkles, so people have cosmetic changes made to themselves in hopes of looking forever young. We treat aging as a curse, instead of a natural part of life. I’ve told my wife that I like the lines on her face because I see them as laugh lines, and how could lines from happiness be a bad thing? 

When we moved to Florida with my parents, I had a plan. The plan was that my parents would live with us until their deaths. That way they’d never need a nursing home because we would take care of them for the rest of their lives. Oh, the best laid plans of mice and men…and women. For whatever reason, my mom became adamant that she wanted to be in a nursing home. She wanted to be away from me and away from my dad. She’d tell me that I didn’t want her there and neither did my dad, although that was untrue. 

We both tried to make her happy, but we couldn’t. When her aggressive behavior was too much for me to handle and keep my dad safe, I agreed to find her a nursing home. Getting her into a nursing home was a giant cluster fuck, as I have written about in other blog posts. Once she was in the nursing home she didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to be at home with my dad and I either…I don’t know exactly what she wanted. I think that maybe she didn’t know either. That was sad.

I know that the elderly are frequently overlooked in our country. Unlike other cultures, we don’t look to our elders for their wisdom and insights about life. We don’t ask about what life has been like for them. We don’t ask about the things they’ve learned or the experiences they’ve had. My dad could tell you about every place he ate when he was traveling. When we were driving from St. Louis to Florida it was a narration of all the places he drove and where he ate the best something. I told my wife I want to start looking for places to eat when we’re driving cross country…usually I just want to grab something and get right back in the car…but I could change, and it might be fun.

I think the multiple dis-eases of the elderly are loss, sadness, lack of control, and nothing to look forward to. The dis-ease is in watching everyone you love die. You may want to live a long life but along with that comes the loss of many people in your life. My mom said all the time that all of her friends were dead. Then she lost my dad. It’s hard to go from independence to complete dependence. My mom would tell people that I made her sell her car and that she could still drive fine. What she didn’t say was that one whole side of the car was scratched because she hit the side of the garage regularly pulling in. And she was completely blind in one eye. So, she could drive but it was dangerous for her, anyone on the road, and the garage. I understand selling the car represented a huge loss of independence for her.

It’s difficult to move somewhere knowing that you won’t move again. My wife and I talk about Florida as our last move, and we hope to stay where we are. But I’m 63 not 91. I know there’s still life ahead of me and many things I want to do. In a nursing home people only leave when they die. She felt like she was waiting to die. I would try and focus on everything she still had, a big family with grandchildren and great grandchildren, and the fact that she was very loved. I think my mom was sad and felt like I put her away, even though she’s the one who put herself away. It was hard to see her sad and angry.

We have a rapidly growing population of people over 65 in this country…I’m not, but that’s what I hear. We don’t have good answers about caring for an aging population. If you have the money, you can find a beautiful resort style place for independent or assisted living, with increasing levels of care as you need it. If you are not independently wealthy, it’s not as easy. The multiple diseases of the elderly are sadness, isolation, loneliness, loss. Those are the dis-ease’s of the elderly. Those are the causes of death in our elderly. 

I don’t know how to solve the problem except with awareness. We tried to give my mom and dad a full and happy life in Florida, some days were more successful than others. I’m not sure I was always as aware or attentive to my mom’s emotional needs as I could have been. I do know I was doing my best. The only way to discover what needs to be done is to lead with love. If I am leading with love, then I am seeing issues and people through a lens of love. When we love people what are we willing to do for them? If we love our neighbor as ourselves then what actions are we willing to take? Could we befriend a lonely neighbor or just say “hi” to someone? My mom used to love to sit on the patio and watch people walk their dogs. She was thrilled when someone stopped and talked to her. That’s all it took. Less than 5 minutes. Certainly, we all have 5 minutes to give. 

Let’s be real…Everyone wants to matter…to be seen…to be cared about. None of that changes just because you’re 70, 80, or 91. We never reach a place of not needing. We thrive in connection with others…in relationships. We are interdependent beings. We all need love, and we all have a tremendous capacity to love. Sometimes we hoard our love or reserve it for special people in our lives. But love is one of those things that the more you give it away, the more you have to give. 

So, let’s lead with love. If we use love as our guiding force, we will find the people and places that need our love the most. Let’s find them and let’s give all the love we can. We can meet people’s needs to matter and be seen by taking our focus off of ourselves and turning it towards others. We can find ways to be loving all day every day. Let’s do that. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people. Let’s love freely and generously. Our actions can ensure that love wins. Love must always win. 

I’m An Orphan…Right?

~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Can you be an orphan at 63? Well, 63 and ¾’s to be accurate. Personally, I’m not sure but my sister says that we’re orphans now. My mother died March 17th. St. Patrick’s Day. My sister and I think she did that on purpose. Now no one will ever forget the day she died and it’s a national holiday for us Irish folks. What more could you ask for…green beer and toasts to you all night…toasts lengthening with each Guinness consumed. Omg! She would be so pleased. I’m happy for her about that. We did many toasts Sunday. My favorite was, “May heaven know you’re dead a full half hour before the devil finds out.” She wouldn’t like that one for herself, but my dad was probably laughing his ass off. Hopefully I didn’t create a conflict there…I wouldn’t want them to fight on her first day in heaven.

My mother died peacefully in her sleep Sunday morning. The rehab center called to tell me. It was a call I had been expecting at any time, but I was still surprised when it came. My mother wanted to die. She was ready. In her good weeks, she told me she had a great life but that she had lived longer than she wanted to. She missed my dad. She had stopped eating and drinking. She curled up in bed and went to sleep. She stayed asleep several days before she died. My dad passed away exactly the same way. I’m sure after 70 years it was hard to be apart. 

My first phone call was to my sister. I told her and then we just stared at each other silently for a minute or two on FaceTime, and then she said, “Well we’re orphans now.” I would have been surprised by that except she had been practicing this idea on me with “We’re gonna be orphans soon” or “We’re gonna be orphans when mom dies” and “We’ll be orphans. That’s what it’s called when both of your parents are dead.” That’s what it’s called alright…kind of.

An orphan is defined as, “A child under the age of 18.” This definition made my sister super sad, so I told her I’ll adopt her, and then she won’t be an orphan. I can be her “sister mother” kind of like “sister wife” only legal…at least I think it would be legal…super creepy but legal. And I won’t make her wear a long dress and braids…well maybe braids. I’m thinking Pippi Longstocking’ish. I need some red hair dye.

When I hear the word “orphan” I think of “Little Orphan Annie” the title of which became “Annie” probably because you don’t address a child as a “little orphan” or any kind of orphan. It’s not a title. The movie “Annie” reminds me of, “It’s a hard knock life for us” and “Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow….” And of course, Carol Burnett as Ms. Hannigan. She was some bitch.

For my sister’s sake, I also read that adults who have lost their parents can (and do) identify themselves as orphans. Merriam-Webster says, “A child whose parents have died, are unknown or have permanently abandoned them” are orphans. By that definition my mom was an orphan from a young age. Her father left my grandmother when my mom was 6, I believe. She told me that he was crazy about her and loved to take her places with him. She said that he loved her so much, but he still left, and she never saw him again. And she doesn’t know why. My mom was devastated by the loss of her dad. She had a double loss, her dad and being left with her mother, who she told us, never loved her. My grandmother’s brother, my Mom’s Uncle Mike, lived in the apartment with them. I’ve heard horror stories of how my grandma and great uncle would scare my mom and how they were mean to her. She was traumatized as a child. And I guess no one really cared. I know she felt abandoned and unloved.

It’s no surprise my mom had a lot of phobias…claustrophobia, acrophobia, and hydrophobia are the ones I remember. Not understanding why she was treated so harshly she came to believe that she was “bad” somehow and everything that happened was her fault. When children don’t understand what’s happening around them, they make up a story that solves the riddle for them. Our brains cannot manage the stress of not knowing or understanding what happened, so our brain creates a solution…even if the solution is hurtful to us…or untrue.

I was also an orphan, way before this St. Patrick’s Day. I was abandoned by my mother almost from birth. Not technically, not physically, but emotionally. My mom and I had a complicated relationship. I’m not sure exactly why.  I think many of our issues stemmed from her own childhood. They were hers but projected onto me, so what was hers became mine. Her mother favored her brother, 4 years younger than her, I believe. My mom used to say, as if she was joking, that her brother was “the sun, moon, and stars” to her mom and that “he could do no wrong.” She felt unloved and unwanted. I felt the same way. My mom and I had years that we were estranged from each other and that led to my estrangement from my dad, my sister, and all my extended family. I’m sorry for the lost years, at the time I was doing what I thought was best for me, and my own mental health. Would I do it differently now? I honestly don’t know.

I’ve used this blog to write about my mom and I will continue to write about her, probably a lot. I’m going to write about her because she was my mom. She was a very influential person in my life. The ways she loved and hated, was pleased or disappointed, what she accepted and what was just tolerated shaped who she was and who I am. Now with awareness, I want to choose my shape…I will shape who I will become…or am becoming. We are always becoming.

My mom had mental health issues. My primary caretaker had mental health issues. Issues that were never fully addressed and definitely not talked about. It was perhaps the biggest elephant in the room growing up…and there was a small herd. I’m going to free the poor elephant, actually, all the elephants. They’ve been chained up for too fucking long. I’m going to write about, and talk about, the issues in my family, with my mom, my dad, my parents (because they were different together than individually), maybe my sister, extended family…I’m gonna talk about patterns and habitual behaviors, familial and personal. I’m going to talk about the legacy of abuse, mental illness (in different forms), abandonment, grudges, withholding, and I’m going to talk about forgiveness, mental health, insight and change…I hope lots of change, for myself. I’ll leave other people to determine their own path through whatever life brings to them. Life brings a lot…a hell of a lot. 

If you’re reading this and you loved my mom, you might be offended when I talk about her…so this blog may not be for you. Remember though, I loved her too. I loved her and she was my model for motherhood and womanhood. I was sculpted out of my responses and reactions to her. In order to understand me I need to understand her. I need to develop my compassion for her. She was just a woman doing the best she could. It didn’t always feel that way. I’m sure it doesn’t always seem like I’m doing my best either. I’m gonna do my best with this. I’m gonna do my best for my wife, kids, and family. I’m gonna do my best for her and for me…so I keep moving forward.

Let’s be real…losing a parent is hard. Losing both in less than a year feels like a lot. That’s my official assessment of myself…it’s a lot. Sorting through baggage, that we’ve carried for years is hard work. The starting point is to put it down. Set the baggage down. It may feel like you can’t because it’s such a part of you and after all it’s part of a matched set. Do it anyway. Set it down and look around it. Finding a new perspective can get you started on a new path, and intentional path…a path for you and your health, both emotional and physical. I am choosing an intentional path. I am choosing my path. No one is making me do anything. I’m taking the path that leads me through all the shit I’ve been avoiding for such a long time. No more serpentining…constantly running in a zigzag line because I’m afraid of what will happen if I stop. What happens if I stop? If I stop and set down the baggage…I guess it’s time to find out.

So I’m headed on to a path of transformation. My transformation. I am way the fuck too old to be blaming my mom for anything. It’s time I take charge of my own life. My own life and my own behavior. In order to love someone, you have to know them. And to know them you have to listen, deeply. Its time for me to know, listen to, and understand myself. To give myself the same consideration I’d give a friend. And of course, it all starts with love. Love is the greatest gift we can give someone, including ourselves. I’m going to lead with love, in the world and with myself. I’m gonna try some tenderness. In the end, all that matters is how we love people, and that includes ourselves. I want love to win in my life, and in yours. Let’s be love warriors…starting now. I’ll go first….