Just as we got to the gates of the Insight Meditation Center, I looked at all the kids playing in the yard and figured, "that must not be it." and kept driving down Pleasant Road. What retreat center would be filled with that many children? Oh, the one hosting the annual Family Buddhist Retreat. I turned around and sure enough, that was exactly where we needed to be.
Walking into the front door of IMS for the first time, I was overcome by a shyness and awkward feeling.... we are a long way from anything familiar. These people... I don't know any of them...who are they? will I fit in? OMG, I don't fit here at all... It wasn't Zman I was worried about... it was me. Looking around at the excitement, the people who knew each other, catching up on life's details ... I found myself retreating... sitting quietly, turning my social uncomfortability into a mindfulness practice.
We gathered for the first time as a group in the hall. Each of us had claimed our spot for the week. Sitting close to the front and off to the side meant easy access to the escape hatch and we didn't have to see all the people we don't know. Safe. We held hands, participated in the singing, and hoped that the week would be healing for our challenged relationship. Yeah, you should know... the Zman and I struggle a lot in our relationship. It is filled with lots of challenges. We agreed to set intentions to cure things, be honest, share and find our way back to the sweet spot where laughter between us reigns supreme.
That anonymity didn't last long, we were asked to STAND UP (omg) in front of all the sangha, and when the teacher asked if someone would be our buddy family... there was no response. Oh, we're them, those people no one wants to like. Oh us? But that lasted for only a few more moments, and I made my first connection ... we found our buddies.
The topic of the weekend was Refuge. Over the course of the retreat, I accepted and trusted that I could take refuge in my new found sangha, and when I made that choice to trust... possibilities began to emerge. I made authentic connections that lead to meaningful discussions. It took a day or two to accept, we were exactly where we needed to be... among our sangha. I met so many amazing people who had so much to teach me and commiserate about the challenges we face as parents on the path. The conversations that evolved over the course of the retreat illuminated so much for me. I never expected to find those connections when I arrived at IMS on Saturday afternoon. In my heart, I know I have found refuge in this sangha for which I'm immensely greatful.
In my one on one work with one of the teachers, I allowed her to take me to one of the darkest places I go... and realized, I do have the ability to be mindful in the greatest states of anger. My practice serves me better than I realize, and I should create more openings for mindfulness in even the darkest of moments.
There is refuge in my mindfulness. There is refuge on my cushion. There is refuge in others. There is refuge in my heart. I can be safe, happy and free in the dharma. There is room for me in practice... and for the first time in a long time.. I felt I belong.
Belonging in the Buddhist community has been something I've struggled with immensely. After some dharma drama last year, the demise of the DPXHV group and the issues that arose ... I let my delusion punish me and teach me that I'm not worthy of the practice. This is not the case. I'd like to proudly say, the dharma isn't something that is deserved, it is earned and wow, I HAVE EARNED IT!
I also fully recognize, that I'm a total newb, that my green state of being makes me nothing more than a student. I have plenty of time to savor and learn, grow and bloom. No need to rush when there are so many gifts to be received in the practice.
Over the course of five days... I learned so much... I didn't expect the personal work to be there, but it was. I chose to be rigorously honest, and open myself to this new 'net'... and take Refuge in this new found sangha. What a gift!
Some things I've uncovered... Joy is a choice ... and something both my son and I want to cultivate in our daily lives. We choose Joy!!!
Using my angry scary mommy voice is not a useful or skillful tool. I can find other ways to be softer and still get across the message without the excessive force of my great intensity. There is a way to present clear intention without the intention to force 'fear'.
My perception that arises from assumptions is not accurate. I am causing harm by assuming I know better than anyont else. In many instances, I can easily arrive at an idea that I know what is best in a situation... but when I let go .. listen, absorb and take time to get all the information... I can discover.. I have much to learn.
I was reminded in a dharma talk about the perils of our attachment to sense pleasures, and was given permission to begin again anytime I want to. We talked about that idea of having a safe space in which to practice, and the value of reminding people of their gifts rather than exposing how they disappoint us. These clues, lessons and reminders earmarked places in my citta and my hope and intention is to utilize them the next time those feelings of discomfort arise.
My son is one of my greatest teachers. From him I continue to learn so much. He is my true refuge. To him, I show deep gratitude for teaching me the true meaning of Metta and giving me a purpose of service I never knew I'd be able to perform.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
bye bye baby...
as my forty-second birthday looms in the path ahead... a great sadness seems to be overtaking me... for it marks a deadline I cannot change. the alarm clock went off ages ago, and I keep hitting the snooze button, over... and Over... AND OVER... in a month, I have to accept... I've run out of snooze buttons... and there will be no turning back.
being a mom was NEVER one of my goals, being married was for suckers, having kids was for jerk offs who needed someone to control. oh my rant went on and on. I didn't want kids. I didn't want that sort of responsibility. my mom was (still is) an abusive bitch and I was going to break the cycle by never having children and never being anything like her.
I found these conformist institutions like marriage and baby making for those other people who had unfulfilled lives.
my sister was slated to be the one to get married, have kids and follow the expected route through adulthood. not Elissa Jane!!! not ME! when my now ex-husband asked me to marry him, I laughed. not like a small giggle, no, I LAUGHED...... because I couldn't believe this was something anyone would ever ask of me.
but it happened. I married him. and a year and a half later on October 17th, 2001 he got me pregnant. something happened... that thing inside me became a baby, my baby, and my chance to do good in this world. I suddenly had reason, purpose, something other than me to think about.
my pregnancy was more than hard. I lived with a staunch hard core alcoholic who decided that I was the enemy. I got pregnant on purpose and I did it to him. for ten months (my son was very late) I endured abuse, mostly verbal and some physical and lived in constant fear. my pregnancy was NOTHING like the movies. I cried a lot, and waited home alone for a husband who was blowing what little money we didn't have at the bars, falling asleep on benches, avoiding me and our home. I lived in fear and couldn't imagine how I could be worthy of bringing a life into this world. if my pregnancy was any indicator of life ahead, I was doomed.
on July 18th, 2002... they cut Zoren Samuel Mastel out of my belly. they held his squished up crying body up so I could see him. he was there, here. they handed him to Randall who was the very first person to hold him. it was the only time I've ever seen Randall cry. in that instant, I watched that asshole fall in love with our perfect little son, "look at your mom, this is your mommy, isn't she brave, she worked so hard to have you, I love you, we're a family.... "
everything I difficult I had endured melted away, and hope arrived. Zoren was born. we were a family. for a moment.
in the days that followed, while I recovered in the hospital, Randall was out celebrating at the bar. he barely came to see us. when we came home, he was out as fast as lightening, and out drinking every night. I actually had to call the cops and I kicked him out of the house.
they say children change you. the arrival of Motherhood certainly changed me. from that moment I realized I was pregnant, to the moment I gave birth, I had one mission... to put this little person ahead of everything else. I opened a business to support us, and have fought hard to keep us afloat for the past nine years. people would ask me how I do so much, how do I juggle it all? my response would always be, "being his mom is easy, it is life that is so hard."
I wanted more kids. I wanted to make up for the shitty pregnancy, and have one where I got to be the doted on pregnant woman. I wanted a baby with whom I could spend a maternity leave with. sheesh, I wanted to get to have a maternity leave! I had hoped for a partner who was excited about the baby inside me. I wanted all the stuff you see in the movies that I never got to have because I was living with a drunk douche bag the first time around.
after begging and pleading, we tried for a second. and failed. I had five miscarriages in two years. it was unbearably painful to watch my fellow mommy friends getting pregnant again while I endured life as a broken woman. my body just wouldn't do it. I suppose I should be grateful now, having two kids as a single mom would be so incredibly insanely hard. (Carla, woman, I do not know how you do it!)
I was meant to be a mom, I love being a mother. in my entire accomplished life, nothing compares to being able to make boo boos better with my kisses and leh'monem cookies (=M+M Cookies, took a while for Z to be able to say 'M+M') for school functions. pregnancy might have ruined my body, but it did something beautiful to my soul. in these years I've learned patience, I've given up my selfish lifestyle and put this other person first. I've had to learn to set boundaries and rules, yes, I'm even a decent disciplinarian. I know the true meaning of unconditional love, and I'm proud to say that I've broken the cycle of abuse and pain from my mom.
it may sound cliche, but my life was kind of meaningless before I became a parent.
last week, I went to the 35th Annual Phoenicia Square Dance with my son on my arm as my date, head held, erm, not really very high.. but my son and I danced together... I socialized and accepted where I'm at in life, the cosmopolitan single mom transplant. there are easy days, where I look at my gorgeous, perfect kiddo and say, yeah, life is good just like this.
and then... there's the alarm clock that stopped going off. no more snooze buttons to push. I had been hopeful that by now I would have met someone, had another kiddo, been moved onto my next marriage and my next phase of my life. samsara didn't dole that out as my lot. yeah, I'm turning forty-two next month. this was the deadline, the final year, the last chance. reality has settled in, there will be no more kids for me. it's really incredibly sad. it is time to let go of my attachment to hope, there won't be another chance at a great love... and there definitely isn't going to be another baby. what a shame, I made such gorgeous awesome kiddos and I'm such an awesome mom, how could you not want to get me pregnant? sigh.
we all have our trigger for what causes us suffering... and now you know mine, the deep rooted truth... and now... to the hope I have been clinging onto I say, "bye bye baby.... "
being a mom was NEVER one of my goals, being married was for suckers, having kids was for jerk offs who needed someone to control. oh my rant went on and on. I didn't want kids. I didn't want that sort of responsibility. my mom was (still is) an abusive bitch and I was going to break the cycle by never having children and never being anything like her.
I found these conformist institutions like marriage and baby making for those other people who had unfulfilled lives.
my sister was slated to be the one to get married, have kids and follow the expected route through adulthood. not Elissa Jane!!! not ME! when my now ex-husband asked me to marry him, I laughed. not like a small giggle, no, I LAUGHED...... because I couldn't believe this was something anyone would ever ask of me.
but it happened. I married him. and a year and a half later on October 17th, 2001 he got me pregnant. something happened... that thing inside me became a baby, my baby, and my chance to do good in this world. I suddenly had reason, purpose, something other than me to think about.
my pregnancy was more than hard. I lived with a staunch hard core alcoholic who decided that I was the enemy. I got pregnant on purpose and I did it to him. for ten months (my son was very late) I endured abuse, mostly verbal and some physical and lived in constant fear. my pregnancy was NOTHING like the movies. I cried a lot, and waited home alone for a husband who was blowing what little money we didn't have at the bars, falling asleep on benches, avoiding me and our home. I lived in fear and couldn't imagine how I could be worthy of bringing a life into this world. if my pregnancy was any indicator of life ahead, I was doomed.
on July 18th, 2002... they cut Zoren Samuel Mastel out of my belly. they held his squished up crying body up so I could see him. he was there, here. they handed him to Randall who was the very first person to hold him. it was the only time I've ever seen Randall cry. in that instant, I watched that asshole fall in love with our perfect little son, "look at your mom, this is your mommy, isn't she brave, she worked so hard to have you, I love you, we're a family.... "
everything I difficult I had endured melted away, and hope arrived. Zoren was born. we were a family. for a moment.
in the days that followed, while I recovered in the hospital, Randall was out celebrating at the bar. he barely came to see us. when we came home, he was out as fast as lightening, and out drinking every night. I actually had to call the cops and I kicked him out of the house.
they say children change you. the arrival of Motherhood certainly changed me. from that moment I realized I was pregnant, to the moment I gave birth, I had one mission... to put this little person ahead of everything else. I opened a business to support us, and have fought hard to keep us afloat for the past nine years. people would ask me how I do so much, how do I juggle it all? my response would always be, "being his mom is easy, it is life that is so hard."
I wanted more kids. I wanted to make up for the shitty pregnancy, and have one where I got to be the doted on pregnant woman. I wanted a baby with whom I could spend a maternity leave with. sheesh, I wanted to get to have a maternity leave! I had hoped for a partner who was excited about the baby inside me. I wanted all the stuff you see in the movies that I never got to have because I was living with a drunk douche bag the first time around.
after begging and pleading, we tried for a second. and failed. I had five miscarriages in two years. it was unbearably painful to watch my fellow mommy friends getting pregnant again while I endured life as a broken woman. my body just wouldn't do it. I suppose I should be grateful now, having two kids as a single mom would be so incredibly insanely hard. (Carla, woman, I do not know how you do it!)
I was meant to be a mom, I love being a mother. in my entire accomplished life, nothing compares to being able to make boo boos better with my kisses and leh'monem cookies (=M+M Cookies, took a while for Z to be able to say 'M+M') for school functions. pregnancy might have ruined my body, but it did something beautiful to my soul. in these years I've learned patience, I've given up my selfish lifestyle and put this other person first. I've had to learn to set boundaries and rules, yes, I'm even a decent disciplinarian. I know the true meaning of unconditional love, and I'm proud to say that I've broken the cycle of abuse and pain from my mom.
it may sound cliche, but my life was kind of meaningless before I became a parent.
last week, I went to the 35th Annual Phoenicia Square Dance with my son on my arm as my date, head held, erm, not really very high.. but my son and I danced together... I socialized and accepted where I'm at in life, the cosmopolitan single mom transplant. there are easy days, where I look at my gorgeous, perfect kiddo and say, yeah, life is good just like this.
and then... there's the alarm clock that stopped going off. no more snooze buttons to push. I had been hopeful that by now I would have met someone, had another kiddo, been moved onto my next marriage and my next phase of my life. samsara didn't dole that out as my lot. yeah, I'm turning forty-two next month. this was the deadline, the final year, the last chance. reality has settled in, there will be no more kids for me. it's really incredibly sad. it is time to let go of my attachment to hope, there won't be another chance at a great love... and there definitely isn't going to be another baby. what a shame, I made such gorgeous awesome kiddos and I'm such an awesome mom, how could you not want to get me pregnant? sigh.
we all have our trigger for what causes us suffering... and now you know mine, the deep rooted truth... and now... to the hope I have been clinging onto I say, "bye bye baby.... "
Saturday, May 7, 2011
yeah haw the single mom honky tonk blues
I know it may sound like a broken record over and over throughout this blog.. but here it comes... while I sing ya.. the single mom blues. Over the past 5 years I've learned to go from being dependent on my partner to get through life to an incredibly independent Woman. I mean, have I had a choice? Sure I have my chill dharma yoga meditation practice, but that's not quelling the fundamental need to NOT be alone all the time. Most days, it has become routine to raise my son and walk this earth alone, but this week threw me some really hard core triggers that really made me scream F.M.L. over and over.
When Zoren was born, I remember people asking all these questions about what parenthood was like... my standard answer then was, "being Zoren's mom is easy, it's all this life around me that's really hard." He was the most amazing, loving, happy baby. The kid never cried, was always amenable and liked all people. He laughed constantly and everything was near perfect for the first 19 months.
He learned to walk before he was one... and I remember him falling and hurting himself in my shop one day... he fell and cut his chin, blood spilling out of his face. This was just the beginning. he learned to bite me and bruised me from head to toe, he learned to talk back, Zman got in fights in preschool, hurt other kids, got hurt, became a victim of a bully, acted out, hated me, wouldn't put on his shoes every morning for two years without me yelling, sassed teachers, sassed me and all this time... I've had to maintain some sort of composure and figure out how to help and fix this kid and his phases. We have done family counseling and sit together and talk quietly. Sometimes he likes to meditate with me, I really like that.
I gotta tell you... nine years later... being a mom isn't always so easy. Doing it on my own has been pretty darned challenging.
In the early years when I was still married, I remember meeting single moms and wondering how the hell they do it. I'd think that would never be me, I'd be married forever. That would never happen to me. Of course, what we resist, persists and sure enough here I am... touting phrases like, "Single moms rock!" and throwing around my unsure sense of liberated feminism in order to put strength behind a situation I really don't want to be in.
This entire week has been nothing but car trouble. I can't tell you how sucky it is being a Cartarded JAP Princess getting stuck with a car that won't drive properly. It's my own fault, I've been driving it into the ground for weeks. Sitting on the side of the road last weekend with the car overheating... I managed to play EJ MacGyver and figured out how to aleviate the situation and get us from point A to Point B. At first I felt empowered, like shit, I can do this! By Sunday, I wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear... I wanted some man to come and swoop me up in his BatPlane and pick my car up with a crane and take it to his BatCave where his trusty butler fixit man would get rid of it and buy me a newer more reliable one.
Whenever I meet a guy who can fix cars, I swoon at the idea that he will be my perfect match and that I'll never struggle or suffer the plight of driving a piece of crap old car anymore... that he will save the day and save me. I had a guy who used to work on my cars, and I loved him. When we first started dating he took my car to the car wash and detailed it for me in the 90 degree heat... I fell in love with him right there and then. He replaced my alternator, fixed all the little broken things, he fixed and fixed and split... ACK!
Today I was stuck on the side of the Throughway, car smoking while I stood there in my Prada high heels. Why am I single??? I cried out... how can this be? I hate this shit, I really do. The tow truck came, the car got fixed but I felt so vulnerable, like how is it that I had to pay for help. It really utterly sucked. When I get stuck, which happens, I hate this feeling that I just don't know who I'm supposed to call to help me. I have to handle my whole life on my own. It's so challenging. It really is.
Tonight was another one of those school/town functions where I get to strut my stuff as the token City Chick Single Mom who moved upstate to do over her life...yes, tonight was the 35th annual Phoenicia Square Dance... Zman was my date, it was mommy and me time. As usual, I showed up, just him and me for the whole town to see. Dads a plenty in their western shirts and wedding rings, staying clear..... that Ms. French and Ms. Howe looking down their noses at me... I sat in the corner, alone as I always do... sipping $.50 cups of lemonade in styrofoam cups watching the social scene of Phoenicia unfold in front of me. In the four years I've lived up here, I've learned their faces, many of their names, had playdates, saw them at the 'anonymous' meetings and certainly have gotten to chat with them over the years on field trips and at birthday parties. I've found my way in to this community..... the single mom from the city and her little dark funkified child.
Over the years, the dread has waned and I've grown a little more comfortable each time I go to school to participate in these functions. I've certainly made some friendly connections among the fellow parents, but I just don't fit in. I could blame myself for not really getting involved enough, but there's something very 'mean girls' about the PTA that always triggers great aversion for me.
But something this night was different from all the other school function nights. Leading up to the big square dance ... my son was so enthusiastic that we were going to this event. He bought bandannas for us in the little school store, his was blue, mine was bright pink and he was proud to have picked one so girlie just for me. We took our time putting our outfits together and even I got a little excited. I did manage to get my little cowpoke to be my dance partner, and we had fun square dancing together, in fact we had a blast. I let him be him, running around with his friends, getting lost and being a kid having fun. There was a moment while I swung on the swing set watching him interact with his classmates in the playground under the dusk filled sky, the crescent moon over the mountains and the stars just beginning to emerge. I wanted to leave and get the eff out of there, but I decided to just put him first and let him play while I observed. Him and his friends ran amok making up new games and hunting each other down in various forms of tag and hide and seek. At one point, he called out to me in a loud whisper, "I love you mommy," from a hiding spot. I smiled.
As parents came and scooped up their kids, Zoren did something he rarely does anymore, he reached for my hand and stayed close as we walked out to leave. He held My Hand for all his friends to see! Pulling me close, my too cool child said, "I love you mommy, I had the best time because you let me be me. I love that you let me be me, you're the best mommy. Thanks for dancing with me, that was fun."
After thinking for a moment, I decided to agree. Why not decide that tonight was fun, wasn't it? I'm ok with getting used to being the token hipster city single mom. There's some parts of the act I don't mind... the dads who talk to me about music, telling my wacky dating stories, all my comedic jokes ... it's not really that bad. My friend's partner said to me tonight, "what, how is it that you're totally single? I figured you had a stable of men, you're too fine to be alone. I just don't believe that, you just need to walk out the door and you'll get someone." Hah hah, if only that were true, but thank you for saying it anyway.
Look at my life... the struggle, the complications and me, wacky nutty me. No one could possibly want to step into all of this. You don't just get me, you have to take on me and my kid, we're this package... it's no wonder I'm on my own... we're a tough world to walk into. We're family, we're all the things family represents and becoming one of us must be an unfathomable idea for most guys I'm sure.
Snuggling up with Zman at bedtime, he was so elated that we had so much fun that he declared that it's Mother's Day Weekend because of all the work I do. He has decided that one day isn't enough, he wants me to know that I'm the best mommy so he's gonna make me breakfast tomorrow. He acknowledged how hard it is for me, and promised to do more chores around the house and stop being so messy.
Two seconds later I sat down on droplets of Zman's pee on the the toilet seat. Yuck. He swears to me he'll lift the seat from now on as part of my Mother's Day present. AWESOME!
When Zoren was born, I remember people asking all these questions about what parenthood was like... my standard answer then was, "being Zoren's mom is easy, it's all this life around me that's really hard." He was the most amazing, loving, happy baby. The kid never cried, was always amenable and liked all people. He laughed constantly and everything was near perfect for the first 19 months.
He learned to walk before he was one... and I remember him falling and hurting himself in my shop one day... he fell and cut his chin, blood spilling out of his face. This was just the beginning. he learned to bite me and bruised me from head to toe, he learned to talk back, Zman got in fights in preschool, hurt other kids, got hurt, became a victim of a bully, acted out, hated me, wouldn't put on his shoes every morning for two years without me yelling, sassed teachers, sassed me and all this time... I've had to maintain some sort of composure and figure out how to help and fix this kid and his phases. We have done family counseling and sit together and talk quietly. Sometimes he likes to meditate with me, I really like that.
I gotta tell you... nine years later... being a mom isn't always so easy. Doing it on my own has been pretty darned challenging.
In the early years when I was still married, I remember meeting single moms and wondering how the hell they do it. I'd think that would never be me, I'd be married forever. That would never happen to me. Of course, what we resist, persists and sure enough here I am... touting phrases like, "Single moms rock!" and throwing around my unsure sense of liberated feminism in order to put strength behind a situation I really don't want to be in.
This entire week has been nothing but car trouble. I can't tell you how sucky it is being a Cartarded JAP Princess getting stuck with a car that won't drive properly. It's my own fault, I've been driving it into the ground for weeks. Sitting on the side of the road last weekend with the car overheating... I managed to play EJ MacGyver and figured out how to aleviate the situation and get us from point A to Point B. At first I felt empowered, like shit, I can do this! By Sunday, I wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear... I wanted some man to come and swoop me up in his BatPlane and pick my car up with a crane and take it to his BatCave where his trusty butler fixit man would get rid of it and buy me a newer more reliable one.
Whenever I meet a guy who can fix cars, I swoon at the idea that he will be my perfect match and that I'll never struggle or suffer the plight of driving a piece of crap old car anymore... that he will save the day and save me. I had a guy who used to work on my cars, and I loved him. When we first started dating he took my car to the car wash and detailed it for me in the 90 degree heat... I fell in love with him right there and then. He replaced my alternator, fixed all the little broken things, he fixed and fixed and split... ACK!
Today I was stuck on the side of the Throughway, car smoking while I stood there in my Prada high heels. Why am I single??? I cried out... how can this be? I hate this shit, I really do. The tow truck came, the car got fixed but I felt so vulnerable, like how is it that I had to pay for help. It really utterly sucked. When I get stuck, which happens, I hate this feeling that I just don't know who I'm supposed to call to help me. I have to handle my whole life on my own. It's so challenging. It really is.
Tonight was another one of those school/town functions where I get to strut my stuff as the token City Chick Single Mom who moved upstate to do over her life...yes, tonight was the 35th annual Phoenicia Square Dance... Zman was my date, it was mommy and me time. As usual, I showed up, just him and me for the whole town to see. Dads a plenty in their western shirts and wedding rings, staying clear..... that Ms. French and Ms. Howe looking down their noses at me... I sat in the corner, alone as I always do... sipping $.50 cups of lemonade in styrofoam cups watching the social scene of Phoenicia unfold in front of me. In the four years I've lived up here, I've learned their faces, many of their names, had playdates, saw them at the 'anonymous' meetings and certainly have gotten to chat with them over the years on field trips and at birthday parties. I've found my way in to this community..... the single mom from the city and her little dark funkified child.
Over the years, the dread has waned and I've grown a little more comfortable each time I go to school to participate in these functions. I've certainly made some friendly connections among the fellow parents, but I just don't fit in. I could blame myself for not really getting involved enough, but there's something very 'mean girls' about the PTA that always triggers great aversion for me.
But something this night was different from all the other school function nights. Leading up to the big square dance ... my son was so enthusiastic that we were going to this event. He bought bandannas for us in the little school store, his was blue, mine was bright pink and he was proud to have picked one so girlie just for me. We took our time putting our outfits together and even I got a little excited. I did manage to get my little cowpoke to be my dance partner, and we had fun square dancing together, in fact we had a blast. I let him be him, running around with his friends, getting lost and being a kid having fun. There was a moment while I swung on the swing set watching him interact with his classmates in the playground under the dusk filled sky, the crescent moon over the mountains and the stars just beginning to emerge. I wanted to leave and get the eff out of there, but I decided to just put him first and let him play while I observed. Him and his friends ran amok making up new games and hunting each other down in various forms of tag and hide and seek. At one point, he called out to me in a loud whisper, "I love you mommy," from a hiding spot. I smiled.
As parents came and scooped up their kids, Zoren did something he rarely does anymore, he reached for my hand and stayed close as we walked out to leave. He held My Hand for all his friends to see! Pulling me close, my too cool child said, "I love you mommy, I had the best time because you let me be me. I love that you let me be me, you're the best mommy. Thanks for dancing with me, that was fun."
After thinking for a moment, I decided to agree. Why not decide that tonight was fun, wasn't it? I'm ok with getting used to being the token hipster city single mom. There's some parts of the act I don't mind... the dads who talk to me about music, telling my wacky dating stories, all my comedic jokes ... it's not really that bad. My friend's partner said to me tonight, "what, how is it that you're totally single? I figured you had a stable of men, you're too fine to be alone. I just don't believe that, you just need to walk out the door and you'll get someone." Hah hah, if only that were true, but thank you for saying it anyway.
Look at my life... the struggle, the complications and me, wacky nutty me. No one could possibly want to step into all of this. You don't just get me, you have to take on me and my kid, we're this package... it's no wonder I'm on my own... we're a tough world to walk into. We're family, we're all the things family represents and becoming one of us must be an unfathomable idea for most guys I'm sure.
Snuggling up with Zman at bedtime, he was so elated that we had so much fun that he declared that it's Mother's Day Weekend because of all the work I do. He has decided that one day isn't enough, he wants me to know that I'm the best mommy so he's gonna make me breakfast tomorrow. He acknowledged how hard it is for me, and promised to do more chores around the house and stop being so messy.
Two seconds later I sat down on droplets of Zman's pee on the the toilet seat. Yuck. He swears to me he'll lift the seat from now on as part of my Mother's Day present. AWESOME!
Friday, October 29, 2010
there is always room for forgiveness, healing and change
ten years ago, I was heading for the zenith of my PR career.
ten years ago, I was engaged and then married.
ten years ago, I was super skinny.
ten years ago, my father and I were estranged for more than a decade.
ten years ago, I found my Dad......
It was March 2000, and there was only a month left until the wedding. I was a pretty chill bridezilla, as a seasoned event planner, I had pulled the details together quickly and seamlessly, the guest list was small (under 70 including dates) the scene was set. Everything with the wedding was 'perfect', and I was pretty excited how well things fell into place.
But there was something missing. There was an empty void inside of me, the pain of feeling like I wasn't worthy ... a disconnect that felt unfixable.
I was missing my Dad. He had been out of my life for over ten years, and the pain of that was devastating. I did all sorts of work around it, from joining Lifespring, therapy, counseling, support groups, heavy drugs, and adopting friends Dad's as father figures. Each of the outlets provided me some comfort, but none of them answered the questions for me that played on a continuous loop in my head that started with the word 'Why'.
I was never Daddy's Girl, that spot was reserved for my sister. But he loved me, and would tell me things you want a Dad to say, like, "you're way prettier than your sister." Ok, not healthy but ... I loved and love that he tells me this. Sick, yes, I am.
The month before the wedding, March 2000, my mother and I were on the phone. She had let me know that she had seen Harvey, an old friend of Dad's, in her neighborhood walking his dogs. She mentioned this to me a few times over a couple of weeks. So one night, I dial 411 and get his number. With my fiancee at my side, I dialed Harvey.
"Hi Harvey, I'm not sure if you remember me, I'm Elissa, Bob's daughter. You haven't seen or heard from me in a long time. My mom had said she had seen you around her neighborhood, and I was hoping you might know where my Dad is."
Harvey responded, "Of course I remember you. Yes, I can put you in touch with your Dad, are you sure you really want to talk with him?"
"Oh yes, if it's not too much trouble, I have a pen and paper, could I get his number," shaking, I'm waiting for the information.
"Elissa, I can put you in touch with him," he repeated, "but, are you sure you want to speak with him?"
"Yes, really, I do," nervous but sure, I responded.
"How about I put him on the phone now," I could hear Harvey smiling through the receiver, "He's sitting right here. I haven't seen him in years, and he's visiting with me right now!"
My father got on the phone and within minutes we had orchestrated a plan to meet downtown at Temple Bar for a martini. Our reunion was six martini's deep, and by the end, I realized that all the therapy, counseling, drugs and support groups were bullshit, I really just needed to see my dad and get that sort of affirmation that only could come from him.
I did ask him the big question, 'Why." His answer was, "I really don't know, but I'm sorry."
In that moment, I surrendered to realizing that was enough, that he was a suffering human being, who made a lot of bad choices. He shared that he thought of calling me, but each time, he felt worse that more time had passed.
From there.... things changed. He was back in my life. He still wasn't invited to the wedding, my mom and sister put the kybosh to that. I wish I had stood my ground, and it saddens me he wasn't there but... clearly, there will be a next one. Well, I can hope.
After 9/11, I convinced my mother and sister to invite him to Thanksgiving, and from that point on, our dysfunctional wacky family was reunited. At that holiday dinner, I refused the champagne, and announced that I was pregnant. He might of missed the wedding, but he hasn't missed a day of my son's life. The first people to meet the Zbot after his Dad, was my mom and MY DAD. In fact, it was my father who handed Zoren to me the first time I finally got to hold him in my arms.
After the torture of the worst divorce in history, my parents made the 'War of the Roses' look like a side show at the Big Apple Circus .... years and years apart, my parents are friends, good friends. Dad has been making amends to each of us. He has taken care of my mom during her stroke, cancer and other emergency visits to the hospital. He visits my sister in Boston. My father is back in my life, and ... we have had some BIG breakthroughs in our relationship, particularly this year. I took a stand and made amends to him for my part in the difficulties of our relationship over matzoh ball soup at Passover dinner at my mom's. And ... most recently, he took a stand and stood up for ME with my family when I needed him to. After years of crying that my Dad doesn't get my back, I got to see that he really does.
Today he turned 68, although, he would prefer if you would just say 59. He just went through a couple of years of pain and surgery and I am seeing the impermanence of life unfolding before me. He's not the tough, heartless, ruthless business man of his past... he too has been broken by his own suffering. Where I once felt disdain and resentment, I feel genuine love and compassion. The night we were reunited at the Temple Bar, I discovered my father was a broken man. I forgave him easily, but it certainly hasn't been easy and smooth between us these past ten years. Both of us have worked on it, and while our relationship may not be the example of ideal, it ain't bad. I have a dad, and my son has a very close relationship with his grandfather.
I'm so grateful to have my Dad in my life. I know that something strange and mysterious was at work the day I found him at Harvey's apartment. In these times where I struggle with a continuous crisis of faith, I have to acknowledge that something must have been at work that I was able to find him in one phone call.
So Dad, Happy Birthday. Thanks for being in my life, and for teaching me that there is always room for forgiveness, healing and change. I love you very much.
ten years ago, I was engaged and then married.
ten years ago, I was super skinny.
ten years ago, my father and I were estranged for more than a decade.
ten years ago, I found my Dad......
It was March 2000, and there was only a month left until the wedding. I was a pretty chill bridezilla, as a seasoned event planner, I had pulled the details together quickly and seamlessly, the guest list was small (under 70 including dates) the scene was set. Everything with the wedding was 'perfect', and I was pretty excited how well things fell into place.
But there was something missing. There was an empty void inside of me, the pain of feeling like I wasn't worthy ... a disconnect that felt unfixable.
I was missing my Dad. He had been out of my life for over ten years, and the pain of that was devastating. I did all sorts of work around it, from joining Lifespring, therapy, counseling, support groups, heavy drugs, and adopting friends Dad's as father figures. Each of the outlets provided me some comfort, but none of them answered the questions for me that played on a continuous loop in my head that started with the word 'Why'.
I was never Daddy's Girl, that spot was reserved for my sister. But he loved me, and would tell me things you want a Dad to say, like, "you're way prettier than your sister." Ok, not healthy but ... I loved and love that he tells me this. Sick, yes, I am.
The month before the wedding, March 2000, my mother and I were on the phone. She had let me know that she had seen Harvey, an old friend of Dad's, in her neighborhood walking his dogs. She mentioned this to me a few times over a couple of weeks. So one night, I dial 411 and get his number. With my fiancee at my side, I dialed Harvey.
"Hi Harvey, I'm not sure if you remember me, I'm Elissa, Bob's daughter. You haven't seen or heard from me in a long time. My mom had said she had seen you around her neighborhood, and I was hoping you might know where my Dad is."
Harvey responded, "Of course I remember you. Yes, I can put you in touch with your Dad, are you sure you really want to talk with him?"
"Oh yes, if it's not too much trouble, I have a pen and paper, could I get his number," shaking, I'm waiting for the information.
"Elissa, I can put you in touch with him," he repeated, "but, are you sure you want to speak with him?"
"Yes, really, I do," nervous but sure, I responded.
"How about I put him on the phone now," I could hear Harvey smiling through the receiver, "He's sitting right here. I haven't seen him in years, and he's visiting with me right now!"
My father got on the phone and within minutes we had orchestrated a plan to meet downtown at Temple Bar for a martini. Our reunion was six martini's deep, and by the end, I realized that all the therapy, counseling, drugs and support groups were bullshit, I really just needed to see my dad and get that sort of affirmation that only could come from him.
I did ask him the big question, 'Why." His answer was, "I really don't know, but I'm sorry."
In that moment, I surrendered to realizing that was enough, that he was a suffering human being, who made a lot of bad choices. He shared that he thought of calling me, but each time, he felt worse that more time had passed.
From there.... things changed. He was back in my life. He still wasn't invited to the wedding, my mom and sister put the kybosh to that. I wish I had stood my ground, and it saddens me he wasn't there but... clearly, there will be a next one. Well, I can hope.
After 9/11, I convinced my mother and sister to invite him to Thanksgiving, and from that point on, our dysfunctional wacky family was reunited. At that holiday dinner, I refused the champagne, and announced that I was pregnant. He might of missed the wedding, but he hasn't missed a day of my son's life. The first people to meet the Zbot after his Dad, was my mom and MY DAD. In fact, it was my father who handed Zoren to me the first time I finally got to hold him in my arms.
After the torture of the worst divorce in history, my parents made the 'War of the Roses' look like a side show at the Big Apple Circus .... years and years apart, my parents are friends, good friends. Dad has been making amends to each of us. He has taken care of my mom during her stroke, cancer and other emergency visits to the hospital. He visits my sister in Boston. My father is back in my life, and ... we have had some BIG breakthroughs in our relationship, particularly this year. I took a stand and made amends to him for my part in the difficulties of our relationship over matzoh ball soup at Passover dinner at my mom's. And ... most recently, he took a stand and stood up for ME with my family when I needed him to. After years of crying that my Dad doesn't get my back, I got to see that he really does.
Today he turned 68, although, he would prefer if you would just say 59. He just went through a couple of years of pain and surgery and I am seeing the impermanence of life unfolding before me. He's not the tough, heartless, ruthless business man of his past... he too has been broken by his own suffering. Where I once felt disdain and resentment, I feel genuine love and compassion. The night we were reunited at the Temple Bar, I discovered my father was a broken man. I forgave him easily, but it certainly hasn't been easy and smooth between us these past ten years. Both of us have worked on it, and while our relationship may not be the example of ideal, it ain't bad. I have a dad, and my son has a very close relationship with his grandfather.
I'm so grateful to have my Dad in my life. I know that something strange and mysterious was at work the day I found him at Harvey's apartment. In these times where I struggle with a continuous crisis of faith, I have to acknowledge that something must have been at work that I was able to find him in one phone call.
So Dad, Happy Birthday. Thanks for being in my life, and for teaching me that there is always room for forgiveness, healing and change. I love you very much.
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