What if God was one of us?

“You still seem so…numb.”

“Well, maybe it’s the medication, doc. I don’t really understand how I’m supposed to ‘fix’ my head when I’m taking all the shit you give out here.”

“Excellent, a little hostility. Perhaps we’re starting to feel something?”

“Isn’t it a little unproductive to use sarcasm with your patient, doctor?”

They sat there looking at each other with polite smiles.

“Listen, Kate. I’m not trying to bullshit you. I’m just saying that you’re here for a reason. Let’s not waste our time.”

“Fine, then. I’ll try to be a little more exciting. For the sake of progress.”

The doctor only gestured. Begin, her hand invited.

Kate sighed. “Well, if you can't tell, I’m a little angry. I don’t see the point in anything. I fucking trust no one, and when I’m really at my worst? I think, I should be dead, and Marisa should be here. As if it couldn’t get any worse, I remember, why would I want Marisa to suffer through any more shit? Maybe I should just join her.”

The doctor held Kate’s eyes for a moment. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve gone through. I simply want you to have hope that hope exists. I don’t expect you to have that right now. I expect you to believe that others have that hope for you. That is all. And I hope it is enough.”

Kate had been ready to retort, to build one more layer of brick through the wall of anger she had created, but something about the words the doctor had chosen caused her to pause.

What was it that Marisa had always said? We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. Kate thought of that then.

The doctor smiled, seeing the shift on Kate’s face. “I think I’d like you to think about that for today.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kate.”

“See ya, doc.”

Kate walked out into the hall toward the common area, unsure of what she wanted to do, unsure of what she felt. Then a soft melody coming from the TV pierced straight through her and unleashed a torrent of memories.

A female singer was plainly singing to the screen, soulful and pure. What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us? Just a stranger all of us trying to make our way home.

Kate walked quickly to her room, shut the door and stood on the other side. The sobs came fast and hard. The bricks fell fast and hard. The wall she so carefully kept was crumbling all around her as she slid to the floor and gave in to the grief.

.....................................

The Red Writing Hood prompt at Write on Edge this week was to write a story in which your character is inspired by music.

I have chosen to write a new scene for my book and share it here. I have written of Kate and Marisa previously here.

On Grace, and Survival

I must get my son to daycare. I must drop paperwork at the preschool. I must get to my dentist appointment. Running, running, running.

But, every time I get in the car, every time I am still, the tears come. I want to sob. But I cannot. The tears stream down. I will be at the dentist soon, making stupid ass small talk with a hygienist about how often I floss.

I drive to the grocery store. I am in a rush. Of course the dentist appointment took too long. We need milk. We need food. My husband says we are out of everything. By the time I get home from the grocery store, it will be past dinner time, and my three year old will be hungry.

I cry on the way to the grocery store. The car is where this is allowed.

The cashier, the boy who rings me up asks, "How is your day, ma'am?"

I pause. I look at him. Why is he asking me this? "I've seen better."

"Me too," he says.

"I'm usually not like that, but it's just kind of the way it is today," I explain, always having to apologize for my truth.

My heart is breaking for you, my friend.

You just left me. We had a beautiful time. Our boys played together. We connected in our old, sisterly way.

You just left me. You were supposed to go home.

I do not know why there is evil in this world, or why it hurts those who do not ever seem to deserve it.

I do not know why people are mean. We are not supposed to know why they are mean. That is their own demon, their own evil, and of course we do not understand it.

Girlie, I love you more than you love yourself I think.

I am trying to think of the words that can take some of the pain away, and I feel I am failing.

Sometimes, when you do not believe in yourself, it is enough to know that there are so many who believe in you. And someday, a small smile will grace your lips because you will finally feel it in yourself, and you will know that it has been there all along.

Hoping for Better on Another Day

I am having a week of exhaustion, and I'm hoping for a better week next week. This is a week of lethargy, if you will.

I came across something I had saved and enjoyed reading it in my state of mind. I often pull things out of magazines and then tuck them away in all sorts of corners of my life. In my journal, in my planner, in my desk, in a drawer. I then find these snippets and remember small insights that had inspired me before.

In the March 2011 issue of O, results were shared from an 80-year study on the discoveries related to long life.

Here was #3:

“Train Without Pain. You don’t need to enter marathons to have a good long run at life. Forcing yourself to follow grueling fitness regimens can shed inches, but it may not add years. In the long term, you’re more likely to stick with low-impact activities you truly enjoy than rigorous workouts you dread. Moderate swimming, a leisurely bike ride, and hour-long walks with the dog do as much good for your health- and survival – as an eight-minute mile.” (Amanda Schupak)

Well, “Hallelu-yar!” Is what I say!

I always knew something felt wrong when Jillian Michaels would shout at me on the 30 Day Shred DVD:

“You think you can lose weight by taking the stairs and parking far away?! THOSE ARE LIES, PEOPLE! Those are lies of LETHARGY!!”

I haven’t exercised to that DVD in a while.

I do not believe you need to punish yourself in order to feel better.

I was further relieved to read #4:

“Fret a Little. Think good things and good things will happen, right? Not necessarily. Friedman and Martin found that too much optimism could be as detrimental to longevity as high cholesterol and hypertension. Always assuming the best, they say, may leave you unequipped to deal with the worst – such as trauma or illness. A little worry keeps you warmed up for the curveballs life throws.”

Well, there you go. I am very prepared. Worry is no stranger.

But, for tonight, I’ll ask worry to stay away another day. I will only be kind to myself and look forward to next week. Next week, I’ll hopefully have the energy for living life with gusto again.

And since I am sharing some inspiring words of others, how’s about I leave you with yet another piece that speaks to me of gratitude, and fear, and judgment, and kindness.

Written by Naomi Shihab Nye (Lest you get into this beauty of a poem thinking I had the genius to write it. Alas, I did not. It's one of those poems that make you wish you had written it):

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
You must lose things,
Feel the future dissolve in a moment
Like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
What you counted and carefully saved,
All this must go so you know
How desolate the landscape can be
Between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
Thinking the bus will never stop,
The passengers eating maize and chicken
Will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
You must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
Lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
How he too was someone
Who journeyed through the night with plans
And the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
You must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
Catches the thread of all sorrows
And you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
Only kindness that ties your shoes
And sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
Only kindness that raises its head
From the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for
And then goes with you everywhere
Like a shadow or a friend.

Highs and Lows

Ok, people, I’m one post away from having my mother tell me she’s worried about me.

I really am fine, especially after coming to terms with the fact that I probably do need that extra 50 mg of Zoloft. Whatever.

Let me break it down for you. Some highs and lows from the week. It’s been a little all over the place round here.

Let’s start with the “lows,” so we don’t have end on a bad note and go to bed with a box of Kleenex (they really aren't that bad):

-Stomach problems. You really don’t want me to expand. They were my own stomach problems. You know. The kind you get every single time after your toddler has a weekend of throwing up and diarrhea.

-One day this week the devil hijacked my son. He was so rude. Tired, cranky. Had me fantasizing about hotels and stuff.

-Parent teacher conferences at work this week. Damn parents. Nah, I got nothing against parents, seriously, it’s just that it messes up our family’s schedule in a majorly annoying way.

-Feeling down about not losing weight recently. But, one can’t be perfect, huh? I guess I could try and run myself into the ground and continue to get up at 6:00 am to work out before work and then have the mental clarity at 4:00 pm to think, “No, I will not eat any crackers or, say, a bag of chips.” But, I just have not been able to do that this week.

-Work stress in general. All I have to say is that it has nothing with the dear students I work with. Love them.


Now, the “highs!” The stuff that life is made of! Excitement, gratitude, and reminders that “everything is going to be alright:”

-My biopsy result came back negative for cancer. It was an “atypical” mole that needs to be monitored. If it comes back, it will have to be removed again, but there was no cancer!

-The best thing about my biopsy results is that I know so many of you were wondering and care!

-My boy was only hijacked by the devil one day this week. The other days, he has been loving, putting his toys away, sleeping in his own bed, and mostly using his big boy voice.

-My boy gets speech therapy, and his vocabulary has really been increasing lately! For example, just tonight, I have heard him say brand new things like, “Delicious!” and “It’s on the coffee table,” and, “Wake-y, wake-y, hand off snake-y!” Obviously, we are proud parents.

-My husband has arranged a babysitter for tomorrow night. Funny thing is, he didn’t think I was serious when I said that I would like to just go to the babysitter’s empty house and watch a movie. I’m. Totally. Serious.

-My mom sent two of my grandma’s paintings in the mail to me today. I can have a piece of her, look at those beautiful paintings, and hang them with love and care in my home. When I took them out of the package, I told Parker that these paintings were painted by “GG.” He said, “I love GG.”

Great Expectations

Why do you worry
And pick at your finger.
Stop.
Put your hands down
And put them to the keyboard.

Take the load off your shoulders.
Set it down next to you.
Take a look at it,
Assess its mess
Of guilt, expectation, and shame.
Leave it there
To melt into the floor
And walk away.

You will start by walking
Then jogging
And running
With no expectation for how long,
And why can’t I go further?

This moment does not need to be
Perfect.
This moment
Exists for you.
And you can push the breath
Out of your body –
Feel your shoulders relieve
Down.

You will give to yourself
The love that is reserved for others.
Let your heart pour out.
Into your own body
And own the feeling it gives you.
Whatever it is - sadness, loss, joy, or hope -
It will run its course
Through your veins.
And you will still be the same.

A woman,
With hope for healing.

Why the Dead Never Leave Us

Soon after my husband’s dear Grandma Lorenzen passed away, my son provided us a reminder of her.

Grandma Lorenzen had always collected little animal figurines. Years ago, I had given her a small eagle. After her passing, we kept this memento of her. My husband kept it in a little chest in “his” closet. (My husband is assigned the guest room closet for his clothes. I’m sure there are many other homes in which the guest room closet serves as The Husband’s Closet.)

One day, I walked into our bedroom and saw that little eagle sitting on my husband’s night stand by our bed. I kind of gasped, then smiled. I believe in signs, and I thought that was pretty cool. Perhaps Grandma Lorenzen was “saying hi.” I took the eagle and put it back in my husband’s wooden chest and told my husband about it.

That same day, or the next day (I do not remember), there was the eagle again, sitting atop our dresser.

No matter how many times that eagle was put in my husband’s wooden chest, our son, Parker, would get it out again and put it in our room.

It now stays on my husband’s nightstand. Watching us with an eagle eye. And we love every part of what that means.

My own dear Grandma Gourley always had a bowl of hard-shell nuts in her house all year round. As children, we always loved cracking our own nuts and eating them when we visited her house. During the holidays, it is common to see bags of those nuts being sold in the store, but I don’t usually buy any. Even though, years ago, my grandma gave me a brass nutcracker. I keep the nutcracker with our Christmas decorations, and every year I put it up as decoration in our kitchen.

A few weeks ago, as I sat in my grandma’s kitchen after she passed away, I looked around her home. I took in the scent that only belonged to the homes she had. I looked at all the beautiful things she carefully chose and placed throughout her home, and I saw that bowl of hard-shell nuts on her kitchen counter with a couple of simple nutcrackers on top.

A few nights ago, my husband and I sat on the couch watching TV. Parker was playing and rummaging around in the basement as he loves to do sometimes.

He came clambering up the stairs. He walked up to me and said, “Here you go, Mommy.”

He was holding the brass nutcracker. He set it on the couch next to me and went back to the basement.

I looked at my husband. “How in the world did he get this?!” I was astonished. I had a big smile on my face and tears stung my eyes.

“I don’t know!” he said.

You see, this nutcracker is in with big Tupperware containers on storage shelves in a storage room. We don’t get these out until we’re ready for Christmas decorating. You had better believe I’m going to have a bowl of hard-shell nuts out at Christmas time for that nutcracker!

Funny thing, this feeling of connection with others who have passed. It is fleeting. Sometimes you don’t feel them at all, you only feel the loss, and it is the deepest sadness a human can feel. Then, unexpectedly, a little sign, a little “hello,” and you know that they are with you, watching you like an eagle, “crackin your nuts,” and checking in on your child.

This morning, I woke and told my husband that I had dreamt of my grandma last night. I didn’t elaborate, as it was a sad dream.

My husband said, “Funny, I dreamt of all my grandmas last night, too.” (My husband rarely remembers his dreams.)

“Huh,” I said, as I reached in the kitchen cupboard to pull out a coffee cup my grandma used to have and warmed myself with some Sunday morning coffee.

I Take You With Me, In My Heart

I attended the services yesterday for my Grandma, Dorothy Anne Gourley Shaw.
Even though some may think that the death of a grandparent is somewhat expected, this couldn’t be further from the truth about my grandma.

Even the pastor yesterday said, “I was surprised when reminded of Dorothy’s age (81). She always seemed so much younger than she was.”

My grandma was truly one of those special people that only come along once in a while. She existed to inspire and amaze others.

Her death was the result of a sudden turn of events. She was diagnosed with multiple myeloma about five weeks ago. It was the final stage. It was an aggressive form.

Five weeks ago, Grandma was not feeling well, but she was up, talking with others in her beautiful Santa Ana home. She was e-mailing. She was planning parties. She knew how to plan a good party.

And, now, she is gone.

I do not feel as though I was done learning from her yet. I’m sure the lessons from her up above will keep coming. But just her presence in this world was a reminder of strength, humility, creativity, grace, class, and energy. The characteristics in myself that I am most proud of, I hope come from her. I hope to only be able to live life like she did – with an adventurous, loving spirit.

Listening to the speakers yesterday in the beautiful Crystal Cathedral, one could only be impressed by the list of accomplishments and interests in my grandma’s life: entrepreneur, national speaker, world traveler, a painter and artist, an author of 8 books, a gardener…

She was my grandma…

She was a bit of a pin-up babe in her younger years.


She was always ahead of her time. Tolerant and accepting toward all others, approaching life and the world with a curious mind when those around her in her generation many times closed themselves off from anything other than “traditional.” Hanging above her bed, was a gorgeous nude of a young woman, and the face on this nude? Her own.


It’s hard to define charisma. She had it. I know that. She leaves you wanting for more.

If she had lived to be 120, she would have left me wanting for more.

Wanting for more of her. Always.

Don’t you ever just want to scream, Shut the Fawk Up!?

Warning: Here is a surly moment from my airplane ride on Sunday.

My anxiety is riding high. I can tell by the increase in my sound sensitivity. All the people around me are fuckers. This is just how I feel.

I used to wonder at my sound sensitivities. Why do I go through moments when noises get the best of me? It turns my brain into scrambled eggs and soon I’m fantasizing about violence, or in the least, making very rude remarks. Like, “When you pop your gum like that, you are really UGLY.” Or, “Nobody likes loud page-turning magazine fuckers.” Or, “What kind of asshole thinks we all want to hear you chew ice?”

A therapist years ago (Yes, I’m sure it helps you feel better knowing that I have been “therapized.”) keyed me in on the fact that these are indicators that my anxiety is running high. No, I am not turning into a rage-filled lunatic ready to take everyone out. I’m just feeling anxious is all. On edge. Uncertain. NOT IN CONTROL of everything.

And when that happens, I get all ballistic about people that CHAT a little too loud or have the audacity to chew. For crying out loud. I have, sadly, even snapped at my mom before about banging on the computer keys too loud. She was so sweet. She said, “But, Kristy, they’re broken. I’m sorry. I’m trying to be quiet.”

The next day, I discovered that our keyboard had been attacked by a one-year old maniac, and the keys were, indeed, very hard to push, and I felt so bad that I had said anything to my mom.

Ugh. Anxiety. Waiting. Wondering. Hoping. Hearing all these INVASIVE shit noises around me. This too shall pass.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

We have all joked in our family that our grandma will outlive us all! She will break records and live to be 115! She will dance at her great-grandchildrens’ weddings and keep a personal trainer at the gym. We are surely setting ourselves up for the extreme outrage that would come if we were wrong. But we did not think of the possibility that we were wrong. That is just how other-worldly and amazing our grandma is.

This may be it. This may be the end for my grandma. And it will never be enough.
Even if there is some great surprise around the corner (she has a years to live!), it will never be enough.

Have I shown her enough just how special I think she is? Is there anything left to be done, to cram in, to bring her? Is it enough that I am there to hold her hand? Am I enough?

She is always the woman that was hard to buy for. She seemingly has “everything.” And here I am, still, wondering if there is anything I can bring to her. I have nothing.

I am sitting in the airport of my childhood city, waiting for a connecting flight to get to her. I find it a little ironic that I stop here, in Phoenix, before going on to her in California. I can hear people complaining of the heat. We have not boarded yet because the temperature on the plane is not “acceptable.” You would never know it, sitting here in the AC controlled terminal. The Phoenix airport is where I learned to travel. It is the airport I first navigated myself. It is the airport where I have been the most. It is the airport where an escalator nearly sucked my child into a frenzy of metal hell and tarnation.

It is the airport that interrupts my journey to get to her. It feels that it is an eternity to get to where I need to be. Life keeps getting in the way.

But, there is a voice. It tells me, stop fighting. Let life happen. Everything you have is enough. Everything you are is who you are meant to be at this moment. Retire the boxing gloves and ride the waves that come. Be grateful for every single moment. Moment by moment by moment.

Home

My mind is numb. I sit here.

I sit here.

I know I will go home and see a big smile and a loud, “Mommy!” I will finally feel that everything, in my world, is alright.

But I also know that my heart will be heavy. Still.

Still.

The air will not be as heavy as from where I came. I will still feel them gathering, mourning, celebrating.

Thank you, God, for reminding us of small gifts everyday. Even at the worst, there has still been the strong arms of friends, a cool breeze on our face, the sun shining on new spring leaves, warm soup, and frogs. Thank you, God, for giving us moments full of goofy kid smiles, the loud crack of a baseball bat at Little League, chair dancing to GreenDay, and laughter between the utter sadness. And, thank you, God, for giving us the grace to recognize these moments that still exist and embracing them with the most vulnerable of hearts. Beauty is everywhere and gratitude is thick.

Love Surpasses All Understanding

There are times that there is a loss so great, that you are stunned. Silenced. Time and the world around you stops. I only want to be with my friend and her family as she navigates a tremendous grief and soldiers on as the strong and safe place for her children. I feel empty-handed. Inadequate. I have packed my things, and I look around my house. What else can I stuff in this tiny suitcase that could even make a difference? What else could provide any kind of comfort? I really have nothing but myself to offer. The most I can do is just be with her. Sit with her, sit with the grief. There are times that life seems to whisper around you. The colors in the world are vibrant, and the feeling in your heart is massive and expanding. I am coming, my friend.