Papa's Legacy

I wrote this on September 1, 1997. It is a companion piece to several other things I wrote which need to be brought out of the folder.  I'm rather proud of this one because even today I can picture it in my mind as I was writing it.   It is copy written so please if you stumble upon my blog respect that.  ©HBM 9/1/1997

PAPA'S LEGACY

At night she sits there in the old rocker with one dim light on at the far end of the room.  Slowly, she rocks back and forth holding the old faded red flannel shirt.  She touches it  against the side of her face and inhales the muskiness of the tattered material and smiles with a faraway look in her eyes.  After the funeral, her family had taken charge in their "helpful" way by boxing up and carrying off all remnants of him.  38 years of memories reduced to a carload of boxes.  They insisted they knew what was best for Mama.  They said now she could get on with her new life.  Later, after they left and the house was once again her own she allowed the tears from deep within her soul to flow.  To keep herself busy,  she went to the hamper and there quite by chance she found his favorite old red flannel shirt.  Oh the fights they had about throwing out that disgusting torn rag.  And now, here in the dim light, late into the lonely night she rocks with her hands clenched tightly to the shirt.  Her face buried deep within its' folds, inhaling his scent and dreaming that his arms were holding her tightly just one last time.

It's Hard To Live On A Carousel

I absolutely love carousels especially the antique ones that have the horses, tigers, zebras and benches.  Up and down we went and if we had the courage we would lean far out and grab the rings hoping for the brass one.  In all the rides at an amusement park that is my favorite.  Wish life was as easy as that.  Lately I feel like I've been up and down but the brass ring isn't in site.  This morning was great, I woke up early (now that is a rarity) fed the geese, fed the dog, had my coffee and toast.  I felt like the weight of the world was off my shoulders.  I had planned on running errands to town and then sneaking by the pound and looking at a border collie they have there.  Didn't go quite that way. Just because I was happy and feeling good didn't mean my spouse was.  Like I've said before we must  deals with mood swings which can just suck the life out of me.  So even though I'm not supposed to drive I took the opportunity to run to town by myself. It was a nice day out. I stopped by the Art Store and saw friends I hadn't seen in months. I got to see how my photography is displayed in the front of the store right as people enter.  That made me feel great. Now would someone buy a picture or two.  I got all my errands done and stopped by a little store hoping to find a monkey.  No not a real one a stuffed one as in toy.  Dylan my grandson loves monkeys and I've been on a search for the perfect monkey not as scary one.  Well in a corner of a display case there it sat all alone. THE monkey so I hope.  I tucked him under my arm, paid for him and headed home.  I figured I'd better not go to the animal pound it wasn't worth the aggravation I'd have when I got home.  I get home and found hubby is sleeping. He says he is sick.  So I go downstairs and leave him to his resting.  I get the dead possum cleaned up which actually was quite a trick.  Tonka had played with it too hard so it was in our driveway when the snow came.  By the time the snow stopped it was too covered and iced in to get out of there so it has sat for a few days. Hey it is ok it was refrigerated by Mother Nature.  You know you live in the mountains when you judge how deep the snow is by how it covers the dead critters in your driveway. lol  Ok back to today.  Possum gone and off I go to the pond to to check the goose nest.  Now Gertie is a new mother and she made a great next and buried the egg nice and deep in the hay. BUT she isn't sitting on the next and it is cold so I pick up the egg put it in my pocket, tell Gus the father goose  he better not bite me and off I go to the incubator in my laundry room.  See I'm having fun today despite the carousel ride. It was when I got inside and reached for the brass ring that I fell off the carousel.  When my depressed person gets mad or frustrated anyone nearby gets interrogated.   I usually make the mistake of first allowing it then I kick myself in the ass, impose the Golden Rule and I take care of my business.  But I can't help to feel angry because it just isn't right.  I'm telling you it's hard to live on a carousel.

CLEANING OUT MY CLOSET

Once in awhile, it is a good idea to clean out your closet.  No not the closets in your house the closet in your head.  I have a very bad habit of being the "nice gal" who lets people get away with saying or doing things which are negative towards me.  I usually walk away or feel hurt but don't say a word.  The last several weeks that hasn't been the case.  I call them on it, tell them I don't appreciate being talked to that way or  my favorite one is "you obviously haven't learned the Golden Rule".  This week the old Wildermuth temper exploded.  (To be of  Wildermuth descendant is empowering. We are  from Prussian/German blood and when push comes to shove we are scrappers. I've traced that line of my family back to the 1500s and not one Wildermuth ever turned away from a battle. They always stood up for what is right.) When I pop my cork everyone better be out of the way.  I've been told that my eyes blaze with white anger....I kind of  like that expression. Can't you just see the smoke pouring from my ears forming little grey ringlets around my earrings?  So far, my closet cleaning has been quite productive.  But I'm not done yet.  Most importantly, I feel empowered again.  I'm back to being ME.  I only have one life that God gave me and damn it I'm making the most of it. Treat me like you would like yourself to be treated.  If not, don't complain when I boil over and you are the one that gets scalded.    I'm a nice gal, I'm unique and I'm back! 

One Song - One Intense Memory

I guess I did something right because "T" isn't angry with me anymore.  But for some reason this last day of February seems very heavy.  Maybe it is because it is cold and gloomy outside. Maybe it is because I'm not accomplishing anything today.  Maybe that's just the way it is supposed to be. 

I've spent the major part of the day listening to music on You Tube.  Bands from my youth, Grass Roots, Yes, The Hollies and even some Beatles.  The sense of hearing is amazing because it can trigger so many emotions and pictures within my head.  One song which floods me with emotion is "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother".  I remember sitting in my room listening to this song and over hearing a conversation my parents were having.  They spoke of a boy no make that a man who had returned from Viet Nam.  Now I didn't really have the much needed intelligence of the time to understand what was  the difference between Nam and the previous wars.  This young man was early twenties and he was coming home not the way he left. He had a lost a leg.  Dad was telling mom that the family were going to the airport in Philly in the morning to pick up their son.  The father  needed the day off and his boss was giving him a hard time.  He promised he
would be back to work the next day.  That was it, sounds like a very unimportant conversation but now I think back it reflected a time when we didn't acknowledge our troops like we do today.  In a silent hush the parents sent their young sons off to war and in a silent hush they prayed they would welcome them home.  No parades, no confetti thrown in the street. The only picture that might appear in the paper might be their obituary.  It is easy now for me to reflect on what was happening but at the time I was naive.  I wore my peace sign necklace at times around my neck, had a peace sign patch on my well worn jeans and thought  by wearing these symbols I'd be part of the glory to end the war. Ok, so I knew I wouldn't end the war but I was a member of the masses.  Maybe a year later at a block party I remember the brother of a child hood friend came up to my group.  Mick had just got home from Viet Nam, was wearing his army jacket, was stoned out of his mind but still aware of  the looks he was getting from the "kids" his age.  One kid actually asked him why the hell he went over there that if it was him he would have gone to Canada.   A very angry "F you" was spat out by the returning vet. My friends all laughed as Mick left our group of friends quickly, his head down wrongly shamed by a boy who had no clue.  I now think of the parents of those men who lived through the horrors of Viet Nam. I think how they would have loved to have their children return to a heroes welcome, to hang the flags in the window with the gold stars telling their neighbors of the sacrifice their child was making for others.   I wish we could abolish war but there will always be some moronic dictator who thinks only his way is right.  The same moronic idiot wouldn't care how many lives he would waste because of his warped way of thinking.  My oldest boy is in the service and as much as I don't want him anywhere near the worlds problems I do know now that  he is looked on with respect for serving his country.  Our generation of  peace niks of the  1960s and 70s need to apologize to our brothers and sisters that lived that nightmare of Viet Nam both there and at home.  We were too pious, too self absorbed.  I won't say too naive because the information was there all over the newspapers and television.  We certainly didn't do a good job of "carrying our brother."

I'm Just His Ma

When my children were little and they would get mad at me it would soon pass.  Usually this would occur if I had to correct them for something or if I refused to let them do something ridiculous like jumping off of a roof with a blanket for wings.  Ok, I'm exaggerating about the roof and blanket but you get the drift.  Now that they are grown it is different.  I have three children who are totally different which is a good thing.  I like individualism in people and I love it in my children.  It means that maybe I did my job in raising them to be free thinkers, to be leaders, not followers, to be different and be proud of it.  Now that we are all grown, yes a mom has to grow too, often we don't agree with each other.  I can honestly say that when one or more of my children are angry with me the pain in my heart is real.  I know I do not sit on a pedestal in view of my children.  I know that one of my children has distanced himself from what feels like a million miles from me. I am not talking physically but emotionally.  As hard as it is I have to accept that in his eyes I am not the perfect mom.  Long hours of thought and tears has led me to realize there is not much I can do about that at this point in our lives.  My oldest calls me for advice but rarely listens to it.  She is the whirling dervish of the family and each day I pray she stops spinning, anchors herself fast to her dream and flourishes.  Which leads me to my youngest, the shining star in my life.  Oh how he has amazed me since the day he was born.  Mothers are not supposed to have favorites but we do tend to have that one child that is the twinkle in our eye.  Like my Angel With The Funny Bone, "T" was a gift from God to me.  He wasn't supposed to be but "T" doesn't take NO for an answer even with his existence.  So for twenty years, in amazement, I've watched this gift turn into amazing human being.  I've delighted in his accomplishments and been saddened at his disappointments. His pictures, drawings, grades decorated my desk and refrigerator.  The smallest scrap of paper which showed his talent was held in awe by this mom.  His laughter, our morning talks, the music he made which drifted from his room all brought me such happiness.   This child of mine has held me up so many times when I was about to fall. He has supported me in so many of my own tragedies.  When a mother should have been the support for her child this child of mine was supporting me.  And then one day, all too soon, he was out the door, grown into a man that any mom could be proud of.   I think back to my mom and dad gone so long ago and how even today I would turn to them  for their approval at my accomplishments.  We never change in wanting something positive from our parents. That little scrap of paper on the refrigerator has now turned into major life decisions or accomplishments.  The child in us still wants that special look from our mom or dad telling us "we did good".  Which brings me to this day.  I failed to realize how a decision "T" had made was such an important one to him.  It was evidently done with a great deal of thought, a great deal of preparedness and a bit of courage.  I failed as a mom to recognize this and I failed by making light of it.  Mom's don't always agree with the decisions of their adult children but we shouldn't belittle it.  This is my apology to my son; and, at least this son will listen to my apology.  I love you so much "T" that sometimes it is hard to see beyond the little boy in the cast dancing to the tune of a band at Disney World.  So I accept your decision to blow far from the tree.  May God always be with you my child and remember, this MA is only human.

Due to lack of energy

Due to lack of energy and immense amount of discomfort and pain today's post has been canceled.

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder?

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder but is that the most important thing?  I have come to realize in the last couple years that beauty is something we should seek internally as well as externally.  Since October 2008 I've been going through reconstruction to "undue" what breast cancer has done to my body.  I thought at first it was just the natural steps to take.  Step one, discover the lump, step two get rid of the lump, step three mastectomy to get rid of the remaining cancer, step four chemotherapy, step five lose my hair, step six finish chemo, step six grow back the hair and then we come to the big step seven reconstruction.  Step seven I thought was just part of the process, that it was something I should do.  I still feel I've made the right decisions but I learned along the way something kind of amazing.  I felt deformed but my family didn't think of me that way.  I just assumed that my family and friends thought of me as poor gal she is disfigured.  Silly huh?  Recently, for reasons that don't need to be mentioned in this blog, a man asked my husband if I had any scars.  He answered yes I had some scars from my lupus outbreak on my arms and I had a couple scars from surgeries when I was younger.  He never mentioned the scars from the mastectomy or the reconstruction.  I sat there and watched him amazed at his answer.  I actually thought he was having one of his forgetful moments. *S*  A couple days ago I had what I hope is my last surgery for reconstruction. It is painful but hopefully it is the last one.  Sitting across from me in the hospital my husband asked me about my vanity to have put myself through so many operations and so much pain.  I was devastated and hurt beyond belief that he would call me vain after all I've been through. I also was speechless.  Yesterday I confronted him about his calling me vain.  He apologized and said it was the wrong choice of words made during a time when he was very tired and stressed from worrying about me.  In other words, it didn't matter to him how I looked after the cancer but he hated seeing me go through so many surgeries and so much pain just for the sake of looks.  But IT did matter to me how I looked.  All of the surgeries, the pain, the scars and everything else mattered to ME.  I asked him about his remark to the man who asked if I had scars.  He said he honestly didn't even think about them as scars.  So in the end the Beholder who seeks the beauty is ME.  But it leaves me wondering about all the other people in the world who seek to make themselves "more beautiful" through unnecessary surgery and quick fixes.  Isn't it a shame that we can't look for our beauty inwards instead of on the surface.  I'm no exception to the rule but I'll try a little harder now to find contentment with who I am.