Death of a Shared Past, or Why Fluid Dynamics Makes Me Smile Alone

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’m in the midst of pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming moving and settling in to the new home. Those damned paint chips have been turned into almost a dozen gallons of paint that now cover the walls (marking our territory as Brock would say; Tiger has been busy marking his territory outside the home while his parents handle the inside). The kitchen is largely unpacked and the garage is staged with boxes ready to follow the carpet cleaner’s into the rest of the house. Even the man cave is taking shape and looking smart.

I’m exhausted. The last time I did a wedding/move/remodel at once, I was 22. I sure ain’t no spring chicken anymore, as evidenced by the blisters on my hands and the creaks in my back.

But I’m happy. Even more so than at 22 when I was beginning my first marriage in my first home. I’m more grateful for what I have, knowing how easy it is to lose everything. I’m more at peace, after living through my fears. I’m more focused on the relationships that will be nurtured within the home than on the home itself (the days of waiting to complete a project before inviting friends over is a thing of the past). It feels so good to start to send out roots again. This is settling in the best way possible.

Since my swollen hands and befuddled brain won’t allow me to string together too many cohesive sentences (seriously, how do new parents function with this little sleep every night? mad respect but also a little scared that there are that many new parent zombies shuffling around!), I provide you with a post about the loss of shared memories. It’s a timely post for me now that I’m cultivating a new shared past (and reconnecting with friends from childhood!) which softens the blow of losing the other.

 

Death of a Shared Past, or Why Fluid Dynamics Makes Me Smile Alone

 

Several years ago, my then husband and I were on the interstate heading out to our weekly Costco run. The roads were packed and traffic was doing that infuriating start-stop thing where we averaged about .87 mph. I took that opportunity to share the information from an article I had read that applied the theory of fluid dynamics to traffic congestion (disclaimer for those new to the site: I am a geek). I was excited about the research, animated. I used the cars around us to demonstrate the ideas in the article. He thought I was bit nuts. From that point forward, every time we were stuck in traffic, he would make a joke about “damn fluid dynamics.” It became part of our shared past.

Traffic Congestion

I am an only child and I have lost contact will all of my childhood friends. My ex was the only person in my peer group that spanned across the decades of my life. I do not miss him, but I do miss the shared past. I now have entire mental storerooms of jokes and remembrances and no one to share them with. It’s a strange feeling, memories bubbling to the surface and just sitting, lonely at the forefront of my mind rather than being released through a conjoined history and recollection.  It’s an isolating feeling, a bit like being alone in a foreign country; no one else speaks the language of my marriage.

I am building a new shared past with my current partner, but, by definition, it takes time to build a history,a shared past from which to pull forth shared memories.

But for now, when I am stuck in traffic, I think of fluid dynamics and smile alone.

Goal Post

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I was packing my file drawers just now and came across the above pages, now worn and sun bleached. I remembered writing a post about it about a year and half ago. Perspective is so funny – those goals seemed so distant then and now even the old post feels ancient, especially with the completion of the book over a year in the past. The me of the old post would never have imagined doing radio and TV spots. She thought marathons were only for crazy people (I’m not sure I’ve changed my mind on this…more like I’ve become crazy!) And, the me of the old post was not yet thinking marriage or house; she was still settling in to cohabitation and a general calming down of life.  I like these reminders of where I was and where I am. They help me stay on track for where (and who) I want to be. They remind of the importance of setting goals but also the importance of being willing to alter them, with pink marker if necessary, as life and plans change.

Now, without further ado, the original post from April 2012:

The previous post reminded me of my goal sheet that I typed just a few weeks after my ex left.  I went looking for it, and found it in my folder labeled, “July disasster.”  When I wrote these goals, I was still mired in the yuck of the day to day, but I wanted to put my dreams out there.  I posted this list above the folding card table in my friend’s bonus room that was to be my office for the next year.  It kept me focused on the future and the gifts in my present on those days when I felt like giving up.  The list now makes me smile.  It shows me how far I have come and reminds me of where I was.

There are two items on the list that remain unchecked. The first, complete a book, was a bit ambitious for a year (or even three), but it is an ongoing project.  The other, volunteer at an animal rescue organization was chosen because of my gratitude towards those who helped to find homes for my dogs.  I don’t feel strong enough yet to face this one, but I will.

Some of the other goals seem so minimal in retrospect.  Go on a date – I went on 7-8 dates a week for a few months (months I dubbed, “Match Madness”).  Or, learn to cook one gluten-free meal – I now do that multiple times a week and am a recipe resource for others.

Some of the goals make me thankful for where I am and why I am here.  I was originally going to move to the NW; I could not imagine a life in the same town where I had spent my married years.  Just months before I was going to leave, I met my now boyfriend.  There was enough potential there that I decided to commit to staying in the area for a year (once I found a job) to see how things progressed.  It has now been two years, and I couldn’t be happier.

Other goals have been incorporated into my current life.  I still set goals to run races (I’ve just raised the bar a bit), I still intentionally seek out new friends, I continue to find ways to act of character, and I still make sure to take weekend trips.  The last goal has become my favorite: find a way to laugh each and every day.

I no longer have goals posted above my desk.  I have internalized them, using them as a daily reminder to be thankful and hopeful.

No One Said it Was Easy

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I read a post this morning that reminded me of a particular experience in my life.

For just over a year in my mid teens, I volunteered on the oncology floor of a children’s hospital.

Upon arrival each Sunday, my job was to open the playroom to the kids on the floor that were able to make the walk down the hall. Usually three or four of them would make it, pulling IV stands behind them and adjusting the masks strapped across their pudgy faces, swollen from steroids. All of the toys in the room were made of hard plastic to withstand the constant washing in bleach solutions in order to prevent the spread of infection. I had to watch carefully to make sure that after any toy was handled, it was carefully sanitized and dried before being returned to the bins or into another child’s waiting hands. You realize how much toddlers change their mind when each decision requires a two-stage sanitization process!

After the playroom was closed for the afternoon, I would pack up a cart with toys, games and puzzles and make my way down the hall to visit with the kids who were too ill to make the trek to the playroom. I would sit beside them on the beds and assist with puzzles or challenge them to a Nintendo game on their TV. With the kids undergoing bone marrow transplants, our visits had to occur through glass panes, the toys left outside for the nurses to carry in.

Although some faces were familiar from week to week, the oncology floor was a revolving door. Some kids were only there periodically for treatment. Others traveled to San Antonio for special care and then went back to their home hospitals. On the good days, the kids would be released with the hope of remission.

And, of course, many never made it out at all.

Those kids, with their scarf-wrapped heads, bloated or emaciated bodies and blistered lips, were powerful. Their bodies may have been broken and frail, but their spirits were stronger than any I’ve ever seen. I would watch them walk down the hall with only the slightest sharp intake of breath to indicate their pain before breaking out in a huge grin at the sign of the playroom.

Many of these kids had never known life without cancer. All they knew was days of pain, some more and some less. They grew skilled at navigating the endless cycle of hope and bad news.

And through it all, they accepted.

The first one shocked me.

“Miss Lisa. I’m not gonna see you next week.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

“I’m gonna get to fly with the angels!” exclaimed the three-year-old girl, her face lighting up and her hands clasped beneath her chin.

I was taken aback. My initial reaction was to deny. Or to become sad. Or to distract her with something else.

But then I looked at her. And decided that I would let her tell me what to do.

“Flying with the angels sounds lovely. What do you think it will be like?”

We chatted for a few more minutes, the girl telling me all about her angels, until her mom came back towards the room. The girl leaned in and whispered, “I can’t talk about the angels when my mom is here. It makes her sad.”

I gave her a hug and left the room. I wasn’t surprised to see her picture on the memory wall the following week.

She was the first, but by no means the last.

“I need to give you an extra-big goodbye today cause this one’s for real.”

“Do you want me to tell the angels ‘hi’ for you?”

“Take care of the other kids for me.”

They were always right.

Each one came from a child between the ages of 2 and about 8. After that, and they reacted more like adults.

I watched those adults too. Often when I entered a room, the parents used that time to take a little break. I would see their posture fall as soon as they passed the threshold of the room’s door as though the strings on their puppet had been suddenly cut. They would sob, letting it out after holding it in for their kid. They would talk with each other and with the doctors, desperately looking for a way to make their kid okay.

But the kid usually was okay. Not physically, but in spirit. They knew when to fight and when it was time to let go. Much like my first experience, many of them would volunteer that they felt they needed to protect their parents and siblings.

“Tell my mommy I’m going to be okay.”

“I’ll have the angels. My mommy won’t have them.”

“Will you give my brother my teddy bear when I’m gone?”

What the kids sensed but had no words for was that they had acceptance. They were not fighting against what could be. What should be. All they knew was what was.

What the kids sensed but had no words for was that their parents were trying to find acceptance. To try to understand why their baby was being taken away so soon. They were fighting against the unfairness of it all. They were mourning the loss of their child and of the person he or she would become.

It was tragic to witness the adults.

So I focused on the kids.

And, in so many ways, their lives were terrible. All too brief and filled with so much hurt.

But they didn’t dwell on that. Didn’t waste energy on saying that it was unfair. They didn’t hold back their giggles or their grins.

Instead, they shared their spirit with each and every person they met. They became the angels here on earth.

During periods of loss and struggle in my own life, I have thought back to those little angels and tried to remember their lessons of peace and acceptance.

To all the families who have lost children due to cancer, my heart goes out to you. I saw your pain but I cannot imagine its depths. I hope you have received the gift of an angel from your child, watching over you to make sure that you’re okay too.

The Vow

Posted on by stilllearning2b

vow

Life Flipper

Posted on by stilllearning2b

My best friend not only gave me a place to stay after my divorce (Wanted: The Ronald McDonald House for the Recently Separated), she also provided me with the best line ever when people needed to know something about my situation but I didn’t want to get into the whole messy tale:

I’m in the middle of a major life renovation.

It was perfect. It implied major change but also had a way of discouraging further questions.

It felt like the life renovation from hell. It was like I purchased a home that passed inspection only to find out years later that the foundation had fatal flaws and dry rot was eating the home from the inside out.

I traded in my well-manicured life for one that required hard hats and knee pads. I had to tear my beautiful life down to the studs and slowly rebuild as I was able.

For a time, I stood in the remains of my life and stared in disbelief at the carnage. I remembered it as it was. I wanted it as it was but it was impossible to recreate what had been destroyed. Eventually, I began to have a vision of what it could become. It didn’t need to be the same. I could rebuild my life better than before.

I kept some things the same in my new life. Other areas no longer served me and I chose to eliminate them altogether or repurpose the space for something else.

It was a slow process. I had to fight the urge to decorate my life before I secured the structure and patched the holes in the roof.  I had help on more days than not, my family, friends, coworkers and professionals stopping by to raise a wall or sand a rough edge.

Slowly, my new life began to take shape. The new only vaguely resembling the old.

I may not have anticipated this major life renovation, but I knew that with the right tools and the right help I could succeed.

And I have. The foundation is solid. The dry rot is gone. The walls are sturdy and the windows clean. Now I get to do the fun part and add the details that make the house a home and the life MY life.

Forget Flip My House. I could be the star of Flip My Life.

And, yes, if you can’t tell, I still have paint chips on the brain:) Should be moving in less than two weeks!  My challenge now is to pace myself so that I don’t get sick(er)…I wish I could meet all my new students for the year without also meeting their germs!