1102 (35) NO! NO! NOT AGAIN! REVISITED 45

35

2002

“Mom, one last thing:  When it comes to portraying Grandma Ella, you can rest assured that I'll describe your mother as a fun loving, God fearing woman—whose passionate nature and early-life experiences led her to develop a strong defense system and an iron will. I’m describing Grandma as being as human as every other good, caring, intelligent person, I know—like you, Dad, Will and me.  *I’m writing about emotional conflicts, which are intensified by the fact that change is the only constant in life, and as change frustrates peace of mind—especially change that we'd not freely choose—every generation absorbs and passes forward mixed messages, which mess with our minds much more often than we know.  If I whitewash those times when conflicting needs create unrest, my ego would be writing our story, and if that proved true, there'd be no purpose to my writing, at all.

2014  

Grandma had been Janet’s caretaker and mine whenever Mom and Dad went out.  As very little had been known about SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) and as common sense suggests that an overwhelming sense of guilt took a gargantuan bite out of Grandma's peace of mind when Janet died on her watch—and as Grandma feared the wrath of a righteous god—well—the tragic circumstances, which followed in the aftermath of Janet's death, were in keeping with Grandma's fearful, negatively focused, bordering on superstitious, religious beliefs, suggesting that someone had to be at fault for the baby's death—and being that Grandma's defense system was huge—she made certain to point the finger of guilt at someone other than herself ..." 

A note to my friends in cyberspace:
I made a decision, a while back, to ignore grammatical inconsistencies in the interest of remaining true to whatever train of thought is chugging toward the light at the end of a tunnel until my stream of consciousness feels complete, thus pulling into each next station, at last.  In the past, here's what would happen each time I'd go back to clean up sentences and paragraphs, including punctuation, like quotes, commas, etc.:  My mind would get so caught up in clarifying complex thoughts that I'd miss mistakes in punctuation and spelling, repeatedly.  Eventually, that self imposed task taxed my time and patience to the point of my letting go of that perfectionistic tendency in favor of going with the flow, meaning that I'm working to accept the fact that grammatical mistakes may remain overlooked...

As to changes in line spacing and indenting, those inconsistencies are due to this fact:  Many stories were written and saved in files at least a decade ago.  As that which had been saved in my hard drive does not match my blogging style, today, I've chosen not to clean up those differences for this reason:  Life is short.  It's enough to spend time cutting, pasting and simplifying complexity of thought as streams of consciousness connect my conscious mind with subconscious motivations that surprise me each time I find myself confronting feelings that my defense system had tucked behind my defensive wall.  It's more than enough to know that my fascination with the brain is renewed each time I sit down to write and watch the puzzle that makes me whole come together, piece by piece.  As each train of thought chugs out, and stories unfold, word by word, onto my screen, no one is more surprised to see every insight that my memory has contained than me ...

BTW:  Mom and I did not sit and swing and converse about all of these topics from sunrise to sunset in the span of one day.  I've been making good use of creative license to splice together many conversations, for this reason:  Each conversation that we have with a specific person proves to be a continuation of whichever conversation we'd engaged in before, because emotion has no concept of time passing ... and as Mom and I spent every day, together, for two years after Dad's passing, we covered a lot of conversational ground before I felt the need to spend less time connected to my mother's unrelenting grief, more time reconnecting with enjoying my stage of life … and once my need to revitalize my spirit conflicted with Mom's need of me, the first crack in our adult friendship led us into a maze where that unfathomable chasm—which defied understanding for quite some time—eventually developed.

As you shall see, confusion reigned supreme until I mustered the humility to ask for astute guidance, and thank goodness, over time, I gained insight into the fact that this painful crack in our relationship, which had slowly developed into a chasm, swirling with confusion, following Dad's death, was similar to that which had taken place between Mom and me after we'd lost Janet—suggesting that while swinging back in time with Mom, my subconscious was working overtime to encourage my conscious mind to search ever more intuitively into the past until a self defeating pattern, concerning my relationship with Mom, clarified, at last.

Once that surprising pattern emerged, I worked hard to muster the courage to think for myself, while offering Mom compassion each time she'd let me know that I'd added to her unhappiness  … and each time my therapist coached me to accept the fact that I was repressing anger, I'd respond:  I know it's not healthy to internalize frustration, but my mom is in her nineties, so I can't relieve my frustration, because any confrontation that arises between us increases Mom's unhappiness.  Needless to say, after Dad's passing, I'd felt a compassionate sense of responsibility for Mom 's welfare, and as her welfare and happiness seemed conjoined, that perception made me hold myself accountable for both.  As Mom and I had enjoyed a mutual admiration society, suggesting that we'd shared countless reasons to smile at each other over most of my life, neither of us could fathom that which had changed between us once I felt the need to enjoy more time with my husband and friends after having spent two years consoling Mom, every day.  Once I developed the need to wean, a conflict of needs cracked the life long bond that, over time, expanded into a chasm, swirling with confusion, which assaulted peace of mind, thus causing an undertow that confounded us both for quite a long time ...

When I created The Line Of Control to teach my sons to resolve conflicts peaceably, I had no clue how often that communication tool would stop me from flinging frustration at anyone, who remains blind to this fact:  A chasm develops for sound reason, based in this fact:  As a self respecting person, I am left with no choice other than to take another reluctant step back each time the negatively focused perspective of a loved one makes me scapegoat for their pain.  Much more about piecing together the bigger picture of this puzzle as my life story unfolds …

As to that flamingo/ostrich—still can't get it to show up—but no worries—I know who to ask for help.

1101 (34) NO! NO! NOT AGAIN! REVISITED 44

34

2002

... Think about it, Mom, isn’t it in your best interest and mine to name and tame personal traits that cause us to self-defeat?”

  

Since I'm on a roll, my train of thought chugs straight ahead with: *I’m writing about insight into the human ego's false sense of pride.  I'm writing about setting our false sense of pride aside in favor of embracing humility.  Humility listens attentively when the voice of wisdom whispers into our ears. *Thank goodness we have two ears, so if one is listening to nonsense or egocentric self rightousness the other can welcome wisdom, which proves timeless, universal and classic.
When nonsense, left over from childhood, combines with common sense, garnered from personal experience, inner conflict results, offering us reason to quest toward insight into deeper truth until a spotlight highlights a dark, hot spot of insecurity, left unresolved, thus carried forward, subconsciously, from an earlier time.  Each time a dark spot of insecurity clarifies, I can consciously transform a vulnerability (like undeserved guilt) into a strength (like self respect, based in logic)."

"Annie, that sounds like a lot of work!"

"It is work, Mom. It's my work. My chosen work.  Actually, after the boys were grown and on their own this became my most important work.  My mission, based in intuition.  I've become utterly fascinated by the complex workings of our brains.  And you know what 'they' say:  If you love your work, you'll never work a day in your life. Will is fascinated with medicine and sports. His mind soaks in more facts about those subjects than anyone I know.  As for me, I absorb insight into developing the brain's potential to resolve conflicts by ascertaining astute decisions based in creating balance between emotion and logic—you know—as in 'balance in all things'.

"But, why?  Why did all of this become so important to you?"

"I think my interest got off to a running start when I observed the effectiveness of combining heartfelt compassion with logical consequences instead of power struggling with my kids.  The boys were still in diapers when I became intrigued with power struggles and conflict resolution.
Luckily, I was a beginner at parenting ineffectively when fate offered me bi-monthly opportunities to sit in the audience, listening to parents being counseled by the Family Education Assoc., and everything I heard made such good sense that my mind began to soak in a wealth of cutting edge information, suggesting that I had begun to unconsciously retrain my brain to problem solve effectively while consciously training my kids to switch tracks from 'tantruming' angrily to channeling positively focused, logical trains of thoughts—as in:  Follow the leader, whose mind proves eager to absorb time tested, solution seeking knowledge—and as years passed and one positive change led to another, I watched the boys and their friends follow my lead until I became The Pied Piper, whose positively focused attitude toward discipline, coupled with heartfelt compassion, 'spoke' of friendship to every child and teen who felt so warmly welcomed and safely sheltered in our home as to open their minds and confide in me.  Eventually, so many guys saw themselves as the fourth Shapiro brother that I felt like Mother Goose, who lived in a shoe with so many children, she didn't know what to do ... But unlike her, I did know what to do ... I loved them all.  And in addition to all of those boys, I've embraced two 'daughters', who have grown to be two of my best friends ... Katie and Patty."

After swinging and musing quietly for a bit, Mom responds, "I know exactly what you mean, Annie.  I've always admired your way with children.  I remember when you were a young teacher, and I stopped in to watch you teach.  I don't remember which subject you were discussing when a bird landed on the ledge outside the window, distracting the attention of the class.  I remember my surprise when, speaking very quietly, you turned the discussion toward the bird, suggesting that the children raise their hands and quietly ask any question that came to mind.  I remember, later, asking why you did that, and you said:  There's so much to learn in this world of ours.  When might an entire class of fifth graders have a little bird, whose life is so different from our own, so close as to 'study', first hand?

Smiling at that memory from so long ago, I offer up this insight:  You know, Mom, a leader needs more than knowledge to gather a flock.  In order to lead a pack of energetic children, effectively, a teacher has to develop an understanding of human nature.  In addition to enjoying our visit with the little bird, we enjoyed one another, and when it was time to return to the subject at hand, we felt positively connected and refreshed.  I had so much fun teaching 'my' kids.  And I know they had fun with me.  At the beginning of each school year, the kids would line up outside on the playground.  Each one would have received a back-to-school letter with a number, suggesting which line to look for when the morning bell rang on the first day of school.  That's all they'd know.  (This plan freed our principal from phone calls from parents demanding one teacher over another.)  Once the kids were lined up, the teachers would march out, one by one, and each of us would stop and stand before a specific number:  one, two, three or four.  Our school had four fifth grade classes.  As soon as I'd stop walking and stand, facing the line of children, who had been assigned to my class, every kid in that line would cheer, right out loud.  I loved that my reputation for making learning fun preceded me.  And along with looking forward to a year filled with fun, children sense when they're adored.

Annie, how could you have known all of that at such a young age?  You couldn't have been more than twenty three when that little bird landed on your windowsill.

Actually, I was twenty two.  And it wasn't about 'knowing' Mom.  It was about 'feeling'.  As to that little bird, I listened to my sixth sense, which suggested that I make good use of our time with this intriguing little creature rather than wasting time trying to win back the attention of twenty-five, restless ten year olds, so we enjoyed the little bird's winged presence before it flew back to its flock, which allowed me to lead my flock back toward the subject at hand, naturally.  Reflection suggests that intuition is my constant companion as long as I don't let 'the shoulds' derail the natural flow of my thoughts, which, for the most part, prove positively focused, flexible and prudent in the long run.  When life runs interference with reaching a heartfelt goal, success depends upon thinking with a smart heart, and thinking smart means maintaining a positive attitude when solutions are sought.  Once the little bird took wing and we felt connected and refreshed, the children's minds felt ready to absorb whatever I offered up, next, with the same positive attitude that they'd felt emanating from me ...

You're right, Annie.  A positive attitude is important. That's why I don't like to spend time with people my age. They're such old biddies."

2014

At that point in our discussion, I decided to employ discretion, knowing that a portion of Mom's loneliness was due to how much time she'd spent alone in her condo in the aftermath of Dad's sudden death.  As Mom's closest friends had been about fifteen years younger than she was, their husbands were still living, which meant these friends, whom she'd enjoyed, were not available to spend as much time with a widow as had been true when Mom and Dad had enjoyed an active social life with other couples, who'd also retired to the desert.   During the two years since Dad's death, it had not been unusual for a week to pass in which I was the only person with whom Mom had socialized.  If you question why I'd not insisted that Mom confront the fact that she was probably older than most of the people at the senior center, I'd reply:  Mom's approach to life had been young until Dad died, and I'd learned that our defense systems block us from seeing undesirable changes within ourselves.  Though Mom spent many hours baring her unhappiness to me, she smiled bravely for the world, and no matter how often I'd asked her to go for help, she'd continued to see herself as she'd presented herself to others.  So no matter what I'd say, her wall of denial denied need of change for the better.  More about the next decade of our lives, which drove me to absorb a wealth of knowledge concerning defense mechanisms, which separate our outer lives from our inner lives, later … As for now, let's swing back in time …

2002
"I think it's really great that you're so young at heart, Mom. On the other hand, everyone doesn't turn into an 'old biddy'.  In every group I've ever joined there has been at least one or two people, who connect with me heart fully, mindfully, intimately, as though we're kindred spirits, who enjoy getting to know one another.  Wouldn't you say that was true for you, too?

"No, they're all old ninnies, Annie.

Not to be thrown off track, My train of thought continues to chug gently forward: "Mom—I’m writing about seeking insight into relationships, which are strengthened by positive focus, good humor, and mutual respect. When two minds connect, intuitively and respectfully, common sense suggests that a deeply valued friendship may ripen, over time."

“OK, Annie.  I get it.”
As Mom's attitude is changing, I sense that my mother's brain may be in need of a break, like the kids with the bird, but my on button is stuck and my off button is no where to be found, so I smile and add:

“Mom, just one more thing ... I know you’re concerned about how my stories will portray Grandma Ella, so, rest assured, I'll hold her close to my heart while I write ... There will be no victims or villains in my stories;  just people doing the best that they can when life grows dark.  I plan to point out how often people, who victimize themselves need villains to blame when unhappiness just won't quit.  I'm writing to showcase the reasons why personal perception creates two sides to every story.  By writing our story, I can describe much about life that does not seem to make sense until both sides of the same story connect to create one completely cohesive story.  Since Will knows that my purpose in baring our story is to encourage others to develop a more objective view of their traits in hopes of improving their relationships—especially their relationships with themselves—he's on board with my sharing personal aspects of our history with the world.

But why are you so driven to write for hours, every day?

It's just the way I work ... I wake up 'writing' and can't stop until a train of thought pulls into the station, as though all on its own.  Now that the boys are grown, I feel compelled to reach out to millions and offer a world, hungry for safety and balance, trains of thought, filled with heartfelt, logical, solution seeking insights, each of which speaks of deeper truth.  I hope that by making an example of myself, countless others may feel empowered to embark upon a personal quest to take control over their lives, as well.  Writers are told to write what they know, and while my whole mind is actively engaged in the writing process, my subconscious releases forgotten facts, which change my perception of the past in ways that allow me to know myself more deeply than I had before.  Writing offers me many OMG! moments.

But why can't you write about deeper truth without baring your personal life?

Because people are so busy and so tired at the end of the day that most are not looking to spend whatever down time they have 'learning'.  Stories hold our attention, especially true stories.  So, with Will's permission, I decided to weave as many insights as come to mind into the true story of our lives, which has grown to be a trilogy depicting classic stages of life's ups and downs.

Why a trilogy?

Our story has evolved as classically and naturally as our lives:

Book one:      Insight into Mixed Messages During Childhood.

Book Two:     Insight into Falling in Love, Defensiveness and Marriage

Book Three:  Insight into Separation/Self Empowerment/Reconciliation …

There may be a book four:  Insight into Growing Ripe With Forgiveness As We Age

I entertain the hope that by opening people's eyes to my self defeating patterns, they may grow curious about their own, and curiosity is the first step toward change …

1100 (33) NO! NO! NOT AGAIN! REVISITED 43

33
2002
In retrospect, Mom's question: “Annie, what makes all of this so important to you, now?” pushes a button that opens a door in my brain, where information, soaked in, pours out, as though all on it's own!  I mean, if knowledge is power and if teachers share knowledge concerning their field of study and if my field concerns the acquisition of listening and speaking skills then in answer to Mom's question, here's a brief summary of that which poured out of my mind about the subject of communications coupled with self empowerment ...:

“While studying family communications, I became fascinated by the fact that much of what we're taught to believe does not make sense.  *In fact, society contradicts itself so often that it's not unusual for a smart heart to absorb as much mixed messaged nonsense as common sense.

I'm writing in hopes of inspiring people to listen to each other's personal needs, based in differing view points, with a greater degree of open minded attentiveness, because we tend to learn something new, every day.  Just as learning requires patience, open minded attentiveness depends upon listening respectfully by embracing an attitude of humility.  

Since humility is the opposite of egocentricity, I coach myself and others to sit our egos in time out chairs while engaging in mutually respectful discussions, concerning conflict resolution.  For example, I gave my children permission to respectfully suggest that I take time out to reclaim my line of control when my frustration gets loudly over heated with them. (More about that another time)

I’m writing about the subtleties of egocentric power struggles, which create complexity of thought at every level of society:  Power struggles, which mess with clarity, undermine harmony, professionally and personally, at every stage of life.

I’m writing about insecurities that cause people to offer love defensively rather than showering loved ones with generosity of spirit by asking questions that offer the benefit of the doubt.

I'm writing about personal experiences, showcasing what happened when some of my close friends leapt toward judgmental conclusions, based in negatively focused assumptions ... causing me to grow distant from those whose underlying attitudes continue to be as unhealthy as that.

I'm writing about distancing with an attitude of forgiveness, thus ensuring that I strengthen without absorbing bitterness, because bitterness and peace of mind don't mix.

*I’m writing about consciously emulating our parents’ admirable traits while learning to recognize their unconscious attitudes of negativity, which may have soaked into impressionable minds during childhood.

Annie, I need examples of that.

Okay.  That's easy.  I've absorbed your gift for making friends and Dad's enthusiastic zest for life.  I'm happy to emulate those traits.  I also watched Dad's anger flare as soon as he felt frustrated or fearful.  Upon observing that trait within myself, I chose to develop The Line Of Control.  And in the aftermath of Dad's death, I've watched you separate from people of your own age ...

While Mom mulls over my answers, I go on ...

I plan to offer examples of peer pressure, which continue to influence our decisions at every stage of life.

*I'm writing about hot spots of insecurity, because discontent breeds contempt for viewpoints that differ from our own..  *I mean, think about it, Mom, isn’t it in your best interest and mine to name and tame traits that repeatedly result in self-defeat?”

As Mom answers with down cast eyes and a silent shrug, I choose to respect her decision not to attend the senior center, near her condo, where 'old biddies' congregate to play bridge (which she loves)'.

2014
Mom's attitude, concerning old age, left her vulnerable to loneliness over the next several years ... and as one change leads to another, loneliness catalyzed the chain reaction, which eventually created the unfathomable chasm that evolved between us.  Thank goodness, insight into the main cause of that chasm continued to recharge my determination to successfully bridge that gap before my precious mother had passed ... but that's a whole different story, concerning family communications, which will unfold down the road ...

1099 (32) NO! NO! NOT AGAIN! REVISITED 42

32

2002

At some point in our conversation, Mom looks at me and asks, “Annie, why are you asking all these questions about events that took place so long ago?”

“Well, Mom, I’ve been writing about experiences that shaped many of my character traits.  And I'm planning to describe events that influenced Will's traits, as well."

"Does Will know you plan to write about him?"

"Of course.  In fact, I asked for his permission, and he said, okay, as long as he has the right of first refusal if he's uncomfortable with anything I write.  Will knows I’m highlighting mixed messages, misunderstandings and frightening experiences that prevent us from identifying which of our perceptions are misperceptions in need of reconsideration and clarification. He knows I’m writing about insecurities that shape negative attitudes and self-defeating patterns that cause us to make ineffective decisions, which impede us from meeting personal needs or achieving heartfelt goals.  Will understands my need to describe societal pressures that influence boys and girls to develop into adults, who have no clue as to how often we follow prescribed patterns of behavior instead of drawing forth insight, leading toward independent thought based in logic and common sense.  You know, Mom, it's not just cults that brainwash people's minds.  If you stop to think about it, brainwashing is responsible for much of what each of us is taught to feel, think, believe ... and despise.  Seriously, much of what our minds absorb during childhood creates negatively focused, darkly prejudicial viewpoints that fester without legitimate provocation.”

“Annie, what makes you so curious about all of this, now?"

I'm not sure, Mom.  I think it has something to do with how unfairly people treat people when judgement is based upon the little that can be seen on the surface.  Like the negatively focused judgments that fell on my head when Will and I separated.  Each true story I write will showcase how often our perceptions exacerbate or soothe another person's pain, and more importantly, I plan to show how often pain, left unresolved during childhood, is carried forward, because of the undeserved shame that we unwittingly absorb, subconsciously, thus causing us to misperceive of our traits as being darker than insight into clarity proves true ...

1098 (31) NO! NO! NOT AGAIN! REVISITED 41

31
2002

The impact of Mom's wistful thoughts, considering Janet's phantom development, catches me off guard.  Though I know my mother takes Janet’s photo out of a drawer, from time to time, and though, the daughter she’d lost so long ago comes up in our conversations more often than you might think, my comprehension of Mom’s inconsolable loss has reason to deepen when, fifty years after burying her precious baby, I listen to my mother visualizing a three month old infant growing into a child, a teen, a woman, whom my baby sister had not had the good fortune to become.  Suddenly, our conversation jogs this memory from the depths of my mind:  I recall Will’s cousin, Betsy, telling me that her Aunt Greta would mention the baby daughter, whom she’d lost to SIDS at the same time that we lost Janet.  In fact, when Aunt Greta’s daughter died, her son, Jimmy, had been three, just like me, and thus, he and I had been the same age when fate dealt our families similar blows.  Those similarities offer me insight into the confounding situation that developed between Jimmy and Aunt Greta, later in life.  I mean, during his childhood and deep into middle age, Jimmy had been a sweet, docile guy, who’d never failed to do his mother’s biding, as in: 'Jump Jimmy!  How high, Ma?'  So of course, no one could fathom the fire and ice, which hit their relationship during the last years of Aunt Greta’s life.  While sitting, swinging and enjoying these precious moments of intimacy with my mom, I muse, sadly, over the fact that once the fabric of a close family begins to fray, intimacy may unravel, and individuals may take sides if no one thinks to quest into the past in hopes of gaining insight into the underlying reason for today's emotional distress.  Having witnessed the wall of anger that separated Greta and Jimmy from rescuing their love for each other, I resolved that would never happen between Mom and me.  And with time, I came to understand that, along with attitude, timing and readiness, insight is everything if clarity, creating change for the better, is to revitalize a deeply valued relationship, which has wandered into a foggy maze where confusion reigns supreme.  In fact, while swinging next to mom,  I remember thanking Mother Nature for gifting the human brain with the potential to deepen our connection to solution seeking logic (and thus to one other) at every stage of life.

Next thing I know, my mind flies back to that time when Will and I'd split, and separation anxiety had paralyzed me.  The fact that I'd never lived alone proved to be one of several factors, which had caused anxiety to spike.  With compassion, bordering on empathy, for Mom, who is living alone for the first time in her life, I take my precious mother's hand in mine and say, "Our friendship has grown so close, I can't imagine losing you, ever.  I remember Mom's reply: "Annie, you'll never lose me.  When I'm no longer here, physically, my spirit will live inside your heart."

2014
During Mom's last days, I lay on her bed, cradling her tiny body in my arms.  When I ask:  Mom, can you feel the depth of my love ... I hold my breath, because ... Well ... more about unforeseen changes that opened my eyes to the necessity of deepening my insight into love, life and peace of mind at another time.  I want to maintain your sense of clarity and mine, concerning my cradling Mom during our last moments of intimacy, so let me begin, again ...

During Mom's last days, our family takes turns lying on her bed, gathering our deeply loved matriarch's hundred year old, feather weight body into our arms.  While lying beside her, cradling my precious mother close, I ask:  Mom, can you feel the depth of my love?  With her white hair resting lightly on my shoulder, my mother offers just the hint of a smile, and though she lacks the energy to open her eyes, I melt when she manages to whisper: Yes, Annie, I feel your love, and I love you more ... At that I release a huge sigh of relief, followed by tears of imminent loss, while the tight knot of pain, which has troubled my heart, mind and spirit for over a decade, loosens considerably, and as my heart embraces the warmth of Mom's spirit ever more deeply, I whisper:  I love you to infinity and back; I loved you before my birth and that will be true for as long as I live.

Thus did Mom and I emote the bond of love, which had always permeated our hearts, regardless of the confounding chasm that opened between us, causing life to feel as dark as a black cat passing under a ladder at midnight...

As I've experienced heart wrenching reasons to quest toward insight into understanding life's most painful lessons, Mom's hint of a smile and whispered reply soothed the anxiety, which had caused my blood to race through my veins and pound through my head during years when unremitting confusion created tension that tightened muscles, constricting my ability to breathe. Whenever my spirit weighed heavy and my heart ached, my colon coiled into a knot until I could barely swallow, much less eat.  I'd never questioned the depth of Mom's love for me.  It was the insecurity that erupted from somewhere deep within my beloved mother's mind that had me stymied for several years.  Insecurity that ran much deeper than losing Dad and living alone at the end of her life.  This was insecurity, born of feeling alone while growing up, as you may remember from the story I posted, concerning Mom's childhood.  

Thankfully, once my mind calmed and the healing nature of insight redefined my definition of friendship, I came to comprehend the chasm that developed between Mom and me.  And with intuition as my guide, I worked tirelessly to soothe emotions which had frazzled us both.  And thus, for the second time in my life, I had reason to set a high value upon those who hold onto open minded,  positively focused attitudes, which encourage the downtrodden human spirit to hearten with hope while working mindfully toward making sense of inner conflict, thus creating change for the better, all around  ...  BTW ... 77 nations and counting ... Let's bid a warm welcome to Canada ...

1097 (30) NO! NO! NOT AGAIN! REVISITED 40

Here's a photo of an ostrich so deep in denial as to see itself as a flamingo!
(If you're curious as to why that sentence was written, please check back in a few days.  My blog must have a mental block against holding onto this photo, because each time I copy it here, it shows up and disappears. Now you see it.  Now you don't.  Though I have no clue as to why that's true, given time and positive focus, my think tank tank will figure this out and create change for the better.)

30
2002
... Mom, would you say that people were helpful or hindering to your recovery after Janet died?”

“Well, some of both proved true.  After we lost Janet, people who loved us were very kind, but many who meant well, made serious mistakes.  Some people thought they could help us by hurrying our grief, but that just created frustration. Others with good intentions made comments that deepened our frustration.  All we really needed to hear was, ‘I’m sad for your loss.’ It felt terrible to hear people say we were ‘lucky’ she was so young.  When you lose a child, the word ‘lucky’ makes you see red.  One day, fury burning inside me really fired up.  I discovered that one of my brothers had thought to 'help me' by destroying Janet’s photos.  And to this day, I’ll never understand what possessed Dad to watch Janet’s autopsy, but he’d felt compelled to do that, so he did.”

(As I'd known that to be true for years, I'd had the chance to ask Dad how he could have done that.  His response:  I don't know.  I just had to be there if they found out what took her …")

Over the next several seconds we swing pensively, back and forth, before Mom goes on:  “We each grieve and heal in different ways.  The way each person needs to heal isn’t easy for others to understand.  In fact, it’s not easy to understand ourselves.  All I have left of Janet, today, is one small, creased, black and white photo that my brother overlooked.  And here we sit, Annie, you and I, talking about Janet more than fifty years after she died—and even now, from time to time, I take that creased photo out of my dresser drawer and look at it, because something inside my heart needs to see her face.  Every few years, I find myself wondering what kind of life Janet would have chosen had she had the chance to grow up.

Listening to the impact of inconsolable loss, flowing freely from within Mom's psyche, catches me off guard as I surmise that certain losses are too great to expect a person to fully recover—just as when a damaged nerve remains painfully inflamed, because nerve damage is not reversible—at least not yet—though one day, when stem cell research is widely accepted, advances in the field of medical science may offer a person with nerve damage relief—Gosh!  Wouldn't it be great if that advance in stem cell research occurs within our lifetime?  To live free of pain remains a personal dream.  As you can see, hope springs eternal when stream of consciousness processes calmly through positively focused channels of the mind ...

PS

Once again, the wonders of positive focus win my smile!  I was about 
to push publish when the image of the ostrich (flamingo?) reappeared, and if you ask:  Why does it come and go?  I'd reply:  I have no clue!  Whoops!  It's gone, again ... Oh well ... I'll not lose sleep over a mystery as minor as this ...

1096 (28E) NO! NO! NOT AGAIN! REVISITED 39

This post was originally written July 29, 2014—the anniversary of Dad's death

            Here's a short list of reasons why my first thought's not always my best thought:

Sometimes I'm thinking scared;  fear fogs up my think tank
Sometimes I'm thinking lonely; loneliness fogs up my think tank
Sometimes I'm thinking mad; anger fogs up my think tank
Sometimes my ego is doing my thinking ...
Suggesting that my intelligence has taken a hike.  

Sometimes my first thought serves as a stepping stone, which inspires my spirit to move forward in a self disciplined fashion until such time as my mind feels so calm that a positively focused plan of action emerges from my think tank, which, upon balancing emotion with logic, inspires change for the better, all around.

Each time another positively focused, mutually respecting plan pops out of my head, my heart, mind and spirit take wing, and flying in formation as freely as a flock of birds, chirping happily away, here is what you're bound to see if you walk outside and gaze up at the sky:  You'll see my smile shining forth as warm as a sun beam.  It's truly amazing how happy all of me feels each time I edit fear out of my decision-making process as in:  Less is more.

Each time a positively focused plan creates another opportunity to enjoy life to the fullest, my spirit has reason to awaken with such a sense of joy that my smile leaps out of bed, feeling as though Edison has plugged my mind into an electric circuit where every positively focused insight feels so light and bright as to transform the blues into a five star day..

With that said, I'm about to welcome my friend, who shimmers my hair, thus adding to the sparkle, which emanates naturally from deep within my soul when my inner life and outer life match ...

P.S.

This morning a friend who reads my blog called to say:

Annie, I wish I could express my feelings and thoughts like you do, so

I sat down to write, picked up a pencil, looked at the paper and said …

Oh, just fergetit!

At that we laughed and laughed ... 

And that's how my five star day began, today