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Saturday, December 31, 2016

Platitudes


Ah no, I won't throw them out. No matter the day that's in it.

We are all individuals. Our journeys are so different and our instruction manuals are self- written. All the platitudes in the world won't fix us. I read the Dalai Lama periodically. And yes, his advice is sound. But my own self=advice is good too: "Yes, you can get out of bed today. Yes, you can ride this storm, remember the worse ones? Find the light in your day."

Etc.

Our etceteras are larger than our cores. I share my journey in case it ignites a tiny spark in someone else. But advice? Never. Unless you ask for it. And even then I will only impart some hard won lessons of my own.

Through this past week I've run the gamut of many emotions. I wanted to throw myself on Daughter when she left on the 27th. But I didn't. What a burden to one's child even if the child is going to be fifty soon. Fifty. Take that in.

I wrap my own neediness up tidily and bury it somewhere in the pit of my brain when someone I love leaves. The leave-takings are more poignant as I age. It could be the last time. Morose? Morbid? Well, shoot me.

I remember my mother breaking down in bits the last time I saw her. She held on and held on and I stayed that extra minute hugging her. I should have turned away to spare her pride. And her shame, my wonderful, strong mama. I'm reminded of that with Daughter. So I laugh and push her away and as soon as her car has gone. I cry. For what? For losses, for the tangled old year behind me, for my uncertain health. And for her kindness to me. In spite of. She is exceedingly kind as if in compensation for her sister, for the betrayals of my family. So I don't add anything extra in the way of emotional demands on her.

I'm grateful for all the privacies that I don't share in person but do on this silly old blog or in my journal.

For the many of you out there who seem to get my eccentricities and can add some of your own. We find each other and commiserate and laugh and share.

Blogland.

I thank you.

34 comments:

  1. Thanks. Been sick so haven't been around much. Always appreciate your gorgeous honesty. Glad you had that time with your daughter. love, jan

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    1. So sorry to hear you were sick Jan, I hope you're on the mend now!

      XO
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  2. You are mother. We are Mother. (In spite of a certain faction that seeks to erase this word from our language.)

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SOrmtqTVHc

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    1. I know whereof you speak. Much like menstruation I think.

      XO
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  3. I just got a smart smack up: a call from a care worker, wondering if I can contribute to needed furnishings for a young woman and her children. He's in jail or whatever it's called until judge can be dragged out of holiday into emergency court. The shelters are full. She's in a hotel, until accommodation can be found and we must begin rounding up "furnishings". She is a Good Mother. I feel so sad for us, all.

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    1. Ah, I had some good news today on a similar situation that I've been working tirelessly on. Home found in great area. All we need now is to get her kids back from her abusive ex. Another good mother is she.

      XO
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  4. I had lunch with a friend of over 30 years. We talked about how flawed we all are and yet we want others to make up for their flaws and do better. They can't. We can't either. We commiserate and move on.

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    1. So true DKZ. I tend to laugh at mine now: "Hello darkness, my old friend."

      XO
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  5. This puts me in mind of the one time my mother ever wept when I was leaving (to return to Sask from a visit to her home in BC). I cried as I drove, all the way to Calgary, but never for a moment felt any of it a burden. It was more a revelation of our deep love for each other and I cherish the memory of our shared emotion, rarely expressed.

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    1. Mine was different Kate. My mother never wanted me to worry, she was dying leaving 2 young children, my sibs. Being brave was what she wore in the face of an emotionally shut down husband, my father, and the bleak loss ahead for her children.

      I cried all the way back to Canada, the attendant had to look after my 2 toddlers.

      XO
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  6. I hope the New Year is good to you!

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    1. So far o good E.
      You too my dear friend!

      XO
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  7. Happy New Year wishes for you! Always hard when I part from my children since they live across the continent from me, and the house becomes so quiet once I'm alone again. Can understand some of what you must feel though coping with feelings associated with a missing child I just can't imagine.

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    1. Amazing what we get through, Joared, isn't it. Us old tough survivors.

      Good wishes for the year ahead to you too!

      XO
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  8. We surely do share our eccentricities and laugh. Always appreciate your honesty and deep wisdom. xxxxx

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    1. Thenks Pamela, you are always a joy, you and your great garden!

      XO
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  9. I'm sure my 94 year old mum would like to see more of me, especially as so many of her old friends are now dead and gone, but as I'm the other side of the Irish Sea that's not possible. But we do chat on the phone every week. As we get older, we need to make the most of our friendships while they're still possible.

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    1. Have you considered early morning flights and late homings, Nick? I'm sure she'd love it, as would you?

      XO
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  10. I thank the Blogland too and also providence that you too are part of it. I love it when my 46 year old son and 45 year old daughter in love hug me, which is so often that I don't miss it if I don't get it on some days. I live with them!

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    1. Yes, old age is kind when our blessings outweigh our woes.

      Happy New Year Ramana.

      XO
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  11. Thinking of you
    sending healing thoughts
    and we will make it
    as long as the Universe wants us.

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    1. Yes, I like that Ernestine. As long as the universe has use for us.

      XO
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  12. Saying goodbye is hard at any age, but as you say, the older the harder. May you have a happy and rewarding 2017.

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    1. You too Tom, may light and love be yours my friend

      XO
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  13. Happy New Year!
    It really helps to share our feelings with each other via blogging. I'm reeling over the death of our cat, who has been part of our life for 16 years. It's not just losing him, but it brings all the other losses in my life to the surface. And low energy has hit both my husband and me hard lately. We have to change our strategies if we intend to maintain our way of life. And Trump is bearing down on us.
    We will struggle on. What other choice do we have?

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    1. So very sorry to hear about Fred, Hattie, heartbreaking as was the loss of my darling Ansa in September, I still cry. The leave their pawprints on our hearts forever.

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  14. Hattie yes, strategies. What must we change, but not give up our 'selves' or will we be slain if we don't capitulate to Old Woman Time? I came down with an "age related virus" this month. A what, I said? So. There it is: biology, whether I like it or not. Oh my hair may shine and my skin be smooth and my thoughts and opinions be very modern: but MY BIOLOGY is stepping to a different drummer. As with your cat. My sympathies.

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    1. Our old casings.

      Shredding off us.

      Creasing, wearing thin.

      But inside?

      XO
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  15. Have you thought about just putting it out there on FB about your missing daughter--just one post listing everything you can, and a plea for anyone who knows anything to contact you and a request to share the post? That seems to be the way to do things these days.

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    1. Yes, I have and I have done something similar a few years aback which made her go further underground and possibly change her name. It is clear she doesn't want to be found.

      XO
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  16. I don't think there is anything shameful about crying at leave-takings. I cried like a baby when dropping both kids off at college for the first time, as I did when I left them at kindergarten. Those leave-takings each signaled a move toward their increasing independence and the shortening of time between then and the last time I will see them. I hug them even more tightly these days. In fact, my younger son stopped by for coffee this morning and we hugged several times as he was leaving. It is bittersweet.

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    1. It depends on the circumstances SAW. In my mother's case see response to Kathy above. And in my own, at the time I was terrified I wouldn't see her again due to my new health challenges and didn't want to burden her with that.

      XO
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