Happy Birthday!

It's hard for me to believe, but 24 years ago at 11:26pm, I gave birth to my first child. I was so young and clueless. I look back and wonder how I did it. I really had no idea what parenthood had in store for me. I am glad I chose life though. The easy thing at the time would have been to not have him. But, I did and I don't regret a thing. He has given me joy, a granddaughter and a sweet beautiful daughter in law.

I still remember the pain of childbirth. There are somethings I think one just never forgets. But the joy of seeing his life unfold before me overshadows that breif pain and I would do it a thousand times over for my first born son.

I can do this! Right??

Today was the first swim lesson I have had in 32 years. The last time I took a lesson, (and those from Portland will know what I'm talking about...), Dishman pool was called Knott Street, the pool was outside, and there was a wickedly high diving board. I like to refer to it as the board of death, as it was that board that the Wicked Intstructor I had got very impatient with me taking too long to jump.

I remember loving to swim. I started when I was 7 years old and couldn't wait to go to lessons or open play. For almost 2 years I climbed the ranks from Goldfish to Shark (ok, could have been a different name, but I was up there!)So proud of my certificates gradutating me to the next level. I had no fear. I remember what it was like to feel fluid with the water. I remember the pressure of the water on my body, and the full feeling in my ears and head when I was fully submerged. It was awesome. I was a mermaid. I loved it. Then the Wicked Instructor, who I think ate small children for lunch, was having a bad day and just couldn't wait for me to be ready to make the plunge into the deep end (Yes, that would be 12 feet). She yanked the pole and I fell into the water, completed unprepared. I remember the searing, stinging pain in my nose, throat, eyes and chest as I tried to make my way to the surface. It was the first time I felt fear in the water.

That fear has held on to me and I to it every since that day. I never played in the water with my children. I made sure that they learned to swim and were comfortable in the water because I knew I wasn't going to be able to save them if they got in trouble. I felt comfortable in water aerobics, in the shallow side of course. As long as the water did not come past my chin I was fine.

Flash waaaay forward. Here I am, 40 years old and still terrified of relaxing in the water. Despite the fact that while on vacation I treaded water in the ocean, snorkeled and even floated on my back...I can't use a kickboard in the pool...Go figure! I still have dreams from time to time of swimming, feeling no fear, feeling completely natural in the water.

I am back in the same pool. It's now called Dishman community center. It's now indoors and the wickedly high dive board is gone. There is only one know, and it looks manageable. I want to feel that confidence I felt back when I was 8 years old. Diving for rings at the bottom of the pool. Backstroking. Butterflys. I want to feel no fear once again in the pool. I know I can do it. I have to trust myself and trust the water. I have to work with it, not against it. I want to be a mermaid again!! Yes, I CAN do this!!

An Easter Reflection

Here we are at the highest of Holy days in the Christian Church. It's Easter, full of bunnies who lay multicolored chocolate eggs, rabbits who bring kids yummy treats and toys in the middle of the night...New outfits for Sunday service....Family dinners, Easter sales...Awww, the joys!

As I reflect on this day though, it has nothing to do with any of that. It doesn't even have to do with 'church'. This morning I attended a short, simple yet powerful sunrise service. It was dark, the only light being from the glow of the electric piano display, the powerstip lights and the street lights filtering in from outside. It was solemn, as everyone contemplated the events that lead to Christ's victory from the grave. We sat in silence until the sun came up, and were then dismissed in peace to come back later and rejoice in the good news of the Resurrection.

For me, I thought of the Gift. The Gift of Salvation that was given to all, whether it is claimed or not, its there. I am not religous, I am spirtual. That will go a lot farther than religion anyday. Some who read this may be shocked by that. I get it. Religion is doing and following something. I religously come home on Monday nights and watch 24. I religously hit my snooze bar in the morning no matter what time its set for. Spirtualuality is walking with God, its learning to live through the spirit of God. Its about freedom. Its about love and service to fellow mankind. Its about leaving judgment to God and just loving people where they are because He created them in His image.

I will never waiver from my faith in God. Take away all the churches in the world, and those who truly, truly have faith, those whose spirtuality is not rooted in a building, whose faith is not tied to a human or some formula of doing things. Those would be ok. Their faith is not wrapped up and entagled into a church, denomination or religion. He is in the heart, but he is also in the world around us. Speaking to us in the majesty of the Mountains, in the crash of the waves of the ocean. In the stillness of forest. In the beauty of the flowers. Wispering in the wind. He is everywhere. Displayed in the diversity of mankind. Four walls can't contain that. No one can own that. Its for all.

There have been many events in my life and the lives of those close to me that meet the qualification for me to doubt if God exists, or even cares about us. But because I am still standing, still able to trust even in the midst of pain, disappointment, confusion, grief, tragedy it is because of Faith, when I have no answers to the madness and nonsense I can at least strive for attainable peace. That is a guarantee.

So on this Easter, reflect on the Gift of ultimate sacrafice made for mankind, regardless of ones belief (not believing does not make it not so), religion, etc., figure out how to make your corner of the world a better place by loving not only yourself, but mankind and of course claiming your Gift.

Blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada

Okay, that title has nothing to do with what is on my mind...or maybe it does, aaah, I don't know.

I really have to get better at blogging what's on my mind when it comes to my mind.  What always happens is I don't get it down and then I loose it but know that I had something I wanted to share but for the life of me can't remember what it is.  Figures.  The story of my life sometimes.

So in a few weeks my first born child will be 24 years old.  24.  That's like almost 25, which is a quarter of a century! That my friends, is freaking amazing to me.  Ok, for one I don't feel my age ( ok, maybe some mornings I do, or when I go hang out with my crew and don't get enough rest the next day!)...I mean I am 40, almost 41  ( for all you who are trying to do the math right now, yes, I was 16 when I gave birth) I really usually feel like I am in some crazy time warp trying to figure what the hell just happened...What do mean I've been married 22 years???  Kids?  Grown? Married?  Grandchildren??  I'm still trying to figure out how to be a grown up!  Amazing that I managed to stay married to the same man all these years, have a career and raise two self suffiecient, responsible, civic minded men.  Wow.  I did that.  Me!!!

But the reality is, life is happening man!  It's happening right before my eyes.  While I am relatively content with my little world, I know there are places I want to go, things I want to experience... I have the freedome to do somethings, within reason for a married woman, I mean I probably won't be backpacking across Europe by myself, or spending 40 days in seclusion at a Tibetian Monastary, since I have others to take into consideration.  But there is a whole world of living yet to be lived out there!  I keep hearing that 40 is the new 25, however I have no desire to relive 25!  That would mean kids and responsibility for me.  No, 40 is the new 40 for me.  I feel good, look good and will have fun figuring out how to be that 40+ year old grown up, with the Husband in tow, kicking and screaming!

Count Down...

So for some reason lately, turning 41 has been on my mind. Alot.  I don't know why.  I am not one to have regrets about things but I feel like I missed something?  Can't quite put my finger on it. 

I am excited about my next birthday.  I feel so blessed to have the life that I do.  It's amazing.  It could have gone another direction not necessarily for the good.  I have what many women are still searching or waiting for.  I did nothing to deserve it, yet here I am.

I look forward to the next 41+ years.

Good Hair, Bad Hair, My Hair,

Okay, okay, okay.  I am going there about the hair.  I have had a love/hate relationship with my hair since about 4th grade when my mother thought it would be a great idea to get my hair "permed".  Which for US black people means relaxed straight.  Before I got the perm though, I would get my hair washed and pressed every other Saturday night or Sunday morning.  I actually loved this, not because of what my hair looked like afterward, but because I got my mother's undivided attention for however long it took to do.  Many of life lessons were learned sitting there in front of the stove taking in the smell of hot hair and hair grease.  This was when I learned to tie my hair down to keep it from "going home", and became very familiar with the "kitchen"...my mother burned me so many times I am surprised there are not permanent scars!

Then I got the chemical treatment, which started me on the slippery slope of self hair-hatred.  Wow.  My hair was so straight, and it was never the same.  Now mind you that I was in about 5th grade so I was still wearing pig tail braids.  One on top, two on the side.  If she was in a hurry, just one braid on each side of the head.  I could play in the rain, I could  sweat.  It stayed straight.  I didn't look like a lion anymore.  I still had no idea about good hair or bad hair.  It was just my hair.

Fast forward to middle school.  My mother thought it would be a great idea to allow my aunt (who was in beauty school...) to relax and CUT my hair.  I was assured it was going to be a shag....Yeeeaahh, not quite.  It was more of a fluffy mullet.  Oh the humiliation!!  I became keenly aware of my hair, its texture, that it was different.  I don't know where this came from but it sparked years of way too much money spent on trying to make my hair "right", whatever that was.  I expiremented with so many cuts, colors and styles.  I didn't understand why my hair wouldn't just act right.  It was all consuming!!  I would actually call in sick to go to the hair dresser if my hair was not right.  Pathetic.

In my mid twenties I was diagnosed with cancer.  Reality check!  You really can't care much about your hair when going through chemo treatment because, well, there is no hair to care about!  Unless you consider the weirdly colored straw feeling stuff that kind of sits on top of your head until it just falls out or washes down the drain in the shower.  Yes, I must say, that was a turning point for me and my hair.

I am so at peace now with my hair. I have embraced it for what it is.  It's my hair!  It's the sum total of all the nationalities in me, it is the blessing that God gave me after being completely bald for two years.  It's loving all of me and accepting myself and the fact that I do not need to define myself by some impossible societal standard.  It's so liberating, I wish I know this sooner!

Tiana & Andrew III, Rest in Peace my Angels Until We Meet Again.

I have tried to write this entry at least 5 times. I haven't been able to do it. Friday December 4th was the saddest day of my life this far. My grandchildren Tiana and Andrew III were born far too early and were gone in an instant. I was there for the miracle of their birth, to see them and hold them. To see my first grandson, to see how much my second granddaughter looked just like her sister. To hold my first born son as he grieved for his children. To comfort my daughter in law for her unimaginable loss. To lean on my husband when I thought the grief would overwhelm me.
I have experienced so much loss over the last year or so. I have had some incredibly sad days, but this is nothing I have ever experienced. The sadness comes on like a sneaker wave; I have to fight not to be completely overtaken. It has no warning, no trigger, it just is. Like air. Everywhere but nowhere. The tears seem to never dry. Always perched precariously at the edge of my eyes, waiting for the slightest provocation to fall., seemingly connected to the empty feeling in the center of my heart that only God will be able to fill for me now.
I thank God that I have some faith, because if I didn't I could not do it. If my husband and my arms will always ache for the grandchildren we lost, how more must their mother and father feel for the longing to nurture their babies? How must their father, my child feel for the loss of his babies? Their sister, who knew she had little brother and sister twins? I grieve not only for me, but for them. That is what mothers and grandmothers do I suppose.

It has been 8 days now.  I would like to say it has gotten better.  I would love to say that don't feel sad.  It is the holiday season. I am trying to see the beauty, remember the reason for this season, not only the holiday season but this season in my life. This too shall pass, but while I am in it I pray for the wisdom too glean what I need to out of the darkness, and look forward to the emergence to light that will eventually come. They were only in our lives physically for less than 24 hours, but they will live in our hearts and memories forever. We will see them again.