Gold Star Mother’s Day

 

Today is Gold Star Mother’s Day- you probably didn’t know that. It’s not on your little Hallmark Calendar- or probably any other calendar you have lying around the house or office.  The last Sunday of September has been Gold Star Mother’s Day since June 23^rd 1936. This year- and almost every year as long as I have been reading newspapers, there is little or no coverage. There was no big write up in the San Francisco Chronicle, the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, the Huntington Post, the Boston Globe or any other major news group in America.

The White House posted a proclamation by President Obama.

http://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2012/09/28/presidential-proclamation-gold-star-mothers-and-familys-day-2012

The first Gold Star Mother I met was in 2004. Diane, the Mother of Travis Layfield. Travis was from the city I lived in and Nick knew him, though not well. Nick was still a boot at SOI in Camp Pendleton and I felt it was my duty as a Marine Mom to represent Nick and I at the candlelight memorial being held for Travis at his high school.

LCpl. Travis Layfield

I stood there, inconsolable, sobbing hysterically. A Marine standing next to me asked me if I was family. “No. I’m a Marine Mom.” He nodded his head, maybe hoping his mom was stronger than this woman standing next to him was.  Later I hugged Diane. I told her how sorry I was. I had no words of wisdom for her. I just knew I never wanted to be in her shoes.

That was the last Marine’s memorial I attended, but sadly, not the last Gold Star Mother I met. Later at Marine Parents’ conferences, I met many others - too many. I marveled at their grace. Though I could tell some were angry, some were broken; some were motivated to carry on.  All of them had broken hearts.

Sometimes I found it hard to look them in the eye. Hard- but I still did it. What I have realized over the last 9 years, is that people don’t really want to be reminded of the lives lost at war. Not even the mothers of active duty Marine’s, soldiers, sailors and airmen. The combination of survivor’s guilt and fear that you will one day be in their shoes is too much for most of us. We avoid it like a horrible plague.  

Sometimes I think Americans are an ungrateful lot. It seems like we should be doing more for our Gold Star Families. (And our active duty and veteran members of the service for that matter.)  And I admit, I could have done more, but fear kept me from getting too close to that group. I did not want to become a member of that club.

I googled Gold Star Mother’s Day, last night and found out there were no articles in any major news group. I did it again today- still no articles. Next year there will be articles- I’m going to start sending them in now. I’m a little late in my gratitude, but I’ll do what I can to make up for it.

Meanwhile, if you happen to run across a Gold Star Family- look them in the eye. Say thank you for your sacrifice. Take a minute from your busy day to let them tell you about their son or daughter who gave their all, for the United States of America. 

I found this prayer on one of Travis' many tribute walls. I think it is fitting for today. 

Anywhere is the Center of the World

Then I was standing on the highest mountain of them all, and round about beneath me was the whole hoop of the world. And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being.

And I say the sacred hoop of my people was one of the many hoops that made one circle, wide as daylight and as starlight, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of one mother and one father. And I saw that it was holy...
But anywhere is the center of the world.

Black Elk (Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux)

http://www.goldstarmoms.com

Crazy Days- Parental Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

My phone went off at 11:12 last night- just as I was drifting into REM sleep. I looked at the screen and Nick’s name and number staring back at me. In the one-second that it took me to pick up the phone and hit the answer button, my heart raced and every terrible thought that could squeeze into that time frame, did so.

I hit answer, heard a strange echo noise, and instantly I was thrown back in time to satellite phone calls and sometimes mortars in the background, a 2-5 second delay. Nick? Nick? Nick? No answer…fear racing though my veins like ice water. Time stopping.

Wait. He’s not in Iraq anymore. He’s been home for 5 years.

This is my self-diagnosed Secondary or “Parental” Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Five years later, I still have heart palpitations when I get a late night call. Anxiety attacks when I haven’t heard from him for more that a week. Even though I know he was getting off work around 11PM and even though I know, he is not in Iraq... I sort of live with this constant underlying fear.

I stayed on the phone repeating his name longer than I should have. Listening, making sure he wasn’t being mugged. It was a butt dial. He didn’t mean to call me. I text’d him just to make sure. “I think you butt dialed me.”  “I did, sorry.” “No prob. xox nite.”

“Goodnight mom, Xo”.

It took me 2 hours to go back to sleep.

I know all parents have this to some extent. We all fear that middle of the night call. It can never be good news. An accident, jail, sick… it’s never a call at 3 AM to just say I love you. 

If I were the only Marine parent that had this disorder, I would probably keep it to myself. The truth is though-- I started seeing this pattern amongst us during their deployments five years ago. Our inability to turn the car that last corner to our block, for fear the US Marines were parked out in front, delivering the news. Bad news.  Months of sleeplessness, night after night lying awake, waiting for a call, an email or instant message. Killing ourselves with good karma, buying brownie points with God, bartering our souls. I swear to you God, I will never ask another thing of you. Never.

Mood swings, depression, anger, confusion, memory loss, are all part of the deal. And when it didn’t go away after one year, or two years, I knew we had ourselves an issue. It’s a bona fide disorder, which almost no one knows about.

Five years later-- the symptoms remain the same. Everything is magnified. I remember that first few weeks when Nick got back from Iraq and I wrote “Please Tie Your Shoes” an essay about how even though he was home I was still going to worry. Little did I know. So little.  

I’m sure I drive my son crazy. I study him as if he’s the statue of David by Michelangelo. Like he is this amazing work of art and I am looking for flaws, the pieces chipped away by time or vandalism. Like a mother gorilla, sometimes, I want to groom him. Make sure he’s clean and presentable. And maybe smack him a little in the process – for good measure.   I always ask “How are you doing?”  He knows what I mean. Sometimes I get a straight answer. Sometimes he just walks away from me. I abhor smother mothers and yet, I have become one.

I took anti anxiety pills for a short time, but I don’t like to take drugs so I toughed it out as much as I could. Still, I have days when my heart races and I feel sick to my stomach. I have to reel myself in and understand what is going on so I can function. Many of my Marine parent friends have these same symptoms.

I remember when Nick was actually in Iraq, I went to the doctor for some stress related thing. She asked me what was going on and I burst into tears and told her. She put down her chart, stood up and gave me a hug. A good hug, the kind a mom gives her kid when they really, really need a hug. Then she wrote a prescription for sleeping pills and Xanax. If only hugs worked.

I wish a hug could fix PTSD and P-PTSD. I wish I could hug my kid every day before he walks out his door- but he’s all grown up- and while he still gets a good hug from me when I see him, an everyday hug from mom is no longer an option. I wonder if he has noticed, when I do get a hug from him, I hang on a second longer than I ever did before.

Intellectually, I know that PTSD is the direct result of a traumatic experience. And we parents, while traumatized by months on end of worry and fear, do not witness our buddies being blown up, or have sniper bullets whizzing past our heads, or mortars going off 30 feet from where we are sleeping. For us it’s a direct result of knowing that your child is in harms way for months on end and you can’t help. You can’t do anything about it.  All the praying in the world barely makes a dent in the fear. Pride is not enough to sustain bravery. We run on fear.

I feel bound to understand this because I want to help bring recognition to it whatever “it” is - and because I would like to help other people who think they have lost their mind-all due to fear.

I need to tell myself the next time the phone rings after 11PM- while I am still in partial slumber, It’s probably a butt dial. Take a deep breath. Because even if it’s bad news, I’ll need to take action. Being paralyzed with fear won’t help a soul.  

Why I am Voting For Barack Obama

Most of my friends and some of my family are Republicans.  But, I am an Independent voter. I always vote for the person, not the party. And I usually don’t share my politics with the world, because I hate the ensuing arguments. But this time, I think it’s important. I want you to know how I came to this decision. How much homework I really did.  I want you to know I have been fact checking for 4 years and that I have taken nothing anyone said at face value.

Last presidential election I did not vote for Barack Obama. I supported Rudy Guiliani. I voted for John McCain (by default) simply because I thought his experience in war and with foreign policy surpassed Barack Obama’s. The war on terror, the war in Iraq and the war in Afghanistan were my big issues at the time. Bigger than the financial crisis looming on the horizon- bigger than anything.

When I watched Barack Obama’s acceptance speech in 2008, I cried. I imagined the pride the blacks across the country must have felt. I was proud of America too. For not letting race stand in the way. Well- some didn’t anyway.  

The hate grew. Over the course of the last 4 years, I have heard the vilest things come out of people’s mouths about the President, and those horrible words have actually pushed me into his corner. If you know me then you know having me as an ally is s good thing. I am loyal and true and I will back you up with everything I have. So here I am. Voting for Barack Obama in 2012.  And here is who you can thank for that.

The Birthers, The Tea Party, The Conspiracy Theorists, The Bigots, The Zealots, The Christian Coalition all of whom would turn back the clock and burn free-thinking people like me at the stake if they could. Some people are so ignorant (like Birther’s) they would believe lie after lie, even though the truth is right in front of them.

The issues are important to me. Chances are, at 60 years old, I will not be getting pregnant any time in the future. But if I did, I would want to be able to decide if I could terminate the pregnancy or not. My body- my decision. I have never wanted and certainly don’t want now- anyone telling me what I can do with my body or turning back the clock on civil rights, civil liberties, and basic compassion for people of all ethnic origins and sexual orientation.

I have always been an independent person. My mom used to say I was the first women’s libber she ever met. But, I was never really a women’s libber, I was always more concerned about my personal freedom and not too wrapped up in the needs of all. A Katie’s libber is what I was.

Now, I feel compelled to make a case for voting Democratic. Or voting anti hate.  That’s what I am doing. The hate has worn me down. The people that have taken on the hate rants have turned my stomach. The people that have called the President of the United States a nigger, a monkey, a socialist, a radical, un-American, anti-American, elitist and so on and so forth. They have made my mind up for me. I am now deaf to their hateful noise.

I was worried that Barack Obama didn’t have military or foreign relations experience in 2008. Now I know- he has gained both of those things 10 fold. While he never served in the military, he is willing to listen to those who do- and those who have. When he ramped up the troops in Afghanistan, it surprised me. That fact that he continues to look for better ways to deal with Arab nations and the far-reaching pockets of terrorism around the world can only be viewed as intelligent.

For everyone that calls Obama a socialist- let me ask you this. Do you collect Social Security? Do you collect Permanent Disability?  Have you ever collected Unemployment wages? Are you enrolled in Medicare or any other government based medical care? Then you are a socialist. Did you go to public school? Socialist. Enjoy public parks? Socialist. Socialism refers to State Ownership. A truly socialist state would be one where the government owns and operates the means of production.

 

Is it a bad thing to want to see old people or sick people taken care of?  It is a bad thing to want to help people help themselves?  The United States has always embraced social welfare. It is not a new concept that came in with Barack Obama.

I watched both conventions, and heard many of the speeches. I heard Mitt Romney, Paul Ryan, Ann. Romney, Julian Castro, Bill Clinton, Michelle Obama, and Barack Obama. I kept an open mind- though admittedly- it’s difficult when I already knew I was at odds with Republicans on some of the issues. Mitt had a small chance with me before he chose Ryan as a running mate- but the minute I learned what Ryan was about, (I had to read up because I didn’t know who he was)  my Katie’s Libber kicked in.

I liked Barack Obama’s speech; I didn’t feel manipulated by his words. It wasn’t over the top. It wasn’t full of pregnant pauses and coy looks. It was in my opinion humble and hopeful. And hope is a good thing. Without hope, we are nothing. Without education we are nothing in this global society, without the ability to stay healthy and productive- there is no hope. 

Also- It would be incredibly simplistic to say that the problems that plague the U.S. at this time could be cured in 4 years.  I have to agree with President Clinton on that one. And the way I see it by voting another new guy (with no experience) in we would face another 4 year learning curve.

Then of course, no one gives a speech like Bill Clinton. I know Republicans that wish he were running again. If I was short on hope before his speech- I was full up afterwards.

I don’t hate Mitt Romney or Paul Ryan or any politician really. There are some I dislike, but not enough to spend time writing about them. I actually do believe that most of the people that serve the nation in some capacity love their nation and do what they think is right. I respect that.

In the end - it’s the lack of hate and abundance of hope that has won me over to the Barack Obama camp. I just can’t see anything good coming from so much hate.  

I think it’s important to note that extremism on either side of the political spectrum is distasteful to me. Extremism creates more problems than it solves. It’s almost never based on facts- but instead emotion. Rosie O’Donnell, Michael Moore and their ilk, are conspiracy theory nuts who really don’t like America. They make mainstream democrats look bad. I wish they would go away- They are incredibly angry people- and they are angry about made up stuff, which is scary to me.

I’ve been called a bleeding heart liberal because I believe in things like affordable medical care, equal pay and equal rights for ALL. I never used to be- but maybe with age I have become more compassionate and lean towards liberalism. Maybe with age I have become less about my own interests and more about how to leave this world for future generations. Fairly recently I started really caring about recycling, the air we breathe, the fuel we use and all the things that might not change in my lifetime- but maybe I can help make better for future generations. Just recently, I started believing that there is a better way to solve problems then by going to war and blowing up our own kids and the sons and daughters of other countries, in name of freedom.

 I care about our troops more than I can say and those of you that know me know that is the truth. But I want them to have the very best chance to stay alive and in one piece. I want every effort made to avoid more military casualties. I have seen too many DOD releases in the past 11 years. Too many Gold Star Families and too many men and women have lost limbs, sight, hearing and mental capacities. For every wounded warrior success story, there are 50 more that have not done well, that may never be able to function in this world again. What good is freedom, if no one is left to exercise it?  

Just recently- I feel enlightened. Better late than never they say.  

Maybe your vote will cancel out my vote. (and visa versa) But I am voting for the future, for women and men of all sexual orientation, for all races, creeds and religions.  I am voting for education, I am voting generations to come. I’m voting for a better world. I am voting for hope and humanity.

So Many Words

So it turns out I do have an opinion about everything. That probably does not surprise some of you- but it sort of surprised me. It surprised me because I have spent the last few years prioritizing what things I cared enough to write about. (Sorry for the end of sentence preposition.)  Little did I realize that when I can’t write- my frustration level rises and suddenly I do have an opinion about everything.

After almost a month of no writing, here are my thoughts in a rather large nutshell.

I had two of my late brother’s three grandchildren here for four days, along with my own son. That is so many more people than I am used to I thought I might get cranky, but I didn’t at all, well,  at least not until the last half of the last day and that was more of me over mothering my son (and shrinking the jeans he specifically asked me NOT to wash.) and him getting cranky, then me returning the favor. At least that’s how I see it.

The girls are 14 and 11 and they are great kids, my niece Joanna and her husband Ben have done a great job with these kids. They are smart, funny, beautiful and just a dash of crazy. They fit right in here. The 5 year old stayed home, maybe I’ll take her next year.

Nick came up because he loves these kids, and I have to say they are easy to love. I’m not the super duper aunt I was to Kelly & Marni when they were young and I was young too- I am older and tired as hell and maybe a little less flexible when it comes to letting kids do things. But, I really did enjoy having the girls here.

While the girls were here, we heard the news about the killings at the theater in Aurora. A dozen people I spoke to must have asked - why would someone do this? There is no why. He is just crazy- there is no why good enough to explain this to my satisfaction. It’s not the fault of the movie, or the theater, or the President of the United States (I actually heard someone blame him) – and maybe it’s the fault of society in general for being cowards in the first place and not calling a nut a nut when they meet one. For allowing kids to act out and do what they will because they don’t want to deal with the fall out. Or maybe he was just born crazy. None of the reasons will ever bring any family member or loved one peace. Not one reason will make them say- oh okay- I get it now- INCLUDING calling it God’s big plan. Bullshit. No God worth a damn would plan this. Sorry all you God people- but I’ll never buy that load. Either God is good or there is no God- you can’t have a bad God.

I have noticed an uptick in the people interested in Veterans and their issues. Since I have been writing about this for 3 years or so, I have not seen a lot of attention out there- and certainly not a lot of answers or solutions. But in the past few weeks I have seen numerous articles and interviews on the subject- and maybe- just maybe the nations leaders will start to HEAR what is being said.

The Department of Veterans Affairs estimates 18 veterans die by suicide each day.

http://www.defense.gov/news/newsarticle.aspx?id=66431

18 is 18 too many. They come home to families that love them but don’t know how to help them- and many of them alienate their families because they feel alienated from a world that does not understand where they have been or what they have done.  It’s the silent rule- don’t talk about it. Just deal. 

If you really want to help these veterans – then don’t forget to thank them for their service, if you have the ability to employ them do so, and try not to waste the life that all veterans have made possible for YOU; many by sacrificing their own lives. Do something selfless- just try it.

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Chick-a Fil: Who cares what some Southern Baptist cracker thinks about anything? Really.  We all know there are religious zealots in the world- some are Christian, some are Muslim, and some are Jews or whatever. ( I have never met a Buddhist zealot) . Honestly- I bundle all of them into the same package and toss it out with the garbage.

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Facebook: People- USE YOUR WORDS. I am sick to death of seeing little posters with little sayings written by unknown or possible some known people. An occasional quote is one thing- but 20 in row? Ugh.

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I watched with pride this week as a group of my fellow Marine Parents joined forces to help another Marine Parent whose 18 month-old granddaughter was recently diagnosed with cancer. Votes and prayers were asked for, and votes and prayers were given for little Sophie May, and her family ended up winning $10,000, which will go towards her medical bills. (Which of course is not fully covered by insurance.)  See link below to read more about Sophie May. The contest is over but positive thoughts are still needed.

http://whatmovesyou.remax.com/?p=3612

The Olympics: I wish I had more time to watch the Olympics. I admire so many Olympians – especially those that against all odds make it through and then win a medal. Or maybe they don’t win a medal but they get there and they realize they have done something amazing.  I was especially moved by the South African runner Oscar Pistorius- because once again I was reminded that we can overcome many obstacles in life if we have the right attitude.

Politics: I saw a chart in some magazine that showed how much people have donated to the presidential campaigns. It made me sick to think that people would spend that much on political campaigns and not donate it to other more deserving causes, like – oh I don’t know- how about our veterans? How about the MILLIONS of people with no food for their kids because they have been out of work for forever? How about cancer research, ALS research, Parkinson’s research, MS research, MD research?   I have studied both candidates and I don’t love either one of them. For me it comes down to this: Who is most likely to get us into another war? Who has the least (or most) experience with diplomacy? Which one is the least arrogant?  (a toss up). Intellectually, who can best back up that arrogance?  Who has made up the most (and stupidest) lies about the other party? 

I am a registered unaffiliated voter. I have never voted for a “party” and I don’t understand why anyone does. I vote for the person that I identify with the most. I vote for the person that will make life better for the MOST people- even if that does not include me.

Here’s the thing about me though. I don’t hate either one of them. I don’t blame sitting presidents for every stupid ass thing that goes on in the world. (Especially things they have no power/control over.) I wouldn’t make up lies about either candidate to make my favorite look better. (Nor do I believe 75% of what I read in the media- ANY media.)  I research every single statement. Every. Single. Fact.

I would be less worried about the future if I thought people used common sense when going to the polls and not hatred. My only hope is to cancel out the vote of some moron voting for someone just because they “hate” the other guy.

Well- I think that is everything for now. Since I have gotten all this off my chest, I think I can now work on my novel without crazy lady thoughts jumping in my head and making my characters say things that they would not normally say. I’m sure you all wish I kept a daily journal so you wouldn’t have to deal with my occasional brain dump, but if I had time for a journal I would have time to write- and I just don’t.

I Love the 4th of July

Yesterday I made tentative plans to meet my sister Linda and go to the July 4^th parade in our little town of Novato. I woke up this morning stiff and sore as if I had run a marathon yesterday- without warming up or what I think that would feel like since I’m more like a fifty-yard dash person.

I woke up at 5:30AM like I always do but convinced myself that sleeping in was wise, forgetting that if my body lies still for too long it gets stuck. When I finally got up at 8:00 I made some coffee, sat down to reply to a few real estate related emails and then called Linda.

“I just got up; I’m stiff and can barely move.” I said.

“Me too.” She replied.

But we wouldn’t miss the parade just because of a few aches and pains- we just wouldn’t. 

I showered, applied my sunscreen,  put my red, white, and blue ensemble on, to show my July 4^th spirit and gave Toshi a couple of cookies to make up for not walking him and making him sit in the heat for two hours while watching a parade of Bassett Hounds march down Grant Ave. (That would annoy any Shiba Inu)

I walked downtown and met my sister and niece in front the Always Pampered facial salon where my niece has a part time job on top of her full time job. My niece set up the chairs, and was surrounded by friends and surprised to see me.

“Mom said you probably wouldn’t make it because you were so tired.” She said.

 

I always make it.

July 4^th is my favorite holiday- at least it used to be. Something about today made me sad though and I’m not quite sure what it was. Maybe it was many things. At one point, I felt tears well up and I forced them back, like I always do. I can’t remember now what it was though, so I must have forced it back farther than I needed to. 

The parade audience was like it always is. Lot’s of people lined the streets, sitting and standing six deep, kids cross-legged on the curb, dogs looking for water, old folks looking for shade, drunks looking for beer. Me looking for (and not finding) anyone I know.  

 

The parade itself was not bad, or I have lowered my expectation, which is likely the case. There were marching bagpipers, lots of army & Marine Corps vehicles; the Coast Guard was well represented. The Boy Scouts, the Girls Scouts, and of course my favorite the veterans. A few less than last year as the WW2 Veterans and Korean conflict veterans are moving on to greener pastures.

Speaking of pastures- there were some beautiful horses, ponies and a few mini horses all decked out in glitter and horse paint. There were fire engines, police cars, the usual politicians (who I thankfully missed) and the Rip City Riders of course. Finally, a face or two, I recognized. 

Two hours later, we all left. I walked back home and immediately laid back down on my bed. Toshi came and melded his body into my back and as I drifted off to sleep I knew I had gotten shingles from the sun and being worn out already and I could feel my back on fire where Toshi was snuggled in but I didn’t move. I was too tired.  

I woke up with a shingles headache. Now as I write this, I know why I was teary. I just didn’t feel well. Sometimes, I don’t pay enough attention to myself.

 I still love the 4^th of July, even though this was a quiet one for me. Even if seeing the few Marines march made me miss my son (who I just saw 3 days ago, so I’m just being a baby) even if I ended up with shingles from sitting in the scorching sun for two hours. (maybe it wasn’t really scorching- just hot.) 

It’s my favorite, because it celebrates our Freedom and Independence; two things I value as much as I value the air in my lungs. July 4^th allows me to thank a few old timers (and some young ones) for their service, and cheer the people who serve the city & state. We don’t thank people enough. That’s something to think about.

Destiny Looking Backwards

No love is wasted. I’ve heard people say things like “I wasted 5 years of my life with him.” I’ve probably said the same kind of thing, but as I look back now, I realize no love is a waste of time. Some of it was hard love, but none of it was a waste of time.

I used to be the kind of person that never gave up on love- right up to the minute I was done. I obsessed, I cried, I became a textbook psycho and then suddenly with a blink of the eye, I would be done. Moving on. Rarely, when love ends is it mutual or graceful. When the anger ensues, it’s usually about rejection, not love. No one wants to be tossed aside, even if they’re done too. I fell in love a lot and I got my heart broken a lot. I suppose I broke a few too. But, I always believed in love. I still do.

Ten years ago, I took Nick & his friend Erin to the Carnelian Room in San Francisco for their 18^th birthdays. Erin was Nick’s first love but they had already broken each other’s hearts, made up and become friends again. Erin asked me that night who my one true love was. She guessed it was Jon, Nick’s dad, but I told her no, it was someone else. In retrospect, I think she was at least partially right. I know I truly loved a few people and he was one of them. I realized it the minute he was gone.

Now, they are almost all gone. My first love and my last and a few in between. Gone. It’s hard to be mad at dead people. Suddenly all is forgiven and much is understood. The puzzle pieces fall into place with this enormous bright light of understanding. Destiny looking backwards.

Lately, I have been studying love from afar. I started to notice how some men and women my age and older are still willing to take risks with their hearts in the name of love. I think, some people don’t want to be alone but some are true romantics. Maybe they aren’t comfortable with themselves and the solitude that forces one to analyze the past to understand the present. I don’t mind being alone and can’t imagine falling in love at this age- but stranger things have happened so I never say never.

I have a few friends that have been lucky enough to stay in love with the same person for decades. I say lucky, but I’m sure at times it’s work. I admire them though. I admire their willingness to share life and their ability to include someone else in their thoughts at all times. They call themselves “we.”  I’m not sure I could be that unselfish now. I’ll always call myself me.

While I have been studying love, I’ve learned that not all love lasts forever but that doesn’t mean it was not real. I wish we could just look at any love as a success and say things like- wow, that was a great 10 years, and now we are done so best of luck on your next venture into the love world. But, that isn’t how we do it. We get hurt, angry and hold on to people that want to leave until our fingernails are ripping out. We are mean, say horrible things to each other and some of us really go off the deep end and physically hurt one another. Some people love so hard, they would rather see you dead than with someone else. We should learn to move on before it becomes sick love.

I see now, until it becomes sick, it’s almost always a success. Sometimes we outgrow one another and though it’s hard, we have to move on. Broken hearts mend, and we change directions. Right turns, left turns it’s all a journey.  We’re here such a short time we should never think of loving someone as a waste of time or years tossed away. With the exception of love ending in murder or suicide, it should never be considered anything but a success.

I’m glad I fell in love as many times as I did. I learned something every single time- even if I didn’t realize it until now.  

The Information Highway

When I am old and gray- older and grayer, I hope my son can close his eyes and remember me before my face was lined- the information highway, I call it.

This line is when you started driving, I tell him. This is when you had that eye surgery. These twenty lines are when you were fighting in the war and I would go weeks on end without hearing from you. No news is good news: my mantra then and now.

This crease here, this is when you came home with invisible scars. I see them still.

I want my son to close his eyes and remember when he was about seven years old and I woke him up at midnight and drove to Madrone Canyon to watch a meteor shower. I want him to remember how I blasted Willie Nelson and sometimes Leon Redbone in the car and how I sang off key, the world’s worst rendition of "The Sun Will Come out Tomorrow" whenever he was sad.

These lines here and here, they are from the smile you have given me. Thank you for picking me as your mom.

In Honor of Mother's Day- Published Marin Independent Journal May 2012