There Is No "Step" In Dad

Many years ago now, my mother joined the world of single parents to raise my sister and I. She new it would be difficult but I don't think she had really bargained for how difficult it would be.

In a small Texas town, in the early 80's, single-parents were single-moms...they were also few and far between. No support groups, websites, or friendships to be found in our little community where every little (and sometimes big) thing I did was blamed on my mother's marital status.

In the 10 years it was just us girls, we had a lot of interesting times. Mom met her best friend, who was also a single mother of two girls, we got involved in the best little civic theater Central Texas has to offer (in my opinion at least), and Mom dated a bit.

I only remember meeting a handful of men in all of that time...Mom has always been my number one protector in life, I've seen her ferocity first hand when it came to us girls, so it doesn't surprise me that she took great care in who was allowed the privilege of meeting her daughters. The final man we were introduced to ended the 10 years of the Trés Amigas and finally completed our little family by bringing along another sister and an older brother.

The "Sgt. Major"

I’m not saying I was immediately thrilled with the prospect of “some man” coming into our house and interrupting the routine that we had grown so accustomed to; I was, after all, a teenage girl who still had a lot of “daddy issues” to reign in.  It was not until, at 18, confronted with the fact that the man who I had always called “Dad” was nothing but a wounded animal, best left alone to nurse his wounds, meeting the man that I would marry and being wounded in an unexpected way myself, that I finally was granted the opportunity to heal.  In the safety of a few rooms with a group of people who were strangers at first, I started to learn what relationships truly are for the first time in my short life...and came to some astounding conclusions.

There was no need for me to be bereft at my “fatherless” state, I had a father.  A man who had taught me more in his short 3 years in my life than the ol’ bio-dad had in his limited dealings with me.  I remember sitting down at the dinner table with my mother and this man, who is still best described as a Sgt. Major years after he has retired from service.  Looking into his kind, yet stern face and asking him if he objected to being called “Dad” by me.  The look of bewildered shock registering across his features and his halting, seemingly gruff “Sure...sure...that would be fine.” before he excused himself for a moment.

Dad checks out his new grandson Oct. 17, 2007.

Every day that passes I am continuously grateful for my amazing dad.  He loves all four of his children equally and we him.  I never dreamed that I would find the love, respect, and approval of a father in this man the day he was introduced to me in the lobby of that little civic theater, but thank you God that I did.



I love you, Daddy...thank you for making your little girl a little less ducked up. ;)

Oops! Did I Really Just Say That?!?!

One of the things that I've become increasingly more aware of with the passing of time is that grief surrounds us more and more as we age.  It comes in forms that are sometimes surprising, but it deals with the same consistent theme: LOSS.  We grow older and the losses seem to increase; jobs, money, homes, loved ones...it's all there in one form or another and sometimes several at the same time.  It's intriguing to me that we each handle our loss in different ways and yet, it can often be filed under the same seven stages of grief:
 - Shock or Disbelief
- Denial
- Anger
- Bargaining
- Guilt
- Depression
- Acceptance and Hope

Many of us get stuck on one of those stages and find it hard to move through them and eventually overcome them and that's when our friends and family become our greatest allies in a war we never wanted to wage in the first place.

I've mentioned a few times that the edit button in my brain is severely damaged, but it's never more real to me how much damage there is until I'm faced with a difficult discussion...usually one about grief.  I find myself saying things and then wondering, "Was that the right thing to say?" "Did I just put my foot in my very large mouth again?" "GOD! I hope they know I wasn't trying to trivialize their pain!"  Usually it's all in my head, but the thoughts continue to repeat almost every time.  I think this is one of those problems that a lot of us have: the inability to know what to say to someone who is grieving.

We feel lost in those moments, sometimes entirely unable to respond in a healthy way, because the reason has been sucked out of us with a gigantic gale force wind.  We want to make the person feel better, we want them to know that life will go on...but our brains have a giant hole where reason used to be and we forget our empathy.  We forget what it is to grieve in that moment and say or do crazy things that we never would've thought possible in our saner moments of life.

My go to point is usually laughter.  I've been gifted with the laugh of my mother (and her mother before her)...it's not a chuckle or a guffaw, rarely ever is it a giggle, it's usually a round of explosive cackling laughter.  I've been likened to a witch's maniacal laughter more than a few times and have gradually accepted it as a compliment because many of the people who have said it have also mentioned how contagious my laughter is.  This go to point is so wired into my crazy brain that I was recently making a friend laugh at her husband's visitation because I didn't know what else to do in the midst of so much grief...I felt like I was in a waking nightmare through the whole thing and knew that when I'm weighed down, I need to laugh. So there I stood, with a few other people, forming a protective circle around my amazing friend and helping her to refocus after each visitor gave their well wishes and sympathy for the family.  It's not the right response for everyone, but I knew that this one friend, more than any other, needed the laughter.  She is my Laughing Buddy and we've seen each other through a lot of craziness over the last 2 years with our off-branded humor shared mostly through texting because neither one of us likes to call...we're much better having that time to edit ourselves.

But what of the ones that can't laugh through it?  What do I say then?  What does anyone say to make it better?  NOTHING...yep, nothing.  The beauty of the Road Of Recovery is that I finally get that there is not a damn thing I can say or do that is going to make whatever they are going through okay.  Those are the times to just listen...let them talk if they need to, let them cry, let them scream into the wind, but, for the love of all that is Holy, keep your mouth shut!  Platitudes such as, "I've been there. I know what you're going through." “Time will heal.” "It's all for the best." "It's all in God's plan.", will only cause the person to want to smack the living crap out of you.  Or at least that's been my experience...maybe I just say them wrong.

I still say stupid things.  I still feel like I've done the wrong things when someone was just trying to vent their grief or frustration over loss, but the difference now is that I know I can't take it back.  All I can do is look to see if I have caused further injury or pain and if the answer is a resounding yes, then I can make amends, hope they accept and try to move on.  Because that is what I would want someone to do for me...and isn't that the basic principle to live by? The Golden Rule?  "Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You"...a simplistic rule for a complicated world, but I truly believe it is the right attitude for me.  If I wouldn't want someone to say something to me during my own time of grief, then I sure shouldn't say it to someone else.

The League of Extraordinary Women

I might have mentioned before (then again, maybe not) that I come from some exceptional stock.  A more fitting name could not be found for them than The League of Extraordinary Women.  The list includes people who are blood related and some that are not, but they've all helped shaped me along the road of this crazy life.

My mother, The Great G, is always the first on the list...not only did she give birth to me, but she showed me what it is to not just survive the things that cause turmoil in our lives, but how to LIVE in spite of those damned moments.  She's been through so much in her life and, yet, still continues to grow, change, learn and love as she lives the best life she can.  Her writing sparked the writer in me at a very young age and I have constantly held myself up to the highest standard that I can in my writing...The Great G.  The imagery that she can put down in one line can paint a picture so beautifully of what she is trying to express that it has been known to take my breath away.  The work ethic that she has always held taught me that if you work hard, do what is right, then you can and will achieve great things...she works in a typically male job and has made a name for herself in more ways than one.  The list of positive attributes would be endless if I were to even try to write it all down.

She has two sisters that have paved the way in their own lives in different ways.  One, The Melodious MA, overcoming obstacles to finally become the music teacher we all knew she was Gifted to be...always the littlest sister, but never left behind in what she has achieved through the work and determination that only the Women of the League can possess.  The other sister, The Marvelous M, working in an area that few women still dare to go, but doing the job and doing it well.  She is a perpetual reminder (through action not word) that my emotional self is not a thing to be feared or conquered, but something instead to holds hands with, embrace, and learn to walk down the Path of Recovery knowing that it's okay to feel as long as I keep moving.  She has found ways to keep moving through some of the most horrible pain that a person can go through and she's still here...and still amazing!

Each of these women learned at the feet of a great master, their mother, my grandmother.  A woman who never begrudged a child curling up in bed with her as she said her rosary each night...even when we chattered on endlessly like the little monkeys we were!  She would smile, talk a little with us and keep on with her rosary as we would ramble on.  Her contagious laughter, always a gift, could be heard through any room of her small home...a gift she has passed on to her daughters and they have passed on to theirs'...yeah, you might not ever want to be near if/when we all get together!  She was a Leader in every sense of the word and our lives are better for having her in it.  I am forever proud to share my name with hers.

The ranks of the League are not confined to only blood relatives, as I said.  My "Big Sister" taught me about music, acceptance and how to be who you truly are, no matter how hard it is to finally be it. The Queen of TCT's Children's Workshops, one of The Great G's best friends, taught me how to breathe, act, relax, about art and how to make her special syrup out of honey and fruit when the two women were trying to feed all 4 of their combined kiddos on a budget. 

I could keep going for days about these women and a few more, but I don't think anyone would be able to read for that long...So I'll close with this:  I am honored to know these women and grateful that they have helped to shape the me I am today.  Who's in your League?