Because life has not been all about getting the girls packed and off to camp-wanted to break the theme of the month and check in with the reluctant spiritualist-me.
For background on these posts, please read in here. At a high level for new readers, after trying and failing at therapy with several therapists, I went a non-traditional route, and from time to time my therapist mixes in some hypnosis and spiritualism (read Buddhism) to the sessions.
Completely exhausted last Friday, I went for my weekly session, and after doing an update-and talking a little about my apprehensions about putting the girls on the camp bus the next day (and I really had none), we did a hypnotic journey.
I wish I could delve deeper into that, but I just don’t remember it. I always think I am asleep during these, but my therapists insists I am just deep under-and given the evidence she gives my right brain I tend to believe her.
As we do after these types of sessions, I took the pendant in hand and on command used channeled power of thought (and nerve endings) to make circular motions both ways with the pendant and then have it move laterally between my therapist and me.
I can still remember the first time we tried this, and I could barely make the pendant move while holding it between thumb and forefinger. This time, I was able to move it clock-wise and counter-clockwise around the rim of a coffee cup-on command. It’s a harnessing of the deeper mind (at least that’s what I am told).
I feel confident that its something, because I am getting much better at doing it, and it’s not because of practice. Maybe there is something to this, who knows. But it works for me, and gives me something to ponder that is at least not overtly self-critical, right?
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To anyone who has read this blog for the last year-and those who are newer readers-this is one in a continuing series of updates about my somewhat reluctant (and some would say improbable) journey into spiritualism. Some of the background is here, so I won’t bore all with the details.
(For the new readers, among the struggles I have dealt with over the last year plus is finding a therapist I was willing to talk with. I’ve managed to find comfort in a non-traditional therapy set up, where there is some talking, some meditation and some work on breathing/relaxation techniques. Let me know if you need more details).
During my therapy, every 4-6 weeks (at my request) we kind of do a check in on how deeply I can tap into my inner mind by using a pendulum I hold between thumb and forefinger. Using the power of my mind, I am now able to swing the pendulum in full circles, move it horizontally between two points and reverse it. Its a harnessing of the mind and nerve endings in my finger tips.
During my weekly session today, I was able to keep the pendulum moving while answering some simple questions–a moment where my inner mind (the 90+% we don’t use) is tapped. To me, going from the first time I tried this exercise where my mind would not accept it could do this exercise to today the change is startling.
Conceptually, through the meditation and relaxation, the hope is I can layer some of the comings and goings I encounter into new areas, and open myself (and my mind) to working through spiritually healthy conclusions-so perhaps the paper pyramid can be a little more stable.
While I can see the results of the work in real time with the pendulum, I still have my left-brain side that says this can’t be, where is the science.
During my session today, we talked a little about signs and seeing signs and getting signs. Its interesting, because its the third time in a month the concept of “signs” has been brought up-one other time in therapy, and then a few weeks ago in talking to an acquaintance who is deeply religious–and the messaging has been the same, to see the signs and be able to recognize them.
And maybe they are out there, and who knows, perhaps one day I will be able to comprehend the messaging.
I hope a sign from God is this easy to read
In a very accidental way last night I had a very interesting conversation with an acquaintance and it left me thinking. And the place of this conversation you may wonder? The waiting room of the office where I take my kids for therapy.
Quick background: As regular readers of this blog know, I am not very spiritual or religious. My therapist however is, and she believes that everything happens for a reason–and there is a grand plan. So, I met her through an attorney who went through a similar circumstance and I met the attorney through a hospice nurse–its all interconnected.
I am not sure I believe in that. I’ve worked really hard as a person, a dad and a professional to throw my hands up and say a higher power is in charge.
There is woman who has a therapy session before my kids, who we see just about every week. We’ve chatted a little here and there and she brings home-baked stuff for the girls from time to time. She’s really a very nice person, and very devout in her love of Jesus and firmly believes we are all here to serve a higher power.
Last night, her usual good mood was replaced, and she looked like she wanted to talk some–she has issues at home and whatever other issues she talks about in therapy–I tend not to delve too deeply. So I engaged her and we got pretty deep into a religious discussion–where I mentioned how my therapist (for the record a completely different practice) believes in grand design and higher power (I did not have the heart to mention its not Jesus) and I am more than skeptical.
Clearly in life there is tons of room to debate this–I’ve suffered a lot of heart break in my life–I don’t lament it, I don’t wish God would pick on someone else, I deal with it. I look inside myself and find a way to keep moving ahead-to make tomorrow a better day than today. I believe that comes from within.
The acquaintance believes God has a grand plan and moving from day to day is a work of God. And she quoted scripture to me.
In college (it was a long time ago) I did a two semester comparative literature sequence that studied the old and new testaments side by side–so while I can’t quote scripture I can get pretty close to books and quotes and she was generally correct in her reference….
But still, I can’t see subjugating my day-to-day to a higher power and saying its the will of God. It has to come from within right? The energy used from within to look to God for all these events and happenings can be spent making a difference here and now–and not looking for signs.
She asked me to try to ask God for a sign of his presence–according to her (and she quoted Jobe which I think is wrong quote but can’t prove it one way or another), although God knows all, he wants to be asked before he will act. OK, so I will ask a few times this week for a sign….
Because as it pertains to me, she was right about something, I am at a crossroads in life, and I am deciding which path I will follow. I don’t see myself becoming the Jewish equivalent of born again but I do have choices to make-and spirituality is one of them. Right now, I am doing my best to sustain it to get my girls through Bat Mitzvah-its a promise I made to Risa and something I want for them.
But they take their cue from me on religon, and its just not me-is that the right message? I don’t know. Perhaps that’s the sign I’ll get…or maybe it will be a no U-Turn sign and its full speed forward.
One of the toughest challenges I face right now as a single parent is trying to figure out which behavior exhibited by either of my girls is “normal”and which is a result of what they have seen and lived through over the last 2-3 years. And within that is a gamut of feelings and decisions that often have to be made quickly and with a best guess.
When one falls, so go the rest
Case 1: 8.0 has been disorganized and unfocused lately both at home and at school. Her room is an embarrassing mess (almost to the point where I won’t send the bi-weekly cleaning lady in any longer). At school I get notes and emails from the teacher asking if anything is wrong.
In therapy both at home and at school, the indication is its not related to anything emotional. Yet, I can’t help but wonder.
Case 2: 10.5 has developed a near-hair trigger temper. She goes from calm to hitting and yelling (usually her sister) in no time. There is very little middle ground. This is not behavior she exhibits at school, and at home the therapist again says there is no cause and effect. Yet I can’t help but wonder.
And as we go through all of the changes and all of these behaviors, I tend to mix and match the way I react. Sometimes I just ignore it. Sometimes I come down hard and sometimes I coddle.
Of course that gets me wondering if the message is getting too mixed. It probably isn’t, but still I wonder.
For 8.0 we’ll come up with a goals chart and create a risk/reward environment to help improve organization.
For 10.5 we’ll try to eliminate the touch points that can get her upset.
And for the three of us, we’ll soldier on able to live another day.
OK, I’ll admit right now in this post, what will follow will be very oblique and may not make a lot of sense, because frankly it touches on a topic I am not really ready to share. That said, the context is interesting, so I’ll give it my best shot and thanks ahead for trying to stay with it.
Today’s is Friday, and as has become usual for me just about every Friday, after dropping the girls at school I make my weekly trip to my therapist. I’ve referenced the “nontraditional” type of therapy I go to a couple of times. The most recent is here, and there are links to others within that post.
Over the course of the year or so I have been seeing my current therapist (it took me four tries with therapists before I could find one I could talk to) I have reached a point where I accept that the path my life has taken is not normal, and simply saying everyone carries something sells myself short.
(This is where this will get tricky)
Over the last few weeks-after getting things back to a sense of normal in the house I have begun what will no doubt be the very long process of redefining myself and by extension helping the girls establish their identities.
As things twist and turn along there have been some good and some surprising occurrences already…
Today my therapist called them, “Gifts from Risa.” And that struck me. I am not one to believe in a lot of the spiritual stuff, but I do believe in karma–and maybe I’ve been getting a done of karma payback over the last few weeks. I’m not sure honestly.
I do know that while not everything is perfect, there is a lot on the right path and there certainly is plenty to feel good about, and even be thankful for.
So whether it’s a “gift from the great beyond,” or karma, or just time to catch a few breaks, I am OK with it…and onward we go.
After a more than hectic six-week period-where frankly my therapist earned her keep things started to get back to normal, whatever that is. So, with that break in the rapid fire comings and goings it was a chance to revisit the pendulum and see just how centered I’ve become.
As anyone who has been with me since the beginning of this journey knows, first I had a really hard time finding a therapist. When I did, it was someone who was not a traditional talker–and one of the focuses was for me to become centered and find my inner balance. Thus, the rreluctant spiritualist was born.
After making small circles with the pendulum, a month later and a little more centered, the Centered Me was unleashed. Able to control the pendulum much better–tangible progress in finding balance.
A few months later, we went back to the pendulum as breathing became part of the balance.
The goal for all of this is to be able to keep the highs and lows from being all-consuming–and being able to be consistent in my approach for myself, my girls and my work.
So, last week, with a slight lull in demands it was a good chance to check the pendulum–and successfully holding it between thumb and forefinger–with my elbow on my lap around it went clockwise, full stop, counter-clockwise, full stop and then laterally and full stop.
Powered by suggestion–mind over matter. Not just making the pendulum move, but controlling its movements. Applying a centered mind and thought to a process.
Up next–is bending spoons–and being centered in my approach, I think I can.
Before I get into this blog, I want to let anyone know who reads it that it will not be the usual trial and tribulations of trying to raise two girls. While it is about them, this specific post is really a place for me to put some of my own thoughts about the passing of my wife last week into one place.
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A odyssey that began in the ER at a tiny hospital in Irving, Texas in October of 1997 essentially ended in a hospital room in Port Jefferson, NY in December of 2010. What’s funny as I sat with my wife as she was “actively dying” I could not help but think back to that day 13 years and half a country ago. The moments in time were so similar.
In 1997, I was there fighting tears as my wife of 11 months was told she had brain tumor. I even remember the ER doctor showing us the CT scan that had the evidence. Somewhere in the middle of that, one of my wife’s co-workers came in to check on her (my wife had collapsed at work and they were just checking on her). I could barely speak, but my wife came up with a joke, “I’m fine,” she told her co-worker. ”Except for a brain tumor.”
And so my crash course on tumors, treatments, brain tumors and reading scans began. One piece of great advice I got from my cousin, one of the top cardiologists in Florida, was simple and I used it as a guide throughout the next 13 years. I can’t become a doctor by reading the internet.
As my wife went through an initial biopsy of the tumor and we found out the initial diagnosis based on the scan was correct–she had an oligodendroglioma Based on that diagnosis we made decisions in 1997 that would set the course for the next 13 years (although at the time we did not know what life expectancy was).
While anyone diagnosed today with the same type of tumor now receives a course of surgery to debulk the tumor and then regular scans to monitor its practice–in 1997 the recommendations was surgery followed by radiation followed by chemo. The problem was we wanted to have a family.
In mid-November 1997 my wife went for surgery. The conversation we had the week before that surgery would stay with me. It was a time of stress and worry. We had just had our first anniversary and we were talking about her expectations for a funeral, signing living wills and making sure I was able to speak for her and follow her wishes if she did not survive.
One of the isolated moments that really stands out is the morning of the surgery. My mother in-law arrived in Dallas the day before (in a wheel chair for reasons that continue to escape me). Despite our instruction to meet in the surgical waiting room, she decided to join us. There she got to hear our discussion about organ donation (organs yes, skin no).
But my instructions, if something did happen were clear. No heroic life saving techniques. Make sure dignity is maintained. And if she were to pass, the funeral would follow Jewish tradition as closely as possible. This was my first set of promises to my wife. Promises I would keep 13 years later.
A year or so after that surgery came the OK from her team of doctors to “resume” life. And by resume life, I should point out meant going to MRI scans four times a year and blood tests twice a month. If the scans would stay stable during that first year, a family would be possible.
So in 1999 after series of four or five stable scans–we started planning our family. For us the reality of the situation was always omnipresent. There was no telling what would happen–this would not be normal. But the one thing we agreed to was when the time came–whenever that would be, my place was with our child (and soon children). She was going to go through a lot of personal risk to have children, and it was my job to make sure there was never a doubt about what was important or where the focus would be.
At first, despite the ongoing scans and tests things were mostly normal. After she gave birth to our second child, things started to change though-symptoms returned and after a scare in a Tampa hotel room, and the second birth, it was also time for a second surgery.
Although we did not have the in-depth discussion this time, she made it clear to me what I was to worry about. Our children. Yes, I would be at the hospital for the surgery. And yes, I developed as good a relationship as I could with the surgeon and the staff–but my focus was on the kids. There would be no sleeping at the hospital this time. Instead I had to be there for breakfast each morning with the girls.
It was a lot of long nights driving the LIE from NYC to our home-but I was keeping my promise.
Six years later, as her condition worsened, it was those conversations from 1997 and 1998 that I used to honor her, and make sure her wishes were realized.
In May, a month after her 41st birthday, I was planning her funeral. Traditional Jewish. I had a lot of help from the Rabbi at my temple-and at the time it looked like the downward slide would continue and things were imminent. But things stabilized—and the end that looked so near became a much longer and drawn out process.
But that didn’t change the focus. For as long as I could, I brought the girls to see their mom-even eat dinner with her sometimes. When she lost the ability to feed herself, I had the girls feeding her. If you want a heartbreaking moment, watch a 10-year-old try to feed her mother, and know its being done out of pure love.
But even that connection ended as symptoms worsened even more. With her wishes for her funeral set, my focus was on the kids, and making sure they were prepared for what was happening and have the support they needed.
Then came the call–on a Thursday morning. Things took a turn for the worse and I learned the hospice diagnosis of “actively dying.”
For the uninitiated, and I hope that is everyone and no one ever has to hear a term like that, it means the body is shutting down and the living process is actively ending. ”Is it hours, days, weeks?” was the question I asked. Days was the most likely scenario I was told so I planned accordingly.
At that moment, what I really needed was time to figure out the best way to activate the plans I had made six months ago and manage the message to my kids. No one was going to tell them anything until I did and no one was going to answer their first questions until I could.
As ironic as it sounds, the Long Island Rail Road gave me my best option to simply have a chance to take a breath and work it through. I needed to get with the rabbi from my temple–a different one from May, but one I had been talking to for months and who knew what was going on. My wife’s sister needed to be told, my mother needed to be alerted, my brother told and somehow I needed all of this to not get back to the girls until I was there.
Oh yeah, I also needed to get the hospital and say good-bye to my wife.
So there I am sitting in her room, fighting back tears and telling her how brave she is and there is nothing to worry about–I have things squared up. 13 years prior it was the same thing–and that’s a thought I can’t get beyond.
The next five days would be easily the worst in my life–and I hope the worst ever. Each day I had to do the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do–starting with that Thursday night–and telling my kids their mom was dying and the end was near. Friday was spent telling key people who would help me spread the word to friends and family and managing how my mother was handling the news.
Saturday morning I had to take my kids to see their mother and tell them how to say good-bye. ”I love you,” they said. ”Be peaceful and rest now.”
By Saturday afternoon-while preparing to host a Hanukkah party I had to tell them their mom had died.
In a perfect world, I would have been there–with her at the end of the odyssey as I was at the beginning. But my world right now is not perfect. Instead though I was where I promised I would be-with our children.
Finally came the funeral, which I have written about here.
It sounds a little folksy, but the gauge I use to measure if I am doing the best I can is if I can look into the mirror when I am shaving. If I can look the guy in the mirror in the eye, then I am doing OK.
As I look back not only on the last week, but on the last 13 years, I have no regrets. My wife lived the life she wanted. We have two really great kids. I kept my promises, and that guy in the mirror–I’m OK with him too.
As I think most who read this blog know my wife passed a few days ago after a long (13 year) battle with a brain tumor. I have a separate post about the week leading up to that I can hopefully pull myself together long enough to write in the next few days.
Instead this post is about perhaps the bravest 10-year-old I know–and it’s not just fatherly pride which makes me say this about my older daughter. Anyone who was at my wife’s funeral knows what I am talking about.
There were well more than 100 people at the funeral–perhaps close to 200–I was overwhelmed when I got up with my girls to deliver the eulogy. I had asked both if they wanted to speak about their mother before I did–and from Saturday night on, 10.0 said she did.
I never pushed her, I really did not ask her very often. The plan was she and her sister would stand with me, and if she wanted to say something it would be before I spoke–unannounced, so this way if she changed her mind at the last moment, there would be no sense of embarrassment.
Instead, she spoke extemporaneously for 3 minutes about her great memories of her mother–she told funny stories, made people smile and shared from heart.
I never asked her what she wanted to say, or if she wanted to write it down.
At the graveside where usually Jews have a solemn service if there was a chapel service preceding, she asked to speak again–and once again in saying a final farewell to her mother, with dignity and poise she was able to deliver the words that set the tone for a celebration of life ended too soon.
Sometimes you never know what will happen–but I am pretty sure something 10.0 will be OK when she’s 30.0–maybe better than the rest of us.
So as anyone who reads my social media blog knows, I had a recent brush with unemployment. Now, not the kind where you panic, but the kind that makes you think about where you are, where you’ve been and where you are going. All in all, for someone who can spend a lot of time in their own head, it was not as bad as it seems.
Things for me at CBS (my former employer) really got sideways at the start of the summer–and through the combination of pressures not related to the job and a sense of apathy toward the job I really was not all that concerned about it. I once had a room-mate who used to find my never-ending quest for a new job funny by saying that when thing go wrong for me in the workplace I don’t look to make it better–I look to make a change.
So when things went sideways that’s what I did. Ultimately that helped cushion my landing a lot, in that I had so much of the networking done and my resume was on the street.
But at home–there really was not anyone I could talk to about it. I am not one to open up to a neighbor. My closest friend has his own job woes going on (I am trying to get him a gig at my new job now) and my therapist is paid to listen….
My girls were great through the process, although I don’t think they completely understood what was going on, or how on the edge we as a family unity were (and really are). But support I got from them…but not being able to look across to someone and get a reassuring smile that it was OK. No one to bounce a resume off for an opinion or to give me a quick read of a cover letter, or to let me know if my tie matched my shirt for an interview.
And the reality is my life has been that way for longer than I am generally willing to admit. Now, I have a great network of friends both personally and professionally–and I got a lot of feedback on the resume, on the jobs I should be looking–and on the message. All of that helped me land a job within weeks of being paid to walk away from CBS.
But that sharing moment is missing–and its been missing for a really long time.
Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah, and I kind of missed it in total. Grandma was here to be with the girls and get them to an event and do presents (and her presents tonight were by design). But as I was taking 8.0 to an appointment she told me she made a wish when they lit the menorah. I asked her what it was–and she wouldn’t tell me because “it won’t come through.” I kind of knew that was the answer.
But what she doesn’t know is the hospice nurse called me today–and mom is slipping off a little more. Not able to take her meds, not able to open an eye…
And me, I just have to walk the line one careful step at a time.
“You don’t breathe right,” was a startling statement this morning from my therapist–and the reluctant spiritualist in me now agrees.
Here’s the background. As anyone who reads this blog even in a cursory fashion can realize, I carry a lot of stress. Then I have a very uncanny ability to add more to it through my own system of self critique.
Between “stuff” on the job front, a personal life that is pretty much a disaster, a never-ending list of things that I struggle just to get done and just a never-ending list of “things” to get done most of the time I just don’t know which way to turn.
This week, adding to the usual cacophony was the start of Hebrew school. So while I catch a break at school because the girls are on the same schedule–Hebrew school they diverge. This year one of them is there each day Monday to Thursday.
Now, the good thing is that by this point I know I can’t possibly manage to make that happen on my own–and I actually sought out and got help. So now I have a parade of carpools involving three families. This was the first week–and generally it went OK.
On top of that challenge, was what I thought was a looming moment at work which went in a completely different direction then I thought it would.
Then there was the weird dream I had on Saturday. Now the really odd thing is that I almost never remember my dreams, and the one on Saturday was very stark. Making it even stranger was on Sunday my therapist had a dream that was very similar to mine. So, I spent the entire Yom Kippur service trying to figure out what message I was trying to tell myself.
Back to breathing.
As I was recounting different parts of this with my therapist this morning she asked me what seemed like an odd question….when I think of some of these specific stressors where do I feel it. The answer was right between my shoulders.
This morning I also skipped out on the gym because I just could not get my back loose. I attributed this to some new weight exercises I tried out on Thursday morning at the gym. My therapist thought it was more related to stress–which is where the breathing comes in.
I’ve touched on this a couple of times in this blog here and here. I am not a spiritual person, but in working with my therapist–who is also a spiritualist I can see some connections (like the dream bit which was very weird and I certainly can not rationally explain).
But in this case–the explanation was more meta-physical and one I can understand. The act of breathing–clean air in, bad air out is cleansing. The tension I carry has made my breath shallow (that’s a leap for me, not a huge one, but a leap).
For the last three years or so, no matter what I do at the gym (cardio or lift) I end with some sets of light leg work. The reason for this? I have thick thighs and calves and I found I was not running the lactic acid out of my legs well enough and I would end up with sore legs by the middle of the day. With this regiment even after doing heavy leg work and abs I do some light legs and I am good for the day (helps with the occasional sprint for the LIRR).
The breathing-helps me expel the lactic acid that build up in the tense muscles in my back. I spent the day today actively thinking about my breathing, making sure they were deep breaths….ad you know what? My back feels a whole lot better.
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