Grasping

I am an optimist.  Sometimes to the point of naivete.

Before I began this post, I reviewed the titles of previous posts one of which was Don’t Make The Same Mistake Twice.  I don’t remember that mistake, but I find myself repeating the advice.

 

I’m trying to remain optimistic while being honest with myself – another axiom I preach.

My dad is really sick.  I’ve known if for some time during most of which he enjoyed thoroughly.  He was not in too much pain but I knew he was frail.  And then he got frail.  And frailer.  And I’ve been scared.

I hold out hope that he will get strong enough to receive more drugs with the hopes the tumors will shrink.  The lymph nodes go down.  The blood flows back through his legs so swollen they are not moved.

A part of me believed that, and I’m not sure if a part of me still does.  Would it be easier to say it’s gonna end as we always knew it would and begin the goodbye process.  Do we talk about executors and executrixes and make the five year deposit into the grandchildren’s college funds.

 

The doctor said to me, “we’re grasping at straws” before leaving.

I know my dad.  I know how strong he is.  I know he beat this before. And came out with a great quality of life.  And perhaps will just have bursts of that, but we’ll take it.  He is stable now. They did a successful procedure today and are now stopping the blood thinners.  I made him soup for tomorrow.  He’s going to get out of the ICU and into a room on another floor. My sister and cousin will come in this week.

 

And life goes on.

Whoever has the most fun wins.

 

That Time of the Year

Mothers Day is three days away and while it is less painful then previous years it still hurts.  I miss my mom.  Some days I really feel her presence like last weekend in New Orleans. Most of the trip I kept thinking of how much she would enjoy the city and then, when posing with local Indians in their colorful garb I was channeling my mother even repeating her mantra when forcing us to pose for photographs, “You’ll thank me later.”

 

So here I am, 33 years old, married with three children, running my mom’s business, running my own business, attending to my mom’s mom, and doing the best I can.  There are times I feel just like my mom, other times I feel her presence beside me – one time I even channeled her telling me, “I can’t make it so obvious” and other times I just want to talk to her.

 

Earlier this week my husband’s boss’s wife invited me to some mother’s day fundraiser movie screening/ event. I did the big thing and invited my step mother (who subsequently ignored said email).  I told my husband last night about the invite and he asked what I was doing instead.  And he guffed when I said staying home.  But I just do not want to be at some mother-daughter event that my mom would have enjoyed.

 

It’s hard.  It’s supposed to be hard. And I remind myself how lucky I am to have a mother so wonderful whose void is so profound.

 

Are You There Mom, It’s Me?

On the advice of an acquaintance I reached out to my mother through a medium. With my brother and sister on the telephone we called South Africa to hear the Medium describe things about our mother that go beyond any sort of google or Facebook search. It was eerie.

I’ll use the word mom, although everything was spoken through the medium as a vessel for my mother to communicate with us. She said glowing things to my brother and challenging things to my sister and to me, not too much.

Talking to my sister, my sister Mom began by apologizing then telling her to leave her husband and work harder at her photography. To my brother, she raved about how happy she was and how successful he will be. And to me, I’m supposed to take care of my sister as she leaves her husband, go back to writing, which will be successful if I finish, oh, and I am not using my brain.

My sister was devastated and conflicted by all of the information and shared more than she should have with her husband who claimed to have had a sixth sense they would not work out which was one of the reasons he has been resisting getting a vasectomy. After consulting with her shrink, my sister concluded that science cannot explain our experience but that does not mean it was not real, or at least real to us. It is more than okay to explore things like this so long as it does not dictate our life and choices. I added, that perhaps Mom had said all of these things because this is what we needed to hear. The harsh words will force my sister to craft a healthier relationship with her husband or she’ll get the courage to leave. My brother needed the confidence about his business to gain confidence to pursue deals and I needed the direct comments to return to my writing which has taken a back seat to the kids.

That night my mom came to be in my dream. She had known about the medium but warned me not to do it too frequently, and just like my mother suggested we use a different person next time from Latin America. A kooky friend of my mother’s was not surprised about the conversation. Like me she has felt mom’s presence and she simp;y needed a vehicle to communicate directly with us. At first I thought that the medium was 80-90% accurate but the more I think about it, the percentage falls closer to 65%. But having 65% of my mom for an hour sure felt great.

Skeletons in Someone’s Closet

It’s been a slow start to writing this year but a new baby will do that. Even now as i type with my left hand because my son is sucking on my right, I’m struggling to do this post. A healthy baby and a happy family is a great trade-off. A lot has happened since I last wrote and I’m not sure where to begin, but a new person in the world and the recent and unexpected loss of my favorite uncle brings me to the topic of mortality.

My dad lost his brother and best friend three weeks ago. And despite all of my dad’s cancers treatments and metastases I’m finally fearing for his mortality. He’s been afraid on and off for years, but I was able to tune it out as I was still mourning my mom who never blatantly felt it was the end and did not want his insecurities to overshadow her loss. I remember my mom paying the extra fare to upgrade to first class as a “direct result of her diagnosis” and say that she had no regrets, but she would not share fears of dying. And my father with his seemingly better diagnosis would articulate his fears.

I do not have too many regrets with my relationship with my dad. Sure I wish some things may have played out differently, but we each have strong stubborn personalities and to have avoided certain disagreements would require we each be different people. And my dad can be difficult. But I think he used to be a lot more difficult.

My mother and grandmother have shared some rather unpleasant stories about my dad’s behavior when he was married to my mom. Embarrassing stories that I wish were not true and I ask my grandmother not to mention again. Last week at lunch my dad tells me how he is proud of his behavior and has never done anything shameful, and I want to scream out what about all of the women you seduced while married to mom? (Fortunately he has ceased reminding me that when he wanted to work things out with my mom, she had no interest.) He doesn’t know I know, and I believe he no longer has a wandering eye, or the energy, but I wonder if this is something I should address with him.

It all happened over 30 years and I wonder what questions of reckless choice I made as a youth I will be forced to answer to my children. Then again, I cannot imagine prophesying to my kids about my exemplary life. One of my dad’s contentions with me has been that I take him literarily, and this would be another example of that. To have an open relationship with my dad do we need to clear up events that happened before I started kindergarten or in some cases before I was even born? Naturally I do not want this to be a death bed conversation, but I fear the window to address this may be closing.

Will you be my friend?

I’ve written about my friendship insecurities before, many of which stem from a childhood that felt at most times friendless. There are people I’ve requested friendship from on Facebook, at least one person who was at multiple tween birthday parties that went ignored. There’s the other friend who moved several states away who I considered my best friend at least in second through fourth grade who accepted a request but shut me down when I asked when she might be visiting our hometown. “I’ll let you know when I’m back in New York,” she responded to my wall comment. I’ve since writing on her page but did notice multiple pictures of parties at different occasions in our hometown.

In all fairness, it’s not like we communicated much since eighth grade even though we shared many classes through our last year of high school (I had briefly changed schools). Hint taken.

But then I have friends in my city with whom there have been no falling outs (that I am aware of) who have been seemingly evasive. There is one friend in particular who is single and I mention this because we are in very different stages of our lives. She has a demanding job which understandably limits her time and energy but I cannot help but take it personally. I’ve seen her obsess over a seemingly innocuous conflict that clearly did not appear to demand immediate attention. She makes significant efforts to see out of town guests and even hosts disrespectful colleagues that she admits to not even liking.

I’ve gone what I’ve considered out of my way to accommodate her whims and neuroses so we can see each other.

She’s cancelled plans, doesn’t reply to emails or texts (in fact was quite lame on my birthday when we were both in town). I wonder if this is a result of her own drama – and I am sure there is ample amount of that, or if she is upset or wants to sever ties. I happen to really like this friend when we are together and she was incredibly faithful during an awful time in my life. We’ve gone through binges where we will spend time together and then she will go radio silent for months on edge.

I’d like to tell her how I feel but it is hard when we do not see each other. I wanted to tell her how disappointed I was by what happened on my birthday – she texted me in the morning, said she had work to do, wanted to know where we were watching fireworks then all but said I’ll wait to see if I get a better offer – never acknowledging my birthday or checking in later in the day – but we did not reconnect for at least a month later and it felt weak on my part to bring it up after the fact.

Again, I know she is busy at work, and dating and probably has more fun out with friends who can drink and waddle a lot less. Humbly, she may be jealous that I am married with children (a window that is closing for her), and do not have to cope with office politics.

But I cannot help wonder is it me? Is it her? Did I do something? Should I stop making the effort?

Nanny Dilemmas

I know I am impossible to please, a disposition only exacerbated by my pregnancy.
And so nearly two months after hiring my nanny I’m debating whether or not to keep her. Every week I see a new post on my message board promoting some pseudo Mary Poppins who speaks Spanish and I get buyers remorse.

My nanny is very good with the kids – which is main reason I hired her. And she shows up on time, every day. But I do not like her. I do not like her attitude or her sassiness. I do not look forward to her coming in the morning and I resent that she had said in the interview that she is amenable to change her schedule and she has not really worked with me regarding the change. It takes time to train someone and as my sister says, I’ll still need to train her three years down the line.

I’m trying to decide if all of this is fixable or not. If it is not, I’d like to nip it in the bud and find a replacement before the baby comes. If it is, which perhaps it could be, then I need to shift gears and do a better job of dictating my expectations.

When I came home from the hospital with my daughter four years ago, emotional and insecure as a new mom, we had a baby nurse (I know I’m incredibly privileged!) and I hated her. The nurse would slip in criticisms of me and my husband leaving me more emotional and insecure. I don’t remember the details other than her one time laughing at me for where I put the diaper creme and how I bathed my child, but I do recall being happier when she was gone and wishing I had the courage to replace her even if she only worked for a few weeks.

I live in an apartment so when I am home with the kids and the nanny I find her underfoot. Perhaps, that is because she interrupts me when I am reading a story to my son and tries to divert him into a conversation with her. I suppose I should be grateful how she engages my kids but I did say in the interview that her job is 50 percent cleaning. And I am only seeing an attitude when I ask her, or things left. I suppose if I was home less, doing more, than I’d feel differently.

My husband is annoyed with me, thinking I am addicted to change which in turn affects our kids. I just don’t have a crystal ball. And I do not know how to try out someone new with the current nanny working full time.

This should be my biggest problem!

No Good Deed

No good deed goes unpunished says the adage and once again I’m finding it to be the case as I try to volunteer with my children’s nursery school charity committee. Last year I met the seemingly bubbly and friendly head of the committee and offered to be her co chair at a class cocktail party. She must have had an extra glass of the cheap white wine as later that night she promised the position to another mom.

Last year I lobbied to coordinate a food drive at the school, one of those old fashioned drop off your about to expire can of beans you’ll never use to help a hungry neighbor. My own building had all but banished my drive to a sign by the mailboxes courtesy of the grumpy co-op condo president, the same gentleman who reported me to the police for letting my children play in the hallway.

I exchanged emails with the charity committee who basically nixed my idea for a variety of lame reasons. I cc’d my friend and other co-chair for a reality check, was I so out of line suggesting I make a sign and put a box in the lobby at the bare minimum? She agreed the other woman was being unreasonable but opted to refrain from the discussion.

So this year, I popped into the charity meeting hoping to participate in a meaningful way. One mom brought up the food drive hoping it would complement the bake sale and the same co-chair thought it was a *brilliant* idea. So I introduced a new charity I recently discovered, Soles for Souls. All of the volunteers at the meeting agreed they had spare shoes in their home they would happily donate.

The conversation in the group evolved into petty details and with a mountain of things I should have been attending to, I excused myself but agreed to volunteer later. An email exchange later, the Soles for Souls idea was completely scrapped (but I am allowed to make a sign for the PTA board) but collecting money for Unicef was still on the table. Not that I’m against that charity but I think more people are inclined to clean out their closets then dig for coins in their couch cushions, and children could likely learn and appreciate more by donating something physical versus money.

But during those recent emails I wanted to show good faith so I asked where they might need help for the upcoming Pajama Drive and somehow got involved with decorating boxes, which I’m now learning I only have one day to do, the same day that I am leaving town early with my kids. I feel guilty backing out now, as I do not want to appear that my goodwill was only to gain traction for charities that interest me. But I do not want to sacrifice my plans to tape together cardboard boxes, and do they really need to look attractive? Through an unnecessary amount of emails I will tape boxes in the morning that will be decorated by other mom’s in the afternoon.

I remember a Dharma and Greg episode when the free spirited Dharma was running for office and volunteers were delegated responsibilities by drawing straws. Her lawyer husband was assigned the task of affixing postage to letters while the Mexican speaking housekeeper picked speech writing. I feel very similar. I would like to do something significant and motivate our already passionate community to help others while contributing my time in an efficient and meaningful way. Perhaps next year when the co-chair’s children have graduated, I can be head and run the committee as I see fit. Or perhaps I will be overwhelmingly busy with three kids and resigned to the status quo, or even still I could spearhead the charity committee at my daughter’s new school, whatever that may be.

The Magic Elixir

It seemed like as soon as soon as my mom was was diagnosed with a cancer more serious than my dad’s, the competition began.

My father lamented to my siblings how I would spend more time attending to my mother and taking her to doctor’s appointments. Nevermind my father’s wife was an excellent caretaker who managed all of this appointments and reports, he was still jealous.

My mother’s boyfriend was a real dud in the supportive department, not quite sure how to handle less than positive news. He discouraged her from getting an expensive private room after one surgery thinking she’d prefer to share a space with a woman allergic to flowers meaning none for my mom, hacking away one bed over. In another hospital shared room, he seemed to have spent more time chatting with the other patient and her visitor than with my mom. I’m sure it was his coping mechanism but at the time it was frustrating.

Equally aggravating was my father’s attitude about his curable caught early cancer. He’d make plans with me then bail or see if I could summon a sitter at last minute and dash uptown and cross town for a quick lunch. When I’d pass he’d count the number of lunches I shared with my mom forgetting that she would plan days in advance not only where we would eat lunch but what activities to do after the appointment.

My mom remained more positive about her life threatening cancer than my dad, rarely mentioning it and acting optimistically. Psychologically we believed she’d be okay so long as she did not exhaust all of her resources. There was some sort of magical mushroom a homeopathic doctor recommended, a sarcoma specialty hospital in Germany and one in Seattle, and this John of G-d figure in Brazil.

A reporter friend had covered a story on him and it seemed like a last case resort, but one we would explore if necessary. Unfortunately we never made it.

Fast forward two years and my father is hit with another more serious cancer. On his own he discovers the healer Juan de Dios and considers a trip to Brazil bringing up a host of conflicting feelings.

My father should get help.

It’s great that he is exploring all avenues for recovery.

I wish my mom could have visited Juan De Dios.

Why hasn’t my father reached out to my friend who reported on him several years ago?

My dad is asymptomatic; does his condition necessitate a visit to Brazil?

The healer came to the Omega Institute earlier this week and my dad had a chance to visit and be treated by Juan De Dios, an experience I am excited to hear him share. I guess I cannot avoid wondering if he will save my dad and if he could have saved my mom.

My mother’s Buddhist doctor says that we must live forward. The Christian one reminds me there are no what-ifs in medicine. The one whose religion I don’t know notes that my mom was really quite sick. And I tell myself that nobody gets out alive. Perhaps my dad’s experience wonders if I missed an opportunity to save my mom.

Dinner Crashers

I’m trying hard to keep it all in perspective. I know it’s not a big deal, and I’m sure my surging hormones are fueling my fury, but I am not happy. On my brother’s last night in town, my sister and I and our spouses organized a sibling dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant that my mom used to take us to. My sister made it extremely clear that this was our dinner and our virtual step-father was not invited.

When I greet my sister at the restaurant she hands me a camera and says Dad is showing up to take a picture. I’m livid. Why can’t he leave us alone for one dinner?? Last week he was at every dinner at our mom’s house. The night before he had us all over for Shabbas dinner. I *believe* my dad asked my sister or her husband if it’s okay and they said sure. I think it was entirely out of line. My sister has repeatedly heard me say this week and last that if she would have dinners with dad, I’d have to pass because “it was too much.” In fact I must have repeated “too much” half a dozen times in the same breath. There was no ambiguity to my feelings.

I’m sure my brother who visits one week out of the year was happy to go along with whatever. My brother in law just got into town and was in the process of kissing ass to my dad. He will have two weeks to continue the phony sycophant act without involving me. Why did he have to come this one night? Of course my dad loves being with his kids, but since when do his desires and wants trump what we want? How utterly disrespectful.

He shows up buzzed before we even finished our main course, pulls a chair up from another table with guests, and orders dessert beside us. I am livid. My mother is rolling over in her grave. I was tempted to stand up and say thank you for visiting, we will see you soon but kept my mouth shut. Perhaps my sister wonders why my needs should trump hers. And they don’t, but my feelings should be considered. Just as she walks on eggshells not to offend or upset or machisto husband, shouldn’t her pregnant sister weigh in?

My father refused to have my mom over for dinner at his house because “she would dominate the conversation” but it’s okay for him to crash our dinner and dominate the conversation? When the check arrived I even considered handing it to him, as if he wants to partake in our dinner he can afford it. I didn’t. When my husband told me at 3 am that I was right and my dad was totally ridiculous I could not go back to sleep, still fuming.

My sister knew I was upset, but I do not think she knows the extent. In fact she has not even spoken to me today. My dad called at 1:30 completely oblivious.

I know in the scope of things this is ridiculous and I should not blow it out of proportion. I’m lucky I have a dad who wants to be with his kids, but I wish he knew his boundaries and my siblings who are free from his overbearing constant presence 50 weeks out of the year, would respect that I deal with it 50 weeks out of my year.

Walking on Eggshells

My stepfather calls him a sociopath. My mom hated him and my grandma definitively does not like him. He kisses up to my dad so my dad thinks he’s wonderful with forgivable faults. If he was great to my sister or at least respectful and less immature I’d overlook a lot, but he’s not. Bottom line: I do not like my sister’s husband.

He arrived in town yesterday for two weeks. The day before my sister lamented, I feel like it’s our last day together, because her husband has no desire to be around me unless my husband is here. Now I feel like I need to make an effort, or at least be conscious of respecting him (because it means respecting my sister and giving him less ammunition to bad mouth me and poison her against me, making her feel more torn) and not overlap schedules even though our kids want nothing more than to be together.

My brother wonders why I’m returning to New York City for two weeks less, one maybe two weekends of the Brother In Law’s stay. “You could stay at dad’s house,” my brother reasons. My dad and his wife who three times point blank did not answer my request if I could stay. My brother and sister and their kids have stayed/ are staying separately there. My dad’s wife did comment at the beginning of the summer, I don’t have your dates to stay at the house and I replied, You never gave me permission. I asked three times and was never given an answer. Of course even if I did stay, I would still feel an obligation to side step my sister and her husband’s plans. It’s such an acrimonious feeling.

This is the same sister who articulated multiple times that she did not think my husband should travel with the kids to his parents house the same weekend she and my brother were in town (never mind we would have seven additional days together).

I know my sister is torn. And she knows her husband is immature. I suppose I should be happy they are in a good spot, getting along, at least for the last 26 hours which makes her happy. She acts so subservient around him.

My husband comes this evening and he’ll not only calm me down, equalize the situation. I’ll have my ally and partner and we can do whatever we want with out children!