Christmas in May

I finally opened my second Christmas present this week. For Christmas this year, I received two great gifts*. E got me a beautiful hot pink pashmina that I've worn many, many days in the past 6 months and look forward to wearing for years to come. And my mom got me a Food Saver. She's becoming quite the savvy Internet shopper, my mom is.

Well, the box the food saver came in was huge, so it sat under the console table in my dining room for 6 months. I finally opened it and am blown away - it's so cool. It came with two canisters that it vacuum seals and a extra lid that can be used on any jar! I think I like those better than the sealing bags, but as the produce starts coming in, I think I'm going to enjoy the bags too. A is really excited, because there are accessories we can get to speed marinading and to vacuum wine bottles.

After Christmas, I was really sad that I had only gotten those two gifts and especially since I had thought I was getting at least one other gift from another person**. I tried not to be sad - I know I'm an adult - but I was sad and cried a lot that I hadn't gotten that third gift. The UNI has offered me a fresh perspective on gratitude*** this week with the opening of my second gift and that's just this: be grateful. I am grateful that I got ANY gifts for Christmas, I am grateful that the gifts I got are really thoughtful and came from the heart. I am grateful that the gifts I got are things that I LOVE. And I am grateful, most of all, to have these two thoughtful-gift-giving women in my life, who's greatest gifts aren't material at all. Thanks, E. Thanks, mom. Love you both.

*I just remembered that I also got a few gifts at Christmas parties, including a wine journal (not yet used as I don't really drink much), some coasters and candles (also not used because A and I don't have coffee tables), and a rocket blender which I have used and LOVE. So, even more to be grateful for!

**A and I agreed not to exchange gifts since we had taken a cruise vacation and bought a bunch of stuff for the house on Black Friday, but I guess I still thought he'd get me at least a little something. Guess that'll teach me to agree to a "no gifts" holiday!

***This fresh perspective has been brewing for some time. During my DC trip, I talked to one couple who doesn't give each gifts at all, not for Christmas or birthdays or ever. They just buy whatever they want/need and don't worry about gift-giving for each other. This is sacrilegious to me, who's love language is all about gifts, but it seems to work for them. And then this week, when A's mom was here for her birthday, I was surprised that her only gift and card were the things I purchased for her on my way home from work that day. Granted, A had just taken us all on vacation, but I was still surprised that my little gift was all she received.

The Ask-Back

I talked to my mom for an hour today. I asked her what she was grateful for. She told me many things. And then she asked me what I was grateful for. In addition to the things I could list, such as my family, passing my board exam, finishing my masters degree, living with the love of my life and having my own business, I realized that I was grateful to be asked.

It's a little piece of etiquette advise that I would like to share with the world...maybe etiquette is not the right word...maybe it's more of a form of social contracting. When someone asks you a question, it seems right to ask back. It's actually funny because sometimes I ask "how are you?" more than once because it's such a habit to reflect that question. That one is a pretty standard ask-back, but I think asking-back should be the rule in general, because it provides an opportunity for intimacy and compassionate sharing.

I have been frustrated by not being asked back a question I asked several times - I wanted to tell someone my own answer to the question I asked them. That wasn't why I asked, I was genuinely interested in their answer and I listened to their answer, but it felt like it was only half a conversation somehow when I didn't get to tell my part, too.

So try asking back. Start with me. I'll love it. If I ask you a question that can be reflected back, shoot it back to me. See what happens. You just might like it.

Thanks Mom

Dear Mom,

Thanks for always being great about the myriad of dietary choices and fads I've subscribed to over the years. Thanks for being willing to make vegetarian versions of classic dishes so that I could enjoy them with the family. And most of all, thanks for not ever making me feel like a freak or the butt of jokes, but instead for helping me always feel valued as an important part of our family.

Love,
B

Hi Mom

Talked to my mom today. Have been trying to call regularly because I feel helpless to help her out during this hard time. As a result of Hurricane Ike, her basement flooded, her roof was damaged and water leaked into her house. In addition to all that, my brothers have not been as helpful as I feel they ought to be. But, I beat myself up by wondering who I am to judge, happily giggling with my friends all this far away.

I'm doing what I can, though, calling regularly, being an ear, hopefully taking her mind off her woes a bit by talking about things we both enjoy. That helps me finally realize what Ree was going for years ago when I was sick and she was trying to keep things light. Now I understand that when you don't have the personal resources to go deep, you help by staying light.

Not Their Time

This Friday, my brother took his wife and two sons to view fireworks. They went to a place where everyone parks their cars and watches fireworks from there. A space opened up that looked like it would have a better view, so my brother moved the car. Another car moved into their spot. Seconds later, a drunk driver careened over the hill and smashed into that car, sending it over a hill into a field, throwing the people within about and out of their car. The drunk driver and his passenger grabbed their cooler and ran into the woods.

My brother and a friend ran to the car to help. The passengers of the car included a baby, a two-year old who was sent to the hospital on a back board and other children.

It's shocking. I feel such relief that my family was not hurt, but also terrible that this other family was injured. My mom reported that she believes no one suffered permanent injury and she and my brother are using this to teach my young nephews about drunk driving.

A driving mantra that E has shared with me:

Clear and open roads, EVERYBODY SAFE, rock-star parking.

Mom says our family had an angel watching over them and I believe it. Every time something bad happens and we survive it, mom reminds us that we're here for a reason. Good reminder to live fully and love freely.

Too Much Tuesday

There was a period when I was growing up when my mom used to bring a little gift every week. I'm not sure how or why or when this started, but it was definitely during puberty because I remember ear rings and makeup were sometimes gifts, although there was a stuffed animal or two in there. She used to give them to me on Tuesdays, so we called them my Tuesday gifts. I don't remember and I hope I never got to where I expected them. I remember just appreciating them so much because it was just for me from my mom. I had three large loud brothers and our father was definitely the heart of that pack, so it was nice having something just between mom and I. I could have used a Tuesday gift yesterday - it was a rough day, although also rather inspiring.

I find I want to recap all the details of the day, but it's pretty boring stuff - basically, I primed and painted for most of the 12 hours I was at the clinic yesterday. I took 1 break to walk the dog and use the toilet a the nearby park (we have a toilet, but my partner has yet to put the bathroom door back on), another break to get Taco Bell which I also ate the nearby park, several short breaks to let the dog stretch his legs, and one break from painting when my other partners arrived in the evening and we talked colors and drove to the paint store which was already closed. So, I basically painted for I would say a minimum of 8 hours yesterday. I primed three rooms and painted a double coat of color in one and the clinic is starting to take shape.

The common spaces (reception, hall and group area) and all yellow, which may in fact be the same color as my living room. Our medicinary and bathroom are a bright pale green. We had gotten this sample of a yellow that turned out to be way too bright to use, so we painted the ceiling of the shower that color and it's great - very bright, a funny memory and visible only to us doctors (the shower is a separate room off the bathroom). The other colors are not finalized yet, but I'm picking up samples today and if they're a go, they'll probably be painted by the time I get back Sunday. We've picked two shades of orange for the treatment rooms - the two main rooms will be solid of each of those colors and the surgery will be two tone of those colors. We also needed color(s) for our office and couldn't quite decide on one, so we picked three to sample and may use two - a lovely gray, soft green and deep red. The names of these colors are, respectively, immunity, refuge and brainchild. I think the gray is in either way - it's just a matter of which color accompanies it - I'm hoping for the green, but the red is also nice.

The dog got me up early, but I'm trying not to go in too early before our 1 o'clock meeting. I'd rather go to the bank looking like a human being and not a paint monster. My knees are all bruised up (red, black and blue), my back hurts (picture: hunched over) and I had spots and splotches of paint all over myself yesterday, so I'm going to wear clean clothes for my meeting and change into painting clothes afterwards. I can't wait for my mountain retreat this weekend - hot tub, here I come!

Home and Family

I came home to the nicest thing today: a quiet house.

I don't have kids or roommates, so my place usually isn't noisy, so I'm speaking metaphorically. What I mean is, my dog is not at home. A must have taken him along with him as he often does on the weekends and it's SO NICE! As I walked in, still blabbing away on my cell phone, hands full of purse and bags, I didn't have to hold Chibo back with my foot and then immediately take him outside. I'm actually a little at a loss as to what to do with these few golden moments of peace and quiet before "the boys" get back. Mom (to whom I was speaking when I walked in the door) suggests a hot bath with a glass of wine and stay put until A gets back and takes the dog out for me. She's funny, but it's not a bad idea.

Another way she's funny is that she doesn't ever want to live with me and "impose" on my "new" relationship. Granted, A and I have only been together for a year, but by the time she would have to live with me, I imagine we'll be feeling pretty settled. It's ironic, because her mother lives with her, so she's setting the example. I've always thought, hoped and planned that she would live with me in her elder years, though. I'd like very much for her and my children (as yet unborn) to have a close relationship through living together, and I'd like to ease her elder years with my knowledge of healing. I don't know quite how to convince here that my desire is sincere and not just obligatory.

I'm so grateful that A feels similarly, although if we move both our mothers and his father in, we're going to have a very full house! As much as I like living alone and having this quiet moment to myself, I also think that's a really nice thought, too - coming home to those I love best: partner, parents, children and dogs, noisy or not.

Ask Me No Questions and I'll Tell You No Lies

I'm thinking about lying to my mother. I imagine most people have lied to their parents at some point or another and I'm no exception, but this is different. This isn't an innocent "I'm going to the mall with my girlfriends" when I'm actually meeting a boy kind of lie. The lie I'm considering has meaning, connection, guilt and ulterior motives. It might even be an ugly lie.

I told a friend of mine that I was considering telling my mom this lie and she helped me come up with a great justification. Since the lie starts with the phrase "I dreamed..." and most dreams are unconscious, I may actually have dreamt it. Maybe what I dreamed only revisited my consciousness later and is actually a memory rather than an idea. That resonates with me because I find the boundary so unclear between memories, ideas, daydreams, dreams and everyday reality.

My mom doesn't take very good care of herself. She lives 3,000 miles away from me and caretakes for the remainder of the family there, including 3 (relatively) able bodied young men, their 5-6 miscellaneous children, a random woman friend who lived with us in my youth and lives with us again, my grandmother and to a lesser extent her brother, sister and extended family. She takes pretty good care of them, even though she has a chronic cough, intense physical pain, emotional grief and needs to rest.

I have spoken to her often about her need to rest, to recovery, to take some time for herself. I appreciate that she's helpful to the people around her, but I feel that it has become a parasitic relationship and in her less guarded moments, she agrees with me. So I've considered telling her that her dead husband (my father) came to me in a dream telling me to move her to my locality and take care of her. I don't know if she'll listen to this any more than she listens to me in any other way, but this is the most powerful phrasing in my family culture since 1/6/06: dad would have wanted.

It's unfair, probably hurtful and possibly unlikely to achieve results since she has built herself into a hole with grandma, my brother and her house guest living in the house she was supposed to sell this summer, but just maybe... I probably won't do it. Lying is wrong, after all. But I want better for my mom. I want her to have a better life. I want her to last long enough so that I can take care of her. I'm afraid she's going to burn her candle out taking care of other people. I'm afraid she'll never be able to live long enough or near enough to babysit my fat brown babies or teach them to sneak buckeyes out of the fridge when mom's not looking or rock my daughter the first time some boy breaks her heart.

It seems like this is what dictatorship is - determining what is best for someone else without their consent, but if it will help me keep my mom around in a healthy and happy state, I'll use whatever tools are at my disposal, including lies, but who knows? Maybe it was really a memory or a dream and not just an idea.

Knock on Wood

Why am I so hard on myself when I don't do well on something?

Throw a rock and you hit someone who has failed an exam, a class or a task. I feel compassion and understanding for these people and generally assume they aren't carrying that failure around with them because either they learned from it, eventually passed it or turned it into something good. When I was asked in a job interview years ago what my biggest failure had been, I honestly answered that I never felt I had failed at anything. That idealistic optimism still lives within me, but it's harder to remember in the face of slamming doors and that overloud FAIL stamp coming down on my test.

The hardest was the first time, when I wasn't selected for an international clinical operation that I expected to be a shoe-in for. It was easier when I didn't get the residencies I applied for because I knew they were limited. The hardest to date is the test I took yesterday that I fear I may have failed. Calling my mom, because that's what we do in these circumstances, didn't help because she only remembers all the times I've called her in tears during high school and college over some exam that I usually ended up doing well enough to great on. Letting my boyfriend rock me and wipe away my tears helped more than he'll ever know and bitching about my friend who likely did pass helped a lot too. There goes my resolution to stop bitching about people.

I wonder if it's like the time I expressed that I didn't know what true pain felt like and the universe "gifted" me with pain enough to empathize with almost anything. Maybe I should learn to knock on wood.

Good Grief

Grandmother died on Tuesday. We knew it was coming since we discovered the inoperable lung tumor some months ago, but it seems too soon after losing dad last year. I think the grief of losing her favorite son and her husband exacerbated the years of smoking and let the tumor grow. Dad was my step-dad, so she was my step-grandmother, but that doesn't matter to the little girl who grew up running around her swimming pool and hoping to play Euchre in the basement bar with the grown-ups one day. I never did get to play with them because when I was old enough, I was off to college and then they sold the house after grandpa died.

Grandmother died in Ohio at my cousin's house. She didn't want to undergo chemotherapy or radiation and eventually they let hospice come in and help out. Mom went there this weekend because they said it was getting bad and when I called, mom said she was doing really well, eating, walking and eliminating with little assistance. It's a perfect example of Jia Shen - when a dying person's spirit lifts as the last of their yang qi rises to the surface to leave the body, like a candle flaring before going out. She died on Tuesday after a good weekend and I've been a little shocky since then.

It doesn't matter that she, like my birth father's mother, was an alcoholic or that she might never have accepted myself, my mother or my half-brothers in the same way that she accepted my step-brother, the son of her son. I think I hurt worse because I think she didn't accept us the same way because I still yearn for the acceptance that I won't ever get. Before grandmother died, mom asked her if she wanted me to fly home and see her and discussed me coming for the funeral. Ever the no-nonsense lady, grandmother said it doesn't matter if I go when she's dead. I planned to fly out for Memorial Day weekend if she was still alive that week. Turns out it will be a Memorial Day indeed because her service will be that Saturday.

I don't know if I'll go, but maybe it will be good to be surrounded by family - maybe I'll be able to cry for this cantankerous old woman, for my dad, for my family and for myself.

Kin, Kind, Kinder, Kindred

I remember eating a candy called "Kinder Surprise." Kinder is German for children, but I think I ate this candy in Australia - it was an egg shaped hollow chocolate and contained a toy inside. It seems really strange, now that I look back on it, to eat a chocolate egg and have a tiny wooden car fall out. It was surprisingly wonderful and novel at the time though. When I think about kin and kindred, I get a little kind-er surprised too.

When my father passed away in 2006, I experienced more pain than I ever thought possible. It was worse than when my mom got sick - my response then was a very no-nonsense we'll get through this if I have to carry you on my back through the muck. And it was worse than when I got sick and had to give up a very important piece of my dreams - at that time, I was able to focus on spirit and how there must be a greater plan for me. With both my mom and my experience of illness, we had some time to prepare for our bad diagnoses and resultant surgeries. We're both control freaks and extremely strong women, so I think we also needed to "stay strong" for ourselves and everyone around us which helped us cope, in a sense.

My father died suddenly when he fell at work. I got the call in the middle of class on a Friday afternoon - I looked at my phone in the middle of lecture and saw calls from my mom, my brothers and my grandmother. I thought my grandmother had passed and people were calling from her house. I cried a little during class just thinking that was probably what happened. I cried a lot more when my brother told me dad had fallen. E got me on a plane and followed a few days later. I wish I'd insisted she come that day. I arrived early the next morning and spent the day at my father's bedside - my father had fallen and probably died, but he was being kept alive on a ventilator while they did regular scans to monitor his brain. By evening, they knew there was no hope and the family decided not to prolong his life artificially.

This was more than I was intending to write this morning, but it feels cathartic to get it out. I had flashbacks of my father falling and of turning off the machine for almost a year before getting treatment, but I don't talk about what happened, how it felt or how it hasn't really stopped hurting. There are so many levels of pain tangled up with my father's death and the one I intended to write about was the feeling of being utterly alone. That feeling has been reinforced many times in the last 18 months when friends ended relationships, other close friends excluded me, I wasn't able to attend family events and looking forward to graduating medical school with only my mother to celebrate.

It sounds bleak, but in unexpected moments I get reminded that besides kin, kindred exist in the world. Even if we only walk in tandem for a season, there is still value and I still take comfort there.

Poetry: Mother's Hands

She had dishpan hands
mop bucket hands
sink scrubbing hands
A working mother's hands
They weren't pretty,
but they picked me up
smoothed my brow
held me tight
No, they weren't pretty
My mother's hands
Her dish pan hands
Her strong sure hands
Her loving hands
Her healing hands

-KL