Tides Change

I am thinking back about a year ago.  I am thinking about where I was almost exactly a year ago to this day, and where I have been over the course of the past three hundred eighty some odd days which have carried me to where I am now.  I have been wrapped inside of the thoughts both consciously and inadvertently, sometimes surprising myself with sobering contemplation and at other times, stopping to whisk back to a thought that seemed to whisper in and out without notice.  Cogitating and ruminating...And missing the heck out of those two wonderful children.

A year ago, on January 4, 2010, our attorney went before the Court to obtain a trial date for which we would plead our case as paternal aunt and uncle of my two young nieces to attain visitation.  I wrestled with this idea for the better part of two years but when my brother's wife, my sister-in-law, told me that she was going to keep my nieces from me and my family without any semblance of sanity, my thoughts became action.  It was necessary and loving and fiercely loyal on my part.  It was cruel and calculated and filled with hate for my SIL to keep the girls from us and us from them.  The lack of reasons we were given, strongly enforced the importance of doing everything within our power to remain positive, caring figures in these children's lives.  We couldn't, nor wouldn't, give up on them.  They had already lost far too much.  And so, at the start of 2010, our fight to stay in our nieces lives began.

In April of 2010, we went to the courthouse fully expecting to go through a trial.  Sadly, my SIL's attorney barraged us with irrelevant and unnecessary requests for personal information(that of which we always provided), canceled court dates, and did everything he could in order to postpone the date, time and time again.  My SIL was VERY insistent that she did not want a court order.  Her attorney made us an offer while we were sitting in the courthouse cafeteria while awaiting our trial time, and after some back and forth, we came to an "agreement"(for lack of a better word) that was neither binding nor court ordered.  We reluctantly settled because we were told that we could go back to plan A if at any time, things were not going well.  Things did not go well.  Tomorrow(1/11/11), our attorney will stand before the Court once again, requesting a date for trial.  Another year gone by, only five visits with the children in 2010, and more stress and money to be expended.  But here is the thing.  Whereas last year, I was feeling wrung out by this whole situation, I now find myself approaching what is to come, with a new found resilience and strength that wasn't as apparent before.  My center is calmer, I am clear about what I must do, and this is not the first thing that I think about when I wake up in the morning, and the last prayer on my heart at bedtime.  Like the pains of childbirth, I can cognitively remember the deep-seated physical anxiety that I felt at this time last year, but, like the pains of labor, the memory is no longer causing any physical discomfort.  I know what it feels like, I know that it was worth the effort, and hopefully, like labor, my efforts will be well worth the expenditure of pain.

I have come to a place in time at which I can consciously evaluate the growth and transformation which has taken place over the course of a year.  And instead of constantly bombarding myself with self-depreciating scare tactics and unnecessary angst, I feel change in the way that I am responding to something that is greatly disconcerting.  I feel as if I have come a long way in accepting what is, even if "what is" is extremely unsettling.  I am not expecting to go through this trial without experiencing some anxiety or difficulty or pain.  But I am pleased with the knowing that I will be able to handle those feelings in a different way.  A clearer way.  A way that will not put as much undue stress and strain on my mind and on my body.  

Have Faith

Moons Change

Tides Change

Times Change

We Change

*Post-Script-The Court assigned a date for something called a "Mandatory Settlement Conference" which is over seven weeks away.  If we do not come to a settlement on that date, then a date for trial will be assigned at that time(another six-eight weeks past that date).  I am allowing myself to "feel" this for the next several hours and then no more. No more.

What Divides Us, But Only If We Let it

*Thanks to the wonderful blog, How to Cope With Pain, for featuring another one of my blog posts on their Pain-Blog Carnival!  I cannot say enough about this very informative and well-written blog which deals with pain in all of its forms.  It is a fabulous resource for anyone who is living with chronic or temporary pain.  It is always listed on my side-bar if you ever need to access it.

Yesterday, I was going through some pictures from Angel Daughter Number Three's high school graduation which we celebrated last week.  It was a wonderful day and I am so very proud of her.  Congratulations, AD3!  I was preparing to write a blog post about the experience when I came across this photo of Angel Daughter Number One, my oldest Angel Niece, and Angel Daughter Number Four sitting on the fence line at graduation.  I was running around down on the huge football field taking pictures of the graduation(Being the only parent down on the field is another story) when I looked up and noticed my family.  I stood approximately one hundred feet away from them, so it was difficult for me to see their facial expressions as I struggled to focus against the sunlight.  I raised my hand to block the sun from my eyes but somehow instinctively, I raised my camera instead.

For the past two years, I have been engaged in a battle to keep my two young nieces in my family's life.  I have written bits and pieces about my fight for these two little girls.  My pain, my struggle, my innate need to stay connected to my deceased brother's children.  It is a feeling that I cannot fully describe, yet it draws me into the same realm as the "mothering instinct" does.  I am fiercely maternal.  This is not something that I say with undo pride or superiority.  It is a trait, such as having hazel eyes or being extraordinarily short in stature.  I just am.  And so, when I came across this photo, a rush of feelings began coursing through my body and my heart broke just a little bit more.  My own two Angel Daughters looking almost desperate to draw their cousin up to the surface.  And my niece. My niece.

I can and will only say enough here so that you will know, so that they will know.  I do this because nothing has been court-mandated.  An "agreement" has been reached.  Nothing binding or legal, but an agreement, none the less.  Meaning that if I am kept from my nieces, there is still the option of going before the family court judge.  And if there is one fear that I found out that my SIL has, it is having to stand before the judge.  Us, no problem.  Everything is on the table.  How much money we make per year, how much medication I take on a daily basis in order to control my chronic pain, and the fact that we own a dog; who was portrayed as a Pit-Bull; but who is nothing more than a lovable mutt.  There were depositions and accusations directed toward me.(Only me, never toward my SIL because that's not how we roll.)  There were demands to remove my husband from the case because he is not a "blood relative".(Um, yeah.  If he were a blood relative, that would mean that I married one of my family members and that would open up a whole new set of problems!)  And the cost for the attorneys was exorbitant.  On both sides.  But whose counting?  On the day that we were scheduled to go to trial, we sat in the courthouse cafeteria with our lawyers when my SIL's attorney began working on us.  And by the third hour and the final "offer", we reached an agreement.  Not everything that we wanted, but a beginning.  We have seen our nieces two times since the agreement was reached.  Once, at their dance recital(So cute!) and then again at AD3's graduation.  We will see them again at the end of this month, once in September, possibly in October and then beginning in November, we will be allowed to see them six times a year, for four hours each time, without their mother present.  This is part of what the battle was about, and this is what we were very reluctantly given.  The issue is that for the past two years, a lot has been said and done to damage the relationship that we had with the children.  And now, in order to repair the damage, we need to have access to the girls AND they need to feel comfortable spending time with us without worrying about the temperature of their mother's mood.  There is a bit more about Mark and I contributing financially to the girls college educations but that is something that we would have done before we were escorted out of our nieces lives for no sane reason.  The situation is still too tightly wound for my taste, but I am a very patient person.  I understand what my options are and I am not at all adverse to using the legal system in order to obtain justice for my nieces.  They deserve to have their daddy's family in their lives.  They deserve to be loved by extended family members.  They deserve our loyalty.

Not surprisingly, both girls were extremely apprehensive when they saw us for the first time, and started out the same way at the graduation.  But we are a difficult group to put off.  My girls especially exude the attitude of "love us, love us, love us", and Mark and I just proceeded lovingly but cautiously.  These two little girls have already had enough trauma in their lives and both Mark and I knew better than to just expect them to greet us the way that they had a year ago when we were last allowed to see them.  Time, pain, and unkind words burden the relationship that we once had with these two little angels.  We have no idea what they have been told.  Only that they were told too much and that they were obviously hurt and nervous and angry.

Looking at this photo of my oldest niece, I could feel everything that she must have gone through over the course of this past year.  I could see the missing in her eyes.  The missing of her daddy, the missing of us, the missing of her old life.  It pained me greatly to think about what she has been through.

But then, I thought about exactly how long it had taken her and my younger niece to begin smiling again once the initial trepidations began to subside.  I thought about the resiliency of children and their innate ability to somehow fight for their right to be happy.  I thought about all of the angles and ways in which what our family did to fight for these children could possibly be portrayed and I came to a fairly simple conclusion.  Somehow, some way, love wins.  And when you have love on your side as a motive, there is little that can argue with that.  Sanely, anyway...

Shortly after coming across the first photo, I came across the second one.  And there was the child who was trying her darnedest to ignore her cousins, her Uncle, and I only minutes before, staring down at me on the football field with something resembling a smile on her face.  A moment captured.  A feeling captured.  A heart mending back together bit by bit.  Hers, mine, ours.

A Story With a Different Ending or a Cat With a Different Voice

Last week seems like a month ago, and I am now just beginning to put together the pieces of what the future with my Angel Nieces might look like.  We have fought so long and so hard to keep my brother's children in our lives that I am only just starting to come out from underneath the hundred pound weights which settled heavily upon my shoulders just a few months past two years ago on the day that my brother died.  And so the story continues with new characters(and I do mean characters), new plot lines and a whole lot of new bills to pay.  But I know, as I have always known, that I have the power to decide that if I do not like the ending, I will always have the capacity to change it.  And as the co-author, co-conspirator, co-pilot of my life, I can decide that this is not the way that the story is going to end.

There are still things left which must be sorted out.  But as for now, I can take some comfort in knowing that I will be seeing my nieces perform in their dance recitals in a couple of weeks, and then I will see them again at Angel Daughter Number Three's high school graduation at the end of the month.  There is more, but for now I will just say that nothing is court mandated, and that I can always continue forward with the case if need be.  And I do hope that need will not be.  But I certainly will not rule anything out.  Because when you live in my world, anything can happen.

For the first time in a very long time, my brother visited me in a dream last night.  All that I can remember is that he was very relaxed and very jovial.  And that I woke up laughing.  There are gifts that those whom we have lost, physically, can still give to us.  Visiting us in our dreams is one of those gifts.  Forcing us to appreciate the smaller pleasures that come after a very rough time, is another.  So here is Rex.  He is officially Angel Daughter Number Two's kitty.  Officially.  But he has been living with me for the past several months because AD2 is very busy with school and interning and life, and he was spending way too much time alone.  Cats are somewhat solitary creatures, but certainly not solitary enough to be left alone most of the time.  And so Rex came to spend some time with his grand-momma.

Most of the time we live parallel to one another, existing next to each other in the same space.  You see, we are pretty sure that Rexy is a feral cat meaning that he comes from a long line of strays who learned to fend for themselves without benefit of people-parents.  And as sweet as he is, he loves to bite in a playful manner.

Which still hurts.  He is learning to interact in different ways.  He has the cutest voice that I have ever heard in a kitty.  It is more of a higher-pitched "Purrrrupt" sound than a meow.  If he enters a room, he announces himself with this "Purrrrupt" and if someone talks to him, he answers with it.  We have a total of six cats as a family, but there is something about this little guy that makes me want to bother him.  I can't help it.  I find him irresistible.

Yesterday, instead of bothering him by trying to pet him, I spent some time observing him as he played, preened and finally napped on my bed.

Please enjoy this series of photos.  To me, it is one of those small pleasures that I mentioned before.  The kind of pleasure that can be enjoyed on even the most exhausting of days.

May you find a way to write or rewrite your own endings.

May you take the time to notice the gifts that, too often, race by unnoticed.

  And may you be blessed with dreams that cause you to wake up laughing.

The Storm Before the Calm

California has been a soggy, rain-soaked mess lately.  We have experienced everything from pounding rain to hail stones the size of marbles to tornadoes!  Yes, tornadoes.(Look Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.)  We are experiencing an El Nino year, I am told, which tends to occur around once every five years.  El Nino translates to mean "the boy" which is a reference to The Christ Child.  Typically, El Nino years begin in December around Christmas which is why this weather pattern came to be named after Christ.  Along with the wild weather, there tends to be a more abundant number of fish which is why the fisherman began referring to this weather pattern as El Nino.  With the difficult weather, comes the "gift" of extra fish stocks.

Down at the beach, where I spend over fifty percent of my time now, the roar of Mother Nature hits even harder.  The many moods of nature gush forth in the waves of the ocean.  The sunsets are more vibrant, but so are the storms that blow through.  If it is breezy inland, the winds at the beach clamor in with a force that knocks over our patio furniture and pelts the windows of our home with a shear curtain of fury.  This is life on the edge of a bluff.

Watching the storms from my bedroom window can be both a mesmerizing and frightening experience. For living on the bluffs of the beach can leave us extremely vulnerable to the forces of Mother Nature.  Upon an angry whim, it is possible to lose a portion of our cliffside.  The waves come fast and furious without regard to that which is manmade.  We understand that we leave ourselves open to the intensity of nature, yet we would not have it any other way.  The storms can leave me feeling vulnerable, but they also leave me with a sense of ethereal safety which can cause me to lower my head in a humility that is unlike anything else.  I am humbled and awed by the forces of that which I can and cannot see.  And I accept my place in the pathway of that which occurs around me.  I trust.  I must trust.

I am going through a stormy period of life right now.  It began almost two years ago, when my brother suddenly died at the all too young age of forty-one.  He was a strong and powerful soul who seemed to be able to take charge of a room just by walking into it.  He was funny and mischievous.  He was an attorney who began his professional life as a public defender.  His heart was in the right place.  He felt the need to defend individuals who couldn't afford to defend themselves.  His desire was to fortify the wrongly accused.  He ended up with the sad and frustrating knowledge that the "wrongly accused" were most typically liars and re-offenders, but that only made him want to fight for the innocent more.  He was considering going back to public defending shortly before his death.  He was a father, a husband and a loving uncle to my daughters.  He was a brother to my husband.  He was a son to my parents.(Although admittedly, not always a very good one.)   He was my brother.  It breaks my heart to think that I must live the rest of my life without him to turn to.  The tides in my life took a vicious turn when he passed away.  And there is a little bit of sadness, everyday, that bubbles just below the surface of my heart.

I expected to soar through my life in the company of my husband and our beautiful angel daughters.  But I also expected that my younger brother would always be there, raising his children, living his life and sharing more history with me.  Being "an only child" is my new normal and one that has not been very easy to get used to.  It is a very, very strange feeling.

This weather has exasperated my illness to the point of creating a cycle of nonstop pain.  Even the strongest of medications can only reduce the constant throbbing to a dull, steady ache.  And yet, I am not sure which storm has been more detrimental to my health.  The storms that brews outside, or the ones that have been created by this lawsuit that I have been forced to file in order to keep my nieces, my brother's children, in my life.  My brother's wife is furious at me.  That is the word that she has used with her attorney, as well as with the court appointed mediator whom she refused to enter the room to mediate with.  Furious.  Fury.  Destructive rage bordering on madness.  And all that I have asked to do for almost two years now, is to love her children.  Something that I have done for eleven-plus years.  Something that included her up until she began refusing us access to the children.  Now, we want visitation without her present.  She has created too much pain for her children, for us, and now, for my mother.  I am not sure whether or not the Judge will grant this, but I am praying.  I am doing everything I can to weather the storm.  I am battening down the hatches.(cue Wizard of Oz witch music)  And I am trusting.  Lord knows, I am trusting.

Even during an El Nino year, the sun breaks through the clouds most of the time, and such is the pattern of my life.  I am a naturally happy person.  I look for the breaks in the clouds.  I count my blessings, appreciate the small stuff, etc., etc., etc.  But I am also a realist.  I understand human nature and Mother Nature, even though I have a healthy fear of both.  And I know that even in an El Nino year, there is a very bright side.  Extra fish stocks for the fisherman.  A gift that comes with the storms.

So although I am now "an only child" on this journey called life, I am not alone.  I will not be pulled down by the crashing waves or even the murkiest of waters.  I will swim for my life.  I will take shelter in my husband, my daughters, my father, my pets, my friends.  I will stay afloat and eventually, I will learn how to soar above it all.  Because I know that when I am thrown a life-preserver from wherever it comes, that I will grab hold of it.  And because I trust that there will always be somebody there to throw me one whenever I need it, I can stay afloat.  Even in the most furious of storms...

Weathering the Storms of Life

As I sit here resting on my bed, I am trapped beneath the sometimes mind-numbing weight of my laptop computer and the warmth of my sweet cat, Callie, who is cleaning herself as I make the choice to busy my fingers by blogging.  It has been a stormy couple of weeks here in Southern California, from our white Thanksgiving up in Lake Arrowhead, to our first three rainy days of Chanukah at sea level.  There has been a lot on my mind, lately, as the news began with Jack, our eight year old little buddy who has tragically relapsed with neuroblastoma, to something which has laid very heavily on my heart since a few days after my brother died, almost twenty months ago.  Both the relapse of angel-boy Jack, and the constant reminders that my brother is no longer a phone call away, have caused me to remain ever-so focused on the fragility of life.  Of course, as with the storms which we have been experiencing in the weather, there are breaks of blue amongst the grey.  Beautiful lapses in storm cells that allow the spirit to regenerate, dry off and prepare for the rain, once again.  But sometimes the weight on the heart can feel almost suffocating.  And the only thing that can free my saturated soul is to release the words.

 I have thought long and hard about sharing some of the more difficult details of my life here, on my blog.  And I have done so with cautious abandon, finding that releasing the words and then soaking in the support which seems to come as a result of it, makes many of those details feel less burdening.  I suppose that is why painters paint, and sculptors sculpt, and writers write.  There is something about being in the midst of a storm and then sharing it, that allows us to understand that we are not the only ones who have ever gotten drenched.  And that sometimes, by being reminded that there are others who have stood threadbare in the pouring rain, with their clothes sticking close to their bodies like a second skin, we might remember to accept the offered shelter of a shared umbrella.

And so the words now come.  For those of you who have followed my blog for a while, you might remember that I have four angel daughters who came from my body, but that there are two more angels whom I consider just as important.  My Angel Nieces.  Before my brother died, he and his wife and their two little girls who are now six and eleven, had a loving, close familial relationship with my family.  I will not go into detail about the days that followed after my brother's death, but they were some of the darkest days of my life.  The harder that I tried to be of support to my sister-in-law, the more she pushed me away.  I thought she just needed time.  I tried to convince myself that she was grieving and that I could accept being at the brunt of her anger, if that is what might make her feel better.  When I say that I have never done anything to deliberately upset or hurt her, it is the truth.  When I say that I have taken more negativity from her than anybody I have ever known in my life, it is truth.  I did not lash out, I did not get angry, I did not defend myself.  I wanted to see my nieces, my brother's children and if that meant accepting a few blows, then so be it.  For the first six months after my brother passed, I was not permitted to see my nieces.  I cannot express the toll which that took on my family.  I never stopped calling.  I never stopped trying and finally, my SIL agreed to get together with us.  I was overjoyed.  My nieces were so happy.  Mark and my four daughters were thrilled.  And then it happened again.  My SIL withdrew my nieces from our lives as if they were objects and not children.  Once again, I begged and pleaded.  I wrote a general letter apologizing for things that I hadn't even done, grasping, grasping because I felt my nieces slipping away the way my brother had done.  A month or so after I sent the letter, we called to wish my youngest niece a happy birthday.  My SIL never answers the phone, but we were accustomed to leaving messages.  To my delight, we got a call back and once again, without any reference to the letter I sent, or any explanation as to why we were cut off, we were allowed to begin seeing the girls again.  This went on for several months.  I was still treated very poorly by my SIL, but I was willing to put up with whatever was necessary in order to keep the girls in our lives.  The last time we were allowed to see my nieces was back in June.  After that, with no regard to her own children's feelings, with no concern for my children's feelings and for absolutely no regard for what my brother would have wanted, we were once again, cut off.  At first, my SIL would tell me that she was "too busy" to make time for us.  I kept trying.  She finally agreed to see us in September, but only for "a very short visit".  The day before we were supposed to get together, she left a message on my voicemail saying that her plans had changed and that they would not be seeing us after all.  I called her back and she actually answered her phone.  She was extremely cold and very rude.  I took a breath and asked her if we could please just keep the plans that we had.  She told me no.  I began to cry and told her that it had been three months since we had seen each other.  She told me to stop it and that it had NOT been three months but two months and two weeks.  I asked her to please tell me the truth about what was going on.  She told me that she was hanging up because I was attacking her.  I told her how much she and the girls mean to our family.  She told me not to call, not to leave her anymore messages and to leave her alone.  She was as cold as ice.  I finally hung up in tears.  Not only did I cry for my own loss, but also at the thought of what my poor, poor brother must have had to live with everyday of his marriage.  I knew there were problems.  I just never knew how deeply they ran.  I realized that just as I was remaining quiet to appease my SIL, so must he have done the same as her husband.  The tears came for a very, very long time.  And then, I reached the only resolution that I possibly could.  I hired an attorney.

Most people have heard of something called Grandparent's Rights.  At the same time, most people do not realize that the law is also written to include aunts and uncles.  We have been in the process of putting our visitation claim together for almost two months.  The last two weeks were spent with the process server trying to serve my SIL with the court documents.  She ducked service four times.  She had no idea what he was trying to deliver.  She is just an extremely disagreeable individual.  Several weeks ago, our attorney submitted a petition to the court to find out if our case would even be heard.  There was a possibility that it would be dismissed without a hearing.  Not only was it accepted by the Judge, but he set a mediation date, as well as a court date.  We recently found out from our attorney that my SIL's newly-hired attorney has already requested a continuance.  This means that the case will be pushed out even further.  I can wait.  I have been patient for twenty months.  I have done everything within my capabilities to resolve this without legal intervention.  I have even allowed myself to be treated as a scapegoat.  I have been pushed into a corner but now the continuation of this story does not depend on the whims of my SIL.  I have taken my power back.

For now, there is a bit of a break from the storm.  The rain has stopped.  Mark and I walked for hours on the beach today.  He kept asking me if I wanted to turn back, but I said no.  The sun felt too good.  I felt too strong.

When I was finally left by myself tonight, I began to think.  And in thinking, I ventured towards some frightened places in my heart.  The "What if?"places which can only be answered with time, but that I am sometimes foolish enough to think that I can answer all on my own.  It was then that I decided to write.  It was then that I decided to toss out the last vestige of fear that was keeping me from releasing the words.  It was then that I fully accepted that it is not me who has anything to hide from.  It was then that the words began to tumble from my fingertips from the grey and into the white.  I feel like I am taking them out from behind the clouds and placing them into the light.


Thank you so much for visiting Jack, and most especially, for leaving such loving messages for him and his beautiful family.  He has begun to read them himself, and he now has a map of the world on which he maps out all of the faraway places from which his visitors come.  Please continue to stop by his site.  He will be starting palliative treatment, tomorrow, which means that things are about to get even harder.

And The Beat Goes On

I am becoming more and more convinced, that children are the most resilient beings on earth.  In some ways, they are still so close to being able to remember what came before being born into this uncertain world and yet, not close enough to adulthood to know that sometimes life can really take you down.  And even when the realities of adulthood seep into the mostly smoother edges of childhood, children somehow learn to keep on dancing.  The rhythm of their lives may change, but their perfect, little feet keep on pitter-patting away, teaching those of us who are well-past those years to keep on listening for the beat.  A beat that sounds an awful lot like that of the heart.  The beat of love.
And friendship and solidarity...but, mostly love.
This past weekend, we had the opportunity to do a lot of celebrating.  We celebrated being able to watch my youngest Angel Niece shake her booty in her dance recital.  Yes, she is the second one from the left with the shimmy in her hips!
She bounced.  She wiggled.  She levitated.
And she listened to the beat of her own drum.
The next day, we went to watch my oldest Angel Niece in her dance recital.  It was pure joy to watch her as she took center stage and then hip-hopped her way across my heart.
I cannot even begin to describe the utter joy, sadness(that my Angel Niece's daddy could only watch from above), and pure love that I felt while sitting with Mark and our own Angel Daughters as we cheered on these beautiful little girls.
 After the recitals, we got to present these little Angels with flowers.  We got to put our arms around them and hug them like there is no tomorrow.  And we got to experience the essence of my brother through these incredible little girls that he so sadly, had to leave behind.
Angel Daughter Number One, now a woman, yet not so grown up that she forgets what it is like to be a child, swung Angel Niece up into the air.  For a moment, I was reminded of how my brother used to do this to my own children when he saw them and I smiled.  Because somehow, no matter what, the rhythm of the lives of those we have lost still beat loudly in the hearts of those that they have loved and who have loved them.
On Sunday, my oldest Angel blew out the candles on her cake for the twenty-second time.  There is no denying that she is a woman now, but to me, she will always be that curly-haired little girl who danced, sang and performed her way into the hearts of everyone she met.  There is something so incredibly special about her.  So lovely and self-assured.  If I could describe the essence of how she comes across, Audrey Hepburn would be the closest that I could come.

Happy Birthday, my dear daughter.

As my own birthday quickly approaches, I feel a sense of introspection and self-examination that always comes with this time of year.  I am listening very hard, for the music of my own heart.  I would really like to remember what it sounds like.

My Angel Girls and A Request to Pay it Forward(For Honeydo)

Even when things cannot always be the way we wish for them to be, they can somehow be enough for right now.  Knowing that my Angel Daughters and my Angel Nieces have each other in their lives, once again, is enough for me right now.  I can breathe a bit more deeply knowing that, for this moment, my girls and my brother's girls have each other.  Mark and I have our nieces.  Here are my Angels as they should be.
This little one is quite a spitfire.  Her single goal in life seems to be to make everyone laugh.   Her skin is like porcelain and somehow, even at the age of five, her hair still holds onto that baby smell which is so irresistible.  Angel Daughter Number Three could not stop hugging her.
My youngest, and my brother's oldest sat together chatting throughout our dinner.  They are the closest in age, as far as the cousins go, and they really enjoy each other's company.
In this little girl, I feel so much of my brother's spirit.  She is wise beyond her nine years.  Once I got my arms around her, I did not want to let her go.  She loved her Daddy so much.  He wasn't only her Father, he was also her best friend.  He once told me that no matter how silly or ridiculous his jokes were(and there were some pretty lame ones), he could always count on a belly laugh from her.  I pray that somehow, her laughter will continue.

And now a word about "paying it forward".  In my previous post, Out of the Mouths of Babes or How to Make Amends, I received a painfully honest comment and request from someone who identified themselves as "Honeydo".  This individual commented once before on one of my posts called, I See Charlotte, under the name of "anonymous".   I would be grateful if you would go back to the comment section of these posts to read what this individual wrote and then leave any advice or opinions that you might be willing to offer here in the comment section.  I have the most wonderful readers and blogging friends who have supported me in ways that I cannot even begin to express.  If we could do the same for Honeydo, I think it would be something that this kind, gentle soul would truly appreciate.  Sometimes being brave is the first step towards healing.  I think it took some courage for Honeydo to ask for the help of complete strangers.  If you have a moment, please lend your words of insight, wisdom and support.(Thanks Blue for the heads-up!  I corrected the link.)

May you always find a place that feels safe when you need a place to turn.  May you find comfort and inspiration in the words of others.  May you be gently guided into making the best decisions for yourself.  Your life is ultimately your own... And you are worth it.

Out of the Mouths of Babes or How to Make Amends

I snapped this photo of my husband and our Angel Daughter Number Four, last weekend at the beach.  I did so with a telephoto lens, because to intrude on the moment in any other way seemed, well, invasive.  When done correctly, there is something very special and personal about the relationship between a father and a daughter which can never be duplicated.  It is solid and natural and strong.

Tonight will be the first time that I have been allowed to see my nieces since the day my brother died six months ago.  They are so little.  Only five and nine years old.  They are fatherless.  I am brotherless.  Yet, when I spoke to my nine year old angel for over an hour, the other day, I felt such an undying connection between her heart and mine.  We talked a lot about her dad, my brother, because she wanted to.  We laughed, I made her promises which I will forever keep.  My family, me, my angels and Mark, will now be the conduit between these young daughters and their dad.  The only direct remaining bloodline between one generation and the next.  Angel Niece said to me in a very serious, beyond the maturity of a nine year old voice:

"You know Auntie Deb, I was the one who wanted my mother to make amens with you.  I told her that I couldn't take it anymore!  I want to see my Auntie Deb, I want to see my cousins, and I want to see my Uncle Mark!!!  I miss them!"  

I was absolutely dumbfounded by her resolute honesty.  After a moment, I quietly asked her what her mother said when she told her that.  And Angel Niece told me that her mom said she thought that was a good idea.

Nothing is ever exactly as it should be.  We lose people we love.  We move forward in spite of the gnawing pain.  We look for other ways, other people to help fill the void.  We spend time being grateful for what is, after the fall.  We move ahead.

May you find a way to fill the voids that rest heavy on your own heart and soul.  May you be comforted by the relationships that still are.  And may you take the advice of a nine year old girl and make amens while you still can, even if that only means doing so in your own heart.

Amen(s).

Can I Get a Hallelujah?

My youngest angel came home from school today and told me the story of a young girl whose father taught her to "never quit" in the face of adversity.  He was crippled by an illness, but even through his pain and his ravaged body, he was still able to instill a very strong message of hope into the hearts of those he loved.  His daughter later went on to become an Olympic athlete.  I have to wonder whether she would have become the person that she was if her father had viewed things differently.  What if he decided to quit when he became ill?  What if he allowed the negativity of his illness to leak over into other aspects of his life?  What if he espoused constant despair instead of hope?  Where would that have left the people around him?

Yesterday, I received two phone messages from my brother's wife.  In the first one, she said that she wanted to make amends and move forward so that we could start supporting each other.  In the second one, she put my angel niece on the phone.  My fifth angel.  My little, nine year old girl.  Angel Niece said that she wanted to talk to me and that she wanted to see if we could get together soon.  And the breath that I have been holding for over six months finally released into a flood of happy tears.  

Do I fully trust that this is the end of the road for this battle that should never have begun to begin with?  I don't know, but it is all that I have wanted and all that I have fought for since the day that my brother died.  I made a promise to my brother after his death.  I stood there and I whispered into his ear that I would always be there for his girls.  I vowed that I would help to raise his children in whatever ways that I could.  I promised, never even considering the attack which would ensue in the days following his passing.  I promised, never even realizing that my promise would be tested immediately.  I promised...

And I never gave up.  I never quit.  I did this not only for the promise I made to my brother, but also because of the effect that it would have had on my own angel daughters if I had given up.  To teach loyalty, one must be loyal.  To teach tenacity, one must also be tenacious.  To teach hope, one must never quit.

Thank you so much for your constant support, compassion, and understanding.  My blogging friends have been such an incredible source of comfort and wisdom during a time that was such a difficult test to my spirit.  You have lifted my wings up off of the ground at times when I did not think they could even begin to flutter.  I am grateful beyond words.  So now I am asking you for one more thing as I pray that everything will turn out well.  Can I get a Hallelujah?  

I See Charlotte

There are two sides to my life.  The first side is filled with the love that I feel for my angel family.  The wonderful life that we have conceived together.  The values which Mark and I have instilled in our girls.  The idea that life is beautiful.  It is the side of my life which I vowed to myself as a little girl that I would create.  A peaceful, contented life.  A family in which the members all love and cherish one another.  Mark and I have succeeded in building that kind of a life.  I am not saying that it doesn't take a lot of work and dedication, but I am saying that it is worth all of the effort that I have put into it.  My angels and my husband are worth it.  I am worth it.

The other side of my life is that side which I have eluded to in some of my previous writings here.  It is the side where people bear thirty year old grudges.  It is the side where the cruel irony of an early death leaves relationships unfinished.  It is the side that is filled with hatred and pain and lies.  It is the side of right-fighters.  It is the side that I never chose to live in, yet there I was, and sometimes, here I still am.

My brother chose a different kind of life and a different kind of wife.  He created a different kind of life.  He allowed the muck of growing up in a very chaotic household to color his life with different hues.  Whereas I saw bright, he saw dull.  Whereas I saw a chance to escape the kind of life that made me ill, he saw reason to continue the ugliness of how we were raised.  He remained stuck in the web.  He was a good guy in many ways, but that didn't prevent him from leaving behind an absolute mess.  A mess that my nieces must now live in.  A mess that I am now trying to sort out.  A mess that I know he would be absolutely disgusted to discover, yet still a mess that he had some responsibility in creating.

I have spent the better part of the past week in emotional and spiritual pain.  I have been containing my own feelings about my SIL's actions towards me and my family in an attempt to reserve any small chance that I will be allowed to continue a relationship with my two nieces while they are still children.  I have been told to be patient.  I have been told to wait.  I have been told, I have been told...  And then the letter came.  A letter filled with hatred that spewed off of the paper like a soda can that had been shaken before it was opened.  And my soul cracked open as did my mouth.  I am finished waiting.  I am finished being patient.  I am finished allowing my brother's memory to be ground into the dirt like some useless piece of trash.

When I took the picture of the garden spider above, I was watching it build it's web with awe and admiration.  In so many ways, just looking at the spider repels me and makes me want to run screaming in the other direction.  But in other ways, I can see the absolute beauty of it's intricate web.  I can see how the spider moves with such purposefulness and even grace as it spins the threads which will contain it's home for the night.  Some might just see a very scary spider.  I can see Charlotte.

And so, as I sit here pondering all this and trying to make some sense out of it I realize that every life must have two sides.  And what makes the beautiful side so much more vibrant is the fact that we must also live with the other side.  The side that hurts our spirits.  The side that causes us pain.  The side which we never chose, but if we remain brave enough, we learn to live with.

May you always honor the beautiful side of life even while sometimes having to face the darkness.  May you fight for what is good because you are worth it.