Half empty, Half full

One of the 'big' issues that Renfrew had when he called 'time out' on our marriage was that I was always 'negative'.   At the time, I couldn't see it.  Now, I realize that I was spending an inordinate amount of time focusing on the empty part of the glass.  There was a dark cloud following me, sort of like Schleprock in the old Pebbles and BamBam cartoon.

But, in fairness, we both were.  It is an unavoidable trend for a person who is unhappy...even if they, themselves, can't see the unhappiness.  It leaks out.  Like when you try to pour 8.2 ounces into an 8 ounce travel mug.  Not a lot leaks out, but what does escape stains your clothes and often burns your hand.  Unhappiness colours everything in your world to the point you don't even notice the grey filter over your lens.

When "the worst thing that could happen", happened; followed by the "even worse thing that could happen" within hours, I got a wake up call from the Universe.  Did my negativity attract the bad stuff?  I doubt it.  Bad stuff happens in everyone's life.  Mine just decided to all happen in the space of 48 hours. 

In my journey to where I am now, I made a conscious decision to look for the positive.  And believe me, there were many days there was not a lot of it around.  At the start I spent most of my time accepting condolences on the double whammy life had handed me.  After a while I realized I had to reframe those events or they were going to pull me irretrievably into the Pit of Despair.

The easiest reframing was dealing with Mom's death. 

Don't get me wrong, I miss her ever minute and wish I could not just ask her what she thinks about the things going on in my life -- work, parenting, romance -- BUT ALSO hear the answer clearly. 

But Mom and I had talked about death.  Not hers specifically, but that is what we were really talking about.  She spoke to me of friends who were taken to the hospital and who had lain, somewhere between alive and dead for weeks, months and some even years.   She talked about, Glenn, a distant cousin of ours who was a fixture at our house when I was growing up, hiding out from his religious sister, drinking coffee and playing cards.  Glenn slid into dementia before he died and spent a period of time in the local nursing home before being released to the next life.  To Mom both of those fates were much worse than death.  Mom did not want to linger.

She also did not want to move into a 'care home'.  My sister and I had broached the subject of maybe moving into a seniors' apartment complex the summer before.  Suggesting perhaps Mom would be more comfortable in a place where she would have people around to socialize with and where the day-to-day chores would be taken care of by someone else.  She was pretty adamant:  "My next move will be out West on the hill next to your Father." 

Yup, that pretty much said it.  After decades of caring for others, she was totally happy in the small, but comfortable ground floor apartment where she lived for the last 14 or so years before she died. She did not want to end her days dependent.

When she died . . . at 85 after a year of less than quality life caused by a bout of shingles that had started almost a year earlier . . . I knew she was at peace.  She had the good death she had wanted. 

The end of my marriage. 

Well it was harder to find the silverlining in that event.  I still loved my husband.  Part of me wanted to believe he was just 'going through a phase' and that he would end up back on my doorstep asking to put things back together.  Let's just say I wasn't ready to process that particular loss yet . . . it took another year, at least, before I not only accepted that the marriage was over BUT also that it had not been as blissful as I had wanted to believe.  At least in the last few years. 

Once I made that paradigm shift, I realized that while Renfrew and I had continued to inspire growth in each other (for me helping the other person grow is a big part of what defines a marriage), the ONLY type of growth we had been encouraging was negative.  Instead of bringing out the best in each other, as well we did for many years; we now brought out the worst.  Renfrew's growth is his to tell.  My growth was in the areas of sharpening a nasty tongue, prolonged pouting, sarcastic comments, ice freezing glares and generally bitchiness.  I now acknowlege that for about the last year or so, I wouldn't have wanted to live with me. 

Now I realize the real death knell to our marriage was simple:  We stopped being KIND to each other.

I can also now frame the loss by what I have gained. 

We get along . . more than just being civil to each other . . . we are able to participate in things together and to be a part of our child's life.  She sees us laugh together and cooperate.

The end of our marriage did not negate the good years we shared or the love.  Love (as I've said before) is the true content of ALL relationships.  The form of our relationship as 'marriage' was no longer working for either of us.  The form of our relationship as dear friends who share a history and a child is what IS now.  It is still one of love.

From the end of our marriage, I learned I could forgive and make peace.  I cannot emphasize what a true GIFT this is.

The end of our marriage brought a new friend into my life in the form of Renfrew's new wife.  Some people marvel that I like her.  Well, why on earth wouldn't I?  Renfrew is still basically the same person he was when we chose each other.  Stands to reason that he would chose someone similar to me.  And that she is.  He always had phenomenal taste in women.  In fact, there are times I think Renfrew gets a bit nervous when the Pumpkin, she and I are plotting together.

The end of our marriage has brought other people into my life.  A new career and new co-workers.  A move and new neighbours.  And last but not least a new man who is becoming part of my life.

Yes, my glass is more than half full these days.  It runneth over.

Marriages Breakdown over CHORES -- Stop the Presses! [NOT]

The elevators in my workplace have little monitors that run a cycle of 'news' stories and weather reports to give the occupants something to stare at during the ascent and descent.  Last week one caught my attention.  It seems a group of UK divorce lawyers did a file audit and discovered that the common denominator in more than 1/2 of marriage breakups was HOUSEHOLD CHORES.  Well . . . duh . . . that is hardly news.

That being said, back in the day when I was actually a divorce lawyer, my observation was that the arguments about the socks on the floor, really were not about the socks on the floor.  They were a symptom - - much in the way that an emotional or actual affair is not really the problem in a relationship, but a symptom of the problem in that relationship. 

As someone who has never professed to be Debby Domestic or Suzy Homemaker, I marvel at my friends whose homes seem to always look company ready.  My house can look company ready, but I need a good 24 hours' notice.

Given that I share my dwelling with the Pumpkin, 2 canines and 2 felines, the landscape can get a bit crazy.  The cats consider EVERYTHING either a toy or something upon which to shed.  This means that it is not uncommon to find random small objects kicked under the sofa or entertainment unit, or worse, sitting in the middle of the hallway just waiting for the unsuspecting human to step on them -- think pop bottle lids.  The dogs are more selective . . . socks are meant to be carried from place to place (one at a time), discarded kleenex is a snack food and windows are to be decorated with nose prints and drool deposited whilst barking at the neighbourhood squirrels.

The girl-child is trailed by an assortment of food containers, dishes, school papers, craft supplies and totally unclassifible items.  She has finally learned that the answer to the "where is X" question most often results in a blank look from her mother.  Hey, kid, I can barely keep track of my own things, you're on your own.

The fact that I am an adult with ADD does not make things easy.  Being as distractable as a 2 year old at Toys-backwards-R-Us often leaves me standing in a room holding some item or other and asking myself "what is this, and where was I taking it?"  With any answer being interrupted by my "hey, look a butterfly" mind.  I set whatever I have down and then 10 minutes later realize what I was doing, but can't remember where I left the item I now need. 

I know for a fact that my less than Martha Stewart style was part of my contribution to the pile o' crap that ended my marriage.  The fact that Renfrew's style of dealing with almost any issue was practiced passive aggression did not help matters.  Also, the fact he conveniently forgot how to do much of anything around the house while he was in Mountie training did not help.  [Believe me I apologised to the WiL for any part I played in his selective amnesia about such things as the inner workings of dishwashers and the role of brooms and vacuums, but I have since caught him sweeping the floor at their house, so I think he may have found a memory spell somewhere.]  The girl-child has informed me that his ability with large appliances (like clothes' dryers) hasn't improved...she has a great new collection of very soft sweaters thanks to his laundry efforts. 

But the housework issue wasn't the death of us.   The housework only represented our disregard for each other and for each other's time and effort.  The more he stopped contributing and participating in the day-to-day stuff around the house, the angrier I got.  The angrier I got, the less I did.  My requests for help were treated as nagging demands, so I stopped making them.  By the time all was said and done, we weren't taking care of ourselves, much less each other.  Yes, it was about more than the socks on the floor.

What did I learn?  I learned that ignoring an issue doesn't make it go away.  And I learned that sometimes the smartest thing to do is hire a cleaning service -- and use the time you would be cleaning to focus on what matters:  each other.

Has it really been 5 years?

Exactly five years ago this weekend my life imploded with a cosmic *SMACK*.   Life as I knew it was over [for the whole gory story go here LifeQuake .  LSS - marriage ended on Friday, Mom died on Sunday.

It would be easy to say that I grieved, did the emotional and psychological work, and moved onto a wonderful new life in record time and with minimal disruption.  It would also be a lie.  The combined losses of my marriage and my mother, in that order in that many days flattened me. 

For the first while, I went into autopilot.  I knew what I was supposed to do and what the 'right' responses were and I kept to the script.  Honestly, the 'role' of responsible, directed woman planning both her mother's funeral and her husband's move from the matrimonial home at the same time came easy.  It felt like I was in a 'Lifetime' movie. . . perhaps being played by Valerie Bertinelli (before she lost the weight -- we want authenticity here).

I wrote the obituary and the eulogy.  I sat with my siblings to select a casket and plan the order of service.  I scurried around the music store to locate a copy of the sheet music to Amazing Grace (I still shake my head in wonder that it doesn't appear in the hymnal of the Church I attended as a child).

I gave Renfrew the time and space to move from our home to a nearby friend's house with the plan that the Pumpkin and I would move to the City once we found a place.  But for the time being, she and I would stay in the house.

Three weeks after my LifeQuake, I went back to work.  My siblings and I had cleaned out most of Mom's apartment -- shredding 30 years of bank statements and old cheques, receipts for everything from utilities to her Readers' Digest subscription.  Furniture that could be used by family members was re-homed and that for which there was no current purpose was donated to the nearby thrift store. Everyone who wanted a memento was allowed to take something that reminded them of Mom.

It was time for things to get back to "NORMAL"... Normal, I now know is simply a setting on the washing machine.  That December was unquestionably the lowest my life has ever been.  Slowly, and I do mean S L O W L Y, I started to find a new way to be in the world.  During the course of my journey I learned some pretty amazing truths:

Failing at marriage did not mean I was a failure.  My marriage was, truthfully, everything to me.  I had made that commitment with the view that it was irrevocable.  Divorce was NEVER in my playbook.  But I had to recognize that marriage was making Renfrew miserable and he did not believe that it could be fixed.  I had no choice to let go.  It was a slow and sticky process and I am the first to admit I did not handle it gracefully at first. I cried buckets of tears.  But as the 'process' moved along, I began to realize that the ending of marriage did not nullify the years we had shared -- most of them pretty happy.  

Don't get me wrong, there is still a small part of me that mourns not having a life partner to whom I can say "remember . . . ." and have him smile.  The shared history still exists, but it is no longer accessible.  I just read in a book about marriage end (a memoir by a woman who lost her husband not to your average mid-life crisis, but to his gender change to a woman) that one of the hardest losses in a divorce is the loss of the collective memory of a family.

Slowly I cried less and smiled more.  I would heal and the edges would soften around the wound. Then something would pull the back the scab and I would bleed tears again.  At some point, the tears more or less stopped.  My focus moved away from what was lost to what remained. . . a beautiful child and a friendship with her other parent.

My kid is both smarter and stronger than I ever imagined. Shortly after we separated, we (I) dragged the Pumpkin to a clinical social worker.  I figured she'd been handed a couple of biggies, just like I had been and as a good parent it was important to give her someone to help her debrief.  Her assessment of our separation:  "If living together makes you unhappy, why would you live together?"  Wisdom from the mouth of a 9 year old.  In the intervening time, she has continued to grow -- and WOW.  She is self-possessed with a confidence and sense of humour about life that will take her far.

Forgiveness is truly the path to Peace and Happiness.  Along my way I discovered A Course In Miracles .  It is not a religion (and I remain as irreverent as ever), but a spiritual mind training program, the goal of which is to FORGIVE everyone for everything as a way to PEACE. 

Trust me, I did not WANT to forgive Renfrew for pulling the plug on our marriage.  I was hurt and, for a time, I was pretty good at trying to reach out and hurt him too.  It wasn't until I was given the 'miracle' of seeing things a different way, that I forgave.  It was a conscious choice I made initially for two people:  my child and myself.  I knew carrying anger and resentment toward her father would spill over onto her.  I also got really tired of trying to move forward with that stone around my neck.  I set it down . . . at first for only seconds at a time, but eventually I left it in the distance. 

I have gotten SO MUCH out of that one choice.   In addition to a child who sees her parents behaving like adults, when Renfrew married my Wife-in-Law (or WiL as I'll call her) three years ago, I got a friend and another co-parent for her.   Seriously, Renfrew always had great taste in women (with a few exceptions that occurred during his post-marriage break up craziness), so why would I not like his choice in a partner?  And if I did, what on earth would it say about me?

Now, I am substantially healed.  I am not the person I would have been if neither of those losses had happened.  I am stronger.  I am more cynical.  I am more patient.  I am less trusting.  I am more at peace.  There have been losses and gains.  It was a weekend . . . and I sincerely hope I never have another one like it.

No Regrets

A person does not get to age 50 without a few regrets.  Looking at my life, I probably have more than some people and less than others.  From questionable fashion choices in the 80s to even more questionable career choices.  In retrospect I could have made my life both easier and more enjoyable (not to mention more stylist) if I knew then what I know now.  But that is not how life works.  I believe we are here to learn and to grow; to make mistakes and to learn from them.  In all seriousness, there is only one thing in my life about which I have never had second thoughts, even for a moment.  That is becoming a Mother.

I did not come easily or lightly to motherhood.  Growing up in a culture and community where motherhood was revered above all other possible choices for a woman, I did the sensible thing and rebelled.  While my childhood friends were busy choosing baby names for their future offspring, I was planning not only my escape from my hometown, but my wild and crazy life full of excitement that did not include the mundane task of rearing offspring. 

When my now former husband and I married, I was honest in saying I did not know if I would ever want to have children.  My future had 'career woman' written all over it in large New Times Roman letters as I studied law and planned how I would change the future of the world.  Renfrew, having come from what could be described as a challenging family background, was nominally okay with my position -- at least I never remember him making parenthood a deal breaker.  My dear Mother-in-Law did frequently inquire as to our 'family' plans, since he was the only one of his siblings (including his 16 year old sister) who was childless. 

If I had to pick a moment when I realized that I wanted the honour of becoming a mother, it would be August 14, 1994.  That was the day that we lost a pet -- Jennie, a sweet energetic bundle of terrier who had escaped our backyard and was struck by a pick up truck.  We rushed her to the Vet, but there was nothing they could do for her but end her pain.  In the aftermath of that loss, something in me clicked and I realized that while 'parenting' pets was rewarding, I did not want to live my life without experiencing motherhood. 

Although it took almost four years, the Pumpkin was more than worth the wait.  Now, I cannot imagine my life without her. 

She makes me laugh at least daily.  Her way of seeing the world has opened up new adventures and experiences that I would never have encountered without her.  She has introduced me to music called 'alternative' but what I would simply call excellent.  I have found myself surrounded by people in costumes of all kinds having fun.  How often does an adult get to play dress up?

She has an insight into human nature that is beyond her years . . . or maybe we all have that understanding when we are young and lose it as we age.  The empathetic child her father and I watched on the playground, has grown into a young woman who has the ability to see beyond the obvious in situations. 

I was just reminded of the 'joy' of age three by a blog I follow http://dooce.com/2012/05/10/dreaded-year and, yes, age three was a challenge.  Other times, as well, have tested both my patience and my faith in my ability to parent.  But all in all, so far the ride has been an adventure and I have made the following observations about my philosophy of parenting:

First, our job as parents is NOT to mould, train or educate our children into the adult they will be.  Our job is to give them a safe place to figure that out for themselves.  It isn't OUR life and when we remember that fact and do not give into a need to preach to our children what WE believe to be the Truth, our kids will grow beyond any limited idea we may have for them.  I specifically remember my own mother NEVER telling me that couldn't do something -- even if she knew I couldn't.  She let me figure it out on my own and I am glad I recognized that 'gift' and was able to thank her for it while she was still on this earth.

Second, if you don't have your child's back, who will?  When I was in college, I remember going home for a weekend and telling Mom how one of my classmates had been afraid of going home for the break because she had gained a few pounds and she just knew "my Mom is going give me a hard time".  My Mom, without looking up from her coffee said:  "I don't get that.  The world gives kids so much negative and criticism, parents shouldn't add to it."  Criticism, even 'well meaning' criticism, eats away at person's confidence and joy.

Third, get to know your child's friends, classmates, teachers -- basically their 'world'.  I've heard many parents of teens say that they can't connect with their kids.  While this breaks my heart, I want to ask what steps they have taken to nuture and build the connections they are missing.  I work overtime or take vacation days so I can go on school field trips and participate in my daughter's activities.

I still remember the first time I had to make a 'choice' between career and the Pumpkin.  She was in preschool and I was still working as a lawyer in the North.  I had taken a Legal Aid file with a custody trial set for November 1.  About 2 or so weeks before the trial date, the Clerk called to ask if I would be okay moving the trial to October 31, since the matter for that date had settled.  My answer was no, I had other plans.  Those plans (as you may have guessed) were the Hallowe'en party at the Pumpkin's school.  My reality check was that in 10 years no one  would remember what day the trial was held, but I would remember if I missed the Pumpkin's  party -- and so would she.

In sum, the parenting philosophy I learned from my Mom is simply that we are here to support, love and cheer on our children.  If we do our job right, our children will become all they are meant to be.

Today I am blessed with a confident, funny, smart, loving and beautiful child.  Whether I get a bouquet of dandelions or breakfast in bed for Mothers' Day, I already have the BEST gift:  A Daughter who is beyond Amazing.  LOVE YOU PUMPKIN and thank you for letting me be your Mom!

Rites of Passage

It happened, damnit.

For the past almost 13 years I have been part of an 'on-line' family.  A group of women who started out on a very public message board for working mothers and who, over the years, have migrated through several different incarnations and who now have a private board where we 'meet'.  This group of around 35 women come from almost every part of North America.  I am one of several Canucks who have found we have more things in common with our American sisters than we ever imagined.

As with most families, we have been through our good and bad times.  We have held each other's virtual hands through the journey.  

We have celebrated accomplishments -- ours, our kids', our spouses.
We have cried over losses, big and small.
We have weathered the changes that life throws our way
We have sent our kids off to first grade and to college together.
We have watched our parents age, become ill and transition to the next life together.
We have cried for each other as marriages have broken down and ended.
We have rejoiced at new loves and new beginnings.
We have bragged without shame about our amazing children and their accomplishments.
We have held each other up when those same children stumble and fall.
We have encouraged each other in stepping out of our comfort zones, whether it is for a new job, a new career or even just a new hairstyle.
We have prayed when cancer has threatened those we love.
We have laughed over the silly things our families do.

The difference these women have made in my life defies description. They kept me relatively sane through the 4 years I lived in Canada's northern wilderness.  They reminded me that there really was still a world out there. 

They listened to my rants and tears when my marriage came apart at the seams and I had to find a new way to be in the world.   Now they listen to my dating adventures and remind me to laugh.

When my mother died as my marriage was ending, the words of love and support I got from my cyber-sisters were often the only thread holding me together. 

This past week we experienced the one Rite of Passage I prayed we never would face.  As I turned on my computer I was met with what I at first thought was a posting error.  It was a link to an obituary for someone with the same name as one of our members.  This CANNOT be right.  It is too soon to lose anybody to the next life. 

I held my breath and clicked.

Damnit.  Double damnit.  It was not an hallucination.  One of our members has gone where there is no mainframe or server.  She has logged off one last time.  We are collectively in shock.  The reality has hit us in the face. 

And so we say farewell to our sister.  We cry for her three beautiful daughters who will grow into adulthood without their mother by their sides.  We mourn for her husband who is undoubtedly overwhelmed by his loss and the loss his children are feeling.  We pray for strength for all of them, and for all of us. 

Goodbye, Dearest Ilka, you will not be forgotten.  We will keep your daughters in our prayers.  Know you are loved.  Godspeed, my Sister, Godspeed.

Shredder Therapy

This past weekend the Pumpkin and I had a garage sale to get rid of stuff we had both individually and collectively outgrown. A vast number of the boxes of stuff were delivered to my doorstep about a year ago by Renfrew. He assesrted the boxes contained things that he just knew I could NOT do without. As I unpacked boxes to sort and price, I realized that the contents were not, as Renfrew had asserted, MY stuff. No, they are clearly jointly owned items of the daily life I left behind -- at the same time I left our joint home. My repeated assertions were clear.

Or I thought they were clear. I did not WANT or NEED any of it. He could sell it, give it away, use it, bronze it or burn it -- it was part of what I had been evicted from. Just like he ignored so many truths that were mine over the dying days of our marriage, he ignored my truth about these things as well.

Thankfully, I am now at a point in my healing where I am able to shake the negative ions from my being as I turned my attention to the boxes and their contents. Although, my mind (being the dangerous and dark neighbourhood it often is) strays into the possibility he packed these boxes up specifically to rake my heart and spirit through the coals. He carefully put together collections of items and papers that would, once again, dredge up the sick and painful ache that until relatively recently throbbed whenever I thought of the last several years of our shared life. But the more realistic voice of the woman I am becoming (I really, really like her!) shrugs off these thoughts. Clearly my dark self was giving him far too much credit in actively plotting and conspiring even to not just break my heart but render it incapable of healing. No, he didn't plan what went in these boxes - - he just ignored what went in them.

I reach for one of the more recent boxes and realize that ignore is truly the operative in this situation. His new wife packed up this stuff -- at his request and direction. Apparently both she and I were under the impression he had sorted through the olio of books, photographs, letters and other papers for what he wanted or needed. As I set aside training materials for his career -- some of which are likely either 'protected' or 'classified' as his employer likes to label things -- I shake my head. I add to the 'give back' box photos of his family -- items from his youth that clearly have no place in my life and am almost knocked over by one letter that I know he once prized. It is a letter from his paternal grandmother -- a grandmother he did not meet until he was into adulthood and after he learned the man who actually contributed half the DNA that is HIM had died by suicide around the time Renfrew turned 18. This woman - whom he had sought out and taken long trips to visit - died when we were expecting our own child and I never had the pleasure of meeting her. A letter that contains her contribution to his search for his identity -- this letter is in a box packed up by his new wife and given to me as so much trash. I sigh and set the letter aside - knowing that it makes up a piece of the past that Renfrew spent his life trying to explain and sort out. That search may not seem so important while he is wrapped up in the intoxication of young love, but someday he'll get back to it.

Given that I knew I'd have several hours of only occasionally interrupted time, I took my paper shredder to the garage as a way to pass the time. If anyone had told me of the therapeutic uses for and healing powers of a paper shredder I would have thought they were grasping for another pop psychology miracle cure. But as I stood there sorting through old files and boxes, I discovered a freedom in the sound of the blades.

A folder marked 2002 revealed everything from cancelled cheques for my defunk law practice and paid household bills. As I pass the sheets of paper through the intermeshing blades watching them come out the other side in thin slips of paper I feel strangely peaceful. Like finally throwing out those notes from my first year universities courses once I'd graduated from my professional degree. Unpacking those boxes and putting the contents to rest has brought up feelings I've been ignoring -- probably because I wasn't ready to process them. I think they are ready to be taken out, set in the light, examined and recycled now -- at least I sincerly hope so.