Terry Scheller & Frida, two reasons to be grateful (Click to enlarge)
When my daughter was living at home, just after she was foster-placed as an 11 year old, fresh from her removal from her neglectful and abusive birth family and two subsequent broken fostering situations, I was all gung-ho to impart values to this child who couldn’t speak a discernible language and certainly had no experience with a value system which didn’t have to do with stealing or hoarding or manipulating to seek basic needs. It was the end of October, and I was already planning a grateful Thanksgiving complete with volunteering at a church to deliver Thanksgiving meals to shut-ins around St. Tammany parish. I printed the words to every song from the Wizard of Oz, as well as many old time standards designed to make every pre-teen lament, “Oh, mom” and insisted everyone in the house participate. We loaded the food, grabbed the maps and we were off.
It took a while, and I wouldn’t exactly say that the values-sharing with my daughter was lovingly embraced, but we did sing and we did laugh, and the two participating adults experienced the gratitude from those meal recipients. I felt so good I insisted upon this being our family tradition…until the program was dropped. Though I believe programs like this are the best reasons for gathering to raise voices and feelings in the name of a power greater than oneself, and I was sorry to find that after a couple of years the Thanksgiving meals-on-wheels, for whatever reason, would not be continued at the church, I was ever so grateful for the opportunity to experience joy…yes joy…for the hours we spent singing and delivering sustenance on those days during those early years of my daughter’s life with me.
My daughter is on her own now, living a life that I hope is touched with gratitude and joy. But I miss that tangible, in-your-face giving with my family, on a day which symbolizes gratitude. Perhaps I was cheating, though. I certainly got so much from it I might have been guilty of giving-cheating. On the other hand, is that such a bad thing?
“Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” The countless times I’ve been reminded of this has made me grateful for being exposed to John Lennon’s genius over and over again. And again Mr. Lennon reminds me the journey is the destination.
I meant to make daily posts leading up to Thanksgiving showing all the sweet and beautiful pets with their families that I have had the privilege to meet. Alas, I got sick. Yep, I’m not invincible. Oh, you knew that? Well, I’m just learning it…I’m a late bloomer. It started three weeks ago with a cold. I was so grateful for not being contagious and still being able to continue to work. A sore throat that I thought was the result of an exuberant New Orleans Saints win lingered. I was grateful that the sore throat didn’t keep me from more games, though not always live (I’m ever so grateful for my DVR!).
I was grateful that I did not have a fever, though one might have blown the little virus-y thingie out of me. Tired and head and joint achy but still not noticing I may have needed to rest more, I was grateful for all the opportunities to go on location to photograph all manner of dogs and people having fun. From the smallest adult dog I have ever petted – I was afraid to use all my fingers to touch what looked like a fragile head – to a year old Doberman Pinscher puppy in his dog-wheeled cart who had been shot, but who found his way to a most heroic and giving group (Dax’s House) who is rehabilitating him — my gratitude for all of these people and animals crowds the boundaries of any of my selfish angst.
More tired. A cough develops. Uh oh. I was the first of four biological daughters in a matriarchal family. Though my mother didn’t know it at the time, she would be very challenged by her children – especially her eldest- it would fill her with fear and anguish at one moment and relief and liberation at the next. I provided her with what I liked to tell her were learning opportunities. From Ukrainian descent, my family was a hardy people…not so I. If my friends had colds, I had tonsillitis. If my sisters had the flu my tonsillitis would hospitalize me. I am so grateful for a mother who loved me and cared for me regardless of my rebellious nature, regardless of the frivolous and dangerous decisions I made as a youngster and nevertheless survived due in part to her own indomitable spirit.
Now I’m so tired, the cough has escalated to brain-rattling, body-wracking, heart-stopping spasms. No fever. I’m thinking I can get a hold of this thing. If I had a fever I’d seek medical attention. I’m grateful that I have health insurance. I complain about the premiums and the skimpy therapeutic and dental care, but I have it. Not everyone does, though I hope this changes. I can see most doctors and get most pharmaceuticals for a nominal co-pay. I am ever so grateful for this. But I’m still thinking…why waste the co-pay when I can cure myself with a little rest. After all, I don’t have a fever. I re-schedule appointments. I am so grateful for those wonderful people who wished me well.
During this time I received news that a sweet and gentle man we knew first as a client then as a friend had given up his daily struggle with life near his friends and family. The taking of his life has filled me with such sorrow for the pain I didn’t know he had and for the inconsolable family he left to continue the journey without him. It made me wonder what I could have done…or what I could do for another who may be suffering a pain so deep and abiding that options seem non-existent. I wish I could have said that the first 50 years are the hardest. I wish I could have imparted the knowledge that all the prom kings and queens, all the seemingly successful business people, all the movie stars, all the people you admire for traits you think you don’t have suffer the same sorrow. I wish we could heal each other.
It’s the day before Thanksgiving. I’m planning to cook a big bountiful meal to share with whoever shows up. I begin to understand that I cannot cough my way through my kitchen duties and not contaminate the food. I cancel Thanksgiving. I am grateful no one was hanging their plans on my ability to cook. I’m grateful for their concern and their healing advice and energy. I love my friends like family and my family like friends and am grateful for them. I’m grateful for those I loved and have passed; I’m grateful for those I lost and now I’ve found; I’m grateful for those I never lost and still have; I love them all so.
I stay in bed on Thanksgiving and make plans to call my doctor on Friday. I’ve had the same doctor for thirty years. I don’t know what I’ll do when she retires. I love her. She’s seen me through my youth, adulthood, parenting and two careers. I’m grateful for her. But she’s not taking appointments on Friday.
Nurses are a special kind of person. I don’t know exactly what makes them tick, but I know they are every bit as skilled as physicians and have abilities quite different and in some ways more important than the medical doctor. The job description includes a certain attached compassion. Unlike a physician who may have been trained to detach in order to make decisions, a nurse’s job is to stay attached, to stay compassionate, to stay… I have had occasions to meet, to know, to love and experience the skills of nurses in my life. I have a sister-in-law who is one of these people. She’s even extra special as she knows homeopathic and naturopathic remedies to use with her registered nursing training. Oh, dear readers, she is very special.
We called her for advice. Though she is not geographically close enough to use all her healing skills, she asked questions and with their answers headed me off to an urgent care clinic which is open every day. I met more of those special people at the clinic. The feeling that my two hour wait would not have been so if I presented with a more serious malady oddly made me feel more comfortable. They were kind to me as I waited. I was grateful for that. These people give up their holiday weekends to care for folks like me who waited too long to seek care, and never once told me how stupid it was not to seek care sooner.
Which brings me to this 4AM-written-mega-post. Though the pharmaceuticals prescribed have unpleasant side effects, I’m grateful for the knowledge that I can take and do things to counter them. Pneumonia can be cured with a drug now. Who knew? When I had it as a child there was no drug for it. Hospitalization and fluids were the preferred cure. That time it must have been viral; this one was bacterial. There’s drugs for that. I’m grateful that I have averted an immediate diagnosis of Tuberculosis or cancer again. Yay!
I feel good enough to sit up and think. Oh my! Am I ever grateful for that! The cough is present but subsided so I can sleep, but have been weepy about my experiences of late so when I awakened with this feeling of belated Thanksgiving gratitude I wanted to let ‘er rip. You can get it too. Here’s what you do. The next time you awaken in the night, get up. Notice your surroundings. Do you live with a bird or two or more? Do they say, “Hi” when you stir? It fills me with a love that is indescribable. Walk through your house. Smile as you watch your dogs open lazy eyes and wag a sleepy tail in response to your night-time ramblings. Perhaps a younger dog will walk quietly with you in your meanderings. If you’re lucky it will be too late for your nocturnal cats’ wild partying and too early for their slow and lazy awakenings, but you’ll catch them cuddled with one another and you’ll know you’re not the only one grateful that moment.
And if you haven’t awakened all your friends and family yet, embrace them with your love. Visualize them in your tapestry surrounded by a loving protective light which is the embodiment of your life, for you are the product of their love and experiences. And if they are awake, hold them, love them, tell them. Try to have an It’s a Wonderful Life experince as often as you can. I’m grateful for mine.
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