HERE ARE 10 WAYS FOR TIRED MOMS OF TEENS TO FIND THEIR ENERGY AGAIN

I have seen many posts out there about how tired moms are and I felt the urge to write about self-care. This is not me giving you advice while standing on a pedestal. This is me saying I get it, I’ve been there. Let me share with you what I have done that has helped me feel less tired, but also what I’m still working on today. This is me letting you off the hook because as moms, we rarely do this for ourselves.

Here are the top 10 ways that help me to become less tired.

1). Saying NO.

Yes, an oldie but a goodie. I know, you have heard this so many times before. But there is nothing more empowering and invigorating than saying no. Whether it is to your teenage son who wants to go away for the weekend and spend money you just don’t have or your husband who wants a four-course meal when you want to order in pizza or a friend who wants to go to lunch. Just say no! No explanation needed. The funny thing about saying no is that it helps you to have enough energy to say yes next time.

2). Cutting yourself off from toxic people.

This can be a friend, a relationship or a parent. Toxic people are energy vampires and those who create drama, are super competitive or are just not supportive, are draining our energy whether we know it or not. Cut the cord! It may be uncomfortable at first, but you will see your energy start to come back in spades.

10 ways for moms to feel a new sense of energy

3). Let go of the “Super Mom” image.

I hate whoever created the Super Mom image. Ok, hate is a strong word, but I strongly despise whoever decided we should do it all, and with a smile and perfect hair. YUCK! No thank you. Give me black leggings with a hole in them and the notion that being imperfect is being human.

4). Celebrate small.

If you want to throw an elaborate graduation party, inviting half the school- go for it. Some people do enjoy entertaining. But if you are tired, and trying to remember if you even ordered your senior’s cap and gown (me), then it is ok to celebrate small. Bigger is not always better.

5). Pat yourself on the back.

This is my pat on the back for you. We just don’t do this enough for ourselves. Make a list of all the great things you have done for your family. Read it daily. We all need a reminder.

6). Me time.

I have always needed me time. I decided long ago, I would take it. If I didn’t Mr. Hyde would emerge, and my husband would look at me with that knowing look in his hide. He would utter, “Honey, why don’t you take an hour to go do something fun? And please bring back Dr. Jekyll – that possessed look in your eyes is scaring me.”

The key for me was not only taking me time, but also letting go of the guilt. “Me time” includes watching a funny movie, a show on Netflix, a walk by myself, a glass of wine, a soft ice cream cone with rainbow sprinkles (substitute any topping).

7). Gratitude.

Nothing invigorates me more than reciting what I am grateful for. It is a great way to change our mood, and let go of things that just don’t matter – especially worries that drain us.

8). Vacation.

For some time, my husband and I decided we would forgo vacations. We knew college was coming, and so was the need to have an excessive amount of money on hand, for our children to live somewhere else in order to drink excessively. Ok, I know that is not the reason they go to school – I hope you can hear the sarcasm in my voice – I must need a vacation!

Do not forgo these – whether you take a weekend or a week. When you just get away – it works to energize us. Often changing our location, changes our state, which changes our energy.

9). Have a good cry.

Sometimes it can happen organically, other times, we need to bring it on. Put on a sad song or even better, put on the Notebook (actually any Nicholas Sparks movie will do). Crying relieves so much tension, which gives us more energy.

10). Ask for help.

Ouch! I know. Many of us are not used to doing this – asking for help. I used to do it in a round about whining, nagging sort of way that did not work. It usually backfired. Now, I sit down, and ask for someone’s attention. I look them in the eye, and let them know how I am feeling. That I need help. Every time I do this, it works. They didn’t feel nagged upon, and I felt my energy come back like I was sucking up air from a pump.

I hope at least one of these things will work for you. You deserve to feel less tired and enjoy your life 100% no matter what you have going on. You matter.

 

Originally Featured on Grown & Flown – Where Parenting Never Ends. You May Find the link here.

 

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One Spoonful, One Single Act of Kindness

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It was 1977. I was scared, but I knew I was in a good place. Surrounded by 10 other girls my age, I was just dropped off at summer camp for the first time. I was a shy, but athletic kid. I could overcome my social awkwardness by kicking one of those slightly squishy oversized red balls over the heads of the most hopeful of outfielders. Always, I was the first picked for any teams, and the fastest runner. Yet, none of my strength or speed helped that late morning, when I first stood at the foot of my bed, watching many of the other girls, laughing and reuniting from last summer.

It was a moment of relief, when one of my counselors walked over to me, sensing how I was feeling. “I’m Gina,” she said, pointing to her name tag. I smiled, shyly. “Come on, let’s go meet the other girls.” I let her lead me over to the group, still feeling awkward, but joining in a game of jacks. By the end of the morning, I was already feeling better, thanks to Gina. At that moment, I could not know that 10 days later, Gina would reach out to me again, in the moment I would need it most.

As a former recruiter, I know you can only find so much about a person before you hire them. You ask questions, scan resumes, but in the end you must make assumptions that you hope are right. Most of the time, you get it right – but not always. Some people look good on paper or over the phone, but do not end up being the best fit for a job. Others – you don’t realize just how good they are. That summer at camp, I had both. An incredible counselor, Gina, and a less than optimal one, Nancy.

It was about 10 days into camp (so 10 months), and we were all sitting around our dining table. Servers, who were also bunkmates, were moving back and forth, bringing bug juice, cups, plates, and whatever dinner was prepared that evening. I was a picky eater. No worries. There was always peanut butter and jelly on the table – my favorite.

Dinner that night was some sort of meat. I think it was pot roast -not my favorite. I went to reach for the peanut butter and jelly, the loaf of soft white bread, glistening against the wooden table. Nancy stopped me in my tracks, “No!” She uttered, grabbing my hand. Nancy liked to exert control over us, because she could. Her moods affected her action more than common sense. More often than not, she made up her own rules. We did not know when and where she was going to strike, but when she did, we listened. I took my hand back like I had been burned, and held it in my lap.

Tears sprung to my eyes at the thought of going hungry, or worse having to eat the pot roast. But it was more than that. I was tasting the feeling of fear upon my tongue. I knew that feeling well, as it was a familiar feeling at home, one akin to walking on eggshells. Sometimes the mood was better, and you felt free to be yourself, but then the rules could change in a heartbeat, and you got burned.

But this was camp, my safe place. Yet, there I sat, helpless, my plate empty, waiting for Nancy’s emotions to calm, and her need for control to pass. There I sat, helpless, trying to make myself invisible in a room full of screaming campers, feeling scared and alone as I did that first day. 

Problem was, dinner was ending, and having run around all day, I was really hungry, and afraid to speak up. It was then, I felt it. A tap on my knee. I looked beneath the table, and there was a hand. It was Gina’s. Her fingers held on to a spoon, filled with peanut butter. I realized in that moment, I was not the only one afraid of Nancy. We are never alone – we just think we are.

I looked up at Gina, as if that spoon was a scalpel and we were about to do surgery. She nodded at me. Take it. her eyes pleaded. I nodded back, and took the spoon, got up from the table, away from Nancy’s disapproving eyes. I hid in the corner, eating that spoonful of peanut butter, feeling both shame and relief. Feelings that would fight for bragging rights over the course of most of my life, until I would finally name them both.

As I reach into the my memory box, clearing away some of the cobwebs to come up with the details of this story, I admit to not even remembering if Nancy is her real name, while Gina’s name, I will never forget.

If Gina had not reached out to me, I could have gone a bit hungry that night, but probably not. Nobody went hungry at camp. We were likely getting canteen, candy in an hour or two, or making s’mores by the campfire. But she did, and it meant more to me than she will ever know. She reached out to me, not knowing the impact. 

There were many people in my life, that went on to hand me spoonfuls of peanut butter. My incredible life long friends, my dear husband, my former kind and patient boss, my children and my dogs – all scoops of peanut butter. Playing cards with my father when I was sick, sitting on the grass in the college quad with my wonderful poetry professor, laughing till our sides ache with my husband – all scoops of peanut butter. I have even learned how to scoop my own peanut butter with a nap on the beach, a walk through a wooded path, a funny movie and a warm fire on a icy winter morning.

Summer camp, as it turned out would become one big scoop of peanut butter after another, a place even my daughters would eventually call home, many years later.

I am sure Gina would not remember that night, or knew the impact of such a small act of compassion. Just as we do not know if our smile at a stranger or a quick text to a friend could brighten their day, or even prevent him from hurting himself. Kindness can have more of an impact than abuse, hatred and drama – especially when someone has been the recipient of both. One spoonful, one single act of kindness – so simple and yet so meaningful. We can all impact each other, choose how we connect. Why not choose kindness?

Today, I sometimes wonder where Gina is – if she has a family, what jobs she took on, if she travelled as a single warrior woman, or made a home, nestled in the security of suburbia. I would like to think she is still handing out spoonfuls of peanut butter wherever she goes.

15 SILLY (BUT VERY REAL) QUESTIONS ALL MOMS ASK THEMSELVES

As a parent of a teen, I often find myself wondering, am I missing anything with my teenage daughters? Should I be asking more questions? And then I think, of course I am missing something; I am human. The trick is to not miss the really important stuff that could happen to any of our children – depression, bullying, drug use. And I do always remind myself to ask the important questions.

Is she ok? Is he happy? Do I need to intervene?

And then there are the not so important questions that probably come up as a mom of teens, more often than we realize. It seems as the years go by, and our children grow up and change, we change, too. And like we had to pick our battles with our toddlers, when raising teens, it is healthy to let go our perfectionism and rules. But, letting ourselves off the hook can result is some strange and often funny questions we may not even realize we are asking ourselves. The ones we probably don’t ask out loud.

The questions all moms ask themselves

Here are just a few of the questions I have come to know well that all go on inside my head:

1. After stumbling upon a pile of clothes, unfolded, stuffed in our teenager’s drawer. Are these dirty or clean? If they are dirty, will it kill her to wear it again

2. Is it ok that the swear word my teenage daughter uses most, is the same one I use most?

3. While lying on the couch exhausted and I cannot get up, is it hypocritical to have pizza delivered two nights in a row when I keep reminding my teens to eat healthy?

4. Do I really need to shower every day? I mean, wasn’t deodorant specifically invented for this circumstance?

5. If I think for half a second that I am being followed on the way to the grocery store does that mean I should stop binge-watching Homeland? Is this what our kids feel like on a regular basis?

6. Is, “worrying whenever my teen goes out at night induced insomnia,” a diagnosable syndrome?

7. Maybe ketchup can count as a vegetable if we are pressed for time and did not have a chance to go to the market to pick up salad stuff. Did anyone actually hear me think that?

8. Am I completely misusing and taking advantage of the black leggings fashion trend if I wear them every day?

9. Why do I not like how much my teenagers are on the phone, but text them a lot more than is necessary? (Even while they are in class)

10. Am I weird if the last thing I think about at night is, will Reese Witherspoon will make another movie soon? I mean, come on, didn’t you see Legally BlondeWildWalk the Line?

11. Does keeping up with the Joneses have to include always buying organic, having a shed free dog like a Goldendoodle or Cockapoo, or debating vaccine use? Spoiler alert: dog hair is sometimes a condiment in our house.

13. If I don’t mind catching a cold, and then needing to stay in bed for two days, having my husband care for me, is this bad? Does this count as a sexual fantasy?

14. Did anyone actually see me wearing this outfit yesterday?

15. Can my Amazon Prime membership get revoked from overuse especially when our college sophomore has the login and pass code memorized?

Although, I have shared 15 of these sometimes silly but very real thoughts we as moms can have, I must admit, there are more.

But like many things, some things in life are truly better left unsaid.

– my essay – originally published on grownandflown.com

My Response to my 9-year-old son’s Statement: “Immigrants cause Cancer.”

My latest essay published on Elephant Journal:

 

My Response to my 9-year-old son’s Statement: “Immigrants cause Cancer.”

“Do you want to hear something funny, Mom?”

I glanced at my nine-year-old son, but was also busy fixing my rear-view mirror and adjusting the heat in the car.

Because we were running late for school, I was only half paying attention when he said, “Immigrants cause cancer.”

If I had taken a sip of coffee, I would have spit it out right then.

“Where did you hear that?” I asked, holding my breath. I mean, it could have been a myriad of places—another kid, who heard it from another kid, who heard it from his parents…or the internet, as turned out to be the case. In a YouTube video.

While the video itself is clearly intended to be humorous, I was dumbfounded. I immediately replied to my son, who I adopted from Russia, “Did you know that you are an immigrant?” I paused to let that sink in. “And there are many reasons why that statement is not funny. Let me explain.”

Stunned, my son sat in complete silence.

In that moment, I realized there are so many things a nine-year-old just doesn’t understand. Most children his age are only just trying to grasp the nature of our world, and nowadays, it is right there in front of them to take in. Donald Trump has created the newest form of reality TV—he and his policies are everywhere.

Now, should my nine-year-old be watching YouTube uncensored? Maybe not. Which begs the question, should he even be anywhere within 10 feet of the TV when we are watching CNN, Stephen Colbert, or Saturday Night Live? Because there is hardly a difference anymore.

Technology has brought the outside world into our homes. And a big part of the outside world, at least in America, is “The Donald Trump Show.”

No matter how much we would like to shelter our children so that they can one day create their own objective views of the world when they’re old enough to actually form them based on higher learning, we simply can’t.

As parents, most of us have been sucked into “The Donald Trump Show,” regardless of which side we are on. We toss our opinions around like a pizza, eventually dropping them on the counter, placing some good-tasting stuff on top, and hoping that someone agrees ours is the best one to sink their teeth into.

Politics is everywhere because of Donald Trump. Social media is everywhere, too, and our kids are learning how to navigate the world of technology at a very early age. The combination of these means that our children will hear things that are racist, biased, false, vindictive, and just plain mean. How can we expect our children to act responsibly online if our president won’t even do so? Or if their role models—athletes, movie stars, singers—post Instagram pictures showcasing how good they look in a bathing suit, as if that’s all that matters in life?

Well, we can, if we teach them the value our words and actions carry.

We are not going to change our world overnight, nor are we going to impeach our president anytime soon—and maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe the lessons we are all learning from this are invaluable.

Our children are growing up in the age of technology, and there is really no way around it. We, as parents, need to show them why our words matter. Posting should follow The Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Technology ensures that our words and pictures stay out there for more than a moment—and sometimes forever.

That morning, it didn’t matter that we were late for school. I pulled over to talk about why that video was hurtful. And it was a good lesson.

On my way home, I thought about censoring my son’s time online, which I already do because, well, the whole shorter attention span thing. And the addictive nature of technology. And the “stranger danger” worries. But he is not learning compassion for others from the internet; he is learning it at home. And he is making some mistakes, just as we did growing up (teasing someone without realizing its impact, for instance). Many of us grew into compassionate, responsible adults, and so will our children.

Taking away our children’s social media will just postpone the lessons they will learn. We do not take away the stove so they won’t burn themselves, or the stairs so they won’t trip. They will fall, and they will burn themselves, and they will learn the lesson, hopefully sooner rather than later, that words matter, that what we read online is usually just one person’s opinion, that there are people out there who are unhappy and in pain and lash out with criticisms and judgments online as a result. And there are those in power who have access to Twitter who are able to say whatever they wish to whomever they please.

What we can do, as parents, is teach our children the difference between right and wrong. To slow down and think about the impact their words might have on another. To remember the tenets of mindful speech.

Yes, our words matter, even if our president does not understand this truth. Allowing our children to learn this lesson early will help them become more aware about the nature and importance of responsible posting, texting, tweeting, and commenting. Preventing them access will just keep them in a bubble, which will inevitably burst.

 

 

You can find this essay on Elephant Journal, as well as other thought provoking articles.

https://www.elephantjournal.com/2018/01/my-response-to-my-9-year-old-sons-statement-immigrants-cause-cancer/

Choose Love

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Choose empowerment. We are not victims. We do not need to run. We are not helpless. We need to take back our power. There is not one candidate who will magically change our lives or our country. It is an inside job. We do it within ourselves. We do it within our families. We all have the choice.

Choose love. Tell your daughters how beautiful, strong and smart they are. Tell them today and everyday. Teach your sons how to honor women, treat them dignity and respect. Enlighten all our children that it is not the color of our skin, our sexual orientation or where we pray that depicts our humanness, but how much love and compassion we show one another. 

Choose compassion. Today be that much more compassionate, patient and helpful to one another. Look for the highest in everyone you see, whether it is on a grocery store line, or listening to the next President of the United States.

Choose hope. We are all entitled to our choices. We need to treat another’s opinion with respect. There is a bigger picture and everything is here to help us. Sometimes our foundation needs to be cracked in order to let in more light.

 

Turn off the television, get quiet and ask yourself. “What can I do to be the change I want to see in the world?” If you need faith, ask for it. All the answers are inside of us.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” Martin Luther King, Jr.

Our thoughts, feelings and actions today create the world of tomorrow. Today, I see a world of hope, love and compassion. What do you see?

Help Another, Help Ourselves

 

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I have a love/hate relationship with social media. There is always a time and place for it. A new funny video or update from a friend I haven’t seen in years – these are the things I love. Needing our phones, endlessly checking emails, feeling the constant pull towards the internet – these are the things I hate. I guess it is like everything else in this world, it is up to us to be responsible with how much we indulge. Just as we can drink an entire bottle of wine in one sitting, we can spend hours and hours perusing Facebook. These days, I chose to sip a nice cup of Java, and browse here and there. It was one of these mornings a few weeks back, that I opened up Instagram for a quick taste.

With my daughter having just started her freshman year at Penn State, I decided to follow their Instagram as a way of connecting with her life. Just last week, I came across a picture that was posted before the first football game. It depicted instruments lying on the vacant football field, a stark contrast against the backdrop of mist rising above the morning dew. The caption read, “Instruments at rest, countdown to game day is on.”  As I have always been an empathic person, I often feel things deeply, sometimes well before they are even occurring. For instance, I can feel the excitment on Friday afternoons, and the dread of Sunday nights, whether I am working these hours or not. I can even sense more personal feelings, as I tap into another person’s sadness who walks by, and know when I walk into a room, the mood of most who gather there.

So it was not unusual that I instantly felt the excitement that many Penn State fans feel before an upcoming game. I could imagine it all. Students huddled together in excitement, their faces decorated with blue and white paint, alongside the local fans preparing for their first tailgating adventure of the season. It was coming, arriving within days, and I could feel it all. I smiled. Excited for what was to come for a very accurate description of what would be a fun filled Saturday for Happy Valley.

I sat in bliss, and decided to scroll down, read the comments on that Instagram post.  There were a few comments about the band’s instruments, the upcoming game, and good wishes from adorning fans. I smiled, and then I read the last comment. At first I was confused, like I had just seen someone I knew, but in an unfamiliar setting. But then, I refocused, and gave myself time to incorporate what I was reading. It was a plea from a father. The plea was for money, to help his son, Gabriel, who was fighting a rare form of brain cancer.

What a contrast from what I was feeling a minute ago. Grief, desperation and shock rumbled through my belly in a tightness that I knew was felt by his father on a daily basis. A few deep breaths, and I was back to myself, sitting in my living room, pondering my choice of what to do at that moment. For it was not but a few minutes before that I set my intention for the day. I asked for a day that is filled with joy, peace, health and abundance. I asked to follow my heart, open my awareness and to continue to honor my intuitive gifts. Beyond asking, I added words of appreciation for all I have, guidance for myself and my family. And lastly, I asked, if there is someone who needs my help today, please put them in my path. So right then, I knew Gabriel was put in my path.

I copied the link, read his story, and then I donated.

Why Gabriel? There are millions suffering from poverty, disease and mental illness. Because life will hand you what you are to help out with, especially when you ask for it each morning. We do not ever have to go looking for it, but we need to slow down enough to see it.

As I closed out the Instagram post, I could not overlook the name. Gabriel, often a angel messenger who helps watch over the young, and the creative. As I always ask for my children to be watched over, and my writing to be created in the highest light and love, there was Gabriel acknowledging it all.

But what about the boy, Gabriel? Was he not watched over? Why did he become sick? I sat and thought about the contrast in so many peoples lives at any given time. Some are deciding which stove to buy for their kitchen, what to wear for the first day of school, and some are fighting for their lives. Someone receives a promotion and another gets fired.This is our world. This is life. But it goes beyond that. Our world is out of control. All we need to do is turn on the news and see the latest terrorist attack, a tragedy or a senseless shooting.

Living in our world can get overwhelming and we can either become inundated or we can turn a blind eye to everything. Adding to it, most of us are too busy or overwhelmed in our own lives to think about helping others. We are bombarded with information, events, coming at us at all times. We don’t have time to breathe, much less help out another. Yet, the way to breathe easier and slow down, is to ask each morning to help another and then see who is put in our path. When we help another, we always benefit. We leave our immediate world. We feel good. We stop the thoughts in our head, the constant information, and we spring into action. We connect with others in a meaningful way. We begin in the smallest of ways, to change our world.

It does not matter how we help. If we are guided to donate to a cause, then donate. If we get the feeling we should help someone cross the street or fill another’s parking meter, then do that. Maybe helping is about saying a prayer for all who suffer, or telling a person she is beautiful or he is smart. Your gut will tell you when its right and when its not. Perhaps your child just needs to hear your voice, and that is answering a call for help.

Slowly, when asking each day to help another, the beginnings of love and peace will emerge as a small space in our chaotic world. The way to make a difference is to start with one person, which automatically becomes two. For helping another is the surest way to help ourselves. It will happen. We can make a difference one random, or not so random, act of kindness at a time.

Not convinced? According to an article in the Huffington Post, “Giving back has an effect on your body. Studies show that when people donated to charity, the mesolimbic system, the portion of the brain responsible for feelings of reward was triggered. The brain also releases feel-good chemicals and spurs you to perform more kind acts — something psychologists call “helper’s high.”

I do not know why Gabriel has become ill, but I do know life put him in my path that day. Why not ask who can you help today?

 

Count Your Blessings

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We have all heard the saying count your blessings.  Be grateful.  Appreciate what you have.  Say thank you. Sometimes this feels fake. Does it not?  When we are having a bad day, or things do not go as we had hoped. When we lose someone we love, become ill, have a child that struggles socially, or just don’t have the life we want, we don’t want to appreciate what we have! And at that moment, we shouldn’t. We are not ready.

It is not the time to count our blessings but to become brutally honest, and shout,”Wow, this sucks!  I do not like this at all.” Allow ourselves to feel lonely, sad, pissed off, as deeply and thoroughly as possible.  To be disappointed, frustrated, jealous, heartbroken. To leave judgment aside, and stop labeling our emotions as good or bad. If we are angry, be freaking angry or unbelievably sad. Scream, punch pillows, be a bitch. Most of us, don’t allow ourselves to feel. Instead, we want to blame someone else because we don’t like what we are feeling. Sometimes it is another person, or even God that we blame. Yet, hiding, judging, blaming or denying our feelings is what keeps these emotions hanging around like an unwanted house guest. And we never actually get to count our blessings.

Just this week, I was given a chance to feel the gamut of human emotions. I allowed them to come and go like a summer sun shower. At the end of the week, after a particularly long day, I sat and watched my son, Drew, in his Tae Kwon Do class. Having struggled with gross motor coordination, he has progressed beautifully, and watching him attempt to follow Master Kwon was beautiful. Yet, I was distracted, as news of my daughter’s torn ACL ligament was fresh in my mind, and a mother’s worry about an serious injury, trumps roundhouse kicks. Emotions such as anger, frustration, fear, sadness, disbelief took their turn, emerging from my heart in succession. In fact, I was so completely engrossed in details of picking up her pain medications, scheduling surgery, canceling college soccer ID camps, I did not notice a boy, much older than Drew, who had run off the mat, crying, until he was right next to me. The boy sat huddled in a ball so tight, it seemed he wanted to disappear. After a few minutes of encouragement by his mother and instructor, the boy returned to class, leaving behind tears imprinted upon his mother’s heart.

I was about to go back to the mindless chatter in my head, but life had other plans. The  boys’ mother spoke to me, as she wiped away her own tears.”He had a brother who was eighteen years old.  He died a year ago.”  She pointed to her younger son, now back out on the mat. I observed his arms folded protectively in front of his chest, adamantly protesting his participation in class. “He has never been the same,” she added, before turning away.

I knew her wounds were still fresh, a year is drop in the bucket when it comes to losing a child. Without trying, I pushed aside my worries and listened compassionately. I did not know what it would be like to lose a child at the tender age of eighteen, but I offered up the information how Drew struggled when he first started class, and how great the instructors had been with him. I explained his sensory processing disorder. How his confidence is often compromised because of all he has been through.

The mom then uttered,”Is that okay if I pray for your son?”

I was speechless.  How harrowing an experience she has been through, yet she was praying for my son. I thanked her, and could not gather my thoughts as before, nor could I tap into the feelings. I could only begin counting my blessings. There are no accidents. I had allowed myself eight hours of worry, anger, sadness and honest frustration at life. And now it was time to see the gift life had just planted in my lap. The gift of remembering that life happens when we are making other plans. And sometimes what happens in life is shitty, and sometimes it is horrific. It is not about denying our feelings, but being honest with ourselves.  And only through honesty, can we somehow become thankful for all that we have, come to know that it is not what happens to us in life, but how we react to it. And it is not about all that we do not have, but how beautiful and giving life is, no matter what we are feeling. How living life from this higher perspective, sends  a wave of appreciation out into the world, or at least to the person sitting next to you.

Of course, we cannot rush it – that moment of appreciation will appear when we are ready.   It may take eight hours or eight years. Grief will run its course as our the tears we shed, wash away all that clouds our vision, until we begin to know how lucky we all truly are. How crappy things are often dressed up in an ice pack of pain, yet honesty reduces the swelling of unfortunate events, until we allow ourselves to open our eyes to what is next for us. How there is a time for everything, and if we do not get there on own, life will help us out. We often have little control in this life, but we can make the choice to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

I did silently pray for both the mother next to me, and her son. And then I thought about how I could ruminate on all that my son is not, or I could admire his strengths, his gifts and the beautiful person that he is.  I could focus on the hill that my daughter will be climbing, all she may be missing, or I could bring to mind what life may be bringing to her during her recovery – opportunities she may not have had, new experiences, and a strength deep inside that she had never before witnessed.

We can never know what life has in store for us, and we can say, “Really life?  Is this the best that you got?” And then we can say, “thank you.” For our hidden treasures are often wrapped in a tattered quilt, and when we spend the time expressing our hearts no matter what, life will drop a beautiful gift into our laps. And when we are ready, we can open it, and at the right moment, give it away to someone else.