Fear of Writing

Fear's a funny thing. It can paralyze you or it can set you free. Yesterday, Dawn and I sat together for a few hours, and in between the laughter, and the concern over our fathers and their health, we loaded up a year's worth of 4Gaby essays on to the Amazon Kindle format (buy here - no need to pretend we don't want you to, of course we want you to) as a book.

The last few years have had their rough patches. I've lost a number of loved ones, and encountered other life changing issues along the way. But all that fear, and anxiety, and worry really has caused me to refocus my life. I no longer fret over the little stuff, and I don't really worry so much. The treasures of life come along, sometimes in the midst of the pain, and encountering the pain helps us realize the treasures when they happen. It has been a treasure to develop and deepen friendships with Dawn, Sheilah, and Mary. It has been a treasure to write and share.

I always had a secret fantasy of writing. Now, let's not confuse my idea of writing, and the word fantasy. Unlike Ah-nold, I don't think my children need to read about my sex life or my failings, and I have no secret children. Plus the only maid around here is me. And I have no 50 Shades of fantasies twisting along in my mind. Chains should have gold and diamonds and not be used for unusual, umm - never mind. But I love the idea of writing as a way of sharing the world, and Mary, Dawn, and Sheilah are so incredibly talented that it's an honor to share it with them. 

Along the way, I've found that fear no longer paralyzes me. You can't fail unless you try, so here's our book - On the Road With 4Gaby (linked again, just in case you missed the first begging, err, request), and our blog continues, and so does life. We thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read. Life loses fear when friendship is there, and no road is hard when friendship travels with you. Thank you, dear ones.

Friendship for the Aged...I Mean AGES

Mommy, I want a sister!!!!!!!!! If I said that once, I said it a thousand times to my poor Momma!! Sandwiched between two brothers, I saw other girls as my version of Mecca - somebody to play dolls with, borrow clothes, whisper about boys, anything other than hearing again about how I couldn’t catch a ball to save my life. Of course I was too young to understand what I understand now. When adults say no, it's not just to be mean. Often there are underlying reasons. Like most children, I wanted what I wanted and I just wanted a sister. But I do have a sister, actually a couple of sisters. Both of them celebrate their birthdays this month and both have known me forever...or it might seem that way to them. We've had our ups and downs just like sisters do, but we also know each other’s secrets – the good, the bad, the sad, and the joyous.  We know things that only we can share like how it was growing up and we know where we hid things in our bedrooms. We know how it felt to be madly in love with xxx, and how dang grateful we are that God didn’t make him reciprocate the love. Heartaches and triumphs have been shared along the way and I would never trade either for a blood sister.

True friendship should and does have an acceptance - the quirks, the faults, the kindnesses all go hand in hand with who we are as people. They have made me a better person, and the laughter has been most excellent.

Count on me to end with a quote by an author who wrote about Pirates:

"A friend is a present you give yourself." Robert Louis Stevenson

Oh, and maybe a cartoon:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I pray my children are blessed with such friends.

Masking the Grief

When Evelyn and I get together, as we did this past weekend to celebrate her birthday, we can hit fifty different subjects within an hour. I’m talking female domination (does that exist anywhere?), to world peace, Presidential hopefuls, taxes, college tuition and of course, our children and families. We know each other as well as sisters, having known each other since preschool age. Although our histories are separate, they have been shared for four decades. No one knows us better with the exception of our Mothers. Being with her soothes my grey cells. I can let my hair down and let loose with my opinions, and I can feel what I feel and let it show. I don’t have to wear a mask.


July is an up and down month for me, I celebrate the gift of my best friend within that month, but I also mark the anniversary of my Mama’s death. She died July 5, 1998 in my living room from complications of Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, or COPD for short. I had brought her to my home that morning from my sister’s home. The plan was to give my sister a break from care-giving and I welcomed the opportunity to do so, not just to help my sister, but because I love my Mama and she gave me so much. But just like Mama, she had other plans, and other places to go.


At nine o’clock that evening, just as “Touched by an Angel” (a popular TV show in the 90’s) was going off the air with its signature dove flying off into a sapphire blue sky, Mama flew away home. My husband called 911 while I administered CPR. The rest is a blur. Emergency Medical Techs surrounded me and took over while my not quite one-year-old daughter slept unaware upstairs. I had phone calls to make to my two sisters and my brother. My husband’s parents came over to lend their support, pitch in with our daughter if needed, and above all, to surround us with the grace that only love can give. So I don’t care much to be in my living room on any given July Fifth, and when I wake up on that morning it’s like some hateful mechanism goes off in my being, squeezing my heart and reminding me of what I’ve lost.


A few weeks after the funeral I was told I shouldn’t grieve, a year later I was asked why I dwelled on it so, and the years have rolled by with comments, meant to bring comfort, but judging. “You need to get on with your life.” Life has gone on. My daughter will be fourteen this year, my shadow and junior lady, and I have a beautiful blue-eyed son who wasn’t even a glimmer when my Mama died. I do what I need to do, I laugh, I work, I help with homework, drive endless miles for the children’s activities, I do not dwell on my Mother’s passing, but I cannot forget it or act as if the loss means nothing. Such a tremendous part of my strength comes from my Mama. My love of music, my gut instincts (which Mama had in spades) my fierce watchfulness over my children and my appreciation for friends are just a tip of what Mama gave to me by example. She was my truest friend, my most righteous defender, and my biggest critic. She breathed for me and for every one of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I do not dwell on her loss, but I miss her like a phantom limb, once a part of me, now apart.


While I was with “Girlfriend” (Evelyn’s term of endearment for both of us) we talked about Evelyn’s Momma, who lost her own mother three years ago. Evelyn’s Momma had her own Momma for seventy-seven, and she misses her every day. She still wants to call her to brag, or just talk, after seventy-seven years. I figure that if Evelyn’s Momma feels that way, I’m justified as well. Evelyn knows what I’m talking about; her essay "Miss NonCongeniality" in our July 4gaby issue pretty much hit home. I can’t pretend not to feel what I feel AND make “chitty chat.” If you see me a little red-eyed, or catch me listening to Sarah McLachlan’s “I Will Remember You” in the month of July, don’t worry. I’m getting on with my life, I’m too busy not to, but I won’t wear a mask to make others comfortable. My Mama always told me to be myself.






(And just because I'm being myself, don't forget to check out my other blog, Losing Mary at http://losingmarycarman.blogspot.com/ Thank you.)

Monday, Monday, Monday...

My cake...21 years ago...

Yes, I am fully cognizant (thank God) of the fact that I am posting a blog titled, "Monday, Monday, Monday..." on a Friday. But Monday is my birthday and it’s funny how your focus heads straight to a birthday no matter what your age. When we're young we're so excited for the day - another year older, more possibilities, more responsibility, more permission, presents and my personal favorite always - cake. As we get older we realize that less responsibility would be nice, I don't really need your permission, less presents would mean fewer bills, and I find myself searching for a low carb birthday cake that tastes good (good luck with that).

Hubby is a bit of a party pooper when it comes to birthdays (ours, not the kids), something he will readily admit. He just doesn't see the need for a celebration. I, however, have often pointed out to him that I would prefer to party like its 1999, which coincidentally coincides with my having a good figure, and no gray hair. So thank goodness, Mary is coming to celebrate my birthday a couple of days early. There's something to be said for someone in your life that you can hear the opening chord of a song and start laughing together (I should really tell y'all the story of "American Pie" by Don McLean some time). We will kick back tonight the way you do with people that you are completely comfortable with – and that you will never haggle over an inheritance with. We will laugh until tears roll down our faces, talk until we drive hubby back to his man cave, and completely, completely be Mary and Evelyn, not wife, Momma, chauffeur… and it will be glorious!

A very wise woman once said that if you have just a few true friends in your life, then you are blessed. I am blessed that her daughter is one of my true friends. I had another kick me in the gut day this week sorta like what I referenced in my essay, “Miss NonCongeniality”. But I got through it… with a little help from my friends. As we get older those kick me in the gut days can happen pretty fast and furious, but the kick back days, they really, really help. So if you’re around tonight and you wanna see some serious kick back going on, stop in. My house will be the one with the music blaring and the raucous laughter by two women who do NOT look our age, and we dang sure won’t be acting it…tonight. 

The Fairytale, The Terrorist, and The Reality.

By Dawn Tolson and Mary Alford-Carman

 

As a group of four unique individuals, two Grits, a Brit and a Yank, we've shared a maelstrom of events within the past seven days. We've seen the highs of jubilation, the depths of evil, and the reality of loss.

During the Royal Wedding we watched in awe as a fairytale unfolded. A prince took a commoner for a wife and made her his princess in a manner unsurpassed by the United Kingdom. The beginning of a life together celebrated by a nation and shared by the world; it was stunning. In the span of 48 hours the media blitz began again with the death of a terrorist. Celebrations of a sort ensued, albeit at the other end of the spectrum. The worlds most wanted man was finally eliminated, bringing to an end an almost ten year search for justice.

But what does that mean to us? The reality is that most of us will never walk within the walls of Buckingham Palace (unless we've purchased a ticket), and while we may never experience personally the tragedy of terrorism, we are all aware that we could be one airplane flight away from the horror. The great leveler for all of us is loss.

No matter who you are or where you are, you will grieve the loss of a loved one. Within these past seven days, one of our own lost her Mom to Alzheimer's. For some of us, this has been a reminder of what has already been lost and for others, a mirror into what is yet to come.

The events of the world go on around us, and they always will, but for the moment, we pause in the reality of loss.

My Royal Indulgence

By Mary Alford-Carman

The closest I ever came to Royalty was in my Mother's womb. When she was expecting me, my Mama and Daddy were in Canada at the opening of the Saint Lawrence Seaway. (I'm not mentioning the year; you can Google it at your own risk!) They stayed at the same hotel where Queen Elizabeth II was and Mama was lucky enough to be in the lobby when The Queen entered. I used to love hearing that story. The Queen stopped when she saw my Mama (huge with me) and gave Mama time to snap a photo. I figure I come by my love of all things English honestly, having been so influenced in the womb. With that, I have to admit, "My name is Mary and I am an Anglophile."

With the wedding of Will and Kate coming up this month, I'm beside myself with happy anticipation of the event. I have the morning planned. I'll be up before the crack of dawn with the TV. Not only will I be watching the event, but while I'm watching I'll be recording it. Knowing my girlfriend Evelyn like I do, we'll both be on and off the phone with each other during the ceremony and after, loving every moment of it.

My book collection has a large section of all things English. The Six Wives of Henry the Eighth, A History of the Monarchs of England, and then the lite reads like The Other Boleyn Sister, along with every magazine that had Diana on the cover, just to name a few. I watched Princess Anne's wedding, Charles and Diana's, Fergie and Andrews, Prince Edward's and what little was shown of Charles and Camilla's. These types of events are the ultimate escape from Mommydom and the recession. During the depression, the golden set of Hollywood and the outrageous gilded movies were the ultimate, elevating the dreariness of the day to day grind and in many cases despair. While I'm lucky to have a roof over my head and all of the things our family needs, it's still been a penny-pinching time, especially with the rising price of gas. Why not enjoy the wedding? I know it's frivolous. I know it will never be my reality, but for a little while I can pretend to be a guest at the most fabulous of weddings before I have to go and clip more coupons. In my mind, what's not to like?

Getting Through by Mary Alford-Carman

I got a call from an acquaintance who read “Inside An Empty Womb,” the essay I wrote for our 4gaby.com online magazine and I was touched beyond belief. We had worked together during the summer for the U.S. Census and had briefly connected, sharing our thoughts on motherhood, working and juggling schedules. She didn’t know that I had gone through the infertility process, and she was going through it for the second time around. Her first attempts were similar to mine, but she did have a child who is now a five-year-old son. They want to have another baby, and the process, while still daunting, has them excited for the future.

What caught her attention in my essay was the mention of mood swings and of the loss of a baby so dreamed about and wanted. She told me that reading the words left her feeling validated. She still mourned a loss that no one ever saw, but felt that given the opportunity she wouldn’t have changed a thing. In the day-to-day of parenting, the loss of a baby before term had made her more grateful for the child she hugs today. She, too, had those who made comments that were less than compassionate after her loss. I asked her how she handled it and she told me most of the time she just walked away. There were times when she really had to bite her tongue, because she just couldn’t deal with their lack of kindness along with her loss.

We all go through horrific hard times in life, and many times we find the support we need around us. When we don’t, it shocks and causes hurt. Have you ever been in a situation where the support you hoped for wasn’t there, or worse still, was insensitive? How did you handle it? Who helped you through it?  Sometimes, when the chips are really down, who can you rely on to “get it” and help you get through?

Friendships Can Sing...or Hum

When I wrote the essay, "A Mockingbird Can Sing", I thought the main theme was prejudice and bigotry. But now I'm not so sure. Maybe the real theme to the essay is friendship. Friendship should be easy. It should not be based on the color of your skin or your religion or affluence. Friendship should come about because you are willing to take the time to get to know someone, and false barriers like skin color or someone else's opinion as to who is an appropriate friend, should not play into the construction of a friendship. Unfortunately we all often use external indicators as a road map to friendship. When I look at the people I am closest to, I actually have very little in common with most of them. I have friends who are married women with kids, living in the suburbs just as I am, but I have just as many who are single, divorced, no kids, grown kids, grandkids, older, younger, city, farm, no college, Northern, Canadian, British, atheist, Muslim, African-American, Asian, and on it goes. I even have several (dare I say it) men who are my dear friends. On paper, these are not my counterparts. In life, I would not trade anything for a true friendship. One of the beautiful women I reference at the end of the essay, once asked me, "Why do you let them say that to you? Walk away." She was talking about some bullying that was regularly occurring. Until she said that to me, it never occurred to me that I had a choice. She gave me a choice and also made me realize that just as prejudice knows no borders, kindness is not held hostage to one group of people. So sing, baby...unless you sound like I do...in which case you better just hum...softly...so you can keep all those friendships. Share your stories of unexpected friendships with us. What do you look for in a friend?

Don't Let the Grief Elves Steal the Holidays

Possibly the most touching card I will ever receive, with the exception of the handmade ones from our children, had my own signature on it. Now, I'm not the kind to send myself a card, and this was not an exception. Actually a friend had scanned in a card we had sent her fiancee a few years back and sent it to us with a note. We lost this dear man this year and she wanted us to know that he had treasured that card. The holidays can be so hard. Too many expectations, plus too little time or money equals disappointment (what - no diamonds, again? Really, dear!). But for anyone dealing with grief - fresh or not - the holidays can become a constant reminder of loss. Maybe it's that decoration given to you or the tradition that someone always participated in, or maybe it's just the absence of the presence of that person you love. I've lost several people the last few years though I'm blessed to still have my husband, my children, my parents, and more people I love than I can possibly name here. But the losses have brought with them a deeper empathy for others and their losses. It can be difficult to find joy, but in the memories there can also be a comfort, and in the sharing comes a peace and remembrance. So share with others how you feel and you may be surprised at the love you receive back. At the holidays, try not to let the grief elves steal the holidays from you...certainly not while the carb elves are busy stealing my waistline. And for Jim - GO VOLS!