LL Cool Mom

I had the honor of meeting and spending some time with Linda Larsen when she was the keynote speaker at our big yearly women’s heart event in February. I was charged with getting her to and from the airport, hotel, and venue and ended up spending even more time with her when she was stranded here for an extra night due to our West Texas winds — which, on that day, reached 100 mph and grounded all of the planes.

She’s a very funny person, a great conversationalist, and an excellent motivational speaker. If any of you have events where you need a keynote speaker, I would highly recommend that you visit her website and/or call her.

The REAL reason I like her, though? Is because she has the cajones to make a rap video like this one.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skZuQgSahdA[/youtube]

She is a marvelous, funny, warm, charismatic person.

What I want to know is why the general population sneers and scowls at happy people. Is it because they have forgotten how to smile and laugh and sometimes just be silly?

I was walking through the grocery store the other night while talking to Sharon on my cell phone and she was making me laugh so hard that my stomach hurt and I had to clutch the cart to remain standing. I wasn’t being loud. But it was very evident that I was happy and, at the moment, enjoying my life.

I got so many dirty looks! Just because I was smiling! And laughing! Fairly quietly, at that!

It made me sad for people who don’t have friends who can make them laugh until they are breathless. I mourned for whatever it is they have lost that prevents them from giggling over something silly, even if they’ve laughed over it a hundred times already.

And really? If they don’t have friends who can make them laugh, they probably also don’t have friends to call when they are sad or mad or just having a bad day. They don’t have friends who will set aside time out of their busy lives to answer the phone when their name shows up on the caller ID. They probably don’t have friends who graciously invite them into their homes to share in their lives and be part of their family.

It makes me sad for the people who scowled at me at the grocery store.

And it makes me even more thankful for my friends and all the silliness and laughter and love and comfort that is in my life because of them.

People

Brenda and I went to my hometown today to give a Heartcaring presentation to a physician’s office. We had a great time. The nice thing about working with your best friend is that work rarely feels like work. But getting out of town especially felt like a vacation despite the serious outreach work we were doing. We picked up my kids while we were there because unforeseen circumstances dictated that they come back home two days early. I’m not complaining. I missed them. I never sleep well when they are gone and I usually walk around feeling melancholy because it seems like there is so much energy missing from our household.

The drive there and back made for a long day and I was exhausted when we finally got home. Brad took one look at me and knew he would have to take us out if he planned on eating dinner tonight. We went to a diner that we rarely frequent because a)we forget it is there, and b) the food is only mediocre. But we have been eating out so much lately that we were desperate to do something different.

We sat down at a booth while waiting for our food and I noticed an old couple sitting in the booth in front of us. I would almost swear that I saw the same couple there the last time we were at the diner which was months ago. The woman had a heavily wrinkled face and wore brightly colored clothes and a straw hat painted a metallic gold color. When she smiled, the wrinkles in her cheeks rearranged themselves into parentheses around her mouth. I had a sudden realization that the wrinkles were more likely laugh lines than the effects of aging. She just seemed like a woman who laughed easily and often. The old man was one of a breed of adorable old folk who manages to look elderly and wise and yet child-like and playful at the same time. A walker sat propped next to him and he sat on a makeshift cushion of several layers of foam.

My youngest son was really acting horribly. He was so exhausted! His eyes looked bloodshot and heavy-lidded and he was so contrary that he challenged our every decision. Several times his father offered to take him to the restroom and “have a talk” with him upon whence he would fall silent but still throw dirty looks our way just so we wouldn’t forget that he was not happy with us. Not happy at all.

The old couple in the booth obviously loved children. Every time a child walked near them, their faces would alight and they would strike up a conversation with the child or, if the child was shy, with the child’s parents. I saw the old man slip a dollar bill to a little girl who had been especially talkative and charming. She looked up at him with her bright, blue eyes and grinned before she skipped away with her hair bouncing off of her shoulders. Then I saw the couple’s gaze fall upon my youngest. Great, I thought. The little girl would have been a hard act to follow on a normal day much less on a day when my child was whining and crying over every.little.thing. The couple looked our way a couple of times and once, when I was telling Crash, “If you throw one more little tantrum, I swear I will put you to bed while the sun is still in the sky”, the elder woman and I made eye contact. I winced. As much as she seemed to like children, she probably was not too bueno with hearing me chastise mine so often over the course of one meal. I sighed heavily and put my head in my hands.

When I looked up, I saw the older man slowly turn around and wave two dollar bills between my sons. They looked at each other in disbelief and then accepted the dollar bills. Bump uttered a polite thank you and I offered one for Crash since he refuses to speak to strangers. Hell, he’s so shy that he even refuses to speak to his grandparents some days. Despite himself, a smile began to spread across Crash’s face. I looked at the old man in gratitude and saw that Crash’s smile was mirrored in his face. He said kindly, “Maybe that will help you feel better, young man.”

A few minutes later, the old couple rose to leave. The old man rose slowly from his seated position and leaned heavily on his walker while getting an even footing. Rather than walking to the door, however, he looked straight at Brad and me and said, “I was in World War II. New Guinea. Part of an amphibious unit. We established beachheads.” Brad answered, “Wow. That’s really impressive. You must be proud.” The man went on, “I took nineteen men in and brought nineteen home. For that, I got a letter from the President and my entire unit was commended.” We really were impressed. “A letter from the President. That must have been a wonderful feeling.” The man nodded and said, “That letter is kept in my safe.” He wished us a good evening and made his way to the door and to his car which was parked right outside in a handicapped spot.

A few seconds later, the sparky and spunky elderly wife walked back past our booth and picked up the foam cushion, smiled at us and said, “I forget something every time we leave.” and chuckled a little. Then she put her hand on Brad’s shoulder and asked, “You don’t work for Conoco by any chance, do you?” I answered this time, “No, but it’s funny you ask because my father worked for Conoco for 25 years.” The woman took a moment to file this parcel of information away and then told us, “My late husband was a comptroller for Conoco. We moved here in 1956 when our son was only a year old. When my husband died, I moved off to a place where I could play lots of golf and relax in the sun. That’s where I met this other lovely gent in 1993. And somehow I ended up back here. I guess it’s home.” With that, she also wished us a good evening, winked at the kids, and be-bopped to her car.

I can’t explain it, but the conversations with the older couple made the evening feel charmed somehow. They passed on parts of their lives to us with their conversation. We were an eager audience and they seemed to appreciate that. After talking to them, I was flooded with the realization that my little family is going to be just fine, cranky kids and all.

I just wish I could tell the couple that they lifted my spirits and renewed my energy for child rearing. I just wish I could tell them, thank you.

people watching

I am a people watcher. I love to observe human interaction. I like to note the difference between the body language of dating couples or newlyweds versus those who’ve been married for a while. I watch young mothers and always pay attention to the difference in their demeanor depending on whether they have one child or more than one. I watch the way young women interact with their girlfriends when there are no men present and observe the sometimes subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle change in body language and tone of voice when a man joins the group.

Of all the people I like to watch, my favorite is to observe couples who have been married for many, many years. Sometimes, I will watch an old married couple sitting in a hospital waiting room and note that they never touch or hold hands or necessarily even converse, but the moment one of them leaves the room, the other glances toward the doorway every few seconds and doesn’t seem to rest easy until their spouse is once again seated at their side. It is touching. It makes me feel good inside to see that sort of devotion. It is not smothering but it is absolute.

Today as I stepped out of my office and into the hospital hallway, an older gentleman immediately caught my eye and began walking as quickly as he could toward me. He wore a panicked expression but tried to mask the worry in his voice. He asked, “Where is the bathroom?” I started saying, “Well, there is one down this hall or there is another one . . . ” He interrupted, “Because I think that’s where my wife is and I need to know where it is.” I stopped for a moment while I tried to reason where his wife might have gone. He mistook my silence as an unwillingness to help, I guess, because he said frantically, “She is not in good health. I am worried about her.” I pointed toward the ER and told him that I was pretty certain that bathroom would have been the one his wife entered and started walking with him down the hall. I told him, “I will go in and see if your wife is there. If she is sick, I will help her. It will be OK.” I had barely spoken those words when he placed a hand on my arm and stopped dead in his tracks. The double doors from the ER were held open and an older lady could be seen just beyond them talking to a staff member. He said, “My vision isn’t so good, but I think I see her.” I stepped forward and he followed me for a few steps and he nearly sobbed with relief, “That’s her. Thank you so much.” Then, his wife turned and saw him and walked toward him with a grin on her face. He walked leisurely toward her and said, “I’ve been waiting forever. Are you ready to go?” She said, “Yes, dear.” and laced her arm through his and they tottered off together.

I watched them walk away and wondered if the wife knew how much her husband cared for her and worried over her. I knew. I had seen his panicked expression and heard the relieved sob in his voice when he realized she was fine. But did she know?

Somehow, despite the lack of drama and passion in their exchange, I think she knew.

The moment the old man spotted his wife in the hallway and was stopped dead in his tracks? Call me a fool but I thought it was one of the most romantic and intimate moments I have ever observed. It was a beautiful illustration of love and devotion.

Moments like the one I witnessed today are the reason I am a people watcher. They are the reason I study body language and tone of voice. Those moments reaffirm my belief that people are inherently good and that we all need someone with whom to share our lives whether it be a friend or a spouse or our family.

People need other people. There’s nothing wrong with that.

the great communicator(s)

I think I have mentioned before that I am a fairly reserved and very shy person in real life. I have many friends and of course I am not shy with them. But I am extraordinarily shy around strangers. I have learned to cover my shyness well, though. One friend told me that she had the impression that I was so quiet because I thought I was too good for everyone else when she first met me. I was crushed to know that I came across that way to strangers when really I was just too scared to open my mouth and draw attention to myself. I can’t tell you how many times I have admired another person from afar but been too timid to strike up a conversation. Nowadays, you won’t find too many people who would tell you I am shy. But I am. Oh boy, I am.

My husband has not a shy bone in his body. He is outgoing and naturally makes others feel at ease. He gets that from his father. Brad’s father is so outgoing and exuberant that he makes even Brad look meek.

I walked with Brad to Subway today so he could order some lunch. He walked toward the sandwich counter and the girl behind it immediately started joking with him. They bantered back and forth over whether he should order a foot long sandwich or not. She took the position that he was too skinny and needed a big sandwich. Even strangers feel the need to nurture my husband. She started to grab a loaf of bread and Brad interjected that he wanted a fresh loaf. She rolled her eyes and acted very put out and then winked at him and got him exactly what he wanted. She even added extra parmesan and sauce to his sandwich with a knowing smile. She knows what he likes and was going to make sure he was happy because he is obviously one of her favorite customers.

I witnessed the entire exchange with respect bordering on awe. How does he do that? I wondered. I have worked at the hospital for seven years and have made many strong friendships, but I have never bantered with anyone the way Brad did with the sandwich lady. It was almost like watching an artist in action. Like when I get to watch Sharon draw. I have always known she is an especially gifted artist but it doesn’t mean I am not thoroughly impressed to watch her turn a blank piece of paper or canvas into something beautiful and original. Brad’s interaction with the sandwich lady today was just like that.

That’s not to say that I don’t have any communication skills. I have a tendency to form very strong, very close friendships. I may not banter easily, but my office is the place to go when my friends need to talk. I have a gift for seeing into people’s hearts. I am a good listener and a loyal and attentive friend. Brad, however, has many, many acquaintances but very few close friends. We are a good match.

If not for Brad, I would probably never socialize with people I’ve never met. If not for me, Brad wouldn’t understand the strong bond that friendship can create. He has been witness to some of my friendships that are so close that I feel almost like those people are an extension of myself. I have been perplexed to know him to spend hours in the company of a friend and come home not knowing anything of that person’s life. “What did you talk about?” I will ask. “Oh, nothing really.” is his reply. If he asked the same question of me and my friends, he would have to pull up a chair to listen to my friend’s life story. He doesn’t ever ask that question for that very reason.

Yes, my husband and I are a good match. There is harmony in our relationship. I have compassion and insight to offer our friends and Brad has humor and light banter to contribute. This combination assures that no need ever goes unmet with any of our mutual friends.

I originally intended to lament the fact that I don’t have the same communication skills as my spouse as I sat down to type this post. As I wrote however, I came to appreciate that we are both great communicators in our own ways.

See, that’s why I love this blog. I never would have reasoned that one out if I hadn’t sat down to write about it. Blogging helps me get to know myself a little better.

I think I like me.

thoughts after watching The Prince of Tides

Note from Heather: I am feeling better, but Crash was awake most of the night with an earache. My sleep deprivation has apparently caused me to let my guard down and write about heavier subject matter than I usually care to discuss in this forum.

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When I was home sick Thursday, I learned that a person can only sleep so much even if that person’s favorite hobby is sleeping. Most of our movies are still packed up in a storage shed as a result of our almost move so it was slim pickins for entertainment. I did find two movies that had somehow avoided being packed and they happened to be two of my favorites.First I watched The Prince of Tides. Most of you know that I am a huge Barbra Streisand fan. Shaddup. I think I was a gay man in another life. I love Barbra Streisand, Dolly Parton, feather boas, vintage clothing and costume jewelry. But I digress. The Prince of Tides has always been one of my favorite movies. More than anything, I am mesmerized by the cinematography. I live in a very barren place and I am always captivated by the beauty that is South Carolina. I’ve also always been struck by the raw emotion the actors portray.

On Thursday, however, I felt like I was watching The Prince of Tides through a new set of eyes. I still love the movie, but I felt like I had been beat up by the time the credits rolled across the screen. During the scene when the three children jumped into the water and held hands to escape the reality of their world, I found myself wanting to shout, “Stay under as long as you can! Only pain is waiting for you at the surface.” I watched the little girl’s hair floating above her head like a halo and wanted to scoop her into my arms and run away with her. I’ve often experienced that impulse since I became a mother. In my grandest delusions, I am the protector and comforter of all children. In real life, I rarely know what to say to children who’ve been hurt. I am much better with adults. But still, I wish I could protect and comfort.

As I’ve grown older, I have also grown so much less naive. I know that is usual and expected. But sometimes I long for the days when a movie about a boy’s fractured childhood was only a movie. I wish I could still believe that children are never subjected to such horrors. I wish I could say that I knew for a fact that mothers and fathers never hurt their children. I wish I could say that I know why some children are subjected to abuse at the hands of authority figures who should inspire trust. I wish I could say that such horrible, horrible acts can be left in the past and not influence those who survive every single day of their lives. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Even though The Prince of Tides was a totally different experience for me this time, it wasn’t an altogether negative one. Really, I can’t say it was negative at all. A lot of healing took place for the characters in the movie and that is a very positive thing. Because he confronted the demons from his childhood, the main character was able to love and be loved in return. He was able to return to his family and effectively step back into his role as husband and father.

I feel like I am making such a mess of explaining how I felt as the TV screen went blank. I sat and stared at the dark screen until the tape reached it’s end and a high-pitched hum broke my reverie. And, now that I think about it, I think the movie achieved it’s purpose. It made me think.

My final thoughts (for now) on the subject are that I still hate it that human beings can wound each other so deeply. I hate it that, long after wounds to the flesh have healed, the soul still bears deep scars.

But I am so very, very grateful for the healing that can take place. The human spirit is so strong. The will to keep moving through the pain, through the bad days, day after day is strong. I am grateful that, when one keeps putting one foot in front of another, sooner or later there will be as many good days as bad. And hopefully, there is a time when the good days out number the bad. I am grateful for those survivors who can acknowledge their pain and yet also acknowledge that the horrors of their past do not have to define them. I am grateful for those who still love deeply and generously despite the many times they have opened their hearts only to be hurt again.

My life has been blessed by so many lovely people who have survived things that I can’t even imagine. Many, many of my friends were hurt as children. I was a witness to much of the pain inflicted on some of them. All of them are wise beyond their years as a result. All of them are remarkable human beings. All of them are blessings in my life.

Lessons learned as he lay dying

My last post seemed to be well-liked. It’s funny. I basically considered it to be filler material along the same lines as a meme. Who knew you would all be so happy to know how big my bed is and if I have ever seen a dead body? I was floored, if you must know the truth.

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As I was driving in the parking garage at the hospital a few days ago, I slowly rolled past a middle-aged woman who was doing her best to walk to her car but kept stopping and stooping over. I looked back and realized that the woman was sobbing and the two people with her (children? friends? grandchildren?) were doing their best to soothe her. They patted her on the back and leaned close to whisper in her ear. Her grief was palpable.

I realized that I was watching the scene before me with the detachment of a health care professional. I forced myself to step out from behind the armor of my profession and look upon the scene again. I asked myself, Has she lost her child, her mother, her lover, her spouse? Has she just received news that she is dying? This time, a tear slid down my cheek and I said a silent prayer for the woman and her family.

It made me think of the many times I have been present when fellow human beings have gasped their last breath or peacefully faded away while family stood at their bedside sobbing and grasping at one another as though they need an anchor so as not to slip away with the loved one lying in the hospital bed.

Some patients and families have affected me quite differently than others. Last night, I sat awake thinking of those who had made the greatest imprint on my heart.

When I was six months pregnant with Crash, I took care of a middle aged man who had a massive heart attack at home. His heart stopped and it was a while before the paramedics got it started again. After a few days, it became evident that the man had irreversible severe brain damage and would never wake up. His family made the very difficult decision to discontinue life support. After the attending doctor wrote the order, a respiratory therapist and I eased our way into the hospital room that was crowded with people who loved the man in the bed. They were crying and I had to purposefully harden my heart in order to do my job without bursting into tears along with them. I turned off the vasoactive medications and left only normal saline running through the IV. Then, I stood on one side of the bed as the respiratory therapist took his place on the other side. We leaned over the patient and gently removed the tape holding his breathing tube, deflated the balloon that keeps the tube in place, and then removed it. I turned around to leave the family to grieve in peace and my eyes locked with those of an older woman. She looked at me only for a moment before she fainted and fell to the floor. Some family members caught her and I shooed them all away so she could have room to breathe. The respiratory therapist brought a cool washcloth and opened the window and the woman’s eyes soon fluttered open. She insisted that she was fine and refused an offer to be wheeled to the emergency room. She was the patient’s mother.

I left the bedside and sat at my charting station which looked straight into the room. The patient’s mother remained in a chair near her son and kept her eyes fixed on his face. I thought, “She is afraid she will look away for one second and he will be gone.” I laid my hands across my stomach and kept them there until I felt my unborn child kick. I had the thought, “Only now, while I am carrying him inside my body, while he is still a part of me, can I really protect him.” There have been times since both of my children were born that I have wished desperately that I could offer the same protection they had in my womb. The possibility that I could someday find myself sitting next to a hospital bed as my son lay dying was agonizing and sobering.

The man in the bed didn’t die right away. A couple of days later, he was transferred to another floor since he no longer needed the skills available in a critical care unit. His family hugged me and thanked me as they walked out of the unit. That’s something that has always been amazing to me. That anyone can stop and express gratitude or caring toward a nurse when their world is turned upside down. But it happens so often. It is this phenomenon that provides all the evidence I need to believe that human beings are inherently good and naturally inclined toward kindness and friendship with other human beings.

Although you may not read this and believe that this story has a happy ending, I believe otherwise. The patient was surrounded by people who loved him when he faded away. His family members had an opportunity to sit by his bed and say their good-byes. There was rarely a moment that someone wasn’t holding his hand or leaning over him to administer a kiss on the cheek.

I will always remember the patient and his family (although I don’t remember his name). They taught me that life is precious and having someone to love you is one of the most valuable assets a person could possibly acquire. That’s what I hope to impart with this post–an emphasis on love and family and inherent goodness. Never take any of it for granted and count yourself lucky to be loved.

What a week!

Oy, what a week I am having! The good news is that any delusions of perfection under which I may have been operating have now been completely destroyed.

I went to get my nails done tonight and was chatting with Jimmy and John, the Vietnamese brothers who own the shop. Brad came in and sat with me for a while before bugging out and heading off to the electronics section at Target. After he left, Jimmy mentioned that Brad is very skinny and looks like a kid. I told him that Brad does look much younger than his age and that his mother’s side of the family is responsible for the skinny genes. Jimmy remarked that, upon first seeing Brad, he assumed he was my younger brother. That statement was no sooner out of his mouth than he immediately began backpedaling. He told me, “You are perfect. You are absolutely perfect. You are neither too fat nor too thin.” Now, as backward as that compliment may seem, I was immensly happy with it. There have been times in my life when friends and family members have harassed me because I was too thin. There have also been times, like this week, when I have been thrown into the depths of despair because I was told I was too fat. Evidently, Jimmy still felt he needed to atone for his earlier remark because he said, “I’ll bet you were beautiful when your husband first met you.” Laugh if you feel like it but I choose to believe the man was complimenting me greatly. His English needs some work, but he was trying very hard to flatter me. I choose to believe he was telling me that I am a great beauty and that my figure is perfect. By the way, I don’t need no stinkin’ comments or snickers from the peanut gallery, ya hear?

Honestly, it doesn’t matter if he was complimenting me or not. I have had enough compliments on my appearance throughout my life that I don’t need them from strangers to feel good about myself. I have also had my share of interested suitors and thus know that I can’t be too awful ugly. I actually had one man try to ask me out a couple of months ago because I almost never wear my wedding rings and he didn’t know I am married. It also helps that, like Jellyhead, my husband treats me like a beauty queen at all times. So, whether or not ol’ Jimmy was truly paying me a compliment or not is really of no consequence.

So, this week I have been definitely insulted by one Israeli-American and possibly insulted by one Vietnamese-American. I thik I’ll stick with American boys who were raised to compliment women even if they have to stretch the truth a bit.