Just 10 Days

In just ten days I was able to visit my first best friend, my sister in Wisconsin. I marvel at the beauty, I ride, I run and we boat across a lake, we build cozy fires, we drink Moscow Kicks, I take my midterm and pass, we laugh, we shop and we wonder at the beauty of our country; so diverse and varied. Every time they move I discover a new place to fall in love with, this time so much so that I even shop for homes and fantasize about being her neighbor.

In just ten days I read about the hurricane victims and wept as I discover a tweet that showed no compassion and found my friends and family united in our disappointment and sadness for so, so many victims.

In just ten days I texted my daughter's friend in Vegas just after she fled the concert and was waiting to see who was shooting, if they had stopped, and if she was safe. I marvel at her strength and am encouraged later when I find she is back with her students in the safety of her classroom and know that they will give her purpose and strength to carry on, to continue to move forward. I think of her often, daily.

In just ten days, I came to the comfort of my home and slept soundly and the winds picked up and awoke to inches of pine needles on my front lawn.

In just ten days I received numerous texts about our dear cousin Beth and her sweet family and have witnessed the fires through their eyes; evacuated and uncertain if their home stands. I've heard and seen, and realized, what is of most importance when devastation happens.  But I continue to watch and wait and to wonder about all of the thousands of others who have lost their homes or business or the hundreds missing or the 30 that did not escape and their families.

In just ten days, I had to have some very hard conversations with students I know, and had to decide how to help, how to support and always, how to listen as very real, very tough, very grown-up problems bleed into their childhood.

In just ten days, I get a photo from a child of mine via text that was of a leg, not broken but badly bruised, swollen and represented pain of a kind a mom simply can't protect.

In just ten days, I have two women take time from their very busy lives, drive through traffic, and to carve out time to share their life stories with a small handful of students at my school. They share their stories of struggle, of triumph, and about what matters most. They choose by their actions to show these student that they matter. To show them that they care. And they do, they care very much.

In just ten days I ride on BART and witness the very worst of humanity and the very best. First teens being teens, littering, horsing around only to have it escalate and have garbage thrown at me. Timidly I ask an Indian couple to escort me to the safety of the lobby near the police.

In just ten days I sit and listen to my child admit mistakes and witness growth and seeking understanding before my eyes and I am nearly breathless with the wonder.

In just ten days I wait for my BART train ride home, the same day, the same station and see a man fall on the tracks. The train is to arrive in one minute. We all moan collectively and some of us act by flagging down the tunnel in hopes that the train will see us and will stop in time. The hero, a black youth, jumps on the train and lifts the man to safety and we gasp and moan again because he is still on the tracks and can't quite get up. Luckily, thankfully, mercifully, we see other men reach down and grab his hands and pull him up to safety just as the train stops outside the entrance to where we are standing.

In just ten days I go to have a mini-celebration of sorts for the family that has had their home saved only to learn the winds and the fires have turned and the threat is on, off, on again, even today.

In just ten days I wake up from smoke, nauseated. With the aid of asthma pills, inhalers, nasal sprays and rinses I head to the safety over the hill where the air is clear and I feel better. But I wonder about the firefighters, the first responders and their families. I think of them and am thankful.

In just ten days, I celebrate a birthday with my friend who is sixty and am touched with the love shown to her by her children and family and friends.

In just ten days, I celebrate the life of a mom who left too soon for a daughter, my friend, and am touched again with the love shown to her by her children and family and friends.

All of this has happened in just ten days.

A Broken Shovel

Sometimes I want to write the truth but in doing so I might hurt other people. I've had a lot going on since last August and have had to self-censor my writing. I just couldn't write what was on my heart because it was either not my story to tell or because I was not allowed to write about it.  I'm going to try and tell my story without the details that might hurt others. Excuse the use of this swear word but really, it involves a lot of *shit.*

I recently got back from an adventure vacation with my oldest daughter and a dear friend. We visited some great spots in the Eastern Sierras and ate delicious meals. I should write a post about it because there were so many lovely places that you should go. But not today.

Today I'm going to talk about life. And how it is precious. I've been reminded several times in the past 6 months and today I had yet another *aha* moment while trying to reassemble a backpacking tool that I broke. I discovered it's kind of useless for backpacking but can be used when I go snow camping next season. In hard granite dirt it won't work. The tool is a small shovel for digging cat holes. For those not in the know, that is the polite way of saying a hole for poop. In the high sierras you have to frequently carry the poop out in a wag bag, which is not for dogs. It's for human excrement. If you are fortunate to be in an area to dig cat holes, count yourself lucky. My daughter had a heavy shovel and in a last minute decision I bought a lightweight one while we picked up our wilderness permit. But it broke within fix minutes of purchasing it and I knew when I got home I would try to fix it for next winter.

Anyhow, since my last posting on this ancient blog lots has occurred.

My job: it was my most difficult year ever. More difficult than my first year of teaching, which was my second most difficult year. My first year was tough because I have high standards, I was a perfectionist and never felt like I had "arrived" as a teacher (in time I learned one never arrives; if you feel that way you probably should move on to another job as you're either boring or not giving it your all and even when you are, it is a stressful being creative, balancing academic standards and doing what is developmentally appropriate for the age you are teaching, making it both challenging and fun, building relationships all while being current and fresh). This year was not awful with the kids or with parents (except maybe one who was challenging if I'm being honest). I can't tell you why it was awful but believe me IT WAS AWFUL. I worked during lunches, after school and on weekends to try and do what I felt was in the best interest of my students and help make the situation better. I lost sleep. I lost time. I lost workouts. I gained weight. IT WAS STRESSFUL. And I am trying very hard to hit the restart button for next year. I am taking a summer off, something I have rarely done. I know next year will be a key one for me and for our school. I know I need a more balanced life and I've started to brainstorm what that might look like as I begin again in August. I have ideas. I know it will be better.

My family: I love them. I have one member who celebrated one year being cancer-free only to have another member diagnosed weeks later. We were devastated and shocked. Both of them are role models to me for so many reasons. The one who is battling cancer now is someone I want to be more like in my life. She is humble, kind, generous, loving and a quiet leader.  She is spiritual but not preachy or religious and she has been my biggest cheerleader the past 12 years. I feel like time with her is HOLY. She is married to a man who is energetic and the two of them are constantly setting the bar of what I hope to achieve if I marry again. They put the other first, have great amounts of laughter and teamwork. They are not perfect but know how to say they are sorry. They love their families, live within their means and are making a difference in the world.

I think of her in my garden as we've spent time together working in it every year. I think of her when I'm in my little cottage because she has come over and we like being together here because it is almost like a doll house for us now that we are grown-ups.  And I think of how she is listening to her body and sleeping and being with a few select people only when she is able and I want to be like her. I want to make my home my safe haven and spend time here nesting and then going out in the wilderness for camping and hiking and biking and kayaking and then come home again. Home. I've learned I have a home that can be my respite.

My life: In one weekend in June another family member, my niece,  lost all of her belongings in a Chicago apartment fire. Everything. She and the others in the building were lucky to escape but I keep thinking about her and how that must feel. I think of her every day as I make various little decisions; which shoes or earrings or dress I want to wear. She does not have that choice or luxury of what stuff to wear or toss. It is all gone. We were all in a state of shock as we read texts about the fire in the early morning and then we flew down to my youngest child's graduation.

My mom and I rented a car and on Highway 5 we were hit from behind by an 18 wheeler minutes later.  We spun around and around and around and across several lanes. As I was spinning, my first thought was to try to relax as much as I could while trying to regain control of the car. I had learned in bike clinics to do this when falling and thought in a fleeting moment this would be helpful.  I could see cars swerving to avoid us in my rear view mirror and knew we were headed in the direction of the median strip. The second thought was, "This is not how I thought I would die." I thought we might die. We had another impact on my side and my window broke with glass pieces imploding on the inside. We stopped somehow facing the correct direction. I grabbed my mom's hand with mine and gave it a strong, silent squeeze. And then I said, "THANK YOU JESUS. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU" (I was thinking of my niece and now us).

My eldest daughter summed it up by stating we were either the luckiest family or the unluckiest. My children's dad, a retired assistant chief for the fire department, shook his head in amazement and said how usually people do not walk away from being hit by 18 wheelers, they get run over. I had to recount what happened to yet another insurance adjuster two days ago and cried in the retelling of it. I guess I've learned to be grateful and realize it is not my time to go, my mom's or my niece's. Not yet. I must have really needed this drilled into my head and heart because a few weeks ago while driving a local freeway I was frightened by what sounded like a nearby gunshot. It was another 18 wheeler, the tire blew and flew on my windshield. Miraculously I remained in control and my window was not damaged and the truck swerved and avoided me. Okay, I get it. It really is not my time.

My children: My kids are okay. In fact they are more than okay. They have all graduated from college and two have launched into their careers. One has had a rough time this year. The saying that you are only as good as your unhappiest child is true in many regards. I think of my mom, my sisters and brother and friends who have had or have children struggling right now. As parents we want to fix it, and make everything better. But in short, we can't. It is up to our children. This is the hardest parenting lesson ever I think. We must let them go and find their inner strength.

I was recently up in Tahoe and one of my kids and I were having a miscommunication on the phone. It was upsetting. A few minutes later I looked out and there was a coyote who came right up to the window as I was thinking about our discussion. He was looking at us, eating a mouse or a scrap of food. This was not normal behavior, right up against the house's living room window. I had trouble sleeping and in the middle of the night I remembered a few years ago texting a friend who had found out his son had been killed in a drunk driving accident. Another child of mine was in a crisis mode and I was distraught, even more so for my friend. I was sitting in the exact same spot near the window where the coyote had visited and where I was sitting when the father and I were texting. At his son's funeral, the father had told all of us when we see a coyote we should say hi to his son. I believe that night the coyote visit was a pointed reminder of no matter how hard communication or the struggles are with my kids or how I am concerned for them, I need to be thankful that I have them and can witness their struggles. Our time in this life is limited.

My broken cat hole shovel:  I stood in my laundry room with my shovel and tried to reassemble it. It took time and a few innovations but after a great deal of persistence I fixed it. I remember a few years ago I had started to date a man and my bike tool kit fell apart. I jokingly said it was the key to my heart. He was patient and determined and fixed it. That man touched my heart, maybe even more so after we broke up because I recognized he was creating and living a new life after a nasty divorce. From what I can read and see he is in love and happy and evolving as a person.  It is a visual reminder that one can evolve as a person for the better, even at our age.

I thought of my life of late; my job struggles, cancer, accidents, struggles of my children and that the lesson I think I've needed to learn, I mean, REALLY LEARN is that I have the know-how that can fix a broken tool. I guess that means I have the key to my own heart. My time on Earth is limited. I will make the most of it.

Legacy of Love

My dad's "Heaven Day" anniversary is Aug 14th. He was not perfect. He was flawed. He made mistakes. But in the end, he lived a good life. I wrote him a letter six months before he died on Valentines Day. For his memorial service I read a short introduction and the letter to our family and friends. He would be 85 this year.

Here it is....

~Kathy~

Several years ago my dad turned seventy. We wanted to make that night a special one to honor him and we wanted to create a memory. Not only, I remember my sister Paula saying, for my dad and mom, or “us” (his kids), but for our children, HIS grandchildren. We set about preparing the evening in “Chuck Fehely”-style, which included the foot-long hot dogs and angel food cake. The stage had the perfect homey feel to it: a clothesline running the length of the exterior of our house, multiple strands of white lights and a backdrop of colorful quilts. We had our very first annual “Fehely Talent Show.” I use the word, “Talent” quite liberally for the majority of us: yes, we sang, we kazooed, we drummed and strummed, danced, recited and even performed fake raspberries to one of grandpa’s favorite tunes. It was, by all of our “Reflective Fehely” standards, a perfect night. To conclude the evening we gave dad letters where we wrote to him, telling how much we loved him, how proud we were to be his kids citing special gestures, expressions or stories about him that we enjoyed.

~I’m going to stop this description for a moment to say that birthday evening was not unlike what we’ve tried to create here today, a lovely memory for all of us, bragging about this amazing man, and I know he would have LOVED this…. because he loved all of YOU so much~

Well for some reason, I never gave my dad a letter that night. I had been a little busy, but the truth was, I just needed more time to marinate on how to put into words all of the feelings and expressions of love that I wanted to paint for my dad. This February, I finally gave him that letter and it is what I am going to read to you today. When I gave it to him, I gave it quietly with just he and my mom there. I then let him read it privately. I knew it meant something because my mom said he had tears streaming down his face (but a little known secret to outsiders is that my dad is a sentimental crybaby).  When I REALLY knew it meant something, was when we shared his scrapbook with me and I found the letter in it.

 Legacy of Love~

Today I am writing a letter to you, my dad, otherwise known as Charles Frank Fehely. “Charlie” or “Chuck” to some, but dad or grandpa to the rest of us…

There is a moment when those of us who are teachers, well, where we would use the term “teachable moment” -the kind of moment when it feels almost supernatural or “spiritual” in the classroom. It could be some kind of conflict on the playground, national or world events, it could simply be a story you’ve just read to your students or the way a class conversation has headed in a new direction…as a teacher you know this is “it,” a teachable moment. Dad, as I think of your life, and your current battle with cancer, and how as your daughter I have witnessed who you are, I realize I am here…I am currently living the reality of a “teachable moment.” I can use this moment to write about you, let you know how much I love you and let you know how you are a teacher to everyone who surrounds you.

Dad you are leaving all of us a “Legacy of Love” that spans across all ages, races and religions. The “Legacy” you have left me is an example of how I want to live my own life. It begins with mom:

You and mom have a love that is tangible, real. If you look at the DVD we made, I want you to notice and pay close attention to you and mom: the looks you give one another, the chemistry you have and the love you so obviously feel for one another. For all of your children, grandchildren, friends & family you’ve left a “Legacy of Love” for one’s spouse. Growing up we all felt it, we were lucky to have been raised by parents that loved one another…who weathered some storms but who mainly lived with sunnier times. Even now, your love for one another can only be summed up as miraculous and a testimony to each of us, your children. You are both my heroes by the love you have for one another.

Dad you’ve also left a “Legacy of Love” for each of us: Mike, Paula, Laura, and myself. Growing up we all felt your love and pride. You were at all of our events, and as we became adults that circle grew: football, synchronized swimming, baseball, plays, musicals, church events, school and more. As we married, and yes, even divorced & dated, your legacy spread to a preschool teacher, a plumber, a man in retail, a firefighter and currently, a man in investment. Your love expanded to each of us as we “grew up” over the years. And to know you, is to know your pride for all of us, even today.

The “Legacy of Love,” of course, includes your nine grandchildren: Ryan, Jill, Morgan, Evan, Brad, Tommy, Troy, Shelby and Mary. Your love includes all of their collective interests, hobbies, sports, and more: football, swimming, soccer, lacrosse, 4-H, music, dancing, vintner studies, construction management, plumbing, the discussion of sports pages, religious beliefs and more. We recently celebrated your birthday. While doing so, we all created the gift for you that listed all of the reasons we loved you so much. In it, each of your nine grandchildren expressed how they felt special, unique and loved just for being themselves. On a side note: your legacy rubbed off on your wife because when we made her a similar gift your grandchildren felt the same way about their grandma. They all felt, and feel, loved by both you and mom.

Your “Legacy of Love” also includes a circle of people that aren’t quite blood-related but that the term “friends” doesn’t quite cover, it is simply too broad. Specifically your “Legacy of Love” included young lives. Judy Rodriquez, whom you walked down the aisle for her wedding, would fit this circle. John Berry, who moved into our house when he was a senior at CV High and we, the “Fehely” kids were still quite little. This circle included all of your players that you took to college games to expand their dreams. It included the united work of mom baking her Jet Pride cookies for the players of the week. The meager earnings you made while coaching or teaching were spent building dreams for these kids, blending your belief in the saving grace of sports and most importantly, your faith in young people.

You had two careers in my lifetime and your love included all your co-workers from both. You remained friends with the men and women you worked with as a probation officer, and the friends you later made while coaching and teaching, being an athletic director. Your friendships were an example of love: you still remain friends with boys from grammar school, junior and senior high school, your days in the Army, semi-pro football, and, as mentioned, through the Alameda County Probation Department and the halls of Encinal, Menlo Atherton and Castro Valley High. It includes friends with conservative beliefs in Contra Costa County and liberal ones from Alameda. It includes men, and women, of every race and every economic class: both rich and poor. An early memory I have of you is calling friends up to arrange time together: Saturday football, drafts, tennis matches, basketball games, lunch, dinner, golf, vacations and more. When I was in high school or college trying to decide what to do on a rare free Saturday night, I would think of your ability to create times together with all of your many friendships. I would then pick up the phone myself to plan some grand adventure of my own, mimicking your actions. Your “Legacy of Love” includes your friends and how you see them as an extension of our family.

As stated earlier, your “Legacy of Love” includes your spouse, my mom, your children and grandchildren, friends & co-workers. However, your “Legacy” also involves your Faith. You were quiet about it, but it is real. If I remember correctly, you grew up with a father who was an atheist and a mother who you used to say was a “good Christian woman” and whom you sweetly regarded as a saint. It wasn’t until you attended St. Mary’s College that I think you really found God. You became a Catholic…but really, for you, it was about getting a relationship with God at that point, a conscious decision. There were times in your life when you have been upset with decisions the Church has made and you would not attend for a while. In more recent times you’ve begun attending services again. The thing is, each of us, your children, have been allowed and encouraged to develop our own faith in God. Anyone who has been in attendance at our family events: birthdays, holidays and gatherings, they would know we have a tradition where we stand in a giant circle holding hands. You lead us in a prayer…I use that term loosely because really, your eyes are open and sometimes it’s more like you are preaching to us or sharing some of life’s lessons. Sometimes there are tears, usually there is laughter, but always there is love. You shared a story with us at Christmas that involved your Faith. You talked about your love for all of us:  mom, each of your children, grandkids and then you talked about how you get through your radiation treatments. You shared how when you are lying there; wearing your mask like a Phantom of the Opera character partaking in an act you really didn’t like and how the claustrophobic feelings could potentially take over. You talked about how you would then think about (or imagine) each of us: wife, children & spouses, and grandchildren surrounding you in prayer. Your faith is what seems to get you through the awful parts of your cancer treatments.

You are my dad, the teacher, and you have left me a “Legacy of Love” in nearly all areas of life: your love for my mom, kids, grandkids, friends, family, work and faith. Your latest teaching lesson, the “teachable moment” I am writing about today is this: that although you won’t always be physically present, your love, your “Legacy of Love,” will always be right here, in my heart. My memories of growing up with you and your “Legacy” will serve as an example to me for years to come. Your “Legacy of Love,” really is just that, a legacy for all of us in the “Fehely Family” to be inspired and to try and our lives in the same fashion. 

Love to you, Kathy

Yes I Do

I have been stuck in my writing life.

For a while last year, though I published nothing publicly, I was motivated and writing a memoir which included quite a few stories about my dating life. I think the prologue is decent, the opening is fine and from what a trusted group of friends, family members and a few peers from my now-former writing group have told me, some of the vignettes are downright hysterical. The stories do not paint me in a good light, as I really have pulled some rookie moves over the years. I am far from perfect. I'm a late-bloomer in many areas and I have fumbled along the way.

But as I tried writing a few additional dating chapters they ended up being watered down, boring, run-of-the-mill, blah-blah-blah versions. I knew they should be raw, and real, honest and from the heart. I became stuck because I knew intuitively that for a memoir to be believable, relatable and real, I had to write truthfully. I had felt I could not write because I have been struggling with knowing which are the parts of my life that were important for my story to be told, some of which are quite private, and how I am (hopefully) growing and evolving as a person, while also being sensitive to all the people in my life; my children, my ex-husband, and others.  I never wanted to come across as mean-spirited about the men I've met, as many are honestly just like me, learning by trail and error about themselves and love. I wanted to protect my children, I mean, as they were younger, who wants to read about their mom's dating life? Not my son, for sure. Maybe my daughters. My brother? Oh hell no. In addition, I have tried to never disparage their father and hurt him or our relationship as co-parents. It seems, from his remarks, he did read those blog postings I wrote for our little town and did not appreciate all of them. He wasn't the only one. I dated a man whom mentioned others were commenting at a party about an article I wrote. It was regarding a town hall meeting on housing, that too, was not appreciated by the company he kept. In many ways I should look at those readers as a compliment, at least I have an audience.

But what about the other men I have dated? The ones I might date? I do believe, in at least one case, a man was mortified that I wrote about my life and quickly headed in the other direction. He worked for a very wealthy man in the community and anonymity was a job requirement for him. I have never written about a man I was currently dating and the truth is, I doubt I will. Some things are sacred and personal. But I can't guarantee it.  This man was a beautiful and handsome man, shy, reserved and  a jack-of-all-trades. He was well-read, tidy and a hard worker. He hiked. He was a kind dog owner and about six years my junior. He had supported me before my first marathon by taking me to a carbo-load pancake and egg breakfast at a local diner and gave me a generous certificate for a post-run massage just in time for my birthday. The next week he drove me to the airport before my first bike tour in Maui and picked me up a week later. Then he just went......silent. It hurt. I had a gut-instinct of what happened. He was a dutiful employee and timid to talk to me about my writing. I tried calling him and emailing and then gave up.  I ran into him at Target about a year ago and said hello. He turned beet red. We exchanged pleasantries. I took a deep breath and said, "Why did you have to just disappear, XXXXX? Why not just tell me? I have to be honest, that really hurt."

He looked at me, with a now purple face and mumbled, "I know, I'm sorry."

The truth is, I don't remember exactly what else he said. You know what? I suppose I'm learning it just doesn't matter. I need to write and everyone needs to understand it is only my version of the story. They might have another and that is okay. And would you look at that? I just wrote about the man who wanted to be anonymous.

My writing has suffered these past few months because life has been a bit topsy-turvy for me. I felt burned out at work and was looking seriously at other options; teaching abroad, going to a private school with a really unique program or deciding whether to stay and make changes where I am currently working. I decided to try and redesign my professional career with new goals. One simple change, was simply moving to a new cubicle, redecorating and organizing everything in it. This meant I threw out a lot of old files, outdated materials and duplicated papers.  I created a slightly different "look" and made it a better reflection of who I am and the interests I have in my own life. I also realized that the past six years I had worked in my previous cubicle, working with families and students in grades K-12 and some adult ed students was the longest I have ever physically stayed in one place. In my previous school I had taught 6th grade reading, writing and history. Before that I had taught kindergarten, second, third and fifth grades, traditional and alternative programs, in different rooms, with different curriculum, team members. Realizing six years in one spot is a record for me at work, I also noted that I need to create new curriculum and ideas or I get bored and feel stagnant. Change keeps my teaching practice fresh and I am happier as a result. I have lots of ideas I hope to implement in the future, and though my first day back on Monday was my worst one ever (an idea for another blog posting), I believe this will be a better school year for me. Mainly due to a shift in attitude. This carried over to my house as well, I cleaned out boxes, two car loads to Goodwill and a sidewalk full of giveaways for neighbors. Inside I reorganized my kitchen nook to make it easier to settle-in and write there. I keep it clutter-free and have writing books and ideas easily accessible. I try to file old bills and such, making my spot as inviting as possible for myself.

In addition, I had plans for one child to live with me this summer, due to a serious shift, they chose not too. And one child who had not planned to live with me, does. It was a turn of events that has worked out, but not anticipated earlier on in the year. Now I love these two deeply and even though it has been a change in dynamics, I believe in both cases, our relationships are solid and close and I love them both fiercely. I have another child whom I love deeply as well in my tilt-a-world life right now, though she is nearly completely grown up. My kids, in particular, my girls, give me journals, ask when I'm going to finish my book and in general, all three are big supporters of all things written by me. I guess as they give me permission to write, real, I give them permission to not read it. Ever. Or perhaps I will write under a suedo name (to be determined...).

Another bit of feeling off-balanced was due in part because I was seeing a man whom I met through a friend on Facebook. We started innocently on a bike ride, to hang out and have fun. Due to an entire host of reasons that are personal, it was very clear to me, even though I really cared for this man, we needed to break up. It was the right thing to do. And as he and I have since discussed, I just don't like the outcome that followed. Not one bit. He has confirmed to me on at least three occasions it was the absolutely right decision and he has no desire to date. Even though we did. And that hurts too. But I agree. And I miss him. He was my friend. He was my fellow foodie. He brought me soup when I was sick, fixed my broken claw foot tub thingamajig, put together my broken bike tool and he re-calibrated my oven's temperature. He helped me figure out the safest route to commute by bike to work. He did not get mad when I fell asleep at a night concert, despite liking the music, because the 5:00am swim workout did me in. He taught me to see the beauty of yoga as a strengthening portion of my week and triathlon training as an important part in the recovery of my broken ankle. He was my biggest encourager to go to Ireland on a solo trip this spring, my first out of the country excursion and far outside of my comfort zone. Still, as much as I like, no love, this man, and I do, there were a number of times in my heart I felt sad or knew it wasn't right to continue seeing one another. We still talk, and in time, I would venture to say we will be friends, even spending time together doing things. For now, it makes me sad and hurts inside and my heart is a little broken. It needs to heal a wee bit more and I do too.

I also have two male friends. As happens, they have both met women who seem perfect for them. In fact, I really like both girlfriends and as couples, their relationships seem to bring out the best in these men. As their lives grow busier, I spend little, if any, time with them. So although it's perfectly normal and understandable, it is still a loss of sorts. One was a running partner and the other was a biking one. They could not be more polar opposites as human beings so their friendships filled very separate roles. I'm happy for them but certainly fill the voids without them nearby.  How do you write about that? I guess I just did.

A few years ago I started seeing a counselor because as a single parent I liked being able to talk about my worries or concerns and get  an unbiased take on the situations we discussed. We also talked about my dating life, my work and such.  I benefitted from our once-in-a-while visits. But she is leaving the practice and so this relationship must also end.

Another relationship that has ended is the one I had with my writing group. It's mostly my fault. I was undependable. And that is not normally how I operate. My attendance was spotty at best the past year. First I was training for my first and only Ironman race last summer. Sunday nights were unusually difficult to motivate myself to attend our meetings after my longest training day. Sometimes we'd swim a mile or two, ride six to eight hours and possibly run as well. I was plumb-tuckered out. Just before my race, I broke my ankle. I couldn't drive at first, then I was on crutches and out of work for six weeks. When I did go back to work, I started slowly, building up my stamina. The monthly writing get-togethers were even more difficult to attend and once I recovered physically, at least enough to drive, mentally I struggled with feeling sad. Being hurt and in pain took a lot out of me. My writing tank was empty because it was all spent just making it through the week... though I have nearly a half dozen blog entries in my draft bin, I never published them during this bleak time.  I've slowly reclaimed pieces of my body through physical therapy and exercise, sometimes pushing too hard with an overly zealous physical therapist. This led to a few set-backs, and led to some further lessons I needed to learn about my body; to trust my intuition, incorporate activities I love, and give priority to healing and recovery now so I can have years of future activities with a full range of mobility.

The writing group had a heart-to-heart email exchange last fall, about the time of my injury and recovery and everyone who committed to continue was going to be required to become better about attendance. What followed this agreement was a series of events coupled with bad timing: in January my daughter could only come to visit when it was our day to meet, February was my other daughter's birthday, March I decided to put my dating life first as I was trying to make that a bigger priority with Facebook man, April I was in Ireland and in May was when Facebook man and I broke up and I had already committed to go on a bike ride with people months earlier, in June it was the end of the year and report cards and summer school starting all in one week and in July even I was questioning my commitment. In August I had finally decided I was ready to jump-in and start anew and received a polite we'll be happy to see you but perhaps you should find another group closer to home as you've only attended one or two meetings all year long from one member. It hurt but she was right. I found their writing inspiring and enjoyed their insights and suggestions and they gave me permission to write some of the stories that I am actually most proud of...though the content is somewhat mortifying, it is, after all my true, unabridged stupid experiences. But clearly that writing group won't work due to the distance and the day of the week and I will miss them (well, perhaps not the one that wrote that email....).

And in a twist of irony the day after I got the polite good-bye from my writing group and had my worst first day of teaching of my life, I received my second check in the mail for writing and editing. It's from a former schoolmate of mine. He wrote me a few months back, telling me he enjoyed reading my stories and was hoping I could help him with a blog he was beginning. I felt unqualified as I know nothing of the content and subject matter. He was kind and asked if we could try. I have enjoyed our collaborative exchanges. It is confirming to have people who see me as a writer.

Mostly there are people who will write me a quick email when I've written a story or blog posting, telling me how they could relate or why it touched them. These are people from my childhood, readers from the town blog, members from my fitness teams and my  co-workers who are avid readers, and one of my biggest sources of encouragement. The other is my former principal, whom I love. She was the one who read about the writing group in the newspaper so many years ago and thought of me. She continually asks when my book will be finished.

I have been stuck in my writing life. It is only as I have come to realize that I have permission to write my stories and not worry about everyone else in my life and their reactions that I feel myself becoming unstuck. I've struggled because of a physical challenge, an emotional one and in matters of the heart. But I am ready to move forward.

What is it that has pushed me to move forward? The injury and comeback? No. The renewal to recreate my teaching practice? No. The break-up? The kids? The email? No. No. No.  It is because I am not a quitter. I stay the course. I will be an example for my kids of regrouping and reinvention. And related to my dating life, I will do as the commander in Star Wars said to Luke as he was trying to fly straight and shoot accurately to save the Empire, "Stay on target."

I'm going to try to be brave and become unstuck. I vow to renew my commitment to the craft of writing with my time. I don't know whether it will be in a group setting, on my own, in a class, getting a writing mentor, through this blog or another avenue.

I do know this, I have a story to tell. Yes, I do.

Rich In Love

Growing up I would explain to others that my family was rich. They knew this was not true in a monetary sense. My mom was a nurse and dad was a probation officer. Together they had four children in less than five years and though they managed to take two weekly vacations a year there was not a lot of money left over for extras growing up. We were, however, rich in love.

How do I explain it? Our family was far from perfect. We fought. We had family meetings. We cried happy, mad and sad tears. As the fourth child and third daughter, I wore and received hand-me-downs. The oldest memory of a hand-me-down that I loved was my faded red “biggie” bike. It was a three-wheeled tricycle that I’m guessing I got for my third, fourth or fifth birthday. I loved it. It was slightly bigger than a traditional toddler’s tricycle, the size you would find in a kindergarten playground. I did not feel like I had missed out when I received that old bike. I remember mom and dad’s happiness as I jumped on it and began pedaling around our driveway on Wilson Avenue.

Growing up the color red must have had some significance. I remember the summer my mom bought us each a pair of summer sandals. Mine were red leather Salt-Water Sandals. I proudly wore them one hot summer day and put them in the green check-in swim bag. The only glitch was that I did not check the bag in with the lifeguards. Instead, I hung it inside the locker room. Later that afternoon when I went to get dressed, the sandals were missing, having been stolen some time earlier. I cried. Mom and dad held a firm stance on the fact that they would not be replaced. And though it was a difficult lesson to learn, I understood. Even that experience added to my rich life.

I slept in a room with my two sisters until my oldest sister was in junior or senior high school. My parents later added on a new master bedroom. Somehow even this fact did not bother me. I had many hours of wonderful make-believe games that included playing “house,” “school” and more. I (mostly) didn’t mind sharing my room though it did make me a bit of a neat freak. I wanted to keep my stuff separate from my sisters. This neatness lasted years later, that is, until I was married and became the mother of my own three children. I distinctly recall a turning point in my life as a neat-nick. I was starting to get upset about my messy house. I decided my children could look back at me as being a picky housekeeper or they could have fond memories filled with childhood inspiring craft projects or forts in our family room kept up for a day or two to be admired and enjoyed. I knew from being raised by parents who unknowingly chose memories over maintenance which route to choose. Mine was a rich inheritance.

Another thing my parents’ prioritized money spent was for our sporting activities. Over the years we settled upon football for my brother and synchronized swimming for my sisters and myself. Though we often only saw airports and swimming pools while we competed, we did travel all over the United States. Dad was frequently a driver and chaperone, sharing coffee with our swim coach for long drives throughout the night. At the swim meets he was a timer. When mom chaperoned with others, they improvised a kitchen and mastered crockpot spaghetti that fed 8-16 hungry teenaged girls. We had many adventures and loads of stories to tell when our family would all eagerly await to pick us up at the airport. Being a reflective family we would regale one another with our stories upon our return. Our stories added to our families’ fortune.

My brother’s love of football allowed us to travel to watch his games while he played for both his junior college and college teams. I’ll never forget chanting, “We beat the slot machines!” after his victory against a Nevada team. Great memories, even when it involved the car stopping in the middle of the freeway while traveling filled our love bank. It was scary having cars zoom past us until we could get help, not easily summoned pre-cell phones.

Dad’s love for adventure was a monetary priority too. Somehow my mom and the other wives allowed their husbands the luxury of traveling over Valentines’ weekend several years in a row to go skiing. Dad would return from his trip with four small velvet heart-shaped boxes of chocolates for us accompanied by a much larger version of the Valentine’s Day box for mom. And there was always a card for her too. It was always mushy and always sentimental despite dad’s macho bravado. He was a softie in matters of the heart.

I remember bringing friends over the years to my house for the first time. There were many whom lived in much more expensive homes up in the hills or across the Valley. They were pristinely painted and landscaped and decorated with stylish new furniture. There were newer and nicer cars parked in their driveways. Even so, as I walked friends through the front door and into our living room I always felt proud to bring them inside. I felt rich. Yes, I knew it wasn’t monetary, even then. But in matters of the heart, my family lived abundantly.

Love: Cyber-Style

Love has found a home on the Information Highway. There's Match.com, OKCupid, Fitness Singles and eHarmony, to name a few. This week I found love on Facebook.



It began on Mother's Day. I now have one daughter who is a soon-to-be college graduate,  a son who is a sophomore in college and another daughter who is a junior in high school. This year I could not be with all of my children. My son phoned me early in the morning to wish me a happy Mother's Day and tell me he loved me. My daughters and I went to dinner with my brother, his wife and my mom to celebrate the day. All in all, a lovely day.



Later that night my oldest daughter and I were sharing the couch, my new laptop at my fingertips. My youngest was just down the stairs on the computer looking at all the new post-prom photos that had been downloaded on Facebook. We called my son to check on his flight home in a few weeks. He says that because it is Mother's Day, he will accept my friendship request on Facebook, and to go crazy as it will only be for three hours.



As my older two have gone away to college, I have tried to not be a "hovering" parent. We're very close but I have given them a long leash to become adults while simultaneously supporting them. I have let them be the lead as to how frequently we speak and how often I could visit them. I did send them care packages but sometimes contact has been minimal.



Facebook is another story. To friend or not to friend? That is the question.



When I joined two years ago, my youngest daughter immediately accepted my friendship.  Her older sister and brother did not. As a result, my youngest daughter de-friended me.



Ouch.



However, faith was restored shortly thereafter when she friended me once again. My oldest daughter finally friended me when she wanted photos and realized she had nothing to hide as well (I'm sure she deleted a number of photos and postings from friends first). My son? He wouldn't. It was something he'd tease me about constantly. Every once in a while I would taunt him back mentioning his friends that had requested MY "friending" (at least I knew to never request to be their friend,  a sure-fire social faux pas if ever there was one). I know he and his friends talked amongst themselves because I did mention that certain people had photos on their sites that might want to be hidden, or removed. I never told him who but they are a smart bunch and soon access was denied to those photos and albums that might be deemed offensive. A wise move on their part. I did not, however, under any circumstances "falk" them (that is my new word for Facebook stalking, "falking").



I  digress. I admit I broke down and finally requested his Facebook friendship. What happened? Nothing. Nada. Zip. For over a year and a half my son has denied my Facebook friendship. That is, until this past weekend when my son told me to go crazy and enjoy myself for three hours. A wiser woman would have used restraint. Not me.



I immediately zeroed in on his profile pictures. Knowing my son has a great sense of humor I began to comment on them. First I "liked" a bunch of his photos. Then I happened upon the one with photo-flash red eyes and commented, "Son of Satan, red eyes," not my finest literary prose, but I could not resist. Next came, "Hmmmm, someone is a sleepyhead" on the photo with him in a sleeping bag. I found one that I had to comment, "I love you but... DISLIKE." I begin to laugh and my comments. My oldest daughter began looking over my shoulder and laughing too.



Next I came upon the photo of him falling in the creek, I commented: "Oopsy, I hope you weren't hurt honey." The photo of him with the 5 o'clock shadow and hiking on a trail? I said, "The walk of shave." At this point my younger daughter begins "like"-ing my comments or writing, "Good one, mom." The text messages begin coming from my son asking what I'm doing. He responds to my comments. His friends join in the  fun, too...we're now laughing up a storm in Northern California while he's growing irritated in San Diego and friends at Oregon State, Chico, and other places are in on the joking.



As I'm commenting away on his photos I receive a message on his status page, "Going." I continue my comments with his friends joining in on the exchange.



Another message to me, "Going." And I know what's coming but I continue looking at his profile photos and commenting on them.



"Gone." He then de-friended me. A mere thirty minutes had gone by and I was right back where I started. Or was I?



I began a "BRING KATHY BACK" campaign on my Facebook status and somehow I had gotten a plead or two posted before the de-friending had occurred. I started rallying all the kids I knew who were friends with my son. Peer pressure CAN be a good thing. They started telling Troy I was so entertaining that they thought I should be "friended" again.



Eventually Troy gave in and we were "friends" once more. In fact, he even posted a photo of he and I as his profile photo, as was the norm for Mother's Day this year. I remember that day. It was in the nineties and I helped him move into his dorm on the eighth floor. We made no less than ten trips up those flightof stairs. I would say I earned that shared profile photo. I would even venture to say I have earned his Facebook friendship. But I won't take it for granted. Love, cyber-style is a pretty amazing gift that at least this woman won't take for granted.

http://sanramon.patch.com/blog_posts/love-cyber-style

The Gift of Time

My oldest daughter is * gulp * graduating from college today. I am sitting here trying to think of something wise and wonderful to say to her to mark this monumental passage of time. 

I can recall, as a toddler, Morgan’s insatiable curiosity. She invented the word, “Why?” I was determined to never grow weary of trying to answer, to the best of my ability, this question. She loved to explore, get dirty and “dig in.”

She would collect snails for her grandpa in his backyard, create glorious mud pies and sandcastles in ours, and would finger paint with widespread hands in full force, wherever she was allowed. She loved to play doctor and would look deep into any willing adult’s ear and inform them in a rather serious tone, “You gotta lotta wax in there.”

I hope that my dear Morgan never ever loses her sense of exploration and curiosity to learn about new things in life. Creating. Building. But most of all, reveling in the pure joy and satisfaction of a job well done.

In my mind’s eye, I remember anticipating the arrival of one of our carpool moms. She was picking Morgan up for the early morning kindergarten commute. We’d experienced our usual hubbub and all was ready, including the addition of her winter coat. It was an uncharacteristically chilly morning, at least by California standards.

The horn honked and Morgan ran out the door, as I stared out the glass windowpanes. She skipped down the walkway, book bag in hand. She headed in the direction of the car, stopped, and stooped down to touch the frosty grass.

She turned around and yelled, “Look, Jack Frost came last night!” With a grin spread across her flushed cheeks, she proceeded to turn in the car’s direction and continued on her now merry way.

I hope Miss Merry Sunshine never loses her sense of wonder. Whether it is musical notes heard, a book she’s just devoured, a handbag she just scored at Loehmann’s or most importantly, the beauty in nature that surrounds her. I hope she will stop to notice. Notice the majestic sunrises and sunsets, the cumulus cloud covering the sky as she (hopefully) lies back on the grass and soaks in the goodness that surrounds her.

Later, I marveled at the strength she displayed as a mere second grader. She had practiced a song for weeks and weeks to sing at her elementary school’s end of year talent show. It was a stretch for her but she was determined. In the end, the tape we had made for her to sing along with was seemingly lost and she would not be able to perform. When she happened to find it at the last minute, she ran to her teacher. The teacher informed Morgan it was too late. She would not allow her to sing. My “mommy heart” ached but she took the disappointment in stride and proceeded to enjoy the others’ performances.

That summer, her dad and I were driving home from a family outing and Morgan shared another incident involving that teacher. She was barely beginning to read and write. She had filled out a story plot plan as her homework one evening, and in her enthusiasm, continued to write her entire story. It was her first “real” one. It took a great deal of effort but Morgan was both proud and excited of her accomplishment.

The next morning she had it out on her table with her other completed homework, to be checked-in. When her teacher saw it, she ripped it up and threw it in the garbage because Morgan had not followed directions. I remember looking at her dad, as we exchanged a look of horror about what had transpired.

How could that teacher react so cruelly? She had followed the letter of her law but missed an amazing teachable moment. She was crushing a student’s love of a job well done.

Throughout the years I’ve seen Morgan receive other harsh judgments from those in authority. Whether it was for mistakes she’d made or lessons learned the “hard way,” she has amazed me with her strength to keep on, keeping on.  

She has determination and grit. I hope that with the passage of these lessons, she’s developed her own sense of compassion and empathy toward others who will also make mistakes one day.  In life, she can follow the letter of the law or the intent with which it was created. I hope she has learned to do the latter with firmness, yes, but a sense of fairness.

As a little girl she was kind, generous and very loving toward her baby sister and younger brother. When her tiny brother cried from an injury, she would sympathize, saying, “Poor Troy.”  

I have seen that same caring attitude displayed with children she babysits. Those characteristics seem to shine as she discusses holding newborns or the mommies who deliver them. Her chosen profession, that of a nurse, seems perfectly suited for her.  All that she has learned: wonderment, curiosity, strength, determination, grit, empathy and more, will make her an excellent nurse.

So to my Miss Merry Sunshine, Morgan, I offer sincere congratulations. And did I mention my “mommy heart” is oh so proud?  I love you. 

"Him"

I have avoided writing about him. The moniker him does not refer to the father of my children (as mentioned previously, that would be my "EX" to whom I was married for 17 years and to whom our divorce took an additional 4 years to complete...that is fodder for another time).

Who is he? He is someone I met on the Information Highway through an online dating service. I've written about beginning to sign up and then chickening out on two previous occasions, but this time was different. I had been separated for four years and our divorce was finally complete. I'd gone back to counseling to sort through the why and how of it all, read books and consulted friends and family... I was consciously trying not to make any repeated mistakes.

I finally settled on a site that seemed somewhat more reliable. As an elementary teacher at the time, how else was I going to meet someone? Certainly not at work! The blind dates weren't working, the men I'd met while out and about weren't working either. And frankly, I had made more than a few mistakes along the way which I didn't feel particularly proud of regarding a suitable partner. At this point in time, I fully intended to meet someone (ever heard of the "Power of Intention" people??). The final nail was when my two daughters pulled me aside after the holidays and said it was, "Time to get back on the market." And to "Dress cute because you never know who you might meet, mom." I took that as a sign to get serious about this dating business.

I'd done my homework. I'd come up with a list of "Must-Haves" and "Can't-Stands" to serve as a litmus test of sorts. Now that may sound easy enough, but truly it wasn't. I agonized over the 50 on each list, for a 100 total. I prioritized them, I numbered them, I reflected and marinated on all of the attributes that were really, really important to me. I rearranged them. Finally, I had a list of 10 in each category for 20 total. I decided I would hold them up to my heart and head as I began this new regime of dating with a purpose.

And so it began. I took a picture in front of my computer, just a simple photo of me in a t-shirt and sweater...army green and brown no less (not my most flattering color combo with blue eyes and blonde hair). I completed the exhausting questionnaire and received feedback about my personality as a result. I finally hit, "Make Me A Match." Several emails and a few phone calls followed. The way this particular site works is you read an abbreviated profile about the "Match" and they do likewise. Next questions follow, and so on until you reach, "Open Communication." At this point he called. He had a pleasant voice, made me laugh and we agreed to meet in a neighboring town. The funny thing is his picture was not a piece of the equation up until we'd agreed to meet. I believe he had kept his photo private until that stage in the dating process. To be honest, it was not a flattering photo. But fortunately for both of us, I had entered this dating process with an open mind and decided I would just wait and see what happened.

And so it began. We met for dinner (note: do not EVER do this on a first date; the whys and hows I'll save for a future dating handbook of sorts...surmise it to say the potential for disaster is too great). Surprisingly though, it went so well that we crossed the street and ended up at a Starbucks, of course.

From there we progressed forward at a snail's pace. That is the perfect pace for someone like me. Someone who was scared to share her heart again. Someone who was scared of making mistakes again. And someone who was afraid of making a bad choice, even with a litmus list to use as a guide. At some point, after a walk, a dinner and a date in Berkeley he told me that even though he liked me, he felt the need to go out with other people as I was his first post-divorce date. He wished he'd met me after going out with four or five others (not just coffee dates, but "date" dates). It felt too soon for him. I should have taken those words to heart. He asked if perhaps we could continue going out while he dated others. I thought about it. I said no thank you, I was looking for a long-term relationship ("LTR") that would lead to marriage. I said good night. We had our first, and supposedly, last kiss. It was a good one. We said our good-byes and I went home.

I remember distinctly my oldest daughter was awake and she wanted the debriefing. Now just so you don't think I'm a horrible mother, I did not routinely do this with my kids. In fact, for many years I went on some of my memorable blind dates and they never knew. This time around they were older and it seemed okay for them to learn the ins and outs of dates, choices and decisions and learn along with me.

The short of it was that Morgan thought I'd be nuts to date him while he was dating others. She said if he didn't see how truly wonderful I was, he needed to move on (she's a little biased, as are all three of my kids...it surprises me how great a "catch" they think their ol' mom is...in fact, it touches my heart and causes it to swell when I think of this fact, even now). I felt good about my decision. Until. The. Next. Day.

The next day brought me home mid-work day as my youngest daughter had gone into Ketoacidosis (potentially quite serious for a diabetic). I was home nursing her and working on the computer. As I was doing so I began to look at other "Matches." It was then that I decided if I was at the beginning of platonic dating with others, and he was at the beginning of platonic dating with others, then perhaps we could after all, date one another. I wrote an email to that effect to which he quickly responded with an invitation out to dinner.

Dinner led to more dating and in a matter of mere weeks we were "exclusive." Weeks turned into months and with each conversation our closeness grew. As we peeled another layer of the masks we both wore we grew closer and closer. Honestly, I'd never felt so loved. When I consulted my litmus list I was happily able to figuratively check off all of the "Must-Haves" and found he possessed none of the "Can't-Stands." He was kind and gentle, he was generous and funny. He treated his "Ex" well and was a devoted father. His co-workers loved him. He was a good man who was constantly trying to better himself. We got along well and there was no drama. We enjoyed our moments together without the sacrifice of time away from our children. I jokingly refer to him as a "Highly Evolved Male." All was good. Until it wasn't.

Somewhere the conversation that began in the parking lot months earlier was revisited. He felt the need to date others. So we broke up.

Summer passed and soon we were back in contact and in a mere matter of weeks were dating. Again. I had the best Christmas of my life with him. It was special. He was special. I felt special. And so we continued on our merry way, happily. That is, until he began to have doubts creep up once more in June (summer was historically now becoming my least favorite time of year for relationships!).

About that same time my father's battle with cancer really took over. In all, he had over 80 treatments of radiation and 3 rounds of chemotherapy. Our entire family was spending as much time together as possible: college graduations, birthdays, holidays and a memorable car trip with my dad driving my children and I throughout the town of Berkeley. Dad showed us the house he grew up in, where his paper route was, played kick the can, attended elementary school and most importantly, met my mom. He showed us the park where they were engaged, the church where they were married, their first apartment, and the hospital my mom worked at when my brother was a baby. By August of that summer I had two weeks off and moved into my parents' home to help care for my dad as Hospice became more integral.

During this time period he and I were drawn together once more. His text messages, emails and more gave me encouragement and strength while I leaned on him. He visited my dad mere days before he died and helped me make a DVD to show my dad, and later, play at his memorial. My dad told him, "I thought you were going to be a part of our family. But you need to do what is right for you." He loved that, the part about my dad wanting him to do what was right for him, even though he had so obviously loved his daughter and she, in turned loved him.

After my father died his boyhood friend was in town with his family. He wanted me to meet them. It might seem funny to the outside observer, me going over to his house to meet his boyhood friend and family, even though we weren't dating. It didn't matter. I knew, just knew in my heart of hearts it was just a matter of time before we would be back together again. I was sure of it. His friend & family were just great, and we immediately connected. I remember his friend, Todd, looking at me with his wife. He asked me something to the effect of, "What is it about this guy?" What Todd was trying to say to me, I think, was, "Why do you love him?" I could only answer honestly, I didn't know. I just did.

It all seemed to me that my dad, in his death, had somehow brought us back together. Ever the matchmaker, my dad. So by now, I am sure you can guess where this is headed. We began to date anew. Cautiously. Soon we began with gusto.

During this time period his business, that he had helped create, was going through rough waters. So rough, in fact, it was no longer the source of joy it had been. He was really struggling with what to do. Did they sell? Did they try to persist? What about the employees? There is more to this subject but it is not my story to tell. The short of it is that they sold the company that he had helped create. They had gone from boom to not quite bust, but certainly not what they had once been. They sold to a major company in the City. He began to commute. He hated that. He hated being away from his kids. He was unhappy in the rental house he had occupied for the past number of years. He began to think about making changes.

More time passed. Our kids finally met (only once in the 2-1/2 years we dated I might add, we were being overly cautious in this arena too), we had dinner together in a neutral setting. It went fine but we postponed doing it again. We did spend time with one another's friends and family though. We traveled. We laughed. We continued to grow closer.

And yet.

I still wondered sometimes, did he know, really know, what he wanted? He began to make changes. He quit his job. He looked for a house to buy. He found one. At some point, I could sense something changing. I could not put a finger on it. I began to question him.

Now when narrating a 2-1/2 year relationship, you gloss over it in the retelling. You somehow aren't quite able to capture what made it so special. In telling the story of "us" I have skipped the good parts, the very best parts. Things like the first dance, or the time I had a toothache that ached so badly that I woke up crying. He heated a washcloth and got a heating pad for me. When narrating, I didn't tell about the time I couldn't sleep after my dad died. So what does he do? He tells me a bedtime story over the phone. Sounds like such a small thing to do as I type it. At the time, it got me through a rough patch. There were so many other moments, those are to be saved for other times of reflection. For now, I will say we had many moments both tender and poignant.

I have also neglected to mention the times when he told his story and I told mine. All of it. And that somehow, even though we'd told all of deep, dark secrets, our mistakes and our triumphs, we still loved one another. Or maybe we loved one another in spite of them. In retelling our pasts, we were working through some of the difficulties and somehow it drew us closer. We tried to talk about a future. But that was where we got stuck each time.

I could imagine a future, together. He couldn't. He was still trying to figure out who he was and what he wanted. He used to say I was like Yoda, knowing what I wanted and farther along on life's path.

As we have separated at times, I have told him I visualized the two of us on Angel Island. When we have reached forks in the road he headed off in one direction, and I in another. Still, I could look down at him and see him moving forward. He could see me at times. We could stop and wave, and see progress. But when we looked over and saw one another, it's as if we had to run over and travel together again. We could not seem to separate. We both seemed to find this analogy fitting. Somehow I began to sense we were headed toward another fork in the road, but that it would be different this go around. Finally we met to talk about "us" (and if you're wondering...the answer is yes, it was summer once again).

It seemed we had circled back to the very beginning. He realized he needed to go it alone. We both agreed to give one another time and do a better job of traveling on our own journies, separate. In October I went on a "Road Warrior" trip down the coast of California visiting girlfriends all the way down and back. I felt strong. I wrote him and spoke briefly on the phone and said let's not meet until he got back from his African safari or after the holidays. We ended up meeting at Christmas time.

We exchanged presents for the kids and one another. We talked and I cried and we said good-bye. A week passed and that Christmas was my worst ever (or so I thought, until I remembered one about ten years earlier that was much, much worse...). This year I'd hurt my back, my kids were with their dad, my mom stayed home that day after all, and I was home in my pajamas until 2:00 in the afternoon. I cried some more. I felt weak, pathetic even. For the first time in my life, my heart was broken. I simply could not understand what happened to "us."

A few more months passed. We met again, briefly this past March. We talked about work, our kids, books and more. He asked if I had begun dating. I recounted some of my funnier dating escapades. He looked uncomfortable. Pained. And he squirmed. He then told me he had begun dating someone for a few months. I did not react. I was surprised. He began talking about something else. Meanwhile, in my head, I was thinking about how he had mentioned wanting to figure himself out. He had not, recently, mentioned wanting to date others. But there it was. I was strangely calm (I am always calm in crises or in situations that can cause others to become quite dramatic). I asked if we could go back to the subject of his dating, and how they met. He said friends set him up (of course, I wondered who...?). We exchanged a few more pleasantries and that, was that.

Until the proverbial follow-up emails. He was worried about me, wanting to make sure I was really putting my heart into dating again. He said it would be a crime, if someone like me, with a warm and open heart turned closed as a result of the end of "us." I assured him that no, I was dating with an open heart but I had changed. I was guarded. My heart was guarded. My heart was guarded because of him. And though I had met men, several, in fact, they were not the men for me. I had learned that litmus test or not, that my own inner barometer was a pretty good guide these days.

When I think of the on again, off again nature of our relationship, I think of the often quoted book, "It's Called a Break-up Because It's Broken." This was certainly the case of he and I. We were broken from the very beginning, I just did not see the signs of uncertainty in his eyes, his heart, his words or his actions. Yes, he did give mixed messages. He was present. He was the best listener I have ever met. He was the most loving, kind, gentle man toward me and others. He was giving, to a point. I can see at the point that he was unable to give, was exactly where the problem lay. He was not sure of himself regarding relationships and choosing a life partner. He had more growing up to do, despite being a "Highly Evolved Male." He needed to become a man, and mature a little more in the dating arena. He needed to know himself better before he could give of himself freely. He really and truly needed to go it alone (even if his version of alone meant a new travel partner in tow).

I should have seen that we were doomed from the first time he spoke with hesitancy. My oldest daughter saw it years earlier. I did, but brushed it aside as we grew closer and more fond of one another.

I haven't talked with him in months. The heartache I felt so acutely has subsided and it doesn't appear that the puncture is permanent. I can listen to "our" songs and not get teary-eyed. I can read old emails and not feel the painful pierce or the addictive need to shoot another response to him. He will always be someone who "raised the bar" so to speak. He was and is a good person.

And now. And now I continue to move forward on my path, headed in another direction altogether. I'm alone but not lonely. I am happy. I am hopeful. I begin to wonder who is around the next bend?

The Chain Link Fence

As the youngest of four children, in order to keep up with my siblings, I had to learn to climb the chain link fence that barricaded our yard from the high school located behind it. Beyond the fence lay limitless hours of fun for all us: my dad would practice his golf technique by hitting a giant bucket of golf balls, my older sister and brother would play baseball or practice catching pop-up flies with their friends, while my other sister and I would play “house” on a sound booth’s roof. The sound booth was located down a hill and behind the bleachers where the track lay waiting for the next football game or track meet. The tennis courts and pool were nearby so we would stay for hours, sometimes until dusk was beginning to fall, and then climb back over the fence in time for dinner.

At other times we played “Horse” on the basketball court with our dad, where he was not one to let us win. If we won, we earned it fair and square. We’d go for walks or jogs at the high school and sometimes, when it was really hot and the football players were practicing, we’d get the hose and squirt them with cold water while standing atop our ladder and leaning as far over the fence as possible. Many memories of my childhood involved climbing over that fence. It was, when I was little, quite a feat for a little person to accomplish. I felt strong and empowered when I did it. And later, I was proud when I came across a fence to climb and could jump over it in no time flat. I think it impressed the boys. I suppose that was a motivating factor as well, come to think of it. Still, that fence somehow is intertwined in many adventures at Castro Valley High, which we’d all thought of as an extension of our backyard.

Each fourth of July our family celebrated our country’s birthday in a quaint, time honored tradition: races for the kids, baseball, a barbeque with hot dogs and burgers, watermelon, potato and pasta salads, and we would end the entire extravaganza with a giant display of fireworks at the gravely track behind our house. During the course of the day our entire family, and about fifteen others and all their children, made the trek over the chain link fence…this time it was outfitted with two aluminum ladders, one located on each side of the chain link fence positioned in a giant “A.” Children and parents alike would carefully climb over so the games could begin. My dad would be outfitted in a referee uniform and cap at this point, with a whistle in his mouth. We had sack races, we did cartwheels, we raced, we jumped and we even had the “tiniest steps” contest so each child could win. Raffle tickets were passed out generously to all of the children and were later redeemed for candy and inexpensive prizes. Mom and her friend Joanne would dole out the goods to us. Together, we all made several “crossings” between our backyard and the school. If an elderly person had to cross, we would have spotters helping them over and on either side of the “A” framed ladders to catch them if they had a mishap. Usually, after we lit off the fireworks, we’d hop over one last time to bid good-bye to another year of celebratory fun and then head home tired, dirty and content.

Soon though, we somehow outgrew hopping over the fence. It simply was not cool for us to do it at a certain age, I think about the time my oldest sister entered high school and boys were suddenly becoming of interest. The only exception, of course, was our annual 4^th of July party. Other than that, we learned to walk around the block to the school.

Over the years I’ve crossed many other fences, usually involving a shortcut or to enter an area that was “off limits.” In my mind’s eye, I would inevitably think of our chain link fence…even if the moment of reflection was a fleeting one as I hopped over.

Last night my dad and mom attempted to go to my son’s lacrosse game. I say attempted, because they couldn’t quite make it. They slowly and gingerly got out of their car and carefully made their way across the parking lot and entered the stadium. They sat and rested at a picnic table and then they continued to walk around the track to the chain link fence. We realized the JV game was not even half way finished yet. It would be an hour before Troy’s game began. At this point, my dad, who is courageously fighting cancer and undergoing yet another round of radiation, said, “I can’t make it.” He could not sit for an hour and then endure the cold and the wind, to watch his grandson play a lacrosse game. This was despite the fact that he wanted to so badly. He had yet to make a game this season and was bound and determined to do so. Up to this point, he had only been able to witness Troy’s games on DVD’s that friends of ours had filmed for him.

I said, “Let me go get Troy so he can say hi to you.” I had to walk a ways to an opening in the fence and entered the track area. I explained to Troy that Grandpa and Grandma wouldn’t be able to stay and why. We quickly walked the length of field together and stopped at the chain link fence. Troy graciously thanked them for coming and understood why they had to leave. They all chatted for a brief time and then Troy hugged them both tightly to say good-bye.

I went to bed thinking of that chain link fence. It is a difficult thing seeing a symbol of my youth turn into a symbol of my dad’s physical limitations. I felt sad and I felt love. I felt sad because I could see my dad’s eyes fill with tears as he spoke with my son and how this cancer had changed my strong father. I felt love because of all of the really good memories my mom and dad have given my siblings and I growing up, living life. And now I see the love my dad and mom have for my son, daughters and myself, my siblings and all of the other grandchildren. I see the kind of love that would drive him to the field and to that fence, knowing he might not be able to last through an entire game.

My dad might see the night as a failure, that he only made it to the fence. But he didn’t. My dad succeeded. He gave both Troy and me the gift of love and a memory that will last forever.