beyonditall.net

Photo by: Jerry

I love birthdays  - usually other people’s peoples birthdays.  In a way, it takes the focus off of me and I am able to draw my energy towards someone else regardless if there is a celebration or not. Looking over the past years or decades of their lives and seeing where they are now is always an informal learning experience for me.

I like anniversaries, because I am always amazed that two people can stay together 5, 10 years and beyond.  Two people that can work together when times are not ideal.  Though I don’t think being and staying married is a measurement of a person’s character, I still look up to people that can be dedicated to something, whatever it is.

Today is my mother’s 59th birthday and Steve’s parents 59th wedding anniversary!

If someone were to ask me what would I take with me if I suddenly had to evacuate my home, the answer would be the album you see in the photo.

Every now and then, my mother sends me a “care package”.  Its usually underwear, skin care products, pajamas or random books.  When I opened the box she sent me a few days ago, a saw a beautiful album with my name on it.  Opening it almost immediately brought me to tears.  Its a scrapbook she made that chronicles my entire known family history, my childhood, my brother, father and mother.  There were photos of great grand parents and great aunts and uncles I have never seen before, pictures of my dad in his early 20s and even a page dedicated to my best friend in elementary school. I had no idea she even had those photos! Names, years, places – everything was listed.

Because my grand and great grand parents were born at home and many were orphaned as young children,  my family history is very brief  because records weren’t made and kept as they are today.  Even my dad didn’t get his birth certificate until he was an adult.  Knowing this emphasized to me how important it is to keep track of my family’s history.  Since there are so few people, there is no excuse.

Seeing the pictures brought both pleasure and pain. Pleasure from seeing pictures of me and my brother together, me and my mother together, and my and my father.  Pain from missing the relationship I always wanted with my father and other family members.

This is by far one of the greatest gifts I have ever received from anyone. When I spoke with my mother that evening, she told me it took her over six months to create it. I have never known her to be artistic, but this was an idea she had in her head for years and finally decided to take the plunge.  I cant thank her enough for this wonderful gift!

Ever since my mother discovered the world wide web late last year, she has made it her duty to forward me every scary, alarmist email that’s sent to her from one of her buddies.  You know, the ‘boogie man is lurking behind the bush’ type emails that’s been forwarded about 40 times before it gets to you. These emails usually tells a brief story about a horrible crime that happened to a random woman, but somehow, you’re not able to find any evidence of this published anywhere.  Most of the time, I just ignore and delete these emails.  Sometimes I  research the stories so that I can respond to my mother telling her that its not true.  She then responds with a sigh of relief.

These modern urban legends may have a shred of truth, but they are mostly false and designed to scare the daylights out of individuals, mostly women.  Who or why these stores are made up and passed around, I do not know. I used to get these emails from random co-workers, and now my mother is sending them to me.   I remember there was one about the “deadly germs” on the bottom of your purse from when you set it down in a public restroom (or anywhere else).  I remember reading how horrible and nasty these germs are. The thing is, there are germs on the bottom of your shoes.  The same germs that many people don’t think twice about when walking into their homes with their shoes on.  These are the same dirty, non sterile floors that their babies crawl on.  Despite the odds stacked against them, they manage to live.

I think we  have enough real reasons to be fearful at times.   I don’t need to made up stories to keep me aware of the real dangers out there.

No more emails, please!

View from my last home - Kensington, CA

As I sit home on Thanksgiving day listening to Verdi Requiem, I look back at those few years (2002-2006) I was in a classical chorus where we performed this piece.  I realized despite some major setbacks over this past year, I am in a much better place now than I was back then.

A few things I’m thankful for:

• No longer living in the Bay Area – I was born and raised in the Bay (Oakland, CA to be exact) and it wasn’t until I moved to Portland that I realized just how uncompromising that whole area is to me.  If you cant afford an overpriced home to buy or rent, you’re living in a not so great, crime ridden area.  My experience was pretty black and white. I’m thankful I was able to live in a breathtakingly beautiful neighborhood during my last few years there, but it was getting difficult to afford it – especially on disability.  The Bay Area has it good points, but unless you are “set” (ie. purchased a home 10+ years ago, or have a really good salary), you’re out of luck.  I will enjoy visiting family who’s still in the area though.  Fortunately for them, they are set.
• Fitness – Going though a multiple sclerosis exacerbation back in the early spring had left me weak and out of shape.  Because I wasn’t very active (not by choice), I lost muscle tone and stamina. I recently joined a gym in my neighborhood and go there four days a week now.  I haven’t feel this good in almost a year!
• My sister – I have a half sister that wasn’t a part of my life until recently.  She’s my father’s daughter and I met her for the first time when I was fourteen.  I saw her one other time ten years ago when I got married and didn’t see or speak to her after that until recently before I moved.  Its  a shame because she never lived more than a few miles away from me.  Ironically, we are closer than ever now despite being hundreds of miles apart.  We talk on the phone at least every week, text message often and send each other small gifts and cards. There are eleven years between us (she older), but it doesn’t feel that way at all.  I look forward to seeing her again when she comes to visit us in a few weeks.

I don’t think these thoughts of have come to mind had I not put on the music that reminded me of my recent past which is a direct contrast to life now.

Whenever I’m asked that question, the response is always an awkward ‘not really’ or just plain ‘no”.  Sometimes people ask me to elaborate, and when they do, I really don’t know what to say. Do they really want to know the truth? I do ponder the question often in private. With my father, well, I wrote about him a few months ago.  My brother and I have a very strange relationship. At least I think its. He is six years older than I am and we’ve been though different stages of being close and separated over the years.

We were close when I was a baby and toddler when he needed someone to play with. I was his baby girl. When he entered his teens, he naturally separated from me.  At age 13, 6′ tall and incredibly handsome, he had other girls beating down his door and friends and classmates to hang out with.  When he got married at age 20, we bonded again since I was no longer that little annoying kid.  I loved his wife and baby stepson and we all had a pretty close relationship for those four years he was married.  After the divorce, we separated never to bond again. I call, he rarely returns my calls. We get together and have a good time, but it may be two to three years before we do it again despite never living more than a few miles from each other. I spent one evening with him at his favorite watering hole back in January, but he hasn’t made time again even though he knows I’m leaving the area very soon.  In the ten years he’s been with his girlfriend/partner, I have only seen her once.

My my relationship with my mother is a bit more complicated. We’ve always had a good relationship when I was growing up. I was always very close to her, even in my more rebellious teenage years. Something shifted that made my partial separation  make a little more sense than what’s going on between me and my brother. As of 2002 around the time of my divorce, I separated from the religion that I grew up in and gave my life to.  The catch is, my mother doesn’t know – yet. If she knew (and she will very soon) our relationship will be severed.  The main tenant of the religion is that anyone who doesn’t believe will be destroyed by God during an event called Armageddon that is supposed to happen very soon, like any day now.  This event is supposed to happen at any moment starting over one hundred years ago.    Since the beginning of this cult, any day, any minute, God is going to destroy all of the “wicked ones” (the ones that don’t believe in that particular religion).  I will be one of them according to their teachings.  I am an even worse position because I did believe and gave my life but I am turning away and I am very much opposed to their teaching.  I talk to my mother and remain as close as I can without her knowing the truth about me.  I guess I am in a way protecting myself as much as her, but I know I have been taking the easy way out for the past seven years.

My brother and my mother are much closer to each other though he’s never believed in the religion and never got wrapped up in it. Its very complicated but its better to have never believed than to have believed and turn away. According to the BORG, that is the worst sin – an “unforgivable sin”.

So as I gather my things to prepare for my move, I wonder what the future of my family will be.  What will happen when I tell her? My brother will be there for her at least.  At least I can count on that.

I was reminded a few days ago of how thoughtless mistakes can make a huge impact.

We were on our way out the door to run some mundane errands together.  Before we started the car, I saw that I had a missed call on my Blackberry. The local phone number was unfamiliar, but they left a voice mail message. I hesitated to check (as I always do) but did so anyway.

It was my mother’s (Iris) dentist office telling me that she was just there in the office. There was an “incident” and they need to speak to me at my earliest convenience.  Questions raced through head like “why are they calling me what the heck is an “incident?”  Of course, I called back right away and spoke with the person who answered the phone. I think it was the dental assistant.

The conversation over the phone was a blur as I was trying to make sense of what happened as Steve was driving us down the hill to our original destination.  What I got out of the conversation with the dental assistant and eventually dentist was that they were in the middle of cleaning Iris’s teeth when she suddenly turned red, had trouble breathing and heart palpitations.  The dentist gave her a shot of Epinephrine, oxygen and called 911.

She was in the emergency room getting evaluated by the time I got the message.  I quickly ended the conversation and called the hospital.  In so little words, they basically told me that she is there and is still being “evaluated” but they didn’t know more than that.  I then called my older brother (Chris) so that we can pick him up and go to the hospital together.  I was silently praying that he was home.  As I was dialing his number, I didn’t expect him to be there. He doesn’t have a cell phone (at least he never gave me the number) and I always get the robotic, generic, classic answering machine message every time I call. He rarely calls me back.  Surprisingly, he did answer and I had just woke him up at 11:45 in the morning.  Apparently he was getting up in the middle of the night to watch the Tour de France live so he was catching up on sleep. I was so relieved that he was there.

We swung by to get him at his place and drove to the hospital which was thankfully less than a mile away. To make a long story short, were able to check up on her, she was doing much better and was cleared to go home.  We dropped Chris and Iris off at her car where he drove her home (with his bike in the back seat so that he can get home later).

The reason for the emergency?  Latex allergy.  Working as a nurse for almost four decades has caused a sensitivity to latex from being exposed it consistently for most of her life.  She knew she had this sensitivity to it so she started using latex free gloves at work a few years ago and informed her doctors to add it to her charts.  She have been going to this dental office for years and never had a problem.  They always knew to use latex free gloves when working on her teeth. She also never had an extreme reaction before.

The mistake? There was a new dental hygienist working in that office.  For some reason, she didn’t look at Iris’s chart before putting on her latex gloves in preparation for the teeth cleaning. Iris didn’t see what she was doing because the her back was to the counter where the prep work was taking place.

I guess that office will never overlook anyone’s chart like that again.

Whenever there is a “parents day” like mother’s or father’s day, it always leaves a sour taste in my mouth no matter how hard I try to ignore the Hallmark holidays. Memories flash across my mind like an impromptu slide show and silent voices gets replayed in my mind over and over like a tape loop.

Its just a made up holiday, why should let it bother me?  Reading the sweet memories and reflections from other people about their parents (and in particular, their fathers) have always left me feeling lost, and incomplete.  As a younger adult, I always though this would pass as I get older.  Thirty is here and those thoughts and feelings have not changed. In fact, they have increased.

About a month and a half ago, I saw my father for the first time in ten years.  When I walked into the Oakland Whole Foods eating area where we agreed to meet, he looked at me like he saw a ghost.  The first thing he said to me was “you look exactly the same”.  I guess he was expecting me to look…older.  He looked uncomfortable, almost afraid.  Two days prior over the phone, I pretty much gave him an altamatum to either see me already or stop calling and emailing making promises he has no intentions of keeping. Promises of “being there” for me, and then silence would follow.

We embraced briefly and sat at the small table across from each other.  As I folded up my cane and placed it in my tote, he asked what it was for.  I told him it was to help me with my balance, but I don’t need it all the time.  I guess I was trying to ease his concern.  He looked as if he was uncomfortable at the thought of his baby girl using a cane.  That part of the conversation was over.

It was an awkward and uncomfortably familiar hour we spent together.  He brought me lunch and we chatted a bit about my health, my work, his day-to-day life, our family and so on. The conversations was roundabout and very casual.  We really didn’t scratch the surface of anything.  There have been so many changes in my life over the past ten years that he was not there for: my wedding, abusive marriage, divorce, another disastrous relationship, late pregnancy loss, other less significant life changes, then the MS diagnoses which I told him after I was diagnosed.  When I told him about these events as they occurred, I didn’t hear from him for a while each time.  This day, it  felt like talking to a stranger despite the fact that we lived under the same roof for the first eighteen years of my life.

As the rain started to fall outside, I wondered if we would ever be close.  Thirty years and it hasnt happened.

Since we met, I got one email from him, reiterating how he could not believe how much I have not changed. I thanked him for the complement and let him know that I would like to see him again.  Still waiting to hear back.