It's been quite a while since my last blog post, and I wish the need to write this one didn't exist. I'm trying to summon up the courage to attend the wake of a friend who died much too soon. His wife is someone who was a great friend for many of my most formative years, my twenties. She was one of the kindest and most supportive people I had ever met. Our first interaction was in a bar where I was sitting on my own waiting on a friend. She was, as usual, surrounded by friends who were laughing and having a great time. I had just begun teaching at a school where she was was working and I assumed she didn't recognize me. But I was wrong. She not only recognized me but called me over to join her group. I remember feeling so surprised that a) she knew my name and b) she wanted me to be included in her group. My surprise that night was transformed into delight that we had so much in common (i.e. A wicked sense of humor) and led to our friendship that flourished over the next decade.
My friend and her husband seemed to always be in my memories from that time period. The night OJ made his infamous white van run I was with them preparing to go to a retirement party for our colleague. My first adult trip to New York City was with them celebrating New Year's Eve. My first overnight trip in Saratoga? They were with me celebrating the wedding of another colleague. They threw me a surprise 30th birthday party in their home (he lied to me and told me it was for her and I worried the whole time because I knew she did NOT want a party). Some of my saddest memories from that time period also had both of them present as we gathered to support coworkers over the sudden and tragic loss of their family members. We were there to support each other and with our other friends formed a strong sense of belonging.
Their wedding was one of my happiest (although admittedly drunken) days of my life up to that point. They were to me the perfect couple and not in the sickeningly sweet sort of way. No, I saw them have arguments and totally disagree on topics. I witnessed their struggle to conceive which could have destroyed them. I never felt like she was my friend, and he was "just" her husband. He became as dear to me as she was and often when we were out together he would be the one I would sit next to in order to discuss our beloved Yankees. They were the perfect couple because they were whole without the other. But they knew that they were stronger together. Now my dear friend has to face living her life without him.
Over the past decade or so, we have fallen out of touch. I left that school district ( although ironically I now am back although in a different school) and I guess life just happened. I'd follow the joy their kids gave them through the years on social media but fell out of touch with them. When I heard about his death, my heart sank, and the world seemed a little darker. It was like the years apart were gone, and all that was left was a heavy blanket of sadness. As useless as any words of solace or comfort might be at this time, I am going to go and offer them anyway. As helpless as I feel, I'm going to offer any assistance I can. The song "Circle of Life" says
It's the wheel of fortune It's the leap of faith It's the band of hope Till we find our place On the path unwinding In the circle, the circle of life.
I will honor friendship that always made me feel like I belonged all the while wishing the circle of life for my dear friends could have continued for many more years. Rest In Peace, Al.
Dear Nino,
I woke up this morning to find a memorial post from your sister about the 26th anniversary of your death. I can't believe it's been that long yet some days it seems like yesterday. Your death was one of the most life-changing events in my young life. At 27 you were just beginning to build your life with a beautiful family of your own. You were running your own business and seemed to me to have the perfect life. I was too naive to see how addiction was destroying your life. All I saw was the smiling face covered by that grizzly mountain bear beard that greeted me whenever we were together.
I spent a lot of time being angry with you in the year following your death. I blamed you for leaving your young family and for destroying the rest of your family. The only times I could seem to shed tears for you were at your funeral and when I would visit with your mom. Even then I think the tears were more for the people you left behind than for you. It wasn't until I truly understood the struggle of an addict's life that I began to soften and to grieve your loss. I feel this is one of the reasons I made so many poor choices in my early dating years: I was trying to "save" the addicts I dated like I couldn't save you and other men in my life. But this is not your true legacy in my life.
No, you brought so much joy and fun into my life. I once wrote a poem about you entitled "Hero of Mine" which reflected how I viewed you as a child and young teen. You could do anything in my eyes. You taught me so much about sports just by letting me hang out while you were playing basketball or watching baseball (sorry, the football thing didn't catch on with me until your daughter convinced me to follow one team which turned out to be your team). Anyone who knows me well knows that I love the Yankees, and that love started with me watching a few games with you. You would patiently answer my questions and explain different aspects of the game. I was hooked after one season (I think it was 1976) and have been watching ever since.
Another positive you helped usher into my life was the love of music. You, my sister, and my cousins were all born in the wrong generation: you were hippies at heart and would have been better suited to have been teenagers in the 1960s instead of toddlers. No evangelical, born-again Christian could have been more devoted to his God than you all were to yours, Jerry. I didn't share your love for the Dead's music, but we did share a love for another band, The Rolling Stones. While I can't give you all the credit for me taking down my Andy Gibb poster and replacing it with my Keith Richards poster, you definitely help usher in a new kind of music to my life. You also introduced me to music that I would never even know existed like reggae. Now I think about how much music has literally saved my life in so many ways and know that even your death had a big part in that. I obsessively listened to Van Morrison's album that year you left us and always thought that the song "Memories of You" could have been written about you. Music remains an important part of my life and a way to make me feel closer to people who have left my life.
One last part of your legacy in my life is kindness and laughter. Now, I wasn't unkind before you died but now when I think of you that quality is one of the first that jumps out at me. You were forever defending the underdog and often getting more than your share of trouble for doing it. You were a great big brother to your younger sister and to all of us younger cousins. You never seemed annoyed with us for wanting to hang out with you and your friends on Saturday mornings. When you became a father I saw this big, gangly man turned into mush with one giggle from his toddler son or one gaze from his little girl. You also could make anyone laugh even my straight-laced mother. She has trouble remembering things these days but still recites how you would scare the shit out of her when you would sneak into our house and jump from the top of our basement stairs down the bottom. Like everyone else, she could only feign anger for a second and then just laugh at your goofy face. I'm sure your great sense of humor was sometimes a mask for painful feelings, but it also showed the core beauty of your soul. Your son has your laugh while your daughter has that quiet smile that would sometimes overtake your face when listening to some nonsense around us, and I thank God for the greatest legacy you left us all, your beautiful children.
So on this 26th anniversary of your passing I choose to focus on the joy you brought into my life. Right before writing this post I was rinsing out my coffee mug and looked down into it to find that the outline of water had created the image of a heart. I thought that was the perfect sign that I should write out my feelings on this blog. I love you and miss you so much, Nino. Thank you for all the ways you showed me you loved me too.
On this chilly yet sunny day, I went for a drive and started thinking about my upcoming week. As long as I have been teaching, my lesson plans have been written for the week ahead by Friday. Of course, as the week passes, some assignments get carried over until the next day while others are checked off. I teach second grade so I like to keep the routine as stable as possible so that my students know what to expect. When they know what to expect, behavior tends to be more calm and conducive to learning. I admit that I tend to think better and make better decisions when a "normal" (i.e. according to schedule) day can occur. Unfortunately, this week will not have many days like that. Tomorrow alone we will have an assembly which pushes my ELA lesson (which is to be observed by my principal) to midday when I normally run my guided reading groups. This means I have to either cut out my math lesson and meet with a few groups before Art and a few after the ELA lesson or I need to teach math before art and meet only with two groups after the ELA lesson. Which way would be less disruptive to the kids? Then I have a parent conference after school along with the Monday tutoring I do for 3 of my students. I've been trying to get this family into school and didn't want to say no when the most convenient time was the time I use for tutoring. So, I made the decision to have the kids use the reading program we have online while I talk with the family. This week also has a book fair and a goodbye party for my student teacher scheduled to take place which will cut into more teaching time. Anything but a routine week, I feared that my students' behavior would suffer because of the multiple changes.
As I felt the sun shining on my cold hands and I began to think about how I could juggle all the disruptions, I felt my grip tighten on the steering wheel. Instead of enjoying the sights and sounds around me, I let my preoccupation with work steal the beauty of the day. Luckily, I was able to table this overthinking mode until I got back home. If this was last year or the year before, I would have let the worry suck all the joy out of this beautiful Sunday. I would procrastinate making a decision due to my anxiety freezing the part of my brain that has been dealing with these schedule disruptions for the past 26 years with ease. Anxiety and depression were my constant companions for a long time, and I felt more comfortable not making a choice than moving forward and getting things done. I am so thankful for the hard times and the lessons they have taught me. The old piece of advice that says to take the time to smell the roses resonates with me in a way it never did before. I used to swear that if I took that time that I probably get hurt by one of the pointy thorns. Now I understand that taking time for self-care and for just "being" is essential to my health.
Now several hours later I have made the decisions for tomorrow's busy day and am thinking how much I wish I could use this same process of "tabling the overthinking" for other areas of my life. It seems like I am at a point in my life that the routines that I have established in my personal life are no longer working for me. I have shared my ups and downs with both relationships and adoption in this blog and as I am approaching my 50th birthday, I'm realizing that I am in almost the same spot as I was 10 years ago. No closer to having a healthy relationship or being a mother. I've started thinking that maybe it's time to start imagining a future without me being a mother. Many people have pointed out to me that I already have served the role of mother to my own niece (who I could not love more if she was mine). Others have told me that my work as a teacher has helped countless numbers of kids in ways that I will never know. While I do believe that my Livvie and my students have enriched my life and been the benefactors of my innate nurturing nature, it just isn't the same. I want someone to tuck in at night. I want to help my own child with his homework and watch as he develops into the person he wants to be. While I know that there would be times where I would be exhausted and overwhelmed with single parenting, I would rather be exhausted from caring for my child than from doing anything else. But I do have to face the fact that my time to be a mother may have passed.
I'm trying to sit with this version of reality and imagine if there is anything that I could do which could fill that hole that not being a mother has left in my soul. At the same time, I'm thinking about decisions I've made in the past regarding both adoption and relationships. But the only thing this familiar walk down memory lane is doing is making regret weigh heavy on my heart. I realize that breaking out of my routines and doing something different is what I need to do to get a different result. What that means for my future, I'm not sure. Is there a path to motherhood I'm overlooking? Maybe. Are there other things I want to do that will be easier without a child? Sure. While this could lead me to more overthinking, I'm choosing to follow the actions that Willie Nelson sings about in one of his great songs: And ever since I met you my life's been a song A sad song, a love song with hate in between You'd be breaking my heart, it was clear from the start But my pen and my paper will keep my mind clean.
Cleaning my mind to drown out the sound of bad memories? Sounds like a plan.
It has been quite a while since I posted in this blog. I spent many months focused on adoption and writing about my hopes in becoming a parent at last. I allowed my fears to overtake my dream and halted progress, but I know that is not the end of my story. But I also know that until I have a date that I will be bringing home a child of my own, I will be keeping my plans private. This will be hard because I received so much support from others when I opened up my heart. However, I feel I need to proceed with caution and not set myself up for failure yet again.
Instead, I'd like to start of 2017 with some reflection on the past year. It was a year that was full of lessons for me as most years are. In the spirit of this blog's title, I'm going to try and sort through those lessons and mine the gems of truth that I will use to guide my life this year. So, here we go:
Lesson 1: Loyalty should only be given when earned. I was very unhappy at the end of 2015. I made the choice to leave a job where I had great friends and true partners in teaching. The direction in which my school was going was more towards "showing off" a growth mindset rather than truly instilling it and encouraging it in our students and faculty. The negativity in those hallways seeped into my soul and made my leaving an eventuality. And of course, the district I was leaving wasn't going to make it easy for me to make this transition. Instead of doing what was best for all involved and ending my tenure at the Christmas break, I was forced to work yet another week into the new year. Was this to help make a smooth transition for a new teacher? No. I really feel that it was just to make sure my contract was followed to the t. Regardless, I fulfilled my duties and did everything I could to make the transition to whichever teacher they would eventually hire as smooth as possible. I felt guilty about leaving my "kids" behind but knew that I was making the right decision for me. I went out of my way to explain my reasons for leaving to the superintendent who basically said to me that he hoped I knew what I was getting myself into by going to my new district. I showed loyalty to the last minute although I felt quite disloyal for leaving in the middle of a school year. I shudder to think what my life would be like now if I had let that misplaced feeling dictate my decision. As hard as it was to leave midyear, any loyalty that district had engendered in me was destroyed by the toxicity of the lack of respect for faculty members. In 2017 I will only be loyal to those people and places that have earned it. Lesson 2: Your thoughts will alter your reality. I knew going into my new teaching position that it was going to be a rough ride. The kids have been taught for two months with a parade of substitutes who did their best to maintain some semblance of order. When I started I was tested daily by misbehaviors and disrespect shown by a majority of the class. They were 7 year olds who were afraid to make a connection with me for fear that I would be leaving them as well. It made me think about the older kids I had left behind ,and I willed their new teacher the strength to withstand their tests. But I refused to let any of this get me down. I was finally teaching primary kids again and I was determined to do my all to make the second half of their year as productive and positive as possible. I daily made the decision to be as positive as possible and slowly but surely the kids responded. That class is still among the top three toughest classes I have ever had to teach, but they taught me so much. I experienced kids who cursed me out like I have never experienced before (even from adults); kids who told me they hated me daily yet continued to engage in my lessons; kids who became truly upset on the days I was out because the routine was suddenly gone again. I learned that these kids are the ones who truly need me. And in order for me to be there for them, I would need to make the decision daily to start with a clean slate and view our work in a positive light. As a result the first six months of 2016 resulted in me being the happiest I have been in a long time. In 2017 I will make the daily decision to be positive and to start each day with a clean slate. Lesson 3: You can choose happiness. This lesson goes hand in hand with the previous one. My default position in the past was to dwell on what was lacking in my life. Whether it was my single status or my mismanagement of finances, in the past my inner voice would always drift to the sad state of my life. I think some of this is an inherited trait, one long practiced by many members of my immediate family. I'm not sure what event in 2016 taught me this lesson directly. I think the fact that I was able to not only survive but thrive during the first 6 months in my new position was a large part of this learning. But I think the biggest influence was my work with my therapist on the topic of mindfulness. 2016 was the year I started to try living more in the moment and letting the future take care of itself. The anxiety that had plagued me in the past was now being controlled not by medication but by my own actions. When I chose to really let go of my fears, and instead just breathe into the moment I really did feel better. The brief work I've done with meditating has also helped me choose peace and contentment over fear and anxiety. I plan on expanding my meditative process in order to continue to choose happiness in the face of adversity. In 2017 I will decide to reset my happiness on a daily basis. Lesson 4: Death can remind you what is really important in your life. 2016 really took away so many wonderful people in the public arena. It seemed like any kid like me who grew up in the 1980s was spending so much time mourning the loss of favorites like Prince, George Michael, David Bowie, and Gene Wilder just to name a few. I have had close friends lose their aunts, sisters, and fathers, and wives this year. Whether it was sudden or expected, each death ripped through the lives of my friends and changed each and every one of them. Personally, my own family lost not one but two members. My cousins lost not only their funny and incredibly kind father, Giuseppe, but then only 7 months later lost their loving mother, Maria. Their lives have been shaken up and changed in so many ways. I pray that they will find the strength to remember the good times with less pain each day. I know that they will never take any member in our family for granted. It makes me sad to think about how little I visited in their last years. For me, I know that my trips to Rochester where my aunt and uncle lived will never be the same. What I have learned about death this past year is that it reminds you what you loved about the people you lost. It also gives you the opportunity to reflect on the qualities you loved about the people (whether you knew them or not) and try to engender those qualities yourself. For instance, I think both Bowie and Prince will be remembered for their pioneering spirits. I believe that my love for their outrageous choices in music has helped me appreciate the same creativity in other artists. It also has helped me to appreciate the creative streak in myself. My Zio Peppino's love of laughter and friendly nature will live on through his grandchildren. I will look at them with new eyes as they develop the traits they inherited. My Zia Maria's love of family reminds me of my own love for all of my family and how the time to express it is NOW. In 2017 I will not wait until death calls to spend more time with the people I love.
I know that if I thought about it for longer I could come up with lots more lessons. But I think these four lessons can help guide me through anything that 2017 may bring. I wish all of you peace and happiness in this upcoming year.
