Clarity Through The Dust Storms of Life

Life is a proverbial whirlwind. Sometimes you're at the edge of it, floating in the circling breeze. Sometimes you're in the center of it, swirling so fast you don't know which direction is which, and some moments are simply somewhere in between. Dust and debris from the rapid winds can cloud your vision and your senses, so densely at certain points that it feels difficult to breathe. All you can do is keep trying to ride the cyclonic winds out until you reach that floating edge again.

A dear friend of mine has recently been experiencing the center winds of her own cyclonic storm, yet found a way to see past all the dust and debris. She's allowing me to share her experiences, and epiphanies, via her own words.

"Things I've learned being with my daughter (way too many times, and way too long) in the hospital :

1. The little prince was right. It is not with the eye one sees, but with the heart. Differences in nationality, mother tongue, religion, exterior looks, and age are completly insignificant. It is your smile, your kindness (or the lack of it), your approach towards others and essentially, your heart, which really matter. My daughter made friends of every single type. Muslims, Christians, handicapped - all these made no difference to her. I wish I could say the same for myself. As the song in Pocahontas goes- it's the colour of your heart that matters.
On a side note - I was sitting outside one day, when a young mother came and sat not far from me with her toddler in a wheelchair. He was completly maldeformed, reminding me of the hunchback of Notredam. Interestingly, contrary to my natural instinct to feel the need to flee, I looked him in the eyes. It was truly amazing. It took 2 seconds for me to fall for him. See, his eyes said it all - he was just a boy. A little boy, seeking love and joy, just as all little boys seek and are equally entitled to find and have. And I wished for him, tears clouding my eyes, that when he encounters people, it is his eyes that they see, not the shell he is trapped in...

2. We are all the same (on the same note as #1, only from a grown up's perspective). We may be lawyers, business people, doctors, dancers or unemployment collectors. Educated, uneducated, classy or skanky - we all become equally helpless when our children's health is poor. We all love our kids more than anything else, and we'd all give everything we had to spare our children the suffering they're under going. We are all parents.

3. I have learned from my daughter about courage and strength. About happiness. And about true love.
Courage and strength - Undergoing poking, pricking, tubing, bleeding, probing and drugging, she has gone through all these things with so much patience, grace, strength and courage. Many a time, I have found myself cringing, crying, or feeling pain for things she had to undergo, when she did none of the above. It was almost as though it all just passed by her, not through her. It was almost as though she understood these things had to happen for her own good, and that was it. No self pity. Just take it all head on.
Happiness - It is sometimes the small things that matter. She could be poked a million times, but the sight of soap bubbles blown at her was all it took to get the biggest, most beautiful and radiant smile on her face. She could have a needle in her hand and be connected to wires, but that wasn't going to dampen the joy of going down a slide. I wish I remembered to appreciate things the way she does.
True love - I almost felt unworthy, when after every dreadful, tearful treatment she had to go through, all she needed was the comfort and safety of my arms to calm her down. Not candy, or a bottle, or anything else. The feeling of closeness to her favourite person was all it took. I hope to one day live up to, and maybe become, the person she sees when she looks at me.

5. Blessings - We all have problems. All of us. All sorts of different problems. There's an old Chinese saying, that if all the people of the world were to gather round and throw their problems in a pile, free to then pick from the pile whichever problem they like, they'd end up picking their own. My life is not simple. Not even a bit. However, seeing certain things in the hospital has totally gotten me thanking God for my problems. See, somehow, I think I can handle mine. No chance I'd be able to deal with some of the things I was faced with, and exposed to in this hospital.

6. Home - no matter how intense, insane, or stressful home may be, there really is no place like home. And my bed, which I so badly miss...

I truly feel blessed, having children. I feel I have so much to learn from them. I just hope, once this is all over and we're back to our regular crazy, insane routine, I will still be able to see things as clearly as I do on this long endless night in the hospital."

As adults, we tend to let the whirling, swirling, dust filled winds of life clog our eyes, senses, and outlooks. Yet, as children, the sight of bubbles or balloons, or the simple joy of sliding on a playground or finding a new friend of any kind could immediately erase the blinding dust storms of life. Maybe as adults, all we really need is a different kind of goggles.

Lessons to ponder.

~ The Girl In The Little Black Dress

Domino and Her Kittens .. Lessons Learned

Our kitten had kittens the other night.  I realize this sounds weird. I shall elaborate.

A little stray black kitten that "adopted" us back in early December, ended up pregnant, so we discovered 4 weeks ago. She was so tiny, it was hardly possible that she could be pregnant, but nature has a funny way of proving you wrong. Lo and behold, five tiny beings were added to our household 4 nights ago. We have now gone into the realm of "mommy knows best".

When Domino went into labor, she hopped onto our bed & trusted us throughout the experience. After she had rested a few hours with her newborn kittens, we moved her & her babies into another room, into the comfort of a blanket lined basket. Domino decided, much to the chagrin of my loving boyfriend, that she should move her babies under the bed. Initially we didn't realize it was her decision. As with all groups of small children, there is always the rouge wanderer, and as it was the kitten that had been attempting to go explore since birth, we thought that the kitten had wandered off under the bed. Nope! Domino felt safer with all her children hidden under that bed. I slid a blanket onto the floor under the bed yesterday & she happily moved them onto it. We baby-gated the doorway so our other animals can't get in the room, and now she comes and goes as she sees fit when her babies are sleeping. Earlier today I watched the kittens under the bed ... a small pile of little squirming beings that randomly threw tiny legs upward and mewed ... cutest, best entertainment ever!

Regardless of what we think is best for Domino's kittens, most of which stems from our narcissistic need to view and play with them, Domino knows what is best for her family. Mommies always do. We, the viewing public, may not agree with it because of our own thoughts and wants, but who are we to argue? Soon, very soon, the kittens will open their eyes, gain control of their limbs, and go off exploring throughout the house. Their mother's ideas of safety will no longer be part of the equation. Yet during the time of their tiny, blind-eyed childhood, her protection is the difference between their life and death .. so to speak.

Kittens and humans are definitely different in timelines and needs, but the basis is very similar. Children need their mommies & the love, support, & nourishment, in both philosophical and physical areas, that their mothers give them, until those same children are mature enough to leave the nest. Regardless of what anyone else thinks those kids should have or experience, their mother's love & protection is necessary for a child's success in life going forward. It may be considered far-reaching in some cases, but society should keep that fact in mind. Not everything is about what other people think should or should not be.

Thoughts for pondering.

~ The Girl In The Little Black Dress

Muddled Lessons and A Frog

I was asked to write a narrative about an experience in my life that had taught me an unexpected life lesson.  While the particular lesson in this story didn't truly become "learned" until I had kids of my own, I hope you enjoy the tale from my childhood ....

The life lessons that we teach our children are, sometimes, crystal clear for their meaning and worth, but sometimes those lessons come across about as clear as swamp water. We as parents attempt to teach these lessons purposefully through both words and examples in our own behaviors, we ultimately teach them unintentionally through that which we ourselves say and do on a daily basis, and, upon occasion, we impart lessons through sheer unadulterated accident. The “accidental” lessons tend to have the most muddled meaning to a child initially, even though we may have thought ourselves clear as day.
In the summer of 1976 I was a headstrong, precocious, tomboy of a five year old.  I was not a bad child, and I did listen to and respect my parents, but I had my own ideas about doing things and tended to be fiercely independent, which tended to drive my parents nuts.  At that time we lived in a quiet little neighborhood near the local college on a cul-de-sac street called Nottingham Drive. Things were not as they are today. It was normal to be outside playing with friends from sunup to sundown, and even at five, although I was not allowed to roam about completely alone, I could walk across the street or down the a few houses to a friend's home without worry. I had learned to look both ways, then look both ways again, before crossing the street. I knew that riding my bicycle on the side of the road was okay on our street, but that big wheels were only allowed to be ridden on the sidewalk, as cars will see bikes in their way but not necessarily a low-to-the-ground big wheel. Hopscotch was a favorite game, but the boards were only to be drawn on the sidewalks and driveways, never in the middle of the road. Playing games in the middle of the road was forbidden. I loved animals, but I should only pet and play with the domesticated ones that belonged to people as pets, not the wild birds, squirrels, racoons or rabbits that fascinated me completely, and under no circumstance was I ever to touch a dead wild animal. Period.
One morning I was playing with the twin boys that lived a couple doors down my street.  We had decided to go on a quest, and although I remember putting together a backpack and utilizing a walking stick I do not remember what we were looking for on our so-called quest that particular day.  What I do remember vividly is finding the frog.  It was a rather large frog that had, unfortunately, been flattened by some unsuspecting driver smack in the middle of the road between our houses.  Talk about a dilemma!  We discussed the grave situation at hand, and decided that the best thing to do would be to bury the frog right where it lay in the middle of the street. We were not allowed to touch it to move it, as touching dead animals was forbidden, and it was bigger than our sandbox shovels could handle picking up, even though initially we did attempt that option.  This was not playing in the road.  A proper burial for the poor animal was no game in our minds.  Many bucketfuls of sand from our sandboxes later, the frog was properly covered. That mound of sand that could have rivaled sacred Indian burial mounds. We stood around the grave site, solemnly holding stems of leaves, clover and honeysuckle so as to properly give the frog his final send off.  Just as we were beginning to place our offerings on the grave mound, I heard a yell that made me jump out of my skin. “Shannon Recole Wightman! Get out of that road and in this house NOW!”  Uh oh.  “Just wait till your father gets home!” Even worse. I searched my mind to attempt to figure out what I had done that was so wrong it would deserve the full name yell and the father threat, which filled me with dread as I hid in my room for the final hours until he arrived.
After what seemed like forever, my father opened the door to my room and sat down on my bed, belt in hand. “Do you understand why you're being punished?” he asked. “You're old enough to know better than to play in the middle of a street.”  I was playing?  No I was not. We were conducting a solemn ritual of death, not playing!  I my mind, I knew I was right and this punishment was grossly unfair.  As my father spanked me I began to cry, “But Daddy!  I didn't touch the dead animal!” He finished, hugged me with what I now know to be suppressed laughter that shook him, and walked out my bedroom door.
In the mind of a child, what is considered “playing”, and what is considered an important, solemn event tend to be very different than what constitutes these in the mind of a grown up. Many times when my children were young, I thought back to that episode in my own life in an effort to make the parallel lessons clear to them.  New lesson: if you can't dig a hole to place something in, it is not buried, therefore, do not conduct burials in the middle of a road, even though you may not have touched the dead frog.

~ The Girl In the Little Black Dress