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Choices

An Ordinary Mom's Musings > Choices

Making Peace With Not Getting A Hallmark Ending

We all want a Hallmark movie ending. Sometimes though, it’s not in the cards.

Days before Christmas Day 2021 my last grandparent died. It was my maternal grandmother. The weekend before, I had tried to go and see her as we knew she wasn’t going to last much longer. I bought the plane tickets and reserved a car.

But I was given the message she was refusing to see me and if I showed up at the nursing home I would be turned away.

To my knowledge, I’d never done anything that would warrant this. I felt hurt and conflicted. I wanted the chance to say goodbye and this would be my only chance. Grandma was leaving instructions that there was to be no funeral, no graveside service. No gathering of any kind.

The truth is, my grandma was difficult in many ways. Many of my siblings have had no relationship at all with her because she couldn’t be bothered to have a relationship with them and show up. Some only saw her once, at our brother’s funeral. As the oldest grandchild, I had more of a relationship with her than most. But even for me, she couldn’t be bothered to show up for my wedding.

There are good memories too.

When I was a little girl, it was my grandma who showed me the world of books. She and her husband had previously owned a used book store that closed, and many of the books found a home in their home. Every wall in their house was lined with books. Every time Grandma came to visit she brought boxes of books. I was a struggling reader. She shared Nancy Drew books with me and I was hooked for life. Nancy Drew was eventually followed by Agatha Christie and then I moved on to biographies.

To this day, one of my greatest joys is a good book. It brings me so much happiness. Reading has opened new avenues and ways of thinking, helped me dream and move forward in life, and escape for a few hours when life becomes too much. It’s one of the greatest gifts she gave me.

I didn’t get a Hallmark movie ending with my grandmother.

A lot of times with family we don’t.

So what do we do when that happens?

We take the time to mourn the relationship that never was and then recognize the good things that the relationship brought us. Even in the worst ones, there’s something. My grandmother’s refusal to see me? It reemphasized how I did not want to be a grandmother like her should I ever become one. It made me hold my kids closer.

I’m grateful for that reminder even if …

I didn’t get the closure I wanted.

Our relationship was strained.

I was left fumbling around with grief I didn’t know what to do with.

My Peace I Leave With You

“My peace I leave with you. My peace I give unto you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

John 14:27

Of all the verses of scripture, this is my favorite.

It centers me.

It pulls me forward reminding me I can do hard things.

Who doesn’t want peace? Who doesn’t need peace?

I grew up as the oldest in a very large family- 11 kids. While we ourselves weren’t a very loud family, with all those people it could get loud and chaotic. I was a teenager when I found this verse and it brought me great comfort.

A hand reaching toward the light — Image by Jackson David from Pixabay

As I have grabbed hold of my courage and pushed my way through the hard things, this verse has sustained me. As I have dealt with the things that make you fall to your knees in helpless surrender this verse has held me.

Will It Be My Fault?

I sometimes think back to the early years of my kids lives. They were born in 2006 and 2007. Until 2015 I dealt with debilitating back pain. In 2013 I had my first back surgery which didn’t work. In 2015 I had my second surgery and almost 8 years later I’m still doing well.

But those early years meant a lot of mom laying on the couch or bed, trips to doctors, emergency rooms, and chiropractors. When we were preparing for my second surgery my daughter was terrified what would happen to her and her brother. She remembered that after the first surgery I couldn’t do much. Who was going to take care of them? Who was going to feed them?

As I remembered this today, it struck me that my husband and my roles are reversed now. He is frequently in hospital, or at doctors when I can drag him there (men!)., in bed and not feeling well. Now they worry about him.

Who is going to be there for them when he cannot?

Parents are central to a child’s survival and psyche. It is from them a lot of our self talk comes from. It is from them often we learn to rely a lot on others or be very independent.

I worry that because of all the physical pain I was dealing with, which in turn greatly affected my mental health, I was not enough. Add to that dealing with other people in the family’s mental health and the strain it put on me.

Did I raise children who will sit on a therapist’s couch one day because their mother ruined them? Because she wasn’t emotionally or physically available?

As they are teenagers now, I wonder through these years of their hating me one minute and breaking down to tell you they love you the next. Did I fill their needs? They were fed and clothed.

Be Brave, Give A Second Chance

“Sometimes, letting your guard back down and giving someone another chance is one of the best decisions you could make.”
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Happiness Is My Measure of Success

“My life isn’t perfect and is definitely not what others would view as success.

But I view it as pretty darn successful because I’m happy.”

I Have A Dream

In 2018 I took hold of my dream of finishing school and becoming a therapist, despite my not being sure of being able to pull it off. In 2021 I graduated with my Bachelors in Psychology and started my Masters in Social Work. Now I’m currently working on my first of two internships.

As time as gone on and my knowledge has grown, this vision of becoming a mental health therapist, this dream, has continued to grow.

I have a dream of owning my own therapy practice.

But that is only the beginning. I dream of working with a psychiatrist who uses alternative forms of healing as well as psychiatric medication. I want a massage therapist and a acupuncturist on staff. I have found a huge benefit in those forms of treatment both in my physical and mental health and I believe they could be an important part of healing for many people.

I don’t want to be in a strip mall in a nondescript building. I want a small building in the middle of trees surrounded by a therapy garden. Somewhere where clients can go to heal and meditate and find peace. Where they can work in the ground and watch things grow. Where the things that grow there can feed their bodies and souls. A place where yoga classes can take place on a grassy knoll. A big gazebo where group therapy sessions can be held. To help support the garden, it could be a place for small baby showers, weddings, bridal showers, garden and book clubs when it isn’t in use by the clinic.

I want healing to happen. Strength and resilience to build. A place where everyone feels safe, welcome, and accepted.

It started with a small dream of becoming a therapist. And it keeps growing.

Will My Kids Say I Was Enough?

“Did I fill their needs? They were fed and clothed.

Did they know they were loved? I tried to spend quality time with them.

Was it enough?”

What Going Back To Work Has Taught Me

“It has been good for me to relearn my shortcomings and learn to let things go. It’s been good for my family to learn the world (or Mom) doesn’t revolve around them all the time. Reaching for my dreams has sparked a fire in me that makes me happy. “
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Going Gray

It’s a right of passage for everyone. If you grow old enough, you’re going to find those pesky gray hairs- everywhere!

I found my first one a week before my 20th birthday. Thank you Mom for those genetics… At about 28 I started dying my hair. At 42, 43? 44? I have considerable gray but compared to some of my friends who have gone completely gray I still have a lot of natural color.

Gray takes getting used to.

It takes acceptance and self love.

And I’m just not there yet.

At the beginning of the pandemic when no one could get into their hair stylists, I toyed with the idea of letting it go natural. Several friends have. But I just couldn’t. I found myself at the grocery store buying color to cover all that gray up.

Fast forward 3 years and my hair stylist seemed to be ghosting me and once again I found myself toying with the idea of letting it go natural. But I just can’t. Instead I’m dragging myself out on a Saturday morning sitting for hours to get my hair done. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to accept the march of time showing up in my hair.

To all of you who have chosen to show off your gorgeous gray locks, I salute you! You are brave and beautiful!

I’m going to hide mine just a little longer. Maybe one day I’ll call it good and rock the gray streaks that frame my face like Morticia from the Adams family. Until that time, I’ll put in the time at my stylist’s.

Triggers: Because of Trauma

I haven’t been writing as much about my son and his special needs. There are a lot of reasons for that. Part of it is because as he grows older I have come to realize that it is his story to tell and he deserves to have that right to share when and if he pleases.

At the same time, I have a story too, and I think it’s important to share my story and be honest about what it is like raising a child with special needs. This story hasn’t ended even though I share less about it. This story is part of who I am now.

The end of May marked the end of school for my children and they are out for the summer. Their Dad and I both work so they are home alone and are probably loving that we aren’t there making them get up before noon as they are teenagers now.

About seven years ago, we started using doorknobs with key pads. At that time our son was really struggling. It was for safety so that when things got out of control his sister and I could escape to a room to be safe. We also use them on our pantry because he cannot control his eating. He has access to plenty of food, but having a place he cannot get into ensures there’s some food left over for the rest of us. These doorknobs have worked REALLY well for us.

As I said, my children are home for the summer, and my daughter didn’t want to get out of bed yet and get the Cheerios out of the pantry that my son wanted for breakfast. So she told him the code.

SHE TOLD HIM THE CODE!

We started using these doorknobs when the doctors were telling us to send our daughter to live with someone else so she would be safe. During a time when she was thrown into a coffee table with glass that broke and had bruising all over her torso. During a time I had to go have X-rays to ensure my back was okay after being kicked right after back surgery.

This has not been our story for the last couple of years. He’s much calmer and more in control. Food is still very much an issue, but safety is less so at this time.

But what I didn’t realize is the psychological comfort those doorknobs provided me, knowing there were places he couldn’t get to, where we could be safe. This loss has triggered my anxiety big time. It really caught me off guard. Add to that, it was during a time when my husband was out of town, the one person who could control our son when he got out of hand.

I DID NOT FEEL SAFE.

Nothing in my son’s manner caused this. He was doing his usual things and not being threatening in any way. But this was my response to the situation.

Because of trauma.

My trauma response was to immediately feel threatened. For my anxiety to spiral out of control quickly.

This is my story. My response. It isn’t wrong or right, it just is.

Knowing this, I can name my reaction for what it is. I can understand that my reaction is a normal reaction due to my experiences.

I give myself grace.

That being said, it’s also okay to know that I might have to take more of my emergency meds for a while. That things that normally don’t trigger me anymore may start triggering me again. It’s something I have to work through. Whether we get new doorknobs that he doesn’t know the code to, or I learn to let go and breathe, or something else. I will work through this.

This is my story and I choose to tell it.