Changes

Change is always a good thing, and like most good things for you, we don't always take to them because we don't know how good for us it can be. Change is what keeps you on your toes, it keeps your mind awake and allows you to evolve. Comfort is a good thing, but change is a necessary thing. I have always steered clear of change for a good portion of my life. Like the feeling of a warm blanket, knowing something new and possibly difficult wasn't about to jump in my way and cause upheaval in my life, was comforting. So that's how I spent 27 years of my life. In a never-changing cycle of events that I liked and felt comfortable in. Little did I know the misery that was waiting in the wings because of a static life. I hung out with all the same people, and did all the same things. As a result, I gained weight, learned nothing new, and just got angrier and more jealous that everything was happening to everyone else.

It wasn't until change forced its way into my life in the form of my father's passing, that a series of events that would completely change everything was set in motion. When I was young my parents kept me sheltered, I wasn't allowed to take many risks, and I was provided with everything I needed. So I just lived with them until my father passed away, and then I stayed with my mother until she decided to sell my childhood home and move to Puerto Rico a few years later. It was around then that I realized what I was becoming. I really couldn't imagine living with her for the rest of her life, only to have nothing when all those comforts I was used to were gone. That's when I decided to search, for who I am, and who I would become. I began by leaving behind all the things I knew and grew comfortable having. I decided to throw myself into a new situation completely unfamiliar to me, so I moved to England to live with a friend and see a new country. I lived there for as long as my visa allowed, surviving on my inheritance left to me by my father. My dear friend there was the first to really make me think about the future, and a bit of tough love got me moving, in some direction at least. 

After living in England for six months, the maximum allowed time without some change in national status, I returned to the States determined to start my own life. I moved to Connecticut with some friends and after a few months I noticed I was just going back to the same old habits. Now having help from your friends is a great thing, and I will always appreciate them for all they've done for me, but too much help can hinder you rather than help you. It's like that "too big to fail" concept. No matter how much I mess up, I'll always have help to avoid falling on my face. Sometimes the fear of falling is the only thing that will make you pay attention enough to avoid it. So secretly I hatched a plan to disappear. I figured if I just left one day and no one knew where I was, I wouldn't have the help I'd always relied on  before. One night I came up with a plan, and the next day I implemented it. Looking back it was fairly drastic, and a little dramatic. I literally got in my car with all my things and left for Ohio where I only knew two people. I figured it was few enough friends to force me to do things on my own, but just enough that I wouldn't be completely alone. 

When I first arrived in Ohio I had no home, no place to stay and very limited funds. I stayed at an extended stay hotel for a month while I found a job, and through a little networking, a roommate in the form of a friend of a friend. I won't say it was at all easy; I met new friends, lost some friends, and was faced with possibly failing several times. But through it all I remembered my father, he was always my hero, he did everything to make sure he did what an honorable man is supposed to do. So I had to succeed, not only for me, but for him. A couple of years, a couple of jobs, and a couple of roommates later and I was finally tasting a bit of success. I was living on my own, I had a good job, and I was meeting new people I was proud to call friends. Another year or so later and I finally met the person that would really change everything for me. Sitting at work one day I was asked to train a woman who transferred over from another department. Normally I hate having to train new people, but after taking one look at her I knew she would somehow change the core of who I was. I call her my wife now, and I will always remember how I once said I'd never be married. Not because I didn't want to, but more so because I didn't even consider that kind of change coming into my life. Now I laugh at the thoughts I once had. I remember some one asking me how I knew she was "the one," I answered, "because I couldn't imagine her not being there, she IS home to me." So change isn't so bad, life's still not easy, but change has become a lot easier to deal with, because I learned to change with it instead of fighting against it.

I Got What I Wanted

I was 36 when I got the news that I had Stage 3 Breast Cancer. A chance visit to the doctor for a diagnosis of bronchitis, and a check-up on some fibroids that were always present in my left breast, that turned into an ultrasound and my first mammogram that bore the bad news. Hearing that cancer was invading my lymph nodes and that I was going to lose my breast was devastating in more ways than the obvious. Among my first thoughts was would I be able to watch my 2 boys grow up and maybe even have kids of their own? How would my family cope without me? The look on my mom's face when I told her what was happening was heart-breaking.  She was faced with losing her first born...I could only imagine her pain and fear.

I went through almost 18 months of treatment and procedures, to be declared in remission in August of 2002. A celebration party with my friends and family that had been there the whole time supporting me. I had a smile on my face and was happy. I was a warrior who fought with all her strength through endless nausea, hair loss, painful healing from surgeries, devastating bouts of exhaustion, and trying to stay positive in front of those who were cheering me on.  Yet, deep inside, when the house was asleep and all I had to listen to was my own breathing, I was truly scared to death. Of death. It whispered in my ear on a constant loop how it was going to sneak up on me when I least expected it. Pushing those thoughts away was mentally exhausting. Each visit to my oncologist for checkups, Death would tap me on the shoulder, while the Doctor was telling me that my tests came back fine, and wink. "I'm still here." it would chuckle.  I never let on that I was anything but confident that I'd beaten cancer.  

July of 2010 I found pea sized lumps in my right breast. I immediately made an appointment to see if Cancer was back. They turned out to be benign, but with careful consideration, I decided to have my right breast removed to eliminate the possibility of any return. Healing was brutal and had to have another surgery to close the skin when the wound reopened. All I could think was that I no longer had to worry about the cancer coming back and having to go through treatment again. I was willing to do anything it took. I was so close to the 10 year remission mark, that was my goal. I'd moved to another city, had a really good job that I enjoyed and my boys were grown and living successful lives of their own. Remembering that it had been one of my worries that I'd never see them grow up and now one was married and talking about having a child, filled me with hope. 

Fast forward to June of 2012, I was newly married, had a grandson and was living a good life. The thought of cancer rarely made its way into my mind. I was looking forward to celebrating 10 years cancer free. I'd been experiencing pain while sitting for long periods of time and being so tired after doing mundane things, but brushed them off to being just a woman in her mid 40s. I went for my regular check-up and blood work at the oncologist's, and he came back into the room, sat down and began to tell me and my husband that my cancer was back. It had spread to my bones and was now considered terminal. Numbness. Static noises in my head. Bewilderment, anger, fear, sadness, feeling betrayed by my body once again. Death poked me in the chest and said, "See? You thought I forgot about you, didn't you?"  I walked out of the Doctor's office on auto-pilot.  Where was I going to find the strength to go through this again? And for what result? Just to die? 

I've gone through radiation, more chemo and will be facing more chemo in the future to control the growth of the lesions that have invaded my pelvis, ribs, femur, and spine. I am uplifted daily by family, friends--both old and new, and by a husband who refuses to allow this cancer to steal his wife. I am strong. I am weak. I am determined to live the time I left to the absolute fullest. I do the things I want without apology. No one gets to live it for me or tell me what I can or cannot do with the time allotted to me. My outlook on life hasn't changed all that much because of the cancer. I've had no epiphanies, I've always lived the way I wanted to. What I do want to leave to this small world I've created for myself is the encouragement to do what you love. Do what excites your mind, do what makes you wipe tears of joy. Do what makes a difference to others. I can leave this world knowing I made someone's life better or easier. That's the only thing I ever wanted. 

I

Live Your Moments

“Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

~ Hilary Cooper

A trite phrase, often overused, like “I Hope You Dance” played at a wedding reception.

Trite doesn’t make it any less true. 

A baser explanation would be quality, not quantity.  And that’s where so many get lost.  We fill our days but we fill them with nonsense.  We fill them with meaningless text messages, many of them acronyms for words we are far, far too busy to spell out.  We fill them with staring at the screens of our cell phones or computers instead of enjoying our surroundings. 

Many complain of having an empty life, a boring life, a meaningless life.  All while surrounded by people who could add to that life – significant others, family, friends, strangers.  In this age of electronics, of instant gratification, we’ve forgotten how to live.  Despite capturing every moment on a camera phone, we’ve stopped living those moments.  We watch them through a screen – not as they’re happening. 

I’ve had this same struggle, feeling at times that my life is empty, or rather, not full enough.  That there are too few bright spots. 

I have to make those bright spots.  I have to live them as they’re happening or they’ll escape. 

In thinking about all of this, there are moments in my life that have taken my breath away.  These are the moments I need to huddle close around me in those times when I feel the dark creeping in.  These are the things I must remember, that I need to be present in my own life and be in the moments that are yet to come.

There have been a million moments in my life where I felt full, where I felt happy.  They are like fireflies dancing in the yard during a summer night; each little light carrying a piece of my past where I was happy, where I threw back my head and laughed, where my laughter probably turned into a snort. 

But then…then there are moments that cannot ever be replicated. 

The night I met my husband was one of those moments.  I met him during a dark time for me, one where I was unsure of what the future would hold.  He sat down across from me with a slow smile and that was it.  My heart stopped, my breath caught.  I barely remember what we talked about that night.  I do remember driving home with a smile on my face that refused to disappear.  For days.  I’ve never been described as a giddy woman, but I was then.  I was done for. 

The first time I saw my son’s face is another.  The first time those little eyes opened and stared at me, little button nose and rosebud mouth peering out at me from the blanket burrito he was swaddled in melted every hard edge of me that existed for a little while.

We need to remember - *I*need to remember to hold onto happy.  Grasp it with both hands and don’t let go.  Cling to those memories when life seems at its darkest.  Live those moments, be present in them.  Put the camera down.  Turn off the computer.  Raise the blinds.  Remove your blinders. 

Live these moments we’re given.  Because we only get to live this life once.

Saying Goodbye

I’m in eighth grade and I’m sitting in my last class of the day.  My seat is to the front of the room near the wall, so I can lean back and look out the windows into the courtyard when I’m supposed to be paying attention.  Summer is starting to get close and there’s an air of restlessness creeping into everyone around me. Maybe I’m dozing off, maybe I’m about to have one of those moments that make you rethink how you see the world.

In the middle of the courtyard I see him, just standing there with that warm and infectious smile on his face. It’s my grandfather, and he’s waving at me. I sit up in my seat and he fades away. The whole thing took maybe 15 seconds and then was over.

I finish the day and spend the bus ride home quietly. Somewhere before I reach my house a thought enters my mind. “I’ve never been to the funeral of a relative and I wonder how I’d handle that.” It’s a strange and morose thought that I immediately push to the back of my head. Who wants to think about stuff like that? I get off of the bus and make my way up the driveway. As I round the turn, I see that my mom is home. This is completely out of the norm. I get this sense of unease, something has to be wrong. I walk into the house and both of my parents are sitting in the living room. Mom looks upset, this doesn’t faze me right away. I look over at dad, he’s been crying, now I understand what’s going on. She tells me to sit down, that they have something to tell me. I shake my head no and tell them to just go ahead and say it. “Your grandfather died this morning.” The air leaves the room for a minute and I do what can only be described as maybe the strangest thing I’ve ever done. I smile and let out a half laugh. It didn’t dawn on me for a few minutes why exactly I had that reaction. He’d come to say goodbye to me. He stood in that courtyard and waved goodbye to me.

The next couple of days are filled with somber family get togethers. I haven’t cried yet, not a single drop. You’d think I was about ready to burst, but I held it together for my mom and dad. I needed to be strong for them. I sat in the funeral home, in the back, by myself. I’m still holding it together, but the whole concept of a wake is foreign to me and to be honest, I hate them. A good friend of my dad’s comes over and sits by me. He looks at me and very plainly says, “I know he didn’t say it very often, but your grandfather always spoke very highly of you and he loved you with all his heart,” Ladies and gentlemen, Niagara Falls. There was no holding back any more. I got it out and sat in the back collecting myself again. My best friend’s father comes and sits down by me. He’s not an overly demonstrative man but he’s always felt like a second father to me. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “He may not be here anymore, but you can always talk to him. He’s always listening and he’s always with you.”

In the years since then, and there have been many, I haven’t seen my grandfather again. I’ve talked to him plenty, but there hasn’t been a response. At least not one that I’ve noticed. I’m going to see a medium in a couple weeks for the first time. Skeptically. If there’s any legitimacy to it, I’m hoping to hear from him again. Even if it’s just another wave.

-A

Saying "Nothing" Speaks Volumes

Saying "Nothing" Speaks Volumes

When a dear friend of mine wrote and asked me to be a part of this, the first thing I did was question whether or not he had been hacked. I know my dear friend to be a man of few words. Not that he doesn’t speak at all or lacks any sort of social skills, but he, for as long as I’ve known him, has always tended to be more of an observer. Not that he wouldn’t converse; we have had several great discussions. I just have never known him as being very verbose. When I explained the reasons behind my questioning of this blog’s authenticity, he simply stated, “I decided I was tired of being quiet.”

It occurred to me that this simple action of being quiet is the same action I have been trying to fight my way through for years, it seems. I have been called everything from introverted to anti-social all because I do not share my life easily. Not one person, outside of my significant other, knows a lot about me, knows my daily routine, or knows my ins and outs. People may say that that’s normal; in a relationship, partners generally know more about one another than anyone else would. It’s all true. However, it has been pointed out to me that I have a problem sharing the smallest detail, even with those closest to me. For example, I don’t just randomly call a friend and tell them about my day or that I got my hair done or where I went for dinner the previous evening. If I do end up sharing those details, it’s only because I am already on the phone with a friend and I have a story related to whatever my friend is speaking of or the friend has asked for specifics of my day. Even then, nine times out of ten, if someone asks me what I’ve been up to, they are usually treated to the big reveal of, “Nothing.” I, of course, am great at turning this back around on someone.

A typical conversation with me often goes like this:

Friend: “How are you?”

Me: “Good. How are you?”

Friend: “Good.” (Friend quickly gives me a brief synopsis of what “good” entails.)

Friend follows up with, “What have you been up to?”

Me: “Nothing. You?”

I have now been successful in throwing the responsibility of the conversation back on said friend and have completely diverted the attention away from myself. So, then why do I feel so alone sometimes?

I don’t really wonder why I am this way. Between living in a household where, with one parent, no secret was sacred and another parent who taught me when I was young that no one really cared what I had to say; that I shouldn’t talk about my life because people aren’t truly interested in the details, I get why I am so closed off. Alas, those stories of my youth are best left for another time. The point to this rant is that, over the years, I have become notoriously private. This is sometimes why friends may not hear from me for days or weeks at a time. It’s not that I don’t love them. I would be there in a second for any one of them if they needed me. I hope they know that. I would spend hours on the phone with them if they needed me to, and I have done just that when the occasion has arisen. I just don’t feel like anything I have to say is worthy of saying. And maybe I just feel like the person on the other end wouldn’t be interested, or even more so that they are busy and I don’t want my troubles to be a bother to them.

I have been trying, though. I recently got back in touch with a friend from Junior High. We have been chatting here and there and meeting up for the occasional lunch, movie or visit. I truly enjoy her company and I am trying very hard to open up, but sometimes when I do, I feel like a stumbling, mumbling idiot and that my story should have stayed in my head, where it sounded 10x better.

Answering someone’s question of, “What have you been up to” with “Oh, I painted my toenails blue” just seems so silly to me. But it was also recently pointed out to me that that’s what sharing your life is; keeping people in the loop as to your activities, even the most mundane ones. I’m still figuring it out, I guess.

I agree with my friend, who originated this blog, though. I am tired of being quiet and I am attempting to ready myself for the vulnerable feeling of opening up. Will my friends still love me when they see that the friend, who is usually their rock in their times of need, actually has a gooey marshmallow-y center? Will they still think I’m an awesome person when I’m crying on their shoulder or will they be bored when I haven’t had much going on in my day where the most fantastic thing I’ve done is re-organize my kitchen pantry?

Maybe it’s just that the quiet people such as me just need to feel that the person we want to reveal ourselves to, honestly and truly wants to hear what we have to say. Perhaps once we can trust that our words are wanted to be heard, we’ll feel like saying them.

The point to all this, I guess, is that next time you notice someone you might suspect of being anti-social,  maybe make it more of a point to let them know that you’re  open to whatever they have to say, regardless of how menial it may seem. It might be a bigger deal to them than you think.

Positive Breeds Positive

 

 

Positive Breeds Positive: Make your life what you want it to be

 

A little over twelve years ago, my life was forever changed, when I was stricken with the first of the chronic health problems, which were destined to define a large part of my life. At that point, the athlete that I had been for most of my life was taken from me. The continually active person that I had been, ceased to exist, never to return to the level of the past.

 

The following five years would be mired by diagnosis after diagnosis of new condition or disease. At one point I actually vowed to not see doctors anymore, just so they would not be able to diagnose me with anything further.  Each day became harder and harder to manage, both mentally, and because of the chronic pain I had to endure. I did less and less, until finally the only time I was leaving the house was for appointments and medical tests. The medications I was taking were, in some cases, causing just as severe of problems as the illness’s themselves. I was in my late 20’s, yet I was quickly ending up with the body and health of an 80 year old.

 

At this point came the night that would change everything, and eventually be responsible for all the happiness I have today. It was both the worst and best night of my life. The pain had built and built for so long, as had the depression. I had reached the point at which I did not want to continue. I did not want to go on. I literally spent the night wishing to die. Verbally crying out, for someone, somewhere to just let me die! Encompassed in agony, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I did not have the strength; I did not have reason, or desire to fight any longer. Somehow, at some point in the night, a switch was flipped. Everything changed.

 

My mind went from thoughts of fading into oblivion, to a determination to make my life as good as it could possibly be, with what I had been given to deal with. Right then and there I decided to take the positive out of anything and everything that would ever be presented to me. I was going to remain fun, fun loving, cheerful, and witty. I was going to be…ME!

 

In the short term, this meant that I had an overall more positive outlook on life. Through all the difficult things I was dealing with in my life, I kept a smiling face, and a light heart. I concentrated on my friends, both near, and online. I realized how many great people I had surrounded myself with, and that I had many people who truly cared about me. I was doing it. I was dictating my life, and how it made me feel.

Breaking Ground

    

    I figured that if I’m going to ask people to share their stories and lives with me I should be the one to share the first one.  I also thought maybe it would give me a better opportunity to explain what exactly I'm trying to do with this website. 

     When I was a senior in high school I had to take a government class. Part of that class was completing five hours of community service. A friend of mine volunteered at a suicide prevention help line and mentioned to me that they also had a section of the building where they had a clothes drop off. All id have to do was organize the bins of clothes and hang out for the duration of his shift. It sounded pretty easy, so I agreed to do it.  The room was a total wreck, but I set to folding and putting everything in order. It was enjoyable and pretty relaxing. People came in and out, the town had a lot more homeless people in it than I realized so there was always someone looking to talk for a few minutes.  I like that, learning about people, it honestly makes me really happy. A woman came in at one point who was nicknamed “Hurricane” because of her tendency to rip through all of the bins and never put things back. She lived up to her name. The night rolled on and after a while the visitors dwindled. Towards the end a man came in and said hello to me. He was a regular visitor to the building and he struck up a conversation with me. It started off simple enough, telling me about how he was waiting for the Sunday papers to be delivered to the corner store so that he could go make a few dollars putting the inserts into the papers and stacking them for customers to buy. I smiled and talked with him about what I was doing there and how my night had gone. He then started telling me about how his father had passed away a few years ago and how much he loved him and how he had looked up to him. I sat quietly and listened as he told me all these stories about his dad. How he was afraid he’d let him down or that he wasn’t proud of him.  He cried, a grown man that I had never met prior to that night sat with me, told me a story and cried. I told him all about my family and my life and he listened with just as much interest as I had given him. When the time came to go, I stood up and thanked him for hanging out with me and talking to me. He smiled and shook my hand and then said something that to this day I've never forgotten. “You’ve got an amazing heart and a very good soul.  Don’t lose that smile, kid. It looks really good on you.” I thanked him, went home and went about the rest of my school year. But I was never the same after hearing a total stranger tell me those things. He changed my life.

     So, there you go. The first of many stories, I hope. I want to make someone else feel the exact same way that I felt that night. Changed, noticed, and cared about. I decided that I'm going to keep every post on this site anonymous. The name of the person isn’t important. The experience is.  Everything that goes up here is for the purpose of helping people. Helping them heal, helping them smile again. I’ve given up on a lot of dreams in my life. I’ve never taken a risk or done anything daring. You cant save the world if you never leave your front door.

     I want to give all of you a platform to do exactly that. Save the world, help someone you may not even know. If I help just one person, this will all be worth it. If I can give a kid something that I never had when I was growing up, hope, I've saved the world. If I can help someone talk about something that’s been weighing them down and help them move on, I’ve saved the world. If by sharing your story, you reach someone who needed just a little bit of help, YOU have saved the world. The stage is yours…..

-A

Setting the Stage.

It’s said that all good things start with a simple idea. Of course, the same could be said for all bad ideas as well. Let’s hope, for the sake of this idea, it falls into the good category.

Everyone has a story. Your life is exactly that: a series of events which make up a story. I believe everyone should have a chance to tell their story and leave a mark on the world.

It seems that the larger the world gets, the more connected we all are, the more alone many people feel.

You are not alone.

There are people out there just like you who have had similar experiences. Things that made them happy, things that made them sad. Times they wish they’d turned left instead of right. Moments of joy.  Moments of conflict. 

My idea is this: share your stories with the world, even if you think it’s silly or that no one cares. Maybe by telling your story you’ll save a life. Or maybe you’ll give someone the confidence they need to push themselves just one more day. Be a super hero and tell the world no matter how alone they think they are, there’s someone out there who knows what they’re going through.  Who’s been through it and came out on the other side.

This isn’t all about helping the world. Maybe by telling people about a happy time in your life, it will remind you that things aren’t so bad. Maybe by telling a sad story, you’ll have a chance to get something off your chest that has been holding you down, holding you back.

So, that’s my idea. Tell me your story and let me share it with the world. You don’t have to put your name on it, that isn’t always important. Just put your heart into it. I don’t care if you’re 17 or 70.

Be proud of who you are and where you’ve been. Where you’ve been has brought you to the here and now.

Share yourself and save a stranger.

Tell your story.  Leave your mark.  Be remembered.

Live forever.