I finished the book in eight hours, with the kids screaming around me, with the impending drive to MD on my mind and well, I couldn't put it down. It was so much better than the first read through, and so much more heartbreaking too! And funny! Damn, it was funny Cliff. He was a character, an amazing, loving streaking clown of love!
You told the story of Jeff and you told the story of Dad, and you told the story of us, and you made the Fuzzy's known...
You did well. And I thank you. I thank you with tears in my eyes, I thank you with a laugh on my lips, I thank you with a proud, proud smile on my face.
Thanks Cliff. I love you.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Reflections on 2010
When I reflect on 2010, I am both filled with awe and filled with sorrow. I made it to August – 8 months – and had a decent year. I began the year on a low note, missing my brother and worried about what 2010 would bring. By the time I got passed the one year anniversary of his death (March 4), I had made up my mind to begin enjoying life. And from March through July, things were, dare I say, good? The best decision I made for myself in 2010 (perhaps in my entire life) was to go to the Wildacres Writing Workshop in the mountains of North Carolina for a week. It was there that I met some incredible people, learned some incredible writing techniques and fell in love. I fell in love with the possibilities that life provided and how easy it was to harvest from life if you make the decision to do so. I was harvesting during that week, harvesting and reaping and sowing and reaping again. Life was actually pretty awesome during that week and the three or so weeks after.
I can honestly say that I began to really appreciate the people I had in my life – the staples that made every day possible- my neighbors, my old friends, my new friends and my family. Oh, how they held me up when I was wobbly! They have no idea. I need to raise a toast to them, and maybe during this week and weekend without the kids, I will. I will name them all by name and say a prayer and wish them well. The list is long, so very long, and I am so very blessed.
My dad dying dropped me to my knees. It wasn’t expected (then again, is death ever expected?). The days that followed were unreal. I made them unreal, to tell the truth. I fell into a relationship that I now see was a real means to distraction and a real comfort to my vulnerability, and now that the window has been cleared of the fog, I see that it wasn’t real or true or even that good for me in the long run. But in the weeks following dad’s death, it was perfect. I’ve come to realize that this is how life works. I doubt that I would be writing right now had I not entered into a whirlwind relationship that ended just as abruptly as it started. It got me through the pain because it’s much easier to pretend you’re high in love when the alternative is falling into the darkness of complete despair. The loneliness following his death would’ve put me in a prison again. My “fake” love freed me and I am grateful for that too.
In contemplating this truth, I found that it opened up many more truths about me too – those that brought me comfort short-term (martinis and nights out and a lot of sleep and watching tv and listening to music and playing video games and failing to live beyond getting through a day and a new drama).
2010: before and after. The line is clear. I was just coming out of the short-term distractions and getting into those beautiful lifelong changes when another tragedy kicked me in the teeth.
And it’s okay. It’s okay.
I feel like I’ve had enough pain for awhile, yet I am not so naïve to think that since I’ve had three truly terrible years, I am protected from it. Yet, I am determined to break through to the truth this year – armored with the shield of my love – for God, for myself, for my children, for my family and for all those I see, hear, touch and feel. And I refuse to break through by sitting in my house and contemplating and thinking and self-helping. I am going to break through by living; by finding a Wildacres trip in every day; by living, damn it!
Life itself: terrible and wondrous, horrific and beautiful, terrifying and buoyant, lonely and joyful, real and unreal; and the only opportunity available to truly live and love.
I can honestly say that I began to really appreciate the people I had in my life – the staples that made every day possible- my neighbors, my old friends, my new friends and my family. Oh, how they held me up when I was wobbly! They have no idea. I need to raise a toast to them, and maybe during this week and weekend without the kids, I will. I will name them all by name and say a prayer and wish them well. The list is long, so very long, and I am so very blessed.
My dad dying dropped me to my knees. It wasn’t expected (then again, is death ever expected?). The days that followed were unreal. I made them unreal, to tell the truth. I fell into a relationship that I now see was a real means to distraction and a real comfort to my vulnerability, and now that the window has been cleared of the fog, I see that it wasn’t real or true or even that good for me in the long run. But in the weeks following dad’s death, it was perfect. I’ve come to realize that this is how life works. I doubt that I would be writing right now had I not entered into a whirlwind relationship that ended just as abruptly as it started. It got me through the pain because it’s much easier to pretend you’re high in love when the alternative is falling into the darkness of complete despair. The loneliness following his death would’ve put me in a prison again. My “fake” love freed me and I am grateful for that too.
In contemplating this truth, I found that it opened up many more truths about me too – those that brought me comfort short-term (martinis and nights out and a lot of sleep and watching tv and listening to music and playing video games and failing to live beyond getting through a day and a new drama).
2010: before and after. The line is clear. I was just coming out of the short-term distractions and getting into those beautiful lifelong changes when another tragedy kicked me in the teeth.
And it’s okay. It’s okay.
I feel like I’ve had enough pain for awhile, yet I am not so naïve to think that since I’ve had three truly terrible years, I am protected from it. Yet, I am determined to break through to the truth this year – armored with the shield of my love – for God, for myself, for my children, for my family and for all those I see, hear, touch and feel. And I refuse to break through by sitting in my house and contemplating and thinking and self-helping. I am going to break through by living; by finding a Wildacres trip in every day; by living, damn it!
Life itself: terrible and wondrous, horrific and beautiful, terrifying and buoyant, lonely and joyful, real and unreal; and the only opportunity available to truly live and love.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Buffalo Hunting
This time of year, for the past three years, has been very difficult. The Christmas season is supposed to be joyous; and sadly, it hasn't been for the past three years because it seems that I am always missing a pivotal person in my life while trying to maintain a level of enthusiasm for the children. It's a tough position to be in because on the one hand, I am so excited for the kids, on the other, I am so confused about life. And death. And all the hell that happens in between.
I went through my depression over the past few weeks - trying so hard to get through each day without letting the weight of it all knock me sideways.
This is supposed to be my weekend without the kids, and fortuitously, I was able to have them this weekend rather than endure a weekend without them again. I think that has made a big difference in my attitude. Their excitement about shufflin' off to Buffalo is unbelievable. They are so very in tune with my family and with the joy that being in the presence of my family brings that I can't help but be excited about the upcoming gathering.
When I think about the people who will be so very apparently absent, I choke up. Yet, when I think about the people who will be present (I use that word intentionally), I am filled with anticipation and enthusiasm. I think that maybe this will be a new way to approach the holidays - not with sadness and dread, but with gratefulness and joy. I still have so many incredible people in my life - my relatives! - that I would pick hanging out with over anybody else. I have these incredible nieces that light up a room; I have these incredible nephews that create laughter in every instance; and the dogs - oh, how they can make us all commiserate and laugh; and of course, the wholeness, the strength, the longevity of a loving set of siblings, and a mother who can throw out one-liners like it's her job (and it has been her job!) and I look forward to it all. To all of it!
I may be without a mate, but I am not alone. I may be lonely on occasion, but I am not without support. I may be aching, but I am not isolated in my pain.
Life is happening now.
I don't want it to happen without Jeff or Dad, but it is happening.
Laughter still exists.
Love still exists.
Beyond the pain, they are there.
And joy still exists. I plan on heaping it upon my plate this holiday... heaping and heaping and heaping it upon my plate until my plate runneth over, until my cup is full, until I am spewing a drink across the table in laughter, all over a sibling. I plan on that.
I will not be disappointed.
Love.
I went through my depression over the past few weeks - trying so hard to get through each day without letting the weight of it all knock me sideways.
This is supposed to be my weekend without the kids, and fortuitously, I was able to have them this weekend rather than endure a weekend without them again. I think that has made a big difference in my attitude. Their excitement about shufflin' off to Buffalo is unbelievable. They are so very in tune with my family and with the joy that being in the presence of my family brings that I can't help but be excited about the upcoming gathering.
When I think about the people who will be so very apparently absent, I choke up. Yet, when I think about the people who will be present (I use that word intentionally), I am filled with anticipation and enthusiasm. I think that maybe this will be a new way to approach the holidays - not with sadness and dread, but with gratefulness and joy. I still have so many incredible people in my life - my relatives! - that I would pick hanging out with over anybody else. I have these incredible nieces that light up a room; I have these incredible nephews that create laughter in every instance; and the dogs - oh, how they can make us all commiserate and laugh; and of course, the wholeness, the strength, the longevity of a loving set of siblings, and a mother who can throw out one-liners like it's her job (and it has been her job!) and I look forward to it all. To all of it!
I may be without a mate, but I am not alone. I may be lonely on occasion, but I am not without support. I may be aching, but I am not isolated in my pain.
Life is happening now.
I don't want it to happen without Jeff or Dad, but it is happening.
Laughter still exists.
Love still exists.
Beyond the pain, they are there.
And joy still exists. I plan on heaping it upon my plate this holiday... heaping and heaping and heaping it upon my plate until my plate runneth over, until my cup is full, until I am spewing a drink across the table in laughter, all over a sibling. I plan on that.
I will not be disappointed.
Love.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Press Release: Thanks Yvonne
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari marks author Cliff Fazzolari’s tenth book. Notable
works include: Counting on a Miracle (honorable mention at the 2008 Best Beach Book Festival
NYC) and House of Miracles and Nobody’s Home (2009 fiction pick for the New England Book
Festival). Published in USA Today, The Buffalo News and The Atlantic Constitution.
"Counting on a Miracle should be required reading for every human being." — Dr. Marc Levitt,
Chief Surgeon, Women & Children’s Hospital of Buffalo.
Whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, Cliff’s writing is handcrafted by what touches his life and engages his
emotions. Life’s roller coaster ride, the authentic ups and downs, leave readers with a real deal author akin to Steinbeck. Fazzolari writes with passion, not prejudice. His skillful storytelling imparts important life-lessons— lessons all of us could use reminding. — Lynn Lombard, Buffalo News contributor and freelance writer
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari is an authentic heirloom recipe
that shares the ingredients of what it takes to make life meaningful, challenging and
tasteful. This close-knit Italian family circles the kitchen table with confidence, slapstick
humor and mutual joy. Food plays a pivotal role in their lives and pride is felt when the
youngest son becomes a noted executive chef at The Gow School. But on January 27,
2009 life went terribly wrong for Jeff and his family.
Prior to that date, the Fazzolari family, known as the “Fuzzys”, was fortunate. They had a
secret that kept them above the fray: Love. Love between brothers and sisters, children
and parents, even their freaking dogs … a love that comes whole, not in individual pieces.
Together they made “Fuzzys’ Jumbut”, a recipe that throws together life, love and laughter.
But when Jeff dies, the family loses a core ingredient: the person that binds the family
together. The love isn’t enough and the pain is too much. Life isn’t the nice little package
they were living. Jeff’s death interferes with their love.
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari will introduce you to a son, a
brother, a husband and a dedicated father that was both prankster and poignant human
being. This thoughtful, compelling and heartfelt narrative serves to heal their own family as
well as others. This is a book that celebrates and embraces life at 120 miles per hour.
When the fuel tank runs out they add the ingredient that Jeff added to all his signature
recipes: Love.
Cliff’s blog, Thoughts of a Common Man, expresses the complexity of being human without
pretense. On or off the page Cliff’s a gifted cobbler of words and wisdom. Like his late father he
values his family and friends. His first post was about a rock handed to him by his son on his 40th
birthday. Simple? Yes and no. This was a rock that symbolized perfect, wonderful and unconditional
love. — Yvonne Conza, freelance writer & Cliff’s friend for over 40 years.
In Cliff’s words: As a Dad, that rock symbolized that I was doing as my Dad did. I had made the
human connection, with my son, that most Dads want, but a lot don't achieve. Jake had been sick.
Almost died, commanded all of my love and attention, and here he was, unashamed, standing
before me, telling me that he loved me. My kid loved me in a perfect kind of way!
And despite the fact that it was just a rock from my driveway...it hammered home all that I was
trying to accomplish in life.
That rock finds its way to my hand now and again when I'm hurting. I want it in the box with me
when I take the final ride. It's love. That's what it symbolizes. The perfect love that is difficult to get,
but the pursuit of which makes the world spin.
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari marks author Cliff Fazzolari’s tenth book. Notable
works include: Counting on a Miracle (honorable mention at the 2008 Best Beach Book Festival
NYC) and House of Miracles and Nobody’s Home (2009 fiction pick for the New England Book
Festival). Published in USA Today, The Buffalo News and The Atlantic Constitution.
"Counting on a Miracle should be required reading for every human being." — Dr. Marc Levitt,
Chief Surgeon, Women & Children’s Hospital of Buffalo.
Whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, Cliff’s writing is handcrafted by what touches his life and engages his
emotions. Life’s roller coaster ride, the authentic ups and downs, leave readers with a real deal author akin to Steinbeck. Fazzolari writes with passion, not prejudice. His skillful storytelling imparts important life-lessons— lessons all of us could use reminding. — Lynn Lombard, Buffalo News contributor and freelance writer
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari is an authentic heirloom recipe
that shares the ingredients of what it takes to make life meaningful, challenging and
tasteful. This close-knit Italian family circles the kitchen table with confidence, slapstick
humor and mutual joy. Food plays a pivotal role in their lives and pride is felt when the
youngest son becomes a noted executive chef at The Gow School. But on January 27,
2009 life went terribly wrong for Jeff and his family.
Prior to that date, the Fazzolari family, known as the “Fuzzys”, was fortunate. They had a
secret that kept them above the fray: Love. Love between brothers and sisters, children
and parents, even their freaking dogs … a love that comes whole, not in individual pieces.
Together they made “Fuzzys’ Jumbut”, a recipe that throws together life, love and laughter.
But when Jeff dies, the family loses a core ingredient: the person that binds the family
together. The love isn’t enough and the pain is too much. Life isn’t the nice little package
they were living. Jeff’s death interferes with their love.
Oh Brother! The Life and Times of Jeff Fazzolari will introduce you to a son, a
brother, a husband and a dedicated father that was both prankster and poignant human
being. This thoughtful, compelling and heartfelt narrative serves to heal their own family as
well as others. This is a book that celebrates and embraces life at 120 miles per hour.
When the fuel tank runs out they add the ingredient that Jeff added to all his signature
recipes: Love.
Cliff’s blog, Thoughts of a Common Man, expresses the complexity of being human without
pretense. On or off the page Cliff’s a gifted cobbler of words and wisdom. Like his late father he
values his family and friends. His first post was about a rock handed to him by his son on his 40th
birthday. Simple? Yes and no. This was a rock that symbolized perfect, wonderful and unconditional
love. — Yvonne Conza, freelance writer & Cliff’s friend for over 40 years.
In Cliff’s words: As a Dad, that rock symbolized that I was doing as my Dad did. I had made the
human connection, with my son, that most Dads want, but a lot don't achieve. Jake had been sick.
Almost died, commanded all of my love and attention, and here he was, unashamed, standing
before me, telling me that he loved me. My kid loved me in a perfect kind of way!
And despite the fact that it was just a rock from my driveway...it hammered home all that I was
trying to accomplish in life.
That rock finds its way to my hand now and again when I'm hurting. I want it in the box with me
when I take the final ride. It's love. That's what it symbolizes. The perfect love that is difficult to get,
but the pursuit of which makes the world spin.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Enzo-ooooooooooo-ooooooo-ooooo!
What I enjoy most about wrapping presents isn't the joy of knowing that the person who will receive the gift will be oh so happy; it is not about getting it finally done; it is not about the anticipation of the joyous occasion. It is the cardboard tube that is left over from all the wrapping. It is the great fun I find in holding it over my shoulder, taking a stance like Jeter about to nail one, and waiting for Enzo to come galloping around the corner. Thwack! On the butt and he scatters, he soars, he leaps, he slides across the floor and around the corner and stops moving. For a few seconds, he just stops moving and then takes three tentative steps toward me. I pull the tube back over my shoulder, he runs backwards (have you ever seen a dog run backwards - it's hysterical) and I chase him with it.
This is how I spent the first ten minutes of the morning - before coffee or anything else. Cathartic.
And guess who is behaving? Could it be the dog that has eaten three of Paige's books in the past two days?Could it be the one that destroyed his dog bed and everything else in his crate? Could it be the one who puked up a baby bird that landed inches from Paige's pajamaed feet? Or is it the one that weighs 80 pounds with the mentality of a three year old child wild with disrespect and chocolate? Or maybe the one that lifted his leg on the Poinsetta plant during dinner the other night?
This is going to be a good day. This is going to be a good weekend. I have loads and loads and loads of presents to wrap. Plenty of cardboard tubes. One dog.
Me and one dog.
Who will win?
This is how I spent the first ten minutes of the morning - before coffee or anything else. Cathartic.
And guess who is behaving? Could it be the dog that has eaten three of Paige's books in the past two days?Could it be the one that destroyed his dog bed and everything else in his crate? Could it be the one who puked up a baby bird that landed inches from Paige's pajamaed feet? Or is it the one that weighs 80 pounds with the mentality of a three year old child wild with disrespect and chocolate? Or maybe the one that lifted his leg on the Poinsetta plant during dinner the other night?
This is going to be a good day. This is going to be a good weekend. I have loads and loads and loads of presents to wrap. Plenty of cardboard tubes. One dog.
Me and one dog.
Who will win?
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Dear George Clooney
Books are magical. The other day, Paige, Tony and I spent a few minutes talking books. We ate our chicken noodle soup and talked about our favorite books of all time. Of course, I didn't mention A Prayer for Owen Meany or Madame Bovary or Stoner or East of Eden. We talked kids books. The animation in their voices was exceptional; even Tony with his excitement of the Great Fuzz Frenzy and The Giving Tree and The Kissing Hand. Paige is on to the series books: Junie B., Captain Underpants and even Narnia. I love that they read. I love that we all share the same obsession. I love that we can spend 20 minutes during dinner, talking about books.
The season has been up and down, up and down. The kids are, of course, excited to get presents from Santa but the energy, the anticipation, the real excitement comes with the thought of going to Buffalo for the holiday. "When we get to Buffalo..." "Can I bring this to Buffalo...?" "James is going to love...." "I can't wait to see Andrea and Nicole..." "Too bad Papa won't be there. I miss him..." All day, every day, for the past two weeks. All day, every day...
And I cry sometimes when I think about it.
I also laugh a lot when I think about it.
I'm tired too.
Paige stopped me in my tracks two days ago. Out of nowhere she said, "Mommy, I'd like to switch places with you for awhile."
I snorted. "Why?" (It was one of my down, cynical moments).
"So I can know what you're feeling."
"I'm okay Paige. I'm happy a lot."
"And sad?"
"Yes, and sad."
"And in love?"
"Yes, and in love."
"With me and Tony!"
"Yes, with you and Tony."
"And lonely?"
"Sometimes."
"And scared?"
"Yes, sometimes."
"And worried?"
"Nah, not too much. Things always get better."
"But mostly happy?"
"Yes, mostly happy. Do you still want to switch places with me?"
"No. It doesn't sound like fun, but I'd let you switch places with me for awhile because my life is pretty fun."
"Thanks Paige."
When she skipped away, I stood at the kitchen counter, dumbfounded. She's seven. And compassionate. And loving. And kind. And my baby.
We went to the bookstore last Saturday. I needed to get presents for teachers, mailmen, etc. (Didn't find anything there). I told Paige and Tony, they could each pick out one book. Tony came back with three to look over while drinking his hot chocolate. Paige came back with nine, and was very upset that I told her she could only have one. She picked the "Dork Diaries" - a cute story about a cute girl. In her pile of books was one titled: "Dear George Clooney, Will You Please Marry my Mother?" I laughed hard when I saw it.
"Why'd you pick that?"
"Because I wanted to see if it would help me help you find a husband."
"That's silly. I am buying it."
"For me?"
"No, for me. You can read it when I'm done."
Hopefully, it will turn out to be another favorite; and if not, I'll at least be in Paige's shoes for a little bit while I read it.
It is amazing to me how astute kids can be; how downright psychic they can be; how compassionate and kind and magical they are. I love books because they are very similar - astute and psychic, compassionate and kind, and magical. I know that's why my kids love them too. They may not be magical enough to actualize a marriage to George Clooney, but they have managed to actualize a great friendship with my kids. And that is something to read about.
The season has been up and down, up and down. The kids are, of course, excited to get presents from Santa but the energy, the anticipation, the real excitement comes with the thought of going to Buffalo for the holiday. "When we get to Buffalo..." "Can I bring this to Buffalo...?" "James is going to love...." "I can't wait to see Andrea and Nicole..." "Too bad Papa won't be there. I miss him..." All day, every day, for the past two weeks. All day, every day...
And I cry sometimes when I think about it.
I also laugh a lot when I think about it.
I'm tired too.
Paige stopped me in my tracks two days ago. Out of nowhere she said, "Mommy, I'd like to switch places with you for awhile."
I snorted. "Why?" (It was one of my down, cynical moments).
"So I can know what you're feeling."
"I'm okay Paige. I'm happy a lot."
"And sad?"
"Yes, and sad."
"And in love?"
"Yes, and in love."
"With me and Tony!"
"Yes, with you and Tony."
"And lonely?"
"Sometimes."
"And scared?"
"Yes, sometimes."
"And worried?"
"Nah, not too much. Things always get better."
"But mostly happy?"
"Yes, mostly happy. Do you still want to switch places with me?"
"No. It doesn't sound like fun, but I'd let you switch places with me for awhile because my life is pretty fun."
"Thanks Paige."
When she skipped away, I stood at the kitchen counter, dumbfounded. She's seven. And compassionate. And loving. And kind. And my baby.
We went to the bookstore last Saturday. I needed to get presents for teachers, mailmen, etc. (Didn't find anything there). I told Paige and Tony, they could each pick out one book. Tony came back with three to look over while drinking his hot chocolate. Paige came back with nine, and was very upset that I told her she could only have one. She picked the "Dork Diaries" - a cute story about a cute girl. In her pile of books was one titled: "Dear George Clooney, Will You Please Marry my Mother?" I laughed hard when I saw it.
"Why'd you pick that?"
"Because I wanted to see if it would help me help you find a husband."
"That's silly. I am buying it."
"For me?"
"No, for me. You can read it when I'm done."
Hopefully, it will turn out to be another favorite; and if not, I'll at least be in Paige's shoes for a little bit while I read it.
It is amazing to me how astute kids can be; how downright psychic they can be; how compassionate and kind and magical they are. I love books because they are very similar - astute and psychic, compassionate and kind, and magical. I know that's why my kids love them too. They may not be magical enough to actualize a marriage to George Clooney, but they have managed to actualize a great friendship with my kids. And that is something to read about.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Moving and Stalled
I've had a rough time of it for the past few weeks. I suppose it's evident in my lack of posting here; and I know I can feel it in the tension of my neck and head. The kids haven't suffered from it.Work hasn't suffered from it either. I guess those are the two most important vehicles I am driving these days, and it helps that I've had enough caffeine to stay on the road when I'm driving them.
My social life? Pretty dismal.
My creativity? Equally dismal.
My sleep habits? Horrid.
My attitude? Cynical and glass-half-empty.
I went to church yesterday. Said a heartfelt prayer. For myself. I never pray for myself. I'd have to say that 90% of my prayers, since I was able to pray, have always been for others - world peace, fighting soldiers, friends having a rough time, grieving family members, the weary, the sick and the deceased. I think the last time I prayed for myself was after I learned of a betrayal to me and my family and my only plea was, "Help me God." Not much of a prayer, but I remember that it was answered - after a long battle with my emotions, the source of the betrayal was subsequently absent and my insides were set straight. They remained straight for some time too: another betrayal, through the divorce, two jobs, unemployment, new job, death #1, grieving, death #2... you get the picture.
Yet, the miles, the strides, the climbs and the endless self-evaluations seemed to add up to one big, fat, zero. Nothing. I am back where I was many years ago. Praying to God for myself.
I sat at basketball practice on Saturday, enjoying the tripping, the dribbling of the ball on the big toe and subsequent scramble to get it, the missed shots, the swish and the glee of the swish. I was enjoying myself. Then I looked up and I saw my ex strolling in, hand-in-hand with his girl, and it made me puke a little in my mouth. I've since gotten over the pain, the anger, and the fondness of my ex; and have even come to respect his new girlfriend to a degree (though I fear for her in ways she cannot comprehend), but the bitter taste of resentment still bubbles every so often. I don't miss him, I miss a mate; and I cannot understand how he can find love at every turn but I still sit lonely inside a full room.
What the hell is wrong with me?
That baggage came with me to church too, snuggled next to fear and sorrow. So, we're at resentment, fear and sorrow. Not the greatest recipe for a trajectory into joy, is it?
So I prayed for myself.
Mass was about longing for God. I got it. I understood it, even chuckled a couple times during the priest's Gospel. It gave me just enough energy to get through the day: making a chocolate cake, some shake-n-bake drumsticks, homemade chicken noodle soup. I watched the kids as they ate and ate and ate, appreciating all of it. Once their eyes were closed for the night, darkness descended and I spent the night tossing and turning, finally getting out of bed because staying in it was making it darker by the minute. I could have prayed. I probably should have prayed. But I forgot. Maybe I'll remember later.
Kids are up. Time to turn the key and start up vehicle #1.
My social life? Pretty dismal.
My creativity? Equally dismal.
My sleep habits? Horrid.
My attitude? Cynical and glass-half-empty.
I went to church yesterday. Said a heartfelt prayer. For myself. I never pray for myself. I'd have to say that 90% of my prayers, since I was able to pray, have always been for others - world peace, fighting soldiers, friends having a rough time, grieving family members, the weary, the sick and the deceased. I think the last time I prayed for myself was after I learned of a betrayal to me and my family and my only plea was, "Help me God." Not much of a prayer, but I remember that it was answered - after a long battle with my emotions, the source of the betrayal was subsequently absent and my insides were set straight. They remained straight for some time too: another betrayal, through the divorce, two jobs, unemployment, new job, death #1, grieving, death #2... you get the picture.
Yet, the miles, the strides, the climbs and the endless self-evaluations seemed to add up to one big, fat, zero. Nothing. I am back where I was many years ago. Praying to God for myself.
I sat at basketball practice on Saturday, enjoying the tripping, the dribbling of the ball on the big toe and subsequent scramble to get it, the missed shots, the swish and the glee of the swish. I was enjoying myself. Then I looked up and I saw my ex strolling in, hand-in-hand with his girl, and it made me puke a little in my mouth. I've since gotten over the pain, the anger, and the fondness of my ex; and have even come to respect his new girlfriend to a degree (though I fear for her in ways she cannot comprehend), but the bitter taste of resentment still bubbles every so often. I don't miss him, I miss a mate; and I cannot understand how he can find love at every turn but I still sit lonely inside a full room.
What the hell is wrong with me?
That baggage came with me to church too, snuggled next to fear and sorrow. So, we're at resentment, fear and sorrow. Not the greatest recipe for a trajectory into joy, is it?
So I prayed for myself.
Mass was about longing for God. I got it. I understood it, even chuckled a couple times during the priest's Gospel. It gave me just enough energy to get through the day: making a chocolate cake, some shake-n-bake drumsticks, homemade chicken noodle soup. I watched the kids as they ate and ate and ate, appreciating all of it. Once their eyes were closed for the night, darkness descended and I spent the night tossing and turning, finally getting out of bed because staying in it was making it darker by the minute. I could have prayed. I probably should have prayed. But I forgot. Maybe I'll remember later.
Kids are up. Time to turn the key and start up vehicle #1.
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