Of Motherhood, of True Blessings, and of Light

My Dearest One,

It was recently Mother's Day here in the U.S., and I find myself torn about what I need to write, especially given the other parts of my life that have been tugging at me.  My call to teaching and how that is translating in my life.  My growing confidence in my own abilities and strengths.  My deepened understandings of how to be a good employee, colleague, subordinate, and friend.  But the importance of motherhood, particularly in my own life, is a subject that aches to be explored.  So, here we go.

As most people know my mother was decidedly not the maternal figured I needed, wanted, or desired.  She was and is a woman unto herself whose vision is limited to that which magnifies her own worth and existence.  She is an eccentric, crazy, narcissistic, and neurotic ball of self centered agony, waiting to burst open like a cyst of infection.  Her moods, words, and actions are like a poison that will slowly reach toxic levels for those around her.  This may sound harsh, I realize, but for those who have lived within her sphere of destruction this description is all too real.

Yet, my own life partner, my heart's desire, my wife, is the complete and total opposite of the tragedy of my youth.  She is a selfless giver of time, passion, exuberance, radiance, forgiveness, and unconditional love for her two children and for me.  She is a blessing to all who meet her and who know her.  She works to provide the maternal gifts of hope, peace, and joy not only to her own family, but also to each person she encounters.  She is a gifted woman and I could not be the man I am today were it not for her.  And I mean that in absolutely every sense possible.  I could not be the man I am today without her in my life.  I would not have had the courage to become who I am were it not for her love and support.

As a transgender/intersex individual my wife chose to support me through a change that threatened to dissolve our marriage by an 80% margin.  She wants me to be happy.  As a man with severe mental illness she has chosen to uplift and uphold me through each psychotic episode.  She believes in me.  As a man who has struggled with self worth, and an upbringing that has nearly broken my spirit more times than I can count she has chosen to live with this darkness.  She shows me a light that I cannot see on my own.  As a man living with a beast deep within his soul she has chosen to stand her ground in the face of its hateful, spiteful, and hideous outbursts that have emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and physically attacked her and her children.  She wants the real husband and father I am called to be.

For all this and more I simply cannot find the words that would ever say what her gifts have meant to me throughout the nearly 15 years of marriage we have shared.  Through every wrenching heartbreak and every elated delight she has been present to the man I am, the one I was, and the one I can only pray that I will someday be.

She has shown me what a mother can be.  She has shown me the tasks that a mother is charged with when she enters into that most sacred bond of bringing a child into the world.  She has shown me what love is.

And she has shown me when a mother must let go and give her child the room to grow and become who he or she is called to be.  She has shown me the truest form of grace when she has allowed our sons to fail and then comforted them in their grief.  She has shown me the depths of her soul as she has cried each time our boys board the bus for the first day of school, year, after year, after year.

It is her determination, will, and strength that make her who she is.  And it was in the loss of her own mother over 9 years ago that I saw this the most.  She cared for her mother, a woman who had lost much in her life, who finally came to live with us in a converted barn so that she could be close to her children and her first grandchild.  My mother-in-law was a study in perseverance and she passed this gift on to her daughter with love, laughter, and humility.

Linda was a woman dedicated to providing a life for her children no matter the personal cost.  I remember vividly the early years or my wife's and my courtship as we would eat together at her mom's diningroom table.  There would be warm comforting food spread out for all of us, even after she had worked all day as a nurse in a geriatric facility.  She commuted a half an hour each way, driving from one state to another to work in that nursing home.  She would come back home, make coffee, take care of her beloved hound dogs, and then prepare a meal.  She would wash, dry, and hang up her one uniform by the time the food was ready, and we would gather at the table, talking, laughing, and trying to find both the money and an excuse to go buy "carrots" from the local store.  Despite the pain, anger, and disappointment Linda experienced throughout her life, she still managed to keep a sense of family for her kids.

When she died at the agonizingly young age of 57 from lung cancer on Christmas day, there was a tear, a rip, a gash really in the fabric of our family quilt, one that has taken years to carefully stitch back together.  Of course, as with any wound, if you look closely enough you will see where the delicate sutures have been placed, a puckering at an edge, an uneasy tightness, or a slackening where once it was taught.  Thankfully, my wife is a master quilter, both literally and figuratively, when it comes to our family.  We are all kept physically warm by her beautiful fabric creations.  We are also kept emotionally warm by her creations of love that sparkle in each of my sons' eyes and in the way we walk through this world together.  

Losing her Mom just 5 months after becoming a mother herself was one of the cruelest fates I can imagine, and though many people have given greatly of their time, their love, and their support there will never be another Linda for my wife.  And I see this most as she wishes that her mother could have been here for the births of her other grandchildren, and shared in the magical delight of being a grandparent.  Though my mother-in-law and I rarely saw eye to eye, I would give anything to have her back for the sake of my own wife's happiness.  And that is something that I can only say because of the love that my wife has given to me.  I am not the man I once was.  I am not the man I will be one day.  Rather, I am the man who can be present to the love of his life and want her happiness more than his own.  It is only when you have been loved unconditionally that you can do that.

There are so many memories and stories about the past that I could tell, but most of them are not mine to share, not really.  I will only tell tales about myself and so there is just one that I want to disclose for now.  It's about the love and hate for one's own mother that deep down Linda and I shared.  Though her mother was by no means anything even close to mine, the parent/child dynamic is universal and our own interpretations of our upbringings are personal memories that defy historical truths.  But the fact of the matter was that she had a tough time dealing with her own mother.  As a young woman she moved out of the house, got an apartment, and didn't call for 3 weeks.  I understood.  

"Retro Chic"

And yet, sitting in her diningroom one night looking around at the plate shelf that encircled the room above our heads, I saw a set of porcelain canisters.  They were brown on the bottoms, with white rims and bright flowers wrapping around them.  They were what would now be called "Retro Chic," but nearly 20 years ago they were more "Dated" and "Ugly."  So, I asked the lingering question in my mind, "Where did you get those?" figuring that they might have been an unasked for wedding, housewarming, or birthday gift.  The answer came as a crazy surprise, but one that I completely understood as well.  She replied "I bought those for my mother with money from my first paycheck after I moved out."  Because, after 3 weeks she felt badly about her break for freedom and wanted to apologize in a tangible way, proof that her independence was working out.  I knew exactly what she was talking about.  

Later, when she moved out of her house and into mine, she called her daughter and her son, and myself to come and divy up the items from the house that she no longer wanted.  I was the only one who wanted that "ugly" set.  I plan on keeping it and passing it on to my children and/or grandchildren along with the story of a strong, independent, and caring woman.  

So, this Mother's Day I celebrated my wife with a special cake she's always wanted, got a card, and made some tasty meals.  We ate one of the meals we always had at her Mom's house and we watched my wife's favorite Disney movie, and then one of the boys' favorite Disney movies.  Nothing fancy.  All family.  

"I love you Linda Mom"

And that's what I finally, finally, understood when it came right down to it.  Having the family you want will never be the family you get, because nothing in life works that way.  But having the family you need is precisely what you will get, because that's exactly how life works.  And when you realize that what you need is making you into something better than you could have ever imagined, then you don't really want for anything.  It is a puzzle that I suspect I will struggle with for the rest of my life.  And I am truly blessed to have that opportunity.


Thank you for helping me to put the pieces of this puzzle where they belong.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari      

Of Helpers and Helping

My Dear One,

It has been a few weeks since I have written, and I apologize for my lapse.  I was involved in my sons very active lives, school vacation, baseball practices, homework, theater, and breaking up the inherent fights that occur when two brothers are in close proximity to one another.  I also needed awhile to process the acts of violence perpetrated on a city that is not so very far away from me.   

I have been reflecting on the recent attack(s) in Boston and I am reminded of the wise and kind words of Mr. Fred Rogers.  It's a quote from The Mister Rogers Parenting Book that went viral after the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary School and was particularly comforting to children and adults alike.  He said:

 

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping."

No one is born into this world to cause the death of innocent people.  Neither is anyone born into this world to spread malicious pain and suffering like a cancer through a community.  Rather, we are all born into this world with an opportunity to live and experience all that we encounter on the journey.  

In the disasters of recent months most people of faith, and those who believe in an inherently good way to treat others, have responded to what has happened in largely similar ways.  We have been stunned and shocked by the violence itself, we have been saddened by the losses, we have questioned how and why people act the way they do, and we have prayed for comfort and presence for those affected.  We have sought help for those we perceive as helpless, and we have sought answers for ourselves so that we might not have to deal with such tragedies in our own futures.  We have been afraid even when our theological teachings tell us not to fear.  The unknown frightens us.  These past weeks have decidedly contained vast amounts of "unknown," of unknowable futures, of fear.

But I have to admit, I have a hard time reconciling the gut reactions to tragedies and the outpouring of help during these tragedies, with the day to day pain and suffering that I witness in my own life, my clients' lives.  Too often the responses I hear from people who are closest to the problems involve negative stereotypes and ignorance, the never ending barrage about welfare dollars, cigarettes, booze, and laziness that permeates our American culture is somehow perfectly allowable.  But when a disenfranchised individual acts out, the response to this will put blame on the "system" and then demonize the offending individual for their actions.  It is horrifying how quickly we will rationalize senselessness with rhetoric that shames and dishonors a person, who most needed access to support systems to prevent the slip into madness, and subsequent devastation.  

As we now "know," two brothers were behind the horrors that unfolded over five days on Boston, but we may never know what motivated their thoughts or actions.  What drove their own forms of madness?  I have no idea.  But I understand the madness part itself.  Grace-filled, I've never felt called to viciously attack hundreds of strangers, however I have lived through the horrors of being attacked, and of attacking loved ones.  I know that I will spend the rest of my life making sure that my beast doesn't come roaring out of submission, ready to attack whatever incorrect perceptions are feeding its insatiable hunger.  

And that's the crux of my difficulty with all of this.  I suffer from madness.  I have Bipolar Disorder I, yes, the full blown model that is exacerbated by mind altering medications.  I also have a history of trauma, Asperger's, ADD, and am an intersex/transgender/transexual individual.  As a man with mental illness I am acutely aware of the fragility of life.  And it is scary.   That I am not a stark raving lunatic is lucky at the least, though I personally consider it Divine Intervention that is often represented in very human forms.  My helpers.

My helpers come in a multitude of colors, shapes, and sizes and I am thankful for each and every one of them.  I am well medicated.  I have incredible therapists.  I have a loving and supportive family.  I have the most understanding, patient, and loving wife on the planet.  I have friends.  I take care of myself.  I have a faith life.  I have a job.  I love my job.  I love my family.  I can cook.  I bake delicious and beautiful desserts.  I go to conferences.  I am a respected member of my community.  I am largely respected by colleagues and supervisors.  I have incredible teaching relationships with extraordinarily challenging students.  All of these things are my helpers and they are just the tip of that iceberg.

I have beaten most of the odds.  And yet, I know that if a chemical imbalance gets the better of me, I may say or do things that are completely insane and potentially hazardous to myself or others.  So I am beyond grateful that I have these resources to know when I might be slipping.  I am upheld by a myriad of services and supports so that I don't slip.  And less than 7 months ago I did slip.  Actually, I fell at a tremendous rate of speed, and I needed a lot of helpers to pull me out and prevent me from creating havoc for everyone around me.  And I know that if I ever need to return to an inpatient facility for treatment, I will not hesitate this time, and I will seek out those helpers again.

So, I am saddened, just as most people are for the victims and the families of the tragedies in Boston.  There was no good reason for 4 beautiful people to lose their lives.  There was no good reason for 180 more to lose not only flesh, blood, and bone, but a basic sense of security and trust that will take years to regain.  There is never a good reason for violence.  But there is always a reason, and I am all too familiar with its many incarnations.

It is the sadness and pain that I have felt in my life and I believe that it is very similar for the people who lost their battles with their beasts of mental illnesses.  I, we, they have harmed so many, including ourselves, out of fear, pain, sickness, and rejection.  To be terrorized from within one's own self by an uncontrolled, unaltered, unmedicated beast is the most unmanageable set of feelings I have ever lived through.  Knowing that the beast is on the inside and no one can make it stop, stop, stop right at that moment of total descent into your own personal hell, is the darkest place I have been.  It is a matter of life and death, and when you are unable to look for those helpers, death becomes an answer that is about relief, because living with this monstrous illness within you is simply too much to bear.     

So where were the helpers during all of the madness that went on in Boston?  Obviously there were the traditional helpers, the medical professionals, the law enforcement officials, the political leaders, the good samaritans, and the instinctive helpers who simply did what had to be done.  But what nags at me, is the question of where were the helpers before the madness?  How did these two very young individuals slip through every crack and crevice of two societies and "succeed" in their goal of causing pain and devastation?  Why didn't anyone notice?  How did this option become the "right" one for them?  Who led them into this?  What darkness within themselves allowed them to fall so far, so fast, into this hell?

Where was G-d in all of this?

Although I believe that "G-d is Still Speaking," I'm not sure that G-d is going to write out an explanatory note in the newspaper, or go on tv, or facebook, or twitter to spell it all out.  Then again, maybe G-d already has and we just haven't noticed.  Maybe each time someone helps another person that's the message.  G-d is acting acting through social justice, rather than social media.  Each time that every one of us shows the unconditional love that G-d has shown to us, we are hearing and seeing the answers to all the questions that we ask about hatred, violence, and fear.  G-d has not abandoned us, rather G-d has empowered us to act in a world of pain and fear so that when senseless things happen, we can respond with love, caring, and respect for each one's dignity, so that we can all be helpers.

And just maybe, when I write the words that are thousands of years old every time I end my missives, maybe G-d is speaking through me.  

Thank you for being on the journey with me as one of my helpers.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

- Ari