Guest Bloggers – Page 22 – Disney Leadership Keynote Speaker

Empty Nest

Connie Wright returns today to give us a glimpse (or a reminder) of what lies ahead. One day, we will no longer be the most important person in someone’s life.

For days there has been that sound; doors and drawers slamming – “ugh”s, and a frustrated stomping of feet. There were piles sorted and resorted – stay, go, go if room, stay and bring up later. The last child packed her bags. The car was stuffed like a tetras game – each item fit in tightly with no spare room, I couldn’t see out the back.

Dave sort of hung low, skulking around corners to avoid the confrontation of our daughter. He has never handled transition well and seeing his offspring physically manifest her frustrations with this transition through her packing gave him pause. He turned to his own “make busy” work to keep out of the way – she had him in her crosshairs – now seems like a great time to trim the trees and chip the trimmings.

It was easy for him to avoid driving her up to school – there were only two seats left in the car and driving a second car to campus was absolutely redundant – mother and daughter could handle the unpacking – and there would be no fireworks.

The drive up to school was easy and we chatted – she had pushed away her father, but had not yet done that to me – she was going to make the trip a pleasant one. I got to listen as she chatted about seeing friends again and not knowing people in her dorm. She was processing the comfortable with the unknown. Once there – I let her do most of the shuttling of boxes up to the room – after a few trips I set to my ritual that I have done with each child when they get to school – I make their bed. This is my way to assure that I can visualize them when the lights do eventually go out. I did a few more box runs and tried to unpack the clothes – but the separation began – she started to push – get a bit annoyed with my efforts – we were done now. A hug goodbye and I was set on my way for the drive home alone.

Not sure how I got here – 50 something with 3 kids – skating back and forth to make peace when the house explodes, to help each child get to where they need to be in life and assure them that they are on track and doing just fine. Though not completely grown up, with two in college, I tend to see my job mostly over and if they ask me for advice, I am overjoyed that they seek my opinion. They don’t need me so much now – and that is as it should be.

The hugs are rarer, they don’t need my reassurance- and I think that when they do hug me, we turned that corner that where the hugs used to be for them, now they are more for me. It happened slowly- for the boys; hugs just stopped being cool. I still got them –but in private and when they needed reassurance. Now – they seek to measure my mood and other than arrivals and departures (where hugs are the ritual) the hugs come because they see me in distress or think I am in need of a hug.

The house is empty, sans my husband – quiet except for computer keys typing away – I can even hear the refrigerator going – now when was the last time you noticed that! They come home for holidays and summers, at least sometimes – and with my oldest – this might be his last Christmas with us – pout. So now what?

It hits me – I have become my mother – my children are leaving – and they will build their lives – for awhile they too will have that lifeline back to me, should they need it. If their world comes crashing in – they can come to me to rebuild. I lost that lifeline with my mother some years ago – without knowing it. And now I have flipped into a new role. No longer anyone’s anchor; I have, however become safe harbor.

Connie’s post reminds me that the clock is ticking, for all of us. The big question then – what will we do today to….. Live, before we die?

Next blog

Pastor Martin Neimoller

Ok, it’s Thursday, not Sunday. Makes no difference to Lorie Sheffer which day her Guest Blogger post hits the press. Please enjoy this. If you have a brain and a heart, this one’s for you.

“They came first for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist.   Then they came for the trade unionists,  and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist.   Then they came for the Jews,  and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew.   Then they came for me  and by that time no one was left to speak up.”
That famous quote is credited to Pastor Martin Neimoller (1892-1984). He was referring to the fact that basically decent German people turned a blind eye as the Nazis targeted group after group in their horrifying rise to power. In doing so, over six million Jews were exterminated, along with five million others including Jehovah’s Witnesses, Gypsies, Poles, homosexuals, Soviet POWs, the handicapped and mentally ill and political groups including liberals and socialists.

Over thirty years ago, I learned what it feels like to be a religious minority when I married a Jew. Most of the bigotry wasn’t overt, but that seemed to make it even scarier; if danger wears a sign, we are not caught unaware. I lived in this rather conservative, predominantly Christian area we were not exposed to different cultures or religions. When he moved here from New York City, my ex-husband was the only Jew in his new, small high school. He was forced to participate with Christmas and Easter programs in this public school, but denied excused absences for observance of Jewish holy days or holidays. When a teacher angrily referred to him as “a kike”, there were no consequences for that slur. It was assumed he was “a rich Jew”. When we got married, comments were made to me that if I converted to Judaism, all of our children and I would burn in Hell for not accepting Jesus as our Savior. I once sat across the table at a family Hanukkah dinner in The Bronx from an elderly couple, their concentration camp numbers still crudely tattooed on their forearms. Grandpa would tell us of how, when he immigrated to America, he was forced to walk on the opposite side of the street from the churches or he would be spit on. In my heart I knew that there was most certainly a place for them in heaven.
Not too many years ago, a remark was made to me concerning a play at my son’s high school. It was Children of a Lesser God. “My kids could never put on that play because of what’s across the street from their high school. You know how THEY are. They don’t believe in God.” This was a reference to our city’s only Synagogue. I do, in fact, know how “they” are. They are people whose religious beliefs mean as much to them as anyone else who is a person of faith. They are not all investment bankers or doctors. They are not all wealthy. They are not ALL anything. The family I was part of didn’t fit any of the stereotypes.

I now watch as another religion is being looked upon with scorn, fear and hatred. Just as all Germans were not Nazis, not all Muslims are terrorists. None of my homosexual friends are trying to destroy my marriage or anyone else’s marriage. My non-Christian friends are not trying to take away Christmas. I know some very moral, wonderful agnostics and atheists. Perhaps this is a perfect time to step back and take a good look at history. It seems to have a way of repeating itself.

Thank you Lorie, for your insight. It seems we all have a lot to learn about each other. Let us never tire in this endeavor.

Mom Lost Her Keys

Our newest Guest Blogger at Mid Life Celebration, Connie Wright, returns today for her second installment of a story that will sound familiar to many of you. Take it away Connie:

Family started arriving 3 days before my nephew’s wedding; being the closest family member to the church and reception – I became the hotel for some and restaurant for many more. The house filled with 10 “residents” and dinners were for 20 or more. Days started early and ended late.

Mom celebrated in all the people coming and going – she had missed activity in her life the past few months. Life in Pennsylvania was quieter as she shut down the house; some stayed away because they thought that was what she wanted (and in the beginning she thought she did want people to stay away) and others stayed away because – well – you know- after you say you’re sorry about Malcolm dying – what do you talk about – the rest seems so trivial?

As the house filled with people, she caught up with family and visited with cousins. She liked the puttering of clean up “it gives me something to do”. My sister and I took her to the art museum where our great, great, great.. grandmother’s portrait hangs. Painted by Sully, a famous painter in the early 1800s, it was exciting for her to see the portrait. It was a busy week.

As the crescendo of noise and flow of people increased, Mom decided maybe she should put some of her cash in a safe place and move her keys to another safe place. But she didn’t tell anyone she was doing this.
Now I am blessed that at 85, Mom has her wits about her. She writes notes to help her remember, but most of the time – that simple act seals the memory and the notes aren’t needed. But she is passing through into another phase of her life and with it so am I.

There was a time when I harbored the unrealistic idea that if everything came crashing down in my world, I could grab what was most important and “go home”. Now I am that refuge for my mother. She will head to Florida on her own, but she knows it is borrowed time and it will be her; not me; grabbing what is most important when things start to crash down. I will be her safe harbor should she need it.

She remembered where she put her money, but the keys are a precursor and very symbolic of what will be next. How long can she drive? Will it be years or months of independent living? She worries now about when that time will come, how she will handle it and what it will mean. She did so much for my father these past few years as his illness made him so very fatigued, she gracefully moved him into that phase without making anyone aware of that. She knows it will be less subtle for her. She will be losing her keys; only this next time it will be “for keeps”.

Thank you Connie for your touching and poignant story. Living in Florida for the past 27 years, I’ve observed the choices seniors make, and don’t make. It would almost seem that simple exercise, like walking, would allow seniors to be some of the healthiest people around.

Happiness Is…

Lorie Sheffer’s post today offers a thought provoking challenge. It gets us thinking, and that is one of the reasons we tune in every Sunday. Take it away Lorie:

“Happiness = spending time with people who love you for who you are instead of just accepting you for who you are.”

I have a rather eclectic mix of friends, to say the least. One of my favorites wrote this as her Facebook status update. I am so fortunate to have amazing people in my life who, according to some, are eccentric or odd or different. Which is the reason I love them in the first place. They dare to be themselves no matter what.

Do you love your friends or family in spite of things about them you consider to be different or odd or out of the norm, or because of it? How about the reasons people choose to spend time with you? Are you your real, authentic self, or are you trying to fit the mold that society expects and readily accepts?

Lorie gives us a good paradox to work on this week. Did you know there are actually people who dislike healthy, active friends. And there are people who dislike those who are sedentary.

She Has Moved On

Guest Bloggers offer readers (and blog owners) several things, like a different set of experiences, different perspectives, and a state change. Today, Saturday, I’m introducing you to Connie Wright, a fellow Baby Boomer and Midlife traveler, who shares a recent story many of us can relate to:

So I spent two days wrapping up the final touches on packing up my mother’s house. Mom had spent the whole summer organizing, giving things away and packing. The “for sale” sign hangs out front. She would remind me of what little that remains in the house as to what came from where; what great grandfather or great aunt made or gave us what and who should get what when the house does sell. She repeats herself, but less out of forgetfulness and more to try to imprint in me all that she wishes to communicate. She has it down to the basics.

Saturday morning she looks around, sets the house alarm and declares she is ready, she notes she hopes it doesn’t sell and she can come back one last time “I need to get more done” and we hop in the car for the long 7 hour drive back to my house. She will stay with me for one week; celebrate my nephew’s wedding and then head to Florida.

The drive to my house is a well worn path that both my parents used to drive to visit my brother and me (he’s just an hour “down the road”). Now it is just us and Mom reminisces about the landmarks she’d pass with Dad and what they would do. The first hour is still near home – so there is much to discuss about what they did – some are memories from her youth – when my parents were dating (or as she says “courting”) others are more recent. We can’t remember the name of the greenhouse they went to one time outside of Mechanicsburg… For those of you who know me, you know I don’t lack for the gift of gab, but this is a time for me to just listen and to ask questions. There are times I’m not sure she is even speaking to me – though I know she knows I am listening.

As we get further from home, the conversation goes more to memories unrelated to our location. And she shares messages she wants to make sure I communicate to my siblings. She’s still a strong woman and should have many more years, but she is preparing for THAT tomorrow. There was a time I did not like hearing her face her mortality, not sure if it’s my father’s death or just that she has talked more about it – but I can listen now. I used to “pooh pah” these conversations and push them off, but on this ride, on this journey away from the town she grew up in with her knowing this could be her last time home, I listen.

The trip takes a path and so does the conversation – at the midway point she is most reminiscent of the past. We stop for lunch at a diner in Stamford CT. I see the habits of how she eats come out – insisting she isn’t hungry – but teasing her that I don’t want to share, she orders her own sandwich and of course eats it all. She talks about being the last sibling in her family alive and wishes she had someone from those times to reconfirm her memories or to recall a shared experience.

Back on the road, as we start to close in on my home, the path to our conversation starts to shift and she starts to move forward. What she wants to do when we get to my house; “you know I have not seen Alex and Justine’s house” and starts to make the list of what she will need to do when she gets to Florida. We make plans for the up coming week, she has moved on.

Connie, thank you for sharing your story. Florida is a great place for seniors and midlifers – we can exercise outdoors year round.