If...and if....

photo:  www.paleospirit.com

If I reveal the fractures
                       deep and ragged
will I still breathe?

                                    If I remember
              sweet spring fragrance
will the memories remain?

If I touch
                           the deep well of loss
             will I drift endlessly?

         Ticking echoes
of an empty clock

                If I linger
tasting acid tears
                              will I heal?

If I laugh
                       finding small pleasures
           will I betray?

                                                 Grains of sand spilled
                               marking where
the time chord snapped

                                   If I recall
                                              hands reaching down
will I be lifted up?

                              If I see
that smile shining
              am I letting go?

        tether broken
                             spirit set free

                     If I hear
wisps of laughter
                       will I lose that precious note?

                     If I gaze
                                            at incredible talent
will it become flat and empty?

If I hold
                     arms open
will there be a return?

         If I rest
                                                     will surcease
                        prove ever elusive?

If...and if...
                     and if....

a torment
                                   and a comfort

                 Twining and swirling
insubstantial

All suspended
                    echoing...                

.....the ifs...

                                  Hammering against
      transparent boundaries

fleeting....
              and quickly gone

reflecting what?

                                  If...and if...
and if....

               ...and if...again....
_______________________________________

The poem above is the first thing I've written and published here since December 28, 2012.  That stretch of time is the longest I have gone without writing here at Healing Morning since I created the blog in 2009.  The reason for this silence?  There are many.  Holiday insanity, seasonal commitments to parties and events.  Work encroaching; personal relationships demanding time and attention.  Most importantly, I needed time to absorb and address the loss of a family member who left us through suicide in the summer of 2012.

If you follow my blog, you may have read some of the articles I wrote about that loss when it happened. (Sad Weathering, 7/5/2012, Healing Morning).  For those of you who may have gone through a similar loss, then perhaps you know that processing the emotions and finding a way through to acceptance is a lengthy process.  I'm still working on that.  I am not sharing this poem and these thoughts to indicate that I am still dwelling in that immediate state of shock and sharp loss.  I have healed a great deal.  The thoughts shared today encompass all those doubts and questions that we inevitably confront when we lose a loved one to suicide.  In my healing process, I have allowed the thoughts to come to consciousness so that I could absorb, understand and release them.  During meditation, during prayer, during random moments, they will resurface and demand further contemplation.  And healing continues.

Holiday stages

*I wrote this original post in December 2009.  I find that as we move into the winter holidays, practically everyone that I speak with wrestles with some form of sadness. I thought it would be appropriate to revisit this post, as it helped many people when it was first published.*

From the title of this blog post, you may be expecting a happy story about a Christmas event or pageant, children on stage singing or dancing.  Instead, what you'll be reading about is dealing with grief during the holiday season.

It is a proven fact that around religious holidays, be it Christmas,  Hanukkah, Easter, etc., there is an increase in mortality rates.  The concept of mortality rates can be traced as far back into history as Babylonian times and the rule of King Hammurabi.  In our modern times, this translates into insurance companies creating their mortality charts.  As this became standard practice, there became occasional note in media that death rates increase around significant religious holidays.

Think for a moment, and doubtless, either you or someone you know has lost a beloved family member or friend around a religious holiday.  I fall into this category, having lost the person I consider to be my strongest father figure.  He was my Uncle, my Mom's eldest brother, the patriarch of our clan.  Several years ago, he passed from this life on Christmas Eve morning after a lengthy, brave battle with debilitating illness.  As the Christmas holidays draw near, I find, despite my best intentions, there are definitely moments of melancholy that visit my heart.  Small wonder that if I feel these moments, the rest of the world might be visited by similar feelings in relation to their own personal losses.

There are many schools of thought about reasons that so many souls choose a religious holiday as the time to release from their physical body and pass from this reality.  My own thoughts on this topic are very personal, with one of the thoughts being that our Souls recognize an increased energy around high holy days.  I have always thought that this increased energy might facilitate an individual in making the choice to release from their physical body.  The reasons are myriad, the theories about this are endless, and at the end of the day, they probably don't matter beyond the ability to comfort us in the midst of painful, sad moments.

I have no mysterious remedy for this, other than to give it voice.  We are all very accustomed to slapping on that bright, cheerful social mask to cover our roiling emotions.  It's the holiday season (or whatever other particular moment in life where sad memories surface), be happy, upbeat and positive!!!  Don't be sad about the loss of a loved one, for fear you might drag everyone else down around you!!  Right?!  We all feel obligated to project that facade so that we don't make others uncomfortable or sad right along with us.  It is obvious that this tendency to stuff down our emotions around significant holidays and/or anniversaries of losing a loved one makes dealing with these significant dates that much more challenging.  When, and why did we as a collective society decide that it makes more sense to paste a happy smile on our faces than to honor our true emotions? 

Strong emotions, especially those connected to loss, do make most people uncomfortable.  It hits too closely to home for everyone; if you're mourning the death of a loved one and you present those emotions outwardly, that in turn can trigger buried emotions in others.  It's just a human response, this triggering of fears and resistance, and the need to cover everything up with a neat, tidy, happy facade.  Another truth is that most of us don't deal with significant loss immediately and instantly. 

Most of us are familiar with the five stages of grief.  They are as follows:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

Each person and each situation, each loss, is different regarding the manner in which these stages are processed.  For some, although I would think this is rare, the five stages are processed quickly and dealt with in a short amount of linear time.  For others, the process can take much longer, sometimes years.  Another point to make is that even after we have navigated our way through those stages, they can boomerang on us and creep back in unexpectedly, years later.  Anniversaries of loss are strong triggers.  What has always frustrated me is the medical mindset that after making our way through those five stages once, then it is all said and done, all bound up in an orderly bundle, case closed and door shut permanently.  I strongly disagree with that mindset.

Christmas, Hanukkah and the New Year, altogether, present a time when family and friendship is our focus, so of course sadness will lurk beneath the surface as we have wistful moments, missing those no longer here with us physically.  It is, therefore, not surprising that we'll sometimes feel sucker punched with sad moments.
 
Dealing with sad anniversaries is never easy.  What works for me might not work for you, but I can share my own process.  When I begin to feel those sad moments creeping in, the most important step that I take is to recognize it for what it is.  Life can be so hectic around the Christmas season that we don't pay enough attention to how we're honestly feeling.  We'll rush from one obligation and social function to the next, pushing the sad, bad, confused or angry emotions down until they finally expand and explode.  So, for my own mental and emotional health, I find it of paramount importance to stop and identify what I'm feeling.  It doesn't always come readily to mind for me either, because of course it's much easier to deny sadness and instead label it as being tired or grumpy or something much easier to ignore.

What I have learned over the years is that embracing the seemingly negative emotions does not equal failure of any type on a personal level.  The true failure, I feel, comes from denying what we feel and never allowing it to have enough of a voice for it to be processed.  So, I take time to look inward.  It isn't always pleasant, or easy, and rarely is it enjoyable.  It is, above all, vitally important.  I feel that in a way, it is a moment of Grace and tribute, when I stop, identify the reason for those melancholy moments and let myself feel what comes from within.  Grace, because I am honoring myself when I allow myself to grieve.  Tribute, because in recognizing these feelings, it gives me a moment to remember the person I loved deeply.  When I do open up to myself, the memories that I embrace are inexorably entwined with all the reasons I loved that person.  So, yes, sadness will be felt.  Many times the result is tears. Eventually, though, happier memories will also flood my mind and in a different manner, I will go through those five stages of grief all over again before coming to that moment of acceptance.

The inescapable truth is that when we lose someone we love, it is a life sentence.  We spend the rest of our lives learning how to cope, manage our lives and live without that person's physical presence.  That's the challenging part.  Just when we think we're doing really well, a holiday or anniversary will approach and cut us off at the knees.  Psychologists developed the five stages of grief to identify what we are feeling and where we are in relation to dealing with personal loss.  From that perspective, the concept is valid, but I honestly feel that it doesn't come to a definitive, full stop, ever.  I am not saying that we exist in sharp, raw grief permanently, nor would I suggest such a thing is healthy or prudent.  What I am trying to point out is that we do experience layers of grief, sadness and loss in sometimes unexpected ways at different times, for various reasons. As a result, we experience a micro-moment, often repeatedly, of those five stages.

In light of this, I think that kindness would be the word of the day. If you can step back from everything else that requires your attention and focus your attention on You, compassion and understanding are what you deserve when you are confronted with those unexpected holiday triggers, layers and stages of sadness.  You deserve kindness, and a few quiet moments to look clearly at what you are feeling.  Give it voice, allow yourself to feel, to remember, to cry; perhaps smile or laugh.  Then, when you feel ready, you will be able to gently tuck the memories back into a corner of your heart and mind that will allow you to move forward with strength, rather than sapping you of energy and enjoyment of the holiday season.  Remind yourself that these feelings will surface again, and recognize that this time, by embracing the moment with Grace and acceptance, you will possibly be able to achieve a more solid balance.

Talking about it with family or friends might be an integral part of this process; there are no hard and fast rules here.  Do what works best and feels right for you.  In talking with others, you may be surprised to find that you've opened the door up for them as well, to do some processing, sharing and healing of their own.

In closing, I wrestled with myself about posting this blog.  It is a highly personal and volatile subject, and perhaps not one many will want to contemplate in the midst of the holiday season. I was feeling sadness as the calendar approaches a personal anniversary date of loss, and for me, writing out the emotions and giving them voice was helpful and healing. I have no idea if what I have written and shared will be of a helpful nature to others, but I am going ahead with posting it.  Perhaps these words and thoughts will resonate with others out there and bring a moment of clarity and peace to their hearts as they realize they are not alone with what they are feeling.  Maybe the simple suggestion that yes, you will go through repeated, myriad experiences of those five stages will be a moment of epiphany for someone out there, allowing them to embrace kindness towards themselves as they process through that most current incarnation. 

If you have stayed with me through to the culmination of this particular post, whether it clicked with you on a personal level or not, you have my appreciation for spending time with me as I navigated through my own five holiday stages.  As a result, my heart is lighter and I have been able to move forward with a gladdened spirit to enjoy my Christmas.  Blessings to you all, this year, this holiday season.

Sad Weathering - Suicide and Practising Compassion

Photo:  fr.treklens.com/gallery/photo

Suicide.  It's a harsh, ragged, ugly word.  It conjures equally dark, despairing mental images, and finally, it inflicts a quality of pain on those left living that is difficult to quantify.

My family is weathering such an event. It is very fresh, having happened this past weekend.  One of my cousins took her own life.  I will not go into further detail, as I want to respect my family and her beloved memory.  What I want to talk about today is all of the emotion that swirls around this verboten word, verboten act.

Judgment is almost instantaneous when you hear the word "suicide".

• "Oh, they must've been very weak."  
• "Suicide is the coward's way out."  
• "Why didn't they ask for help?"
• "They're in a better place."  
• "I'll pray for them, because they're going to burn in hell eternally."

I think most of these are understandable thoughts, human ones. And they are very common to hear after a suicide death, I am learning.  But I will tell you, from my own very raw emotional state, they are unnecessary and they're cruel to speak to anyone who is weathering the fallout out of suicide.  We who are left behind to pick up the pieces do not need to defend the actions of our loved one.  We do not need to come up with logical answers as to why that loved one made that final decision. No one but that person can answer what thoughts went through their mind that tipped their hand in those final moments.  We need for you to be there for us in support, love and care.  Sadly, this is rarely what people think to offer, or they feel that any of the above comments are somehow going to offer solace.  They do not do that. What gives solace to each of us will differ, but just know that words of judgment are not appropriate or helpful when a family is coping with a suicide death.

In my opinion, anyone who commits suicide is far from weak.  Nor are they cowardly.  Consider the amount of bravery it takes to make that final motion that ends your life - could anyone honestly imagine that a weak person is capable of such a thing?  I think it takes a huge amount of bravery, but I'm sure many will strongly disagree with me.  Weakness is certainly evident when anyone is in such a distressed and despairing state of mind that death appears to be their only viable option, but that is not a weakness of character.  It is a state of mental illness that should engender compassion and understanding, rather than strident jumps to condemnation and judgement.

Why didn't they ask for help?  Good question.  It is one that will torment those left behind for many years, perhaps for the rest of their natural lives.  Perhaps that person DID ask for help, and no one listened, or the plea wasn't recognized as such....those being asked simply didn't realize the enormity of the request.  We all get busy with our daily existence and we brush aside seemingly surface level conversations that later, after a death has occurred, suddenly clarify and show us the depth of pain that loved one was in.  So, we turn that judgment and condemnation inward and the pain is compounded daily, like the interest rate on a bank loan.

Depression is not one dimensional, and it is simplistic to suggest that it can be doctored up and resolved if the person suffering a depression episode just talks to someone. It is different for every person who experiences clinical depression as to how it manifests, but there are some commonalities. 

I can say with a fair degree of confidence that most people suffering a depression cycle who have taken that final step to commit suicide have gone through multiple rounds of therapy, have talked and talked with friends, family and pastors, preachers and spiritual advisors, have put in earnest work on themselves, have taken prescription medications and tried holistic therapies. They've reached out during those initial scary first, second, third and more attempts to take their lives, and if they were lucky to reach out to the right person and they were willing to be talked down off the proverbial suicide ledge, they're still living today. With depression, the reality is that it is usually a repetitive cycle these people experience and it is a grueling, grinding experience that eventually wears them down.  

A mindset that has nothing to do with clear, mentally healthy logic sets in where they convince themselves that the world will be fine, and their loved ones will be better off without them.  

Yes, they know that people will grieve, but they are convinced that this final act of taking their life is truly for the best, and they're doing the world and their loved ones a favor.  The skewed mindset that takes over makes this train of thought sound just convincing enough to that worn down, tired spirit that that terrible final decision is enacted. 

The reality is that if someone you love is set in their mind on taking their life, not much any of us can say or do will have much of an effect other than to delay the inevitable. 

• Most likely, that loved one has attempted suicide more than once in the past, or they've given a lot of thought to it, or they're dropping hints in conversation that they're contemplating it, and the hints are so minute and purposely veiled that people don't recognize the warning flag. 
• Most likely, they've cried wolf repeatedly to the point that those close to them become inured to that one final time that they're really serious.  OR, another truth is that they've exhausted those close to them with repeated suicide attempts and those people have run out of ideas to help, support to offer, energy to pour into that bottomless pit of despair that no one but that individual can heal. 
• There isn't any blueprint for how someone approaches suicide or makes that final choice, but if there is any truth to accept, it is that most likely, nothing any of us might have said or done could have stopped that person from their actions. And because of this, no one should EVER be made to feel guilty because their loved one took their own life!!  

They're in a better place.  Perhaps they are, given that anyone who contemplates suicide is in an obviously dark, despairing emotional and mental space.  I will tell you that hearing "they're in a better place" is not what I want(ed) to hear in those first few hours.  I was blessed to be able to call someone close to me and equally blessed that that person came to my side immediately and stayed with me through the majority of that first awful day.  He didn't offer platitudes, judgments or any of the above comments I've listed.  He was simply there for me.  Allowing me to cry, allowing me to process through the wildly swinging pendulum of emotions, and simply being there for and with me.  That was what I needed.  A familiar face, simple companionship, sincere care and friendship, and the space to process the rawness of grief.  Other people might find comfort in platitudes and surface level statements; I do not mean to throw out my own harsh judgments when I know that every person who utters such platitudes is truly doing and saying the only things they know.  I am sharing here what worked best for me.

I'm not going to dignify the "they're going to burn in hell eternally" comment beyond simply saying shame on anyone who is thoughtless enough to utter such a statement to someone who has just lost a loved one to suicide.  Yes, I heard this statement this week, more than once, and I found it to be the most incredibly ugly,  unnecessary, rude thing I've ever heard in my life.  Please, exercise common sense, people. No one deserves to have to hear such a thing about someone they loved. Prayers are most certainly appreciated, but comments about eternal damnation?  Absolutely not.

Most of us have heard of the five stages of grief:  

1.     Denial

2.     Anger

3.     Bargaining

4.     Depression

5.     Acceptance

Several years ago, I wrote about this whole thing, the grief process, and how it tends to manifest around High Holy Days, how suicides and deaths increase around Christmas and Easter and other Holy Days. (Holiday Stages, 12/21/2009 Healing Morning)  In that article, I discussed the fact that those five stages of grief don't necessarily neatly process for us one single time and get tied up in a pretty bow to be tucked away and never felt again.  In fact, grief is never neat and pretty.  It is jagged and raw and ugly, and has no semblance of logic to it.  Nor do those stages of grief hit us only once.  They revisit in varying degrees over the coming years.  I am well aware of this fact, so I know I will be dealing with ebbs and flows of my own grief process for a while....probably for years.  Right now, I cannot imagine ever reaching a stage of acceptance where I will not miss my cousin with a sense of urgency and bewilderment.

Suicide creates its own well of pain, simply because it is a conscious act, a choice, that most view with the aforementioned condemnation and judgment.  I am certainly not going to suggest it is a good choice, or a rational one.  But I will say that for those left behind to pick up the pieces, understanding and compassion towards the whole situation is the kindest thing anyone can offer.  That means understanding and compassion for the ones left behind AND for the person who committed suicide. 

Suicide also engenders a lot of silence.  People are uncertain what to say when death by suicide occurs.  So, they quite often fall back on awkward silences or those harsh judgments mentioned above. If you can't bring yourself to understand why that person made that choice, and really, none of us can truly understand such a thing, then I would hope you can be capable of extending your heart in a compassionate manner.  Do your level best to keep your judgments to yourself, because they do not belong in the midst of those who are grieving.

My personal thoughts are not of anger towards my family member who took her own life.  Yes, I feel anger, but more towards the whole mess.  I feel anger that she will no longer be here to experience the beauty of our family and the beauty of life.  But more importantly, I am saddened beyond words to express that she's gone.  She's gone forever from our family, that familiar presence that I have always known to be there.  A beautiful, vibrant, talented life was cut short.  She's not here any longer, and I miss her already.  I will miss her for the rest of my life, and I'll have to put conscious effort into learning to live without her.  We are tasked with that chore when any loved one passes, but suicide makes the loss sharper, simply because it wasn't Destiny at work.  It was choice at work.  And it didn't have to happen.  It did happen, though, and my family is left with learning to live without her.  What I feel towards my cousin is love, and what I will always feel for her is love. Compassion. Sadness. A true wish that she had made a different choice. An obvious desire that she hadn't done this and I still had her here with me.  But abiding love is the mainstay.

I am experiencing a flood of memories of this cousin.  Childhood memories, all of us growing up together, and she being our role model.  Bright, happy, beautiful. In the coming weeks, we will have a memorial service during our yearly family reunion. I will be delivering the eulogy for my cousin.  And my own conscious choice is to celebrate her life, rather than dwell on the final dark moments that led to how her life ended.  There is much to put into words, this process of celebrating a life.  Right now, I am not certain how I will accomplish it.  Eventually, the words will flow as they always do, and I will have pages of words to speak in her memory.  The speaking part....that is where I am still unsure how I will do it.  How I will get through it.  Will I choke up?  Break down in tears and be unable to continue?  I hope not, as I staunchly insist that although suicide ended her life, that word does not define the beautiful person she was.

In the wee hours of the night after she left us, I finally calmed enough to check my Facebook page.  The following quote from the Persian poet-philosopher, Rumi, is what resonated strongly for me:

Although I may try to describe Love,

When I experience it, I am speechless.

No words can ever truly capture the essence of that person we each loved, nor can they give voice to the depth of love we feel for them, nor can they express the acute pain we feel when they leave us in an untimely manner.  Perhaps now, words aren't necessary any longer.  Simply remembering her loving Soul, her smile, her laughter, her simple enjoyment of life, her talent, the sound of her voice, the way it felt to hug her, the way she brightened the room, these are enough.

To any who read this who have experienced personal loss of a loved one to suicide, my thoughts, love, and prayers for healing and compassion go out to you. 

Soft stillness and the night

Photo:  awesomestories.com

I'm feeling nostalgic tonight for some reason.  I have been browsing through my Drafts folder here at Healing Morning to see what snippet might jump out at me to elaborate upon and birth a new blog article.  This one seems to be it.  A stanza from William Shakespeare:

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.
Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night
Becomes the touches of sweet harmony.

I ran across this weeks ago, most likely on Facebook.  It brought to mind summer evenings from my childhood, long before the advent of cable television and the internet.  Indeed, at that time, we had three television channels and were lucky if two of them could be received on our antenna way up on the ridge where we lived.  Thus, many evenings during warm months were spent outside in lawn chairs doing this simple thing....talking.  And looking at the stars.

It was such a peaceful thing.  Being with family, visiting, laughing together.  Or just being silent and gazing upward at the expanse of stars.  Some nights we would spread out a blanket to lie on, and it was then that I would imagine that the stars would drop down to touch my face.  We lived far enough out in the country at that time that city lights didn't compete in the night sky and we could see the constellations clearly.  The Big Dipper and the Little Dipper were always easily discernible...and we would attempt to identify other constellations from the Encyclopedia.

Balmy summer nights, filled with quiet conversation and cicadas humming in the background.  The scent of freshly cut grass, blooming roses and honeysuckle would hang heavy in the moist night air.  If it had been an especially good day, there might be the rare store bought treat of Jiffy Pop popcorn...that miraculous creation that we watched in fascinated delight on the stove top, the shiny aluminum dome poofing up as the popcorn popped inside.

Those days are long gone, and I remember them fondly.  The Shakespeare snippet above brought the memories to mind, soft and misty, like an old photograph whose edges have been gently worn soft with time.  Ghosting along my mind's eye, hovering there with wraith-like purpose, insistent to not be forgotten.


"...soft stillness and the night..."  The words bring a slight ache of wistfulness to go back there again, to that back yard in the country on that side of that ridge...and let the stars drop down, once again, to touch my face.

Grasshopper Thoughts, Vol. V, October 2011

I've mentored many a writer in my adult life, taught many adult education classes on creative writing, and lent a helping hand to countless new bloggers.  At some point, the question always arises of, "What do you do when you get writer's block?"

That's the age old nemesis, isn't it?  Writer's block, artist's block, musician's block....it isn't career specific to just writers.  We all hit moments where inspiration just refuses to flow.  It has been 29 days since I last posted here at Healing Morning and this is outside the norm for me.  While I am not of the blogging daily approach, I do tend to write at least once or twice a week.  I won't go into the reasons for my recent dry spell, but I will share that the answer I almost always offer to the question above is, "Just write.  Don't focus on whether it's good or bad...just sit down and start writing. The very act of being in writing 'motion' will often wake up your writing Muse."

Another favorite tool of mine is to Grasshopper.  If you follow me here at Healing Morning blog, then you're familiar with this concept.  Grasshopper Thoughts is a process of just allowing your mind to flit....or hop (like a grasshopper) in myriad directions with no logical focus.  I find it to be therapeutic to do this.  It can be as entertaining to write this way as it can be for people to read it, and it allows a glimpse into that writer's soul in a curious manner.  Little tidbits, little gems, little windows into who they are.

So, in the time honored tradition, I now commence Grasshoppering to encourage my own Muse to release her death grip on my normally prolific writing.

• I'm a fan of the good, old fashioned Emery board to file my nails.  Yes, I know that all manner of new inventions exist for this, including metal nail files that are touted to be better for your nails.  They don't work for me.  Metal nail files take forever for me because I'm fortunate to have nice, healthy, strong nails.  Nope, give me a traditional coarse grit Emery board and I'm happy.  Besides, those metal nail files make my teeth hurt with the sound they make on my nails.
• Some genius person took the Cool Whip concept and morphed it into chocolate Cool Whip - bless their hearts!  I'm not a big sweets eater and can go long stretches without eating ice cream, sometimes longer than a year.  It's just not a temptation to me.  Once in a blue moon, however, chocolate Cool Whip, still frozen is ideal.
• I opened an old book the other day, and from its pages fell a perfectly pressed sprig of Lily of the Valley.  I lifted it to my nose and it still carries that beautiful fragrance.  I think I pressed that flower there when I was wee, and it remains to this day my favorite old fashioned flower.  It was a delicate, floral time capsule moment to my adult self from my very young self and I was assailed with lovely memories.
• The last time I bought Crayons, they smelled different and I was devastated.  How could Crayola do this?!  Whose idea was it to tweak the formula?  No doubt it was done to save money, as that drives any corporation's bottom line, but it made me sad.  The aroma of Crayons is iconic, or it used to be.  It's still close to the original smell, but different.  These are the moments when I stubbornly dig my heels in against change.
• I was driving my Mom somewhere recently, just out running errands, and I said something to make her laugh unexpectedly.  We glanced at one another and smiled, that silent "I love you for who you are and how I feel when we're together" communication.  I'm blessed.
• Someday, someone is going to invent a way to prove that creative people are NOT airheads, dingbats or incapable of remembering things. We just think and process things differently, but we manage to get everything accomplished.  I'm serious - someday, someone will invent a way to quantify this fact. And THEN you'll all be sorry! ;-)  Just sayin.  *And if this way has already been invented, then I'm the first to cheerfully declare that I TOLD you so!  :)

I think that's plenty to get the writerly thoughts warmed up.  With luck, it won't be another 29 days before my next post.  For now, Grasshoppering has done the trick to shift the logjam loose a trifle.

Grief path

Photo courtesy of
Bing images

Recently, my friend Lisa Brandel invited me to write a guest post for her blog, The Widow Lady.  My answer was an immediate and resounding "Yes!" because she's one of my favorite people.  It took me a while to settle on a topic and focus for the guest post, but now I'm ready to dig in.  Lisa's blog, as many of you who follow her know, focuses on dealing with the loss of a spouse, grief and the whole recovery process.  While I am no stranger to grief and loss, I haven't lost a spouse.  So I tucked the guest post invitation aside and waited.  Inspiration struck in a somewhat different application of grief.

Another friend recently had to bid farewell to a plot of land that had been in her family for many, many years.  To some, this might not strike as a reason for grief.  To me, it hit home profoundly.  I am from a tiny community in East Tennessee that is so small we've only had a stop light at our one major intersection for about 10 years.  My childhood home is land that is up on the side of a ridge, tucked away and so obscure on back roads that you have to know it's there to know it's there!  It is peaceful, quiet and to my eyes, beautiful beyond words.

There has been a lot of noise about a road plan that could end up running right over the top of this property, with the state of Tennessee being able to declare Eminent Domain and force us to sell the land.  While I admit this has been going on since the mid-1990s with no true progress, just the thought of this possibly happening is enough to strike dread and fear into my heart.  I am bound to that land and have always dreamed of building a home there.

My friend who had to bid farewell to her family land is going through a grieving process that hurts my heart for her.  I won't go into specific details on the reasons the land was sold, but I know she has endless childhood memories of that land.  Endless days of playing in the woods, exploring, creating fantastic games of fantasy.  Hot summer days of gardening, weeding plants as the sun blazed down.  Balmy evenings lying under the trees watching lightning bugs twinkling as the evening shadows painted sunset across the sky.  I imagine she can tell stories about every tree, every woodland path, every field, stream and wildflower patch. 

She was fortunate to be able to have enough notice to say some proper goodbyes prior to the final sale of the property.  She walked the land, taking pictures of everything that held memories for her, and whispered her goodbyes.  I know she cried throughout the whole day, as this is what I would do and feel myself.  She was raised out in the country, as I was, and taught an appreciation for the land that goes very deep.  Some people might not appreciate or understand this, and that's okay.  It may be unique to me and this friend, or perhaps each of you reading this are nodding your heads in agreement and feeling a sympathetic sting of tears and sadness for what this girlfriend experienced. 

No, land is not a person.  It doesn't die, per se.  But it does Live.  It is a living, breathing, nurturing presence.  Calm, quiet...patient as the ages, land harbors us without protest, allowing us to trample, to build, to grow.  That plot of land out in the country of East Tennessee harbored my girlfriend and her family with love, of this I'm certain.  I feel it entirely appropriate and logical that my friend is grieving the loss of her childhood sanctuary.  I know that she is going through those stages of grief as surely as she would if it were a person she was bidding farewell to.  Losing family land is one of the most intimate losses I can imagine, and I wish with all my heart that she had never had to experience this. 

I found myself smiling at her Facebook descriptions of walking the land, photographing everything she could think of, down to pebbles scattered across a dirt road.  Yes, I would do that too.  I hope that she has enough photographs taken that somewhat soothe that empty spot in her heart for that land.  She will always yearn for the opportunity to drive out there and roam the land on a whim.  She will always remember the happy times in her mind's eye.  Nothing, however, will give her back that special connection to that land. 

The key to the grief process, for me, is to accept that change is inevitable.  We are left with no choice but to find a way to keep living without that vital presence that we once had.  Be it a person, or a place, it hurts on a visceral level to say a permanent goodbye.  There are no easy ways, no short cuts to the journey of healing the loss.  For me, some losses are years old and I still experience moments of loss that are so sharp it is as though it happened only hours ago.  Yes, time does heal and soften those jagged edges.  We go on.  We are forever changed from the loss, and sometimes not always in positive ways, but we do go on. 

Is the loss of family land worthy of a blog post?  I think it is.  I recognize the gravity and emotion of such an event, and part of my heart just broke for my friend who had to walk that path of loss.  I don't know what the sale of her land will produce.  I hope that perhaps other families will build homes there and grace the land with laughter and love.  Perhaps in that small way, the loss would be a bit more bearable for her.  Should the reason be for another type of commerce, then all I can hope is that she finds solace in her memories and photographs.  The land will not die a true death, of course.  Land is a constant.  It morphs and changes over time with construction and becomes something new. 

So, as is the case for most of us with personal loss, my friend will tuck the memories away in her heart and mind's eye.  She will reminisce with family members about this tree, or that rock, or that field and for short moments, they will be back there again, awash in the security and golden haze of childhood.  I hope that in some small way those moments will ease and soothe her.

*Special thanks to Lisa Brandel for inviting me to share my thoughts on her wonderful blog, The Widow Lady.  I hope many of you will take a moment to visit her blog and read her work.

Foundations

We are all a sum of our formative years.  If we're fortunate, we were surrounded by loving parents, grandparents and extended family that weave together a fabric of care, support, encouragement and guidance.  The time of year is spring and my thoughts always turn to home, up on the side of a ridge in East Tennessee.  I am drawn back home to walk the fields and see the flowers blooming, and revisit the places of my childhood.

I speak often about my large, loving family.  We were fortunate to live next door to my maternal Grandparents; in southern terms, just across the field.  Further down the lane was my Great Aunt Carrie's house.  Aunt Carrie and her mother raised flowers to sell downtown on Market Square at the turn of the century...early 1900's.  I have described in past blog articles that during my childhood, the remnants of all of those flower beds still existed all around our combined properties.  I learned all manner of information and details about flowers, gardening and the old ways of tending the land from these relatives.

For me, this was part of the quiet strength of my own foundation.  My Grandfather was a farmer who raised tobacco for a living, among other jobs.  Because he was raised around flowers, he had an appreciation for them that continued throughout his life.  When springtime would approach, he would often take us with him to the Farmer's Co-op to buy seeds for spring planting.  Or, if you happened to be visiting their house on the days in the fall when the seed catalogs came in the mail, you sometimes could sit quietly in his lap and peruse all the colorful pages of flowers and vegetables and 'help' plan for the following season's crops. 

My Grandfather was a hard person, with his own set of struggles and faults, but he was a very good grandparent.  One year when I was still small, we were outside playing and heard Grandpa's tractor start up.  This was the signal to race across the field and investigate what exciting, interesting task was on the day's agenda.  That morning, Grandpa was tilling and seeding the fields between our house and his.  When we approached, asking for the inevitable tractor ride, he obliged, taking each of us up on his lap for a turn around the field.

I can remember that so clearly, to this very day.  Sitting there on his lap, surrounded by his arms, watching his large, work worn hands on the wheel of the tractor.  It is one of the most secure feelings I believe I have ever felt, just being blissfully happy to be with him, experiencing riding on the tractor, chattering away, occasionally making him laugh.  When my turn on the tractor came to an end, he helped me down, then knelt next to me and pulled packets of seeds from the front pocket of his overalls.  The pictures on the seed packets were of daisies, all colors and varieties.  There had to have been a good 100 packets, as the fields were large that he was tending.  Grandpa told me the seeds had been on sale at the Farmer's Co-op and he decided he would buy them for me.  Just me.  It is important to note here that there are 27 grandchildren (my first cousins) in the family, so one child being singled out was not common.  Yet my Grandpa did this with us at various times.  He would take my brother hunting, show my sister how to use woodworking tools and he would share flowers with me and my Mom.

That year, the fields were sewn with a combination of hay and all those thousands of daisy seeds.  It looked like something out of a movie when the flowers bloomed...white ones, pink ones, yellow, pale blue...and a few black-eyed Susans scattered about.  I would come home with arm loads of bouquets daily, there were so many of them blooming. 

Why is this important enough to write a blog article about it?  I could say it is as simple as it being a lovely childhood memory and that would be true. I could leave it there and this would still be an enjoyable post to write and read.  Yet it was more than that.  Growing up in a home with an absent father, my Grandpa became our primary father figure.  In later years this would also grow to encompass all five of my Uncles, but to begin with, my Grandpa was my first male hero. 

That one summer where he did something that he probably didn't spend much time thinking about, was a moment where I was shown that small gestures matter.  It was also a moment where I felt loved in that unique manner that all small children accept as their due.  I was loved, cherished and cared for to the point that this busy, oftentimes gruff and brusque man took time to do something whimsical and thoughtful in a manner he knew would absolutely delight my little girl's heart.

As the years went forward, he would bring flower bulbs to my Mom and I to plant around our property.  Sometimes they were the old fashioned, familiar flowers such as daffodils, muscaris (we called them miniature grape hyacinths), peonies, hydrangeas, and my favorite flower, Lily of the Valley.  Occasionally they would be something that caught his eye because they were unusual.  It was his awkward, silent way of showing us he cared, I think.  Now, as an adult, when springtime approaches the Tennessee Valley and everything blooms fresh and new, I feel a sense of closeness to my roots.  When I see everything greening up and all the flowers blooming, I automatically reconnect with those childhood memories.

Scents and music are the strongest triggers for memories, so it is no small wonder that I am most at home during the spring and summer months.  When life is fast paced and hectic, I think we all revisit those quiet moments in our minds.  Clearly in my mind will always be the bright memory of a little girl standing next to a tall Grandpa with his hands full of flower seed packets, and a sweet moment just for that one little girl.  It reminds me that I am loved unconditionally and that the size of the field where those flowers were sewn that spring, vast and endless to a child's eye, represented a wide open vista.  Even at that young an age, I was aware of underlying messages that God/Universe sends us.  That day, the message was simple.  "You are loved."  And it was spelled out in daisies from the hand of a Grandpa to a Granddaughter. 

As an adult, I have carried that moment with me, deep in my memories and heart.  I have paid the moment forward regularly, paying attention to small things that matter to those around me.  I am a sum of my childhood and my life experiences, and it makes me smile to finish this specific post and realize that once again, the reason so many people comment on my loving nature is because of the solid foundation I was given in childhood.

If you are reading this blog post, take a moment to cast your mind back and find a special memory to focus on where you felt that same warm blanket of love surrounding you.  It may not be from your childhood; indeed, it could be from a week ago, but if you take a moment to concentrate, you will find it.  With enough time and thought, you will find many such moments, for you are equally beautiful and equally deserving of the message, spelled out in daisies or in colorful script, or in nice, simple clean lines...that....You Are Loved.

Care packages

I have a wonderful relationship with my Mom.  I do not say that to brag or to make those who don't have a similar relationship feel badly.  It is just a simple truth.  My Mom is a lovely person, inside and out and she's the most loving, solid, fair-minded, genuine, sincere person I know.  I could write for years and never truly capture on paper or computer screen every reason I love her and why she is so special.  Today, I'm going to focus on something she has done my whole life...she creates Care Packages.

You know what those are, I'm sure - they're little bundles of inexpensive items that someone who loves you picks up when they're out and about that captures their eye and makes them think of you.  Sometimes it might be a food Care Package, full of goodies that are sure to be your favorites.  Most holiday meals result in a food Care Package to take home with you that provides meals for you for several days.

My Mom loves her kids, plain and simple.  She now extends that love to her two Grandsons and creates Care Packages for them whenever she's out shopping.  Personally, I have kept things she's given me over the years that have very little monetary value but that hold such loving significance for me that they are priceless items. 

When I was very young, my Mom gave me two small pottery trinket boxes that had gold leafed edges and pastel colors.  I remember her watching me open the boxes they came in and telling me, "Maybe you can use them for jewelry as you grow up."  I couldn't have been more than 9 or 10 years old at the time, of an age where toys were usually more desirable gifts, but those two little trinket boxes are still with me.  I use them for jewelry items that are dear to me and each time I open them, I am embraced by that inestimable, indefinable sense of love from my Mother.  All is right in my world and I feel accepted, loved and secure.

With age comes the recognition that Care Packages aren't always corporeal.  Many times we send Care Packages along to a loved one in the form of a phone call, or, as is common in this technological age, an email, a Facebook or Twitter post, a text or an e-card.  Prayers are yet another, more highly energized form of a Care Package.  I think anything that touches our heart, reaches out to someone else in the same way and leaves the day brighter as a result is a form of this time honored tradition.

No, it isn't necessary to have a physical item to deem something a Care Package.  I talk to my Mom daily on the phone, sometimes many times a day and that will fill me up inside with those same emotions.  She makes me laugh and she understands me like no other person on Earth does.  We always take pieces of those we love with us in our memories, so again, it isn't necessary to have a physical item to identify with.  There's just something so sweet about the fact that my Mom still does this for me and my sister and brother, even though we are adults.

The nice thing is that this habit has continued - by my Mom's example, I tend to do this same thing with Care Packages.  I don't have children yet, but I tend to pick up those small items for friends and family members when I spot something I know will be perfect for them and give them a little moment of surprise and pleasure.  I also tend to shop throughout the year for Christmas gifts for family.  In fact, just the other day I ran across something that is ideal for my brother and I snapped it up to tuck away for Christmas. 

I have a girlfriend whose daughter is currently deployed to Iraq and I've been gathering items for a Care Package box to send over to her and her friends.  My girlfriend mentioned that the soldiers share Care Package goodies with friends who don't receive mail; that comment literally broke my heart.  I could not fathom people in our Armed Services being overseas, working daily for all of us, yet not receiving anything from home.  So, Care Package creation is in full effect!  The picture to the left here is of SPC Whitney Moody and her family - her Mom, Janet, is one of the strongest, most positive people I know.  If you would like to learn more details about supporting our U.S. Armed Forces and sending Care Packages to those deployed, please visit the Boots on Ground Website.

True to her loving nature, when I mentioned this to my Mom recently, she said, "Take me with you the next time you go shopping; I want to help add to the Care Package."  I am confident that the package we send will be chock full of useful, fun, girlie items, as well as some things to munch on, and a few things that are just frivolous and cute in nature, such as games and toys to fill the long hours when Whitney and her friends are bored and homesick. 

Life is challenging for all of us on a daily basis.  There are so many reasons to choose to dwell on negatives.  I have found that doing for others, as was taught to me by the example my wonderful Mom set, is a sure-fire method to lift any gloom surrounding you.  There's something so delightful about picking up a small, completely foolish item that costs very little, with a loved one in mind, simply to tease a smile out of them.  It is a small affirmation that, yes, you matter - you are loved, you are in that person's thoughts and you deserve to be showered with that type of warm attention for no particular reason. 

If I could, I would gift every person I know with the relationship I enjoy with my Mom.  I think she's that special.  And as is that special relationship between loving parent and loving child, she feels the same way about me.  She shows it in those Care Packages...those little touches of whimsy, those little inconsequential items that I rarely indulge myself with, those little unusual decorative items that have no particular purpose other than to make me smile.  That's my Mom loving me in her quiet, gentle way. 

Don't get me wrong, she loves me outwardly too - she showers me with hugs when I'm in her presence, and when we are together, we have that silent language that is shared between family members.  We can also be together and not speak a word for hours - simply being together is the joyful thing, especially given that it doesn't happen as often as we'd both like.  Dratted Life gets in the way, as it does for all of us.  We laugh often.  I think that is a beautiful thing. 

I have said this before - when people comment on my loving nature, which happens rather frequently, I am always quick to give credit to the amazing foundation of love that I've been surrounded with my whole life.  I've been blessed with an incredible, large, loving clan of a family, and even more blessed with my dear Mom.  Her life hasn't been the easiest, yet she has always maintained a loving demeanor and a twinkle in her eye.  She is the most dependable presence in my life and she is my template for my own character and habits. 

So, I continue the loving tradition of Care Packages.  They make me happy to create and give them to others, just as much as I enjoy receiving them.  I think they make a profound difference in the world, simply because they denote thoughtful, loving attention towards others given for the joy of making another person smile.  We need more of that in this world....Care Packages should be present in every walk of life. 

Reagan Generation Tree

If you follow my Healing Morning Facebook Fan Page, or if you've been subscribed to my Healing Morning blog for a while, you'll recognize the photo image here.  It is a view from beneath the sprawling limbs of a huge elm tree on my Grandpa Reagan's property. 

To give you a better perspective of the sheer size of this tree, here is another image.  Forgive the darkness; both photos were taken at twilight.  I was struck by the raw beauty of the barren limbs, stark against the wild, winter sky.

Why is this tree the focus of a blog post?  You see a photo of the land where I was raised, for one thing.  You also see a tree which quietly grew from what my Mother describes as being a small sapling in the field when she and her siblings were young to a truly grand presence.  She is one of nine children who played in the same field where I and my brother, sister and 27 cousins played.  That elm tree, to my way of thinking, raised two generations of Reagan children.  It was the silent sentinel of our childhood years, faithfully kept whispered secrets, harbored grandiose dreams, stood protectively, arms outstretched over afternoon naps, watched us grow into adolescence and witnessed the majority of us marry and have children of our own.

When I was wee, I used to go up to the hayloft of my Grandpa's barn to talk to God.  I just knew God was there, up in the vast space of the hayloft where it was quiet and still, and smelled sweetly of fresh hay in summer months.  Then I learned that snakes and other critters liked the hayloft.  This helpful information convinced me to transplant my talking to God spot to the elm tree.  It was huge, after all, limbs outstretched in a majestic umbrella, sheltering us in summer months to play, dream, climb way up high and practically touch the sky.  It made perfect sense to me that God would love the elm tree as much as I did, and would visit with me there.  Of course, God/Universe is anywhere you choose to look, and I can easily see that Presence in the sheer beauty of that old tree.

At one point in the mid-1970's, the elm tree was struck by lightning and split down the center.  For a time, there was debate as to whether my Grandpa would cut the elm tree down.  Of course, all of the children in the family pleaded for this not to happen, as it was our primary recreation spot and the best climbing tree on the property.  After a time, the tree, amazingly, began to heal itself.  I am of the opinion that this healing took place as much from fervent children's prayers, crossed fingers, sincere applications of Band-Aids and many loving tree hugs, as it did from Nature weaving the sections of the tree back together. The scar remained from the lightning strike, the tree took on the appearance of two separate trunks melded together at the base and continued to stand strong for over 30 more years.  At its most healthy years, it required at least 4 adults, arms outstretched and linked hand-in-hand to circle the vast width of the tree trunk, it was that large.

I continued to visit the elm tree, even after I moved away from home, making it a point to walk out through the field and spend time there.  I always thought that after all the children grew up that the elm tree had to be lonely for the sound of laughter, for the feeling of small feet climbing its limbs, for the exhuberant, loving embraces we all bestowed upon it.  I never left Tennessee without stopping to visit the tree, and bestowing a hug, having a conversation with it and with God, before feeling all was truly right in my world. 

A couple of years ago, we had an unusually rainy year following a long period of drought.  There were many storms with high winds that swept across the side of the ridge where our property, and the elm tree, are located.  I stopped by for a visit late one afternoon and asked my Mom to walk out to the field to see the elm tree.  Reaching the edge of the field, we stopped dead in horror - half of the elm tree had fallen.  Apparently the sheer weight of its large limbs had proven too heavy for the old lightning scar to bear and the lower section of the trunk split free and fell.  The remaining section was still upright, but according to my Uncle who now owns the property, there are plans to cut it down and clear the property.  I admit, without an ounce of embarrassment, that I stood there and cried.  I walked up to the still standing section of my dear old friend and once again spread my arms out for a loving embrace.

Resting my cheek against the smooth bark, I closed my eyes and said a prayer.  I cried some more, and cannot lie - my heart just ached as I leaned against this most faithful of childhood companions.  The fanciful part of my heart wonders and thinks that perhaps the elm tree grew saddened and lonely for company over the years.  With no children to play and climb all over it, no laughter to absorb, no wee arms embracing it with love, maybe the elm tree decided it was time to let go. 

It is my dear hope that I will be able to find some skilled artisan who can take some of the fallen tree trunk and create a piece of furniture, or decorative art, so that I may always have a piece of my childhood protector with me.  The other half of the tree still stands strong in the field, and I continue to visit and say Hello each time I go home.  The time is drawing near when that field will be empty of the all encompassing, mighty presence of that massive elm tree, and that will be a sad day to witness. 

For now, I have written a loving tribute to this old friend.  I cannot stand silently and leave the world wiped clean of the existence of such a beautiful work of God and nature - I felt driven to capture the images here and write the words.  We were raised well by that faithful presence, we Reagan children, and I daresay there is not a single one of us who will be left untouched by the passing of that sheltering, peaceful beauty.  It is our Reagan Generation Tree.  Thankfully, it has been captured in endless photographs.  It is also safe in each of our memories.  To the best of my calculations, it has lived close to 100 years.  And now, you, my readers, can finally understand why my blog posts are hallmarked with the image of the bare branches of this graceful tree, silhouetted against the evening winter sky. 

When you see that image, you see something so dear to my heart that I chose it to represent Healing Morning.  The energy of that old elm tree has always brought me to a powerful place of healing, peace and welcome, and that is the energy I hope is conveyed with this blog.  My blog design is due to change in the coming weeks, but you will always find the image of this elm tree somewhere in connection to my writing.  It is as intrinsically a part of me as my writing and I like the continuity it represents.

Subverting ego

I want to talk about something that will strikes nerves in all of us. Subverting ego. Another word for it is compromise. For many of you, reading the word compromise probably elicits an instantaneous, visceral response. An inner shudder, dread, irritation, frustration, a dogged, militant digging in of stubborn heels, an instant need to avoid and avert, or an outright instinct to flee from the whole situation at hand. We are taught (it is to be hoped) from childhood to play fairly, to share, be kind, tolerant and understanding, to have respect, ethics, morals and firm convictions. From that early age, those lessons are either absorbed and embraced or they are tossed aside in the rush to succeed, gather wealth and worldly recognition. In this sometimes aggressive rushing forward process, we forget who we are.


Usually, by the time we reach our mid- to late 20's, we recognize as adults that all of life is about some form of compromise. Every relationship that exists on this planet involves this concept; relationships with business and professional colleagues, with friends, with family members, with romantic partnerships, with nature, with artistic muse, with education, with health....the list is endless and all of these require learning to compromise.


The intrinsic, guttural response for many is initially to fight and win at all costs when presented with a difficult situation. Many do barrel in and greet life with this approach, heedless of the chaos, pain and destruction left strewn behind them. There seems to be an innate fear that by choosing to compromise, this indicates weakness.

I posit to you that a willingness to compromise is perhaps the better example of strength. 

It is true that alone, we can accomplish a great deal. It is a stronger truth that by joining with others, we can accomplish so much more. The kicker here is that by joining forces with others...in business, in marriage, in friendship....we have to learn the art of compromise.

• "But my way is best."  
• "I am always right." 
• "I don't need any help." 
•  "I want what I want now!"  

Do any of these sound familiar to you? We are all guilty of those moments. It is just human nature. At times, all of those statements are valid ones. Well, maybe not the "always right" one, because that's a physical and energetic impossibility in this world for any one person to "always" achieve.

The art of compromise requires each of us to do the oftentimes incredibly difficult inner work of subverting our ego. This can be a painful process, admittedly. Few of us embrace change on such a personal level with great enthusiasm, because it means looking at ourselves with clear eyes and ruthless honesty, admitting to flaws, failings and things that aren't necessarily very attractive about our behavior patterns. The good news is, none of us are perfect and we all have those less than pretty inner workings. Our job as individuals, I believe, is to operate on a conscious level each day, and recognize those moments that are presented to us to change, evolve and become better versions of ourselves. Compromise is almost an inevitable step in this process.


I am not one who marches through life with an aggressive tilt to my chin. My approach is calmer, more peaceful and thoughtful. Does this approach always serve me well? For the most part, yes. I can admit, however, that there are definitely times where a more aggressive approach is necessary and this is a lesson that I have learned, processed and absorbed over the years.

It is important to note that a calm, kind spirit does not indicate any degree of passivity or lack of strength. 

When the situation calls for it, I can present a harder demeanor and accomplish what I set out to do. The delicate balancing act is to do this with personal integrity and kindness, and that is the tricky part we all wrestle with on a daily basis. In order for me to learn this particular lesson and gain this valuable life tool, I had to compromise and be willing to change in an elemental manner. For many, the converse is true; that aggressive approach is second nature, and for them, the compromise and painful learning process is to embrace a softer, kinder application of energy.


The beauty of this whole concept is that through compromise, through subverting ego, we learn that by joining together with others for various purposes, we become more than would be managed alone. Compromise produces complement. My love of words rears its head and I feel the need to list the definition of these two words:


Compromise
Main Entry: 1 com·pro·mise
Pronunciation: \ˈkäm-prə-ˌmīz\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, mutual promise to abide by an arbiter's decision, from Anglo-French compromisse, from Latin compromissum, from neuter of compromissus, past participle of compromittere to promise mutually, from com- + promittere to promise
Date: 15th century
1 a : settlement of differences by arbitration or by consent reached by mutual concessions b : something intermediate between or blending qualities of two different things


Complement
Main Entry: 1 com·ple·ment
Pronunciation: \ˈkäm-plə-mənt\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Latin complementum, from complēre to fill up, complete, from com- + plēre to fill — more at full
Date: 14th century
1 a : something that fills up, completes, or makes perfect b : the quantity, number, or assortment required to make a thing complete


So, to paraphrase..."blending qualities of two different things..." "...required to make a thing complete." I find absolute beauty in the marriage of these two thoughts. For those of us who have fallen in love, the merging of these two concepts make perfect sense, for we become a much brighter, more shining, aspiring version of ourselves through loving another.

The jarring, perhaps amusing fact to point out is that just beyond the first rosy glow of love comes the prosaic, mundane rolling forth of life that requires....once again, compromise. 

Subverting of personal ego then becomes necessary; subverting our own immediate wants, wishes and needs, subverting ego in order to create a happy and workable balance with that other person.

Yes, we can be happy alone. Yes, we can achieve success in business by ourselves, to a degree. The simple, inescapable truth remains that this planet is full of people and operates on the concept of personal interaction with others. Therefore, compromise and subverting of ego is an inevitable part of life. Friendship, companionship and family cannot exist in an isolated state for any of us; this is simply not possible. I find on a personal level that when someone close to me challenges me, or pushes me to adapt and change, ultimately the changes and refining of myself that occur enrich my life. I find more satisfaction in the particular area that was highlighted, and also find the relationships involved in producing those changes become stronger and more resilient.

A better, brighter, stronger version of who You are capable of becoming; this is the end product of subverting ego and considering the other side with a genuine desire and enthusiasm. It cannot be stressed enough - compromise produces complement.