to give the gift of saying thank you
We lost our Aunt Kay this month.
She reached out to me at age 13, when my mother died and gave me quality time. We would often talk about what it takes to be in charge of your own life. When I got sick, Aunt Kay spent several summers giving my daughter Brittany, what I could not and I am sure they had many similar conversations.
During a recent trip back home, we all spent an afternoon together and I was able to explain to her how her gift of time and love had become a part of who I am. Even though I am saddened and will dearly miss her, I am not agonized by the pain of unsaid words. My heart is peaceful knowing that she knows.
After my appointment I felt good, had some energy and just wasn’t ready to go home. Truthfully, I was longing for some company and didn’t want to face an empty house. I couldn’t think of any errands to do so I lollygagged around the grocery store, then sadly headed for home.
Driving up the steep hill to my driveway it hit me. I had planned a lunch date and all that time I was moping around, she was waiting for me to call so we could go out to lunch.
Together you will lessen the cruelties of this harsh world
To an angry, tearful mother whose autistic child was bullied:
Rise up. Tuck your pain in your heart to be soothed later by those that love you. This is your change the world moment.
Native American tradition reminds us to see misbehavior as a sign of someone who needs to be taught. Muster that mother-bear courage and become the teacher you already are. As you craft your words in anticipation, you will develop the skill to tactfully and boldly educate.
As you get better at this, you will look forward to these encounters. Your child is your platform to soften hearts and together you will lessen the cruelties of this harsh world.
It’s not my fault I don’t always remember your name, though we’ve been friends for years.
It’s not my fault I sometimes do things that appear foolish.
It’s not my fault I forget plans we talked about yesterday.
It’s not my fault
but it sure feels like it sometimes.
That’s the chemo brain shame.