The Joy of Forgiving Yourself

A reminder from my good friend Dan to be gentle and patient with ourselves. We are not as awful, bad at something, or stupid as our self talk sometimes tells us. The first of the Four Agreements tell us to be impeccable with our word. I realized one day that doesn't just mean how we talk to and interact with others. It also means how we talk to and interact with ourselves. That struck me like a thunderbolt. Such a simple notion had escaped me all this time! The conversations and relationship we have with ourselves sets the tone for our entire outlook. Once I understood that and started being more aware of own self talk I realized how downright cruel I was being to me. We sometimes talk to ourselves in ways we wouldn't talk to others or ever allow others to talk to us. So be sure to move through the day with a gentle and loving spirit. Give yourself the break you would give others and expect others to give you. Namaste.

Criticism

A simple and profound truth. 

 

The Secret Mission of Dogs

Last week my partner and I brought home Rufus. He's a 4-year old, 23 pound, purebred, AKC registered French Bulldog. Within days my heart had been melted and I loved that little guy more than anything else in the whole wide world. I realized that's the secret mission of every dog; melt their owners heart with unconditional love and affection. Some days he's an obstinate little gremlin, but I wouldn't have him any other way!

A dear friend sent a box of goodies for him from chewy.com. Inside was a stuffed unicorn toy that he absolutely loves and can't be without. Watching him tear into it is both comical and heart-warming. Click the video above and prepare for snuffles and grunts of cuteness. Be sure to turn up the volume!

You're Never Too Old To Miss Your Mom

"Trust me when I tell you, you never get too old to miss your mother."

— Rose Marie

At 94 years old, actress Rose Marie still missed her mother. I understand that feeling. All too well.

Two and a half years ago I lost my mother to complications from diabetes. My dad and I knew it was coming. After almost twenty years of surgeries, procedures, and adjusting to a life that was shrinking she was faced with the prospect of trying a surgery that had a one percent chance of success or going home. She chose to go home. "I'm done being poked, prodded, having needles stuck in me, parts being cut off, doctors, nurses, hospitals, machines, and procedures. I want to go home." And she did. She opted to cease all treatments and medications except for those that were necessary, daily insulin and medication to ease her pain. She chose dignity. And in the month and half that followed until she passed away, I got to spend some of the most intimate and loving time with her that I'd ever spent.

She was my Number One fan. She always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better. When I was little something as simple as one of her chocolate chip cookies could make everything right again. A hug was always the perfect balm for whatever was wrong. Sometimes she pissed me off to no end. But there was, of course as there is with any parent, squabbles, disagreements, and arguments. I can remember typical teenager fights. I knew everything and she didn't know a damn thing. Sometimes she drove me crazy. Sometimes I wanted to be anywhere but around her. And I wouldn't trade any of that anything in the world. When people say they wish they had just five minutes more, just to sit and talk about anything at all, I know exactly what they mean. What I wouldn't give for just five minutes more.

I made a habit of calling my mom every morning without fail, asking her how her day started and talking for as long as she wanted to talk. I kept her last voice mail message on my phone. Until one day when I accidentally erased it. I was distraught. I literally fell to pieces that day. The one last "live" piece of her I could keep was gone. I have pictures and cards and letters she wrote to me as her health declined, but nothing could replace that voice mail message. Nothing. What I wouldn't give for a undo command on my phone and get that back.

There are days when I just don't know how I'm going to get through the day without being able to talk to my mom. Some days the sense of loss is so strong I can't breathe and I feel like I'm suffocating. I call it the "emotional crater." In my emotions where she used to be is now a huge crater. It just sits there waiting for me. And every now and then, like today, I come up on that crater and I have to figure a way around it. Yet I know the best way isn't around it, it's through it. And even though I can't bear the thought of it, I take a step forward into it and muddle my way through it.

Sometimes I'm scared to keep moving forward, afraid to get too far away from the pain. If I stop feeling the pain, I'll stop remembering her. And I never, ever want to forget the wonderful lady that was my mom. So when Rose Marie says you're never too old to miss your mom, I say thank goodness. I never, ever want to stop missing my mom.

Notes From A Mother To A Son

Seven months ago my mother died after suffering with a long-term illness. As I watched her fading I wondered which would be better, to have a parent go suddenly, in essence having the band-aid ripped off abruptly and suffering with the instantaneous pain of separation? Or to have a parent go slowly, watching the slow and painful decline, powerless to do anything to stop it, but having time to emotionally and physically prepare for the end. I came to the conclusion that neither is preferable over the other. The loss of a parent or loved one is just as painful, and it leaves a tremendous, gaping hole (what I have termed the "emotional crater") either way.
What I can say is that the last year of my mother's life gave me the unique opportunity. The opportunity to spend time with her and say the things to each other not everyone gets the chance to express when a separation like this is sudden or unexpected.
Realizing what was to come, my mother had the insight to write me a series of letters with instruction for them to be opened only after her passing. It took me seven months to bring myself to read them today on what would have been her 74th birthday.
Her letters were filled with loving words, memories, and most of all life advice imparted in the unique way only my mother could have expressed. Below are some of the passages from the various letters that touched me deeply. As her illness progressed, the handwriting my mother prided herself on began to deteriorate. I have transcribed a few somewhat illegible ones. The transcriptions are in quotation marks below the image. Based on that and the fact that some letters were dated and some not, I have tried to put them in as correct a chronological order as possible. Regardless of those factors, I hope her words will touch you and help you recognize or remind you of the preciousness of life and our place in it as she always tried so hard to instill in me.

"I will have an eternal smile in my heart because of you. I hope you will be always able to feel my hugs. My life has been very happy because of you & our family."

This is one of the most touching of my mom's four letters to me, addressing my relationship with my partner. I have blurred his name in order to preserve his privacy.

"When you have a sad or lonely time, reach out to others, find ways to reach out,

be determined to control your life. You have always been so determined & you always can be."

Mindfulness

"When the Buddha was asked, 'Sir, what do you and your monks practice?' he replied, 'We sit. We walk, and we eat.' The questioner continued, 'But Sir, everyone sits, walks and eats.' And the Buddha told him, 'When we sit we know we are sitting. When we walk, we know we are walking. When we eat, we know we are eating.' 
Most of the time we are lost in the past, or carried away by future projects and concerns. When we are mindful, touching deeply the present moment, we can see and listen deeply, and the fruits are always understanding, acceptance, love and the desire to relieve suffering and bring joy."
— Thich Nhat Hanh, Living Buddha, Living Christ