Reflections

I've just returned from a memorial service for a 20 year old who was killed in a horrible, fiery car accident, along with her boyfriend, and another couple, who were their best friends. Our church was filled, standing room only. There were people of all ages and races and sexual orientations and a million other differences, yet we were all united by our love for this young woman, Caitlin Lee.

Parents are not supposed to bury their children. Her parents adored her, as did everyone who knew her. She was their only child. I made me recall that, were it not for a miscarriage, I would have a child her age, whose birthday would have been this month. I wanted to have children "one day", but was consciously using birth control pills at the time, because I knew I didn't want to have children with the man I was married to at the time. I later learned that I'm infertile, that that pregnancy was just a "lucky" chance.

Over the years I soothed myself with the knowledge that, because I didn't have children, I had a much freer life than someone who did. But that didn't really quell my desire to be a mother. I've always loved children, probably because I'm the oldest of four. My youngest sister is 7 years young, and she is the one of us who has had the most complex life. She is a recovering alcoholic, 1 year sober this month. She also has three kids, ages 10, 4, and 3. She's lost primary custody of her children because she attempted, and nearly succeeded at, suicide last June. Her ex is abusive (go figure) and is not someone she can be around safely. She is currently unemployed, though about to start college again to obtain a degree in something that will enable her to make some kind of a decent living for herself, and, hopefully, regain primary physical custody. In the meantime, though, she's riding the Greyhound up here tomorrow, about a 10 hour drive or a bit longer, I think. She arrives at 11pm, so I will have to go down to pick her up. Then, she and I will travel up to a midway point between my place and his (about 300 miles or so) to pick up the children from her friend, who happens to be the one he gets to keep the kids all the time. Then, we'll turn around and drive back to my house, where they'll stay for the week, I guess.

Don't get me wrong -- just seeing the children is well worth it -- but this will be the first time I've seen my sister since her sobriety began. I will have to sanitize the house, for MY sake, not hers. Then I will need to childproof. And then go buy groceries for them, and the list goes on.

But on the other hand, my little sister could have succeeded in taking herself permanently out of the picture last year, so I'm trying to view this all with gratitude for having the opportunity to do this for her, and for me.

Tell the people you love how you feel, as often as you have the opportunity. Tomorrow is in no way guaranteed.

Thinking Out Loud

OK, wrong gender in the pic, but you get the idea. I'm in thought these days, probably because I have little else that I can effectively do until this walking cast comes off. PLEASE let that be tomorrow when I see the Ortho doc again!

What am I thinking about, you ask? (You DID ask, didn't you?) Everything. Everything, all swirled up and conglomerated into a blur of questions and ideas. One of my biggest, lifelong questions revolves around a working life. I have never been able to identify any one, or even any 10 things I'd like to do for a living. I don't understand how colleges and universities, let alone parents and students, expect a person (young or older) to choose just one area in which to specialize. I started college at age 16 through a dual enrollment/advance placement program with my high school and the local community college. I thought I had to choose a major, so I chose "Business Administration". I had absolutely no information about what "Business Administration" involved -- I just thought it was the most logical choice to utilize the skills I thought I possessed at the time -- great math abilities, decent writing abilities, communication abilities, etc.

But the reality is that I had no clue what kinds of jobs even existed, much less what it took to do them. Mostly, I guess, this is because no one bothered to counsel me in any way when it came to schooling, other than these two examples: 1) the Dean of my high school, who knew my father who had just passed away from cancer, tried to talk me out of dual enrollment, because he thought it was too much for a kid to handle, and 2) my journalism instructor quit speaking to me when I had to resign as Copy Editor of the newspaper because I had to get a job that took me out of school most of the day (a work/study program) and made it impossible to take the required class to continue that position. Now, my grades were good (obviously), I had more than enough credits to graduate from high school, and I figured that, the sooner I got a "real job" and completed college, the better off I and my family would be. So, I bumbled through choosing my classes, and, even though my grades were good and all that, I couldn't make myself finish. It was soooooooooo boring, and there didn't seem to be any alternative, because I just simply didn't know any better.

Fast-forward to the present: I am currently unemployed, partly by choice, but also partly because I have no idea what to do with myself, I have not completed a formal education, and, frankly, I'm petrified of returning to work. Why am I petrified? Because I don't think I can handle the pressure. I have tried to have a positive attitude, to take into account that I would not be the only breadwinner, that I would probably enjoy getting out on a more scheduled, regular basis, that I'd enjoy (and my hubby would be very relieved, to say the least) having more income, etc. etc. etc. But none of those thoughts allay my fears.

I'm sure we've all been in those jobs where we did a lion's share of work for little credit, and were expected to perform absolute miracles with very little assistance. I feel sure we've all been in places where people took advantage of our good will and work ethics, and didn't give us the opportunities for advancement or recognition we know we deserved. I do realize these are common and virtually universal aspects of working, and I know that I deserve no special treatment on this, or any other, front. But in my mind, returning to work means being at the mercy of someone else and surrendering my peace of mind. I feel the drone-buzz even thinking about it -- like the blood is being sucked out of my body and replaced with cotton or something equally light and unsubstantial.

Am I just selfish? Am I just lazy? Am I just stupid? Am I unrealistic? Am I 'damaged goods'? This is what I wonder.

How did you know when you found your calling in life? Or did you ever find one? Did you choose the wrong one? I'd love to hear some discussion around these topics.

Peace, y'all.
Suzanne