So Long Old Friend

I started writing this post two months ago ... seriously ... two months ago. While I haven't actually written on the post every day for the past two months, I have most definitely thought about the subject matter every single day for the past two months. I've thought about it way, way, way more than a few times a day, too ... the truth is I haven't been able to get it out of my mind no matter how hard I try. I struggled with writing this post because ... well ... because of a bunch of reasons that really don't matter or make sense to anyone but me. Much to the surprise of many, I really don't just sit down and spew words when I write ... okay, maybe once in a while when I'm really, really mad ... you guys really have no idea how long some posts simmer in my brain before I ever write one word or how much I wrestle with what to write and what not to write. I tell you that because I hope ... hope ... hope ... talk about a word that carries with it more meaning than we as humans will ever begin to be able to understand. I hope it will help you to understand ... or to be understanding ... or maybe even a little bit of both.

I've never been good with goodbyes ... in fact, I really don't like them at all. Goodbyes always feel too final, too permanent, too sad, too painful, too ... well ... in my opinion, goodbyes just plain old suck all the way around. I understand all too well that even goodbyes that I think are only temporary can become final, permanent, sad and achingly painful in the blink of an eye. I think that's why I never end an email, text, phone conversation or visit with my children or granddaughters without saying, "I love you" ... it's because I've had far too many goodbyes over the years that I'd give anything now to have the chance to say those words just one more time.

The evening I first sat down to attempt to write this post was at the end of a really long day for me ... one of those days I knew was going to be a tough one and me being me, one of those days when I kept telling myself I was going to be tougher than my tough day. If you've been reading along with me for a while, you probably remember me writing about a certain wooden post that stood guard next to my desk at work ... my beloved quote post. I read the quotes on that post every single day ... every single day. I loved that my co-workers would often stop by and read the quotes, especially when they were having a tough day of their own. I loved that other people were inspired by the post and asked me for a post-it note and a pen so they could put a quote on the post as well. I loved that kids who came to visit their parents at work put quotes on the post ... that the FedEx guy thought the post was so cool, he put several quotes on the post ... that clients sent me emails with quotes and asked me to transfer them to the post for them. I loved that when I told my homeless friends who live under the bridge about my quote post, they quoted some of the great authors of all time and requested that when I went back to the office, I would put the words on a piece of paper and pin in to the post. I loved that photographers and filmmakers and news crews always asked if they could get a picture of my quote post and my framed Ears Wide Open? note cards that hung against the brick wall.

I loved a lot of things about my quote post, but perhaps what I loved most of all was what it did for me and what I hoped it did for others as well ... there's that word again ... hope. I had no idea when I tacked the first post-it note ... the first quote I pinned to the post ... I had no idea how much hope that post would bring to me, how much love that post would represent, how much that post would help me find my way. I read the quotes on that post every day ... every single day until the day I first sat down to attempt to write tonight's post. That day ... that tough day when I first tried to write tonight's post was the day I spent more than an hour removing all the quotes from my old friend ... that was the day my beloved quote post held its final quote. You see, the company where I work has grown a lot over the last couple of years, and with growth must come change, and this particular change, in my case anyway, meant I had to move to a different desk ... it meant I had to say so long to my old friend the quote post ... it meant saying goodbye to my Ears Wide Open? piece ... it meant saying goodbye to my spot. You can call me crazy or tell me I'm being a baby or think I'm ridiculous ... you can say and think whatever you want, but I miss my spot and my quote post so much that there are days when it feels like my heart is going to crumble into a million pieces. And before you ask, no, there isn't a post at my new desk, and even if there were, I'm pretty sure the magic of my beloved quote post is gone forever. 

It seems fitting to close with the first quote I placed on my quote post ... a quote that spoke to the very core of my soul the day I pushed the pin into the wood ... it seems fitting to end with the beginning ... so long old friend ... so long.

"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." --- e.e. cummings

Dear Beautiful Women

My niece Sharon is only a couple of years younger than me, but you'd never know it by looking at the two of us side by side. I look every bit of my 55 years and then some, but Sharon looks like she's in her early 40s at the most. When we were young, Sharon competed in a bunch of beauty pageants and won some big awards and trophies, and had she chosen to pursue that path professionally, I have no doubt whatsoever she would have become a supermodel extraordinaire. My sweet niece always looks like she stepped right off the cover of Vogue magazine, always has perfect hair and perfect nails and perfect makeup, is tall and thin ... the truth is my niece Sharon is just a naturally beautiful gal. And then there's me ... I look like I stepped right off the cover of "Gals Who Know Nothing About Fashion," would superglue a ball cap to my head if I could get away with it so I didn't have to deal with my hair, have no nails because I bite them constantly, only wear makeup because I don't want to frighten anyone, am short and resemble a fire plug way more than a willow tree. Beautiful has never been a word that describes me ... cute maybe, feisty definitely, adorable every once in a great, great while, but definitely not beautiful.

I've known a lot of beautiful women over the years ... naturally beautiful women ... women who don't have to try to be beautiful, they just are. They come in all shapes and sizes ... those beautiful women ... there is no cookie-cutter standard or preordained definition as to what constitutes natural beauty, and perhaps the old adage of "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" applies even more strongly in regard to what is or is not perceived to be natural beauty. That's always been puzzling to me, you know, that what is seen as perfect beauty by one person can be seen as complete hideousness by another ... just further proof, I suppose, that there are no rules, no standards, no defining regulations as to the determination of natural beauty other than the eye, or perhaps more accurately, the heart, of the beholder.

The crazy thing is that most of you naturally beautiful women just don't get it ... you don't have a clue how beautiful you truly are. The rest of us know ... trust me on that one, friends ... trust me on that one for sure ... those of us who know and love you know how truly beautiful you are. We know you have beautiful eyes and a beautiful nose and beautiful lips and beautiful hands and beautiful hair and beautiful ... uh ... well ... uh ... beautiful everythings. But even more, we know you have beautiful hearts ... we know you have beautiful spirits ... we know you have beautiful compassion, beautiful hope and beautiful love. The rest of us know how beautiful you are because we know the real you ... we know how beautiful you are because we know the real you and we love you. Maybe there is a universal standard for natural beauty after all ... maybe that standard is love.

Dear beautiful women ... someday I'd like to be beautiful ... someday I'd like to be as beautiful as you.

If Only I Had Known

My television set is old ... I'm thinking it's got to be at least 15 years old, which makes it a true dinosaur in the world of technology. It's one of those big boxy-looking TVs that you rarely see anymore except ... well ... except on TV. It's old and ugly and randomly makes weird popping noises, and each day I wonder if today will be the day when the light from my television no longer shines ... if today will be the day when its sound becomes forever silent ... if today will be the day when it gives up the ghost and goes to wherever it is that dead old TVs go. It's crazy, I know, considering that I don't actually watch a lot of television ... but I know as surely as I've ever known anything that I will miss my TV when it's gone. I don't know what day my old, ugly, noisy television will die, but I know that day is coming and I know it's probably coming sooner than I want.

I turned 55 the day after Christmas, and for the first time in my life, I'm bothered by my age. It didn't bother me when I turned 30 or 40 or even 50, but for some reason turning 55 has done a number on my brain. I can't explain it really, but it's like I woke up on December 26th and realized that my time is running out ... I realized that I've lived more years already than I probably have left to live and the truth is that it's bugging the hell out of me. It's not that I'm afraid of dying ... we all know that's not the case ... it's that there are so many things I haven't done yet, and so many things I should have done but didn't and will never have the opportunity to do now. Maybe everyone has those same feelings and emotions as they age ... those "I'm not done yet" feelings and those "I wish I would have" emotions. Maybe that's one of those universal truths in life ... the older a person gets, what really matters in life becomes so much more clear and so very, very, very much more important.

I've come to believe that some of the most important life lessons come at the most unexpected times and often from the most unexpected sources, which, I think, only serves to add to the depth of their meaning and the truth of what I need to learn. Though I have no clue what I was watching on television a few nights ago, I sure hope I always remember the lesson contained in some words spoken by an older gentleman whose wife was involved in a car accident and had been placed on life support. As he stood by her bedside after signing the paperwork to have the machines turned off, he held her hand and whispered softly in her ear, "I thought we had more time ... if only I had known this morning would be our last moments together ... I thought we had more time." Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my cheeks and my mind was filled with so many "if only I had known ... " moments in my own life ... moments that if only I had known they were final moments, I would have done so many things differently. I would have spoken more gently ... I would have hugged more tightly ... I would have listened more intently ... I would have loved more deeply.

I'm working on a new bucket list ... a list of things I want to do before I kick the bucket ... to replace the one I made a couple of years ago. My list is a lot different now than it was then ... my list is way more about people this time around. I don't care so much these days about seeing the Grand Canyon or traveling to Sweden or learning to play the violin. The things on my list now? I want my children and my granddaughters to know that I think about them every single day. I want them to know that I love them more than I ever thought I could love anyone and that the greatest happiness I've ever felt is in being a mom and a Ghee. I want to have my ears and my eyes and my heart wide open so that I hear and see and feel the needs of others. I want to live for a time with my homeless friends so that I may fully understand what sacrifice really means. I want my words to match my actions ... I want to keep my promises ... I want to be honest in all I do. I want my friends to know they can trust me completely, and I want to trust them the same way. I want to listen to them and cry with them and laugh with them and care with them and hope with them and dream with them. I want to care more ... I want to listen more ... I want to help more ... I want to give more ... I want to love more. 

I have a lot of "if only I had known" moments ... moments I would change in a heartbeat if I could go back in time. If only I had known I was holding my dad's hand for the last time, I would have held on tighter. If only I had known I would never hear Mom's voice again, I would have listened longer. If only I had known the last time I saw my dear friend Annie was the last time, I would have told her how precious her friendship was to me and what a difference she was making in the lives of my children. If only I had known it was my little J.R.'s last week to live, I would have taken off from work and held him in my arms every single moment. If only I had known how wounded my friend's heart was, I would have driven him to the counselor and stayed with him until the pain went away.

I look at life so much differently now than I did when I was younger ... I look at life so much differently now than I did before I was a mother or a grandmother ... I look at life so much differently now than I did when I was ready to end it all once and for all. Every time I say goodbye to someone now ... every time I hug someone now ... every time I cry with someone now ... every time I laugh with someone now ... every time I listen to someone now ... every time I hold my precious granddaughters in my arms now ... every time I look into the eyes of my children now ... every time I feel the hearts of my friends now ... every single time I say goodbye now ... I don't want to leave any words unspoken, any deeds undone, any love unshared.

If only I had known ... I would have loved more and listened more and given more and helped more and stayed more. If only I had known ... if only you had known ... if only we all had known. What would you say ... what would you do ... if only?

If only I had known ...

Oh for the Love of Legos

You all know I get a ton of emails and private messages on Facebook, and a whole lot of those notes contain questions. Most of the questions are serious in nature ... some are very, very, very serious questions for which I have no answers. This week, however, I can answer one of the most asked questions in regard to my previous post ... why did I spend 5 1/2 hours last Sunday washing thousands of Legos? The short answer is because I really am insane, and my Lego-washing marathon completely proves that to be true. The long answer is because I love my kids and my grandkids. Technically, my short answer is longer than my long answer I suppose. But my long answer carries with it the need for further explanation whereas my short answer has been proven to be accurate a million times over in the last few years. 

For the last 10 plus years or longer, my basement has housed Rubbermaid containers filled with stuffed animals, dolls, GI Joes, Star Wars figures and whatever you call those things they fly through space in, Precious Moments figurines, baseball cards and last but far from least ... Legos. Before I get a ton of emails asking me why I didn't send all of their childhood belongings along with my children when they moved out, obviously you either don't have children or your children haven't left home yet. Of course I tried to get them to take their stuff when they moved out of my house ... and I tried to get them to take it the year after they moved and the year after that and the year after that ... of course I did ... geez.

When my son Matt asked a couple of weeks ago if I would drag the oversized (and I do mean oversized) Rubbermaid container that housed the Legos upstairs so he could "look through them" on Skype and choose some for me to send to C.J. and Lou Lou, I said, "Sure, honey ... no problem." I'm sure it's a good thing that the passage of time is erasing certain things from my memory, but I sure wish I would have remembered just how many Legos were in that stupid container before I agreed to honor my son's request. I knew I was in trouble the minute I unsnapped the lid ... big, big, big trouble. Ten years in a basement, even in a Rubbermaid container, meant a decade of dust and dirt and shells of those little roly-poly creatures ... gross, gross, gross ... which in turn meant I had to clean the Legos before I could spread them out so that Matt could see them.

While it would have been so much easier to toss all of the 10 million little pieces into my tub and wash them all at once, I was terrified that one little Lego hand or Lego head or Lego pirate coin or Lego whatever would slip into the drain and end up costing me thousands of dollars that I don't have. No, really ... that's exactly where my mind went. So ... I decided my only option was to wash the 50 million Legos (yes, they multiplied in number every single time I looked at them) in my kitchen sink because should one of the renegade Legos end up in that drain, it would be more manageable. I seriously stood there in my kitchen and thought, "Well, if I stop up the kitchen sink with Legos, I have two other sinks I can use. If I stop up the tub, I won't be able to take a shower and then I'm screwed." No, really ... that's exactly where my mind went. Remember my short answer above? Just more proof as to the validity of my insanity defense.

During my 5 1/2 hours of quality bonding time spent with the Legos on Sunday, one thought kept pounding in my brain until it finally worked its way into my heart ... love isn't in the saying, love is in the doing. I'm not saying you shouldn't tell the people you love that you love them, not at all ... every single person in the world needs to hear they are loved and they need to hear it a whole, whole, whole lot. But saying I love my kids or my granddaughters or my extended family or my friends isn't enough ... it's really, really important, but only saying I love them without demonstrating my love for them just isn't enough. Love is so much more than in the saying ... love is in the doing.

Love is taking care of someone when they are sick ... putting cold rags on their neck when they have a fever, patting their back when they're puking, going to the pharmacy at 1 a.m. to pick up their prescription. Love is making time in your busy day to listen to a friend who needs to talk. Love is going to the doctor with someone who lives alone. Love is buying groceries for your elderly parents and cooking meals for them. Love is taking the time to send a card or email or text to say you care. Love is holding a crying baby after you've had a long day at work. Love is sending a note to someone who is discouraged or lonely. Love is picking up the phone and making the call. Love is surprising your spouse or partner with flowers on a Tuesday. Love is mowing your neighbor's lawn when they are out of town. Love is talking to a homeless man, shaking his dirty hand, hugging him without caring how he smells, giving him food. Love is noticing when someone you work with is sad or lonely or tired or troubled and inviting them to lunch.  

Love is listening ... love is caring ... love is doing whatever it takes to make a difference in someone's life. Love is washing the Legos ... love is washing the millions of Legos because love really and truly isn't in the saying, friends ... love really and truly is in the doing.

Go Ahead and Ask Them

Whenever I talk with my granddaughter C.J., I ask her what she's doing or what she has done that day. I've learned not to expect the answer many children would give ... "Nothing, Ghee" ... oh, no, no, no, not from my granddaughter. Nope, my granddaughter generally has a litany of things she is excited to tell me ... from where she went to what she did to talking about her dogs to showing me her belly button to singing a song at the top of her lungs to ... well ... you name it, and my little Boo talks about it. That's why I ask her the questions, you know ... the "What are you doing?"  or "What did you do today?" questions ... I ask because I want her to talk to me and tell me all about her day. I Skyped with her tonight and I promise you that within a split second of my asking her those questions, she was yapping her sweet little blonde head off as she happily told me about the adventures of her day.

I was telling C.J. that I had been taking care of her Uncle Brad's dog Max all week when I uttered the following words ... "I have never seen a dog that pees as much as Max ... he goes potty a lot ... a whole, whole lot." My genius granddaughter never missed a beat as she asked ever so seriously ... "Ghee, do you go potty a wot?" After assuring C.J. that her Ghee does not go potty nearly as much as Max the dog, she quickly moved on to ask me a million other questions ... thankfully, those revolved around more appropriate subject matter than my bathroom habits.

I've thought a lot about C.J.'s initial question to me this evening ... I've thought about a lot of things in regard to her "Ghee, do you go potty a wot?" question. I've thought about the irony of her question ... before I was diagnosed with diabetes, I certainly did "go potty a wot," probably because I drank gallons of Diet Coke because I was so flipping thirsty all the time. I've thought about the sincerity of her question ... in her little mind, it was a logical question to ask following my description of Max. I've thought about the harmlessness of her question ... she wasn't trying to embarrass me or expose me or humiliate me in any way. She was simply asking me what to her seemed to be the right question to ask in that moment. All of that plus the fact that I'm her Ghee and she knows she can ask me anything and I won't get upset ... well ... almost anything I suppose.

One of the most repeated questions I read in the emails and messages I receive is, "Should I ask? If I think a family member or friend is contemplating suicide, should I ask them? Won't that push them over the edge and make them carry out their plan?" The short answer is yes ... ask. If their behavior is enough to warrant your concern, asking them if they are thinking or have thought about suicide won't compel them to commit suicide. What asking will do in those situations is let the person know you care ... it will let them know you care enough to ask. I can't tell you how many people have told me that someone asking them ... that someone caring enough to ask them ... that someone confronting them about what was going on inside their heads ... I can't tell you how many people have told me that simple act ... asking ... was enough to pull them back from the precipice of darkness. Here's the thing, though ... you've got to, got to, got to, got to be sincere in your questions ... you absolutely must be sincere and even more, you need to understand you may not get the answer you want to hear.

I'm realizing more and more that there are so very many people who feel completely alone ... people who feel isolated and abandoned ... people who feel that no one cares whether they live or die. Go ahead and ask them, friends ... please ... go ahead and ask them. Everyone deserves to know that someone cares ... everyone deserves to know that one very important and often life-saving thing if they never know anything else ... everyone deserves to know that someone cares whether they live or die.

So ... what did you do today? Want to know what I did? I washed Legos for 5 1/2 hours ... care to know why? 

If I Were Your Mom

Over the last several days, I've spent a significant amount of time reading through the comments that have been and are continuing to be posted on "A Room Without Feathers." Some have made me howl with laughter (which is an especially good thing for me right now), and some have made me shed tears of compassion and hope (which is also an especially good thing for me right now). Every single one of your comments has touched me in its own unique way, and I deeply appreciate you taking the time to share your hearts not only with me but with my readers as well.

While all of the comments are special to me, I am particularly moved by the ones from some of my younger readers ...

"I had my suicide all planned out and then someone told me to read your blog and now I'm still alive. There's been a lot of ups and downs in the last two years but my life is on a good road now and that's thanks to you being so honest in Easier to Die." 

"My brother Lucas tried to kill himself four times before he was 16 and the last time he did permanent damage to his eyes and he's blind."

"But there are some of us in junior high who read you every week and you help us. Your storys tell us not to give up and to be kind to everyone. I think you have a good spirit and I hope I can meet you sometimes."

"My friend Kevin was bullied about being gay from when we were 8 years old and called names like fairy, pansie, facggot, sissie boy just to name a few. I am 15 now but Kevin jumped off a building last summer and he didn't live threw the jump." 

"My brother Mike killed himself two months ago. I came home from school and found him. He hung himself in the closet. He made a video on his phone and said he was dying in the closet because it was where he had lived his life. I hate myself because I didn't know Mike was gay."

As you know if you've read my last couple of posts, I'm struggling with writing right now ... for the first time in my life, writing is hard for me. But as I read back through the posts this evening, I knew there was something I need to say tonight ... something I have to say tonight.

To my younger readers ... if I were your mom, I would tell you how proud I am of you. If I were your mom, I would tell you it's not your fault. If I were your mom, I would tell you not to give up. If I were your mom, I would tell you it really does get better. If I were your mom, I would tell you that you have more courage than I can ever hope to have. If I were your mom, I would tell you to never stop believing in yourself. If I were your mom, I would tell you to be open, to be honest, to be real and to be transparent. If I were your mom, I would tell you not to let anyone ever steal your joy. If I were your mom, I would tell you that you're perfect just the way you are. If I were your mom, I would tell you that your journey is only beginning. If I were your mom, I would tell you that you matter ... so much more than you know right now ... you matter. If I were your mom ... if I were your mom ... if I were your mom ... I would tell you that nothing ... absolutely nothing ... will ever change how very, very, very much I love you.

If I were your mom, I would tell you to just be you ... I would tell you to just be the incredible, amazing and awesome you that you already are.

Thank you for sharing yourselves with me and for walking this journey with me ... thank you Gary and Matthew and Stefanie and Elizabeth and so many others ... you truly bless me with your strength, bravery and overcoming spirits. If I were your mom ... I would tell you to never ever change.

15 Minutes

One of the things I love most about spending time with my granddaughter Coraline, whether that time is spent talking on the phone or Skyping on the computer or visiting her in Canada, I love that she doesn't measure the time we have together in minutes or hours ... my little Boo measures the time we have together in fun and happiness and love. She doesn't care about time ... she cares about being with her Ghee. Coraline counts our time together by the laughter we share and the books we read and the silly faces we make and the stories we tell. It can be 15 minutes or 15 hours ... to Coraline, it is simply her Ghee time and that's all that matters.

Last night I attended a meeting I didn't want to attend ... well, I attended the meeting for 15 minutes before I bailed. I've tried all day to convince myself that my 15-minute unwilling attendance last night was the same as willingly attending the entire meeting ... pretty sure that's not true .. pretty, pretty, pretty sure that's not even a teeny tiny bit true. Here's the thing ... the really hard thing for me to admit ... I left the meeting knowing full well I should stay. But those meetings make me uncomfortable ... those meetings drag me kicking and screaming out of my comfort zone ... those meetings force me to see things in myself that I don't want to see ... those meetings are just hard, really, really hard, and I'm just plain old tired of doing the hard stuff. And because I so obviously know what is best for me (that's sarcasm, by the way, in case you didn't catch it), I stayed for 15 minutes and then I left ... 15 long, tortuous, uncomfortable, weepy minutes and then I left.

When a friend suggested today that my title for tonight's post be "15 Minutes," I instantly knew that her interpretation of my 15-minute stint at last night's meeting meant something altogether different to her than it did to me. She saw me going to the meeting, even if it was only for 15 minutes, as a victory while I saw it as a failure. To her, those 15 minutes counted as a huge, gigantic, enormous step in the direction toward healing while to me, they counted as some of the longest, most painful, intensely humiliating minutes of my life. My friend saw those 15 minutes as an opportunity for incredible personal growth while I saw them as a reminder of how greatly I have failed and how far I have yet to go. 

I'm not going to lie ... I didn't want to write tonight ... there wasn't one part or piece of me that wanted to write tonight. But just as the bitter cold air hit my face when I stepped outside after work, a warm and piercing truth hit my heart as I walked to my car. My little Coraline doesn't measure our time together in minutes or hours because she doesn't have to call me or have to Skype with me or have to play with me ... she gets to do those things with me. Every minute I have with my precious granddaughter is measured in fun and happiness and love because in her mind, spending time with her Ghee is a get to rather than a have to activity ... she sees every single minute we have together as a gift.

Something tells me those 15 minutes at the meeting last night meant far more than I thought they did ... far, far, far more than I thought they did.

Because of You

As I sit here on my couch typing, there's a sad, sad dog sitting at my feet ... a dog who already misses his boy in a big, big way even though he's only been gone for a few minutes. I'm not sure I've ever seen a dog more human-like than this one ... if he could talk, I'm pretty sure he would say something along the lines of, "Where is he? Where did he go? Is he leaving me forever? ... My boy is never coming back, is he?" Yep ... there's a big brown dog in my house who seems to be completely convinced he's been abandoned and forsaken by his one true love, and I'm sitting here feeling pretty sorry for the big guy and wondering what I can do to make him feel better ... what I can do to make him know Brad will be back ... what I can do to ease his pain and rid him of his loneliness. You see, Brad is leaving town early tomorrow morning for Las Vegas for a week-long freelance film gig, and his best canine buddy Max is spending the week with Julie, Ollie and me. Max is a great dog, and I know he'll cheer up soon, but for tonight, he looks like one big, lonesome, sad ball of dog fur. His droopy tail and sad eyes tell the story of what's in his mind ... Max is absolutely certain that he's lost his sense of happy forever.

I know what that feels like, you know ... feeling that I've lost my sense of happy forever ... I know that feeling all too well and I'll tell you right now, I truly hate it. It's as if I've been dropped off in a giant forest amidst a bunch of virtual strangers, left to wonder and worry if my real owner will ever return to rescue me and take me home where I belong. Suddenly, everything that mattered to me, everything that was familiar to me, everyone I loved and trusted is gone and I'm left wandering through the forest unsure of where I belong and terrified by every step I take. I'm just like Max ... I watch the door with the hope it will open and my life will walk back in.

For all the things I've forsaken over the last couple of months, I think perhaps the most difficult and painful for me has been giving up writing this blog ... or writing much of anything else for that matter. You see, writing has always been the one thing I've been able to do no matter what was going on ... both good and bad ... I've always been able to write. In fact, writing has always been my haven of sorts, my place I could run to ... my place where I knew I belonged. But for the last two months, I've had little to no desire to write anything at all. It's a struggle for me to write now ... for the first time, writing is hard, writing is frightening ... for the first time, I have no desire to write. And that, my friends ... that absolutely scares the living daylights out of me.

I'm amazed by the number of comments the "A Room Without Feathers" post I wrote with my friend has garnered, and I'm astounded by the number of emails and messages I continue to receive. I wish I could tell you that I woke up on New Year's Eve and the cloud of doubt and fear had magically lifted and I was itching to get back to writing. I wish I could tell you that, but it wouldn't be even remotely true. For now, I'm writing because of you ... because of your comments urging me on ... because of my co-writer who encourages me (translation: pushes me) every day to write ... because of my children and my granddaughters ... because of my family ... because of my friends ... because of my life-saving head doctor ... because of you. I'm writing not because of me, but in spite of me ... I'm writing because of you.

I was thinking this afternoon ... sometimes it's right to do something because of someone else, you know. And sometimes each and every one of us needs, deserves and requires some pushing and not-so-subtle persuading to do the right thing. And a lot of times the right thing is most likely the hard thing ... because of you, friends ... I'm writing because of you. 

Flight Risk

Remember last night when I said I was overwhelmed by the response to my joint post with my first-ever guest blogger? You can add about a gazillion notches in the being overwhelmed by the response category today, especially in the sub-category of comments being left on the post itself. It's been true ... puzzling to me, but nonetheless true ... that ever since I began blogging very few people have left comments on my actual blog but have rather chosen to email me or private message me on Facebook. For a long time, I thought perhaps that meant my posts were so terrible people didn't want the public to know they read The Tree House. Then for a long while after I told the truth about who I am, I thought the lack of public comments on my posts was because it's far easier to attack someone in private than it is in public. And recently, I've gone back to thinking that no one comments on my blog because it's not worth the time or energy it would take to leave a comment. So to watch the comments on "A Room Without Feathers" as they've steadily climbed today ... well ... honestly, that's both cool and terrifying to me at the same time. I think it's probably more cool than terrifying, though, so thank you to those of you who are commenting on that particular post and for your supportive and encouraging words.

A great deal of the comments and messages I'm receiving are positive ones directed to my friend who co-wrote the "Feathers" post with me ... in fact, I told her today I feel like I should be a little jealous of her rapid rise to fame among my readers. I was only kidding with her ... I am actually so happy for the way so many of you have responded to her that I asked her to write a solo post tonight, but alas, she said no. She did, however, without even a hint, trace or slight pretext of subtlety tell me numerous times today that I should write this evening ... going so far as to pull the "be nice to your readers" card in combination with the "they need you" and "they miss you" cards. It was her suggestion that she choose the title and subject matter for me to write about tonight that intrigued me enough to cause me to consider posting yet another entry this evening ... that and the fact that I've now heard three different people talk about something I'm very obviously supposed to learn and understand. But ... I meant what I said in last night's post ... please don't interpret my writing tonight to mean I'll be writing again tomorrow or the next day or the next day. No promises on anything right now ... no promises on anything at all.

I think it was the week before Christmas that the minister of the church I've been kind of sort of attending talked about the spirit of giving, and in his lesson, he talked about the most important gifts we can give another person ... our time, our attention, our focus. He talked about making time for people we love ... for our families, our friends, our co-workers. He talked about turning off our phones and being fully engaged when we converse with someone. He talked about the power of focus and of the importance of being completely present and involved in the lives of those around us. He encouraged us to perform a mitzvah ... an act of unconditional love and service toward someone who had wronged us in some way. It was a message I couldn't shake ... a message that has lingered in my mind ever since I heard it ... a message I will carry with me for many years to come ... a message that completely changed my way of thinking ... a message that caused me to stop dead in my tracks and examine my heart in a big, big, big way.

Last Sunday, I went to a different church with a friend from work who's been asking me for quite some time to join him and his family in worship. The church last Sunday is completely different from the other one, so you can only imagine my surprise when the minister last Sunday taught a very similar message to the one I had heard at the other church only a couple of weeks prior. He talked about the necessity of getting small with others ... of getting past the outer, superficial stuff we all cloak ourselves with and getting to the heart and center of who we are. He talked about how critical it is to every relationship in our lives that we be fully present and engaged with those whom we love. He talked about the need for eye contact in every conversation we have ... yep, he said we should look one another in the eye every single time we talk ... nope, I'm not kidding, that's really what he said. He talked about asking questions of others, digging deeper, being truly invested in another person and taking the time to seek out what matters to them. He talked about the absolute necessity for listening ... real listening ... serious listening ... undivided attention listening.

Two very different ministers at two very different churches teaching almost the same identical lesson in two very different ways to a whole bunch of very different people ... unplug and be present in the lives of others ... take the time to learn what is most important to them ... put down your phones and iPads and really, really, really listen to what the people you love and care about are trying to tell you ... talk to each other eyeball to eyeball and not through technology ... see one another ... love one another ... help one another. And then just a few days later, I read the words from my friend in our joint post ... "I choose to take the time for empathy. For listening. For making a difference. I will choose to put down the technology and engage with those I care about." Yep ... I'd say that's a lesson I need to learn alright ... I'd say that's a lesson God is trying to burn into my heart ... I'd say that's a lesson that is probably way more important than I know.

Something the second minister said has been gnawing at me over the last week ... he referred to himself as "a flight risk" and as he explained what he meant, I blinked back the tears because I knew I was guilty of being a flight risk to people in my own life as well. He demonstrated his personal flight risk behavior ... checking his phone while conversing with another person, indicating that text messages, emails, tweets or FB updates are of higher priority than the person sitting across from him ... constantly checking his watch, demonstrating his concern or anxiousness about the amount of time the conversation is taking ... moving away from the person as they speak, signaling that he wishes to exit the conversation ... abandoning the conversation when someone he deems more important or more interesting enters the area, displaying his lack of value or respect for the person who was involved in the original conversation.

That minister stood in front of his large congregation and told them that his friends and family considered him a flight risk when it comes to relationships ... he stood there and said they were correct in their analysis ... he stood there and said he wanted to change his behavior ... he stood there and asked them to forgive him ... he stood there and begged us not to be flight risks to others. I don't know about you, but I'm guilty ... guilty of not being fully present ... guilty of not paying attention to the needs of others ... guilty of not really seeing the people I interact with every day ... guilty of not listening ... guilty of not hearing ... guilty of allowing the tyranny of the urgent keep me from engaging with those whom I love and care about ... guilty of being a flight risk ... and my guess is ... my guess is I'm not the only one.

One feather at a time, friends ... one feather at a time.

To Those of You ...

To say that I'm overwhelmed by your response to last night's post seems so inadequate, and yet overwhelmed is the only word that even slightly approaches how deeply moved I am by the sheer volume of messages I am continuing to receive. I am truly humbled by the kind, supportive and encouraging words of so many, while at the same time deeply saddened by those whose words are filled with hate, judgment and rage. My hope and prayer is that perhaps the new year will bring with it more love and less hate.

To those of you who are sharing the post through email, Twitter and Facebook ... please know that both I and my co-author are appreciative of your desire and willingness to reach out to others with the hope of helping that one someone ... that one someone who desperately needs to know they don't have to sort through their feathers alone. That's been a consistent theme in a lot of the positive messages I've read today, by the way ... people need to know they aren't alone when the feathers are flying ... people need to know the ones who say they care about them really care enough to help them see through the feathers ... people need to know they are loved and valued and appreciated and treasured for who they are and not only for what they do.

To those of you who are asking if last night's post (or tonight's, for that matter) signals my return to daily blogging ... the short answer to that question is no, but the more accurate and detailed answer is that I'm making no promises whatsoever. No promises to continue writing an almost daily post ... no promises to write once in a while ... no promises I'll ever write again. And by the same token, no promises I won't write every day ... no promises I won't write once in a while ... no promises I won't ever write again. I'm making no promises because I take promises seriously ... when I make a promise, I do absolutely everything within my power to keep it. That's why I'm really, really, really careful about making promises ... I don't make promises I'm not sure I can keep.

To those of you who are upset with me for not offering any explanation as to my departure from writing over the last couple of months ... I hope you can accept my apology and know that I am truly, truly sorry for any concern I may have caused. But I would ask that you know this as well ... there are times when the hurt is too deep, too personal, too potentially harmful to others to reveal. My lack of explanation and my failure to provide updates over the last couple of months was due in large part to my commitment to be honest, open, real and transparent in my postings for this blog. Yes, I've had the wind knocked out of me in a big way and that's why I haven't been writing ... sorry, but that's the best I can offer as an explanation.

To those of you who continue to believe in me ... those of you who continue to love me ... those of you who continue to encourage me ... those of you who refuse to give up on me ... those of you who see me for who I really am and stick by me anyway ... there are no words to fully convey the depth of my gratitude. You make me a better person ... you keep me breathing ... you teach me what traveling the journey together really means.

To each and every one of you who are reading these words tonight ... may the new year bring abundant peace and happiness and wisdom and grace into your life ... may you be filled to overflowing with kindness toward one another ... may you remain ever faithful, ever loyal and ever true.