Recovery

A recurring theme in the books I read is recovery.  Many books feature a recovering alcoholic or drug addict, or a person recovering from the loss of a spouse, or the loss of a child, or the loss of a job or the loss of health through either accident or illness.

No matter what a person has to recover from, recovery is a process without a fixed timeline.  If you Google "recovery timelines"  you get links to all kinds of stuff.  Business and organizational recovery timelines for post disaster recovery, stroke recovery timelines, physical therapy recovery timelines for a multitude of conditions.  The most striking fact about all of these is how fluid they are.

The business and organizational recovery timelines are the easiest to create and follow, often because the humans involved can be interchangeable, so that if a particular human is incapacitated by the disaster, another human can take their place.

With the personal or human recovery timelines, so many variables impact outcome.

For many events, recovery is a lifelong process.  For anyone recovering from addiction, recovery is what that individual will be in for the rest of their life or until they relapse to their addiction.  Recovery becomes a state of being, often needing support from others in a similar recovery to stay the course.

The death of a loved one is the start of a lifelong recovery.  I believe we never really "get over" the loss of a loved one.  We learn to live with the empty space, we learn to live with the grief, we learn to accept a new normal is the only normal available now.  The recovery can be interrupted by anniversaries, or memories, or events that crash us back into the aching emptiness of the early days of our loss.  Often people recovering from a profound loss also need others who have experienced great loss to counsel them and provide support.

With a physical illness, or an accident, complete recovery is sometimes possible.  All of us have been ill, or had surgery, and after a period of time feel exactly like we did before the event.  Complete recovery does exist, but many medical events leave a permanent disability.  Sometimes, these disabilities are visible, but many times they are not.  A brain injury can leave impaired memory, or impaired processing or speaking abilities.

The thing is, with so many different events that can injure a person physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, just about anyone and everyone you meet on any given day can be recovering from something.  And there is not always a way for you to know that.

Just one more reason to always be kind.

It is so easy to assign a negative motivation to anyone that upsets your order.  Labeling them selfish, or self absorbed or a bully is easier.  What is harder is to accept that no one knows what someone else is going through.

I believe we can train our brains to stop assigning negative motivations to people we don't know, and start offering up our aggravation as a prayer or a petition for that person to receive peace.

The harder our own personal recovery is at any given moment will impact how well we practice kindness and forgiveness.

For some people, the pain and difficulty of recovery make them more sympathetic and empathetic; for others, the pain and difficulty of recovery seem to short circuit the ability to feel sympathy and empathy.

That is why if each of us, on the days when we can practice as much kindness as we can must do it.   That kindness will change the world.

At least for the person struggling with their own recovery that we showed kindness to.

And each struggling person treated with kindness makes the world a better place.

You can change the world, one kind act at a time.

And the more of us that embrace that philosophy, the better it will be.

Society has to experience recovery just like individuals do.  And as we collectively practice supporting recovery in each other, we will see society recover too.

I genuinely believe that.

Things I notice

As my regular readers know, I read a lot.  And as I read I notice things.  I read differently now that I am trying to learn to be a writer, and I pay attention differently than I did in the past.

One of the things that I have noticed lately is that contemporary women's fiction, and contemporary fiction in general tackles really difficult subjects.  Subjects like childhood cancer, and adult cancer.  Congenital diseases, surviving the death of a spouse or child, disability from an accident, infidelity, abortion, adoption, unplanned pregnancy, child abuse, job loss, addiction, mental illness; you think of the trauma, and somewhere in contemporary fiction, there is a book that deals with that topic.

In these books, I feel I really get to know the characters.  I understand what they are passionate about.  I feel their pain, and their anger.  I feel their joy, and their disillusionment.  What I hardly ever know about any of these characters is whether they are Republicans or Democrats.

I'd like you to think about that for a second.

A talented writer can create a complex, multi-faceted character that has hopes and dreams, fears and uncertainties, passions and heartaches, without giving them a party affiliation.

Maybe it is time for life to imitate fiction.

Why is it so important to so many people to know someone else's party affiliation, or to broadcast your own?  To be honest, I'm pretty sure everyone I know thinks I'm a Democrat.  I'm not.  I'm an Independent.   I also think that most everyone I know thinks I'm a Liberal.  I'm very liberal on social issues, but I'm actually pretty conservative when it comes to fiscal matters.  What would confuse most people about how I think is that I think if you want to spend more, you have to have more.  And that means higher taxes.  I am also a huge fan of progressive tax rates, and corporate tax rates that encourage investment in the company over profit taking.  But none of that defines me.

When I was younger, I felt like it was easier to get to know people.  Easier to see what was in their hearts, because politics was not so much a part of what defined people.  I got to know people who were animal lovers, and advocates for children's rights, and disability advocates, and tireless volunteers for women and children's issues.

I got to know Boy Scout troop leaders, and Girl Scout troop leaders, and special education teachers, and bankers and doctors and landscapers and plumbers and electricians and carpenters and factory workers and college professors.

I got to know dance teachers, and theater majors and people pursuing art as a vocation.  I got to know people who were totally happy to devote themselves to raising their children and creating a warm and nurturing home environment, and people who were determined to open their own businesses to provide a service they thought the community needed.

And I could probably have guessed with relative certainty who they voted for in any Presidential election.  And if they would vote yes or no on a new tax millage.  But that was so far from my mind and so far from what made me want to get to know them better or to keep them on the fringe of acquaintance with me.

And I really liked that world better than this one.  Because the labels we put on each other limit our ability to accept the unique capabilities of each of us.  It doesn't matter to me if you identify as a Republican, or a Democrat, or an Independent, or a Libertarian, or a Green Party member.  What matters to me is who you are.  What your gifts are.  How much you care about others.  How much you want to make the world a better place.

There are a million ways to make things better.  Some ways work better at some times than others.  Some ways work better for some people than for others.   But if I can get past any labels that try to define someone, and get to see their heart, their fears and heartaches, their passions and their triumphs, then I can find that facet of them that matches a facet of me and we can build a relationship on that base.

And then we can begin working on making things better.  Until the shouting stops and the dividing stops and the building walls around ourselves stops, we can't make things better.

I accept that some people might need the labels, and might need their personal walls.  I will offer up good thoughts to the universe that the people that need those things find the enlightenment they need to not need them anymore.

In the meantime, if you allow me to, I will try to see you without labels.  I will try to learn about you, and I will try to appreciate what makes you the unique individual you are.

I will try to find common ground to build on, and try to build a foundation strong enough to support discussing our differences.

I will not try to change you, but I will try to hear you, and I will ask you to try to hear me.

And then maybe, just maybe, life can be more like fiction.  Where people matter more than party affiliation.

Gifts from my Mother

For reasons I don't remember, I was terrified when I was starting school.  I cried every day, and didn't want my mother to leave me at school.   After a couple of days, or maybe it was weeks, my mother had a talk with me.

I don't remember how the talk started or ended, but I remember the important thing that she told me.  Mom told me that no matter how scared I was, there was another little boy or girl who was just as scared, or maybe even more scared.  She told me that if I worried about making that child less scared instead of worrying about myself, that I would be okay, and I would make things easier for someone else.

I'm fifty-seven years old, and I still repeat my Mom's advice in my head when I am nervous or scared entering a social situation.  I remind myself that there is someone in that room, or at that conference, or attending that party, that feels incredible anxiety, or isolation, or fear.  I can help them simply by being present for them.  Listening to them, smiling at them, letting them know that they are seen, and appreciated and valued.

The gift my mother gave me was the ability to practice empathy from a very early age.  She gave me the gift of seeing that we are all struggling, we are all fighting invisible demons.  We can focus inward on our demons, or we can focus on someone who needs our support to fight the demons that plague them.

With any skill, the more it is practiced, the easier it gets.  And the more the pathways in our brains get wired to respond in a particular way.  My mother set me up to be a empathetic, compassionate person.  She taught all of us that service to others is rewarding.  She taught us that volunteering is a great way to make friends.  She taught us that we had the power to change the world for someone simply by caring about them.

My relationship with my mother was and is complex, as are most mother-daughter relationships.  As she slips further and further into Alzheimer's dementia, I struggle to remember her as a whole person.  I went through the same progression with my father when his Alzheimer's progressed, and it was a couple of years after his death before I was able to remember all the wonderful gifts my father had given me before Alzheimer's stole so much of who he was.  I'm trying to keep memories of Harriet vibrant even as her disease takes her further away.

I tend to think of happy memories as treasures that are greatly cherished.  Those memories will fade and tarnish, just as physical treasures will if they are not celebrated and nourished.  I'm trying to do a better job of nourishing my treasured memories by talking about them, and writing about them, and sharing them with others.

When I visit my mother, I try to share memories with her.  Sometimes she can remember the story I relate, and sometimes that memory has been stolen from her.  But the magic comes in her smile when she does remember a story or an event that we shared.

And those are the gifts my mother still gives me.  A smile that says she remembers singing along with a Les Paul and Mary Ford song while we dusted the furniture.   An "I love you" as I say goodbye after a visit.  A strong grip on my hand even as she is too tired or lost to open her eyes or speak.

As hard as the visits can be, I am working hard to turn them into treasured memories.  Because I know as hard as these visits are, I will miss the ability to kiss her face or hold her hand when she finally leaves this plane of existence to join my Dad on the next plane.

I am blessed to have a treasure chest full of memories with my mom and dad.  And a heart full of the gifts they gave me.