Optimism is Contageous – Catch Some

February is the shortest month of the year, but so far it seems packed with food for thought. From the Pope turning in his two-week notice to God & the ensuing lightning bolt, to the meteorite in Russia that injured over a thousand people; this month has been an unsettling one.

A bolt of lightning strikes the Vatican following Pope Benedict XVl’s resignation.

A particularly sad ending came from here in Portland Oregon. Vanessa Ogden, known as the “silent victim” of the Clackamas Town Center Mall shooting last December 11th has died. She was a young mother who suffered severe PTSD and dozens of strokes, leaving her unresponsive and in a medically induced coma. She was seven months pregnant at the time of the shooting, but because of the severity of her condition and the risk of harm to the baby, her doctor’s decided to deliver the child right away. Happily the delivery was successful and a healthy baby girl named, Georgia was born. Her husband, Doug started a Facebook page to help their many family and friends coordinate efforts and receive updates. So far the page has 6,748 likes/followers as an entire community has come together to help her husband and children. Sadly, on February 12th Vanessa suffered respiratory arrest and was put on a ventilator. By Valentines Day she showed no sign of brain activity and the following day she was taken off life-support and died surrounded by everyone she loved.

“Dearest Followers,
…We have consistently had 15 people in the room with V. Lots of tears and lots of hilarious stories being passed around in these final days. Pray for the wisdom to make the hardest decision Doug and his family will ever make.” ~Geoff Davis, family spokesperson.

Vanessa & Doug Ogden

Buddhists believe the energy surrounding you as your soul leaves your body determines the ease with which you will pass on to the next living form. So, in this case, crying and weeping could hinder or even cause your reincarnation to be disrupted or delayed in its transition. Whether you are a believer in a ‘here-after’ or not, we all get to experience death sooner or later. Vanessa Ogden lived only 29 years, but her memory lives on in the hearts of her husband and daughters.

While searching for material I came across this video. I thought it most fitting to share it with you. Optimism is contagious, spread liberally.
Click on the words below to watch the video (The Power of Optimism)
The Power of Otpimism

© Kathleen Ryan-McCullough, 2013

Welcome to 2013

Well here we are in 2013 and the earth has continued to spin despite superstitions to the contrary. I’ll bet a few people wish the world had ended, especially after their credit card bills started to roll in from Christmas shopping.  I read a statistic that said the average family budget for Christmas in 2012 was $749.51 and a full fifty-five percent of us pay for it with our savings or credit cards. I raised four kids and each year saving money to fund Christmas was harder than the one before; our budget was always tightest in December. My twins were born a few days before Christmas and one of my daughters was born right after the first of the year. The holidays in my house started in October and didn’t end until January.  Still, seven hundred dollars is a lot of money. I don’t have a car, but my niece does and that would cover three car payments, or six months of electricity. It’s almost enough to buy two months of groceries. I suppose it’s all about your perspective & for many people this is pocket change, but not for us; we pinch pennies because having a large family in today’s economy it’s necessary.

The tree was the first causality of our celebration of Christmas, followed by decorations and finally the gifts. I had to stop buying Christmas presents after my husband lost his job in ’08. I  felt terribly guilty,  as if  I’d broken the unspoken good-parent law. Still I keep the holiday music playing and the baking traditions along with the yummy smells throughout the house.  This Christmas was different though, it was the first time we’ve had no visible sign of  the holiday around our house, not so much as a sprig of mistletoe. In a way it was symbolic since I don’t celebrate the religious significance of Christmas, but giving up the commercial aspect of it has been hard. When I was a kid it was all about the birth of Jesus, but as I’ve grown the commercialism has taken a firm hold. It’s become a time of excess when people go ever deeper into debt, they drink more, sleep less and then it’s all over in one day, leaving many feeling depressed and unfulfilled. This commercialization has many casualties. It seems people just go head over heals to make everyone happy; thinking that buying just the right gifts and throwing parties will give us that intangible feeling known as the Christmas Spirit. It wont however and the more we try somehow the further away we get. I live on an island here in the Columbia River that is about half residential and half commercial businesses. During Christmastime, Hayden Island becomes a traffic nightmare that doesn’t stop until the second week in January. So now that the holiday is over and the traffic has died down I feel a real twinge of sadness to see it pass. Every year I quietly hope to feel the way I did when my kids were little, that wide-eyed enthusiasm used to make my heart melt. The spirit of Christmas can’t be bought and wrapped and placed under the tree, it’s either in your heart or it’s not.

I hope you all had a very happy Christmas and that your new year will be filled with all the joy your hearts can hold.

© Kathleen Ryan-McCullough, 2013

 

My Own Two Feet

I’ve struggled with my weight for as long as I can remember, but it’s been during these last six or seven years that health issues have seriously limited my ability to walk the way I once did.

I have always loved walking – simple freedom; I don’t need anything but my own two feet to take me pretty much anywhere I want to go. Walking is one of the few things in life that is its own reward.

Now, something as simple as walking through the grocery store has become impossible for me. In fact, for about  three years now I’ve used  the handicapped cart while shopping. I remember when my mother had to use them, I told her it was cool being able to drive thru the grocery store. I lied. Now I know just how uncool it really is. Sorry mom…

Aside from some mild yoga stretches and some painful attempts at Ti Chi, I have been unable to find a form of exercise that will give me an effective work out without serious pain. So, when the opportunity to take a water aerobics class, here in my community pool, I jumped at the chance. My best friend invited me, going so far as far at to buy me a bathing suit – not an easy thing to do!

Tami and I go way back, almost two decades [wow, it's really been that long]. Our friendship has been one of the most positive and powerful relationships I’ve ever had. So many of my favorite memories involve the two of us and we’re still at it.

We started by going to the morning class which starts at 10a.m. There I was, eyes bleary smelling strongly of sunblock and working my butt off (literally) underneath the water. The water by the way is a comfortable 85 degrees. After about a week and a half we tried the evening class. For me the change made all the difference. I am nocturnal so 8pm is a better time for me. I wake up, have some coffee and head to the pool. After spending an hour stretching and doing the kind of work-out that would be impossible out of the water. I head home and have breakfast. It’s a great way to start the day.

After two weeks I’m feeling much more stretchy and far less achy than usual and I’ve got to tell you, it feels so good. It took a little while for me to appreciate the benefits, in fact, the first week I thought I’d been run over. Now as I go to sleep I’m looking forward to my morning routine.
It’s making a difference in more than just my stretchability. Late last night I went grocery shopping at my favorite 24 hour store. About 3/4 of the way through, my battery operated buggy died, leaving me stranded in the dairy/frozen food aisle. I decided to take a chance and see if I could walk; I only had a few more things to pick up and I’d be done. I wasn’t sure if I’d make it and I almost didn’t but standing in the checkout line was all the motivation I need. Thank you Tami, I don’t know what I’d do without you <3

© Kathleen Ryan-McCullough, 2012

A Resounding Thank You

Last Wednesday, my daughter had surgery to remove the cyst from her liver. We were initially told that, although they would do their best to perform the procedure laparoscopically, they couldn’t guarantee it. They prepared her for the worst case scenario: a liver resection, huge incision and extended recovery.

We arrived at the hospital early and all five of us clustered around her in the pre-op area, a space that is generally reserved for the patient and one or at the most, two visitors. We were a very quiet entourage, staying out of everyone’s way and so we were able to wait with her until they took her back to the operating suite. She was a little nervous as you’d expect, but some Versed in her IV and her honey’s hand kept her calm. I was standing at the head of her bed, opposite Jeffery; from that perspective I couldn’t help notice the glow that existed between their eyes. Their love was so compressed in that tiny space that it created a visible aura. Mesmerized, I was like a child getting caught peeking at the presents under the Christmas tree. Of course I had to speak and break that sacred bubble. Vicky took the opportunity to remind him, “See, I really do love you.” You can’t imagine how it made me feel to know that the love in her life is also the love of her life.

It was 11:12 a.m. when we got word she was in the recovery room and so we went back to the waiting room for news from her surgeon. We passed the morning drinking over-priced coffee and marveling at the new tram cars that run from the Willamette waterfront, all the way back up Marquam Hill. The tram can hold up to seventy people at a time, I think I’d be claustrophobic then. Not being afraid of heights helps and I have to say, it was a wonderful experience. In all we spent close to twelve hours together and we enjoyed each others company as much as you can in a hospital. There were a couple of times when, from either exhaustion or monotony, Jennifer and I found ourselves laughing like silly girls at a sleep-over. The way I look at it, any family that can hang out in a boring hospital for twelve hours and still laugh and have a good time together (despite the gravity of the event) is a healthy and happy group indeed.

The exceptionally good news was that the surgeon was able to do the work without opening her up. Having been a laparoscopic, her recovery time is less than half of what she was prepared for. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, it’s still major surgery and combined with the effects of the anesthesia she’s in for a few rough weeks ahead. Blessedly however the cyst was benign and the procedure was a complete success. She was released from the hospital after only three nights. I think she should have stayed one more night and they did suggest that to her, but she’s my daughter and stubborn runs in the family. She is over some of the biggest hurdles and although she will still be out of commission for a while, she is on the mend.

There are many people I would like to thank and from deep in my heart I wish to acknowledge their prayers, love and support. Without you this would have been considerably harder on my daughter and her loved ones. Thank you.

© Kathleen Ryan-McCullough, 2012

Last Call

There is something heavy on my mind and it’s been there far too long. It’s something I end up facing almost every day, yet I say little if anything directly to it, I mean him.

I am way out of my comfort zone.

I thought maybe writing might inspire some wisdom that will help me understand what I clearly don’t now. I’m disappointed in myself because I am reacting with judgment instead of concern, although a couple of years back there was plenty of concern to go around. Nowadays, concern is a worn out emotion that gets nobody anywhere; it’s wisdom that is sorely needed.

Let me explain, A friend of ours turned 21 last September and since then he’s not had a sober day. He defies gravity as he navigates  down my hallway, much like a pinball bouncing off the bumpers. His friends have tried many ways to approach the subject with him. I’ve heard them say things like, “Hey Adam, you think maybe you want to slow down on the alcohol for a while? You’re pretty loaded?” His response is a slurred, “no I’m not.” After the beginning of the year, when he didn’t ease off, I asked him if he thought he needed help. I pointed out that he drinks more often than he eats or showers. He agreed and even said that yes, he might need help but he didn’t want any.

You would have had to know this guy before he started drinking to really appreciate the change. He was full of energy, he’d be the first one to his feet if you  wanted someone to go do stuff with, he was always the cool ‘side kick’ everyone liked having around. He was sharp and quick on his feet, just a great guy. He was a year ahead of my sons in elementary school where they met and in 2006 he and his sister started hanging out at our house every day & night-time too. They are such bright, creative people and having them around has enriched our lives in ways I can’t begin to name. I love them both like they’re my own kids, they are family.

In 2010 Adam started hanging out at a friend of a friend’s house. It was there he started drinking. Now that he can buy his own, drinking every day is no longer a problem. He is in my house right this very minute; I’m watching him sway back and forth as he washes his hands. He stops here on his way home from the aforementioned friend’s house, where he does most of his drinking. He comes here to use our bathroom and sober up a little before he staggers home (4 mile walk). Come to think of it, he also stops here on his way to this guy’s house every day to drink a beer or two on my porch before he heads over there. We’re often not even awake when he shows up, so he just sits on the porch until he’s ready to go. It says something about this  friend of his if Adam feels he needs a buzz before he goes there.

I have no business telling Adam, or anyone how they should live their life, but he’s in my face every day and I’m watching the process overcome yet another friend. Over the years I’ve lost friends to drugs, suicide and alcohol, Adam is the youngest of them. He is withdrawn and speaks in a voice so soft, I have trouble hearing him. He knocks on my door like I imagine a small animal, maybe a mouse would. It’s near impossible to hear, even the dog doesn’t hear it.

He has a new persona, that of the submissive, victim. He says he drinks to overcome the traumas in his life! These traumas he thinks he’s endured simply don’t exist. In all truthfulness his problems include: Not having a hot meal when he comes home (because the meal is in the refrigerator in a microwave safe container – at 3 a.m.) he’s lucky they didn’t give it to the dog. Also, not having his laundry done, including the dirty stuff picked up off his bedroom floor, cleaned and folded on his bed. Did I mention he lives with his parents, pays no bills and is given money for most things he asks for? Did I mention he does no chores. He works with his grandfather for an hour or two a couple of times a week and he and gets about 45 bucks an hour. *I’ve seen him work and even on a good day he is slower than my dead grandmother. Gosh that sounded terrible, sorry grandma!

These traumas are ruining his life. He’s not rich enough to hire people to do his work, yet he has no work ethic. The friend he drinks with has taught Adam to stay quiet and just follow along. It’s a terrible thing to see a grown man cower, he has no backbone, more like a jellyfish with no self-esteem.  His path seems more in the hands of this friend than it does his own. He uses anger and guilt to get money from his parents, although they offer it quiet liberally. Trauma – okay…

These are the things that come of passive parenting. He was not made to do anything – everyone did it for him. His parents saw his was struggling in school so they took him out and home-schooled him. He was not encouraged to attend college or continue his education. There were no rules in his house that said you must have a job, either at home or employed somewhere else. No one said, you have bills now, be responsible and pay them. Nobody! His younger sister works full-time, owns a car and has a bank account. She seems to have gotten the message while living in the same house.

I don’t know what Adam would call a successful life but I doubt the path he is on now is going to bring him much happiness at all. I want to help him. I care so much for him, but I don’t know what to do. I guess I have to keep searching for answers, even if those answers only help me.

© Kathleen Ryan-McCullough, 2012

Update

It’s a beautiful morning,the sun is shining, the sky is clear and the breeze is cool. What a morning it is! It feels like early summer when the mornings are cool and smell sweet, where the afternoon sun makes me run for the air conditioning.

Update:

My daughter’s conference with her surgical team turned up more good news than bad. This makes the morning just that much brighter. As it turns out there is only one cyst and it’s growing amazingly fast; fast enough that they thought for a time that there were several of these, which is fortunately not the case. Even better news: the one cyst that is there, although it is huge (some 10 cm), is confined to the left lobe of her liver and has not spread. This means two things: she will not need to be put on the transplant registry (baring extreme unforeseen issues) and two: Removing the lobe should bring complete recovery. This news has lifted my spirits sky-high!

She will have surgery in May and hopefully that will be that! I don’t know what the chances are for recurrence,  but we will deal with that later. She and her family came over last night. We had a great time, lots of laughs and fun follow them wherever they go. I always love to see her and her gang! She has a wonderful supportive man, who would move heaven and earth for her, he will make sure she heals and follows doctor’s orders. She also has three amazing kids who will certainly go out of their way to help their mom get well after all of this, (isn’t that right boys?). I can’t say that I’m not worried but knowing she has a medical team that answers all her questions and encourages her to look on the positive side is a wonderful change. They don’t make her feel out of control, they’ve gone a long way to reassure her and it’s working. She seems relaxed and relieved knowing it’s not as bad as imagined, gratefully things seldom are.

…I think I’ll take my dog out and sit in the shade. What a wonderful day it’s turning out to be.

© Kathleen Ryan-McCullough, 2012

A Mother’s Prayer

Above all else, I am a mother. I have four grown children, two girls and two boys. My boys are twins, but as different as day is from night. The girls came first and seven years apart; the sibling rivalry hummed like a hornet buzzing in your ear. I never knew which one started it or ended it, it was high drama indeed. Defining myself as I have is easy, it’s not a label or a judgment, but a title, well-earned and unchangeable. My children are my definition of eternity, of permanence, if that’s even possible. They have defined my life and its purpose for the last 34 years. I have learned more and loved more because of their presence in my life. I am eternally grateful for this distinction: mother.

There have been times when I have believed in an all-powerful, all-seeing omnipresent  God. In fact, at the birth of each of my children I felt God’s presence, or maybe it was just a powerful hormonal shift combined with enough endorphins to create an almost ‘out of body’ experience. During the first few months of my sons’ life they were both quite sick with asthma and bronchitis. It was a terrifying time in which I confess to praying to that endorphin induced God on more than one occasion. Now, once again I find myself in need of a place to address my prayers. I have reached out and touched terrifying once more.

My first daughter is quite ill and facing a frightening future. In a couple of weeks she will under go a third surgery to remove multiple masses on her liver. Her prognosis is unclear but her doctors, specialists and surgeons will meet at the end of this week and hopefully they will be able to answer our many questions then. Best case: they take as little of her liver as necessary, followed by a complete recovery, without recurrence. Worst case: I don’t need to imagine the worst case, it’s the unthinkable.

Besides, I’ve often thought that maybe, … what you think of, thinks of you – if that is so… shhhh!

As undecided as I am about the presence of a divine creator, I am quite certain of who my maker is, or was… My mother is my creator, I came from her seed, was nourished and raised by her hands and loved by her very soul. My mother is God. My mother died, yet she remains all around me and in me. She is always with me. There is nothing more real than my mother’s embrace and I feel her holding me often these days. I will offer my prayer of healing and safety for my daughter and leave it at the feet of my mother. She will know what should be done.

© Kathleen Ryan-McCullough, 2012