Changing The Story

by Michelle Rae, posted in Parents, Relationships

“When the student is ready the teacher will appear” is a quote I heard many times in my martial arts career.

Of course the truth of this statement goes far beyond how to kick and punch. Or do yoga poses. Or learn to ski.

A year ago was a dark time for me. The whys and wherefores don’t really matter, but I was not in a good place. I kept telling myself I was strong. That I could get out of the dark place if I tried harder. The thing is, the more I tried and failed the deeper I went.

Then someone told me about the book The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz.

The book was the teacher I needed. That book opened the door for more books, more teachers, more study.

I remember very distinctly my feelings as I started it. Within the first few minutes I realized that this was going to be an important book. I decided to read it slowly, to savor it, and give myself time to really process the words and thoughts.

I’ve probably gifted at least 20 copies of that book to friends and family that were struggling with life or relationships in the last year.

I could go on and on about what that book taught me. But today, as I continue to see Facebook notifications of the anniversary of my moms death, I want to talk about family.

One of the premises of the book is that we are born innocent and with a free and joyful spirit. As we are “domesticated” we are taught what is right and what is wrong. What to fear, what to hate. We are given rules and laws starting with our family, then school, church, the government, conventional wisdom, peer pressure and our partners in life. We are told what to think and what to feel. We are taught what is “ladylike”and what is “manly”. What our role in the relationship is. How we should parent.

Of course we need rules and laws to peacefully exist and keep order in the world. And I am certainly not saying children don’t need discipline. But the reality is that much of what we were taught and what we accept as truth is because it was passed down. It was tradition. The way it was always done. And sometimes that is just bullshit.

Racism and prejudice are alive and well in part because belief systems within families, churches and communities perpetuate it. All you have to do is spend a little time on social media and you will see the power of the group think domestication of our thoughts.

What does this have to do with family?

Today I read in The Art Of Living: Peace and Freedom Living in the Here and Now by Thich Nhat Hahn “ It is true that each of us is a continuation of our mother, we ARE our mother. So whenever we are angry at our mother or father we are angry at ourselves.”

I loved my mother. I miss her deeply. I take it as a huge compliment if I am told that I look or act like her, even and maybe especially the goofy and silly stuff. She was funny and wacky but incredibly smart. I get my love of reading, my writing and artistic talent from her. Also my insomnia unfortunately. I treasured my time with her because she had her first heart attack at age 52 when I was 20 years old. There were several more close calls in the more than thirty years that she was with us. But I will tell you that woman had a joy and appreciation for life that came from the realization that life is precious and could end in a heartbeat. She passed that on to me, it was part of my “domestication”.

I can’t remember ever being angry with her after I got out of the terrible teenage years and moved into adulthood.

My dad and I did not have a good relationship. He was quick to anger, quick to lash out. Irritable. Short tempered. Stubborn. We battled and fought, once almost coming to blows. After I moved out I put up with him but I kept my distance. And I did not want to be anything like him. Our relationship had a foundation of anger and resentment. Unfortunately I never changed.

They are both gone now.

After reading TheFour Agreements I was able to make peace with my dad. His father was infamous for having a bad temper. He beat my dad and uncles. He taught that to my dad. My dad was in the navy for 25 years, he learned a military culture. He treated me the way his father treated him. He didn’t know any better. His words and actions and thoughts were passed down through generations, forged by the culture and places he lived.

He was also generous and would help anyone in need. He loved with his whole heart and was loyal. As he got older he became sentimental and would cry when we gave him presents or cards. He changed. He mellowed. He became less of what he was, less hard and harsh. It took me years after he was gone to acknowledge the softening, it was easier for me to think of him as one dimensional and justify keeping my distance.

I thought of all of this yesterday when we were talking with some friends about athletic ability. Steve made the comment that I got my athleticism from my dad, not my mom. Dad was a great golfer, he was on the Navy Golf Team and almost went professional. He golfed regularly well into his 80’s. So yes, that is one way that I am like my dad.

He changed as he got older. I didn’t recognize it. It’s painful for me to realize that he reached out to me and I didn’t reciprocate on a deep and real level. I went through the motions, but deep inside I held back. I held on to that anger. And as I quote so often “anger burns the one who holds it close”. I don’t know if I wanted to justify the anger I had carried for so long, or if I was too caught up in my own life to care.

By making peace with my dad, I was able to find acceptance for the part of me that I frankly didn’t like. And only after accepting was I able to start to change. And only then was I able to really understand how deeply our domestication affects us and our relationships. It will always be a struggle.

We say Namaste in yoga. “The light in me recognizes the light in you”

That is easy to do, we are instinctively drawn to light and joy.

I had to dig deep to recognize the dark in my dad was also the dark in me.

Marriages, work culture, spiritual teachings, parental relationships ,friendships and so many other things contribute to our story of how our life was, and what it should be. I got caught up so many times in how things should be rather than what was. I know now that much of the deepest pain I suffered at the hands of others was really not about me. It was about their struggle with truth, with pain, with their domestication. Letting go lifted all of that hurt and anger and resentment. It gave me space for love, acceptance and understanding. Light.

My parents are in me. They are in the way I think and react, my talents and my faults. The way my body is built, the color of my skin and the way I age. My dad is close when I am pushing my body for perfection and when I decide nothing and no one is going to keep me from a goal. He fought in the war, if I am brave I got it from him. My mom is with me when I cry over the beauty of this world and feel something so deeply that I have to write. She taught me how to laugh until we cry.

Now I can focus on the gratitude of knowing the best of both of them is in me, and understanding they had their own struggles and victories. They did the best they could.

Now I can change the rest of story.

RIP Brandi

by Michelle Rae, posted in Pets

Brandi was a good girl.  She was a big, clumsy, happy, gentle soul.  And she was always a good girl.   All you needed to do to send her into leaps of joy was to tell her she was a good girl.

We put her to sleep on Saturday.   She was eight years old, getting up there for a giant breed like a Mastiff.  She had cancer.

Because of a bad spay, she leaked urine.   Twice a day we put a mixture of three hormone pills down her throat.  She sat.  We opened her mouth, put our hand down her throat.  Waited to make sure that she swallowed while we praised her.

 

She loved everybody and everything.   She loved the horses, and would bark and play with them.  Feeding the horses was one of her favorite activities.   If you didn’t know which way to go, she would help by putting your arm in her huge mouth and leading you.

She put up with puppies  and cats and pigs and kids crawling on top of her.

She and Keely grew up together.   I never heard her growl.  She had her nails done.  Bows in her hair.

 

Suffered through baths in the shower, sometimes with a lot of company.

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She was not brave in any way.  Steve would stand on the other side of the door and growl and bang on the door.   The other dogs would bark.   All you heard from Brandi was the sound of the dog door flap as she took off for the pasture.   We would joke that if anyone every broke in, the only chance of her hurting them would be if they were in the way of her running.

She would sit, lift a paw, and ask very politely for you to pet her.  Again and again.

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I loved her so much.   Everyone did.  She loved Steve, and he loved her.   His big girl.  They would have a lot of talks.

She was just a big lovable dufus.   A true sweet gentle soul that we were blessed with for eight years.

Two weeks ago she wouldn’t come out of her house when I called her.    I opened the door for her, and she slowly came out.   She seemed reluctant.   She also had wet herself, which was not unusual.   So she walked a little stiff legged, again, not unusual.

But she wasn’t interested in her food.

A few days later Steve called me out.   She had come up the hill to be fed, but her hind legs weren’t working right.   She half wobbled and half crawled up the hill.  It was one of the most painful sights I’ve ever seen.  Steve had to drag/carry her back to her house.   It was the last time she was ever outside.  She quit eating and drinking.

We called the vet.  She thought it was cancer.  There was a heart murmer.  At eight, Brandi was old for a Mastiff.   We decided to try for a miracle and give her steroids for a few days.

The steroids brought back her appetite, she started eating turkey and meat if we fed her by hand.   She drank a little.

But she could only move her front legs.

So she laid in the doorway of her house while we hoped for a miracle that we really knew wouldn’t come.

On her last day I brought the other animals into the house.  Steve had started to make a trip to Durango, but was able to get in contact with the vet.   He said he would be there around 11:30.  Steve headed back.

I went to her house, opened the big door and put her head on my lap.   She was able to see the blue sky, the trees, the mountains.   I cried harder than I have cried in a very long time.

But for two hours Brandi got to eat peanut butter treats and turkey and cheese.   She heard me tell her over and over what a good girl she was and how much she was loved.

The vet was kind and gentle.   I held her while she went to sleep for the last time.   No more pain, no more confusion.

It is hard.  This doing the right thing for our pets.  It is a responsibility we take on, if we are going to be “their people”.   But I think, in a way, it makes the pain less for me.   To know that we could, with love, choose the way and time of her going.  I watched as she lay peacefully in my lap, hearing my voice, knowing love.   It was my last, and perhaps, best, gift I could give her.

I called her my whabada.  Because that was the noise her lips and ears would make as they flopped when she ran.

I think of her now, my sweet Brandi, whabada.  Running free.

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Twenty One Things I Learned After Shoulder Replacement Surgery

by Michelle Rae, posted in Aging

1. It really sucks to throw up after surgery. However, it is not so bad if you are still on pain meds.

2. When they tell you to bring a large shirt for after surgery they mean a LARGE shirt because that sucker has to go over a very large padded sling.

3. There is this thing called a “party ball” that is supposed to do a slow drip of pain meds directly into your system via a catheter inserted into your shoulder. It is supposed to last for 72 hours and slowly deflate. If it has not deflated after 48 hours it is not working. Therefore you missed the party.

4. Percocet is given with the warning that you must not combine with a Tylenol product. Percocet gives me a really bad headache. So bad that I couldn’t even think about my shoulder because my head hurt so much. When I called the nurse hotline I was told to take, you guessed it, Tylenol for the headache.

5. The nurse said day 3 and day 4 would be the worst because the “party ball” would be wearing off. Since the “party ball” never worked I spent time dreading a worst day that never occurred. The pain really wasn’t that bad and next time I’ll go on Tylenol much sooner.

6. It is very good to have a husband with a good sense of humor when it is time to get dressed or undressed when wearing a sling.

7. Do not EVEN consider putting on a sports bra.

8. It is physically impossible to put your hair in a pony tail when one of your arms cannot be raised above waist level. Getting your head down to the hand at waist level does not work.

9. Do not plan on going out in public if your husband has not had previous experience putting your hair in a pony tail.

10. Forget makeup. Forget blow drying your hair. For weeks.

11. If you put an onion or a potato on the blade of a chef knife and whack it, the vegetable will be cut in half.

12. Someone will have to cut your food for you at first. This is less embarrassing if you wear your sling in public as you are supposed to.

13. You are not supposed to lift ANYTHING . I DONT KNOW FOR HOW LONG BECAUSE THEY HAVE NOT LET ME IN ON THAT SECRET YET.
Do not try to go grocery shopping by yourself for several weeks. You may think you can lift those long packages of chicken breasts with one hand but you can’t.

14. You know those plastic bags in the produce department that you roll down and then tear apart? You can’t do that with one hand. So you roll all the way down to your waist and place the bag in your hand which is in a sling. Be ready fir some strange looks.

15. Do not take Percocet before your first physical therapy session if pain meds make you nauseated. You will spend the hour with a ice pack on your neck and worry more about throwing up in front of everyone than how much your shoulder hurts.

16. Having a shower large enough for two people is a good thing. Having a husband that will wash your hair for you while in the shower is a very good thing.

17. You are told to keep your elbow close to your side at all times if you do not have a sling on. If you have a sling on, your arm is already in this position. This means that you sweat. It is very very difficult to wash under your arms when one arm cannot be moved. Try it sometime.

18. Sleeping in a recliner is recommended. It keeps your head elevated. Being in a recliner discourages rolling over while wearing a sling and messing up your shoulder and experiencing excruciating pain. Being in a recliner by yourself can make you lonely and sad.

19. Having a husband that loves you enough to sleep with his head at the foot of the bed so that he can touch you while you are in the recliner is awesome. Having a husband that will get up several times in the middle of the night to pull the recliner lever so you can get up and go to the bathroom is priceless.

20. Think through every action before you start it. (See number 13). Making pies and then realizing it takes two hands to put them in and out of the oven was not one of my better moments.

21. If your husband does not cook, it is good to have friends that come stay with you and cook for you. Thank you Kira and Rita Sharkey for cooking and cleaning, driving me to PT in the snow and listening to me whine.

Three and a half weeks after surgery I can say that while not fun, this has not been as bad as I thought. Next surgery on the right shoulders is in three and a half weeks and the left will not be up to full speed by then.

Pray that Steve and I can keep our sense of humor.

Noodles!

by Michelle Rae, posted in Pets

noodles faceNoodles joined the family a month ago. She is a teacup mini pig that we got from one of Steve’s coworkers who raises them. She has endeared herself to everyone except Mojo and Zoe. They do not understand what the pig deal is about the noisy little thing and wonder what in the world we were thinking? . She is a bit of a drama queen and can really throw a fit if she doesn’t get what she wants when she wants it. She is affectionate, independent, curious and makes us laugh a lot. I love her.

Here are a few videos of Noodles first month with us.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM

by Michelle Rae, posted in Aging, Parents
Aspens Aspens

It’s been a year. A year without your voice, a year without your laugh.

Those last months when your body was still with us but your mind was flitting between here and somewhere else were hard. The trip we made to Little Rock to see you was bittersweet. I’ll never forget the smile on your face when you saw Steve and me walk into your room. You instantly recognized us, which was such a relief. Then you started talking and I couldn’t follow. The next day you didn’t remember I had been there. In a way that was a relief, because I knew it was not causing you pain that I wasn’t there to see you every day. I still felt guilty, but not as much.
There were no more phone calls. You couldn’t figure out how to use the phone. If Michael or Tracey put the phone to your ear, all you were doing was parroting words. You couldn’t hear or understand me. That was so sad, but it prepared me for this year.

You may not physically be on this earth, but you are still with me.
Every time, and I mean every time, Steve and I walk through the house watching the sunset we talk of you. We remember your joy in the vibrant colors and huge scope of our Colorado sunsets. I remember you sitting on the couch in the sun room, watching the birds, nodding off to sleep in the sun.

We drove to Cripple Creek a few weeks ago. We remembered you looking out the window, riveted by the colors of the aspens in the fall. We laughed about your gambling “addiction” and how adamant you were that you needed to try out the casinos in Cripple Creek. I regret not taking you more often.

I sit in the living room and remember us painting it together. I was on the ladder, you were doing the lower part of the walls. I never told you about going behind you to get the parts that you missed. Remember all the houses we have painted together?

I’m not as directionally challenged as you were. Frankly I don’t think it’s possible to be worse than you were and still operate in society. But when I get turned around and a little lost, you are there with me giggling. And the first thing out of Steve’s mouth is “you are just like your mother”

I’ll always take that as a compliment.

We had friends over last night. They were sitting on your side of the counter while I cooked. We poured some wine for them and the memories flooded me yet again. I could see you sitting there, wine glass in hand, keeping me company while I cooked. I remember the laughter, the jokes, and the giggles. How fortunate I am to have had such a wacky mom.
So more people have heard about you Mom. More of your stories have been told. They don’t mean much to the people that hear them, I know that. But the telling is important to me. To Steve. To Keely. It’s the way that we continue to include you in our lives.

It hurt that you were not able to be with us when Steve and I got married. I know how important that was to you. But we felt your presence that day. We felt your joy and approval. I know that is just the first of many occasions that we will miss you.

I think I talk to you more now than I did that last year you were alive. On those long drives in the car going to Colorado Springs I tell you about what is going on in my life. I know you already know, but it helps to tell you. And of course I can carry on your part of the conversation because I know you so well. I can hear your voice “Well, Michelle….”

When I am alone in the house that is when I feel you close. I put on “your” music, Enya or Yanni, and as it floods through the air you are there. I cry. I miss my Mom. I want to hold your hand, hug you one more time.
I had the gift of time with you for many months while you stayed with us in Colorado. What a very precious gift that was. Steve got to know you and love you. Keely got to spend a lot of time with her beloved Grandma.

You knew that I loved you. I knew that you loved me. In the end, that was really all that mattered.

So Mom, this is your birthday. It is one year and a few days since you left us. So listen to me as I sing Happy Birthday to you, and know that I love you very much.

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A Skinny Kid Taught Me A Lot About Life

by Michelle Rae, posted in Uncategorized

 I reconnected with some old friends today on Facebook.  While I had not talked to them in years, I’ve talked about them many many times. Many of the people that have gone through my Taekwondo school will remember the story, if not the names.  I’ve cried a lot because of Lee and Becky Coon and their son Michael.  I’ve cried every time I’ve told their story to a school gym filled with kids.  I’ve cried when I told the story to Steve, to Keely and her friends.  I’ve cried buckets of tears today as I wrote this blog.

 There are some people that make a huge impact on your life.  A skinny teenage boy with big ears changed my life forever. 

Michael Coon was very quiet, very polite.  He got that from his dad Lee and his mom Becky.  Well, Lee was pretty quiet, Becky kind of balanced the quiet with the gift of gab.  They all were students at my taekwondo school when I bought it.  Michael was in our instructor program for a while, and then he hit those teenage years when time gets so precious.  He was involved in activities at school and church, and the drive from Redfield to Little Rock in the evenings became too much.  But his dad Lee still worked out with us when he could during the day, and the family would stop by and say hi when they were in the area.  A great family.

I’m going to tell you the story, but I’ll tell you up front I’m kind of fuzzy on some of the details. 

It’s been ten years, and I can’t remember who called me.  I’m pretty sure it was Lee.  He told me that Michael had been shot and was on the way to the hospital.  Becky was on the way.  They got there, and he was gone. 

He was fourteen. 

Michael and a couple of friends were going to go hunting.  Somehow, Michael was shot.  By one of his friends. 

I can’t imagine the shock to Lee and Becky.  They left for work that morning, a normal routine.   That evening when they came home their world had been turned upside down.  This story is one of the reasons that my kids always hear me tell them “I love you” before we go in our different directions.  Every single time.

Lee asked that Charles and I come to the house.  It was overflowing with people, there to support Becky and Lee.

Lee pulled us aside, and told us that the police had arrested Michael’s friend, the one who shot him.  This was a boy that had grown up with their son, someone that they loved and had welcomed into their family.  Lee was heartbroken. 

He took us into Michael’s room and showed us something very special.  Michael was one of the youth leaders at their church, and he had been keeping a journal.  One of the last things he had written was:

“If Christ died for my sins, who am I to not forgive others?”

He told us that he and Becky felt that Michael was telling them a very important truth. 

During the grieving process of losing their son, Lee and Becky comforted the other boys’ family.  They visited him in jail and told him that they loved him.  They stood by him.  No hate.  No anger.  Just love and forgiveness. 

I went to the memorial service for Michael.  His black belt certificate was next to the casket.  The church was overflowing, full of teenagers that had gone to school with Michael, full of adults that had been touched by the Coon family.

The pastor invited people to talk about their memories of Michael.

In a sea of white faces, an African American young man stood in line to speak:

“I moved here from New Orleans after Katrina.  I don’t know if you guys noticed, but there are not a lot of black faces around here.  I was really scared about starting a new school.  Really scared.  I had heard a lot of stories.

The first day I walked up to the school, there was a group of guys standing around.  One of them saw me and started heading over.   I thought to myself, I’m going to get beat up right now.   Well, that is not what happened.  Michael Coon reached out his hand to me, introduced himself, and took me over to meet his friends.  He invited me to sit with him at his table at lunch.  He invited me into his home.  Mr. Lee and Mrs. Becky invited me into their family.  

I’ll never forget him.”

The young man broke down and went to his seat.  I don’t think there was a dry eye in that church.  I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much.

We hear a lot of talk about leadership.   Martial Arts schools have programs saying that they teach it.   Corporations bring in consultants to teach it. 

But that skinny fourteen year old boy could teach a lot of people about leadership. 

I’ve told Michael’s story to thousands of people.  I’ve been in schools where the teachers couldn’t get the students to calm down, and after I’ve told Michaels story there was a hushed gym full of teenagers.  I’ve talked to my students during class, and cried for the loss of this very special boy.  I’ve given out the Michael Coon Leadership Award to some very special people at our annual awards ceremony. 

Michael Coon touched a lot of people in the short time he was here.  His legacy is one of friendship, inclusion, leadership and love. 

I know that Lee and Becky think of Michael every day. But I wanted them to know that they, and their son, forever changed me. I hope they are proud of his legacy, and the impact that he, and they, have had on so many people.  

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Hip chronicles day 7: Crying over Banana Pudding

by Michelle Rae, posted in Uncategorized

banana puddingHip Replacement was a week ago. I’m getting around really well, off of pain meds, no depression.

And last night I had a total meltdown over banana pudding.

While I had cooked and frozen a lot of healthy food, these first few days out of the hospital I didn’nt even feel like finding something and warming it up,

Steve said on Monday “Look I can’t cook for you, and you wouldn’t want to try to eat it if I did. But I can pick stuff up. So you order it, and I’ll pick up dinner for us on my way home.”

Good deal.

Now if you want to see Steve Cox’s face light up, suggest going to eat at The Black Eyed Pea. Since I didn’t have much appetite, I thought The Pea would be a good place to get some decent food that everybody would enjoy. I spent a while looking at the menu, and even looked at the desert menu. I NEVER look at the desert menu. Ever. I do not believe in using food for comfort. Been there done that and had the fat to prove it.

But the cobbler and the banana pudding sounded really good. Comfort food. And there was a little voice in the back of me head saying I deserved some banana pudding. My mom was a really awful cook. But one of the few things she made that we could actually eat was banana pudding. And as I have been hobbling around this week I’ve seen my mom in the ways I am moving. She had such problems with her legs and hips those last few years, finally going from a cane to a walker. So when I reach for the counter to walk my way through the counter I’m seeing mom do the same.

I don’t really know of mom had anything to do with it but I was really looking forward to banana pudding.

So I called in the order. Cobb Salad (for me to eat the next day) Chicken tender dinners for Keely and Steve, Pot Roast with sweet potato fries for me. And Peach Cobbler and Banana Pudding.

Well guess what? We got the wrong order. Chicken Fried steak, pot roast, lots of mashed potatoess. No sweet potato fries, and NO BANANA PUDDING! I was disappointed. I was pissed. But since we live 30 minutes away from the restaurant, there was not a lot that could be done.

Tuesday night we had take out Thai.

Wednesday, one week anniversary of my surgery, we decided on The Black Eyed Pea again. Keely was going to church with a friend so it would be just me and Steve. . Intermittently during the day I would look at the menu. I knew what Steve would have…Chicken Tenders, okra, black eyed peas. I knew I was going to order peach cobbler and banana pudding. I still didn’t have much of an appetities, so finding something that sounded good to me was more difficult. I finally decided on a plain hamburger steak with sweet potato fries and spinanch. Healthy, and I was going to indulge in a bite of cobbler and some banana pudding.

Now there are some things you have to understand about my first week after surgery.

I have not had any of my vitamins and supplements for two weeks. Including the stuff that keeps my hormones in check.
I’m sleeping in a recliner next to our bed. I’m not getting a lot of sleep and the sleep I’m getting is not what I call quality sleep.
I really miss sleeping in bed my husband
I am trapped in this house, unable to drive (yet) and have not been out since we came home on Friday.
I have to think about every move I make. I can’t pick up something from the ground if I drop it. I have to walk with a crutch. I have to be careful about my leg. yada yada yada.

So understand that I was looking forward to this meal. I got to control it, choose what I wanted, and have it delivered to me with no effort on my part. Sheer bliss.

This time, when I called in the order, I told the very nice lady to put the full name “Steve Cox” on the order, because Monday we got someone else’s order. She was very apologetic and said she would make sure this order was right. She just didn’t understand how they could have messed it up that bad.

Steve got home and I took one look at that bag and I knew we had a problem. There was not enough food in that bag. In fact, there were several small round containers but only one entree sized container. And nothing that could possibly be cobbler or banana pudding.

“Is there another bag?”

“No, this is all they gave me.’

My stomach dropped and I could feel the emotions welling up.

“This is wrong. There is not enough food. Damnit WHY CAN THEY NOT GET THIS RIGHT? IT’S CHICKEN FRIED STEAK AGAIN! CHICKEN FRIED STEAK! I HATE CHICKEN FRIED STEAK AND THERE IS NO BANANA PUDDING!”

Steve did not say a word as I dialed my phone. I am ashamed to say that my voice was actually shaking when I told the woman that we had the wrong order again. She calmed me down. We went back and forth, I questioned Steve “There is only one Black Eyed Pea in Pueblo, right?”

Voice on the phone “Pueblo? You picked up in Pueblo?”
Me: “Yes”
Voice: We are at Garden of the Gods in the Springs”
Me: “Oh shit”

So apparently I called the wrong restaurant, in the wrong city to place an order. Twice. And what is interesting is twice they gave Steve food. Someone else’s order obviously.

I hung up the phone, told Steve that I had called the wrong restaurant twice, and promptly started tearing up. Steve said “I think you need a hug” and started around the counter. He hugged me, I sniffled a little bit feeling like a total wuss baby. So I took a couple of deep breaths and said ok let’s eat.

Steve innocently asked what it was we were going to be eating. “Fucking chicken fried steak” I growled.

In a really chipper voice he said “Well I really like chicken fried steak! ”

Bless his heart, the poor man had no idea what he just got himself in for with that one sentence.

“I don’t care if you like chicken fried steak. I don’t like chicken fried steak. This is not about what you like, this is about me not getting once single thing I wanted last time or this time and I WANTED BANANA PUDDING AND THERE IS NO BANANA PUDDING!” And I burst into tears again.

He came back around the corner, held me while I cried. He did not utter a word. Not a sound. Smart man.

“OK” I sniffed. “You divide it up and I’ll get the silverware.”

Later, Steve looked at me. “You OK?”

“Yeah”
“That wasn’t like you”
“Yeah”
“You’ve had major surgery, you don’t have any control over a lot of stuff, and you were really looking forward to that meal and that’s why you reacted that way”
Yeah”
I’ll get you some banana pudding tomorrow.
Sniff.
“OK”

Today, I wont get any banana pudding. Steve will be home late and I’m warming up a zucchini lasagna that I froze a couple of weeks ago.

And of course, it’s not like banana pudding is all that important. It’s really not even my favorite desert. It’s just seem to symbolize comfort to me this week, maybe because it is one of the few deserts my mom ever made.

I don’t need banana pudding for comfort. I have a wonderful man that loves me and takes care of me. A daughter that is happy to help me with my compression socks, put my boots on me, and load the dishwasher and clean the house. Friends that cook me good food, bring me flowers and their company. Phone calls and cards from those that are not close. That is what is real. That is what is truly comforting,.

But I’ll certainly enjoy me some banana pudding this weekend.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU DID SOMETHING FOR THE FIRST TIME?

by Michelle Rae, posted in Uncategorized

first time

I remember the first time Robin mentioned the phrase “we are going to work on our inversion practice.” I started trying to retrieve the meaning of “inversion” and kept mentally throwing away the definition I came up with because it just could not be right. Inversion meant upside down didn’t it? Maybe she meant submersion practice? But how would we submerge in a yoga studio?

She did a demonstration. Yep, she meant upside down. Like stand on your head upside down.

Holy cow was this girl crazy?

Robin and Justin had been fellow students in yoga classes that I took in Canon City. Our instructor, Marie Bailey, wanted to fully immerse herself in yoga so she moved to Florida to live at an ashram. I tried some classes in Pueblo after Marie left, but it was a long drive and it just didn’t seem worth it.

Then I heard about Robin and Justin. They had started River Lotus Yoga in Canon City and they had classes during the day. I remembered them as being young, and very “bendy” which is a good thing in yoga. The bendy part. The young can be good or bad. Ok, it was worth a try and the first class was free.

They were operating out of a martial arts dojo in those early days last year. Many times Robin and I were the only ones there for class. I liked the variety of poses, I liked that I was challenged, I liked that we didn’t hold the poses for so long that I started doing my shopping list in my head.

Then came the day of the “inversion practice”.

Robin gave me several alternatives to standing on my head. I think she saw the look of incredulous mutiny on my face. So the first few times I’d lay on my back with my feet on the wall. Then that started feeling too lazy and like a cop out, and I graduated to my hands on the floor and my feet on the wall at a 90 degree angle. That was certainly more challenging, and I was “inverted” but I wasn’t standing on my head.

I did not want an inversion practice thank you very much. I didn’t care if the wall was there or not, I did not want to be upside down. I didn’t like it and I was not going to do it. The toxins that were in my body had been there a very long time, and I was ok with them hanging around indefinitely.

After a few weeks it started to sink in that this was not a phase she was going through, and she was not going to give up on this idea of an inversion practice.

So I did a tripod. You put your head down, place your hands at the base of the triangle formed between your head and hands, and stick your knees on your arms.

I was happy there. I was upside down and I felt pretty stable. I did that for a few weeks.

Then the classes started to grow. We moved into our own really cool yoga studio. And the classes got bigger and bigger.
The inversion practice did not go away. I started to get pissed off because IT DID NOT GO AWAY.

Driving home from class one day, I thought of something one of my instructors used to tell me all the time.

“That which is hard is your test”

Somehow, me getting upside down had become my test.

There was not anything physically keeping me from standing on my head. Fear was holding me back. Once I used that word “fear” in my conversation with myself instead of “I don’t like it” I realized that this was something I absolutely had to do. No way was I going to not do something like stand on my head because I was afraid of it. Especially since other people in the class were standing on their heads and some were working on hand stands. And that really bendy Gumby clone Justin (Robin’s husband) was practicing a one-handed hand stand for Pete’s sake!

I’m not going to bore you with the process I went through of learning how to stand on my head. At times it was definitely not pretty. I will tell you that knowing how to tuck and roll is very important. But I will show you a couple of pictures, taken this Saturday at a Yoga in the Park class that Robin taught.

Yes, that is me doing a handstand in the park Yes, that is me doing a handstand in the park

Notice there was no wall to catch me.

Yes, this is me playing around with my leg position while in a headstand. Yes, this is me playing around with my leg position while in a headstand.

Notice there was no wall to catch me. Notice I am actually smiling.

And just to show you some total awesomeness, this is Justin, yoga instructor and river raft guide, doing a handstand on a boat in the Whitewater Festival this weekend in Canon City.

Justin Englerth handstand in the Whitewater Festival 2013 Justin Englerth handstand in the Whitewater Festival 2013

I’ll be 56 years old this year. I feel grateful that I was given the gift of the opportunity to do something I had never done by a very gently persistent yoga instructor named Robin Beals.

So…

first time

She Is Gone

by Michelle Rae, posted in Uncategorized

She’s gone.

Those two words keep popping into my head, and with them this sense of heaviness that won’t go away.

Those two words are what Michael said when he called me two nights ago. Words I had been waiting to hear. Dreading them, but needing to hear them also.

It’s been such an emotional roller coaster this last year. She would go into the hospital and we would think “this is it”. Then that tenacious fighting spirit of hers would kick in and she would surprise everyone and bounce back

But each bounce brought less of her back.

That 87 year old body got more and more frail.

That witty brain became dull and foggy.

Each time I’d think about how I would miss her. What a special person she was. I’d cry. I’d grieve.

In between I told myself I was getting used to this. No more phone calls, she couldn’t hold the phone. No more visits and hugs, we are in separate states.

I thought I would get this all out of my system so that when it finally happened I’d be calm and controlled.

Michael called. I was calm. Shock I think. A sense of finality.

The calm didn’t last as long as I hoped.

She’s gone.

Words I’d expected to hear and now I was saying them. First to Steve, then Charles, Kat, David. Keely the next morning when we told her we were leaving in a few hours for Little Rock.

Each time I told someone the reality would hit and I would tear up.

I was in a fog trying to get three people packed up, perishables in the fridge packaged for a friend to pick up. Steve had to go get hay, I needed to wash my dress to wear to the funeral. Phone calls…

We drove in a blizzard for the first few hours. I was writing the obituary as we drove.

Which is when I realized I’d left my dress in the dryer. Oh well.

I’m overwhelmed by the love and prayers being sent our way by friends. Don’t ever think that a phone call, email, text or Facebook post isn’t important. It’s hard to explain the amount of comfort I get knowing that people are praying for us.

One of my friends, Marc MacYoung, asked me to tell a story about her. I already had several pages of stories written on this trip. It was like I needed to hurry and capture them so they wouldn’t go away. As if now that she is gone her story would be gone too.

But in the end, that really is what our life is. A story. Some of it we write ourselves and narrate in first person. Some chapters are through the eyes and experiences of those around us.

There will be a lot of “Marty Stories” during the next few days. I’ll be writing as many of them down as I can.

Moms story was a long and complete one. It was full of adventure, comedy, tragedy. It was rich in love and friendship.

It was a great story.

Her Voice

by Michelle Rae, posted in Uncategorized

DSC_1067A few weeks ago, my brother Michael called me while he was visiting mom in the nursing home. He said she was pretty chipper, and asked if I wanted to talk to her.
To tell you the truth, I didn’t want to talk to her.
The last few times he has put the phone to her ear, she either didn’t hear, or more likely, didn’t understand that I was on the phone. He told her who it was, urged her to say “hello”. She would finally mumble a little bit and he would take the phone away. All the time, I would be frantically saying
“hi mom! I love you, how are you?”
I’m really just throwing words out hoping something will sink in that she will respond to.
So this time, I really didn’t want to hear the mumbling that didn’t sound like my mom. But I told him to go ahead and put the phone to her ear. She seemed to know it was me. She said “Hello, Michelle”. It was the first time I heard her say my name since I saw her in November. I asked her how she was, and she went off into nonsense sentences.
But she said my name.
After we hung up, I cried. And I realized how much I was going to miss my mom’s voice. How much I would miss her saying my name.
So I sent a text to Michael and asked him to video her saying “I love you Michelle.” I know she was only parroting the words he told her, but I hope that she knew what they meant. Michael sent me that video, and I cried some more.
Really, I figured that would be the last time I heard mom’s voice.
Patty, Michael’s wife, called me Sunday. She was following the ambulance to the hospital, Michael was riding in it with mom. Internal bleeding, low blood pressure, bad bruising and swelling were all mentioned. Michael sent me text’s filling it all in.
So she is in the hospital now. Scared when she is coherent. But most of the time resting and almost comatose.
Michael called me yesterday and asked if I wanted to talk to her. I said no. Then I changed my mind. He told her I was on the phone, and asked if she wanted to talk to me. In a really strong, just like my mom voice she said “Oh ya, I love Michelle”. Once he got the phone to her ear, she really didn’t say anything. I sobbed out “I love you mom” and that was about all I could do.
Each time I talk to her or hear her voice I assume it’s the last time. This is killing me.
The logical, rational part of me is ready for her to be at peace.
Then there is the girl that loves her mom and doesn’t want her to leave.