Let’s Talk About Snakes

When I was growing up in Alabama, snakes were a full-on reality. I don’t mean green snakes or milk snakes or oak snakes. I mean real, scary, venomous snakes. In fact, in Alabama, there are six kinds of venomous snakes. For comparison, in Mecklenburg County, North Carolina, there is one type: the Copperhead. But in Alabama, you have to watch out for the Copperhead, the Cottonmouth (also known as a water moccasin), the Timber Rattlesnake, the Diamondback Rattlesnake, the Pygmy Rattlesnake, and the Eastern Coral Snake. You can see pictures of them at Outdooralabama.com here. And I should tell you…they are plentiful.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve run into lots of Copperheads since moving to North Carolina nineteen years ago, but I was reminded about those Alabama snakes when I saw an article on Facebook today about a woman in Greenville, Alabama, who was bitten by a Timber Rattler. You can see the article here. According to the article, she had to have 16 vials of antivenin…sixteen!

I shared the article on my personal Facebook page with a statement about how I likely narrowly escaped death when I was 18. My nephew, who remembers all the stories I tell about my life, immediately commented that he was sure I had told him the story, but he didn’t remember it. And that’s when I realized I probably had not shared it. Why? Because I was somewhere I shouldn’t have been.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m not one to “hang out” in the woods. I don’t like ticks. I don’t like snakes. I don’t like excessive nature. “Nature,” in Alabama, means you might encounter any number of those creatures and more.

But on this particular day when I was 18, the summer before I went off to college, I ventured into the woods with three friends. Full disclosure: I didn’t really know we were going into the full-on woods. The family of one of the friends had a “hunting camp” in the woods, so we were going there to hang out one Friday night. Now, when I heard “hunting camp,” I guess I was thinking more “hunting lodge.” As we drove, in a Jeep, through the woods to the hunting camp, I started to realize it was really a camp. The fact that there was no road to it was my first clue. And I was a little scared…not gonna lie…I was scared. But I had to play it cool.

We arrived at the hunting camp, and I’m sure my eyes were wide. I looked at it. I’m sure I looked at one of my other non-nature friends, hoping she would say she was scared, but nope. She let me down. She was actually laughing and smiling. I knew I was in trouble. There were no power lines anywhere. I had thought we would be going to a small house where there was television, a refrigerator, modern conveniences. Nope. Heck, when we walked inside, I discovered there wasn’t even much of a floor. I was scared.

It was at this point I spoke up. I don’t really remember what I said, but I made it clear I wanted to get out of there. Nope…not gonna hang out up there. Fortunately, my non-nature friend in the party spoke up too. Hanging out in the “hunting camp” was not an option. I’m sure I said something along the lines of “Let’s leave now.” So we did.

There were three stair steps to get out of the “camp,” and I was leading the charge to the Jeep.

I stepped down the first two steps, and just as I was about to step off the bottom step, I saw a giant rattlesnake slithering by…right where my foot would have dropped. Now, I’m not exaggerating. It was a huge snake…a Diamondback Rattlesnake. A frightening creature. They can get up to more than five feet long, and they are thick-bodied, scary snakes. I’m not sure how big this one was, but he was big. Fortunately, he had no idea I was there, so he just kept slithering by. If he had been aware of my presence, he would have made noise…aren’t we all glad rattlesnakes have rattles?!?! I don’t know if I gasped. I don’t know if I screamed. I know I pulled my foot back quickly and stood frozen on the steps till the snake had passed, but then I was afraid there were snakes I didn’t see! I was scared to go back into that God-forsaken “camp,” but I was afraid to touch the ground to get back to the Jeep. Finally, one person went ahead of me, and then I ran to the Jeep.

As we drove out of the woods, I cried. Yep, cried. I said a prayer of thanks to God that He had spared me that terrible fate. I said a prayer of thanks that my brother was still alive; he spent so much time in the woods that he should have been bitten by at least one snake. I also prayed that the car would not break down before we got back to civilization.

For days, I thought about how fortunate I had been. I would have died if that snake had struck me…no doubt. There is no way my friends could have gotten me out of the woods fast enough to save me, and there were no phones to call an ambulance (which wouldn’t have been able to find me) either. I had seen death in the form of a Diamondback Rattlesnake and escaped.

The moral of the story? Well, there are a few lessons here. Don’t go places you aren’t supposed to go. Stay out of the woods. “Hunting camp” does not mean “hunting lodge.” One (a lodge) has real walls, electricity, and modern conveniences, and one looks like a place you might find a dead body…mine if I had stepped on that snake. And this has nothing to do with that particular snake tale, but it is a lesson: I don’t like brown water…like water in lakes and rivers…never have, because snakes can hide in the water. My friends, Angela and Mary Ann make fun of me for it, but here’s what I think: that brown water is their home…the creatures, I mean. I don’t want them in my home, and really…I don’t want to get in their home either.

A few years ago, in Maine, one of the kids with me kicked a ball into a grassy field, and I had to retrieve it. As I ran out into the field, I thought, “I wonder if they have venomous snakes in Maine.” As soon as I got to the ball, I saw a snake. And as soon as we got back indoors, I looked up “snakes in Maine” and found they had no venomous snakes. Whew!

Maybe I’ll move to Maine…

 

 

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Waiting For Rob Lowe

We got home from vacation yesterday…after a couple of delays…and a friend offered me a ticket to see Rob Lowe (yes, that Rob Lowe) speak in uptown Charlotte last night. I landed in Charlotte at about 6:30am, came home, and got in bed for a couple hours. After waking, I tended my garden ( more on that later…the tomatoes and corn are doing well!) and started getting dressed for an early dinner before seeing Rob. Yes, I prefer to call him Rob.

If you don’t know, Rob Lowe wrote a couple of books a few years back. The first one is titled Stories I Only Tell My Friends, and the second is called Love Life. You can purchase them from Amazon.com here. I have read both, and the first one, Stories…,¬†is my favorite. He really does share some great stories from his life growing up in the Malibu area with Charlie Sheen, Emilio Estevez, the Van Patten family, and the Penns (Sean and Chris). He also shares stories from his career and adult life…which has been colorful.

So last night, we went uptown ¬†and waited patiently for Rob Lowe to tell us stories. Thus, the title of this piece, Waiting For Rob Lowe.¬†Fortunately, he didn’t keep us waiting long.

While we were “spending time with Rob” with about 2,000 other people, we heard a few anecdotes from his books, but we also got a glimpse into his private life. He talked about his family, the freedom he had as a child (“where were my parents?!?!”), and he told some stories he had not shared in his books. We saw his personality shine. We heard funny stories about Cary Grant, Robert Wagner, Tom Cruise, and Sally Field. We even saw a short homemade film he did as a teenager with Sheen and his own brother, Chad Lowe. It was time well spent.

And at the end, he did a question and answer session…sort of Carol Burnett style. Remember how she did that at the end of her show? Well, they turned up the house lights, and hands went up all over the theater…including mine. The first person asked about his indiscretion at the Democratic National Convention in Atlanta in 1988, but he didn’t really answer. He laughed and remarked at the “hard hitting” question, but didn’t really talk about the “incident,” which, I’m sure, was a low point in his life. And I’m glad he didn’t address it…water under the bridge. Honestly, I couldn’t believe someone asked about it. It was more than 30 years ago!

After that, the questions got lighter. One lady asked for a picture, but he very politely  declined. Another person asked about his favorite movie experiences. Still another one asked about his memories of Patrick Swayze. And all this time, I was waving wildly from the balcony, hoping he would pick me!

Here’s my Rob Lowe backstory: When I was a teenager, the first time I ever saw Rob Lowe was in a movie called Hotel New Hampshire, based on a book written by my favorite author, John Irving. I had not read the book yet at that point, and honestly, I didn’t even know who John Irving was, but I loved the quirky movie, and I fell in love with a young, beautiful Rob Lowe. And yes, beautiful is the correct term, because he was a beautiful young man. He’s a “smoking hot” middle-aged man, but he was a beautiful young man. Of course, he made better movies (About Last Night, St Elmo’s Fire, The Outsiders, and more), but my very first glimpse of Rob Lowe was in Hotel New Hampshire.

And then…fast forward 30+ years…last week, when I was on vacation, I had an experience to remember: I actually ran into Rob Lowe in a coffee shop. Yep…the same Rob Lowe. My friend, Angela, was with me, and when I realized he was sitting just down the counter from us, I looked at her wide-eyed and said, without trying to move my lips too much, “Rob Lowe.” She asked, “What?” I said, again without trying to move my lips, “Rob Lowe.” “Juan Pablo??” “Rob Lowe!” She said, “Oh. OK.” And she kept eating! In about a minute or two, she looked at me and said, “You know I can’t hear. I have no idea what you said.” I said, much more clearly this time, “Rob Lowe!” She immediately turned and saw him sitting just a few seats away.

He was sitting with his son and someone else, and soon they got up to leave. Not one to let the opportunity to pass, as he walked slowly past us on his way out, Angela turned and told him (while touching him!) how much she admired his work…and I think she even told him he’s beautiful. He was slowly continuing on toward the door…smiling and being friendly…but continuing to move, so we didn’t ask for a picture. I simply chimed in as he approached the door (right next to where we were sitting), telling him I’d loved him in Hotel New Hampshire.¬†And it got his attention! He stopped in his tracks, laughing, turned around and said, “Oh my God! You are the one person who saw it!” I told him I loved it, and he left.

So, of course, since I didn’t have photographic evidence of my meeting him, I needed to prove to 2,000 people that I had actually met him. Yes, something is wrong with me. I’m a middle-aged groupie. During the Q&A, I continued waving wildly from my seat, and then it happened…he invited “the crazy waving lady” to ask a question. Yes, I’m the crazy waving lady!¬†I’m cool with that. In fact, if you want to refer to me as Crazy Waving Lady every time you see me for the rest of my life, feel free. I stood up and said, “I met you last week at the [name of coffee shop] and mentioned Hotel New Hampshire.”¬†At this point, I paused before continuing, hoping he would remember, before asking my question. He said, “Yes!” And he explained to 2,000 people, that we had, indeed, met in Beverly Hills, and I had mentioned an obscure movie called Hotel New Hampshire that opened in theaters on the same day as the Tom Hanks/Darryl Hannah movie, Splash.¬†I had a question about Hotel New Hampshire and Jodie Foster (who was also in the movie), but I never got to ask it…or rather, he didn’t hear me, because he was explaining the obscurity of the movie. But really, I didn’t care. I no longer needed photographic evidence of our meeting. My friend, Jenn, heard him say he remembered the meeting…and so did 2,000 other people. Woot!

I guess, when it comes to Rob Lowe, I’m still a teenager going to movies and reading Teen Beat and Tiger Beat. And I loved hearing him tell stories last night. He is, indeed, a storyteller. He knows how to get a laugh. He knows how to tell a story. And he has some great memories.

And now I have two great memories of interactions with Rob Lowe. Now I have more stories to tell friends. I’m Crazy Waving Lady. If I ever write an autobiography, that will be the title: Crazy Waving Lady…or maybe¬†Waiting For Rob Lowe.

***My friend, Jerry Parker, gets all the credit for the title of this blog. I posted a pic of me and Jenn (see below) waiting for the show to start last night, and the caption was “Waiting for Rob Lowe.” Jerry suggested it would be a good book title.***

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Gardening…again

Last year, I tried my hand at a very small garden and had lots of success, so this year, I’ve decided to do it again. Before, I had tomatoes, sweet corn, and sunflowers, so I’m going to see if lightning will strike twice. As I said last year, I’m no gardener. I have no idea what I’m doing. But dang it…it’s fun!

We are planting corn this year on the side of the house, and it will be visible (a little) from the street once it gets tall. I’m not sure how much grain growing is allowed in the neighborhood, but I guess we will find out! I will let everyone know if we receive some sort of written notice. My husband is lucky, because I really wanted to plant it out front. I think corn stalks are beautiful, but he put his foot down on that. I learned last year that I had planted my corn plants too far apart, so I had to pollinate them by hand. We still had corn to eat, but it was a chore making sure they were all pollinated. Therefore, this year, I’m planting them in clusters, so they can pollinate each other. Nature’s way is best, so planting them closer together is the way to go. I learned from the past. I was actually surprised the corn grew last year, and I was doubly surprised when it actually produced ears of corn!

The tomato plants are going into the ground near where they were last year, because our knockout roses are in the same area. I believe our tomatoes survived last year, simply because of the knockout roses. The roses attracted braconid wasps, which in turn, killed the tomato grubs that tried to invade the garden. I had no idea about that when we planted the tomatoes, but I noticed a tomato grub with little eggs all over his back and looked it up. They were the eggs of the wasp, and they killed the tomato grubs. Thank you, braconids! Therefore, we are going to put our tomatoes near some roses again.

If you’ve never had a garden of any type, you might find it therapeutic. Last summer, when I woke up every day, I would walk outside and water our garden. And sometimes, I would water them in the evening too. We had tomatoes galore! But it was also a way for me to relax. Sure, I can sit by the pool during the summer and relax. And I can spend time with friends and family, but there was something about the quiet solitude of tending the plants that was good for my psyche. My mother had died the December before, and I truly believe gardening helped me with that. My parents both loved tomatoes and sunflowers. I knew they would have been pleased with what I was doing. Nobody loved a tomato sandwich more than my daddy, and I was able to enjoy them all summer long last year. Store-bought tomatoes just don’t cut it, so I grew my own! We hope to have the same this year…good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise!

So today, instead of doing all the things I should be doing, I will be doing what I want to do. I will have my hands in the dirt. OK, mostly it will be a trowel in the dirt. But I will have it in the dirt, transferring my seedling plants from the little clear cups into the ground. I discovered last year that birds and moles ate most of the seeds I planted, so I had more luck when I transplanted seedlings for corn and sunflowers. Tomato plants will go into the ground near the roses, and we will see if lightning strikes twice.

I’ve had terrible laryngitis for the better part of the week, so having something quiet to do will be perfect for me today. I haven’t felt much like doing anything, but today, it is on!

 

 

 

 

A Weekend to Remember

Wow! I turned 52 on Memorial Day. While I have always loved my birthday, this one was extra special…and most memorable.

On Saturday, I flew to Los Angeles with a friend. She was my “plus one” for another friend’s wedding on Monday, because my husband needed to stay home to make sure our teenage daughter prepared for final exams at school.

We flew home Tuesday, but we still haven’t stopped talking about the wedding reception! ¬†The bride is someone I met in LA a couple of years ago, and she is gorgeous on a regular day, but she was positively radiant on her wedding day, which also happened to be her birthday too! And I’m sure she will remember it for the rest of her life as well.

I remember when she got engaged. I remember she said these words to me, “I hope you’re ready for a big African wedding!” And honestly, I was flattered to be invited. She is a special lady who loves looking out for others and making other people happy. She is Nigerian, and her new husband is as well. Have you ever been to a Nigerian wedding? If you haven’t, you’re missing out. I can’t believe it took me 52 years to have that fabulous experience! There was so much to take in: the incredible handmade dresses of fine fabrics and beautiful colors; the culinary delights of the food; the African music we had never heard, but all the Nigerians knew every beat and every word; the exciting processions of both families and different groups associated with the bride and groom; the DJ who worked the crowd; the love of the families; the dancing! I could never write a description that would do it all justice, but I can say we met some lovely people and had an incredibly memorable experience. And I got to see my sweet friend get married. She and her new husband look so peacefully happy with each other.

Before the reception, I had wondered what food would be served. I was hoping I would get to have some Nigerian food, and I was not disappointed! For first course, we were offered an option of Peppered Goat Soup or Yam Porridge. I consulted with the bride’s cousin, who was seated next to me, and she steered us toward the Yam Porridge…spicy and mellow all in one bowl. It was fantastic, but I wanted to make sure I had room for the other courses, so I ate about 3/4 of the bowl. For the entree, we had a choice of five different things, and the cousin recommended the Fried Rice, Moi Moi, Assorted Meats and Plantains. I think Meg (my plus one) and I surprised the cousins by eating so well! The fried rice had a little kick to it, while the plantains added a little sweetness. And the meats…chicken and I think, goat ribs…incredible spices. We dined like queens!

If you ever watched The Wonder Years, you might remember the episode titled Birthday Boy, in which Paul (the main character’s best friend and neighbor) has his Bar Mitzvah on Kevin’s (the main character) birthday. I don’t remember everything about the episode, but I do remember Kevin was a little envious of Paul’s family traditions and history. Listening to Paul’s grandfather talk about his own Bar Mitzvah had Kevin wondering about his own family history…and I get it. Being at my friend’s big Nigerian wedding made me think of that episode of The Wonder Years. I found myself looking on in awe at how these lovely people had managed to hang on to Nigerian traditions in the United States. The people are American, but they remember their African heritage…and I loved every minute of it.

I will likely never have another experience like it. If it took me 52 years to be able to experience it once, it’s not likely I will get to do it again. But I will always remember it. I wish my daughter could have gone. I wish she could have experienced it. I learned a lot, and the bride’s cousins answered all my questions, even though it had to be difficult to hear me, since I can’t talk above a whisper with laryngitis. They were so kind and patient while I tried to ask my questions about details.

So yes, I had a happy birthday…it was fantastic. Most of all, I am grateful to my friend for inviting me to celebrate her new marriage with her…a happy birthday, indeed!

Do The Right Thing

Do the right thing.

We hear it almost every day, and I love the reminder. Do I always do the right thing? No. I will admit it…straight up. I don’t.

And neither do you.

Today, I was browsing through Facebook, and on a friend’s post, someone wrote, “You always do the right thing.” Now, don’t get me wrong. This friend of mine does the right thing almost all the time. She is a wonderful person with a giving heart, no doubt. However, she posted recently that a woman on the beach had told her she was beachcombing incorrectly and accused her of being rude. This woman told her you should never start beachcombing in front of another beachcomber. What? I had never heard that, and neither had my friend, but the woman clearly thought my friend was doing the wrong thing.¬†Sometimes, the right/wrong thing is in the eye of the beholder.

Many times, I’m behind cars who are cruising in the left lane of a highway. I think they are rude and choosing to do the wrong thing, but they probably have no idea the left lane is for passing.¬†

No one always does the right thing, and that’s partly due to the fact that, as humans, we are inherently flawed. Does it mean we always do the wrong thing? No, but¬†sometimes we do the wrong thing.¬†As I’ve gotten older, one thing I’ve learned is that it is impossible to always do the right thing. It is possible to try, but no matter what, “you can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time.” (John Lydgate) Sometimes, making one person happy makes another person sad. Maybe two friends want to make plans with you for the same day. One is going to be, at best, disappointed when you can’t get together…or maybe furious…depending on the person.

And sometimes, we do the wrong thing without even realizing it. Maybe your in-laws feel slighted because you spend more time with your family than with them…they think you are doing the wrong thing. Maybe you don’t know the left lane is for passing. Perhaps you think it’s OK to beachcomb in front of another beachcomber…or maybe you’re the person who is rudely explains the “rules” to the other beachcomber. Maybe you sign up to be on a committee but forget the meetings or always find you have something “more important” on the calendar when the meeting rolls around. Maybe you forget to meet a friend or family member somewhere. Perhaps you exclude someone you should have included. Maybe you were quick to anger. Maybe you didn’t attend a friend’s 50th birthday party. Maybe you got caught up in a conversation you should have walked away from. Maybe you didn’t defend your friend when someone was talking about her. Maybe you tried to do the right thing and it went awry. Maybe a wrong was perceived by someone that you didn’t perceive as a wrong. Maybe you found yourself in a situation and just didn’t know how to handle it, so you didn’t handle it at all.

There are so many ways to do the wrong thing…intentionally or unintentionally. Life is complicated. And remember…everyone has different sensitivity levels, making it even more difficult to know what’s right and what’s wrong. If someone tells me I shouldn’t comb the beach in front of another beachcomber, I’m thinking that person is completely and utterly nuts, but she’s thinking I’m rude. If someone calls me at the last minute to cancel lunch plans, I don’t freak out…I’m a low-maintenance friend; but to some folks, that’s a big deal.

But do most folks try to do the right thing? Yes, I like to believe so. I try to do the right thing, and often, I fail. That’s life. The only people who don’t make mistakes are the ones who don’t do anything.

Here’s the thing: Sometimes you’re the windshield, and sometimes you’re the bug. That’s a funny way of saying sometimes we are the offender, and sometimes we are the “victim.” Personally, I don’t like to be either one.

You’ve likely heard this: People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. And you know what? We all live in glass houses. As much as someone might like to think they’re perfect, they’re not.

Everyone makes mistakes, and no one always does the right thing. I’m usually quick to warn folks I am going to anger them at some point…I will likely say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing. People get mad, and when I’ve done something wrong, I totally understand why someone gets mad about it. But sometimes, our perceptions are different…maybe you think I did the wrong thing, but I disagree. That’s life too.

Over lunch with my friend, Jennifer, we discussed this recently. We acknowledged that everyone is flawed. But you know what we decided? We decided real friends know our flaws and love us anyway.

Try to do the right thing.

 

 

Finish Well

It’s May…or what we call “Maycember,” because it’s as busy as the holidays. I’m taking a deep breath and thanking the Lord we made it through April before I dive in for the last five weeks of school. We need to finish well.

The last week of April was full of surprises at our house. Our checking account was hacked. My car was clipped in the Target parking lot by a man who was convinced he “had the right of way” until I proved him wrong. Not that it mattered if he had the right of way…he hit my car! And I had various meetings at school for projects there, and at home, for projects there.

So, I’m actually happy to see April in my rearview mirror. May is usually a happy month in our household. It is the month of Mother’s Day, my husband’s birthday, and my birthday! It’s also the last month of school for our daughter and her classmates. May 31st is their last official day of school, and mine is counting down. Because they have a few days off between now and then, I count only 17 more school day wake ups. As my daddy used to say, “You can make 17 days standing on your head!”

Of course, by this point in the school year, we’re all tired of school. We love our school, but,¬†dang it…I’m ready for summer! It happens to me every single year. And I know our daughter is ready…pool time, social time, vacations, free time…she is soooo ready, but first, she has to finish her freshman year of high school.

While I have been telling her we just need to survive the last five weeks of school, she¬†recently reminded me she needs to finish well. She’s right. I was so happy to hear her say that, because I’ve heard the head of her school say it many times. I’ve heard him tell us in Parents’ Council meetings that it’s not just about finishing…it’s about finishing well.

How do we encourage our kids to finish well? How do we, as parents, finish well?

With exams standing between our daughter and the lazy-is days of summer, we know we need to do everything we can to help her finish well. We will make sure she is well-fed and as well-rested as any teenager can be. On the advice of a friend, I will help her get her room clean before she starts studying for exams…just to get rid of clutter (and there is clutter). We will stock the pantry with all her favorite junk food snacks and some healthy options too. (See below for her list of favorites.) We will make her laugh. We will remind her to take breaks. We might suggest she watch some familiar, comforting TV shows like iCarly, Zoey 101, Henry Danger, and Drake and Josh during breaks.¬†We will offer encouragement and be available. We encourage our daughter to look at things from a positive perspective, and I think that is crucial as the end of the school year approaches. And if she finds she needs extra help studying for exams, we will get her that too. Whatever it takes to finish well.

I’ve given it some thought, and for me, personally, finishing well means going into the final five weeks of school with a good attitude. It means putting a smile on my face, participating in end-of-year meetings, and circling back with friends before we get out for school. It means I need to appear calm throughout our daughter’s exams, so I can don’t stress her out. It means shoring up our plans for the summer, and making sure the whole family is on the same page…coordinating our calendars.

So here we go…the countdown is on. Only 17 more school day wake ups. Only 17 more times to get up early and get out the door. Let’s finish well!

And then we can enjoy the lazy, fun, crazy days of summer!

Bring on the vacations!

Finish well!

Our daughter’s favorite snacks, healthy and not-so-healthy:

  • Bananas
  • Yogurt
  • Berries
  • Cheerios
  • Sour Patch Kids
  • Pop Tarts
  • Cheez-Its
  • Cheetos
  • Oatmeal
  • Scrambled Eggs
  • Cinnamon Toast
  • Waffles
  • Granola/cereal bars
  • Ice cream

 

Poking The Bear

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Photo by Photo Collections on Pexels.com

My husband and I were talking last night about the losses we have had to endure since we were married. He lost his beloved grandmother in 2005. I lost my dad in 2006, and then I lost my mother in December 2017. We were devastated over every single loss, and honestly, it sticks with us. I don’t walk around in a state of sadness. I’m generally pretty happy, but occasionally, the sadness will break through, but I never know when that will be. And the interesting thing is that sometimes, the grief doesn’t manifest itself as sadness. It manifests itself as forgetfulness, indifference, or anger.

The forgetful part of grief just can’t be explained. I don’t know if my brain went into pure survival mode after each loss, but in the first six to eight months after each loss, I couldn’t remember anything, and I’m known for having a good memory. With the loss of my mother in December 2017, it seems to have lasted longer. It has been 16 months (to the day) since she died, and I’m still having trouble with my memory. Obviously, I loved my mother, but I think the loss of a second parent is more difficult, even in my 50s, simply because I know I don’t have a parent anymore. It does a number on the brain. My brain seems to have channeled all its energy into survival mode, and a lot has fallen by the wayside, including my memory. In fact, I’m hoping my memory is in recovery mode now, but if I forgot something that was important to you…I’m sorry. I’ve even forgotten things that were important to me.

Indifference comes into play when I hear someone complain about something that I think is not a big deal in comparison to losing a loved one. Indifference comes into play when I think someone is making a mountain out of a molehill…and I tend to think that a lot. During the past week, my bank account was hacked, and I had to set up a new checking account. Ugh. Also, during the past week, an angry driver, who mistakenly thought he had the right of way in the Target parking lot, clipped my car. It was annoying. I know people who would have cried and would still be crying about both events, but I have the perspective of grief. I know those things aren’t small problems, but they aren’t as big as losing a loved one. Seriously, grief changes your perspective. A grieving person might even be indifferent about something that is important to you. Planning a party? The grieving person might not care about coming to your party. Don’t be offended.

Anger is a whole different beast. I’m not really into astrology, but anyone who knows I’m a Gemini would say I’m a true Gemini. I’m happy-go-lucky most of the time, and I truly want to be happy-go-lucky all of the time, but if I’m cornered or pushed too far…not so happy-go-lucky. In grief, the “not so happy-go-lucky” part is more easily triggered. It’s not something I’m proud of. It’s not something I want to continue, and I work really hard to keep it in check, but I think, in grief, we tend to wear our hearts on our sleeves. Well, maybe I shouldn’t generalize. Maybe I should say, “In grief, I wear my heart on my sleeve.”¬†I’ve never been one to “get my feelings hurt,” and I’m still not. In grief, I don’t “get my feelings hurt,” but I do find I’m more quickly angered. That doesn’t mean I’m always angry. It means I don’t want anyone to poke the bear.

The one emotion everyone expects from grieving people is sadness. And yes, I’ve had profound sadness. For a month after Mother died, I went to bed. I barely functioned. I’ve written about it before. I gave myself permission to stay in bed for that month…crying whenever I needed to. After that, I forced myself to get up and get moving, but that doesn’t mean the sadness didn’t creep through every now and then…it still does. In fact, on the 30th of every month, I find myself calculating how long Mother has been gone…just as I did for years after Daddy died. Now I don’t have any parents. I don’t have a mother or daddy I can call for advice. Fortunately, I have some trusted family members, but they’re still not my mother or daddy.

So here’s what I’m telling you. A grieving person might be wearing their emotions on their sleeves for a long time. We all grieve differently, but don’t be surprised if your grieving friend is emotional for longer than you expect. Don’t be surprised if you don’t get the reactions you expect. Don’t be surprised if they forget things…even important things. Don’t be surprised if they are quick to anger.

In fact, I think of the grieving person as a bear. A bear lives in survival mode, except for the hibernation period, which was also part of grief for me. If there is something you wouldn’t do to a bear…annoy it, anger it, corner it…then don’t do that to your grieving friend. Look at the claws on the bear in the picture above…that’s what grief can bring out.

Simply put…don’t poke the bear.

***Please note: if you are grieving and having difficulty returning to regular life activities, please seek professional help. ***

 

 

 

 

 

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