Why I train and run and run and train and then line my cheeks up to the start line and go. Head feet-long and heart-strong to that blessed finish line.
Well, it’s not for the bling.
Though to say it doesn’t matter is a big fat lie. I mean, lookee at this adorbs medal from yesterday’s Erie Presque Isle – a heron… love it!
And it’s not for the boast. “I am the fastest…”
Because I’m not.
And it’s not for the fitness. I swim, bike, hit the gym… I don’t really need to run nor do I need to race to maintain my health.
So, why?
Why do I rise at stupid o’clock, why do I gather with a bunch of peeps I’ve never met (at stupid o’clock), why do I endure the jitters of prerace (please, God, let me poop!)
Why?
Because of the volunteers and spectators. And other runners.
At yesterday’s race, I was running, aid station to aid station… and both volunteers and spectators were encouraging, “you got this! you look great! keep on! you’re almost there!”
There was an aid station filled with guys wearing nothing but their speedos, handing out water and gatorade… I think one or two were wearing wigs… trying to make us runners laugh.
They made me smile. Okay, I laughed.
There was another aid station where they had hilarious signs and posters: “you’re almost there! only 25 miles to go!” and “Chuck Norris has never run a marathon!” and “all this for a banana?”
Indeed.
People were lined all along the course, hanging out all morning long, and watching all us runners scoot by. “Woohoo! You look amazing! Way to go! Keep strong!”
When I came around the first loop, ready to begin the second loop, there was a runner in front of me who chose to finish after the half marathon point. As he was running under the big FINISH sign, there were shouts of “you sure? alrighty, good job! way to go!” and clapping… I hope the dude felt proud and accomplished. Half a marathon is big shit and worthy of “oh heck yeah!”
On around mile 18, I stopped to walk for a bit. Along came a bike, rider asking me, “hey, sister… you okay?” to which I replied, “yep, my music stopped playing and I gotta figure that out.”
“Sounds good! Just checking to make sure you’re doing alright out here.”
And I felt seen. And loved.
As I rounded the bend to the FINISH line, other runners who had completed their race and had donned their medal were clapping and assuring me, “the finish line is almost there!” It was so encouraging and just what I wanted to hear. Legs trembling, sweaty, soaked shirt hanging off me, I crossed the FINISH line to a loud and happy audience. There were whistles and laughter, clapping and shouts of joy.
Yeah, a whole lotta this.
Why do I train and run and run and train?
So that I can get my toes to the line and imbibe of all this good juju, man. High vibe of Love, excitement, adventure, encouragement. I feel so alive! I am convinced that if I live my life in such a way as to see it as an adventure, toes to the line and who the heck knows exactly how this ends but there’s a finish line and ima going for it, well then I just bet that it’d make all the difference between dragging my butt through the day and Loving my way through it.
And because I know firsthand how amazing it feels to be encouraged, clapped for, shouted about, and checked in on… I figure that’s gotta feel pretty good to another as well. So, I’m learning to bring this Love vibe with me off the pavement, outside of just race day. I want to love others the way I feel so loved during a race.
Hey, man, every day is race. A journey. An adventure. Some of us are the runners, some of us the volunteers, others of us the spectators. And I think we get to be all three throughout our days here.
When I ran, they clapped.
When I walked, they cheered.
When I whimpered, “I just wanna be done,” they concurred kindly. Knowingly. With tender understanding and a little push ‘n shove get-back-in-there.
When I was done, they noticed. Celebrated with me.
Celebrated me.
Why do I race?
Because the organizers, supporters, and runners remind me of how to do life. They remind me that it’s all good, and sometimes sweaty and hard and hurts and sometimes you have to end early… but still, so good.
And cheering each other on, and noticing each other, and being glad for one another… works. Win-win.
It feels good to be cheered on.
It feels good to be seen, checked on.
It feels good to be Loved.
A hundred-million thanks to all the “volunteers and spectators and fellow runners” in my life. You are making it worth it.
When Rose and I head out for one of our many adventures, we do so with the biggest of intentions.
To place in our age group? Nope.
To beat our PR? Naaahh.
Our intention? TO HAVE FUN.
We’ve always told ourselves that when it stops being fun, we’re tapping. Out. Done.
So far, even a half ironman seems fun. There’s no accounting for taste…
Seriously, though. We take our FUN seriously, though. We find the humor in everything… when you’re busting cheeks like we do on those long runs, laughter is essential!
Case in point: we got a wee lost on our way to a race last month. We’d been trailing a car for a few miles and it appeared we may be headed to the same destination. Alas, we saw him turn around to head back where he came from… ah, we figured that he was actually NOT headed to the same place.
Rolling down the window, Rose queried: “We’re on our way to a race” to which Dude replied, “Me too! I was there yesterday and so you can just follow me!”
Mr. TurnAroundCuzI’mHeadedInTheWrongDirectionButFollowMe AKA Dude drove on and we burst into tears of sheer laughter. For whatever reason, this struck our funny bone deeeeeeep.
Yep, we followed Mr. TurnAround Dude and we did, in fact, arrive at our destination. All warmed up from our round of giggles.
People are just so funny!
Being a human is challenging enough so find the hilarity and give it a big, fat chuckle. Preferably with your Bestie.
There’s a meme going around that shows a picture of a cabin in the woods and the question, “keep or sell.”
KEEP.
Live in forveverrrrrrrrrr….
Recently, Hubs mentioned that we should rent a cabin “like the old days” AKA when Five-Amazing-Souls-We-Get-To-Call-Our-Kids were wee. I have over a dozen photo albums stuffed with proof of our adventures doing those wonder-filled years.
So much work to prepare to camp!
So much fun to camp!
Our favorite things to do:
campfire
hike
make sand castles
eat pizza logs from the beach deli
toss the frisbee
If we weren’t at the beach, we were hiking. Or hunting salamanders. Or hanging around the campfire.
Hubs was a fantastic story teller. Daughter was still Baby Girl and could fit in my lap. Four Sons each had a chair, flashlight, and s’more stick. Oh, the kids couldn’t wait until the evening fire when Dad would weave in and out of the best stories ever.
Such a simple life.
Best feels of all!
So, as Hubs and I pondered renting a cabin again, we were surprised to find that we weren’t digging it. Oh, we loved the cabin in the woods. And the hiking, logs, beaching, campfires…
But mostly what we loved… was the kids being with us.
Cabin in the woods without the kids. KEEP.
Cabin in the woods with the kids years past. HEAVEN.
I have loved being a Mom at every single stage of FS’s lives… and with all of them grown and gone… well, those memories that we created together mean soooo much to me today.
So, we’re not going to rent a cabin this year. Someday, perhaps we’ll rent one and have grandbabies and grandfurbabies to gather ’round us… and toss the frisbee around, and tuck toes in the sand, and look for Sally’s and Mandy’s on the trail… and, finally, when the day is good and done, to each grab a chair and a stick and a handful of marshmallows… and settle in to listen to Papa weave another story…
and each lil’ babe will take a turn on Nana’s lap…
So, a bit after midnight, I took my pillow and pink blankie and headed downstairs. FurButt Gia was sacked out on the couch but moved over enough to give me room to snuggle on one end and then drifted back to her dreamland.
I opened up the sliding window just a tad, enough to feel the cool air and hear the peepers. Nature always has a way of grounding me.
I felt good. Just… awake.
When the alarm buzzed at 5, I was still hanging out. Awake. Gia was awake by then too and we got up and went for our morning walk around the block.
I met with a couple of clients today. This blessed me.
I answered some emails, some texts, and this FB response… “Your life sounds too good to be true.”
I sat with this for awhile.
My life IS good.
This IS true.
Too good?
I pondered….
Here is my response:
I’m not one to sugarcoat shit. A turd is not a tootsie roll.
But I count it ALL joy… so, even when I’m unpacking the times in my life in which there’s been alotta manure, ima looking for the pony.
There have been so many wonderful moments, laughter, hugs… and there have been many sad times too.
My mom died when I was pregnant with my third. None of my children ever met her. I think they’d have liked each other. ā¤
Three of my children were diagnosed with autistic spectrum. This was a big damn deal and an enormous journey for our family. Best lessons of my life came through these unique souls.
Hubs worked 60+ hours every single week of our marriage. Every single week of our marriage. I was alone a lot. When he got home, I flew to my job. We single-parented to the best of our abilities. Bathrooms were cleaned regularly, but we ate a whole lotta chicken nuggs and mac-n-cheese during those years.
I struggled in anorexia. But not alone. Hubs was a constant companion and ever-present Love. We wandered our way through to the other side.
Each of my five children have had their own difficult aspects of their journeys. And this has been the hardest, perhaps, for me.
And yet…. Best. Life. Ever. Too good to be true?
And yet, it IS true.
Because when I unpack my life stories, I count them ALL joy… laughing at the kids’ jokes and joining them in card games; holding Hubs when the plant closed and we weren’t sure how we were going to make ends meet; those days when the boys’ autism was especially difficult and I felt overwhelmed and alone; when I was just really sick of chick nuggs and mac/cheese but didn’t have the energy to make anything different…. ALL JOY.
And I’ve gotten to thinking….
What if there’s just experiences…. and we can say that some of these experiences are enjoyable and comfortable and make us giggle and feel all warm and sloshy inside while others are challenging and uncomfortable and make us weep and feel like we can’t breathe…
This would be my life.
Our lives.
Full of amazing, wonderful, difficult, heartbreaking experiences… that shape us. I don’t think any of us get through this life without being gifted the opportunity to experience the full gamut of emotions. It’s just that I stop short of calling the difficult emotions the bad ones… and, perhaps, this has made my life feel good… and, perhaps, why someone commented that my life sounds “too good.”
It is indeed good.
Super good.
It’s not that only easy-peasy things have happened.
It’s just that I embrace it all as a gift.
As all good.
My friends,
Today, I am grateful for blessings. I see them. I’m thankful.
Today, I feel my feelings all the way. And move through them.
Today, I keep a sense of humor. Because this greases the wheels.
Today, I believe life is happening FOR me, not TO me.
Life is hard.
This is true.
Yes. I know.
But it’s also good.
So good.
Too good.
Pippi was working in her garden, watering the few straggly flowers with a rusty old watering can. Since the rain was bucketing down that day, Tommy told Pippi he thought it was entirely unnecessary. āThatās what you think,ā said Pippi, annoyed. āIāve been lying awake all night, looking forward to getting up and doing the watering, and a little rain isnāt going to stop me, I can tell you!ā
And it was harder – oh, way harder – that I’d thought it was going to be.
Here’s my big thanks to so many who helped me across the finish line – … cue the song, “that’s what friends are fooooor…”
Steven: for cheering me on every day of the year, for celebrating my wild side (even when it’s a little crazy), and for scooting home twice during the race to walk our pupper xoxo
Trish: for inviting me to pick up trash š love you, girl xo
Jay: for helping me with my bike, noticing I was soooo nervous, and for a hug and an “I love you” – right back atcha, my friend
Judy and Nichele: pickle juice! Ima telling you, that saved me! I love you both xoxo
Tonia: as I swam up to shore, you had the biggest smile for me – and, arms pumping in the air, you shouted, “Lisa, 46:39!” and I think you may have been more excited and proud of me than even me you’re the best and I’m blessed to hang with you and call you my friend xoxo
Mark: we notice… the very hard work, dedication, and TLC you put into each and every race… and how you listen to every single one of us as we cross the finish line and unload, unpack, and recalibrate from a hard task… on behalf of the Collective, you rock! THANK YOU for your heart, your wisdom, your talents, and your friendship. You matter in this world, man.
Susan and Michael: encouragement and love… hugs. Love you.
aaaaand Rose: my forever and always friend, Cheap to my Easy… I’m incredibly proud of you… you gave this Bitch a ride! Your hard work, your dedication, your authenticity, your integrity… are high vibe… and you’re darn sexy… you are the real deal, my friend. I musta been good in a previous to have met you in this one. Thank you for your faith in me and the hug on the shore prior to the race. I can’t love you more, dear friend… Here’s to only about a thousand or maybe even a million more victories! xoxo
THANK YOU TO ALL THE VOLUNTEERS. Aid stations galore, full of cold water and encouraging hearts. You are the grease to the wheels, baby.xoxoxoxoxoxo
CassadagaMan, remember when I said, “never again” as I crossed the finished line… well, ima sorry for what I said when I was sweaty, my legs trembling, my shoulders and back aching… those tears I shed at the end… tears of TRIUMPH and JOY. You ‘n me, we got more business…. so –
We’ve dared a lot, experienced so much, laughed and cried and yelled and tried to figure out; we’ve given each other space and hugs and oh, the one-liners, the jokes, the fun memories.
You are hilarious, dude.
There were moments, or perhaps a day or two, when one of us wanted to tap, get out, run away… okay, this was me…. even so, you always told me, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me or ever will…” and then I’d feel safe again, and come back and say sorry and stay. And we’d make popcorn and watch a movie.
And you’d say you weren’t mad. That you loved me.
And I believed you.
It’s all a blur… where do I end and you begin? Wasn’t it just yesterday that I told you we were pregnant, again… and you said, “wow!” and then I needed a hug because I thought you were mad.
33.
Two souls.
Creating.
Learning from each other.
Staying compassionate.
Being honest.
Even when this kinda hurt my feelings, hon.
Two souls.
Who, after 33+2 years together, feel more like One.
As our song croons, “I’d stop the world and melt with you!” because, you have made me smile every single day.
And 33+2 years is alotta days so that’s alotta smiles.
I’m for sure gonna stick around because you’ve shown me Love is healing, funny, safe, enduring, patient, kind, honest, and sometimes scary and unknown, but always worthwhile.
And – beyond my wildest dreams – Love with YOU is really, really good for me.
Hubs and I have had the absolute blessing of being raised by five amazing souls. They’re all adults now and adore us, which we’re kinda in shock about since we didn’t get it all “perfect” — which goes to show you that forgiveness, compassion, and a sense of humor go a real long way in relationships.
Can I get a “true-dat!”
Recently, everyone has moved out and on and it was time to reno each bedroom. Four Sons shared the two front bedrooms; Daughter got her own digs.
When they were teens, Hubs hung a dartboard on their bedroom wall. On the wall where the dartboard had hung, there were a million little holes. Or maybe just ten thousand, but there were so many.
So. Many. Holes.
For a moment, I thought to get irritated. Mind whined, “helllllooooo, the darts go into the dartboard, Sons.” SMH and WTH… thanks for the extra work… cue the eye roll.
But, quickly, Heart saw through to Hope and Wisdom and Joy. “Ah, they were aiming… and yes, many times missed… but they were in the game.”
And I smiled. I love Mind, but Heart – Heart just gets me soft and smooshy every time. Clarity with Heart at the helm. ā¤
They played. They used that darn dartboard right out! They were having fun.
And wasn’t this the purpose of the game?
To be IN IT? To be HAVING FUN? To be LAUGHING & LEARNING & MAKING MEMORIES?
Heart: Indeed.
Mind: Ya know, you’re right!
Hubs replaced that piece of drywall, though we’d considered keeping it “for old time’s sake.” Fortunately, we have scads of other “damn, alotta kids musta lived here” reminders around our house so….. š
How about you? WHAT ARE YOU AIMING AT TODAY?
Here’s my motto for life:
BE CURIOUS
BE COMPASSIONATE
BE COURAGEOUS
You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, so RISK IT, baby. Life is an adventure! GO FOR IT.
Confession: I am a work in progress… and I’m not where I wanna be but I am headed in the direction of “I remember Ima miracle!” and so today is a good day.
True story:
I was addicted to food. Now I am in a relationship with nutrients and flavors.
I was addicted to exercise. Now I am in a relationship with a variety of movement.
I was addicted to control. Now I am breathing, here now, and allowing.
Permission is a freaking powerful tool!
I was addicted to people-pleasing. Now I love me. And I love you. And I love both of us so much that I act from Truth.
I used to think I had to do it all on my own. Now I realize that we are One. I help you; you help me.
Janet showed up again. Had my toes to the line at a 50K today and she just couldnāt keep it to herselfā¦ I heard her but didn’t give her any credit.
āOh, Janet.ā Eye roll. Breathe.
I have a voice in my head who shoots me down, tries to talk me into believing Iām inadequate. Gives me a ton of details as to why I should doubt myself, give up before Iāve even started, compare the shite right outta myself. This voice is unkind towards me.
āThe run today is gonna suck. Itās hot. Youāre undertrained. Letās be honest. Youāre too old to be running these distances anymore anyway. Give up.ā
Iāve given this voice a name: Janet.
I donāt know why this name. Itās the first one that came to mind. I know of no Janets in my life, so the name itself has no energetic connotations. Which is perfect.
Janet.
I find that hearing that inner critic and going right to calling Janet out on her shenanigans keeps me from owning the voice and feeding it my attention and faith.
Whenever Janet shows up, I figure I’m stepping outside of my comfort zone. For me, that inner critic tries to keep me small, dull, afraid, doubting.
When this voice starts its banter – as it inevitably does at the beginning of a race – I just breathe in-out and acknowledge, āwell, who showed up to the party but Janet.ā Eye roll. Shrug. Move on.
Ya see, Iāve come to understand that, while Janetās voice may sound like mine, sheās not my Truth. She is fearful, controlling, and anxious. She can be a bully. A critic. Nasty. Discouraging.
And who the hell needs that? I tell you, toes to the line in a race is hard enough without Janet pushing her way to the front and center of my mind. No, thank you. Not interested in your POV, J.
Shut the front door on your way out, Jan.
How about you? Do you have an inner critic, a āya-shouldaā whispering, shouting, discouraging you into guilt, shame, fear? (I think we all do.)
The maturing soul is becoming aware of this voice while recognizing their own voice — and discerns the difference between them. I call our own voice the Voice of God.
Voice of God: kind, encouraging, honest, gentle, grateful, joyful, peaceful, patient, good
I used to waste precious time and energy getting mad at Janetās outbursts. I would try to prove her wrong. “I’m awesome,” I’d scream back. And list all the ways. For me, this was not at all helpful. Or I’d try to ignore her. Fingers in my ears, āna-na-na-na-I-canāt-hear-you.ā Not only did this not help, but I couldnāt hear the Voice of God over my own voice howling back at Janet. Uhm, plan B.
āAh, there she is.ā Iāve allowed her to be there. No arguing with her. No giving her my focus and attention either. I hear her, beating me up and trying to pull me down, but just the simple act of saying, āoh, Janetā helps me to allow but not own.
And now, years later, she comes around infrequently. When she does, itās rather limpish. I have come to know the Voice of God in my head that reassures me, āyouāre amazing; youāre on a journey; enjoy the adventure; love yourself; love others; be patient with yourself and everyone; breathe, relax, find the humor.ā
And – maybe even – āyouāre so pretty!ā
True story, at todayās race, while Janet took a very far backseat, a woman ran past me during loop 3. Glancing back, she gushed, āwow, you look so pretty when you run!ā
God speaks through others’ mouths.
I stopped after seven loops. Five was my goal. Ten would have been the whole deal. As I dropped into my body and asked it what it wanted to do today, seven felt right. Seven. Ended with a total of just over 22 miles. Not bad for 56 years old, in 80-degree weather.
Ima proud. Pleased.
As I clicked my watch to end my timer, Janet started to opine. Seems seven wasnāt good enough for her. Which means I am not good enough.
Well, I know this is caca trash talk.
Hereās the truth: I didnāt chew up all ten loops. Which only means I didnāt chew up all ten loops. Period. I busted out seven loops and had a fantastic time among a joyful, kick-butt group of friends. It was a really good day!
No, Janet. I didnāt run the whole 50K. This is correct.
But IāM STILL A MIRACLE.
My friends,
You deserve a hug. You are worthy of Love and every goodness. Truth. Thereās nothing to earnā¦ you wanna push yourself to go git a medal at the end of the race, shweet. But that medal does not add one bit of GLORY to you. You are already as glorious as you can be. That medal adds some pretty big experiences and maybe you get to meet some fabulous people – enjoy them! But remember, you are miraculous and holy sans medal.
……… Who knows, maybe someday there will be no Janet. Today is not that day. As I continue to trek my journey, grow in Love for myself and others, I trust God to let the story unpack.
In the meantime, I remain darn jazzed that Ima pretty while I run. š
He is the firstborn of a firstborn of a firstborn.
I remember my Dad saying, āBeing the firstborn is tough, nobody gets that unless youāre āitāā¦ youāre the icebreaker. Your parents are still trying to figure things out. And as the oldest, perhaps you feel a sense of nurturing duty that the youngers do not.ā
Bang. On.
I couldnāt have asked for a stronger, more dedicated, patient-while-I-figure-things-out soul as my son, Andrew Steven Glasier. He is far and away the best IceBreaker of them all. I couldnāt have gotten any luckier had I hit the multi-billion dollar lottery.
Best. Firstborn. Ever.
Ooh, life has been far from easy for this soul. Because I was anorexic and full of fear, I am sure he did not get all the nutrients for peace and thriving. He hung on, though. Thank God.
While he is incredibly wise and insightful, he stumbled through school with social awkwardness, dyslexia, and Aspergerās Syndrome. At the time, we were unaware of how difficult it must have been for him just to make it through the day. Iām afraid I wasnāt the pillar of support he deserved, misunderstanding some of his behavior for rebellion. Perhaps there was some of that in there ā after all, heās MY kid and Iām weary of rules and regs so I dig a rebel vibe ā but mostly I believe he was trying to understand language and etiquette with a steep disadvantage. (And who, in their logical freakinā mind, thinks that itās a smashingly wonderful idea to have a kid who barely can unpack English because of LD also learn Spanishā¦ ? Oooooh, the hours of frustration, I cannot begin to tell youā¦)
But, by God, this soul endured.
He endured a mom who was in the midst of conquering my own demonsā¦ and mothering his younger siblings. There were days that life was breathtakingly overwhelming, for all of us.
Do you know that, even as a teenager and on into his twenties, Andrew never raised his voice or disrespected me? He held his temper with incredible nobility. Just pondering his stability, his ability to see above the situation, his strength to see through to the other side of our difficultiesā¦ brings me to my knees. I am humbled to have given birth to such a gifted soul.
Iāve often thought that perhaps he is an Old Soul. That there was some kind of call to dutyā¦ that the Earth cried out, āHelp! SOS! Wanted: Energies steeped in wisdom, peace, and strength to lift the vibrationā and Andrew stood up.
āHere I am, send me,ā he would have volunteered, knowing that the price for such a mission is usually challenging childhoods. āThatās okay. I know who my Mom is going to be. Sheās feisty and moody, but sheās also nurturing and well-intentioned. I know we may not see eye-to-eye through my growing up yearsā¦ but as we both mature and evolve, we will become best friends. Inseparable really. So, Earth, count me in.ā
Or something like that.
Weāve had some giggles. In English class with Mrs. Corcharan, he had to write a paper on āInterscholastic Sports.ā Because of his LD, he misheard her and wrote an entire thesis on āIntergalactic Sports.ā Because his lovely teacher told him he in fact proved his point, she gave him an A. He and I will always remember this wonderful and wise woman.
I ponder what it must have been like for him to have endured school with such a learning deficit. Most of us struggle to get from morning til evening without proprioceptive and auditory issues, but this kid beats all. As I reminisce, his countenance to endure causes me great pause.
Old Soul. Indeed.
Somehow, he must have known how much I needed his vibe in my life. He was so stinkinā cute, the blondest hair and the sweetest smile. He was quiet, musically gifted. He played the clarinet all through high school, always rockinā it at the All-County Festivals and such. He dabbled in football and wrestling, but to be honest I think they were not his jive mostly due to his gentle nature. Ah, on the outside you may never knowā¦ but he is a Lover, not a Fighter.
Upon graduation from high school, Andrew wandered. What to do with this one wild and precious life? He set his hopes on the military. My heart sank. Deep within me, I was sure it was not a good fit. That said, I longed to see his desire come to fruition. We persevered and soon after, he was off to Boot Camp in Texas.
One of the most profound memories of my entire life was when, after celebrating Andrewās boot camp graduation, we boarded the plane to return home. We said good-bye to our oldest, not knowing when we would see him again. (At the time, there was minimal phone service so we had NO communication opportunities.)
I cried. I sobbed from the depths of my being the entire flight home. My husband and I were seated separatelyā¦ and not that it would have matteredā¦ because I could not have stopped myself. Itās like nothing Iāve ever experienced before ā or since ā but I could not stop weeping. I physically mourned leaving him. My whole being ached. I could not wrap my head nor heart around not seeing him, and not knowing where he was, or when I would see him again.
These were very difficult years for us. Going sometimes three, four, or even six months without a call from himā¦ I canāt even begin to adequately express my desperate sadness. I felt like I was sleepwalking through my days. Smile on my face, but I was terribly distracted. I could āfeelā him ā and I knew that, wherever he was and whatever he was doing, life was ebbing from him. He was hanging on the ledge. Intuitively I knew.
I was right. Of course. We may have struggled to get along during those high school years, but the bond he and I share is thick and real. He finally called one day, āMom, Iām coming home. Iām done.ā He was messed up. It took nearly three years for him to unwind the confusion in his heart, unpack the mess in his head, and get back on his feet.
But, he endured. Heās a determined soul.
No victim card.
I remember the time when, unsure what to do next, he headed out west. Quickly discovering this wasnāt going to jive, he chose to remain there, and homeless. For three months, Andrew lived out of his car. He had one afghan that I had knitted for him and a couple hundred dollars. He sufficed on rotisserie chickens and gallon jugs of water. It was not unlike him to share his meager supplies with the local homeless guys, though it meant he would go hungry.
Yes, he endured.
āMom, itās time.ā And just like that, three months into his spiritual sabbatical, he started the long drive back home. He drove straight through and 27 hours from that phone call, hopped out of his car and into my open arms. I found myself sobbing. Again. My son had come home, body, mind, AND soul.
He continues to trek his journey. Old Soulsā paths are more treacherous and demanding than the rest, but he travels on with dignity, wisdom, and humility.
He is unattached to worldly possessions. His siblings mean everything to him. His allegiance to each of them is so high vibe. When something good happens to any of them ā Adam buying a house; Alex getting a good-paying job; Austin still with Bailey; Alisia kickinā it at art ā he could not be more proud. He is their loudest fan and cheerleader. And biggest protector. My children are safe while Andrew is at the watchtower.
I remember apologizing to him for like the 68th time about one incident or another from his growing up years. āMom, mom, please. Stop. Enough. Donāt you know you mean the world to me?ā Even now, I tear up pondering his gentle manner towards me. On my mirror, I have posted his picture and a piece of paper on which he wrote, āMom, I saved my going-out money for you.ā Cash was my birthday gift. Can you even? And heās the one texting all his sibs to remember Motherās Day. I know, I know. Gobs and gobs better than the lottery, huh?
He lives out in Niagara Falls now, though I am secretly praying that heāll move to Buffalo which is closer to me. Fact: I pray this every day. Truly. His vibe is good for me. More than just my son, I feel we are connected in some cosmic I-knew-you-before way. He is my firstborn, yes, but more than this, he shows me strength of character, loyalty, stoicism. He has been the manifestation of Patience in my life. In his space, I have grown in my own patience, my sense of peace, and a high vibe of self-forgiveness. Without Andrew, my life would have unpacked itself radically differently. Knowing him has caused me to desire to live more gently, more reflectively, more truthfully.
This is his song. It is no exaggeration to say that I sang it nearly every day while he was gone. Weeping for not knowing his whereabouts, this song held me until I could finally hold him. Please, if you have a moment, itās worth the watch. Ponder our soldiers far from home and give thanks.
Beyond words, I am so thankful for Andrewās life intersecting with mine this time around. I could not be more proud of the man he is growing to be. From caring for his siblings to sharing with the homeless, Andrew truly knows ā perhaps better than all the rest of us ā what this life is all about.
Love. One. Another.
Andrew, of all people Iāve ever met, is my Hero.
EnergieGal 