Impending Storm

I left for the long weekend knowing full well that the day after our return would find me in the doctor's office. I had received a letter stating that they needed to meet to discuss my test results. Gulp.

The conversation went something like this:

MD: All of your labwork looks really good, except for one result that I don't know much about and am going to refer you to a Specialist. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. You have an elevated C-Reactive Protein result and will need to take a stress test to confirm that you do indeed have heart disease, as this test may indicate. Your current level is High on the scale. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Do you need any prescriptions filled?

I walked out in a daze, wondering how, at the ripe old age of 42, I could have Heart Disease. I'm a woman, dammit. I'm supposed to be protected by my hormonies! (I loved My Big, Fat Greek Wedding.)

My doctor gave me two names of cardiologists. I called both today ("You should get this test done within the week...I wouldn't wait.") One doesn't take my insurance and the other is closed on Wednesdays.

Truth be told, this may be the Swift Kick in the ass that I have needed to finally get my health back in order. Until the test can be completed, I am drinking lots of black tea and soy milk, taking vitamin B and searching for a meditation class.

And I'm trying not to panic. Heh.

We just returned from a long weekend at Lake Tahoe. We celebrated our ten year wedding anniversary, laughed with friends, had massages, and talked more about a possible relo. The flu kept me from snowmobiling and sledding, but drugs helped me get out of the cottage to quietly enjoy the surroundings and make peace with the circumstances in my life. Oh, and the double-wide bath tub in the room was a bit of fun too. 

It's a Beautiful Thing.

I just received my new, portable cosmetic organizer from QVC.
It is fabulous.

No more digging for the blush in a too-small bag. No more searching for the plum pencil in the pile.

I am now an organized woman. It feels good.

Milestones and Headway

The Hubs and I embarked on our first-ever counseling session yesterday. Today, we celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary.

We launched the session answering the question: Why are you here? What do you hope to accomplish?

Hubs looked at Jill and said: You start.

Jill: Well, for me, I'd like us to learn how to work together in partnership. Making decisions together, supporting each other, talking more, going forward in life in a purposeful way that we both feel is best.

Hubs: For me, it's all about spending. We are on opposite ends of the spectrum. She spends money when she knows it's coming in, and I like to save the money and then make the purchase after it's been in the bank for awhile.

Jill: For the record, I don't spend the money on gambling or drugs or anything illicit. And I'm not driving us into bankruptcy. I buy things for the house or new clothes because I've gained weight.

Hubs: Jill spends the money and then I have to pay the bills. She spends it to spite me.

Jill: Nooo, my spending money is more about me, and I don't do it to spite you. And, if we're going to launch right into The Specifics, I'd like to discuss what I consider to be the disparity in our income levels and consistent contribution.

Things got a little heated in that moment, and then the therapist completely switched gears and asked us to tell her about how we met, what types of things we did when we dated.

The smiles broke loose as we retold the stories. They were good times and we were so very much in love. Playing backgammon on the beach, sipping wine and watching the sun set. Checking out the Rodin garden at Stanford. Traveling to Chicago to check out the Art Institute. And game nights with our closest friends.

We then talked about the multitude of crisis that occurred from the beginning. My family refusing to talk to me for months, the Dad DNA Debacle, my depression, his depression, being laid off of work, him starting his own business. The list kept going on and on. At one point, the Hubs turned to me and said, "I feel terrible that I haven't been there for you when you needed me the most. I'm so sorry." And then I cracked like an egg.

We eventually left the session asking ourselves, "Why didn't we do this sooner?"

As the day wore on, I started to become a little melancholy. The difference between where I am now and where I was then began to seep into my soul, and I began to feel so sad that I let who I was slip away.

The good news is that we finally came together to discuss our relationship, our past and our next steps. And the really good news is that I got a little taste of what I'm capable of being...something that was forgotten a long time ago.

Stating the Obvious

Scene: Jill, Hubs and Jo Mama in the patient exam room.

Doctor: It's important to consider the amount of medications that your mother is already taking before making a decision to add more. It really becomes a case of weighing the risk versus her quality of life.

Doctor turns to mother.

Doctor: Joanne, given the fact that you're in a vegetative state of depression and have enormous pain, I'm going to give you a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication and something a little stronger than Tylenol. I think that the loss of your child, your chronic liver disease and recent hospitalizations have got you feeling down. This should help.

Jill (to herself): Hellooo. Vegetative state of depression...Duh! Thankyouverymuch.

House of Pain

Mom was up three times last night, crying and moaning and trying to get out of bed. Husband and I got maybe 4 hours of sleep, we were so distraught and trying to help her get through the night.

I am so frustrated. I have asked for stronger meds to ease her pain, but the doctor doesn't want to "overmedicate." We have an appointment to see him this afternoon - husband will have to carry mom down the stairs and to the car - and this doctor had better acquiesce and give the poor woman some relief.

Seriously, this can't be right.

Those Were the Days, My Friend...

Back when I was social and threw parties, we had an awesome Spring Fling with our closest friends for Easter. We installed maypoles throughout the backyard with thick, satin ribbons stretching out across the sky as a beautiful, pastel canopy over the round tables decorated with bright linens and tulips. There was an Art area for everyone to paint. They each received a plaster egg that was supported by an 8" wire standing upright in a small block of wood. It was a contest, everyone voted, and we awarded prizes. For the kids, I hid plastic eggs filled with chocolates and toys throughout the backyard.

This was the year I introduced my friends to Krispy Kreme donuts - there's a platter of them off to the left that somehow didn't make this photo. I cooked quiche, potato lasagna, and chicken sausages. We drank mimosas and wine. And we laughed. It was a glorious day.

I want..no, need...to get back to this place where I have fun in life. To throw parties, to cook, to have friends over to play games and make art.

Dear God, where have I gone?

And They Ate Cake.

Our 10 year wedding anniversary is fast approaching. It's a threshold that many people don't ever see for themselves. We've been lucky - we were able to get through the tough times to experience this: Our toughest time yet.

But it's OK, because I know that you will always be by my side. You are a man who holds true to your commitment. You are good natured and ultimately forgiving. You don't love me unconditionally, which we have discussed at length, but I am the love of your life and you know you made the right decision when you married me. I've daydreamed about leaving, many times, because it sometimes felt easier than trying to deal with the problems.

But it always came down to the one single truth that holds fast in my heart. I love you.

I love who you are and how you do things. I love your integrity and creative genius. I love the way you wake up each morning excited and filled with optimism. I love the way you take care of my parents, and how you remain fiercely loyal to your own. I love your handyman capabilities, your new interest in talk radio, and the way you force yourself to read books...even though it's a laborious task for you. I love the way you sing in the kitchen, and allow me to drag you to the floor for smooches whenever the feeling hits. I love your smooth skin and tiny blond hairs. And the fact that you're always clean and smell good. You can't cook, it's true, but you're always willing to get in the car and pick up the take-out...in the rain, late at night, even just 10 minutes before American Idol.

There are a lot of days when I wish I was you, to live inside your skin and be the amazing artist that you are. To be able to jump out of the shower, throw on some jeans and look incredible. To have grown up with a loving family that had fun together. To experience your sweetness and warmth from the inside out.

There are days when I wish I was you...because I think you're pretty damn awesome, and I'd like to know what that feels like.

Jo Mama

Mom is tucked in bed, sleeping soundly with her mouth wide open. She's been wearing a big, white V-neck tee shirt along with her petite sized Depends. No socks and no pants. Her right leg is the color of an over-ripe Macintosh apple. Deep, dark, red. This is where she held the blood infection, and the leg has taken on a leathery appearance.

Mom met with two visiting nurses today and one attempted to talk to her about the grieving process. The pain of losing a child, the fear of managing a disease that cannot be treated. Mom sobbed throughout the interview, crying, "I don't want to die. I've fought this thing for so long to survive."

Mom's had the liver disease for 20 years. The doctor originally gave her 10 years to live, so she's been incredibly successful with her militant medication management and nutritional intake. But mom's success has brought no glory, no exuberance. Just a continued state of fear over the inevitable.

I've read about people coming to terms with their death and experiencing peace during their final days and hours. My prayer for my mother is that she can find that place of peace and quiet resolution. So she can finally rest and realize that she did it. She lived a full life, a long life, a complete life.

It's the Carvin'...Marvin.

My husband has been busy this year with several projects. Here is a photo of the stonework he carved and installed in a client's kitchen. Someday, I hope he can do these fabrications for our home. (Shoes for the cobbler's kids...right?) I think he did a great job on the carving for this one, and I love the stove hood.

Yup, he's an artist all right.

Do-Over.

I must be in a self-flagellating mood. Because I can't stop thinking about all of the awful things I did to Ann, my sister who just passed away. The list runs the gamut from the Accidental to the Intentional to the Misguided:

Slamming the front door as Ann chased behind me, causing her hand to go through the plate-glass. (age 5)

Fighting with Ann at the dinner table over who got to gnaw on the steak bone. (age 7-10)

Trying to outperform Ann at school - especially when my teachers told me that she was their all-time favorite student...which was often. (age 6-18)

Copying everything that Ann did: Pixi haircut, purple eyeshadow, Contempo Casuals, working at the submarine shop and wearing bikinis with crocheted tops and Hawaiian-print bottoms. (age 5-25)

Telling everyone at elementary school that she had diabetes and not knowing what that meant. (age 10)

Returning to Oregon to celebrate Christmas with my boyfriend...only days after she had been hospitalized with toxic shock and was still in critical condition. (age 24)

Accidentally walking her into a concrete lamp post on our first outing together after she had lost her sight. (age 24)

Refusing to rummage through an apartment trash container to find a cherished piece of Crazy Quilt that she may have accidentally thrown away. (age 25)


There are dozens more, but here's the worst:

Sharing my concerns with Ann about her new boyfriend...because he initially lied to her about his age (he claimed to be 60 but he was closer to 70) and he blamed his bankruptcy on his past wives. (age 36)

This was only about 6 years ago, and I keep thinking..."Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. I may have caused her to end up being alone. She adored that man. But I had to open my big mouth and tell her about my concerns. Because no one else in the family would do it. And even though I felt it was the right thing to do...now, I want to bludgeon myself, because she spent several years alone, and now that she's gone, it's killing me that I possibly encouraged her to make a decision that ultimately hurt her more."

I feel so awful about this. I can't stop sobbing. The memories keep flooding my mind, and my heart is aching and crying out, "I want a Do-Over. To get it right this time."

Reality TV.

The scene: Jill and Husband are cleaning the house in preparation of my mom's arrival.


Husband: What's that burning smell?

Jill: Ack! What burning smell? Is it the vacuum?

Husband and Jill inspect the vacuum while smoke fills the upstairs.

Husband: Maybe it's coming from outside through the open window...

Jill runs downstairs.

Jill: It's down here! It's the tv! It's on FIRE!

Husband runs downstairs and disconnects the tv. It was plugged in but not turned on. The tv spontaneously combusted and was spewing sparks and acrid fumes from the burnt plastic. A horrible cracking and hissing sound was coming from the wood of the armoire.

Husband: I've never seen anything like this.

Jill, becoming semi-hysterical: We are lucky to have been home when this happened. Holy cow, we are SO blessed. Can you imagine if this happened in the middle of the night? What if we hadn't been here? We shouldn't have been here right now. The whole place would have burned down. The cats - OMG the cats. We would have lost the cats if we had been asleep or not home. Ack!

Husband: Okay, okay. It's alright. Hmph. This tv is new - it's only 5 years old, I don't get it.

Jill: Are burnt plastic fumes fatal? I have a headache. And my throat hurts. Do you have a headache? Do you think the cats are going to keel over from the fumes?

Husband, rolling his eyes: Oy Vey.

If I Won the Lottery...

...this is my dream house.

Sadly, this is what I can afford.

Finding My Way...Day. By. Day.

"Life is all about timing and it just isn't right. You can't force it"
"Things happen for a reason."
"Things always work out for the best."

Words of advice and encouragement from friends, so I'll get over the fact that I withdrew my candidacy for a training position. The next interview was to have been yesterday at 1pm, and I suffered for most of the day second-guessing myself. I kept beating myself up with fear: "You'll never get a training position unless it's an internal transfer." Or, "This job won't be open again for a very long time." Throw in a little stomach churn, and I was pretty much a basket case yesterday...walking through the house grunting and moaning.

Tonight, the angst has faded. Mom was released from the hospital this afternoon and I decided to move her back into my home. To help her regain the weight she lost (she's down to 82 pounds) and start walking again. A nurse, physical therapist and social worker/grief counselor will visit every day. We have a tough road ahead.

Perhaps the training position will come available again sometime down the road. For now, I know in my heart of hearts that I made the right decision.

Mom

Mom has developed portal hypertension which has resulted in esphogeal bleeding and ascites. Yesterday, the hospital drained two liters of fluid from her abdomen. My poor, little 74 year old mother looked 9 months pregnant. Sadly, the tap only reduced her stomach slightly - my guesstimate is that she's got 3-4 liters of fluid left - and she's scheduled to be drained again this afternoon.

Overall, my mom has been a real trooper with this disease. Most patients develop ascites within 10 years of the original diagnosis. Mom has gone 20 years. She's a fighter and has done everything offered by science to control this disease.

I know we've been lucky to hold onto her for this long. Yesterday, I read an obituary for a 38 year old who died from the same disease, Primary Biliary Cirrhosis. Neither did anything to induce this condition. It's triggered by the autoimmune system and doctors don't yet know the cause.

On Friday night, a lab tech was poking mom with a needle to draw blood. Her veins are so small and thin, the technician made 4 attempts on her hands and arms. Mom started sobbing from the pain, and I couldn't take it. I bolted out of the room and jumped in my car to drive, drive, drive away from all of this. I just couldn't handle it anymore. And the image of my mother, hugely bloated in the stomach, knees and feet and sobbing in pain just put me over the edge. So my husband sat with mom for 3 hours, until I could pull myself together and return to her room to kiss her goodnight. She started crying again and begged me to not leave her. I had to explain that it was midnight, time for her to go to sleep...that husband hadn't had dinner yet, that we were keeping her roommate awake, that we had to go home to get some sleep ourselves. Somehow, these excuses didn't feel valid...even with me.

I am so frustrated that this disease cannot be treated - only managed until the patient ultimately passes away or receives a liver transplant (which they don't do with patients over 70 years old).

I understand the whole life/death cycle, but I don't get why the process often contains so much pain and suffering. My mom's condition has helped me realize what a blessing it was for my sister Ann to pass away in her sleep. I miss her horribly, but I'm relieved that she didn't have to suffer.

I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

Eight Should Be Enough.

Yes, it's true. We already have 6 cats cohabitating in this house with us, and it's a pretty rare occurance for me to sit in a room all by myself. Invariably, there is a cat perched overhead on the top of an armoire or hunkered down in the middle of the sofa...allowing no leg extension on my part. We've got cat food conveniently located in 3 areas of the house, because my brood has competitive eating disorder, just like their mother. One would think that this would be Enough.

Imagine my surprise when I saw this picture in the Land of Nod catalog. Suddenly, 6 cats were not enough, because I fancy the ones with multi-colored stripes and polka dots. If we're able to relocate to Denver this summer, we'll begin the adoption process again. And my little folks will each have one of these for their very own.

Because the other 6 are taken. I'm not sharing.

Just for Kicks and Giggles

"In August 2002, one Yankee Blogger wrote 100 things about himself and then suggested that 100 bloggers write 100 things about themselves in 100 days. Since then the Yankee Blog has gone dark, but the meme rides forever. I decided to visit 100 sites and find 100 things other people said about themselves. It took much longer than writing my own - but it was so much more fun."
Pratie Place

This list gave me a few, good chuckles. You can read it here.

"Uncle"

From the time I was in elementary school until I left home for college, my Dad played games with me at night. Parcheesi, ping pong, Battleship. And this. I loved football. Dad enjoyed the competition and the companionship as much as I did. He never said, "No," when I asked him to play a game.

I remember the late summer nights at the kitchen table playing Canasta. All of the windows were open because of the heat, and we could hear crickets chirping from somewhere out in the vast darkness. We'd stay up until midnight, rallying back and forth with our points until we were exhausted and finally went to bed.

Life was uncomplicated back then. I didn't spend too much time thinking about the next day. I was never stressed about projects looming over my head or the ever-growing checklist of things that had to be done. The day was over and I was able to enjoy life...as it came. No anxiety, no dread. Just a peaceful sense of calm that signified All was Right at that very moment in my little world.

It's been a long time since I've felt that calmness. And I hunger for it now on a visceral level, almost like a vitamin deficiency. I yearn for that which I am missing.

I've decided to pull myself out of the interview process for the training position. I'm exhausted and consumed with too many other issues. The Desperate Fighter in me wanted to continue forward, get the job and launch into a new life's phase. But the reality is that I can't do it. No strength, no confidence, no clarity of mind.

It's time to rest.

The Cheese Stands Alone

Scene: Last night, in the car.

Jill: I'm not sure what to do. I wasn't expecting the callback to interview today, and I'm overwhelmed with mom's health. Do you have any advice or thoughts on this?

Husband: Do what you want to do.

Jill: What does that mean? Do what I want to do?

Husband: Do. What. You. Want. To. Do. It's that easy.

Jill: Helloo. I'm talking about uprooting our home, our jobs, our lives. There's nothing easy about this!


Interesting article in the March issue of O Magazine titled, "Women Who Outearn Their Husbands." It talks about the emergence of the Alpha Wife - high achieving and high earning - pairing up with a Beta Husband - men who are comfortable pursuing jobs that don't pay well or....steadily.

The author of the article (Amanda Robb) is also married to an artist. She understands my plight. This kind of existence is as wonderful as it is frustrating. My husband oozes creativity. He's warmheated and great with kids. He acknowledges our workload discrepancy, so he does all of the laundry, the dishes, the cleaning, the pet care, and the errant errands. Conversely, he has also handed over the Steering Wheel to our future. Do we stay or do we cash out and build a quieter, easier life in a less expensive area? He won't engage in the discussion, review the plan or discuss the long-term implications on the adoption or our retirement.

This is probably all my fault. I enabled this set-up in our early years of marriage. When I was intensely ambitious and energetic. Key word: Was.

I remember, many years ago, some sage advice that was dispensed by an older, wiser woman. "If you do something once, you should expect to do it forever." She illustrated this point by telling me about a dear friend who had an agreement with her husband. She did all of the shopping. When she arrived home with the grocery bags, she pulled the car into the garage, honked the horn twice, and then departed to go into the house. The husband was responsible for carrying all of the groceries into the house. She had never done it, not once. And she wasn't about to start, because she knew that it would change their arrangement and his expectations, forever.

My husband is not planning to get a traditional job, ever. He's quite comfortable with my earning power...despite the total, physical breakdown that I've suffered since the death of my sister. The Rules were established in our relationship years ago. I was to be the Breadwinner, no contest.

My husband has no interest in guiding me toward any job decision, and this has me so befuddled, I don't know how to feel. Is this a blatant outpouring of apathy, read: "Do what you want, and I'll just keep doing what I want." Or is this a blessing, because I am Empowered to Make My Own Decisions, free from any husbandly dominance?

Is this feminism at its best...or its worst?

I'll make the callback because this is my dream job. I'll put my life circumstances on the shelf...for now. But who will I talk to? Who will help guide me and make this decision with me?

I wish I had done a better job setting up our partnership expectations as husband and wife. I wish I was better skilled at motivating extreme change in our marital dynamics. I wish I could get this incessant voice out of my head, taunting and goading me.

"You asked for this. You got what you wanted. The Cheese Stands Alone."

Dear God,

Thank you for giving my mom the strength to sit up today.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Worth Taking Note

I read this comment tonight and feel it is worthy of a permanent placement on this blog. I highly respect the writing of this man. His character is solid and true. Read his words, read his blog. I have learned so much from him. He is Good People.

You most certainly are doing everything you can. We're human, after all, and perfection isn't part of the plan. But heart, dedication, and effort all are. And you've got those in spades. We lost my uncle yesterday, and I've been torturing myself since I was jarred awake by my father's phone call. Did I do enough? WHat else could I have done?There are no real answers: you simply have to content yourself with the knowledge that there's only so much one person can do, and that life has a way of throwing curves when we least expect it to. And one more thing: we must always look for the good. It's there. It's not always easy to see, but it does exist. In the midst of incomprehensible grief, you have to believe that the light continues to shine. And you have to keep looking for it.
Carmi

Blame it on the DNA.

A momentary glimpse into Jill's life last Sunday afternoon.


Knock-knock.

Jill: Hi Dad.

Dad: Hello, baby. What brings you here?

Jill: I'm sitting with mom today, making sure she eats. How're you?

Dad: I'm OK. Hey, since you're here, can you fix my printer?

Jill: I can look at it. OK, your printing queue is a mile long and it's not printing. Did you try turning it off and on?

Dad: Nope.

Click click.

Jill: Ok, let me cancel all of the jobs in the queue and it should work fine.

After about 15 minutes, the printer starts working.

Dad: Thanks, Baby. I don't know what happened. I was printing from my email last night and I tried to cancel it after 16 pages but then it....

Cough. Cough. Hack. Cough.

Dad: Excuse me. I've got something caught in my sphincter...

Jill's head snaps up and starts spinning at the base of her neck.

Jill: Dad. That is not a normal word. Normal people do not use that word. You keep saying that word in public and it embarrasses me.

Dad: What?! Sphincter?

Jill: YES.

Dad puckers his lips.

Dad: Do you know what this is?

Jill: Your LIPS?!

Dad grins.

Dad: No, it's a sphincter. Most people don't know that you have more than one. Guess how many you have?

Jill: Ewwww!

Jill marches toward the door.

Jill: If you insist on saying the word Sphincter, I'm not staying. It's rude. It bugs me. Normal people don't say it all of the time. I've told you this a hundred times! YOU'RE NOT NORMAL.

Jill swings the door open quickly, only to find 10 people sitting in the activity room adjacent to Dad's apartment...facing her. They are all staring with huge eyes. A pastor, who is standing at the pulpit next to Dad's front door has paused and gives Jill the once over. Church service started 5 minutes earlier.

Jill steps back into the room and closes the door quickly. She can feel her heart beating in her eyeballs. She sits down next to her father on the couch and shakes her head while unleashing an agonized grunt.

Two people, father and daughter. So very much at odds, yet...so very similar.

These are a few of my Favorite Things

I spent most of the day in the hospital with my mom. The antibiotic blasts have been helping. She won't get out anytime soon...but she's talking and eating small bites of food. I'm home now, tying to keep my mind off the pain and fear. So I've decided to focus on some of the cool things that I enjoy.

1. This is a tradition for us. It's magical and fun and inspiring. We typically see it in San Francisco or San Jose, though I hope to go to Walt Disney World soon.

2. I swear, I could drink this from a cup...it's so good.

3. This is my new thing. I ordered the dvd's...and received them the next day. How'd they do that?

4. I have asked for these for our upcoming anniversary. If you like to color/make art, these are the Best.

5. I'm overdue for one of these and I love Sundance. What a great combo.

I had a dream that I turned into a colored mist, swirling, swirling up like a funnel cloud into the heavens...until I spread out and covered the sky as a beautiful, glowing dust. I was radiant. 

The Unknown Zone

My mother is back in the hospital, and she is gravely ill. The end stage liver disease is taking a terrible toll on her body and mind.

I just don't know what to do. She had been complaining of stomach pain so I made a a doctor's appointment for her on Tuesday. When I called to remind her that I'd be picking her up within two hours, she refused to go to the appointment. "I don't have that pain anymore, Jill. My right arm hurts, that's all."

In retrospect, I should have forced the issue.

I told my husband today that I am dwelling in the Unknown Zone. Do I listen to what my mother wants or do I decide what to do on my own? Was I wrong to pull her out of the rehab hospital last week? We all sincerely thought she'd be more comfortable and happy back in her apartment- thus helping her get well faster. I saw her every day. I ordered Full Care, which means a care-giver was in her room providing care 24 hours a day. I set-up the visiting home health nurse and the physical therapist. It should have worked smoothly. But the truth is that she was depressed and sick and unhappy the entire time.

Today, she refused to eat. She couldn't stand or hold her head up, she was so weak. A marked difference from yesterday.

I don't know. I really don't.

Why do people have to suffer so? Is it because we refuse to give up, refuse to stop trying to survive? Does this innate resilience hurt us in the end? Am I ultimately hurting my mother by praying to God to help her and heal her? Would she be in the hospital now if I had insisted that she go to the doctor?

There's no question that I am doing my best. But dammit, can't I please just do this one thing right?

It Really Is All About Love

Forgiveness seems to have been a theme in my life lately, and I can't stop thinking about Jezzy's comments to my last post.

I don't know about other people, but I cannot "will" myself to forgive. It's a complex process that involves aspects of me that I am not even aware of. But this much I know is true: In the end, anger means nothing.

About 12 years ago, I reported to a director who didn't like me. Two of my peers escalated some issues to his boss, and my director always suspected that I was the one to rat on him. He called me in his office one day and said, "Always remember my dear, tit for tat." And in that moment I made the (not so wise) decision to not tattle on his two other managers. In retrospect, it wasn't a smart move on my part. Despite being the highest level performer on this team, I never received an Exceptional performance review. (He knew that this rating was my goal, and he refused to give it to me. Instead, he created a new rating called Above Average+. It had never been used in the company's history.) I was the only sales manager to not receive stock options. The two peers who made the complaints did. When he met my now-husband at an engagement party thrown by my office-mates, all he said to him was, "You're a brave man." The list goes on and on. The angst that I suffered was incessant. My anger and resentment over the "unfairness" of the situation rampaged through my body...for years.

I eventually left the company. Later, I received a phone call that my former director was dead. He had fallen off a cliff by a popular restaurant. It was a freak accident.

Believe it or not, I had carried the anger and resentment with me up until that moment. Then, when I learned that he was gone, the anger drained out of me. Much like water going down the drain. And in that moment I realized the futility of it all.

Don't get me wrong. I walk around Huffy all of the time. But I have felt the inner-destruction of anger and I have realized that it ultimately results in nothing.

I am amazed to be saying this, but I do think it's true: Life really is about love. It is what endures. It is what we're left with at the very end of the story.

It's Hard to Know Who to Trust

The gold band on the bureau sits alone
It tells me that you will not soon be home
I wonder where you are?
In my heart you're not far
You left with no Goodbye, I don't know why

I've already written about the time my dad packed up and left us. I was in 5th grade and honestly believed that he left to pursue his dream of gold mining.

Sadly, I believed that story until I was 33 years old. That was when dad traveled North to see me and confess why he'd left so many years ago. He'd suspected my mother of having an affair after their first year of marriage. In fact, he doubted that he was my biological father. His suspicions were maddening, and they grew with every accusation and denial. Finally, he packed up all of his belongings and left. In the middle of the day. Without a word to anyone. The only item he left behind was his wedding ring, which sat in the middle of the bureau in his bedroom.

Dad rented a car that day and then parked it on a side street where he could maintain a view of the house. So as we got home and made the discovery that he was gone...he sat quietly in a car and watched the mayhem unfold. I remember feeling absolutely sick to my stomach. And fearful, dreadfully so. Mom was hysterical and yelled at my sister and me. We were not to tell a soul that dad had left. All we could say was that he was traveling on business. I remember spending a lot of time hiding in my closet, singing to myself. Anything, to get away from the screaming.

Dad spied on the family for several months and then realized that Mom wasn't going to have an Interlude. She was too busy scrambling for money to buy food, because he had emptied out the bank and checking accounts, leaving us with nothing.

After many months, Mom eventually accepted dad back...but things between them never improved.

Once he was back in the house, dad started bugging it with microphones and video cams. He was intent on proving mom's infidelity and it became an obsession. He set-up microphones in the furnace vents, under the kitchen table, even on the nightstand next to her bed. The video cameras went outside, facing the back door...because he was convinced that mom was sneaking men into the house while he slept. Dad was never able to catch mom at anything. Ever. And none of us knew about the listening devices. Until dad told me all of this when I was 33.

My sister Denise wants to know how I've been able to forgive him. For abandoning us and leaving us with no money. For never holding a job for more than a year. For not coming home until midnight and keeping mom worried sick that he'd been in an accident because he hadn't called. His DNA bombshell. The confessions of the spyware. And the recent accusation that mom made a play for his 85 year old friend with alzheimers.

I explain it to Denise this way. He's the only dad I have. I don't want to lose that.