Regrets, I've Had A Few......

I'm battling a flu bug and burning the midnight oil. Luckily, I have my loaded DVR to help me pass the time. Tonight's selection? The 2 hr special from 19 Kids & Counting when the first Duggar girl gets married.

I am choked up as I watch this. Conflicted. Sad. Jealous. Regretful. Bittersweet as the story unfolds and the events slowly mirror a day in the life of a wedding professional. In the nine years I have been in the wedding business, I have conducted the rehearsals, herded bridal party members, performed crowd control, and helped settle some of the nervous Nellies that are to be expected on a big day like a wedding.

So what is it that is making me feel this way? It is the chance I never got to share with my father.

I'm watching the patriarch of the Duggar clan have repeat tears filling in his eyes. Watching him choke up. Listening to his children comment about how often he cried. All of it played out before me on the tv screen on my bedroom. I'm bawling my eyes out. The stuffy nose of my cold is now draining like a faucet.

It has been three years since my father took his last breath and left this world. I was lucky to have had my dad until I was 36 years old. Barely 36 but 36 nonetheless. The last 10 years of his life I had a wonderful chance to have a different kind of relationship with him. I practiced the act of living amends which helped me make up, in my mind, for a good portion of the life I lived. I was far from being the daughter I was created to be.

I carry a guilt when I witness weddings. Whether I perform the wedding or am a mere spectator, there are heart strings that are pulled that reach deep in my soul. I never gave my dad the chance that dads are supposed to have in the wedding department. He wouldn't ever get the chance to walk his daughters down an isle, do a father/daughter dance, offer a prayer over the bridal couple, do a speech and a toast, to serenade his princess and the man who would be the keeper of her heart, or to complain about footing the bill for a wedding. He had chances in a sense, however his daughters never extended the invites in those weddings before. (And I say daughters because I was not the only child to have robbed this man of the opportunity.)

Being a mom, I can only hope and pray that I will be given a different legacy.

Just Keep On Keeping On

I think everyone comes to a point, every decade of their life, where they ask themselves a four word question.............. 'is it worth it?'

Sometimes it is work that challenges us to ask this question. Other times it is a relationship of some sort. And sometimes, it is nothing more than a crossroads in our lives where we simply feel that our souls desires more than what we are experiencing. And if we answer with a simple 'yes', then the sweat, tears and frustration is bound to do more than double.

Nothing worthwhile comes easy. I used to think this was so cliche until I had this theory proven many times in my life. Letting go, moving on, moving past, muddling thru. To say character is built in times of adversity is quite an understatement.

You've Got To Stand For Something Or You'll Fall For Anything

Divorce.

Some people view it as inevitable while others embrace it as a beginning to new beginnings. Others view it as the end of a dream while others perceive it as a fate equally as painful of death. Some of us have been spared this experience while many others have been affected either first hand or through the experience of a family member or friend. I was reminded of this after sitting down to watch the latest episode of Parenthood. (Now the final season of this show is a whole other topic to be revisited another time. Don't get me started. I can feel grief counseling on the horizon to adapt to life without this show.) Back to the topic at hand.

I came from a home where my parents stayed married up until the death of my father. 40 years of marriage to the same person. It still amazes me. My own track record is hardly as rock solid. My first marriage, which began at the ripe age of 20 years young, would end shortly before it ever really began. Our agendas seemed to be relative in the beginning, however it would rear its ugly differences before our first anniversary would be celebrated. I couldn't recall the vows we took then. For nostalgic reasons, I wish I could, simply to see which ones were broken versus which ones were set too high to ever achieve by two kids barely old enough to step into a bar.

Not too many things can blow my mind. The shock value in my life is set relatively high -- it takes a lot to knock my socks off. To do the math and realize had that marriage never ended in divorce, I would be celebrating 20 years with the same man. That would be half of the number of years my parents shared. Heavy stuff.

It took many years as I nursed the brokenness of self when that marriage ended. I was never emotionally invested in the man whose last name I would take on as my own. I was enamored with the dreams of being married but had no idea how to achieve getting there. I still find it unbelievable at times how much damage was left to undo and how long it took for it to unravel. The pain, the anger, those sleepless nights, the cartons of ice cream and trips through the drive thrus of the nearest fast food establishment. ..... all my many solo attempts trying to make sense of it all.

I have had my moments of being over-dramatic. This topic, however, is not one I minimize. The residual affects of a divorce, from my experience, were long lasting. The loss of a dream affected my job performance, my family relationships and friendships, and my spiritual and physical self. I took sick days sometimes because I was physically sick, but usually because I was emotionally sick. Often times my sadness superseded my ability to find the strength to get up to take a shower. I went days without doing so much than getting out of bed or going back and forth between the kitchen and the bathroom in a complete and utter fog. I found myself in a world where I virtually couldn't find a friend or a peer that could relate to my struggle. While my life shifted to a very advanced level, I had girlfriends who were still just actively dating or raising children on their own. They couldn't relate to me. It was a very lonely road I traveled often alone.

So back to the latest episode of Parenthood. Afterall, isn't that where I got the inspiration to write this blog topic?

I saw this clip a few times advertised in the last few weeks. The patriarch was shown sitting down in his livingroom with his soon-to-be-former-son-in law and he pops out this question with tear filled eyes.

''Do you love her? Then fight for her."

In this particular scene, every sappy girl gene, every female hormone just wanted to burst at the seams. Fight? Fight for her (or in my case, him)? This crap only happens in the movies or on prime time television. Or does it?

What would this world be like if we fought for what we loved, for what we were passionate about? What if we had people who didn't take sides but instead, encouraged us to be all in? That in the midst of the sleepless nights, the confusion,  the pain, the agony, the despair, and moments of not being able to move forward without total paralysis, that we had someone like this man on this show? How differently would our lives be if we had a cheerleader to cheer us through the tough times?

The irony in all of this is that it isn't this failed marriage that I really want to apply the 'what if' scenario to. It goes back further for me. You see, before I ever changed my name, before I had ever met the man I would marry, there was someone before him. Back as a teenage girl, all of 16 years old, there was that first one. The first boy that would be many "firsts". He would be the first one I didn't get over. The first one in which the stars wouldn't allign with. The one that I thought I could sweep under the rug and escape from. Of course, in my infinite wisdom I know now that there is no such thing. No rug big enough, no broom and dust pan large enough, nor mop and bucket that could clean up the mess in which I would spend a few decades sorting through to make sense of.

How could my life be different today had I had people in my life to encourage me to seek the answers I needed to close this chapter in my life properly? Or to encourage me to fight for him? Not to have my opinions formed from the thoughts, wants & opinions of others who heavily influenced my life? Anyone can join the ranks of the opposing team. Actually, it is probably the easiest stance to take. Think about it. Say completely the opposite of what the other speaks or wishes or desires. Tie it up with a bow and slap on the label of "in the long run it will be better" to "it won't hurt forever" and "he doesn't deserve you" to "don't waste your time". Anyone can do and say that. But what would this world be like if we weren't so quick to throw away a person, another human being, to just replace him or her with the next disposable victim? Could broken relationships be repaired to create stronger, long lasting, meaningful relationships? Could we see more relationships bragging on Facebook and to friends of anniversary # ____ being celebrated? 

What kind of world would we live in if we had less broken people, broken homes, hurt parents and adults, and even better, having less children who are raised with one parent instead of two? Could productivity increase and the workplace be a happier place to clock in eight to ten hours? Would Hallmark holidays like Valentine's Day not gouge our pocketbooks with over-priced flowers and boxes of chocolates once a year because relationships were being honored on a more regular basis? The scenarios are endless. The hope is quickly replaced by a sense of sadness for me because this doesn't get played out like I think it should.

A single life can be changed with the words we offer. Whether those words are positive or negative, they are designed in the minds and on the lips of the reporter. If we all can live by these standards, one person at a time, and risk being outside of our comfort zone, how different might things be?

I'm Just Not Feelin' It

When I was looking for a new church to call home, I was definitely feeling weary. My soul was tired and needed to be awaken from the deep slumber it had been in. My mind needed to be challenged and stimulated. My heart needed to be more than just an organ in my body.

Growing up and continuing to practice Catholicism into my early 30s I didn't need to 'church shop'. There was simply the church that you attended which was local to where you lived. As an adult, I chose to move and began to attend sister churches which were two parishes that shared the same staff amongst the two sites. That was as close to shopping around that I had ever done.

Those feelings of being at a stalemate continued. I became bored with my faith and tired of the predictability. I was far too familiar with the liturgy and could tell the different readings and recall the passages taken out of the Old & New Testament. I had long ago memorized the prayers. I was going methodically through the motions. Church was a building I would visit once a week. It was serious stuff and predictable. 

I knew friends who were different denominations of the Christian faith.  The Baptists seemed a little too hard core while the Lutherans were a little too close to what I was already experiencing. Afterall, that founder was just a rebellious Catholic who took what he wanted and left, right? The others like the Methodists and Presbyterians seemed a little too soft and Switzerland-like. Then there were the Jehovah's witnesses,  the 7th Day Adventists & the Mormons. Too much controversy for me. I never really had an interest in the non-Christian religions. All I knew is that I needed a change.  I didn't want to discard my faith and God was too far away from me. I felt like I was on the verge of something life changing. Little did I know what was in store for me and where I would meet up with my far away God.

A coworker back in 2003-2004 had taken me to my first non-Catholic  church service. I was so nervous. I didn't know the music or what to expect. The church had nice, comfortable seats much different from the hard, wooden pews I was used to sitting in. The music was contemporary and lively. And the sermon? It caught and kept my attention. It was so exciting!  Where had I been? I needed to try this church again but unfortunately it was several miles and hours away from where I lived. This first taste of life outside of my home parrish would mark the beginning of my search for a new church I could feel this same feeling of interest and excitement I felt when I left after that service.

Pain in the .....

Sometimes I am a pain in the ass. Other times, I am having pain in my heel. I would like to think the pain in my heel is a lot more frequently experienced by me than that of others experiencing me being a pain to them.

Don't get me wrong. I was warned that there would be days like this. That recovering from the surgery I had would take substantial time, according to my surgeon. Boy, was he not kidding! I am 7 1/2 weeks post surgery and I feel better than I did before this surgery took place. But there are times, like now, where I am wide awake and unable to stay still because the shooting pain into my heel and into my leg. It isn't the end of the world, just a minor setback.

The good thing is, I am not using my crutches and I'm learning when I need to get off of my feet. Usually it is when the swelling has gotten my skin tight and my sock is feeling imbedded. I never claimed to be a smart woman, but a whimp I am not.