I am NOT okay.

I am NOT okay.

I may look like I am.

I may smile a lot.  

I may even laugh a lot.   

My house may look neat and organized.  

I may be performing extraordinarily well at work.

My hair is combed, and I remember to pay bills and feed my dogs.

And I still may not be okay.

As a matter of fact, I have not truly been okay for almost 20 years. 

Trauma has a funny way of reconfiguring the status quo in your head, in your body, and in your soul.

Body chemical levels have since realigned and reconfigured, shifted and altered.

What is left is a person who looks okay on the outside.

What is left is a person who may be capable of winning Emmys and Oscars for her daily performance.

This person—this woman—puts on a daily act.

My act has misled hundreds (if not thousands).

Depression and anxiety rarely look like we think they should.

We expect someone who cannot get out of bed.

We expect someone who acts like a skittery rabbit.

We expect disheveled clothing, forgetfulness, and a lack of energy.

While they may be true for some, 

It has never been true for me.

Even in my darkest days, I was still functioning.

Even in my darkest days, I still wore a smile and still got done what needed to be done.

This is the curse of high-functioning anxiety and depression.

High-functioning means that there is no outward sign of the reality beneath the surface.

 

Underneath the pictures of a visibly neater house than I have had since I lived by myself in graduate school,

Underneath the Kim who laughs around friends and is managing 3 extra classes this semester, 

Underneath the Kim who manages to keep mowing and edging her yard, who is working on reorganizing her garage,

is the real Kim who fights each day

To see sunlight,

To find joy,

To listen to voices of positive affirmation,

To keep functioning,

To believe in a future that is happier and brighter than this one,

To keep moving forward.

Depression looks like me.

Anxiety also looks like me.

Just as I am.  Just as I have appeared for 20 years.

Before anyone worries if I am suicidal, I am nowhere near that.

I regularly see my counselor.

I reach out to friends, and they reach out to me.

I have howled with laughter recently,

I have hugged friends and shared special moments,

I have celebrated recent milestones, and

I have sung at the top of my lungs and done my version of an uncoordinated dance, 

And I have been beside myself with joy at the sight of the hummingbird drinking from my salvia plants.

However, I have also sobbed, wailed, cried, cursed, and cursed some more.

I have pulled off to the side of the road to cry and beat the steering wheel.

I have looked at the bulleted list of “to do’s” and felt overwhelmed—closing the laptop screen with a slam to go sit and stare at the television.

I have examined my past and tried to avoid the bullets of “what if’s” and “if only’s” that inevitably follow.

[Big P.S. This Kim is no longer listening to the voices of “Let Go and Let God” and guilt messages of what God can do if only I trust enough. I have heard that often enough before, and I believe it is an evil lie.  We don’t blame people for their other diseases, so I refuse to think of myself as weak or broken just because I have these 2 conditions.  This Kim will not feel less than for taking anti-depressants or anti-anxiety meds.]

Below my smile lines are tear creases, circles beneath my eyes, and a feeling of heaviness.

Below my laughter lie questions about the meaning of life and about the logic of my life resembling Job’s.

And beneath all of that is the emptiness of being without either parent or my husband and being with kids who are far too emotionally distant for this Momma’s heart.

And beneath that is the real fear of what the future looks like.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I don’t write this for sympathy.

I write this to let you know that if you, too, are a play actor,

If you have performed a show of functionality when your life is falling apart around you,

If you have worn the costume of the perfunctory “I am doing fine” when the truth is anything but,

If you try to silence the negatives, try to silence the “what if’s” and try to control it all under your mask,

You are not alone.

I have no solution.  If there was one, I would have found it years ago.

I have been looking.

I am one who wants a quick fix.

Medication helps.

Counseling helps.

But the reality is depression looks like me.  So does anxiety.

I feel as if these 2 conditions that have caused me to be vulnerable have made me love others even more.

I regularly share this reality with my students who are struggling now more than we know.

Because I know how tenuous life can be and how our perspectives can shift,

I rarely hold judgments about others.

We each bear our own secrets about the truth behind our masks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If you ever want someone to see you beneath the mask, I am here.

I am here for the happy moments of singing at the top of your lungs with your favorite song,

I am here for the loud sobs that eliminate the need for any words,

I am here just to sit on the other side of the computer screen or phone or table.

There is freedom that comes from admitting the truth of the real person who is behind the mask.

I welcome you to take off your makeup, 

remove the fake plastered smile, 

just sit with me.

We can be NOT okay together.

Storm Warnings, Jim Cantore, and Channel 13's Roy Leep

 

Roy Leep of Channel 13 News was a god of central Florida in the 1970s and 1980s.  Only Channel 13 had the technology at the time that could help Floridians prepare for the  future.  And the truth is that when you live close to the Lightning Capital of the World, and when you had hurricanes that could hit from east or west or south, you wanted Roy Leep working for you.

I grew up knowing that hurricanes could be destructive, and we were taught each year that the season began in June and ended in November, and everyone held their breath just a tiny bit during those months.  We stocked up bottles of water, had extra batteries, and hurried to Publix for the essentials when hurricanes neared.    

Lightning was a bit of a different story.  It was more sudden.  Storms could build from nothing in a matter of hours, it seemed, and what was a hot, bright, sunny day could turn in a matter of minutes to wind gusts, torrential rain, and lightning and thunder that would tear apart the sky.  It was not out of the ordinary to have your house or trees hit by these sky bolts, and golfers knew the second a dark cloud approached to hit the clubhouse for a drink rather than risk a lightning strike.

 

I knew storms growing up.
Or at least I thought I did.

My mom was one of those who took hurricanes seriously, especially after Dad died.  She stocked up gallons and gallons of water, had dozens of bags of sand just in case she needed sand bags, and had a weather radio that warned her of potential storms.

Just in case.
My mom taught me well.
Just like her, I have charger cables, extra batteries for the flashlights in most rooms of my house, a solar phone charger, and a gas generator in the shed ready for use with my large gas can.  Even my three dogs provide me with some sort of “storm protection.”

 

As a Florida girl, I thought I knew storms.
Like my mom, I was a “just in case” girl.  
I always kept the solution to a worst-case scenario handy in the back pocket of my jeans.

My plans had backup plans that had backup plans.
Just in case.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Little did I truly realize that Jim Cantore doesn’t always show up days in advance of some of life’s biggest storms.
We don’t get warnings to stock up at Publix,
To prepare for what might happen.

I have learned this unfortunately through numerous experiences.
Each time, within a moment's notice, the floor gave way beneath my feet,
The roof was grabbed from its walls,
The water flooded  in,
And life was forever changed.

I have handled these storms in a variety of ways, from trying to ignore them and live in denial  OR doubting myself OR making future plans to protect myself from ever being hurt again.  And, of course, I have handled these storms with lots of tears.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It is so easy for a short while at least to ignore the storms–  
To change the channel from Jim Cantore’s reports on the coast and instead pour on the sunscreen for an afternoon swim,
To leave the outdoor furniture just where it is,
To believe that you are too good of a person to have something like this happen to you,
And to just shout YOLO at the top of your lungs and keep on living like you are living.  

However, the storms WILL come.
You can block your ears and live in the dreams that good people are safe.
But the winds will hit, and the walls will shake, and you will have to face the consequences.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It is so easy to drown yourself in self-recrimination when the storm hits.
To wonder “What if” and “Why me” and “Did I do something to deserve this?”
If only you had put masking tape on the windows, the glass wouldn’t have broken,
If only you had lived in a better neighborhood, or lived a better life, your shingles would not have blown off.

However, the truth is the storms don’t always make sense.  
The path is not always straight.  
The tornadoes destroy one home while not even moving the stuffed animal in the yard of the house next door.
The “if only’s” don’t change the reality.  They only haunt us with imagined alternate realities that do not exist.  They fill us with hollow dreams of the “what might have been’s”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It is so easy, too, to criticize your reactions, wondering why you don’t cry more, why you feel so lost when the house has a missing roof.
You say, “Well, the people across town have it so much worse.  At least I have most of my house.  At least I still have ‘my people’ safe.
How selfish I am to cry when others are suffering more.”

However, the truth is you are still missing a roof.
You have still been the survivor of a storm.
The loss is still real for you.
There is no right way to grieve, to survive loss, to move forward.
You must do what you can do—and no more and no less.
Regardless of what the neighbors say.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It is so easy to armor yourself, thinking that you will never be surprised by a storm again,
To create a permanent Jim Cantore alarm system that protects you from the rains and winds and lightning.
It is so easy to build up the stockpiles of necessities that will protect you from the unexpected, so you will never be caught off guard again.

However, the truth is that no matter how much we try to prepare and even over-prepare, we will be caught off guard.
There will be a phone call we don’t want to receive.
There will be a doctor’s visit with news we don’t want to hear.
The people in our lives will disappoint and betray and fail to show up and, yes, even die.

    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
 

It is so easy to tense your body to the extent that nothing can penetrate that shell,
To close off the heart so the security system cannot allow for a person to enter and allow for another storm,
To turn the weather radio up so loud that you cannot hear the birds singing outside,
To fear the loss of electricity so you hole up in a powerless shelter,
To close off the glass windows of life with storm shutters so you are in an everlasting darkness,
With the walls of cement and the door protecting you from what might be out there.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Each of these is so easy to do.
I have tried all of them.
From freeze to flight to fight.
None work well.

Regardless of my technique,
The storms have still hit, and the loss is still real.
The clean-up afterward is still hard.
The remnants of memories can still be stained from the storm waters.
Life is forever changed.

This “just in case” girl has learned and continues to learn that
No amount of ignoring can keep storms from happening,
No self-recrimination can change the impact,
No shelter and no closed-off heart can keep the storms from hitting.

All that is lost by building shelters and by hanging storm shutters,
All that is lost in the “what if’s” and “you shouldn’ts”
All that is lost in the meantime are opportunities for joy,
All that is lost are those moments that make being alive so worth it:
For sunshine warming our skin,
For cool water running over our fingers,
For the sound of a child’s laugh,
For the smell of rain in the air after a storm,
For the hug of a dear friend,
For the sight of a beautiful cardinal couple eating from the bird feeder,
For the “I love you’s” and “I’m here for you’s”

While I do plan to have some extra batteries lying around,
And my dogs provide a security system of sorts,
And a gas can for my generator remains full,
I also plan to keep the storm shutters off,
To allow the sunshine to enter,
to allow my heart to feel,
And when the storm passes, I plan to turn off the Weather Channel’s Jim Cantore
And fully live.


 

Hide It Under a Bushel---NO! (AKA: Letting my light shine for the first time)

 

Hide it under a bushel? No! I'm going to let it shine
Hide it under a bushel? No! I'm going to let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Growing up in my church and attending Children’s Church led by Aunt Eunice and Uncle Bill, I loved singing this song and waving my imaginary flame.  I was very proud of how I was going to shine, just as Jesus talked about in Matthew 5.

Of course it made perfect sense that if I were a light, I did not want to hide under a bushel container, under a bowl, under a bush, or under anything that would blow out my “flame.”

I have discovered in recent years that while this is true, most of us do hide our lights.  
We often blow out our true selves, the true “shine” of our spirits by hiding the truth.
We hide our lights, the very qualities that make us unique.

I have done this for years.
Why?
Because I knew I was different—(and I really am!),
Because I was afraid others might not like the truth,
Because I was afraid of judgment and a lack of acceptance,
Because I feared how it would affect my relationships,
Because I was ashamed of my true emotions,
And partially because I was taught to.

While young and growing up in church, I was often taught to ignore myself.  
I was repeatedly taught just how sneaky Satan was and how often we could not trust our sinful selves (“such a worm as I”).  
I was taught not to “lean on [my] own understanding,” but instead, trust what I was taught.
Anger was a sin.  
Forgiveness was godly.
Putting myself last was the goal, and putting my interests first was always selfish.
Failure to do any of these should result in a trip to the altar if I wanted to go to heaven.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The result was a young woman who often . . .
Ignored her gut,
forgave and forgave, even when she should have had a few boundaries,
kept silent when she should have communicated,
and ignored herself in hopes of loving others better.

The truth of her unique self was hidden under a bushel,
hidden under a sense of right and wrong,
and hidden under a load of rules and cliches and scriptures taken out of context.
Her “light” was hidden beneath a pile of black-and-white rules that do not work in a world full of rainbow colors.

The REAL truth was that I
Loved big, (but was also hurt big),
And the truth is I grew hurt and grew angry.
I grew increasingly angry at the mistreatment, the lies, the hypocrisy, the constant pouring out of myself without expecting anything in return.
My “good nature wore out like a fan belt”  (Thanks, Marge Piercy, for this imagery!),
my true self protested this lack of return, and
my energy waned for lack of nurture.

All that remained was a sense of anger, hurt,
And a sense of not being truly seen or heard or felt by others—
But especially a sense of anger at myself—an awareness deep within that I was not truly seeing or hearing myself.

How could I hear myself when I told my gut to be quiet,
When my desires to say “no” were overridden by feelings of guilt,
When my voice was so often stifled by memories of scripture verses, telling me to be quiet,
When I quit considering anything I wanted because others wanted something different.

How could I see myself when I told myself that others mattered more?
That I was to sacrifice for my love of others?
When I ignored myself as I worked and worked and worked while others sat back and watched the show?
I discovered over and over again that I was often valued because I sacrificed behind the scenes and did my duty as a good Christian girl and because I made life easier for others.
I can’t blame others because I didn’t see my true self either.  

I didn’t value myself enough to walk away when a man screamed at me while I was surrounded by silent friends.
I didn’t value myself enough to tell off the pastor who told me I wasn’t worthy to talk to adults in the church because my husband filed for divorce.
I didn’t value myself enough to tell others “no” when they asked the impossible of me.

My light was shut down by the abuse and neglect—-of others and especially of myself.

I couldn’t see the power of what I was doing.
I couldn’t see that most women could not move themselves and their 2 kids without any help—every belonging they owned that would fit in the back seat of a used Honda Accord was lifted by her hands and her hands only.
I couldn’t see the power of starting over again with two little kids when my family was 25 hours away.
I couldn’t see the courage of buying a house when I had no guaranteed job.
I couldn’t see the strength it took to work a full-time job and 2 part-time jobs while battling such extreme depression I could barely move my legs.
I couldn’t see the power it took to still be a part of a church and be in ministry after the church had taken so much of my self-esteem away.
I couldn’t see that it was pretty amazing that I worked 3 jobs while also being involved in the church, volunteering as an officer of the PTO, and attending everything my kids were involved in.

I didn’t acknowledge the strength it took to watch my boys scream and cry for me as my time with them ended and they went to their dad,
I didn’t acknowledge the willpower to refuse to dip into poisonous talk when I was threatened with false CPS accusations, threats to take my boys away for good, and lies and accusations on a weekly basis for almost 10 years.  

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now that the bushel has been removed,

I can see the power it took to open my heart to another man after my heart was so wounded in a previous relationship.
I can applaud the strength it took to pick myself up off the ground when my youngest at the age of 16 decided to leave my house and never come back for more than a 2-hour visit.
I can acknowledge the work that went into COVID summer 2020 as I built an entire professional development site for the college while preparing for my own classes and dealing with an unhappy college graduate at home and helping a husband with heart issues.
I can be in awe of a woman who lost her husband and somehow managed to teach her classes less than 2 weeks later.
I can hug and care for the woman who is still dealing with a sense of confusion and betrayal about how it all ended.
I can weep with the woman whose friends asked her not to return after 10 years of shared tent time.

I can also cheer on each small accomplishment as she moves forward one step at a time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Warning to the World:

There is no way this light is going back under a bushel.
There is no way I will ever let someone tell me I am not worthy,
There is no way I will get into a situation where I do all the work while others sit by,
There is no way I will not consider myself in the equation of a situation,
And while I will still continue to be kind (and maybe too kind at times), my truth will be spoken and acknowledged and heard.

The amazing thing is that as I have lifted the bushel the past year or so, friends have stood right there,
Cheered me on,
Hugged me,
Listened to me curse,
Celebrated the shine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

My new promise to myself (since I am finally just now listening to myself and seeing myself and acknowledging myself) is:

• My light will be seen. (And P.S. I believe God is thrilled with this, even though this light may not match my childhood teachings).

• My light will be acknowledged.

• And I intend to let it shine. Let it shine.  Let it shine.

 

"Semper ubi sub ubi," merry-go-rounds, and life

Semper ubi sub ubi.

My years of Latin have left me with several tidbits of knowledge, including the phrase above, translated as “Always where under where” which got switched by high schoolers (to great delight) to “Always wear underwear.”  Mrs. Ruhle also taught me all about Roman mythology, culture, history, and architecture.

Last, but not least, in my Latin classes, I learned a multitude of roots and prefixes that helped me develop my English vocabulary.  I regularly use these roots and prefixes to this day.

One such word is anniversary, coming from “annus,” meaning “year,” and “vers,” meaning “to turn.”

An anniversary of any type really refers to the turning of the years.

2023—turn—2022—turn—2012—turn—2009—turn

This Thursday marks the 14th anniversary of the day I risked breaking my heart wide open once again and trusting a man to join my life and to join me in parenting my children.  Both Anthony and I were scarred from previous relationships, and we both were aware how broken and twisted our paths had been to find each other.

Anthony and I married in a small church in the hills of the Blue Ridge Parkway, joined by family and dear friends.  The day was chilly but bright and sunny.  Our honeymoon was in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and we spent time with our boys before driving home to Texas.

What big dreams we had.  What hope we had for a happily ever after.

Little did we know on that day that we would never make it to the year of 14, the year of ivory/gold.
Little did we know that he would leave me behind with so many questions and so few answers,
That he would leave me behind to sort through his belongings,
That he would leave me behind to figure out life again at age 53,
That life would turn topsy-turvy and leave me dumbfounded, struggling to make sense of it all,
That these moments in 2009 of dancing, love, and embracing would come to an end.

As Pete Seeger wrote, borrowing from Ecclesiastes 3,
“To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time to every purpose under heaven.”

It is my season of turning—
It is now my season of death, of weeping, of mourning, of breaking down, and of loss.

How much my life has “turned” in the past year.
Facebook Memories is so good at reminding me how much life has changed within 365 days.
Or within 5 years—1825 days,
Or within 14 years—5110 days,
How my life changes from a season of gathering up stones to casting them away,
From a season of gain to a season of loss, from one of planting to one of reaping.

Life continues to change, continues to move, continues to turn.
It is easy to feel disoriented with such turning.
North, south, east, west, up, down—-all the directional constants become mixed.
Everything once known as a constant is now in question.

* * * * * * * *

No one rides a merry-go-round in a park without that sense of disorientation.

That old metal park ride brought me so many moments of pure joy and pure terror.
It involved begging someone to push and to run faster and faster and faster.
It involved me wrapping my legs around the metal handrail,
Wrapping my hands and arms around the handrail,
And screaming and yelling and laughing,
hair flying in the wind, the sun beating on my head.
It Involved me praying,
And bargaining with God,
And hoping that I would not go flying,
And hanging on for dear life,
And then moaning with disappointment when the metal disk slowed.

If we are honest, life is much like this.
We spend our time hoping for more,
And laughing,
And screaming,
And crying,
And then hanging on for dear life,
And then praying for it to be done,
And then hoping that we will survive,
And then praying for it to start up again.

Turn, turn, turn.

All I know on this day of this year, in this single season of my life,
as I ride this merry-go-round,
All I know is that I am not alone.
Others are on the ride with me.

* * * * * * *
Life is the most amazing ride there is.
It is also the most terrifying ride.
It makes me hold on and yet pulls at me to let go.
It causes me to laugh—-and cry—-and scream—and pray.

I am so grateful for those who have gotten on this wild ride of life with me,
Holding onto my hands,
Encouraging me,
Bringing me food,
Providing big hugs,
Texting me,
Hanging onto me when the winds and the turning almost tossed me off,
Providing directional signs for north, south, east, and west when I became disoriented,
And loving me throughout the past few months.

And I make this promise to anyone reading this as well:
as you ride this merry-go-round of life,
As life turns and turns,
When you get disoriented,
Or scared, or frightened, or discouraged,
My hand will be there right beside you, holding onto you, keeping you on the ride.
Just yell my name.  
I am here.
 

The Challenge of the Dash

The pile of the future might contain a worn-out Bozo doll,
Handwritten notes,
Vintage Fisher-Price Little People buildings and cars and people,
handprint paintings from years ago,
And a quilt made by a family member.

This pile of the future will be made by my sons when I leave this earth.
The Bozo doll will end up in the trash, I am sure.  He is worn and torn and only precious to me.
The quilt might end up being donated or given to someone who wants a warm blanket, but the owner will never know my grandmother’s hands who made it.

Each of us accumulates during the dash found on a tombstone, the dash between birth and death.
We accumulate lots of little trinkets that have special significance for us.
We accumulate clothing, shoes, kitchen appliances, toiletries, furniture, decor, tools, paperwork, technological devices, photos, and family heirlooms.
We accumulate junk we are too lazy or too sentimental or too feeble to throw out.

Some of us do a lot more accumulating than others.

And when our dash is over, someone will have to go through the old photos with perhaps one familiar face among strangers.
When our dash is over, our childhood bear and the ticket from our first concert and the favorite scruffy pair of slippers will not mean much.
When our dash is over, all the accumulation will end up in a Goodwill pile, a trash bin, or in a box our heirs plan to go through when it is not so hard to look at.

When our dash is over, what appears to be the detritus of an entire life seems trivial in comparison to the life lived.
The Goodwill pile cannot possibly hold the person—
The laughs,
The smiles,
The funny turns of phrase,
That Goodwill pile cannot also hold the dash—the life lived,
The passion,
The hopes and dreams,
The kind encouragement,
The moments when they changed someone's life.
None of these are present in that pile of accumulated material items.

Decluttering a house is hard enough.
Decluttering our minds is harder yet.
It is a process that must be undertaken continuously throughout our lives.

When we look at a soul—at a life—whether that person is alive or dead–
When we think of the people whose lives intersect with ours,
it is so easy to get cluttered with all of the trivial things.
There is no Goodwill pile or trash bin for our memories or our recollections.
It is so easy for our mind to focus on
the times that person failed us,
the times that person made a snide comment that hurt,
the moments when that person was not there when we needed them,
the false promises,
the unsaid words,
the mess,
the less-than-perfect qualities that irritate us.

When we look at a soul—at a life—it is so easy to get cluttered and bogged down with actions that displease us:
the time he made a huge life decision that did not include me,
the time that boss failed to appreciate all my hard work,
the time my child made a decision that broke my heart,
the time that friend betrayed me and spread lies,
the time a spouse kept secrets that eventually came out,
the road rage, the lies,
the leaving-the-dirty-dishes-in-the-sink,
the never-taking-the-garbage-out,
the closed ears and closed eyes,
and more.


The older I get, the more I think that life–that living-–is more than just the years we live and the things we do.
The dash between birth and death is more than just dates and accomplishments and actions.

Perhaps the real challenge in life and in relationships is to see the dash as a subtraction sign.  
Not as a punctuation mark to show from this point to another point.
Instead, the dash on a tombstone asks us to subtract, declutter, get down to the nitty gritty.

What is a human life?  

When we think of any one of us, the truth is
This human was flawed,
This human lied, showed rage, ignored those she shouldn't have, paid attention to things he shouldn't have,
This human betrayed, left dirty dishes in the sink, made false promises, failed to say the right things,
This human had addictions, failed others, and was not always there for others.

But this human life was also larger than all the flaws.
The dash may ask us to consider who the person was if we subtract all the clutter.

If we remove all the things that were not the true essence of the person,
If we remove all the extra adjectives and all the lists of negatives,
If we remove the high points and the lowest points of a life,
If we remove their greatest achievements and their worst, most embarrassing actions,
If we remove all the exceptions and all the less-than-perfect moments,
If we remove the mistakes and the self-absorption,

What is left if all that is removed and decluttered?
If the dash represents our lives' work, what is left when the clutter is removed?
                                                                                             
Did the person love?
Did the person make this world a better place for others?
Did the person make others smile?
Did the person bring joy?
Did the person help others?
Did the person make others feel more loved and more accepted?

The challenge of the dash asks us to subtract the rest.                                                       
The rest belongs in the Goodwill pile.  
The clutter of the person's flaws belongs in the trash bin.  
The dash asks us to focus on the person's core.

The dash is more than an expanse of days and years.
The dash is our challenge as humans to love others---the whole person, not just the clutter that can get in the way.

My plan right now is to go to the nearest hardware store and buy the biggest trash can I can find.
My plan is to throw away all the junk---all the clutter---all the judgments–
--and just live my life as fully and openly as I can.
With my arms spread out for all.

And all I can do is hope that when my dash is permanent,
someone else will subtract all my flaws, all my imperfections, all my addictions, all my failures, the moments I did not see or hear others,
the moments I am ashamed of and the moments I revealed my weaker side.

All I can do is hope that instead they can subtract all that
and see instead the core of Kim George—
her true heart, her true spirit, and her true soul—
without all the clutter.
 

For Those Who Don't Plan to Die Today----but have Loved Ones You Care About

 

Things to do TODAY: 

• Get life insurance if at all possible.

•  Have a will written regardless of your age or health issues.  This would include power of attorney and medical power of attorney.  This will save all sorts of fights and legal money and hours.

• Write down all account numbers, businesses, user names, passwords in a SAFE location.  Give your spouse/partner the information AND provide the location of this information to your heirs.  This may mean locking them in a personal safe, bank safety deposit box, or putting them in a software program that holds all passwords.  Wherever you store them, make sure heirs know the combination, key, etc.  My mom left Kelly and me detailed notes about everything—and what a difference this made!

• Be honest about your finances.  Secrets will come back to bite you.  They will be discovered at some point.  Leave no regrets.  When Mom died, her biggest regret for us after her death was that Kelly and I would have to clean her refrigerator.  This is the goal!
  

• For all of you who use bill pay and paperless billing, consider printing out one page from each account with the account number and contact information for it.  When my dad died, my mom had all the paper files and all the returned checks.  Now, it is often the case where there are no files at all.  (For me, we had just changed pest control companies.  I had no idea what company did our pest control.  Imagine how much fun it was to call around to ask.)

• Use the same computer for most of your billing.  Make sure applicable people can access this computer.  This will prevent companies not recognizing the computer the first time for log-in.

• Think through the 2-tier authentication process.  Perhaps think of using a cell phone of one person and an email of another.  (For me, Anthony had his computer and his phone with him for the weeks he was missing.  I could not authenticate anything.)

• Avoid the temptation to use  PayPal or ApplePay for all your bills.  Yes, there are many reasons to use these.   However, on the bank statements, they will just show up as PayPal with no explanation of what the bill is really paying for.  This will leave confusion for those who follow you.

• Have all your major utilities in both names.  Utility companies are awful about talking to you if you are not on the account, and trying to change a utility to another company can be more difficult than almost anything else.  For me, this meant me crying in the Spectrum office because the mortgage information I had was not the original mortgage paperwork, so they would not believe I lived at the address despite the tax bills in my name, my driver’s license, house insurance paperwork, etc.

• Joint bank accounts are important, or make arrangements so there is a beneficiary if you have a single account.  If you have significant debt, talk to your attorney how this will affect those who are left behind.  Just because one dies, his/her personal debt may or may not die with him.

• Make sure life insurance policies are easily accessible—-and known to all applicable people.  The same is true for retirement and investments.  It is vital to consider your beneficiaries and actually name them.

• De-clutter on a regular basis.  Cleaning a house after a death is one of the most awful things I have had to do TWICE.
  

• Discuss basic wishes for plans after death.  If you don’t, your heirs will be bombarded with others who will try to impose their desires on them.
  

• Since we all know death can bring out the worst in people, think of ways to diminish the conflict.  If you know one piece of personal property means a lot to several people, don’t make them fight it out after you go. 

• Let others know how you feel about them–in notes you leave in a safe/safety deposit box, or in your daily words.  Your heirs will cherish these.

To My Cowboy

 

 "Home by Sunset" by B. Herd, artist

 

Before we married in 2009, Anthony and I explored the studio of B. Herd, an artist in Salado, Texas.  Anthony admired his work. As an early gift either right before we married or perhaps right after we married, I gave him a signed print of "Home by Sunset" and wrote a poem to him to go along with this, a poem of a cowboy who had finally found himself "home," finally safe and sound.

On our 10-year anniversary in 2019, I wrote a 2nd version of this poem to reflect the changes in our lives and in our marriage.

What lies below is the third version of this poem that I wrote him this summer after his father died.  We had both been through so much individually and as a family.  

Little did I know that this would be the last one I would write, but on the 1-month anniversary of the day I firmly believe Anthony really died, I decided I would share this to reflect just what he did for me as a person and the way he made me have strength to move forward day by day without him beside me.  I hope he forgives me for sharing this honest of a letter with others.

 

 

 

Years ago you found me.
I was beside the path, searching for a home myself.
Broken, bruised, afraid,
Wanting to be cared for, but scared to hope,
Scared to be hurt again, scared to be let down again.

I had been hollowed out and scooped out, 

All my strengths made to appear to be weaknesses,

Scared of my own reflection for fear of others' ridicule and rejection,

Confident only in my ability to love my children and teach.

Believing lies for years and then doubting myself to trust the truth.

I was scared to love again.

Scared to believe again.

You lifted me up to sit beside you.
You taught me to be courageous,
to trust,
to believe I was safe.

What mountains we have climbed, what trails we have explored,
What empty beaches have we walked, what vistas captured in the camera lens,
We have seen our young ones spread their wings and leave us behind, growing up before our eyes.
We have enjoyed meals under the tent, dog cuddles, and shared meals.
We have multiplied the people we call family.
We have laughed and cried and laughed some more.

We have also passed through many valleys.
We have walked in black among the tombstones at least 3 times,
We have experienced multiple emotional deaths of friendships that dried up and crumbled,
Many moments of broken hearts from the departure of our passion-filled boy,
Sudden shocks of jobs lost, shaking our worlds,
Physical challenges that have made traveling this path difficult.

Oh, how we have changed.
The pants sizes, the shirt sizes, the wrinkles, the curves.
The heart scares, the cancer scares,
The house repairs,
The job changes,
The religious beliefs once a solid foundation shaken to the core,
The world we knew no longer the one we thought always existed,
The masks and COVID lines,
Midlife questions, midlife hormones, empty nest syndrome,
Anxiety, depression, uncertainty.

We are . . .
Not the same as the original cowboy with the girl by his side.
Not the same as the cowboy and wife of 2009 or 2019.
Both of us changed forever.

We are different, our bodies and minds and emotions different.
But we can still face it together.
You and me.
Me and you.
Taking turns.
Joining forces.
Fighting enemies.

“Husband in battle, I am shield and blade to you. As I breathe, your enemies will know no sanctuary. While I live, your cause is mine.”  (paraphrased from Wonder Woman:  Warbringer)


I love you.



July 29, 2022