Who Cares If It's My Birthday?!?

My baby was nine months old and strong enough to say he would survive, so I took him to meet with a genetic doctor. When he was still in my womb and a newborn baby, having a chromosome disorder meant I had the option to give up on him, which filled me with a rage I never felt before.

He and I sat down with a member of the genetic team to go over his defects and family history. She got to my medical history as she smiled and wished me a happy birthday. Stunned, I asked her to repeat what she said.

"You have listed that January ten is your birthday. Today is the tenth of January. Happy birthday." She stated as she looked at me nervously. I apologized and thanked her as graciously as I could, but silently I didn't care what the date was. I was numb at that point, not caring about anything but my baby and striving to get him help. I had stopped caring about my appearance by that time. I kept my hair in a ponytail because I stopped combing it for the sight of all the hair in my brush sickened me. Showering, sleeping and eating were a luxury I did not partake in often. I wanted to yell at her, "Do I look like I care that I'm a year older?!?".

I would have many more birthdays come and go without celebrating them, until the year I turned forty. I was fully intending not to celebrate that birthday also, but my dear friends showed up unexpectedly to celebrate with me. I showed up, freshly showered with my hair done and a little too much makeup on. We laughed and danced as I had my fair share of alcoholic drinks. I was a different woman, without a care in the world. My friends may not admit it, but what they did for me that day was indescribable.

My next birthday, I sent my baby to his first day of school, in his perfect class and teacher that I was told he would never be blessed to have. I started to see a pattern that my birthdays were blessings, not receiving the ordinary birthday presents and birthday cake, but rather, receiving gifts of love and accomplishments.

My last two birthdays consisted of spending time with my boys doing goofy things such as watching firemen trying to ride donkeys on a basketball court, as my phone went off the hook with my friends and family sending me their love and birthday wishes. This year, I purchased a birthday cake just for the fact that my baby, who's turning into a young man, loves birthday cake and blowing out candles. He walked around all day saying I was forty three, knowing when he went back to school, he would tell his teacher and classmates how old his "Momma" is.

Long gone are the days when I am full of despair and sadness. The love and strength I have been blessed with would never allow that.

Birthdays are not a dreaded event that only shows you that you are getting older. It is truly a celebration of life for you and those around you. Embrace them and treasure them all the days of your life.

Happy Birthday Aunt Linda

I was named after my father's sister. Growing up, I never really wondered why my parents named me after my Aunt Linda. All I cared about was that it made me special.
Christmas, I didn't sit around wondering what Santa was going to bring me, I was more excited to receive that warm hug and kiss from my Aunt Linda as I would crawl up on her lap and listen to her giggle while I would unwrap her present. This Christmas Eve, I was driving to my family's Christmas celebration as a memory came to me of the time my Aunt Linda gave me my first typewriter. It was red with white keys. I was so excited and happy to receive such a precious gift. I spent days and months typing away on that typewriter, secretly knowing that I was a great writer, writing novels that everyone would enjoy reading over and over again. I shared this memory with my Aunt Linda as tears filled my eyes as I realized that her belief in me, even as a young child, created who I am today. I thought it was appropriate to start the new year, writing about her.
My Aunt Linda is someone you would never match with another. She is bubbly and even though I'm sure she has had many heartaches in her life, she does not carry them with her. She is kind and compassionate with a heart that is full and open. She is beautiful and full of grace. Rarely have I've seen her without her great smile. I can't help but to giggle along with her as she tells her funny stories and jokes. Every time she sees me, her eyes and face lights up as she calls me her Little Linda. It doesn't matter how old I become, my heart melts every time.
When my son was born severely ill, I received a letter in the mail from my Aunt Linda. She spoke of angels and miracles and it was exactly what I needed to hear. That letter had a permanent spot in the front pocket of my overnight bag. Many times I found myself pulling that letter out and reading it while I was alone in my baby's hospital room. It always gave me the strength to keep going and to keep believing that things would get better.
During our family Christmas dinner, my aunt was telling a story about my Aunt Linda. As she talked, I thought I would've done the same exact thing my Aunt Linda did. I mentioned to my aunt that I thought I was a lot like my Aunt Linda. She smiled and agreed. I was instantly filled with excitement to think that not only did I share her name, but I was blessed to be have a little of her personality also. My childhood dream of growing up to be just like my Aunt Linda had come true.
A few years ago, I asked my father why he named me after his sister. He told me that he and my mother had no idea what to name me. I was born the day after my aunt's birthday and she was at the house to celebrate it when my mom went into labor. It's not a warm and fuzzy story, but I love it for the fact that I was named after her by chance, which makes my whole story even more special.
So happy birthday, Aunt Linda. May today be a very special day for you filled with all the giggles and love that you deserve. Thank you for all you are and all you do. I honor the gift I was given, carrying on your name with as much love and happiness that you possess. I love you!

My Mother Never Loved Me

As far back in my childhood that I can remember, I was stricken with the knowledge that my mother did not have love for me. I was always an annoyance. I was to blame for everything that went wrong. My constant nagging and whining caused my mother to have to lay on the couch with a cold compress over her face so she could recover from her headache. 

Soon, my father left to start a new family. This devasted me and I feared my father didn't love me either. My tears and pleas to my mother to let me go see him caused her to create mantras such as,

"He doesn't care, Linda. You are only hurting yourself by crying over that son of a bitch."

Thankfully, my Grandpa took me under his wing and showed me love that I desperately needed. 

As I grew older, I came to the realization that my mother suffered from severe mental illness and I tried to see that her illness prevented her from loving me but I could never understand why she always went out of her way to be extremely cruel to me. What was wrong with me? I must be a horrible person for my mother to hurt me. 

Recently, I was forced to see that for years, my mother had been going behind my back to "work" with my ex-husband (whom hates me as much as my mother hates my father) to separate me from my children. 

A few days ago, she and I talked on the phone. She became angry and irrational when I kept asking her why she would want my children to hate me and to be taken from me. 

She confessed she was doing it to punish me for wanting a relationship with my father. She started rambling on about things he did that were just illusions in her mind. As she spewed anger over the phone and prayed for her lord to strike me down, I felt my heart healing. I felt blessed for the fact that I was given answers and clarity. 

As I went along with my day, I was stricken with the fact that I allowed a label to pull me down for years. We tend to put labels on people and expect them to live up to that label and then when they fall short, we punish ourselves for the rejection. 

It is a more fullfilling life full of love you could not imagine if we let go of the labels and embrace the love and compassion we receive that is unexpected and not obligated. 

Letting Go

Many years ago on a Sunday morning, I packed my boys into my car and ran into the house to tell my husband something. 

"I'm sorry but I can't live with you anymore. I have given you many chances to stand up and be a man and take care of your family. Not only do you chose not to, you destroy every thing I work for. I'm taking the boys to my mom's for dinner. When I get back, I want you gone." I said nervously, hoping he would just go quietly. He started to yell, but I didn't listen. I slipped out of the front door and walked quickly to my car. 

Once I was a safe distance away, I allowed myself to breathe. I had no plan. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had enough. I had been through hell and I deserved a life. My children had been through hell and deserved a life. 

I told the news to my mother and sisters and the day consisted of what I assumed were looks of worry on their faces as they whispered of their doubts that I was making the best decision. 

Time passed and I have struggled greatly until I was blessed when my life coach appeared and helped me realize I had a path and I should follow it. 

Spiritually, I progressed smoothly. I embraced the magic life had to offer. I embraced that there was indeed a Higher Power. I witnessed miracles every day. I was humbled when I could touch someone and help them heal. To live with my heart open was liberating. 

Physically, my world was a disaster. Nothing worked out. I was still trapped in the house I needed to escape. All the plans I could see vividly in my mind never came to pass. 

Last year, my ex-husband let the house go into foreclosure just so I wouldn't have a place to live with his children. That was the straw I needed and I vowed to open my eyes to what I couldn't see. I admitted that I had no idea what was good for me. I had no business making any kind of decision. 

What I have learned during this time is that every one I physically surrounded myself with did not want the best for me. In fact, some wanted nothing more than to destroy me. I've gone through all the emotions and denials and I have reached a level of acceptance. The thing that I had the hardest time with was forgiving myself for allowing their words and actions to become my own. Why didn't I see it all happening?

Thankfully, I have a great group of friends and family that have shown me love, not because they have to but because they want to. Those are the best people to have in your life. 

Many times, I've have cursed at the sky and expressed my anger that it just wasn't fair. Every time, I bow in acceptance that it may not be fair, but it is necessary. 

Dr. Quershi

Shortly after my son, Pants' second heart surgery, he started to decline until one morning he completely crashed. He was flown to a new hospital that was his only chance of survival. I kissed my eighteen month old good bye as they wheeled him out to the helicopter. 

I jumped in my car and raced to the new hospital. For the first time, I was truly afraid my boy was going to die. I arrived at the hospital and found someone who would help me find Pants. I was directed to a set of steel doors that I was afraid to go through. I walked into the hallway to find a large group of people in white coats trying to fit into one room, which I knew was Pants'. No one said a word as I walked towards them. They all just moved out of the way so I could see my baby, intubated and quiet. I was terrified to say anything, for fear of what they may tell me. 

"Sammy is heading down to the cath lab right now. Give your baby a kiss, Mom. He will be back in a little while." A doctor told him quietly as he smiled and squeezed my shoulder. I walked up and kissed my son. 

"He will be ok. I have him." The doctor told me as he followed Pants' bed out the door. I had no idea who this doctor was, but the first time ever in Pants' life, I felt that he was going to make it. 

Pants' artery that lead to his lungs, had closed shut and the doctor was able to open it back open. 

They finally brought Pants into his room. As the nurse tended to Pants, the doctor introduced himself. He was so kind and sweet. As he explained all that was going on, I found myself relaxing. It felt like I was finally allowed to breathe. 

Dr. Quershi worked primarily in the cath lab but he agreed to take Pants on as a patient. He genuinely loved Pants and he worked tirelessly to give Pants a life. His hugs and smiles that he would give me soothed me and kept me going. 

Two years ago, Pants was hospitalized for an unknown cause of septic shock and it was me that hugged Dr. Quershi to try to comfort him because I couldn't bear to see him leaning against the wall looking worried and defeated. 

Yesterday, I discovered Dr. Quershi had accepted a position in another hospital far away. I couldn't help to cry. How could I do this without him? Who would comfort me when Pants would need another surgery? Once again, I was alone. 

I allowed myself to cry and worry for a while until the realization came to me that maybe I didn't need Dr. Quershi's comfort anymore. Pants wasn't the same critically ill baby that was rushed into Dr. Quershi's hands years ago. I wasn't the same terrified, lost mom. 

This morning, I woke thinking not of my loss, but with gratitude that Pants and I were blessed with the time we had with Dr. Quershi. 

Certain people come into your life for only a short time to help you get through situations and then they have to go. I find it is best to have gratitude for the time you have with them, instead of mourning the loss of their departure. 

Dr. Quershi will always be in my heart. 

Break Ups and Rejections

My youngest son, Pants, spent the first twenty eight days of his life in the hospital. The day I was allowed to take him home, I was nervous, happy and overwhelmed. 

We were sent home with medical equipment and lists of doctor appointments. The nurse told me I had to call Pants' pediatrician because the pediatrician wouldn't let the nurse set up an appointment. 

The next day, I called the pediatrician's office. The nurse told me the doctor was not going to take my son on as a patient because his condition was too complex. This upset me, but I quietly thanked her for her time. I called my insurance company and requested a list of pediatricians and started calling. I called three or four doctors and I was rejected by every one of them. I couldn't understand why they wouldn't take Pants on as a patient. I started to feel frustrated and the tears started to flow. I calmed myself down and dialed another number. 

I got a hold of a nurse and I proceeded to tell her all of my son's diagnosis. She cut me off and told me her doctor couldn't take him on. This broke my dam of rationality. I wanted to yell at her, but I spoke loudly, 

"Look..we just spent a month in a basement of a hospital. I have doctors every where wanting a piece of my son. Why can't I find a damn pediatrician?!?"

"Your son's condition requires more attention than our practice cares to take on. I doubt if you find anyone who would be willing to take him on. Your son's main diagnosis is Failure To Thrive. Your son is considered terminal. You need to call the closest Pallative practice." The nurse told me, annoyed. 

I hung up immediately. I was dumbfounded. I had been rejected many times in my life, but never as painful as this time. I have been accused of living in my own little world, not really seeing normal reality. Which is correct, up to that moment, I never even considered that my son wouldn't live. 

My sadness over being rejected was quickly replaced with the question, "What the hell was I going to do?"

Pants "crashed" the next day so we went back to the hospital. Once his staff got him stable and he fell asleep, I told his nurse about my rejections. 

The next morning, a woman walked in and introduced herself as Dr. Cathy and she jokingly announced she wanted my baby. She was funny and loud and I couldn't help but fall in love with her. She was a pediatrician for the hospital's Pallative team. 

She and her team quickly became a part of our family. They kept me sane. They loved Pants. When I found myself sitting across from Pant's cardiac surgeon to discuss his second heart surgery, Dr. Cathy was with me, pacing the room, holding Pants, giving me encouraging looks when my voice would quiver. 

It has taken me many years to embrace rejection, to see it as an opportunity for some thing great. 

Rejection kicks your ass and makes you close your eyes and heart, never wanting to feel that kind of pain. Let yourself feel that and then stand up with your heart  wide open knowing that rejection was the beginning of a beautiful, new situation. 

Prayer

Before I consciously started on my journey, I never got into prayer. To me, prayer was something spiritual leaders did formally. The closest I thought I came to prayers was reciting the Rosary before Mass on Sunday mornings. 

One point on my journey, I was discouraged because I couldn't figure out how to pray properly. If I couldn't pray properly, how could I have a connection with the Divine Source (God)? 

My son's hospital was a hour and a half away from our home. For years it seemed I spent most of my time behind my steering wheel. Looking back, I see that all those moments behind that steering wheel were the moments I prayed. Quietly, I held great conversations with God, my Angels and Loved Ones. I questioned, begged, and expressed my gratitude. I freaked out, I cursed, I pleaded. As I would pull into the parking garage or my driveway, I would feel lighter or stronger, which ever the situation I found myself needing to be.

Prayer, to me, is simply much needed conversations with God. Prayer is an individual practice that is sacred. 

Every morning, I silently have a conversation with God, but I started to resist it and slowly turned into a chore. So instead of praying, I started to reflect on why this sacred ritual had become a line on my to do list. 

One night, as I struggled to fall asleep, the thought came to me that my prayers had turned into unanswered requests. My conversations had evolved into what I needed. All day, I would subconsciously wait for my requests to given to me only to be disappointed. 

I forced myself to come to the realization that I had no idea what I really needed. I had to see that most of my choices were horribly wrong. 

I grabbed my pen and paper I keep by my bed and wrote: God, the Divine Source, thank you for all that I have been blessed with and all the blessings I have yet to receive. I invite all my Guides, Angels and Loved Ones to continue to walk beside me and help me on this wild journey. 

Instantly, my morning prayers changed and became sacred and necessary again. 

However you choose to hold conversations with The Divine, do it. I've never heard of anyone saying a good heart to heart didn't help.