My voicemail message this morning reveals a call from Binta's dad. He (his girlfriend, rather) had a baby last night. A boy. His voice sounded excited and proud, just as a dad should after becomming a dad (again).
Frankly, I'm surprised by my emotional reaction. I found myself holding back tears that I didn't know were there. I always guessed that ex-spouses who got upset when the former spouse got married, or had a new child, were demonstrating lingering emotion for the ex-spouse himself.
I'm realizing today that the sadness that I'm feeling does not come from any sort of regret that he and I are no longer in a relationship. (Dear god, no. That we're not together is a really good thing. Believe me.) The sadness is seeing my dream thrown back into my face. The dream of having a "family."
I remember "the plan" that her dad and I had made, in regards to having children. Probably 2 kids, and about 4 years spaced apart. My brother and I were 4 years apart, and it just seems like a pretty good difference in age. Enough time to recuperate from the new baby, diapers, and toddler whining. Just enough distance from the really hard parts of raising little kids to make one think, "Gee, having another baby and going through all that crap again sounds like a good idea."
But that option died the moment her dad and I split. I've felt sadness for some time, realizing that Binta won't get to have that other sibling like I did. But now, her dad has had another child. The boy he always wanted. Binta's half-brother.
I feel sad, because this new baby is the closest she will get to having a sibling like I had. I feel sad, because I don't get to share this significant development in her life. I feel sad, because this new baby will get a lot more time from their father than she gets. And I feel sad, because someday, she's going to have an emotional reaction to this event, herself.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Sunday, October 22, 2006
My New Job
Late fees owed to the King County Library: $5.40
Number of My Little Ponies on the living room floor: 5
In the Attic: I started a new job 10 months ago. Guess I should mention it.
I still have my other job, teaching. This job I'm referring to is strictly volunteer, so I'm holding on to that teaching one because the paycheck comes in real handy at the end of the month. No, this job is for The Compassionate Friends.
Never heard of it? Well, aren't you lucky. Twenty-five months ago, I hadn't either. I stumbled across it six months after my brother died, when searching for support groups. There it was, in a book I was reading about grief. I went to the computer, and looked it up. The Compassionate Friends was originally founded to support people who have survived the death of their child, but later was extended to support the siblings and grandparents as well.
I remember thinking how bizarre it was to realize that there had been this entire organization out there, living and growing, without any awareness at all on my part. And that suddenly, when I was in need of such a group, there it was, almost waiting for me. I'm reminded about what a different life I led before surviving the death of my brother.
The Compassionate Friends has a website. Through this website, I began participating in a few online support chats with other siblings who had experienced losing a brother or sister. My mother and I even attended a couple of local support group sessions, held in the chapel of a local hospital one day a month. The support and relief that comes from participating in these groups gave me a lot of strength. I started to look forward to the evenings that I could participate in an online support group. It was nice to know that in only a few hours, I would have an opportunity to really focus on my grief with others who also had experienced much of what I was going through.
So last December, I was approached by one of the moderators, asking me if I'd be interested in becomming a moderator for one of the online support groups. I was honored, yet hesitant to accept. After all, what did I know? I certainly was no expert, nor a professional. How would I know what to do?
When, after some time considering the offer, I realized the beauty in The Compassionate Friends. You become the expert simply by having the devastating experience. The comfort I've received from The Compassionate Friends is not because of working with highly trained, professionals. It's because I've been allowed to cry and exchange stories with other people who miss their brothers and sisters like I do.
So, I gladly accepted. And every Sunday evening, at 6:00 PM, I sit down at my computer to moderate my support group. Sometimes a brand new person will join the group. I always tell the person I'm so glad they found us, but saddened to know that they have a reason to. I am distinctly aware of a mental and emotional shift that I have been experiencing, as I move from being entirely dependent on others' support, to being able to offer my own. The kind of support I get now is a hybrid combination of both elements.
Speaking of that, I need to excuse myself - it's 6:00.
Number of My Little Ponies on the living room floor: 5
In the Attic: I started a new job 10 months ago. Guess I should mention it.
I still have my other job, teaching. This job I'm referring to is strictly volunteer, so I'm holding on to that teaching one because the paycheck comes in real handy at the end of the month. No, this job is for The Compassionate Friends.
Never heard of it? Well, aren't you lucky. Twenty-five months ago, I hadn't either. I stumbled across it six months after my brother died, when searching for support groups. There it was, in a book I was reading about grief. I went to the computer, and looked it up. The Compassionate Friends was originally founded to support people who have survived the death of their child, but later was extended to support the siblings and grandparents as well.
I remember thinking how bizarre it was to realize that there had been this entire organization out there, living and growing, without any awareness at all on my part. And that suddenly, when I was in need of such a group, there it was, almost waiting for me. I'm reminded about what a different life I led before surviving the death of my brother.
The Compassionate Friends has a website. Through this website, I began participating in a few online support chats with other siblings who had experienced losing a brother or sister. My mother and I even attended a couple of local support group sessions, held in the chapel of a local hospital one day a month. The support and relief that comes from participating in these groups gave me a lot of strength. I started to look forward to the evenings that I could participate in an online support group. It was nice to know that in only a few hours, I would have an opportunity to really focus on my grief with others who also had experienced much of what I was going through.
So last December, I was approached by one of the moderators, asking me if I'd be interested in becomming a moderator for one of the online support groups. I was honored, yet hesitant to accept. After all, what did I know? I certainly was no expert, nor a professional. How would I know what to do?
When, after some time considering the offer, I realized the beauty in The Compassionate Friends. You become the expert simply by having the devastating experience. The comfort I've received from The Compassionate Friends is not because of working with highly trained, professionals. It's because I've been allowed to cry and exchange stories with other people who miss their brothers and sisters like I do.
So, I gladly accepted. And every Sunday evening, at 6:00 PM, I sit down at my computer to moderate my support group. Sometimes a brand new person will join the group. I always tell the person I'm so glad they found us, but saddened to know that they have a reason to. I am distinctly aware of a mental and emotional shift that I have been experiencing, as I move from being entirely dependent on others' support, to being able to offer my own. The kind of support I get now is a hybrid combination of both elements.
Speaking of that, I need to excuse myself - it's 6:00.
The Whereabouts of My Missing Muse
First of all, my apologies for not having written sooner. It's certainly not because I don't have anything to write about. Here's a sampling of blog topics I've considered over the past few weeks:
- seeing Dave Matthews Band and the Rolling Stones in concert.
- my upcoming move to a house.
- Halloween update on Binta.
- the fact that my neighbor's front teeth are entirely missing. (that one is really bugging me. One week, she has teeth. Next week, she doesn't. What's up?)
It's that every time I actually had a moment to write, I talked myself out of it, convincing myself that it wouldn't come out as good "on paper" as it was in my head. Not a new struggle for me. I'm hopeful that other writers have a similar inner struggle. I'd also love some advice on how to push through when they occur.
Anyway, Binta is with her dad today, and I have spent a wonderful day to myself. The only problem I've had today is the accelerated rate with which the hours pass by. But I'd really like to get a decent post in before the weekend's end. I'll pick a topic and write a decent post for you this evening. Promise.
Monday, October 09, 2006
When Teaching the Salmon Life Cycle Can Get You in Trouble
In my district, third grade gets the honor of teaching the salmon life cycle. I'm sure to the average reader at home, the salmon cycle may seem somewhat harmless. Today's annecdote illustrates the dangerous potential of this topic.
We started off today's lesson with a description of a female salmon laying her eggs after just having spawned. After some time pondering this, a student raised her hand.
"Why does it take humans so long to mate, when it only takes salmon just a few minutes?"
Misunderstanding her question, I responded by explaining that neither species is fully developed instantly. That with humans, the egg develops inside the female for nine months, and with the salmon, the eggs develop after they've been laid outside the female, and that it takes them several months, too. Next question.
Clearly, that was not what she was asking, because she returned with:
"No, I mean that it only takes salmon a few minutes to mate, and it takes humans like a day."
Hmm... Either she has misunderstood some part of the human reproduction process, or she knows something I don't know. Cause for me, the longest I ever got was like 20, 30 minutes, tops.
God, what I'd give to be a fly on the wall during their dinner conversation tonight when her parents ask her what she learned in school today.
We started off today's lesson with a description of a female salmon laying her eggs after just having spawned. After some time pondering this, a student raised her hand.
"Why does it take humans so long to mate, when it only takes salmon just a few minutes?"
Misunderstanding her question, I responded by explaining that neither species is fully developed instantly. That with humans, the egg develops inside the female for nine months, and with the salmon, the eggs develop after they've been laid outside the female, and that it takes them several months, too. Next question.
Clearly, that was not what she was asking, because she returned with:
"No, I mean that it only takes salmon a few minutes to mate, and it takes humans like a day."
Hmm... Either she has misunderstood some part of the human reproduction process, or she knows something I don't know. Cause for me, the longest I ever got was like 20, 30 minutes, tops.
God, what I'd give to be a fly on the wall during their dinner conversation tonight when her parents ask her what she learned in school today.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Such a Creature of Habit
Found on my porch: 9 rusty nails
Latest movie watched in the theatre: Open Season
In the Attic: An awareness of my routines
A conversation with a friend last night got me thinking about how many routines I have in my life. I am a person who thrives on routine and predictability. I never really think about it, however, unless I'm talking with someone who is different than me in that department. Without my routines, I feel insecure and uncomfortable. Uncertain as to when I would accomplish mundane tasks, worried that I'd leave out critical pieces of my day.
Take a look at my morning routine:
1. I get up each morning 10 minutes after the alarm goes off so that I can hear the weather report and plan my clothing accordingly.
2. I shower in the same order: shampoo hair, wash face, rinse hair and face; condition hair, wash body, rinse hair and body.
3. I towel dry in the same order: face, hair, upper body and arms, lower body and legs. I wrap the towl around me in the same way each morning.
4. I get dressed in the same order: underwear, bra, pants, shirt.
5. I dry my hair, style my hair, and apply makeup. All in that order.
6. I even wrap the cord around the hair dryer in the same way each morning.
7. I eat the same type of breakfast each morning, and pack my lunch afterwards.
8. I brush my teeth and apply deodorant, in that order.
9. I drive the same way to work and park in the same place every day.
I certainly didn't set out to have a nine-step morning routine when I grew up. I really didn't even know it was there, until this morning, when I noticed that the cord to the hair dryer was wrapped up differently - alerting me to the facts that 1) my friend had used it while visiting, and 2) I have a very solid routine guiding me in the morning. (see item #6)
Latest movie watched in the theatre: Open Season
In the Attic: An awareness of my routines
A conversation with a friend last night got me thinking about how many routines I have in my life. I am a person who thrives on routine and predictability. I never really think about it, however, unless I'm talking with someone who is different than me in that department. Without my routines, I feel insecure and uncomfortable. Uncertain as to when I would accomplish mundane tasks, worried that I'd leave out critical pieces of my day.
Take a look at my morning routine:
1. I get up each morning 10 minutes after the alarm goes off so that I can hear the weather report and plan my clothing accordingly.
2. I shower in the same order: shampoo hair, wash face, rinse hair and face; condition hair, wash body, rinse hair and body.
3. I towel dry in the same order: face, hair, upper body and arms, lower body and legs. I wrap the towl around me in the same way each morning.
4. I get dressed in the same order: underwear, bra, pants, shirt.
5. I dry my hair, style my hair, and apply makeup. All in that order.
6. I even wrap the cord around the hair dryer in the same way each morning.
7. I eat the same type of breakfast each morning, and pack my lunch afterwards.
8. I brush my teeth and apply deodorant, in that order.
9. I drive the same way to work and park in the same place every day.
I certainly didn't set out to have a nine-step morning routine when I grew up. I really didn't even know it was there, until this morning, when I noticed that the cord to the hair dryer was wrapped up differently - alerting me to the facts that 1) my friend had used it while visiting, and 2) I have a very solid routine guiding me in the morning. (see item #6)
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