Ninth Day of Christmas

Today is January 3 and it's the ninth day of Christmas.  One of the many things I love about being Catholic is the liturgical calendar.   If a holiday is important enough to be a holiday, then it is important enough to be a season.  So we celebrate the two major holidays, Easter and Christmas, for weeks not days.

I am writing this early on Sunday morning next to my Christmas tree with it's beautiful colored lights and wonderful assortment of ornaments that tell the story of my children's childhood.  All of the Christmas decorations are still up and will remain that way for a while. In a couple of hours my family and I will go to mass.  The church will still be decorated with Christmas trees and the music will still be from the Christmas section of the hymnal. And I love it.

Why?  Why keep celebrating?   It takes this much time to fully appreciate this gift.  And everything about the amazing God who loved us so much to send his only son to save us.  To save us from our sinful world and our own sinful tendencies.   You cannot fully appreciate and celebrate what this means, what Mary and Joseph and Jesus went through in those early years in a one day celebration.  It takes weeks to fully tell the story. It's a story and gift that is impossible for us to really understand but we spend weeks every year retelling the story, trying to appreciate it at least a little more each year.  Trying to appreciate that fact that nothing we have ever done or ever could do make us worthy of the love and mercy God has shown us in giving us the gift of his son.  So I will continue to enjoy the decorations and continue to reflect on the greatest gift given to the world.  And I will probably be among the last to wish you Merry Christmas and to encourage to take a moment to appreciate this season and all it means just one more time before you move on to fully embrace 2016.

On Lent and Being Part of Something Bigger

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday.  The first day of Lent and 40 days until Easter.  For many Catholics it's a big deal.  I love Lent and follow the traditions and guidelines set forth by the Church.  Let me first say that under no circumstances do I think that walking around with the absolute biggest cross of ashes I have ever received (Fr. Russ was on a roll with making sure they were visible!)  makes me a saint or any better than anyone else.  I do not eat meat on Ash Wednesday or any Lenten Friday.  Again, I don't think anyone is getting a ticket to hell if they have a burger on any of those days.  And I don't think it makes me any better than anyone else.  And really, there are so many days of the year I don't eat meat that it would almost be deliberate if I did eat meat.  Now the fasting on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday is a completely different story and is REALLY tough for me!!!

My husband and I observe the Lenten traditions and strongly encourage our children to observe them.  I think we need traditions and rituals to help us journey through this thing we call life.  I think we need time that is specifically set aside to focus on our God and our relationship with him.  I try to focus on my relationship with Him.  I am part of a bible study.  I read and pray and learn and try to grow.  I like learning what family and friends are doing to grow spiritually.  But taking these weeks before Jesus' passion to remember the ultimate sacrifice and then sacrifice something in my life to make me more aware of how I need my God in my life. It's not really about ashes or fish or giving up chocolate but it's about reminding ourselves daily that God gave all for us and trying in some tiny way to remember to live a life that more closely resembles the life we want to live or the life that Jesus lived while He was here.  So while I know people who think giving up meat on Friday is ridiculous, I say nothing is ridiculous if it makes you think of the sacrifice done for you and appreciate it just a little bit more.  Most parents I know appreciate their own parents even more after a sleepless night, a round of the flu, or writing a check for a prom dress or wrestling camp.  The same is true here, a little sacrifice on our part can help us appreciate the sacrifice God made for us.  That is the idea behind Lent.  Looking at our mortality, our weaknesses and our dependency are uncomfortable.  As a society we don't like to do that so I think that's why Lent can be so uncomfortable.

As I prayed before mass yesterday with my lifelong friend (really she's my twin sister so it is as lifelong as it gets!) kneeling next to me, I realized once again that one of the things I love about being Catholic is being part of something bigger than me.  I was doing the same thing that my mom did on Ash Wednesday for 78 years and that my dad has been doing for 83 years.  My grandparents before them. My great grandparents before them.  And back hundreds of years on this continent, in Europe, and in Ireland. It's comforting to me to be a part of something so long term. I feel closer to the people I have loved and have gone on to heaven before me.  During mass, I feel in a special way that I am once again doing something with those people and I love that.  Now not one of those people that I knew (so I am assuming the people who raised them were similar) ever agreed with every single thing a priest or bishop said or did.  I'd throw some popes into that list, too.  But the Church itself, the sacraments, the real presence in the Eucharist, those are things I treasure and cling to.  And things I treasure are worth staying a part of and making better and making sure they are there to pass on to the next generation.  And so I observe our traditions and I appreciate that the meaning is way deeper than meat, fish or ashes.

All Grown Up

As you know I have the privilege of being mom to 3. My baby is 17 and I am refusing to call him a young adult.  This has nothing to do with him or his maturity  (don't ask his siblings to verify that) but it is simply me digging my heels in and holding on to having a child still.  And it's also about me bucking the norms I see at work where too often 17 year old students and their families believe them to be grown and ready to make all their own decisions.  I can assure you that this often does not work out for the best.  So my 17 year old is still my child, my baby.  He has to let me know where he is, what he is doing at any time I ask or whenever the situation changes.  And yes this insistence gets me teased by all three kids. We laugh about it and yet it continues.   I'm Irish and German, if I am anything it is stubborn.

My 19 year old is half way through his first year of college.  He has successfully completed a semester of college classes while living out of state, playing football and working 8 hours a week.  However, I still think of him as my little boy. But we were on campus with him for his football banquet last night and it occurred to me on multiple occasions that he truly had grown up.  He's always been good about holding doors so while I appreciate it, I have come to expect it.    But while surrounded by coaches, teammates, and their families he voluntarily took my purse so I could hand my coat to my husband to take to the coat room.  He didn't even flinch.  At the end of the banquet, he looks at me and tells me that you and Dad have to get on the road before it gets any later.  While walking us to the car, I made a mom comment about something and he said, "I know, I live here."   It was such a strange mixture of a knife stabbing my heart and pride at the young man he's becoming.  When I told him that sounds strange to me, he agreed.  However, there were enough silly comments and laughter among his teammates through the night to remind me that my little boy is still in there and having fun is still a top priority.  

Then there is my daughter.  She is 21 so really there is no getting around whether or not she's an adult.  I spent the year she was 20 adjusting to that fact. Because really once you are past your teens, it's hard even for a mom to insist that you are not a young adult.  At 21 it's impossible.  But being a legal adult and truly being a grown up are two entirely different things.  She is in the process of applying for athletic training internships (say a prayer that she gets the one she just applied for please) and looking at graduate schools.  I am lucky enough to be asked to read essays that she writes for her applications.  I consider it a blessing just to be consulted in these things at this point in her life.  But I am so impressed by what I read.  Her insight and self-knowledge is beyond her years.  I am humbled and grateful when I read paragraphs about her growing up years.  I am amazed by the goals she has and the plans she is making to achieve those goals.   She is on track to make her dreams come true.  She knows what needs to be done, she knows it's up to her to work her tail off, push herself out of her comfort zone, and go after those dreams.   Yes, this one is a grown up, an amazingly beautiful person, and an excellent role model for her brothers. There is no denying that this young woman is a grown up.  I am proud to be her mother and now I am even prouder to call her my friend.  

The transition from 17 to 21 is a difficult one even if it is peaceful and without a lot of confrontation.  It is hard to go from child to adult.  It is hard to go from parenting a child to being a parent to an adult.  It is fun and interesting and always a unique experience.  It's a challenge and a rite of passage for all involved but one that is so worth the journey.

Observations from Football Games

 If you have never seen Division III football, you are missing something special. A bunch of young men who know they are going to school to get an education that will lead to graduate school or a job. But they still love football and aren't ready to give up on being the "boys of fall" yet.  And there's an assortment of fans in the stands to go with those boys on the field.  I've enjoyed these games.  The play is enthusiastic and fun. And there is just something so middle American about the entire event.

One Saturday we drove to West Virginia for the game.  Seated in the row in front of us just a few seats over was an English professor and her husband.  Next to them was another teacher from my son's school.  It was a cold, windy, rainy day and here were two teachers spending their Saturday watching their students play ball. Not because of incredible tailgates or exciting televised coverage of scholarship cheerleaders or bands. Just because they wanted to be there to watch their students.  I loved that my son is going to a school that has teachers so invested in their students.

Another Saturday we went to small town Southwestern PA for the last game of the regular season.  Our team was going for an undefeated season.  We had already gotten our conference championship trophy the week before and with that our spot in the DIII playoffs.  The other team was playing for pride and the bragging rights to say they were the only team in the conference to beat us.  There were close to 5 thousands of people there.  It was a hard fought game and they got the bragging rights.  The boys played hard, the other team made fewer mistakes and earned the victory.  Somehow that makes it easier to take on one hand and yet harder to take on the other hand.  One particular memory stands out from that sunny afternoon.

Prior to the kickoff when the typical announcement for the national anthem was made, the entire stadium went silent and I think the area surrounding the stadium did, too.  You truly could have heard a pin drop.  Hats were off, people sang, and students from local high schools and both colleges stood still, silent, respectful.  It was touching.  I teach at an inner ring urban school and we have to have announcements to instruct students on the appropriate behavior for the national anthem or pledge of allegiance.  Not here in Southwestern PA, not among those boys on the field or the assortment of fans that come with them.   The atmosphere gave me a chill because I felt like that respect had been learned and earned through family members who made that moment possible. Parents, siblings, grandparents, uncles, aunts who had served and those who hadn't but wouldn't let the respect for that service be forgotten. It touched my soul.

Gifts From My Mom's Suffering

There's been a lot in the news the past couple of months about physical suffering and its effect on the patient and the patients' friends and families.  I'm not judging anyone, no one knows what anyone else is going through, but I am going to point out the gifts that my mother gave me through her suffering.

My mother suffered many physical ailments throughout her life.  The last 25 years of her life were especially frustrating and painful with osteoporosis, arthritis, gastrointestinal and neurological issues.  Some days were good, some not so good, and some down right awful.

The Thanksgiving that she was in the hospital, I learned that my twin sister & I could make a real Thanksgiving dinner complete with our Grandma's stuffing.  And (because hospitals were way stricter then) I learned how to sneak things into hospitals.

The Christmas that she was in the hospital, I learned that I was strong enough to be her rock.  I had faith enough for both of us when she was so angry and frustrated that she just couldn't find hers.  And since she was the most faith-filled person I knew, I also learned that we all struggle and lose sight of the fact that God is always working for our good.  And later I learned that following these struggles, we can come back to our faith stronger and surer than ever before.

During trails and tribulations, I learned it's OK to depend on people that you aren't used to depending on. And sometimes people will let you down but other times people will come through in ways you never dreamed possible.

I learned that even when so very many things just would not be found in her memory regardless of how hard she searched, the words to her beloved hymns were there and when the music started playing the words came out as strong and beautiful as ever.

I learned that being asked to help with standing then showers then dressing then eating is uncomfortable but for the person who has to ask, it's humiliating.  But through that I learned compassion in a way that I never could have.  I thought I was helping her but she was helping me become a gentler, more patient, more compassionate person.  And I relearned that making the best of a situation can create laughter.

And I learned that difficult conversations are horrible to have but once you get past being uncomfortable, you have an experience and a connection that is better than ever.  And I learned for both of us to have those wonderful moments, it takes a lot.  And it's exhausting but it is so beyond worth it.

But mostly I learned that my mom was an incredibly strong woman and even though her suffering took all things earthly from her, she gained a peace that wasn't about this world.  And through that suffering she gave me the gifts of greater patience, compassion, humility, faith and love.  And for that I am grateful.

PBJ Again

This past weekend was a three day weekend for me, my husband, and our high school son.  We spent Friday catching up on some things (including this blog).  And I took a couple of hours to go to my dad's apartment and sit and chat.  This does not happen as often as I'd like so I wanted to take advantage of a day off work to spend some much needed time with him and give him his late birthday gift.  And my husband spent a couple hours with his parents as well on Friday.   All three 80-something parents were doing well.

Saturday the high schooler was busy all day with previous commitments.  The daughter was going on a school sponsored bus trip with one of her roommates.  My hubby and I were heading down to West Virginia to see the college football player's game thinking it would be an enjoyable day.  The parents and kids were all good.  The leaves along the way were beautiful.  We were bringing college son home for a couple days for fall break.   Life was good and we were ready to spend a relaxing day together.

And then I got a text.  Apparently a few hours after I left my dad, he started coughing and couldn't stop.  So early Saturday morning, my brother took Dad to the ER.  They were still running tests but the cough had subsided a bit. He seemed to be doing well, he was in the hospital where all his "ologists" are on staff: cardiologist, nephrologist, oncologist, etc.  And not much I could do at that point while I was traveling in the opposite direction.

So on we went, looking forward to a fun afternoon of football.  Then my husband's phone rang.  His sister. This was not going to be good.  His dad had hurt his leg and was in the ER.  They were still running tests to see what was wrong and what the game plan would be.  Again, nothing we could do at that point except tell her to keep in touch.

On we went, wanting updates but not really wanting to hear from any other relatives.  At this point I was beginning to worry about things happening in threes.

Really the rest of the day was blissfully uneventful and not much to write about.  EXCEPT our freshman son got in for two series and his team won!  He has worked really hard and loves football.  Seeing him so happy and doing what he loves makes us happy.    

Several days later  the college son is back to school after break and both dads are out of the hospital.  My dad is back at his apartment.  My father in law is in rehab getting physical therapy for his leg.  And once again life in the sandwich  is good, sometimes a bit too interesting but always good.

Move In Weekend Part II

Wow.  That was a much longer break than I anticipated.  There were a couple of reasons for it.  One was technical but the other was just because it has been much tougher than I thought it would be.

When any child goes off to live away from you, it is just so difficult.  As a mom, I knew there were so many things I should have and wanted to teach him and with life going so stinking fast, I just never got to them all.  I know he knows right from wrong. He's a hard worker. He's a good person. He knows how to take responsibility. He is smart and can figure out a new washing machine.  Thanks to his high school and grade school teachers, he knows how to write a paper for college and  how to study.  And the college will clean the bathroom and cook for him.  So really, he will be fine and my mind knows this.

But then there is the fact that he doesn't like change a whole lot.  And new situations are stressful for him so I knew that actually making this move was going to be the most difficult thing he has ever done.  And it should be the most difficult and stressful thing he has ever done.  He's had stability and support.  So moving from that should be hard and yet it should be done.  That saying that you are only as happy as your most unhappy child is so true.  Child happy = mom happy.  Child stressed = mom stressed.

As a mom, a child leaving changes your role so very much.  I'm not going to be there to see his face and know he's OK.  I'm not going to be the one that he tells when football goes well or he has a big test or that he had the best sub or burrito for lunch.  Our relationship changes and grows into a very different relationship.  And that is a huge transition for someone whose everyday life remains the same except for yet another missing piece.  

This particular transition would be difficult because life has not always been easy for this boy of mine.  He has faced challenges and with each of those challenges, I have been at his side.  When he was a baby, his asthma was so bad that I would get him from a nap and his hands and feet would be blue.  We had to give him breathing treatments for over a year.  My husband and I shared the job but I was the stay at home mom so I had all the daytime treatments and all the nighttime ones.  When you schedule your life around holding your baby and making sure he can breathe, you bond in a different way.  Then there was watching him being wheeled into an operating room two different times.  This is the child that missed  nearly entire year of school because he was horrifically sick.  The testing for brain tumors and myriad of other diseases and conditions was awful.  And since the company I was working for at the time (along with much of the country) went into a financial crisis, I was once again a stay at home mom that year so I was with him for each and every test and treatment each time not knowing if our life was going to be forever altered.  Thankfully, God saw him through that year and for the most part he is past it.  Just like his asthma, he has learned to manage and live with his symptoms although I know that there are some issues that could flare up at anytime, he is going to live the life he that he was meant to live.  Through his sports injuries and minor flare ups of his health issues, I have been there.   I have tried to make sure he recognizes symptoms and pays attention to them but he is an 18 year old boy, it makes me nervous to send him away and know the he is on his own.  He's been through so much and it's a lot to manage.  More than an 18 year old should have to think about while studying and playing football and just doing regular college things and that worries me.

And so it was hard to think about this and write about it.  However, it's two months later, I have seen him several times and been able to look into his eyes and he is OK.  He is happy and doing well.  He is making friends, doing well in school and football.  Life is good and I'm so thankful that both my college kids are doing great.  Life is different but I'm adjusting to that and will write more on that next time.