Holidays and Family

What makes the holidays so stressful for families? I think it is the unrealistic expectations we have of each other. We know the best of our family and, sadly, also the worst. What we want is a happy harmonious gathering where everyone shares the same interests. The truth is, we are all different. If our family members were people we met, we might not even be friends with them. Yet what we have in common is a history. I remember my older brother pretending to read a book about our favorite character, Keeko, when he was in first grade and I was not yet in school. We howled with laughter at his made-up sentences. My younger brother Paul (who cut off a toe at age 2) built a small house in our back yard out of boards he gleaned throughout the neighborhood. I loved going out there. I remember going to garage sales with my mom when I had small children, and her endless back rubs when I had a migraine. My dad always took us camping and fishing on his vacations. Can you imagine 5 people in a rowboat, 3 of them kids? Dad has been gone for almost ten Christmas celebrations, but I will still hear him speaking pretend Swedish and saying, "Deeeeeelicious!" when asked how the lutfisk was. My memories of my children and grandchildren are among the most precious to me. It is hard to describe the joy they bring into my life. I don't have a lot of money or status, but I do have 6 wonderful human beings that have come into my life with beautiful personalities, warts and all. They are perfect to me, although far from perfect human beings (oxymoron). I would have them get together every weekend if I could, but they have lives to live and I am no longer central to their existence. So I look forward to the Christmas gathering with excitement, trying not to get my hopes too high. If I can remember how blessed I am to have such an amazing family, I will have another happy memory to store away for the future.

The Economics of Health

In 2009, I lost my first friend to the insurance industry. Susannah J. Kist was a beautiful woman with a beautiful voice. She had the misfortune to get cancer while uninsured. Months before she died, the hospital refused to treat her because her bill was too high. I was shocked that it could happen to someone I knew. I have never been willing to go without insurance, and have made the necessary sacrifices to always have my family insured, paying incredibly large amounts monthly, working in jobs that have insurance benefits even when they were difficult. I was also ashamed that I could not help her. I was enraged that the powers that be could allow this to be happening to the people. I was angry that a beautiful person was taken when she was doing so much good in the world.
Last year, I learned that my neighbor and good friend had retired, gotten diagnosed with lung cancer, and received chemotherapy. Her dental bill from the chemo was thousands of dollars. On a fixed income, that means fewer choices for fun activities.
Recently, a coworker admitted that she worked in catholic school most of her life. She and her husband retired, then he died. A few years later, she needed open heart surgery. Now her medical bills are so high she is losing her home.
In 1970, I read a book called The Economics of Being a Woman, by Dee Dee Ahern. The themes in the book still ring true. For the most part, women care for the home, their children, and their parents willingly. They want no money for it, are happy to do it. They earn less, so their social security is less. Their salaries are lower than men's, and if they are divorced, they are expected to support their children while the father pays only a fraction of his income.
You don't have to be a woman to experience such loss these days. Poverty is an equal opportunity unemployer. What all this means to me is that if you are off the financial grid, just as much of the third world is off that grid, you don't get medical care. It's as simple as that.
I remember my mother telling me when I was an adult that I had a friend in eighth grade who was Mexican. Her sister died of the measles. I have no memory of it, but the idea was inconceivable to me at the time. Now, such things are becoming commonplace. When are we going to turn our health industry around and take care of the sick? Am I next? Are you?

Giving Thanks

I have thoroughly enjoyed posting something I am grateful for every day this month on FB. Even an early morning Saturday awakening can be funny if you see the humor in it. (My dog woke me up at 6 today because I had set my alarm to a door bell.) What's more important is developing an attitude of gratefulness about all of the conditions of life. I keep having a recurring dream that I am married to my children's father, although it's been 22 years since I became single. Someday that may be funny, too. This month was rough for my son's in-laws because of the death of Mitch Robinson, age 16, in a tragic truck accident. Yet they have found things to be grateful for as well. Listing the things I am grateful for has been a habit with me. I have an alphabet book of "gratefuls" and try to write something each day. More importantly, I have learned not to sacrifice my happiness too much in the service of others or I will become resentful or depressed. My job can become oppressive, with lots of individualization and paperwork, but I have learned to enjoy the students, parents, and coworkers every day. That is why I am truly there, to show how much I care by doing my best. If I push myself too hard, I lose sleep, gain/lose weight, or get sick. I find myself fighting compulsive escape behaviors or just isolating for relief. It has taken me a lifetime to let go of things that I can't get done without harming myself, and I am thankful for that. Last of all, I am thankful for a country that sets aside at least one day to give thanks. Happy Thanksgiving!

Hug Your Kids

Those are the words of a dear relative who lost her 16-year-old son last week. He was driving to his aunt's before school to get a backpack he had forgotten. He drove a different truck than usual and hit a railroad crossing which caused him to lose control of the truck. Although he was buckled up, he was killed instantly when it rolled several times. Mitchell was a fine young man, the oldest of five children and a treasure. He was fun, nice, smart and kind. This is one of those events that makes us question the meaning of life. Why did such a good person have to die? Did he know how much I cared about him? Am I living my life with the most important priorities? My daughter-in-law had a profound comment that I must repeat here. She said that Mitchell had no idea how many people cared about him. He thought of himself as an ordinary kid and not necessarily popular. Yet there were over a thousand people at the visitation and about six hundred attended the funeral, which was held in a community of about a thousand people. Lynette wants us all to tell people if we care about them. Don't wait until it's too late.