Guilt presupposes the presence of choice and the power to exercise it. Survivor guilt may sometimes be an unconscious attempt to counteract or undo helplessness (Danieli, 1985; Niederland, 1964). The idea that one somehow could have prevented what happened may be more desirable than the frightening notion that events were completely random and senseless (Danieli in Goode, 2001).

 

 

Survivor’s guilt…so often we walk around with it, yet we do not even realize it.  Recognizing this “guilt” can lead to shedding it.

 

 

I grew up in a very dysfunctional family.  My father tortured each of us siblings, each in a different way.  It is amazing to see how little incidents are reminders of this deep pain.  When it comes to understanding, assessing, and intervening with survivors it is important to recognize that each person suffers a unique style and pattern of stress response.  Experiences of vivid, intrusive images and painful emotions often interfere with whatever the survivor may be thinking or doing in the moment. Trauma, therefore, takes the person away from the present moment, robbing victim of the now. These symptoms take “center stage” in one’s life, especially when a flashback occurs. A flashback is a reliving symptom, a strong recollection forcing the individual to experience the horrific effects of the trauma as though it were recurring before your very eyes.

 

 

My flashback

Recently, I gathered with my siblings.  I was cooking the lunch meal and enjoying standing there lost in my own thoughts.  In my own way, this was my comfort zone-my escape from it all.  Coffee brewed next to me.  I smelled the coffee dripping and was looking forward to this cup of coffee.  My brother Dan sat at a nearby dining room table, lost in his own thoughts as he watched his little ones playing.  I was amazed to see my little brother now with his own babies.  My little brother had grown up, where had time gone?  This very scene brought me back to days when I played the mother to him.  Before he could even walk, he would crawl each night to my bedroom.  He would beg to be held and loved.  In the dark of the night, I would go make him a bottle and watch him until his little eyes closed nestled in his big sisters arms.  Nights were very difficult for me.  I would sit for hours with my own arms around myself rocking back and forth, afraid to fall asleep…afraid to experience yet another dreaded day with no end in sight.  My focus would shift to the little baby asleep, so trusting so dependent on me.  I would promise to myself that HE would not hurt like I did, I would be his hero, preparing myself once more and finding the strength from within to take on the brunt of the pain and abuse so he would not have to.  What I did not realize is the pain and guilt I would carry for not being able to fulfill this promise.

 

 

Dan looked over as the coffee finished dripping.  I turned to Dan and said, “would you like a coffee, may I make it for you?”.  Immediately he looked away with pain in his eyes.  I was overcome with my own very real waves of pain.  The trigger?-serving coffee.  I cannot go there..too painful too painful.  Dan’s pain filled eyes forced me out of my own flashback.  I was overcome with guilt and this overwhelmed me.  The notion that I had not protected him, that I had not saved him, and even that I had not taken more of the brunt of the abuse.  His eyes told me I had failed him.  As I sat with waves of pain trying to take me away, I fought back.  More for Dan then for myself I had to do something.  I called to him as I poured two cups and said “I will NOT serve this coffee to you, come here and make your own as I make mine”.  Slowly Dan walked next to me, and willingly not by force, stood next to me in silence drinking his coffee and I mine.  A simple event yet meaningful to us.  We had changed things.  We opened the door to finding healing. 

 

 

What a cup of coffee meant to us-

 

My father was always the center of home.  Everything always revolved around him.  His needs, his desires, his wants.  His abuse of us was bad enough, but his constant tortures in between to ensure we were under his thumb were worse at times.  It was like we could not get away from him, from it.  He always said I made the best coffee.  If he only knew the times I spit in it or added a pinch of salt.  He would order any one of us who he deemed “rebellious” or not “submissive” enough to make him a cup of coffee.  This would happen several times during the day.  This was about more than a cup of coffee.  He would make the person serving him his cup of coffee sit with him.  Minutes felt like hours during those times.  I grew to hate serving coffee.  Was I really best at making coffee?  Why did I always offer quickly to make that cup of coffee so my siblings did not have to?

 

 

Flashbacks can feel like hours, even if they occur for a second.  We can let them overtake us or we can take the next step like Dan and I did.  Change it.  The realization of this coffee event did not hit me until days passed.  It dawned on me days later what had occurred.  None of it would have mattered if I did not go back and point it out to my little brother.  I called him.  I first apologized for not taking care of him, for not protecting him, for allowing him to experience things no child should have had to go through.  Through my tears I smiled and said “we changed it Dan!”. What a crucial moment it was for us.  We changed it.

 

 

Although I did not realize it, I carried the pain of survivor’s guilt.  When I left the home to go to college, I left my siblings there to be tormented.  Imagine living with guilt for more than 30 years when it was not my fault and there was nothing I could have done to change the outcome. Guilt, also like shame, can bring lots of suffering and make it difficult to overcome the negative effects of such experiences. But it can definitely be overcome.  Guilt is about things we've done. It involves feeling regret, and usually feeling critical or judgemental toward yourself, for having done something wrong or bad – something that conflicts with your values and with your view of being a good person.  None of us are perfect. We've all done things that conflict with our values. We've all let down or harmed others, including people we respect and love. 

 

 

I realize that instead of expressing rage outwardly, I turned it upon myself. Guilt is the embodiment of anger directed toward the self.  However, survivor guilt also has the potential to compel an individual to remain mired in his past, to the relative exclusion of his present or future. Guilt is the penance one pays for the gift of survival.  We changed it with a cup of coffee. 

One day, the father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to the country  with the express purpose of showing him how poor people live.

          

 

They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be considered a very poor family.

 

 

On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, 'How was the trip?'

 

           'It was great, Dad.'

 

 

'Did you see how poor people live?' the father asked.

 

           'Oh yeah,' said the son.

 

 'So, tell me, what did you learn from the trip?' asked the father.

 

     

The son answered:

 

           'I saw that we have one dog and they had four.

 

           We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a creek that has no end.

 

           We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night.

 

           Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon.

 

           We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight.

 

           We have servants who serve us, but they serve others.

 

           We buy our food, but they grow theirs.

 

           We have walls around our property to protect us, they have friends to protect them.'

 

          

The boy's father was speechless.

 

          

Then his son added, 'Thanks Dad for showing me how poor we are.'

 

          

 Isn't perspective a wonderful thing?  Makes you wonder why more don't give thanks for everything they have, instead of worrying about what they don't have.

 

          

Appreciate every single thing you have, especially your friends!

 

          

Pass this on to family, friends and acquaintances and help them refresh their perspective and appreciation.

 

          

Autistic people communicate differently than we do. To us, it looks like they are perhaps mentally deficient, out of control, or simply unable to verbalize properly. However, psychically, spiritually, they are performing at a higher vibration and trying to cope with physical form. Therefore, it may appear that they cannot communicate, or that they do so imperfectly, but in reality, they are communicating in a language we do not yet understand. Dolphin-speak sounds like clicks and squeals to human ears, but the truth is that they speak psychically in highly sophisticated ways that we cannot understand.

 

Remember Raymond, from Rain Man?  Raymond is an autistic savant, with superb recall but little understanding of subject matter. He is frightened by change and adheres to strict routines. Except when he is in distress, he shows little emotional expression and avoids eye contact.

 

 

I was thinking back to my own high school years, when I cared for a friend’s brother named Tim.  Tim was autistic.  The very first time I took care of Tim, I was terrified.  I was not sure I would be able to communicate.  I watched him make his bed perfectly.  It would take him hours.  I was so enthralled with the process.  He was a gentle man.  We spoke very little with words, yet I always knew what he needed and how he was feeling.  Why I wonder today?  The answer comes to me as I think about spirit communication and the different levels.  What an amazing process.

 

 

A second “aha” moment comes back to me on communication...  I was waiting tables at a restaurant years ago.  I walked into my section to see way in the corner a woman.  Her name was Susanne.  I observed me section with her sitting there with a man.  Her and her blank eyes.  She turned her head and even though I was feet away her face lit up and she exclaimed with delight “Jolene!”.  I remember being totally taken aback.  How could she know it was I after not seeing her for years and her being blind?  I hug my previous college dorm mother with great affection.  I think again about the power of communication and recognition.  You see Susanne was blind.  Later that evening as I served her and her husband dinner she explained that she never forgets a smell.  She knew me by how I smelled.  And here I thought being a restaurant employee, I would smell like the steaks I served!  Susanne also explained that seeing is more than physically seeing.  She could see the soul colors too.  It was something she taught herself with practice, but it started with her first opening up that part of her.

 

 

With reflection today on the impact Tim and Susanne had on my life, I willingly open myself up to other parts of communication within me.  What a great lesson these two have for me in my life. 

 

 

See not with the physical eyes today, but beyond.  To see into the aura or etheric matter of another you must first look through your own.  The process of seeing is accomplished through the discernment of differences or contrast and this principle of seeing operates on all levels. 

 

 

Judgments prevent us from seeing the good that lies beyond appearances. -Wayne Dyer

 

 

Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. -Walt Whitman

 

 

Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others. -Jonathan Swift

 

I know I will touch a few of you.  A few of you who have lost your children or have no relationship left with one your sons or daughters. 

 

 

I remember when I got pregnant with my daughter Madison.  I was in college and was only 18 years old.  Some were happy with my news, while others warned me of the heartbreaks of having a child.  Others yet, explained me the subject of abortion.

 

 

I thought nothing other than having this child.  Madison was a perfect baby.  She never cried, was quiet, and sweet.  Her toddler years consisted of one lone incident of temper tantrum.

 

 

Middle school years were rough.  We lost our business and packed what we had left to live in Arizona.  I would go all day without eating just to save the one steak for dinner.  Then I found ways to make that little steak into beef stroganoff.  I became a shell of myself and lost a lot of weight.  Madison in her own way sacrificed too.  She had one pair of jeans.  She mixed and matched with that pair of jeans.  I felt bad because that pair of jeans was starting to get more threadbare by the day.  One day she came home from school and she had several ripped tears in the legs of the pants.  I was mortified, as I did not know how I was going to get her a new pair.  She was laughing so hard and told me she started a new trend!  That morning she had torn her jeans up a little and decided they looked ok.  By the end of the day others thought her jeans looked so cute they did the same!

 

 

As she became a teenager, I would wait for her to come home from school.  Sometimes pretending to pick weeds and other times shooting basket ball hoops.  We talked about everything.  People know she was my daughter and I her mother, because physically she is a version of me. 

 

 

As she grew in her teenage years, boys started to call.  She would bring them home and they would spend hours in my kitchen.  I was always feeding them, but it was more than the food, the reason for which they stayed.  We talked about everything.    

 

 

We continued to have a close relationship until the day I had to tell her that my ex, Jeff, her father had cancer.  He had only a couple of years left.  She shut down on me.  I was no longer her best friend.  She would not be in the same room with me.  All the while her father’s family talked badly about me.  Where were they when the kids needed shoes?  Where were they when we would take every last dime we had, just so the kids could travel and spend some time with them?  I sat in my anger.  Somedays I still do.

 

 

Madison’s father in his last year of life, completely traumatized in the fact that he never accomplished his dreams himself, set out to make Madison a replica of himself.  A tool to accomplish his dreams.  Suddenly, she was going to the school he never went to and her idea of where to live mirrored his.  She started calling other women “mom”.  She could not stomach calling me this.  It disgusted her.  It pained me deeply to see this happening.  Worse yet she started smoking pot with her father.  I watched all of this and there was nothing I could do.  People talk about “best interests of the child” but do not understand this truly through their own greed and selfishness.

 

 

I was asked not take pictures and watch her as she went to her Senior prom.  Apparently she had promised another “mom” the honor.  I attended her graduation in silence, only to hear people behind me cheering for her.  Talking about their pride in her.  Unknown faces to me and totally painful. 

 

 

Jeff eventually passed away.  His dying wish was for his family to take the children from me.  How horrible to think of children as “things” to be passed around.  For the sake of my son Josh, and the pain it all caused him, I had to let Madison go.  I lie saying that I let her go, because in my heart I can never do this.  My arms long to hug her, my eyes long to watch her with pride and to see what a woman she has grown up to be, my lips ache to say “I love you”.  I hold myself back because I am sared.  Scared of rejection.  For fear of being tricked once again.

 

I cried mostly every day.  Thinking back to those days when I could call Madison "daughter" and she called me "mom".  I have been through the grieving period of loss...but little things bring me right back.  There is such a deep rooted pain that comes with losing someone.  The tears, the wails, the uncontrollable sobbing that comes from deep within the soul.

 

 

Most say to me, she will come back again.  Those words do not give me peace at all because of the odds.  There is also a chance not.  So I go back to the beginning where my friends told me to have an abortion.  I never considered it.  Today I will never consider losing the hope that she will feel the same way about me.  Her mother.  MOM

 

 

Since I never got the chance to tell her on her graduation what I wanted to say…I cowardly do it here.  I was going to play her a song and gift the lyrics.  Why do I pick songs always?  Not because I am musically inclined…it is just that others seem to be able to share through song and writing what I really wish to say.

 

 

 

Always On Your Side

 

My yesterdays are all boxed up and neatly put away

But every now and then you come to mind

'Cause you were always waiting to be picked to play the game

But when your name was called, you found a place to hide

When you knew that I was always on your side.

 

Well everything was easy then, so sweet and innocent

My demons and my angels reappeared

Leavin' only traces of the mother you thought I'd be

Too afraid to hear the words I'd always feared

Leavin' you with so many questions all these years.

 

Is there some place far away, some place where all is clear

Easy to start over with the ones you hold so dear

Or are you left to wander, all alone, eternally

This isn't how it's really meant to be

No, it isn't how it's really meant to be.

 

Well they say that love is in the air, but never is it clear,

How to pull it close and make it stay

Butterflies are free to fly, and so they fly away

And I'm left to carry on and wonder why

Even through it all, I'm always on your side.

 

Is there some place far away, some place where all is clear

Easy to start over with the ones you hold so dear

Or are we left to wander, all alone, eternally ?

But this isn't how it's really meant to be

No, it isn't how it's really meant to be.

 

Well they say that love is in the air, never is it clear

How to pull it close and make it stay

Butterflies are free to fly, why do they fly away ?

Leavin' me to carry on and wonder why

Was it you that kept me wandering through this life ?

When you know that I was always on your side.

I came across this wallpaper for my iPod and it made me think:

 

There are 3 Types of People in this world:

Those who make things happen

Those who watch things happen

And

Those who wonder what happened.

 

 

I like to see myself as someone who makes things happen.  What I see and how others see it is sometimes different.

 

 

Then I reflect upon the last year and think of this wallpaper I too found:

 

People who are too weak to follow their dreams, will always try to find a way to discourage yours.

 

 

I have a boss who for the last two years has tried to steal my dreams.  Why I wonder at times, cannot I get a boss who really ares.  One who really encourages outside thinking.  Instead of feeling sorry for myself I vow to remember to NEVER become that sort of boss when the role is reversed.  I can say I know what I do not like.  It gives me a lesson for the future.

 

 

At a live concert Styx lead singer exclaimed before singing the song Come Sail Away:

 

“If you’ve got yourself a dream, work hard for I know your dreams can come true.”

Then they sang-

 

 

Im sailing away, set an open course for the virgin sea

Ive got to be free, free to face the life thats ahead of me

On board, Im the captain, so climb aboard

Well search for tomorrow on every shore

And Ill try, oh lord, Ill try to carry on

 

 

I look to the sea, reflections in the waves spark my memory

Some happy, some sad

I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had

We live happily forever, so the story goes

But somehow we missed out on that pot of gold

But well try best that we can to carry on

 

 

A gathering of angels appeared above my head

They sang to me this song of hope, and this is what they said

They said come sail away, come sail away

Come sail away with me

Come sail away, come sail away

Come sail away with me

 

 

I thought that they were angels, but to my surprise

They climbed aboard their starship and headed for the skies

Singing come sail away, come sail away

Come sail away with me

Come sail away, come sail away

Come sail away with me

 

 

I love this song for it gives me hope in following my dreams.  Knowing I am not alone and I am not the first one to get tired while trying, gives me a strange sort of peace.

 

 

To truly live is to follow your heart, to realize that you can achieve your dream and be who you were meant to be. Whether you are just starting this journey of life as a youth fresh out of grade school, or a middle age person, it is time to live your life.

 

 

During your life you have made a mistake or two, and you have to live with them. However you can overcome your past and create your dream future. To do that you need to know what your dream is.

 

 

You have your dream, and you want to live it. Well, to get there you need to take a few steps along the way. Nobody ever (and I do mean nobody) accomplishes their dream life by wishing. You have to work at it a little bit at a time. You have to make progress a step at a time. You simply cannot wish to be able to be the next Bill Gates and expect them to mail you your check and job title from the comfort of your couch; you have to get off your butt and go work out.

 

 

So you know your dream, but how do you get there? First you must resolve a path. Then decide what steps to take to get there. To determine what those steps are you have to set goals. Sometimes you even have to put deadlines on those goals. Goals are simply stepping-stones. You set a goal to achieve something then set tasks to achieve that goal.

 

 

Whenever you are setting a goal or two, you sometime find that your path has been blocked. Always Plan B and eve C to alternative ways to reach your goal. You should do this just in case the most obvious path comes out short of the end.

 

 

Be prepared to change and adapt. Have a few plans ready to go. Even a loose idea of a plan is better than nothing. If plan "A" does not work have a plan "B" ready to take its place. This avoids that trapped feeling you get when you realize that the goal that you were after has been taken out of your reach. This is similar to the way people plan a road trip. You look at the map and see the different possibilities to get from point A to point B. Say there is a blizzard or construction, or it is simply blocked; you merely back track a bit and resume your journey from another direction. Sometimes plan B is more enjoyable and more appropriate for the journey than your first choice.

 

 

Systematically re-check and as needed redefine your goals. It's not worth the wasted time to struggle to meet a goal that no longer fits with your life. During obvious stopping spots along the way, take a day to sit back check yourself about how you are reacting to reaching this milestone. Are you happy, or relieved? Are you excited, and want more? Conversely are you scared, with slight overtones of dread or entrapment?

 

 

As you grow into your new self some nervousness is to be expected. As you reach out in a totally new direction in your life, it is only fair to expect that not all feelings you have will be super positive. There is some mourning to go through for the loss of your old life, and growing pains in your new life. Take time to just have fun, to balance your priorities. To love, laugh, cry, and otherwise allow yourself to be a normal person. However, take an occasional planned time out to make sure that you aren't ignoring obvious Warnings.

 

 

If your subconscious is screaming, "Run away! Run away!" then pay attention. These warnings usually happen for good reasons. If there are warnings take heed, and go to plan B, or if need be, change your goal. Make sure that the goal is your goal, and not what someone else says is your goal.

 

 

The next step is to write down the tasks to accomplish the goal to achieve your dream. Write them down in the reverse order you thought of them, and add a start date.  I will do just this.  Do you have a dream?

 

Someday, when we are wiser

When the world's older

When we have learned

I pray someday we may yet

Live to live and let live

 

 

Someday, life will be fairer

Need will be rarer

And greed will not pay

Godspeed, this bright millenia

On it's way, let it come someday

 

 

Someday our fight will be won, and

We'll stand in the sun, in

That bright afternoon

'Til then, on days when the sun

Is gone, we'll hang on

If we wish upon the moon

 

 

There are some days, dark and bitter

Seems we haven't got a prayer

But a prayer for something better

Is the one thing we all share

 

 

Someday, when we are wiser

When the whole world is older

When we have love

And I pray someday we may yet

Live to live and one day, someday

Someday life will be fairer

Need will be rarer

And greed will not pay

 

 

Godspeed this bright millenia

Let it come

If we wish upon the moon

 

 

One day, someday....soon

 

As teens grow up through adolescence, they look beyond their immediate families to discover who they are and how the world works.  Mother-daughter conflicts leave both women feeling lonely.  There are days when my heart breaks from the loneliness of not having closeness with my daughter.  Where did she go?  How could it be so fine and then so wrong?

 

 

Mothers and daughters who struggle with their relationships as adults often repeat the old patterns of control and rebellion from childhood.  They cannot hear each other. The daughter will hear the mother say something and she will think, 'She wants to control me.' And the mother is saying something that absolutely is controlling, but is not meant to be." Meanwhile, when the daughter speaks, the mother hears nothing but anger — in a comment that does indeed convey anger but also "I love you, and can't we do this differently?"

 

 

The fear of growing up to be like one's mother has long been so common among most women that it has a name — matrophobia.  The best gift a mother can give a daughter — and, as she becomes an adult, that a daughter can give her mother — is permission to be herself. The daughter can be who she wants to be because the mother is who she wants to be, and I think increasingly mothers are understanding that. If daughters have trouble navigating being an adolescent, it is often because they do not know who they are. They are sacrificing themselves to fit in.  I see this clearly in my daughter.  She is trying to be who others think she should be.  She is trying to relive-to reinvent herself to be and do all that her now passed on father never was.  I hate this, but yet I have little say.  Many say:  she will come back, let her make mistakes.  I say: well there is a fifty-fifty chance of this and statistically odds are not good.  This scares me.

 

 

As mothers, we share common hopes and dreams for our daughters and ourselves, and we have hopes and dreams that are unique. Our different cultures, family traditions and experiences inform our different priorities as parents. We do not need to accept one-size-fits-all mothering - we each get to decide our own parenting values. We can support one another in clarifying our values and preferences and in creating our own vision of what it means for our daughters, for us, and for our relationships to thrive.  I make a commitment today to be here for each and every one of you and you venture this journey with or without your daughter at your side.  Not only physically but also spiritually and emotionally. 

 

 

This is the song I picked to play for my daughter when she graduated.  I never was able to give it to her as she chose to be with another “parent” (all her friends’ mothers and her dad’s ex girlfriend) that day.  So, I share it with each of you and I can only hope Madison hears it in her heart.  Maybe some day.

 

 

 

Send Me A Song"

Take the wave now and know that you're free,
Turn your back on the land face the sea,
Face the wind now so wild and so strong,
When you think of me,
Wave to me and send me a song.

Don't look back when you reach the new shore,
Don't forget what you're leaving me for,
Don't forget when you're missing me so,
Love must never hold,
Never hold tight but let go.

Oh the nights will be long,
When I'm not in your arms,
But I'll be in your song, That you sing to me, across the sea.
Somehow, someday, you will be far away,
So far from me and maybe one day,
I will follow you,
And all you do,
'Til then, send me a song.

When the sun sets the water on fire,
When the wind swells the sails of your hire,
Let the call of the bird on the wind,
Calm your sadness and loneliness,
And then start to sing to me,
I will sing to you,
If you promise to send me a song.

I walk by the shore and I hear,
Hear your song come so faint,
And so clear,
And I catch it, a breath on the wind,
And I smile and I sing you a song,
I will send you a song...
I will sing you a song,
I will sing to you...
If you promise to send me a song.

Fill your life with as many moments and experiences of joy and passion as you humanly can. Start with one experience and build on it.

 

 

I have had a long night tending to a little 7 year old with a fever.  As I sit here and watch him eating some toast and a glass of water, I am amazed that even through his feverish gestures he smiles at me.  I ask why he smiles.  He says to me, “Everything hurts Jolene, yet I am happy because first mom, you are here with me and that brings me joy…and although most of my body hurts- my hands do not ache.  I would like to draw.  That helps me find joy”.

 

 

As I reflect on this, I realize what he is instinctively choosing to do.  He is choosing to be joyful.  He is finding one positive and he is building upon it.

 

 

I have read all the blogs and I myself, I have struggled with joy lately.  I would like to share a story that Sam, my 7 year, taught me about a year ago about joy.  At the same time, it will help remind me as well.

 

 

About a year ago, we were celebrating the day of the Three Kings.  In Hispanic culture, it is a Jan celebration of the day the three wise men brought gifts.  Traditionally, on this day families and friends gather to partake in dinner, children are given three gifts (because they are like Jesus and deserve this), and lastly they partake in a special bread.  The bread is called the Rosca de Reyes.  It is twisted into a circle to represent a circle of life and unity.  Small candied fruit are on top to symbolize and remind those who partake of the fruits of the spirit:  Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self-control.  Inside are little plastic figures of “baby Jesus”.  One figure says love, another, money, and the last says happiness.  As the group cuts the bread, if you get a figurine you are blessed all year with that great gift.  The person who gets money has to have a party for the group partaking later around Easter.  It is supposed that as this person is blessed with this, they will be able to afford it.

 

 

Excitedly, we start cutting the bread.  It is rather dry, representative of simpleness, but we do not care.  A given is that my son Josh and I, having always had great luck, get the first two.  Sam sits and pouts as I scream for I get “money”.  I am excited because I look for that raise and promotion (which came weeks later by the way).  Josh get “love” and like any teenager is thrilled because the hot chick his has been eying may say “yes”.   Sam finally gets his turn.  He carefully cuts his slice and gets “happiness”.  His 6-year old still baby featured face reveals nothing.  He sits quietly as I egg him on to become thrilled.  Not understanding, I start to clean up and continue to watch Sam carefully.  He seems deep in thought.

 

 

Once all is cleaned, Sam requests us all to listen to him.  Josh has his little piece of plastic with love in his hand and is eying it as he awaits a text message from some girl.  Sam waits still to ensure he has complete attention from each person in the room.

 

 

My little wise orator begins and says this:

 

 

Love does not always guarantee happiness; in fact, it often brings much pain.

 

 

Money does not guarantee love, because love is NOT for sale.

 

 

The love of money is many men’s doom.

 

 

People in love are often broke for they blindly spend.

 

 

Loving and having money are so difficult at times, although there are happy moments, happiness is not an automatic.

 

 

 

Smiling widely, Sam exclaims finally:

Happiness is not for sale.  It is a choice.  We have to choose to be happy.  I have the greatest GIFT of all because not only did I receive it today, I choose to accept it and be joyful.   

 

 

This story reminds me that we cannot depend on others to bring us joy in live.  It is simply not their responsibility.  It is too much to ask of another.  The love of material things is not permanent.  There may be a joyful moment but it can be taken away in an instant. 

 

 

Choose to be happy, choose to be joyful.  It is a choice and the greatest gift of all.  Having joy is YOUR responsibility.

I must be suffering from melancholy today.  I thought of another story from my life that stuck with me.  I can only today figure out how to parallel this to my life today and find a little bit of good in it.  They say we must makes lemonade from the lemons in our life.

 

 

The year was 1985.  We had grown accustomed to the rationing of food.  There simply was not enough to go around.  My job in the family was to cook the meal and to search for food.  I maintain the ration cards.  Typically we were allowed one pound of sugar, two pounds of rice, and I liter of milk.  I would go to the market and inquire about fruit and vegetables.  Somehow, I would always find someone who would lead me to opportunities to purchase a piece of fruit, a couple of bruised bananas, a couple of rotten potatoes, or even some shriveled carrots on the “black market”.  My luck had run out for days.  I tried to figure what to make as my siblings had not eaten for days. 

 

 

With hunger pains almost doubling me over, I awoke very early one morning.  I had heard there was going to a sale on meat.  Hurray I thought, meat was something we had not tasted for months.  Quietly, as to not disturb the others I dressed.  Without turning on lights, I walked into the kitchen.  Although we treasured the bit of coffee we had left, I decided I deserved the extra caffeine to keep me on my toes.  As the water boiled, I searched the cupboards for something else to serve with the meat I knew I would get.  Way in the back, my hand touched a bag.  I pulled it out with surprise.  Inside the bag was something wrapped in newspaper.  I lit a candle and inspected the article.  Neatly wrapped inside was a little bag of instant chicken noodle soup.  I had forgotten all about that instant soup that somehow had arrived from some kindred soul via mail from the United States.  Carefully I rewrapped the soup and decided it would be best to make this and surprise the family later.

 

 

Full of warm coffee and caffeinated energy I ran down the street.  I wanted to be the first in line.  A bus passed slowly loaded with people.  I am not sure if it was the rebel in me or a need to get to the store first, but I cheated.  I grabbed the dilapidated bumper of the bus.  I hung on to the half-broken ladder and latched on to my free ride!  Minutes instead of an hour later, I arrived at the store.  A mob of people were in line.  The line must half been a mile long.  After looking to see if I knew anyone to cut or to see if I could sneak in unnoticed closer to the front, angrily I took the tail.  The wait was hours.  As I stewed angrily at myself for not waking earlier or for not being able to steal my way closer, the crowd started screaming.  The keys were unlocking the doors.  People rushed forward out of line desperately.  People crashed through the windows and glass doors.  I could see a woman lying all bloody with her glass-harmed body shaking.  The meat was no longer my focus.  I had to help her.  I was trampled myself.  By the time I got to her, she was taking her last breath.  I reached through the feet and bodies trampling me to touch her.  I gave a silent prayer for her and thought to myself, “Wow, what people will do to survive”.  My own survival was dependent upon getting out of the there.

 

 

I ran home with tears streaming down my face like I had never done before.  Ashamed to have come home empty handed I decided I would make the soup.  I knew there was enough for my little brothers and sisters.  I could make it on the bit of bread I had managed to buy from someone in the line.  I boiled the water and emptied the instant soup packet into the water.  I found a little shriveled carrot, cut it into bits, and added it to the pot.  The smells of the soup cooking awoke my little 6-year-old brother.  He came into the kitchen rubbing sleep out of his eyes.  His smile was priceless.  So proud of myself and the difference I was going to make in their day, I lifted the lid of the pot of soup.  Floating all over the top were worms!  Quickly I closed it.  I knew what had happened.  The worms had somehow gotten into the dried soup bag.  Quickly I found a book and some colors.  I put my brother to work on the picture of a train so I could fix the mess.  Very carefully, I skimmed the top and took out all of the worms, praying it was not ruined or would make someone sick. 

 

 

An hour later, as I served the soup proudly and filled my sibling’s stomachs for the first time in days, tears came to my eyes.  Once again I thought, “What we do to survive”.  A few worms are not going to hurt anyone.  It must have been the best soup ever because the day ended well.

 

 

The moral of the story is that sometimes we must see worms in our lives as just a little added protein.  What are a few worms?  Just skim them off and be thankful.  As far as the meat, I am glad I never got any.  It turns out that the meat they were selling was dog meat.  The second moral- sometimes what we so long for is not all it is cracked to be.  It is not what it appears to be.