Well Joe got cancer, and headed in a downward spiral that was faster than many.  He sold his belongings, moved back to the mainland so that his family could take care of him; yet he continued to be positive in his outlook.

I got busy with other things, and Joe wasn’t conducting business with me anymore, so he was not in the forefront of my mind.

One day in autumn last year, Joe called my work number, and I was busy with another customer.  He left a message to call him back, and I put it off until the next day, since I had so many pressing things to complete at work.

When I called back late the next day, the phone was answered by his brother, who said that Joe had voluntarily decided to request administration of large amounts of sedative which would keep him in a coma until he passed away.  He had called me the day before to say goodbye, and I had been too busy to take his call.

He passed a week later.

Today, I learned that my brother, who is suffering from terminal brain cancer, doesn’t have much time.  His wife sent out the message that if we were intending on visiting, then we should do so sooner rather than later, as we were not sure how long he would retain cognitive function.  Although I never got to say goodbye to Joe, my final experience with him was a lesson I learned the hard way.  Time is of the essence, and no matter what it costs, or which activities I need to rearrange to get it done, I will be there to say goodbye to my brother while he is still cognizant of our relationship.  These lessons are hard, but I believe that they weave the web of spiritual growth due to the challenges they provide.

Love to all.

Although I am still not speaking to God, I as a guilt-free person seek to find the lesson in every situation that involves me in some way.  This situation, although highly emotionally-charged, is no different.  Generally it doesn’t take me long to figure it out, and I generally get my lessons on the first try, thus avoiding repeat lessons and additional pain.  This time, however, it’s not coming quite so quickly.

I took two weeks off of work to sort things out;  there were lots of medical appointments, and tons of crying and a lot of screaming at the Universe.  There were angry scowls at young mothers bouncing babies on their knees.  There was envy in many of my thoughts. There was love thrown at me from the most unlikely sources, and I am thankful for that.  And after a while, there was some hope.

The hope was in the form of other options, for being 46, it’s assumed that my eggs are just too darn old to make a viable embryo.  My husband isn’t a spring chicken either, at 38, so the odds aren’t great that we will conceive again on our own.  That’s when TWO different doctors recommended the same fertility specialist, who didn’t seem fazed in the least by our age, or by our history.  He in fact warned that we are perfect candidates for twins, and were we ready for that?

YES!  I’m ready!

But, alas, my body is not.  After basically giving birth to a stillborn child, my body is in repair phase.  It will take up to two months for the next step to take place, as multiple tests can’t be done after my body returns to its normal, non-pregnant state.   This is a lesson in patience;  there is absolutely no way around it…all my wit, charm and planning will do no good in this case.  I am forced to wait, despite my inner desire and history of getting things done.

So I will take this time to reflect, and to make art and write about the lesson that the Universe has created for me, that so far eludes me.    And I will practice patience, and self-kindness, and strengthening my bond with my inner self.

I hope the time goes by quickly, all the same.

Not that I have placed all of my faith in what one woman said over a deck of cards long ago, but my faith also includes the belief that we have already planned the major details of our lives, long before we entered a human body.  This includes pacts and agreements with others, who also take human form, to help us learn the lessons that we’ve chosen to learn in this particular life.  It’s kind of like picking out your courses for the next semester of college;  you know the general subject that you’re taking, but you’re not given the exact lessons until you are enrolled in the class.

Well apparently, one of my lessons is to learn to live in the later years of my life.  This is one of my most pertinent ones, for most people are able to look back at their twenties, smile, and remember the freedom they had when they thought that they would never die.  Yet learning to live at an older age is quite the different type of lesson, for mortality is lurking in the shadows, and every day our bodies age and challenge us to be our best in the present moment.

My plan to truly live my life at an older age includes the birth of a child; and with it the responsibility of caring for an innocent being that can benefit from my extra years on this earth.  I understand now that this is part of my life plan, so whatever the Universe throws at me at the Doctor’s office, I know deep down inside that I was the one who created it exactly as it is, in order to get yet another course under my belt.  I am not doubting my plan in the least.

My goals are to live my life outside of the standard order of things.  As I said in my post, Guilt Free Non-Conformity, I really haven’t followed society’s timeline of events for a normal life.  My life really started later than most, at the birth of my first son when I was 32.  That’s when my beauty started to bloom, and I realized that I was a unique human being that didn’t think like others did.  That’s when I started recognizing the people that chose to be sheep rather than leaders, and that’s when I chose to be a leader by example.

So now, at 46, I find myself living totally outside of the box yet again.  My second child is due, completely unexpected and most certainly welcome nonetheless, in May 2012.  My plans for retirement are coming along fine, but it’s not the type of retirement that most people are planning, when they are too old to enjoy themselves.  Of course, on a humorous note, much of my retirement will be spent at Little League games, cheering on my son/daughter as he or she runs the bases.  Graduation for this little angel will be in 2030 (OMG!!!) and hopefully there will be great strides in the field of plastic surgery by that time so that I don’t look so much like Grandma while I sit in the audience of proud parents.  And of course, with a younger husband, I will still be called a cougar until the day I die, even when he’s 80 and I’m 89.  (If you would like to read about my pregnancy, you can visit my sister blog at Surprise at 45)

There are days that I feel the guilt of being non-conformist–mixed in with morning sickness it’s not an easy cocktail.  I know that there are friends who judge me for it, and have backed off because they just can’t relate.  To them, I say that I can think of no other way for me to live.  As I believe in multiple lives, I can say that this one, because of my choices to take the path less taken in many instances, is the best life yet.

Of course I didn’t get to keep reading, because she flipped the page on me, but it started me thinking about history in general.  I’m not talking about the years that Napoleon lived, or whether Shakespeare really wrote his sonnets or if Sir Francis Bacon really did.  No doubt that was what the teachers in the article were fighting for, with a firm resolve that learning about Napoleon’s successes and failures really helps shape our childrens’ malleable minds into well-rounded citizens.

The kind of history I’m referring to is our personal history.  As any parent of a teenager knows, the minute we go into the “When I was a kid” mode, the eyes begin rolling and they don’t stop until you shut up.

Here’s an example:  when I was in school, I was one of those weirdos that came home from school and did my homework immediately.  That way, it was done and I could relax for the rest of the night doing what I really wanted to do, which was art.  My son, on the other hand, waits until 10pm to start his homework, and no amount of force, removal of privileges, or even hobbling (ok, I really didn’t consider it for long) will get him to do his homework the second he enters the house.  He finishes it, albeit with drool all over his name for falling asleep on it the night before.

So I could sit him down, and tell him how it was when I was a kid…or I could let him fail a few times and come to his own conclusion that perhaps starting his homework earlier might benefit him in many ways.

So I ask you, do you think our lectures get through, even if LONG after the fact?  I mean, we all have “momisms” that we repeat (usually at family gatherings for maximum comic camaraderie. Does hearing about one’s past help shape the actions of another, or does doing really seal the learning deal?

But in today’s world, most people are clustered in metropolitan areas because the resources there are easier to obtain.  And chances are you run into people you know all the time.  And then you find out that people you know know other people you didn’t know that they knew, and they know you too.  In the language of Linked In, this would be a second connection.  Take the situation of a dear friend that I tried to set up with Joe, a soccer acquaintance of Jerry’s.  She and I ride horses; Joe and Jerry are soccer teammates.  Two different worlds.

So we invite them both over, these friends who are close to us but unknown to each other.  After some conversation, we all realize that they have a mutual friend, with whom Joe lives at the moment.  Small World.

Now take Zoe, an acquaintance in Florida with whom I have spoken on the telephone for over 3 years.  She’s crazy, and unforgettable, and our conversations would be loud and raucous.  Anyone that meets her would surely remember her strong personality and stunning good looks.  Her Facebook page has over 2900 fans, and twice as many people follow her on Twitter.

And she’s missing, and none of those people–whether first or second connections–know where she is.  How could such a vibrant, colorful and high profile person just disappear?  In a world where your cousin went to school with mine, where we can find Facebook friends from our junior high school classes, and where long lost friends can reunite after years of separation, how can someone actually disappear without a trace?

Now criminal conduct aside, which I pray is not the situation, Zoe could be the person to pull an Elvis, a Jim Morrison or a Marilyn.  But how do you make yourself invisible in this Small World?

My point here is this:  you are never really alone unless you want to be.  Just look outside, and most likely it won’t be long before you  see a face that you’ve seen before.  It’s the familiarity of community.  The peace in recognition.  The sense of being part of something.

Unless you don’t want to be, in which case, you can just pull a Zoe.

Gurus like Larry Winget and Gary Vaynerchuk inspire us to break free of the corporate mold, and start making changes in order to live the lives that we want.  After reading nearly a hundred of these self-help books, I am left with the nagging feeling that these people believe that there are no employers that can provide you with a satisfying job.  In their eyes, you must work for yourself in order to find happiness in what you do.

Although I believe entrepreneurship provides benefits that many traditional jobs do not, such as freedom to make all of the decisions and self-appointed vacations, it can also increase stress levels, tear apart families and create health problems that affect our level of happiness.  I am an entrepreneur myself, and along with the day job, I see both sides of this issue.

Please excuse my oversimplification of the benefits of entrepreneurship vs employee life.  The arguments for both sides are valid yet lengthy, and I am sure that there are plenty of sources that will assist you in choosing what’s best for you.  My subject here is accepting, no matter which path you choose, where you are right now.

Many of us, including myself in the recent past,  spend a lot of time bitching about where we are.  We hate getting up early and leaving our family at 6am. We miss our childrens’ functions due to late meetings, we are too tired to cook dinner after a long day’s work.  After my pity party was over, I decided to make the best of where I was at any particular time and view my world from the perspective of my being exactly where I was supposed to be.

This means doing what you can do, when.  And not feeling guilty about what you didn’t do, unless what you chose to do instead of what you should have done was stupid.

What’s stupid?  Five straight hours of South Park.  Drinking an entire bottle of wine by yourself, leaving a stream of clothes on the floor and dragging yourself to bed.  Hanging out on Facebook and refreshing until you see a comment made on one of your posts.  Those things are stupid, and those places are not where you should be.

This is time wasted, and as we get older, time is exactly the thing we value the most.  So why waste this time?  Even needing to unwind can be productive, if you just want to doodle on a pad and let your mind wander.  That, to me, while perhaps not overtly productive, gives your mind time to stew, to make sense of your crazy life, and, hopefully, turn it into something that will satisfy your temporary need to be–elsewhere.

Sometimes those doodles on the pad are just stick people, and sometimes they turn into ideas that can be useful whether you work inside the home or out–for yourself or for someone else.  And you can see that where you are is exactly where you are supposed to be.

Yesterday, my son called me a bitch.

Now, other people have done that in my younger years, but back then I had earned that label.  Nowadays, however, I think I may be on the lenient side of things, and let a lot of inappropriate actions and words by others just roll off my back.

Well, folks, that doesn’t work with kids, apparently.  Because they are watching you, and modeling you, and their behavior is learned from yours in a really big way.

I guess it started when I was working nights, and as I lay comatose in bed after being on my feet all night, my little tyke would crawl out of bed and switch on a DVD.  One morning, he tapped my shoulder as I slept, and said, “MOM!  The Matrix is everywhere.”  I should have taken this as a sign that perhaps I should be more careful about what he had access to, and to be fair to myself, there was no porn or other REALLY inappropriate materials in the house.

And after all, they are going to learn it soon, anyway, right?  Right.  They are going to learn it.  And they are going to look to you for your judgment on that material.  If you glaze right over the violence and the trench coat-wearing virtual mercenaries, then your kids are going to think that these types of movies are the norm, when indeed they should not be–at least for kids.

So being called a bitch was simply a symptom of the bigger problem–that I was too lax in my household, and that my quest to bring up an individual rather than a little carbon copy of myself went too far to the other extreme.  And I created an individual to which nothing was sacred.

According to Elaine Sihera on the Helium.com blog:

Children in homes where the parents do not treat each other with any respect, and where language is abusive, critical or inappropriate, tend to use those examples as their guidelines and behave accordingly. Parents teach their children not only through what they say, but most importantly, through what they DO. Children will pick up inappropriate and ambiguous behaviour when they have been set the wrong examples. The parents might not want that to happen but that is the only outcome where there is no other model to copy.

So, yes, it is possible to be TOO guilt free.  Remember that you are a model for your children, and being too lax is just as detrimental to their growth as being too strict.  Let them grow by feeding them the good stuff in the right portions.

Chaos as a Way of Life

Do you ever come home from work and experience this in your first ten minutes through the door:  you are attacked by the dogs, face a whining family who can’t find anything to eat despite a kitchen full of food, skid across socks on the floor, deal with piled-up mail, answer the ringing phone and encounter still-unmade beds?

I deal with this every day.  After overtime on the job, I drive home in the solitude of my car (sometimes I don’t want to get out!) only to arrive home to what should be my sanctuary, but is rather a screaming zoo of chaos.  I can barely take a breath before something else is requiring my attention, and there I stumble, one shoe still on my foot, to put out another virtual fire between demanding loved ones.

So last week, I decided to take a weekend away from all of this, and go with a friend to Las Vegas.  I had my own room, with a big fluffy bed covered in pillows, room service and curtains that blocked out the light so I could sleep late.  Three whole days to myself with no one making demands of me!

Solitude isn’t what I expected it to be

Silence. Peace. Opportunity to go within. Freedom.
Boredom!

I was lost there, with the endless shopping and sightseeing and visual treats available to me. There were so many opportunities that none of them seemed appealing–because I had no one to share them with.

Missing the Chaos

I longed to return to the noise and the craziness, because that’s where my true interaction was. Not only was I missed at home, but they missed me; for they are an integral part of me, and I had left my most integral part of behind.

Enjoying your Routine

So next time you are faced with the temper tantrums, the spilled spaghetti and towels on the floor, remember that your presence plays a large part in the growth and community of others. Their–and your–needs are important, of course. A little quiet may–or may not!–refresh you.