August 19, 2011

Bitter and mostly sweet perspectives on my problem person

I was so glad for the chance to open windows earlier this week. We're shut-ins again, but the mornings are a bit more satisfactory even as the temperature... edges into the three digits ...

I notice I had my problematic parent on my mind a fair bit this week.  Life with her gave me some good memories. She taught me about hanging my laundry out. I did that with some joy this week.  

We are nearing the end of our blueberry season, here. 

Blueberries always remind me of my teen years, and the summers where I was dropped off at Blueberry fields forever... on my dad's way to work (7 am) and picked up on his way home... at 6:00.   I did not think picking blueberries was my choice, but there were times I enjoyed it. Those times were when I was alone in the field. Or when I was the only kid who cared to find a branch of the public library on the very edge of that huge farm.  Oh well, this week I was grateful that I did learn to pick blueberries and  that I can pick twice the speed of the casual picker. I also enjoyed the fine irony that my brother CHOSE the same activity as a teen, because all his friends wanted the novelty of time on a farm!

Near the end of August, is my parent's birthday. Today, I found her a very nice gift that will help her mark time in a beautiful way. The sixteen month calendar begins on her birthday, a nice coincidence.

I strongly believe coincidence is HP's way of being anonymous. 

I am very grateful to be in the middle of a children's book on tape that reminded me of myself as a girl, escaping into other's stories and finding power in my words. Yet, words are very powerless if no one listens to or respects them. My problematic  parent (and other unsolvable people).... sometimes are unmoved by my words and that is when I know my words are for me, and not them. One reason I say a lot less to my parent than I used to, and I exit as soon as I am being used for a garbage can.   My words have no impact, whereas long periods of compassionate silence DO work wonders, with ME. 

I almost don't want to say it too strongly, in case I am not there yet, but I think I have forgiven my mom.  I realize today forgiveness was never something I could do alone. I needed the shared story of others in program, and a good therapist,  to help me make a lasting change in my perspective. I believe my work brought me to the tipping point, but willingness allowed me to turn the forgiveness process over to the care of my HP.

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