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Posts Tagged With: Sadness

When the soul weeps

I still miss her.

Mom.

This July will be 3 years.

She would not want this, she’d chide me, give me sh*t and push me to “get on with it, for Heavens sake.”

She’d even snort once or twice.

She in her cat-eye glasses and pedal pushers.

She.

All 100 lbs of her.

I miss her.

I long for our conversations.

I suppose I always will.

The depth. The breadth. The range.

The absurd, the large, the small, the swing of it all.

I see her face in little old ladies faces at the grocery story, except they don’t carry a red purse or possess the spunk she did.

You know what I miss most?  Our friendship.

How lucky was I?

I know I should just “deal” and be grateful, and I am.

But her name was Gay, and she epitomized the word fierce.

Mom on Buck, an Emjayandthem (C) photo

And I miss her.

 

“The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see–the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived. For people like me and Echo, our souls contained more scar tissue than life.”
Katie McGarry, Pushing the Limits

 

Who are you missing tonight?

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Categories: Beauty, Determination, Family, Grief, Home, Love, Mom, Personal, Quotes, Thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

But if there’s love, dear

Oh there was love, poppet.

Just wish it would have been enough.  RIP RW.

 

Categories: Family, Grief, Life, Love, Men, Technology, Thoughts, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Optimism in the face of adversity

It’s been 7 days.

7 days.

6 nights without a welcome home and 6 mornings without a scrunchy-faced hello.

No drive by “so what are you cookin’ today” moments.

No yard tours. No dinner aides. No coffee partners.

7 days.

7 days without my buddy.

And there’s just so much I have to tell him, so much.

So if I could, I’d tell him about a new project we’re working on and how much fun we’re having and he’d nod his head in agreement because he always knew that’s what I needed.  And then I’d tell him about working to find just the right person to fill a job that’s come open, and he’d nudge me and tell me, in his own way, to trust my instincts and how they’ve always served me well — after all, they were right on spot with him.  And then I’d share  the news that Mom’s looking at maybe  – just maybe – moving after 61 years on the farm.  And he’d stay silent and close because he’d know .. he’d know that a decision likes that deserves nothing less than respect and reverence.

And after we’d checked on all things outside and had supper and taken a walk that was just long enough but not too much for him, I’d hug him close and whisper the words I said to him every night of his life, “You’re the best dog anyone could ever wish for. The very best. And there’s just no one better.”

And with it, he’d close his eyes and sigh and smile, guard our secrets and he’d know, know deep in his soul, that he had the kind of life other dogs can only dream of.

A person can learn a lot from a dog, even a loopy one like ours. Marley taught me about living each day with unbridled exuberance and joy, about seizing the moment and following your heart. He taught me to appreciate the simple things-a walk in the woods, a fresh snowfall, a nap in a shaft of winter sunlight. 

And as he grew old and achy, he taught me about optimism in the face of adversity. Mostly, he taught me about friendship and selflessness and, above all else, unwavering loyalty.” ― John Grogan, Marley and Me: Life and Love With the World’s Worst Dog

Frankie-bear aka Captain Cuddles

Sure miss Frankie-bear aka Captain Cuddles; an Emjayandthem(c) photo

Categories: Animals, Attitude, Friendship, Grief, Growth, Life, Personal, Relationships, Share, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 44 Comments

The sounds of sadness

“..anyone who’s ever lost their temper knows that anger is often just a louder form of sadness.”
~ Sydney Levin Senior Homepage Editor, AOL.com

I’ve been pondering on all that we learn about life via the wonderful world of business, especially as I watch our youngest navigate college course selections for his fall semester.  He has no idea what he wants to do, career-wise (who does at 18?).  He’s venturing in slowly, taking a few classes and working. And I’m fine with that.   If it takes him longer, so be it. I don’t care.  I’d rather he wade in and embrace the current on his legs than jump off the deep end and drown.

We were discussing different class choices today and one that jumped out at me was “Business ethics.”  This course focuses on office culture, confidentiality, diversity, communications etiquette, dining etiquette, dress code and sexual harassment.

Wow, how could I have benefited from such a course in my tender years.

You see, like most of us, I took the usual “pre requisites” and later, coursework that was specific to my degree. I could have used a class that taught me what to do when someone put me down, discounted my input, or stared at my chest too long.  I could have used the practice to learn how to deal with men who leered and women who back-stabbed.

But, like most of us, that wasn’t an option. I learned the hard way.  I learned to laugh off someone’s stupid  comments and leering eyes.  I learned, over time, to speak up and make it clear when their jokes weren’t funny.

I think back to when I was working as an executive administrator for a global corporation.  Most employees were well-behaved, polite and extremely dedicated.   But there were always those few executives, all men, who took their positions of power just a bit too far.  They enjoyed their status and expected others to grovel. Many did. I wouldn’t.  There was the aged goat who spoke condescendingly to us about “never fishing off the company dock” and then went on to marry his secretary, 25 years his junior, 3 months later.  I recall the time that one suggested that all we (admin staff) were good for was “prettying up the outer offices and making sure their homes were managed.”  My gasp gave me away.  I remember his beady eyes boring down on me and feeling the dread that washed over me like a summer’s rain.  He turned and, in front of a room full of colleagues, asked, “Did you have something to add?”  And I did.

I unleashed a hornet’s nest of commentary, spewing years of pent-up frustration at that greasy little twerp.  I related what it felt like to be discounted and how rude it was of him and his cronies to treat us all like second class citizens.  I wish I could tell you everything I said, but I can’t.  What I do remember is that others in the room faded from my vision as my focus became his sweaty face.  I watched him chew his bottom lip as the color drained from his cheeks and his knuckles gripped the table.

Unlike a Julia Roberts movie, it was not my finest moment.

There was no applause, only stunned silence as I made a quick exit.

Oh I was mad and, some might say, justifiably so.

But, in the process, I lost control and ultimately … I lost ground.

It was an important life lesson:  I had to learn how to be heard without losing myself along the way.

He never heard a word I said and, looking back, I can’t say I’m surprised.

But I did.

I heard it.

And I learned from it.

And that’s why the kid is now signed up for “Business Ethics 101.”

 * * *

And you? Have you ever lost your cool in a corporate environment?  What did you learn from it?

Categories: Attitude, Faith, fear, Growth, Life, Personal, Thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

We take our own chances and pay our own dues

photo courtesy of thestarphoenix.com

“…The Silver Tongued Devil and I.” Kris Kristofferson

This weekend, I learned of a friend’s unexpected passing.

Bryan Juckes – aka “Juckesy” – was a professional jockey who rode for my parents’ thoroughbred stable back in the day.  I met him as a teen when he came out to the farm to “break” two year-olds one spring. I was the gawky teenager hanging around the barn, hoping to talk with the trainers and riders, and maybe even tag along with them on my pony.

Bryan was lanky, tough, good looking and hilarious.  He wasn’t just the life of the party, he was the party.  He loved hard, fought harder, and partied with the best of them.  His skills as a rider were well documented but it was his zest for life and his Pied-Piper-like ability to lead everyone down a path of fun that drew us in.

The racetrack is an exciting and exhilarating place to be … but it’s also a rough place to spend your time, especially as a young girl. Juckesy nicknamed me “kid” and took on a brotherly approach, doing his best to steer me away from the harsh realities of the backstretch.  Away from the fights, the drinking, the drugs and the divorces.

For a time, because of my love for horses and general proximity to the track, I seriously considered a career there. Taking me aside one day, he whispered, “Kid … I know you love it here but you are meant for more than what this rough life can offer you. Take your smarts and go.”  And even though my parents had already said pretty much the same thing, it was his words I listened to.

We re-connected via Facebook about 8 months ago. We hadn’t seen each other in at least 25 years and I knew we probably never would; but he still called me “kid” and we had an easy rapport, as old friends do.  He was just as full of crazy quips as ever and clearly enjoying himself; it made me happy to know he’d retired from racing and started a business.

And then, he passed away this weekend at the age of 53.   And since I heard the news, I’ve found myself thinking about this rough & tumble character, someone who didn’t just march to his own drummer, he wrote his own tune.   And it was unlike any tune I’d ever heard then or since! I have often thought about how, as we go along through life, we meet people who leave their mark on us and probably never even know it.

But, in spite of my sadness, I can’t help myself but smile when I think of him.  This is a man who took his own chances and paid his own dues, and more than anything else, lived while he was alive.

I know it wasn’t always easy and I know there was heartache.  But, when I think of Jucksey, I smile because what I remember most is the laughter, the incessant one-liners, the crazy stories and most of all … his ferocious love for life and all it offers us.

Jucksey you did it your way.  You, more than anyone I’ve ever known, lived while you were here. And I have learned so much from you – about friendship, about taking chances, and how to just get out in the world and embrace it.  I just wish I had told you so.

RIP sweet friend.

Categories: Animals, Attitude, Blogging, Determination, Faith, Family, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gratitude, Grief, Humor, Joy, Life, Men, Personal, Relationships, Share, Thoughts, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 30 Comments

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just another plaid-wearin' java-sippin' girl

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