Birthday Wishes Across the Stars: For Brother Mike

Posted on April 9, 2024 by cattalespress under a spiritual life, Aging, Angels on Earth, Dealing with special occasions, Death, disciplined non-conformist., Do Not Be Afraid, Dreams, Embrace Change, Faith, Faith Muscle, Faith-O-Meter, Family, Good over evil, Gratitude, grief, grief relief, Grieving, Growing Up, Healing of Memories, hope, I need a miracle, inspiration, inspirational messages, joy, Living through death, Living through personal crisis, Long-Term Coping Strategies, Meeting your needs, Natural above Normal, NEVER EVER GIVE UP!, one day at a time, Positive Change, positive words of encouragement, Relationships, seasons, Self-Care, Self-Compassion, self-discovery, self-value, Sibling Death, Soul Food, spirit-filled life, spiritual, spiritual inspirational thoughts, spiritual transformation, Struggles, The God Channel, To thine own self be true, transparency, trauma, Validate Your Feelings, Veterans, Vulnerability, zen

Not much different from today, the 70s boomed with a culture of body shaming, fueled by a relentless push to sell magic formulas for a beauty standard that was as warped as the false eyelashes and diet pills I clung to. The “miracle pills” whittled me down to a frail 102 pounds, a desperate attempt to mold myself into something peer-approved pretty.

You, on the other hand, Mike, were the pragmatist. Your words were few, but each one landed with the weight of your well-worn cowboy boots sinking into the good earth. I can still picture the glint in your eyes, even then, as a young man, when you asked me as I batted my extended lashes, “What ever happened to natural?”

Natural? The concept flew over my bleached-blonde hair.

Turns out, dear bro (and maybe you knew this all along), I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. It took me five whole decades to finally grasp the meaning of “natural.” It wasn’t just about rejecting the miracle products and noise from greedy marketers, but also the well-meaning (but often misguided) voices of family and friends anchored by their faith (or traditions), trying to mold me into their own images.

Finally following your lead, I, at last, retreated inwards, finding solace in the quiet and contentment in the slow burn of a candle. This newfound space helped free me from external manipulation, my decisions stemmed from the deepest well of my being – my soul, (sadly, a missed opportunity for my son). In this way, a new understanding of myself blossomed within me, carried on the wings of redemption, faith, and the quiet hum of grief. It was a womb-like homecoming – a return to the essence of who I was always meant to be. Like the tulips, daffodils, and hyacinth that pushed through the warmed earth, bold and bright as jewels. In the process, I embraced myself. Judgment and distortions disappeared. A sense of liberation bloomed – a feeling as light and airy as the warm breeze that chased away the last of winter’s chill.

This personal freedom extended to giving others space. I let go of my ego. Of “fixing” prayers and forced agendas. Life, I found, often worked in mysterious ways, guided by a hand far more divine than mine and impossible to understand fully.

So, dear brother, thank you for planting the seed of the concept of natural in my heart. These last two years, in particular, are showing me that the overdue path for my true self is now under construction. Looking back, I see the past woven intricately together, not by chance, but by a divine hand that holds mine with compassion.

Specifically, since January 2023, I have lost over 35 pounds, all on my own without any drugs or shaming or a doctor’s fearful words. Out of the blue, I “happened” to have fallen upon the program NOOM (disclaimer: I’m not affiliated with them), and it has changed my life.

It wasn’t about quick fixes – NOOM focuses on behavior change and mental well-being, which resonates with me. NOOM’s app uses science and personalization to track food and lifestyle choices, promoting healthy weight loss and long-term habits, which I’ve incorporated into my life.

Sharing my initial progress with only one person backfired when they dismissed my one-pound weight loss after a month on NOOM. But I tuned out the negativity and continued to focus on myself. Every pound since then feels like a major victory on this amazing journey. Ultimately, losing weight isn’t just about the numbers on the scale. It is part of my powerful journey of self-discovery, because, as I already mentioned, I alone have claimed what was so loving and freely given to me all along: my authentic self. (While it looks like the naysayer is headed for a knee replacement, I am not, at least not at the moment!)

Just as amazing, too, and completely by happenstance, today also marks my one-year anniversary of becoming a pescetarian! There was no pressure, no specific date in mind – it just happened. (Plus, this time, I kept my secret to myself, secured in my judgment-free zone!) And that’s when I realized the most profound aspect of this journey: sometimes, the most meaningful changes come about organically, like a nudge from a higher power that reigns over all the super human powers.

My inspiration for this eating shift had been brewing for a long time, fueled in part by your gentle spirit and by my amazing daughter, Alexandra. She’s been a vegetarian since she was just eight years old, and at 29, she’s still a passionate advocate for animal welfare. Witnessing her compassion has brought the joy of spring to me every season, her dedication is always rubbing off on me. Then there’s my niece who’s poured her heart into working at an animal sanctuary early every Sunday morning for over a year now.

From the start, I felt a deep conviction about my dietary path. Then, just a few weeks in, a fantastic article in the New York Times, Peter Singer: Fix Your Diet, Save the Planet, practically fell into my lap, seemingly confirming my intuition. Since I gave up eating animals, even on days when the world feels like a relentless battle, I go to bed knowing I’ve made a positive impact, however small.

So, big brother, you were right – “natural” truly is beautiful. Maybe that’s why I find such joy in aligning myself with the universe’s flow, dancing with it rather than resisting, keeping my world free from the super human powers that get in the way and cause an accident.

Today, on what would have been your 78th birthday, I celebrate not only your life, but also the newfound vibrancy in mine. Who knows, maybe next year on your birthday, I’ll discover another divinely inspired way to move through the world that can sometimes feel so serious, a joyful expression in your memory.

But for now, I raise a glass (sparkling water, please!) to you, brother, to my incredible daughter and niece, and to the life I’m so grateful to share with them and all of you. Let’s weave faith into the unexpected twists and turns of life, and see what beautiful and unique tapestry emerges. Regarding that natural process, I’m profoundly grateful. Now, I can simply rest and watch the masterpiece unfold.

Happy Birthday, bro!

Eternal Love

Posted on January 16, 2024 by cattalespress under a spiritual life, A Writer's Life, Affirmations, Aging, Angels on Earth, Asking for help, Courage, Crisis, Dealing with special occasions, Death, death of a child, disciplined non-conformist., Do Not Be Afraid, Embrace Change, emotions, Faith, Faith Muscle, Faith-O-Meter, Family, Fourth Dimension, Friendships, Good over evil, grief, grief relief, Grieving, Growing Up, Healing of Memories, heartbreak, hope, I need a miracle, illness, inner voice, inspiration, inspirational messages, Living through death, Living through personal crisis, Loss of a Child, Meeting your needs, Natural above Normal, NEVER GIVE UP!, Nightmares, one day at a time, Out of Order Death, positive words of encouragement, Problem Solving, PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), Relationships, Sacred Space, Safe Space, seasons, Self-Care, self-value, Serendipity, Serene-diptious Moments, Sing a new song, sorrow, Soul Food, spirit-filled life, spiritual, spiritual inspirational thoughts, Struggles, Suicide Loss Survivors, Swamp of the soul, The God Channel, Therapy, To thine own self be true, transparency, trauma, Turmoil, Unconditional Love, Unsung Heroes, Validate Your Feelings, Veterans, Vulnerability, war

In 1993, while my infant son, my first born, lay in the NICU, his pediatric cardiologist plopped a hefty textbook about pediatric cardiology onto the surface of the nurse’s station. In fact, one of the chapters was written by my son’s doctor himself. This dense tome, a relic of a pre-internet era, was to become my constant companion, a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty.

Seventy-two hours after giving birth on January 18 of that year to a seemingly healthy baby boy, my world, which had already been turned upside down by a seven-day stretch in the Labor and Delivery room and an unexpected premature delivery, spun out of control. Doctors diagnosed my son, Marshall, with not one but two congenital heart defects – a ventricular septal defect (VSD) and an atrial septal defect (ASD).

A VSD is a hole in the wall that separates the heart’s lower chambers (ventricles), while an ASD is a hole in the wall that divides the upper chambers (atria) of the heart. Fortunately, the ASD would heal on its own within the first year of Marshall’s life. However, the VSD, shockingly, turned out to consist of multiple holes, not just one, and only open heart surgery could repair the condition.

“A Swiss cheese heart,” his doctor said in his description to me, painting a vivid picture of my son’s condition. I can still recall the doctor’s words, “Ventricular septal defects are the most common congenital heart defects.”

At the time, I interpreted this statement as a reassurance that we were dealing with a relatively common condition. Okay, we’re with the majority. It’s good. My affirmation helped me put one foot in front of another on those endless shining granite-colored titled hallways that seemed to loop around like never-ending hamster wheels.

However, while researching this blog post, I came across a startling statistic: “About 1% of babies born in the United States have a congenital heart defect, such as a hole in the heart.”

This statistic struck me with a jolt. In so many ways, as I’ve previously written, there was nothing typical about Marshall’s birth, life, or death. He truly was a one-percenter.”

Good thing back then I didn’t also know that almost 7 out of 10 infants born with a hole in the heart survive into adulthood, because I would have also obsessed about the three infants who don’t survive into adulthood.

As a new mother, I was understandably overwhelmed by the news of my son’s congenital heart defect. Textbook statistics and medical jargon did little to soothe my worries, and I couldn’t help but focus on the possibility of complications.

Despite my fears, within the first 10 months of his life, baby Marshall underwent two successful surgeries and emerged stronger and healthier than ever. However, our journey was far from easy. During his first year, he struggled with colic, an uncontrollable crying (screaming) condition that left us both exhausted and frustrated.

Hearing the constant wailing was heartbreaking. It was as if our son was in constant pain, and no amount of comforting or soothing helped. Both his pediatrician and pediatric cardiologist assured us that colic was unrelated to his heart condition, but it was hard to believe that a seemingly healthy baby could be in such distress.

As a stay-at-home mom, working as a freelance writer, I felt the weight of responsibility more heavily than ever. The endless cycle of crying, feeding, and soothing left me drained and desperate for a solution. One night, actually early hours of the morning, in a moment of sheer exhaustion and despair, I had a horrifying thought: what if I just tossed my son out the window?

The thought was fleeting, but it shook me to my core. I realized that the stress of caring for a colicky baby had pushed me to the brink.

Fortunately, I had been actively involved in various therapeutic undertakings as well as a 12-step program over the past nine years. These interventions, which I still consider to be the most profound healers in my life, provided me with the strength to navigate this challenging period. I had a reservoir of coping mechanisms and strategies for dealing with whatever life threw at me. I remained grateful for the power of faith and fellowship, and most importantly, my son taught me an invaluable lesson: the essence of unconditional love.

You see, exhausted and at my wit’s end after recounting the sleepless nights, I would often conclude my sharing in support groups with the poignant declaration, “I’m learning how to love.” It was a testament to the profound impact my son had on my life.

Gradually, the crying subsided, and Marshall’s congenital heart defects became a successful chapter in our lives. He grew into a healthy toddler and our routine returned to a semblance of normalcy, though our son’s unique challenges remained. He was a fighter, determined to live life on his own terms.

For instance, administering his medication was a daily battle. The only way I could manage it was with the help of my 80-something-year-old dad, who would hold him down while I forced drops of medicine down my son’s throat. Similarly, buckling him into a car seat was another 20-minute ordeal. Marshall had an aversion to being confined, and he would resist it with every ounce of his mule-like strength. I vividly recall a struggle in the back seat of our car at a grocery store parking lot. It took me over 20 minutes, the golden number, to finally secure him in his seat. When I left the back seat, ready to hop into the passenger seat, an older woman, with her arms crossed and a face contorted with rage, confronted me. She shook her head, likely assuming I had just beaten my son in the back seat, but she didn’t investigate any further and, instead, stormed off without a word.

Dental appointments were an entirely different ordeal. Marshall’s fear of the dentist was so intense that he became hysterical in the waiting room. On one occasion, his behavior was so disruptive that a staff member reprimanded me; I mean, the responsibility always falls on mom, right? From then on, we scheduled our appointments at off-peak hours when we could avoid the presence of other children. While it was embarrassing to have to make special arrangements, it was the only way to ensure that Marshall received the dental care he needed.

Wouldn’t you know it? Marshall’s dental issues were far more severe than those of an average child. He seemed to be a one-percenter when it came to tooth problems, so we were frequent (solo) visitors to the dentist’s office.

Around the age of five or six, Marshall seemed to have outgrown his fear of the dentist. We arrived for our appointment, and everything appeared to be going smoothly in the waiting room packed with other children. However, as the hygienist approached wearing her workday garb, Marshall bolted up and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. It took nearly an hour of coaxing and reassurance to convince him to come out. Despite the setback and leaving a few kids and their parents frazzled, we managed to complete the appointment, just as we always had.

“I’m learning how to love.” My update to my fellows remained the same — week after week; month after month; year after year.

When Marshall first entered kindergarten, some of his behavior was a stark contrast to what had turned into, at least for a good deal of the time, a calm demeanor at home. Specifically as soon as he arrived home and got off the school bus, he ran around the house, screaming uncontrollably. Little did I know that a lot of his behavior stemmed from the actions of his teacher — a story I won’t delve into at this point.

Consulting with the school’s psychologist revealed that Marshall exhibited exemplary behavior in class — a trait that remained consistent throughout his school years. What the psychologist further explained was that he channeled his pent-up emotions from the classroom and school grounds the minute he stepped off the school bus and onto home turf, a safe zone where he was unconditionally loved and able to express his true emotions and feelings. In this case, it was a lot of fear and frustration from performing properly on the world’s stage. Great! This knowledge helped me enormously. I bit the bullet.

Marshall’s determination to live authentically, even within the haven of love and trust, often sparked conflict with those closest to him, the casualties of his relentless quest to shed the shackles of his false self, which I didn’t learn about until his last year on earth. Once someone told me I should have received the Purple Heart medal (which my eldest brother Mike actually did, along with a few other medals, while he was in the service during Vietnam) for raising my son. I agreed wholeheartedly.

Throughout the challenges and joys of parenthood, I never lost sight of my gratitude. First, for the privilege of becoming a parent in my 30s, a rarity among my generation in those days, and second, for the honor of nurturing the most precious gift on earth: human life. It’s a concept that still amazes me to this day.

Admittedly, I didn’t always handle motherhood perfectly. I made mistakes and fell short many times. But through it all, I discovered that the extraordinary act of prioritizing another’s needs above your own — the essence of motherhood — was my ultimate purpose and it still is.

A few months ago, as I was recounting the experiences of raising my son to my dear friend Michelle, my co-author of her memoir. I told her how, especially during the many trials, I would often reiterate, “I’m learning how to love.” And then, as we conversed and I reflected on the profound impact my son had had on my life, I added, “Out of all the lessons he’s taught me, he’s taught me how to love the most.”

To that statement, she amazingly replied, “He still is.”

She couldn’t have been more accurate. Marshall would have been 31 this coming Thursday, January 18. The pain of what was and what could have been, as my therapist Louis, who had lost a daughter of his own, had promised, has softened through these years, but it remains a constant presence. My life has taken on a different dimension, with everything now filtered through the lens of his absence. Marshall is forever young at 26, and I am forever a heart broken senior citizen who understands the fragility of life at the first heart beat.

It brings to mind a podcast, All There Is with Anderson Cooper, (September 21, 2022) with Stephen Colbert: Grateful for Grief. The excerpt is below:

Anderson Cooper: Wow. Something I’ve been feeling a lot with my kids because they’re so perfect. There are these moments of such frailty that, my heart is breaking at just the beauty of this experience. And yet there’s this sense of sort of the awareness of the frailty of it.

Stephen Colbert: The first experience that I had holding my first child, my daughter. The first thing that occurred to me was, how beautiful and how wrong that this will ever end.

How beautiful and how wrong that this will ever end. I repeat that line all day in my head and it never fails to rekindle my sense of gratitude.

In this new, old world of mine, I’m totally indifferent, and that’s okay. I do not need a textbook to interpret my lot, for it is a journey reserved solely for me not bound by external factors, but my own inner compass. Yet without question, intrinsically I know the the path was carved for me to walk; the metaphorical bullet others dodged, but I took the hit. Each step, a small victory over the overwhelming feeling of defeat that threatens to consume me. The hallways endless; granite tiles, cold and unforgiving. Faith forward, my final spin on the hamster wheel of life.

Damn. I’m learning how to love — without victory, without reserve.

Love transforms you. It stretches your limits until you feel like you’re in a league of your own, a realm that only a select few will ever experience. It breaks you down, only to rebuild you stronger, more resilient, and more capable of love than you ever thought possible, a medal of honor with no comparison.

A New Year’s Toast: Not to Resolutions, but to Revolutions 🎇

Posted on December 26, 2023 by cattalespress under a spiritual life, Affirmations, Angels on Earth, Asking for help, Dealing with special occasions, disciplined non-conformist., Do Not Be Afraid, Dreams, Embrace Change, Faith, Faith Muscle, Faith-O-Meter, Fourth Dimension, Good over evil, Gratitude, grief relief, Healing of Memories, heartbreak, Holidays, hope, I need a miracle, inspiration, inspirational messages, joy, Living through death, Long-Term Coping Strategies, Loss of a Child, Meeting your needs, mindfulness, Natural above Normal, NEVER EVER GIVE UP!, New Year, one day at a time, Positive Change, Positive thinking, positive words of encouragement, Relationships, Sacred Space, Safe Space, seasons, Self-Care, self-value, Serendipity, Serene-diptious Moments, Simple Pleasures of Life, Sing a new song, Soul Food, special occasions, spirit-filled life, spiritual, spiritual transformation, Struggles, Support Group Resources, The God Channel, To thine own self be true, transparency, Unconditional Love, Unsung Heroes, Validate Your Feelings, Vulnerability, zen

As the clock flickers towards midnight, a familiar ritual unfolds. Champagne bubbles, confetti dances, and resolutions whisper into the starlit sky. This time, however, as the year draws to a close, let’s rewrite the script. Forget the forced resolutions, toss the tired expectations. Instead, let’s ignite a revolution within, breaking free from self-doubt and crafting a haven of self-acceptance.

And this revolution has already begun for me. It lives in the wise gifts you’ve shared: your words and kindness like vibrant brushstrokes painting light onto the canvas of my being. From your help, I’m learning to embrace vulnerability, letting my empathy shine like constellations while dancing to the rhythm of my own unfamiliar steps, waltzing with joy, tangoing with grief, and pirouetting through loss across the canvas of life.

Because of the many gifts you’ve given me, I raise my glass to you, my blogging community friends. May your untamed fires illuminate the path ahead, and may your brushstrokes of faith paint your personal masterpiece, abstract or otherwise, in the coming year. Happy New Year to you all!

Starry ⭐ Night Greetings

Posted on December 19, 2023 by cattalespress under a spiritual life, Angels on Earth, Christmas, Damage Control, Dealing with special occasions, Death, disciplined non-conformist., Do Not Be Afraid, Dreams, Embrace Change, environment, Faith, Faith Muscle, Faith-O-Meter, Fellowship, Fourth Dimension, Good over evil, Gratitude, grief, grief relief, Grieving, Healing of Memories, heartbreak, Holidays, hope, I need a miracle, inspiration, inspirational messages, joy, Living through death, Long-Term Coping Strategies, Loss of a Child, Meeting your needs, Mental Health, Mental Health, mindfulness, Natural above Normal, NEVER EVER GIVE UP!, one day at a time, Positive Change, Positive thinking, positive words of encouragement, Safe Space, seasons, Self-Care, self-value, Serendipity, Serene-diptious Moments, Simple Pleasures of Life, Sing a new song, Soul Food, special occasions, spirit-filled life, spiritual, The God Channel, Unconditional Love, Vulnerability, zen

Finding Faith and Empowerment in the December Night Sky

No matter where you live or what traditions you hold dear, I invite you to take a special moment this Monday, December 25th, when many celebrate Christmas, to simply observe the vastness of the night sky.

Above, twinkling like diamonds scattered on black velvet, are countless stars. Each one, a testament to the incredible power and mystery of the universe. Some, long extinguished and no longer with us, yet their light continues to shine. Their existence reminds us that even in the face of death, something beautiful and enduring can remain.

As you ponder the celestial dance above, allow your mind to wander beyond the limitations of our earthly existence. Imagine the countless galaxies and planets swirling through the cosmic void, each harboring untold stories and unfathomable wonders. In this vastness, we can find not only a sense of humility, but also an exhilarating sense of possibility.

So, under the watchful gaze of the night sky, take a moment to reflect, to marvel, and to find strength and inspiration for the journey ahead.

This Monday, let the stars inspire you to believe in the impossible, to dream bigger, and to reach for the light of faith.

Even when doubt whispers and darkness looms, remember your own light within you. The smallest spark can ignite a fire like the loneliest star that can guide a ship to shore. Dim or bright, unearth your light, and let it rise. Be the beacon that guides your own journey, and in doing so, illuminates the way for others lost in a starless night.

Let Go🌟Let Light

Posted on December 12, 2023 by cattalespress under a spiritual life, Aging, Angels on Earth, bankruptcy, Christmas, Courage, Crisis, Damage Control, Dealing with special occasions, Death, death of a child, Depression, disciplined non-conformist., Divorce, Do Not Be Afraid, Embrace Change, emotions, Faith, Faith Muscle, Faith-O-Meter, Family, Fellowship, Fourth Dimension, Friendships, Good over evil, Gratitude, grief, grief relief, Grieving, Growing Up, Healing of Memories, heartbreak, Holidays, hope, I need a miracle, inner voice, inspiration, inspirational messages, joy, Letting Go, Living through death, Living through personal crisis, Long-Term Coping Strategies, Loss of a Child, Lost youth, marriage, Meeting your needs, mindfulness, Natural above Normal, NEVER EVER GIVE UP!, NEVER GIVE UP!, one day at a time, Out of Order Death, Positive Change, Positive thinking, positive words of encouragement, Problem Solving, PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), Relationships, Resurrection, Sacred Space, Safe Space, seasons, Self-Care, self-value, Serendipity, Serene-diptious Moments, Simple Pleasures of Life, Sing a new song, sorrow, Soul Food, special occasions, spirit-filled life, spiritual, spiritual inspirational thoughts, spiritual transformation, Struggles, Suicide Loss Survivors, Swamp of the soul, The God Channel, To thine own self be true, Total Control, transparency, trauma, Turmoil, Unconditional Love, Unsung Heroes, Vulnerability

Note: I mentioned this artificial Christmas tree experience in last week’s blog post.

The attic stairs groaned under my weight as I lugged the artificial, five-foot Christmas tree down. This year, decorating it was my mission, but it turned into a stark reminder of what had been and what was no longer. Over four years had passed since I had last touched it, the weight of tragedy replacing the joy and family healing it once symbolized.

As I set it down in the living room, I remembered way back to 2009 when the economic recession hit. Despite the hardship, our four-member family had weathered the storm. As per tradition, my then husband, two children and I had brought home a freshly cut tree that year. The next day when I had stood back to marvel at the tree I had finished decorating by myself (no one else liked decorating), the entire tree had toppled over on me! It was a strange, almost foreshadowing event, a prelude to the emotional avalanche that would engulf our lives just a year later. My sudden divorce, husband’s abandonment, the financial ruin, the loss… it all came crashing down the following year in 2010 like that heavy Douglas fir.

My soon-to-be ex-husband’s breakdown also had shattered our family in that year, leaving just me and my two adolescent children to face an uncertain future together. During that sad Christmas season, in the gaudy, multi-colored artificial tree we found at Walmart, my daughter and I saw a reflection of our broken selves, along with a flicker of determination to rise again. And rise again the three us us did, against all odds. Despite its disco ball appearance, the artificial Christmas tree symbolized strength, and we had purchased it, replacing our usual fresh tree that year. When we looked at it, it filled us with faith in the future, and we enjoyed it every year until 2018.

But then came 2019, the year that shattered what remained of our world. My daughter and I spent Christmas in front of greasy cartons of Chinese take-out food, the bare house echoing with sorrow. Holiday decorations lay banished in the attic, mere ghosts of past joy. In 2020, I ordered a three-foot “pencil” tree and a few handfuls of decorations that became our new holiday tradition.

This Christmas, stroking the Walmart-bought tree, memories of 2019 washed over me, the sharp sting of grief still fresh after all this time. The idea of decorating it with its own ornaments, relics of childhood Christmases, which I had also fetched from the attic, exasperated my silent ache, a reminder of the son I’d lost too soon. The once joyous act of decorating the family tree now felt like a painful, unbearable ritual, each ornament a monument to a life that was stolen from us. I opted for the familiar comfort of the pencil tree and its decorations.

Yet, returning those old treasures to the attic felt impossible. As tears welled up, a spark of something else flickered within me. While the pain of being a survivor remained, the memories of other past Christmases reminded me that the same decorated artificial tree had weathered countless storms alongside our one-time family of three, and had become a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, even in the face of fleeting life.

And that’s when I knew what I had to do. I decided to let it go. I posted an ad online, offering the Christmas tree for free.

The first two responses led to disappointment, but then came a message that tugged at my heartstrings. A single mother, struggling to make ends meet, desperately wanted the tree for her four-year-old son. My heart softened, and I did the unthinkable. I decided to give her not only the Christmas tree, but almost all of the rest of it — the lights, the ornaments, even the memories they held.

In that moment, I knew this was more than just giving away holiday decor. It was about passing on a flicker of hope, a spark of joy that could illuminate someone else’s holiday season.

“My son would have wanted your son to have it,” I explained after informing her of my decision, her profuse thanks still ringing in my ears.

^{Final Letting Go …}

Since I was going out that evening, I left the bundle outside my garage door for her to pick up. Before pulling out of the driveway, I took a final photo of everything. A wave of bittersweet emotions washed over me. Sadness for what I had lost, but also a sense of relief and liberation.

This Christmas, like the last four before it, my home may not be filled with the familiar sights and sounds of our pre-tragedy celebrations. But in my heart, I know that the spirit of Christmas lives on. It lives on in the kindness of strangers who lend an empathetic ear, in the joy of a child, and in the quiet strength that allows us to rise from the ashes and stand ourselves tall, like a noble fir.

Crème de la Crème Brûlée

Posted on November 28, 2023 by cattalespress under a spiritual life, Angels on Earth, Courage, Dealing with special occasions, Death, death of a child, Depression, disciplined non-conformist., Do Not Be Afraid, Embrace Change, emotions, Faith, Faith Muscle, Faith-O-Meter, Family, Fellowship, Fourth Dimension, Good over evil, Gratitude, grief, grief relief, Grieving, Healing of Memories, heartbreak, Holidays, hope, humor, I need a miracle, inspiration, inspirational messages, joy, Living on through Food, Living through death, Living through personal crisis, Long-Term Coping Strategies, Loss of a Child, Meeting your needs, Mental Health, Mental Health, Natural above Normal, NEVER GIVE UP!, one day at a time, Out of Order Death, Positive Change, positive words of encouragement, Problem Solving, PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), Recipes for Life, Relationships, Sacred Space, Safe Space, seasons, Self-Care, self-value, Serendipity, Serene-diptious Moments, Sibling Death, Simple Pleasures of Life, Sing a new song, sorrow, Soul Food, special occasions, spirit-filled life, spiritual, spiritual inspirational thoughts, Struggles, Suicide, Suicide Loss Survivors, Support Group Resources, Swamp of the soul, The God Channel, Therapy, To thine own self be true, transparency, trauma, Turmoil, Unconditional Love, Unsung Heroes, Validate Your Feelings, Vulnerability, What you resist persists

“Take a second mortgage on the house and get one of those … It’s a vanilla bean; they’re expensive.”

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, Chef Jean-Pierre’s melodious French accent echoed through our house. My partner, Mark, was deeply engrossed in one of the chef’s YouTube videos, determined to master a recipe for crème brûlée, as a tribute to my late son Marshall, who loved the delicate custard dessert.

Thanksgiving Day arrived, and sweet, as well as curried, aromas blended seamlessly with the roasted turkey and simmering gravy, filling our home and mingling with the bittersweet scent of memories. As my daughter, her BF and my life partner and I gathered around the table, our hearts held a mixture of gratitude, sorrow and unwavering love.

This Thanksgiving, our fourth without Marshall and his wry humor and roll-up-your-sleeve helping attitude, was a poignant reminder of the profound impact he had on our lives for his brief 26 years on earth.

Inspired by last weekend’s conferences, I hoped to rekindle the warmth and joy that Marshall brought to our Thanksgiving gatherings by not only making one of his favorite desserts, but also his signature curry pumpkin coconut soup.

I had special-ordered white ceramic dessert dishes, only to be baffled by the sudden appearance of a crystal clear one in the sink that no one could account for. (Later, it was revealed to me that the dish was my dear childhood friend, Anna’s.)

This was the first holiday that I decided to set a place at the table for my son. To my astonishment, Marshall’s photo slid out from the cutlery, as if guided by an unseen force. Immediately, I knew to place the photo from 2008 front and center on his designated chair. The place setting was a simple gesture, and it brought a sense of comfort amid our grief.

The meal was a symphony of flavors and memories. It began with the creamy, aromatic soup that evoked Marshall’s infectious laughter and his love for curry in each sip and ended with the velvety crème brûlée, nesting in its delicately caramelized crust that reminded us of his sweet tooth and his insatiable curiosity for new culinary experiences. Marshall mattered, and so did my mom, dad and brother Michael. Although they were no longer physically present, their spirits were woven into the very fabric of the gathering.

As our stomachs filled so did our hearts. In the quiet moments between laughter and tears, there was a sense of peace, a gentle acceptance of the inevitable.

This past Thanksgiving, though tinged with sadness, served as a testament to the enduring power of faith, love and the resilience of the human spirit. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is always light to be found, and that love’s embrace extends beyond the confines of mortality, like the lingering aroma of a cherished spice.

Curry Pumpkin Coconut Soup in Honor of Marshall

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon ginger, grated
1 tablespoon red curry paste
1 (14-ounce) can diced tomatoes
1 (15-ounce) can pumpkin puree
1 (13.5-ounce) can coconut milk
2 cups vegetable broth
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon lime juice, plus more to taste

Garnish (Optional):

Fresh cilantro leaves
Pumpkin seeds

Shredded Coconut or Coconut milk
Lime wedges

Instructions:

Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until softened, about 5 minutes.

Add the garlic, ginger, and curry paste and cook for 1 minute more, until fragrant.

Stir in the diced tomatoes, pumpkin puree, coconut milk, vegetable broth, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Using an immersion blender or a regular blender, puree the soup until smooth.

Stir in the lime juice to taste.

Ladle the soup into bowls and garnish, if you like, with cilantro, pumpkin seeds, shredded coconut, coconut milk and/or lime wedges.

Chef Jean-Pierre’s Recipe for Crème Brûlée in Honor of Marshall

Ingredients:

4 whole eggs
½ cup granulated sugar or ¼ sugar and 2 ounces white chocolate
12 ounces whole milk
12 ounces heavy whipping cream
1 pinch salt
1 tablespoon pure Tahitian vanilla extract or imitation vanilla extract

Equipment:

4 ramekins or small baking dishes
Large saucepan
Mixing bowls
Whisk
Fine-mesh sieve
Culinary torch or broiler
Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 325°F (163°C). Place the ramekins in a baking dish and set aside.

In a saucepan, combine the milk, cream, white chocolate and vanilla extract. Heat over medium heat until just simmering.

In a mixing bowl, whisk together the eggs, sugar, and salt until well combined.

Gradually whisk the hot milk mixture into the egg mixture until fully incorporated.

Strain the custard through a fine-mesh sieve into a clean bowl to remove any impurities.

Divide the custard evenly among the prepared ramekins.

Carefully fill the baking pan with hot water to reach about halfway up the sides of the ramekins.

Place the baking pan in the preheated oven and bake for 45-50 minutes, or until the custards are set, but still slightly jiggly in the center.

Remove the ramekins from the water bath and let cool completely on a wire rack.

Refrigerate the crème brûlée for at least 2 hours, or preferably overnight.

Enjoy your Chef Jean-Pierre’s Crème Brûlée in honor of someone you love!

Seasonal Smells of Sombre

Posted on November 7, 2023 by cattalespress under a spiritual life, Angels on Earth, Asking for help, Courage, Crisis, Dealing with special occasions, Death, death of a child, Depression, disciplined non-conformist., Do Not Be Afraid, Embrace Change, emotions, Faith, Faith Muscle, Faith-O-Meter, Family, Fourth Dimension, Good over evil, grief, grief relief, Grieving, Healing of Memories, heartbreak, Holidays, hope, I need a miracle, inspirational messages, Living through death, Living through personal crisis, Long-Term Coping Strategies, Loss of a Child, Meeting your needs, Mental Health, Natural above Normal, NEVER GIVE UP!, Nightmares, one day at a time, Out of Order Death, Pipe Dreams, Positive thinking, positive words of encouragement, Problem Solving, PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), Relationships, Sacred Space, Safe Space, seasons, Self-Care, self-value, Serendipity, Serene-diptious Moments, Sibling Death, Simple Pleasures of Life, Sing a new song, sorrow, Soul Food, special occasions, spirit-filled life, spiritual, spiritual inspirational thoughts, Struggles, Suicide, Suicide Loss Survivors, Support Group Resources, Swamp of the soul, The God Channel, Therapy, To thine own self be true, transparency, trauma, Turmoil, Unconditional Love, Validate Your Feelings, Vulnerability, What you resist persists, zen

Disclaimer: This blog post contains sensitive content that may be a trigger for some readers. Please read at your own discretion.

Orange and brown leaves danced and twirled across the brittle grass, driven by a gust of cool air outside my window. Inside, the warm and safe air was filled with the scent of my pumpkin spice candle. Last week when Halloween finally arrived, I rejoiced in the ghost town appearance of our cul-de-sac, where not a single trick-or-treater dared to venture.

It brought to mind a member of our suicide loss survivors support group on Facebook who had posted how young kids ran in front of her house and screamed, “Hanging! Hanging! That’s where the hanging was! Bad luck! Bad luck! The house is bad luck!”

The recipient of this horror was a mom whose adolescent son died by suicide in his bedroom. Surprisingly, the mom paid little attention to the comments. She told the group that the bullies were simply kids who didn’t know any better and were doing their best to process the information that adults had presented to them.

Remembering this vulnerable mom in our facebook group brought a chill that ran down my spine. Was that what the local families thought? Was that why no one had come to our door?

I realized that I wasn’t going crazy. I was crazy. The emotional rollercoaster was relentless, a ticket to the unthinkable place that became my everyday endurance. I summoned my rational mind and washed away the wave of trepidation that engulfed me, leaving me empty. Past Halloweens with my young children filled the blankness. I envisioned my ex-husband’s expert pumpkin carvings, smiley symbols of hope and abundance for the future.

Remembering only propelled me into the vastness of despair. Again, I reined in my emotions, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness. I hadn’t bought any candy to give out, which was what I had wanted, but now I felt a pang of regret.

At that moment, my phone rang and I answered it. It was my dear friend, another bereaved mom.

“Anybody on your street? Did you get any trick-or-treaters?”

“Nope. Did you?”

“Seems quiet.”

We started talking about our plans for the upcoming week and other trivial things, but then about 10 minutes later, she suddenly remarked, “It sucks.”

My heart sank. We paused for a moment, our silence speaking volumes. I felt my friend’s grief through the phone line, and it mirrored my own.

But then something unexpected happened. I sensed a surge of love for my friend. It was a deep, intimate love, born of shared pain and understanding. It was the kind of love that helps us get through and paints a sign of five letters: FAITH.

“It does suck,” I said, my voice breaking.

We didn’t need to say anything else. We simply sat there on the phone, holding each other close in spirit. It was a moment of profound connection, and it was exactly what I needed to wind down and get back to breathing a bit.

After I got off the phone, I crept to my bedroom and collapsed into bed, grateful for the fresh, clean sheets, the warm heat, my good friends, and the infinite book selection on my Kindle that stretched before me like a starlit night sky.

All at once I realized that I had forgotten to extinguish the candle. I bolted out of bed and into the hallway, and as I blew out the candle on the mantle, I felt a warm glow in my heart.

For a moment, I was transported back to pumpkin patches and hay rides from long ago, when nutmeg pierced the air and squirrels zipped through carpets of fallen leaves, stashing their acorns for the upcoming winter. I heard the laughter once again of our young family, the joy on their faces as we picked out their perfect pumpkin to be carved.

And in that moment, I realized that even in all the sorrow and all the sewage, the love you once had for the season can still reawaken. Even if it was only for a second, it was love, still.

And it was enough.

^{Photo by Autumn Mott Rodeheaver on Unsplash}

Halloween: A time for fun and celebration, or a painful reminder of trauma?

Posted on October 31, 2023 by cattalespress under Aging, Angels on Earth, Asking for help, Courage, Crisis, Dealing with special occasions, Death, death of a child, Depression, disciplined non-conformist., Do Not Be Afraid, Embrace Change, emotions, Faith, Faith Muscle, Faith-O-Meter, Family, Fourth Dimension, Good over evil, grief, grief relief, Grieving, Healing of Memories, heartbreak, Holidays, hope, I need a miracle, inner voice, Living through death, Living through personal crisis, Long-Term Coping Strategies, Loss of a Child, Meeting your needs, Mental Health, Natural above Normal, NEVER GIVE UP!, Nightmares, one day at a time, Out of Order Death, positive words of encouragement, Problem Solving, PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), Relationships, Sacred Space, Safe Space, seasons, Self-Care, self-value, Serendipity, Serene-diptious Moments, Sibling Death, Simple Pleasures of Life, Sing a new song, sorrow, Soul Food, special occasions, spirit-filled life, spiritual, spiritual inspirational thoughts, Struggles, Suicide, Suicide Loss Survivors, Support Group Resources, Swamp of the soul, The God Channel, Therapy, To thine own self be true, transparency, trauma, Turmoil, Unconditional Love, Validate Your Feelings, Vulnerability, war, What you resist persists, Widowhood, zen

Disclaimer: This blog post contains sensitive content that may be a trigger for some readers. Please read at your own discretion.

Halloween can be a time for celebration, but it can also be a difficult holiday for trauma survivors who are sensitive to images of death and violence. As a World War II survivor, Fourth of July was the most triggering holiday for my mom. Whenever fireworks exploded, she would shield her head with her arms, transported back to her youth and the war she had to live through. She felt safer during Halloween, when the night skies were filled with the laughter and scurrying feet of children, and when gory images were less common.

After experiencing our own family tragedy, I can now look back with empathy at the memory of my mother trembling, huddled under her arms during our backyard firework shows, amidst our laughter and glee. I have come to terms with many harsh realities. The result is a sense of solidarity with trauma survivors.

With trauma victims in mind, I worry about the increasing popularity of gory Halloween decorations that promote violence and death. I’ll never again have the boundless glee of yesteryear, when I was naive and removed from personal horror. Tragedy, grief, and loss stretch you to a breaking point, like the very difficult Tripod Headstand with Lotus Pose in yoga.

To protect my mental health, I am learning to avoid areas with heavily concentrated Halloween decorations that trigger painful memories and images. If you have ever had to sever the rope of a hanging loved one, seeing decorations of hung skeletons and witches can be anything but funny. Imagine also a grieving mother facing the just-for-fun skeletons, coping with the image of her young child’s skeleton buried in the grave—a child who, perhaps, once dressed up in a skeleton costume for Halloween.

Some of our neighbors have even roped off parts of their yards with crime scene tape that says “DO NOT CROSS.” I can imagine that for anyone who has had to come home and find their family members murdered, this is not a fun reminder.

If you are part of the minority who finds Halloween difficult, please know that you are not alone. I hope you have a therapist, empathetic friend, faith-based community or support group to help you cope. Remember, too, that you don’t have to force yourself to participate in the festivities if you’re not feeling up to it. It’s okay to tell people you’re not feeling well. I, for one, plan to start my morning as I do every morning, keeping in mind those who have to sever the cord of their loved one on this day. Later, I will keep my house dark and won’t give out candy tonight. I think my mom would understand; she stopped accepting trick-or-treaters in her later years, and now I have age on my side and a perfect excuse to do the same.

To my mom: I know you really got a hoot seeing the joy in your grandchildren in Halloween costumes. I wish we could go back 30 or so years and experience just five minutes of that bliss, and oh, those delicious sugar highs!

I’m so grateful for your strength and resilience, and I love you more than words can say.

To all who celebrate, Happy Halloween! May your holiday be safe and enjoyable. To those who don’t celebrate, I wish you a peaceful and restful evening with a beautiful eruption of crisp stars in a quiet, dark night sky.

The Power of Community: Thank You for Filling the Void

Posted on August 29, 2023 by cattalespress under 12-Step Program, a spiritual life, Angels on Earth, Asking for help, Birthdays, Courage, Dealing with special occasions, Depression, disciplined non-conformist., Do Not Be Afraid, Embrace Change, Faith, Faith Muscle, Faith-O-Meter, Friendships, Good over evil, Gratitude, grief relief, hope, inspiration, inspirational messages, joy, Living through death, Living through personal crisis, Long-Term Coping Strategies, Meeting your needs, mindfulness, Natural above Normal, NEVER EVER GIVE UP!, NEVER GIVE UP!, one day at a time, Positive Change, Positive thinking, positive words of encouragement, Relationships, Sacred Space, Safe Space, seasons, Self-Care, self-value, Serendipity, Serene-diptious Moments, Simple Pleasures of Life, Sing a new song, Soul Food, special occasions, Struggles, Suicide Loss Survivors, Swamp of the soul, The God Channel, To thine own self be true, transparency, Unconditional Love, Vulnerability

My therapist Louis has taught me that when you take something out of your life, you need to replace it. In my case, I had to give up my 12-step support group due to PTSD, but I found a new support system in my blog community.

I’ve been blogging for over 10 years, and it’s become a lifeline for me. When I’m feeling down, I can always count on my readers to offer words of encouragement and support. They’ve helped me to feel less alone and more connected, and they’ve given me the courage to share my story in a safe space.

My birthday last week was a tough one, but your messages (& Judy — thanks for your email!) really helped me get through it. I’m so grateful for your kindness and support. Thank you for filling in the colors of faith into the empty lines. You make it possible.

Stayin’ Alive

Posted on August 22, 2023 by cattalespress under Affirmations, Aging, American Dream, Angels on Earth, Asking for help, Birthdays, Courage, Dealing with special occasions, disciplined non-conformist., Do Not Be Afraid, Faith, Faith Muscle, Faith-O-Meter, Family, Friendships, Good over evil, Gratitude, grief, grief relief, Healing of Memories, hope, humor, I need a miracle, inner voice, inspiration, inspirational messages, joy, Living through death, Living through personal crisis, Meeting your needs, mindfulness, Natural above Normal, NEVER EVER GIVE UP!, NEVER GIVE UP!, one day at a time, Positive Change, Positive thinking, positive words of encouragement, Relationships, Sacred Space, Safe Space, seasons, Self-Care, self-value, Serendipity, Serene-diptious Moments, Simple Pleasures of Life, Sing a new song, Soul Food, special occasions, Struggles, Suicide Loss Survivors, Swamp of the soul, The God Channel, To thine own self be true, transparency, Unconditional Love, Vulnerability

As midnight approached last Saturday night, I felt like a broken-down, aging Cinderella. Instead of a pumpkin coach carriage, I reclined inside a rickshaw, glowing with strung neon blue glitter lights, a “Good Vibes” sign fluttering behind my wind-swept hair.

My Unplanned Rickshaw Ride

The familiar discomania tune “Stayin’ Alive” blasted on a continuous reel as the lean but powerful driver pedaled, snaking and snarling through the prism-lit, panoramic nighttime streets from the west side to our destination, Grand Central Terminal in New York City.

If you know me personally, you know two things: 1. I’m always reading a book of fiction. 2. I’m always mentally plotting a work of fiction. This past Saturday night, I felt like the unfolding scene created its own book of fiction.

Along our route, the driver expertly avoided a few near-collisions, including a head-on accident with a cab driver when he made a U-turn to drop me off right in front of Grand Central.

Stayin’ Alive was also the theme song of the day as the driver helped me power through a very unfortunate set of circumstances. It all started that morning with last-minute plans to stay overnight in New Jersey, where I had arrived by train from Connecticut. However, after a series of misunderstandings and mix-ups, by 9:30 pm, I had nixed those plans and, without another plan, boarded a train that I nicknamed “Tipsy Tracks” to Penn Station in New York City. I was exhausted when I arrived at Penn Station. I didn’t want to deal with the subway, so I tried to flag a taxi. I had a fairly new phone and had never gotten around to downloading the Uber app, and I was too tired to think straight enough to download it at the time.

Although all the taxis seemed off-duty or unavailable, a dirty brown mid-sized SUV suddenly zoomed out of the traffic and stopped directly in front of my rather dejected body, as the shadow of another birthday loomed three days ahead.

“Want a ride to Grand Central?” asked the rather innocent-looking man in his mid-40s, angling his body toward the passenger seat. He had clearly overheard me flagging down taxis.

I was exhausted and my legs were starting to ache, so I was tempted to just jump in his backseat. But then I remembered an ominous book I had read a few months ago, and the scene felt vaguely familiar.

“Who are you?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.

“Uber,” he said.

“Uber? I don’t have the app. I didn’t call you,” I replied.

“I’m off duty. I’ll take you to Grand Central for cash.”

I felt a glimmer of hope. I was tired and getting older, and I was ready for an easy way out. I felt as if I were a half person as I had written about in my last blog.

But then I remembered the name of the novel: Disappearing Earth by Julia Phillips.

The book begins with two young girls accepting a ride home from a stranger and then going missing.

I wasn’t a girl, but I was still vulnerable, an easy target.

“I don’t see any Uber ID,” I said. “No thanks.”

As the man pulled away, I noticed that the entire back end of his car was dented, including his Pennsylvania license plate. This was an ominous sign for me since Pennsylvania is one of my least favorite states due to its high number of puppy mills, which include those operated by the Amish.

The next vehicle that came by was a rickshaw with a couple in the backseat. My spirits fell, thinking that maybe I had to have a reservation to ride in one, since I had never ridden in a rickshaw in NYC or anywhere else. That was when I spotted another one that resembled a floating disco ball with a vacant seat.

“Excuse me …” I hollered to the driver, “Can you take me to Grand Central …”

Once the driver and I bargained and agreed on a rate (even in the midst of stress, I still hold tight to my frugal nature), the adventure began.

The ride was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. The driver, as I mentioned, took some pretty crazy shortcuts, but he got me to the train station safe and sound. If I had accepted the ride earlier from the stranger in the SUV, by the time my birthday rolled away, I might have been one of the many missing people, hacked up and buried underneath some rural Pennsylvania soil.

I thanked him for helping me “stay alive” and wished him well, especially considering his daredevil pedaling.

“Hope you stay alive too!” I called out sarcastically to him before I ran into the station and managed to grab a train home to Connecticut. My dear friend Camille, whom I called earlier, was waiting for my 1:45 a.m. arrival at the station. (A true friend is someone who is always there for you, no matter what, especially in the wee hours of the morning!)

Interestingly, today is the big day, but it really means nothing to me anymore. However, Bryan’s comment made me think twice about the blog I wrote last week. He said, “I often wonder if the reason I feel halved is because I moved away from what I found meaningless.”

Although I identify as a half person for other reasons, this made me widen my perspective and think that maybe I have found a new meaning in life after all. And maybe this meaning doesn’t need a meaning because it just is. It’s like being in a rickshaw at a climactic point in your novel of life, not knowing what’s coming around the bend.

As I plan to meet Brother Paul later today and then my dear daughter and her boyfriend, the kids’ godmother, and possibly a few others, I can’t help but smile, knowing that I’ve received my wish: a very low-key birthday after all.

So, as I mark my birthday today, I am grateful for the people who have loved and supported me along the way, including all my fellow bloggers. They have been my neon-lit rickshaws through those saturnine nights that cast a pall over my world, making it seem like a lonely place of ghosts and shadows.

I know that I am not alone in experiencing these dark times. But I also know that we can all find light, hope, and faith, even in the darkest of places. We can find community and connection, as well as developing the strength to pedal through as long as we trust our gut and don’t get into just any stranger’s vehicle.