Vacation Reflections

My old boss and mentor, Don, once told me to use my vacations to learn more about myself and to not waste them just sitting around doing nothing. He said when you return to work after a vacation, you should be a slightly different person. I've always taken that to heart and ever since have tried to make the most of my time away.

I have been on an emotional roller coaster lately. I've had months and months of questioning myself, my choices, my fears, my own harsh judgments of myself. This week has brought a lot of breakthroughs in my attempts to be on the correct path - without really knowing what that was. I'm not sure I do even now, but at least I now know that I can only take one step at a time. For a long time I think I've been running with one foot and walking with the other. Basically, running in circles.

My time with my two sisters, Caren and Megan, and my three nephews made me face a lot. When I got to Ithaca, I learned that their, and mine, uncle had died. It didn't compute for me. I lost out on time with someone that I never got to know. Not by choice, but because that choice was taken away from me. I realized that is the reason (or one of them) for my on-going anger with my father. He took away from me, from my sisters, from the rest of my family, the shared history and opportunity to know one another, good or bad. I felt and still feel bad that I couldn't be more supportive to my sisters, because I know this loss was very tough for them, but how do you come up with those words? 'I'm sorry you lost your uncle? Who is really mine too but I don't know him?' It may sound weird, but I was even denied an opportunity to grieve or be supportive for their grief because I couldn't put a name on anything I was feeling.

I'm also mad at my father because he is basically a stranger. I share half of his DNA but we don't really know any truths about each other. I know his past, not from him, but from others. I know his current, not from him, but from others. It made me realize that what upset me most was the thought of, "who the hell walks away from their child?" Not someone I can have any real respect for. He may have done me a favor, but he also took a route that was to make himself feel better. For a long time this anger was bottled up and put in a place of, 'what's the point of worrying over what you can't change?' I'm no longer worrying about it but I am acknowledging it. I'm angry and I have every right to be.

I do have my sisters now though, and the more time we spend together the more time we can create that shared history we missed out on. We got drunk and acted stupid. We laughed. I may have cried once or twice. We talked, pretty much non-stop, for 4 whole days. I got to attend my oldest nephews, Andrew's, first real little league game, and when I watched him round home, I got tears in my eyes. I got to be there for that. A moment I'm sure he'll remember forever. And now, so will I. I can't change the past, but I can alter the present so that in the future I will have wonderful memories.

Knowing that I have now lost two uncles to cancer and have an aunt who is very sick, also with cancer, has given me a sense of my own mortality. My mother's side of the family, is, for the most part, very healthy. Now that I know the same isn't true for the other side of the family, I realized I need to make some changes in my life in order to live the healthiest life possible. Immediately upon returning from NYC I started a new, lower fat diet, and started exercising again. In one week I've already lost 7 pounds. Since I'd gained 30 in the past year, I instantly realized how poorly I had been treating myself. I am now fully re-commited to making lasting life style changes. I can't risk anything else.

I have cried many times today. Not all of it out of sadness. Some, but not all. For the first time in a long time, I really saw my baby boy. I see him daily, yes, but I saw him and all the hopes and dreams and worries and fears that he conjures. I saw him in a way that makes me smile while also cringing for how fast time passes. For the glory in the fact that I have this beautiful child at all. There was a time where I cursed God and anything else that would listen for not allowing my body to reproduce on it's own. Now, I need to thank that same God for bringing me the greatest present any human being can ever receive, the love of a child.

I also really saw my husband for the first time in a long time. Almost everyone who reads this knows we've had our plethora of problems lately. We have had to have some very intense conversations lately. I don't know to what end these conversations will bring us, but they need to happen. I know our problems won't be instantaneously changed, but, I don't know... I know I can't make any promises about our future but I could at least look at him today and know that if nothing else, I will always have a friend. He looked me directly in the eyes. I saw the love he truly has for me. This may seem small for some, but after not seeing each other for... a long time, it was huge. It was a step.

And lastly, for now, I am most grateful to my friends and family who have been here all week to listen to me, help me cope, and push me in the right direction. I may not have heard what I wanted to, but real friends don't tell you what you want to hear, they tell you what you need to hear. I am only in the last couple of years recognizing how important friendships are, and how necessary. I thought for the longest time if I had a partner by my side, that one person could be everything I needed. I know now that I can't rely on any one person to be everything for me.

In fact, the only person I have any control over and know I can always depend on, is me. After a week of really seeing me, I feel better about returning to work. I will be a slightly altered version of who I was before I left. Thanks Don. I hope you have some idea of how much you have meant to me. I miss you.

Your dogs or your life

I have asthma. It's a fact of my life. Typically, I use my inhalers, take my meds, and I do ok. The past couple years though it has worsened. There are times where I simply cannot breathe. It feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest and that every last breath is labored to the point where doing the bare minimum everyday takes everything I have.

It's not like this all of the time. It's not. But it is more than I would like. I've seen many doctors, allergist, pulmonologists, breathing tester people, sleep specialists, etc., etc. They all have one piece of advice: Get rid of the dogs.

I was raised with no animals. My mom once got me a cat when I was under a year old and she had to get rid of her almost instantly because I ended up in the hospital covered in hives and with difficulty breathing. As a child, I think it was an easy choice for my mom. She'd much rather have a healthy child than a pet. For me the choice is not so easy.

I got my first dog after coming back home from graduate school. I moved back to Rochester to be closer to my mom and decided that it was finally the "right" time in my life. I needed a dog. I loved beagles, always had. I went to the downtown shelter and adopted the first beagle to become available. MacKenzie was a stinker. He lived just a year but he made an enormous impact on my life. He was the only man I needed. He took care of me. He loved me unconditionally. I needed him as much as he needed me. I miss that little dog.

After he died due to kidney failure (probably from drinking from a puddle on one of his many excursions after breaking free from his leash) I wasn't sure I wanted another dog. He meant so much, I couldn't replace him. Mark and I had just started dating around that time and it was him who encouraged me to get not only one more beagle, but two. Siblings. Finnley and Emma came home about 6 months after MacKenzie died.

They were tiny puppies, and OH SO cute. You've seen beagle puppies. They are heart-breaking-ly cute. You can't resist them. They did not love one another however. They fought constantly, to the point of causing physical damage. We got advice from several experts and tried everything. (Including one particularly bad battle where I let them "fight it out" for dominance and all I got in exchange was a bloody kitchen and two dogs who needed to be stitched up. I don't recommend it.) After some horrible deliberations we decided we couldn't keep them both and ended up giving Emma to a young boy in our neighborhood who had always wanted a dog. Every time we went down the street I'd look for her.

Then, in our year long odyssey of fertility treatments and the turmoil that ensued from that, we decided to take a vacation to Puerto Rico. When we got there one thing in particular struck us both - there were homeless dogs everywhere. We'd never seen anything like it, so when the people who owned the guest house we were staying in told us where they got their dog from, we went to the shelter and adopted the little dingo, Isabel (for Isabel Segunda, the town we stayed in). We weren't sure kids would ever happen, so we might as well get another dog. She was Mark's pick, a shy little blond almost Chihuahua looking dog, who was over a foot tall and startled by even the slightest movement. We knew she had been adopted once already but that her owner had stated she was just too jumpy and he couldn't handle her. For some reason we thought we'd make it better.

So, after a few months of trying to figure it out how to logistically get her here, she finally made it home. Her introduction to Finnley didn't go so well, but slowly, ever so slowly, they learned to tolerate one another. Now, they are chummy and like each other well enough, but they aren't like some dogs you see who are best friends. They just live parallel lives in our home. She also isn't particularly close to us, but she has calmed down significantly, something I'd never thought would happen.

Ryan has been raised with both of them. We brought home his baby blankets for them to smell before we brought him home. They were both initially completely disinterested, giving him a little sniff and walking away. Isabel still doesn't pay him much attention and just tries to stay out of his way. Finnley is tolerant of him and is pretty gentle when Ry jumps all over him and sticks his fingers in places where dogs just shouldn't have to worry about being poked.

But Ryan adores them. He claims they are his only friends. Since he's an only child, they are his playmates. I know it could kill me, or at least make me realllly uncomfortable, but how do I take this away from him?

Lately my symptoms have been particularly bad and the usual meds aren't working. I'm off to see yet another specialist. I'm sick over it, but I think I may need to get rid of my dogs. It's heart breaking to consider the ramifications of that. I just gently tried to prepare Ryan and he stared screaming at me. He told me he'd rather have his dogs than his mommy (which, ouch, I know he didn't mean it but still). It seems like an impossible decision. The guilt is overwhelming. Which would you chose? If I do get rid of them, how? Who could I pick to care for such great dogs? How can I make sure Ry doesn't miss out on the opportunity to have a pet like I did? And how do I cope with the feeling that it's all my fault that I will be breaking my son's heart?

Daddy's little girl?

My sister contacted me this week to let me know that they were going to be coming upstate (i.e. Ithaca) the second week in April and that she wanted to see me. I'd love nothing more. I miss her like crazy and feel like I'm missing huge portions of my three nephew's lives. The only potential issue? My father will be there too and she was concerned for me that it will be uncomfortable.

Why you ask? See, my mother and father dated when my mom was around 21-22, and although she wouldn't say it today, I think he was the great love of her life. She adored him, and you can almost see flickers of it when she speaks of him now. My mother never hid anything about him from me, but she was always sparse with details and only provided them when I asked. I honestly didn't ask a lot of questions about him. I just assumed he wasn't there and that was just the way it was. When I hit 15 and started dealing with all the typical teenage angst however, more questions came up in my head.

Caren, the aforementioned sister, was about 5 at the time of my conception. Our father and her mother had met in High School and were, from what I can gather, pushed into marriage when she became pregnant. It was the late 60's. It's what you were supposed to do. It didn't last long however, and it was the first of several relationships he's been in and messed up.

With my mom, I don't doubt he loved her, but when he found out she was pregnant, he apparently thought it was too much and he took off. After getting to know my sister's in my 20's, I get now why this was perhaps an excellent thing for me. He was never a part of my life and although I did find out later he occasionally attended functions, like concerts and my graduation, I never knew he was there. I just assumed that having another child was too overwhelming for him. I found out later that 6 years after I was born, he was again married and had fathered another daughter, Megan. Could you see why this would lead to years of me feeling abandoned and unworthy of proper male attention?

When I was 21, after doing some research and psyching myself up A LOT, I showed up on his doorstep with my boyfriend at the time, Aaron. He was not home, but my little sister, then 15, answered the door. There was no denying we were related. I didn't know she existed. I am not even sure exactly what I said, but I asked for him and her mother came to the door. I think everyone was a little... um, flustered isn't a good enough word. I don't really remember what happened but I was told that he wasn't home and she'd let him know I had stopped by.

They lived in Ithaca. I was not aware of this when, at the age of 10, I decided that when I was of college age that this was where I would go. Not neighboring Cornell, but Ithaca College. I just knew. At 10. My grandparent's remember the day as distinctly as I do. It's like it was destiny or something. We were driving through taking the scenic route back from a trip to Long Island to see my uncle. My grandparent's joked about taking an early college tour and we drove through the campus. I was mesmerized. Something in my little head just made it fit.

So, while still attending Ithaca College and within a week of my stopping at my father's house, I got an e-mail from my older sister, Caren. She as trying to be as delicate as possible, but I could instantly tell she was sincere in wanting to know me. She felt a piece of her was missing as much as I did. We agreed to meet at a Dunkin' Donuts in downtown Ithaca and take a trip together to Boston, where she was living at the time. I'm not exactly sure why I agreed to go, with a complete stranger, to a strange city, with no connection to the home and family I knew, but I took the chance. I'm so glad I did.

I remember very little of that drive other than that there was not one moment of silence. I remember very little of that trip, other than meeting my future brother-in-law, and her asking me to be in her wedding the following January. I don't even remember too much of that summer and fall spent living in Boston in poverty, working a dangerous job that (did I mention?) paid CRAAAAP, and being able to enjoy very little that the city had to offer. It was not a great time in my life.

After several months living in Boston, I returned to Ithaca. I lived in a tiny studio apartment and had several part-time jobs, hanging out on campus with my boyfriend, who was now a senior at Ithaca. It was about two months before the wedding that my father finally contacted me and suggested we meet prior to the wedding, just to make it more "comfortable" for both of us.

Aaron drove me to this little Chinese place in town and I went in on my own. We talked about a lot, but very little of consequence. I drank so much tea, I am not sure how my bladder did not explode and how I am still not living off the caffeine high. I remember thinking he was very charming and likable, but I could not connect him as being a part of me. The physical resemblance was undeniable, but emotionally I just could not see him as "my father." I still can't.

The first meeting happened. It was awkward. I knew I could get through my sister's wedding though because I adored her instantly. My momentary discomfort in confronting a family I did not know was worth it to be there for such a monumental moment in her life since I had been forced to miss every other one.

The wedding itself was hilarious for me. My paternal grandparents did not know I existed. Most of my aunts and uncles did not know I did either. I don't recall how many of them there were, but it seemed like a lot. My brother-in-law's family did know who I was, and since most of them speak Spanish, I overheard several conversations during the day where people were pointing out who I was and basically what a clusterfuck Al was marrying into. Yeah, I spoke Spanish then folks. I understood almost everything. Fun fun. When we were doing the receiving line, almost everyone commented on how familiar I looked and had we met before? I was standing between both of my sisters. Nope, you've never seen me before. Never.

I wish I had pictures to post to show how alike we look. For any of the ways we look different, the ways we are similar is completely striking. Any straight man with eyes would be able to tell we were related within seconds of meeting us. This was weird for me because my two youngest sisters, my mother's with her first and only husband, my former step-dad, look absolutely nothing like me. I really do know who I look like now, and it's not my mom.

My one aunt, I can't remember her name but my mom said that my father always said she was his favorite, cornered me in the bathroom. She said she did know who I was and she was so pleased to meet me and sad it had taken so long. She also said some things about my dad and her own anger that the entire family was deprived of the opportunity to get to know me. She said all of this without knowing my grandmother was in the bathroom stall. She exited the stall and never said a word to me. And to this day never has. I felt like the family secret and it wasn't even my family. I didn't know any of these people and I still felt like I wasn't good enough to be a part of it.

So the years have gone on with very few and far between occasions where I have seen my father. They are always tense events where we never quite know what to say to one another. It got slightly easier after Ryan was born. I'm not sure exactly why. Maybe it was that I relaxed a little after having him. Maybe he realized he was getting older and that missing out on his grandchild's life was unacceptable (but his daughter's life was?). Maybe he woke up and realized how badly he had screwed up. I don't really know.

When Ry was 6 months old, my sister and Al rented a cabin on Cayuga Lake and invited all of us down to spend a few days with them. It was a great trip. The unencumbered access to my sisters was awesome. The quiet time for reflection on our parallel lives was life altering. But what I remember most about the trip was the last 2 minutes. I had gotten the car packed up, got Ryan calmed in his car seat, and was ready to head on my way out. My father had spent the last night with us with his new wife (his third, if you're keeping track, and I honestly can't even remember her name). He asked if he could walk Ryan and I to the car. I agreed. He carried Ryan.

This is my paraphrasing but this is sort of how the conversation went:
Him: There's something I wanted to say to you for a long time.
Me: Ok.
Him: (with several stopped attempts) I want you to know I'm sorry and explain why.
Me: Ok.
Him: I really am sorry and there is no real explanation.
Me: I know.
Him: Can you ever forgive me?
Me: I already have.
Cue sappy music and teary hug goodbye.

That was the last time I saw him, almost 4 years ago. When my sister told me he would be there in two weeks, it was the first time I was not instantly filled with internal conflict and grief for the father I never knew. He still seems like someone I will never really know or connect with. He no longer makes me completely uncomfortable, but he'll never be my dad. I think I have forgiven him and can be thankful that I wasn't exposed to his dysfunction for my entire life. One barely functioning parent was bad enough, two would have possible broken me with no opportunity to begin to repair the pieces.

My sister and I have several times questioned whether the propensity to screw up our relationships and our general sense of discontent with the world is hereitary. Can we really blame it all on him? It would sure make me feel better. Have I really forgiven him? Am I really past all of the issues I have that possibly began from having no real father in my life? Sadly, I am fairly certain I'm not. I also know I will be having to work through this in order to appreciate all the blessings I do have in my life. I do not want to repeat my father's mistakes.