Recovery Post Workplace Abuse: July 4th, 2014 a place where grief and recovery from trauma mingled together

July 4th, 2014 would have been my mom's 99th birthday.  Born, lived and died in the U.S., our celebrations were always intertwined with her birthday and the U.S. national holiday.

Every day on the road to recovery is different.

Plans are made.  Plans change.

Life is never stagnant.

It is constantly changing.   Ebbing and flowing.

Recovery starts, then life intervenes.

So it is with this blog.

I've got a series started.  Just in its beginning phases.  Laying the foundation regarding debunking the lies.

Then suddenly I stop and veer off here or there.  Wherever.

Ebbing and flowing.  Plans made.  Plans changed.

This past week was no exception to this rule.

I veered off either into past blogs because it's easier - and also because I like what I've written - or into the here and now re: birthdays and holidays.  Ironically one of each for Canada Day - my grandson - and the 4th of July - my mom.  Each born on their country's respective patriotic holiday almost 90 years apart.

Last year, this week was almost unbearable in its intensity:  the first of the firsts.  Or should I say since my mom passed away in August of 2012, the last of the firsts:  July 4th and her birthday intertwined.  Inseparable.  As we always celebrated the two together.  Only this time, she was no longer there, and we were not going to the U.S. to celebrate her birthday.  No small town patriotic parades for us last year.  No fireworks.  No patriotic holiday on the 4th - as Canada celebrates its special day on the 1st.

I was alone that day last year.  And lonely.  And depressed.

Some time ago, a friend gifted me with the book by H. Norman Wright Surviving the Storms of Life, a trauma  specialist and prolific writer.  As I read pieces of this book, I realized that when my mom died, not only did I lose my mother but there were also secondary losses - the visits, special times of bonding ... and her birthdays.  The aforementioned parade.  The fireworks.  The family gathering.

Always when growing up, her birthday and the 4th of July were intertwined.  After I grew up and moved away to Canada, the tradition continued.  I often took the children to the U.S. to celebrate her birthday with her.

All that is gone now.  A secondary loss to the main loss of losing my mother.

So this year, I wanted my family around me.  I didn't want to be - or feel - alone on what had always been a special day to all of us.

Both of my children - and two grands - leaned into the moment.  Surrounding me with their love and support.

We bought a special take out lunch and went to a nearby park.  I dressed in my mother's traditional "birthday" t-shirt and all the red, white and blue I could find in my wardrobe.  And nobody blinked an eye that I was dressed for the American 4th of July in Canada.  (Canadians are laid back that way.)

The grands sporadically ate and ran off to play on the swings and back again - several times.  Energy in motion.

The adults enjoyed food, talk and bonding time.  Memories of my mother.  Memories of other 4th of July times when we were all together.  Photos were taken to remember the day.

Just the way a birthday should be.

I gained something unexpected from this low-key, laid back celebration of my mom's birthday and her life.

I gained a sense of closure.

I know that I'll never forget this grand ole girl - nor should I.  I will always miss her as she was part of my life for more than 60 years - which is a pretty long time.   I learned most of what I know from her.  I realize now that I learned more from her than I had realized at the time.

Yet, as time goes on and I learn healthier ways to deal with my issues and losses and create new traditions and memories, the separation becomes more bearable.

Until tomorrow ... dear friends ... when hopefully we once again start work on debunking the lies.

Hopefully.

On my journey towards recovery, nothing is ever predictable.

Independence Day 2013 - A Tribute to the U.S. - Updated

Born and raised in the USA.  Patriotic blood flowing through my veins.  Distantly related to real people who stood up for their convictions in real times.  People who were threatened for their beliefs.  Their home invaded by the Red Coats.  Quick-thinking people who managed to get their child out of the window and run for help.  People who survived to continue to work to make the U.S. ... well ... the U.S.

A woman of courage who upon hearing that the soldiers at Valley Forge were cold and had no socks, went from house to house on the back of a wagon, knitting all the way, to rouse the women of her area to knit socks for their men.  And they did.

People who came to this vast land to live their lives in freedom.  To practice - and preach - their religion.

People who established towns.

People who represented the U.S. in the House of Representatives.

On both sides of my heritage, North and South, my ancestors were there.

In the American Revolution.

On both sides of the Civil War.

In World War I.

In World War II.

In Korea.

In Vietnam.

Even now, the heritage continues with various offshoots of the vine serving the U.S. both in country and overseas.

As a nation we're not perfect.

We've made mistakes alone the way.

The Salem witch hunt.

Slavery.

Racism.  I remember seeing signs in the 60s on shop windows restricting admittance on the basis of the colour of one's skin.

The Bay of Pigs fiasco.  The Cuban Missile Crisis.  The assassinations of JRK, RFK, Martin Luther King Jr.

Riots.  In large cities and on college campuses in the 60s and 70s.  A nation at that time in turmoil.  Undergoing a severe identity crisis.  Yet still standing - more or less - united as a nation.

Not totally understood or appreciated by other countries because of our militarism.  Our (felt) need to defend the world against tyrants and despots.

Yet, we as Americans we come together in times of crisis.

Because We the People are America.  

We are what made this country the world leader it became and what it is today.

We are not perfect.  We have made many mistakes along the way.  And we will continue to make more.

But for today, we unite once again in who we are.  In our pride in our country.

Happy Birthday, America

May you always stand free

This post came pouring out of my heart into my fingers and onto the screen last year.  I read it to give me inspiration for today's post.  I post to honour the country of my birth.  The country I grew up in.  The country I reluctantly left to start a new life with a new husband over three decades ago.  I decided that I could not improve on this post and to post it again a second time with minor revisions and a picture added.

Enjoy your day, America!

May you always stand free.

Off Again!

 Off again!  Twice in the same week.  In the same direction.  Crossing at the same border crossing.  This time, with Papa Bear, at the wheel, going the "fast" way i.e. expressways aka interstate highways in the States.

Going to visit my Mama Bear.  The Matriarch of our clan.  For her 97th birthday this coming week.  On the Fourth of July.

Born July 14, 1915, Matriarch Bear grew up during the decade of the roaring 20s.  Was a young adult struggling to get her education in the depression years.  Served in the Navy as a WAVE in the 40s.  A young mother in the 50s. Watched her children grow up and re-entered the workforce in the 60s, living in the suburbs.  The 70s saw her cubs starting to fly away and stretch their wings.  One married and starting a family.  Her first two grandchildren.  The other cub still trying to find out who she was.  The 80s saw both of her cubs married and the addition of two more grandchildren.  It also saw retirement and trips with Patriarch Bear to different places including Canada where one cub, two grandcubs and a cub-in-law now resided.  Still spry, still very active, she could walk this poor bear under the table at that time.  The 90s saw her still in the house, she and Patriarch Bear purchased in 1956 in the suburbs.  Getting older.  Still feisty.  1998 saw a huge change in her life when her fellow partner - and sparring partner - through life died suddenly.  Living alone for the first time in more than 50 years.  Cubs grown and gone.  Into the millennium, she "aged in place" in the old house in Ohio.  But by the middle of the first decade of the millennium, it became evident that it was time for her to move on.  To move closer to family.  In 2005, right after her 90th birthday, she took the initiative to move.  Hundreds of miles from everything she's known for almost half a century, she moved to an enriched seniors housing facility near one of her cubs.  A huge change.  But a good one - for all of us.  Now in the 10s, her mind still active, her body is getting frailer.

She's lived through WWI, WWII, the Korean conflict and the Vietnam War, the Bay of Pigs Fiasco, and the Cuban Missile Crisis - just to name a few.  She's experienced rationing.  She got her driver's license in the 60s - somewhere in her 40s.  She's experienced turbulent changes.  She's seen segregation and desegregation.  Watched riots on the TV.  She watched the world change around her while she was busy changing diapers, making lunches, working, tending her garden, painting, doing the things most women of her generation did.

She saw the transition from horse drawn conveyances to cars.  She witnessed the birth of the TV.  Saw men go into space and walk on the moon.  In short, she's gone from the "stone" age to the computer age - in 97 short years.

So, this week I will make the trip to see her once again.  To honour her.  To thank her for being my mother.

I will rejoice with her on her birthday and celebrate the 4th with her and my sibling cub as only small town America can.

I will give thanks for my mom.

Thank you, Mom, for everything you did to make me the woman I am today.

I love you.

Happy Birthday, Firecracker!