Racist or Reflective?

 Some years ago, while living in the Twin Falls, ID area, and shortly after serving as the Twin Falls Times-News editorial cartoonist and editorial board member, I drew the following cartoon...

Some in my own family have referred to this cartoon as "offensive," and insist that it "proves" that I'm some kind of closeted "racist," as if I had just pulled this concept out of my butt in order to make young black men look bad.  So much so, that this cartoon was cited by my own son as the reason behind destroying his relationship with me permanently.  Let that sink in for a moment...

Instead of giving me the basic human dignity and respect of asking me the background behind this cartoon, or what I was thinking when I drew it, conclusions were hastily drawn in a violent knee-jerk rush to judgment, with the already-determined outcome being the harshest possible... scorched earth.

So.  Since I was never given the opportunity to defend myself before being summarily (and apparently permanently) rejected as a parent, let me do so now to set the record straight.

The cartoon was published on Aug 28, 2013... a hair over 7 years ago.  We had moved from Fredericksburg, VA to the Twin Falls, ID area shortly before I began working with the Times-News. I left the Times-News in June of 2013, but hadn't stopped drawing.  I posted this cartoon several months after I left the paper as a result of a huge news story from Florida.

At the time of this cartoon, protests against the Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman case had grown into full-blown riots.  Zimmerman had been acquitted on July 13, 2013, and during the ensuing weeks, peaceful protests had quickly morphed into violent riots, looting, and burning all over the country.  

In defending their violent action against racism (which hadn't yet, and still hasn't been proven), the rioters often quoted a statement by Martin Luther King, Jr. (that was taken grotesquely out of context), which seemed to condone violence as an acceptable means to bring about social change... intentionally ignoring the entirety of the rest of his writings and speeches.

I know this, because I remember at the time doing a "deep dive" into the subject and reading a significant amount of King's work.  His consistent message was very simple... violence is never the answer.  

The statement taken out of context read to the effect that while MLK, Jr. could understand the frustration that might lead someone to think that violence was the answer, it never achieved lasting change, and usually only made things worse.  "Rioting is the language of the unheard," King wrote near the end of his life.  And then quickly explained that he didn't condone it, that it was ineffectual and wrong, and he fought aggressively against it... but that riots were sometimes the result of change not effected. 

This is the ONLY statement among King's voluminous writings and speeches that seems even the tiniest bit sympathetic of violence... which is why it is so absurdly out of context when used to rationalize rioting.  The entirety of the rest of his work has to be intentionally ignored to be used.

The idea for the cartoon actually, ironically, came from a close friend of mine, a black man named "Dutch" Martin, who had expressed alarm and outrage at the actions of the rioters that were invoking the name of MLK, Jr. in justification for their violence. We had become acquainted with Dutch several years prior to my time in Twin Falls when he was our landlord when we first settled in Fredericksburg, VA, and through social media, we had managed to remained close.  

Dutch never had a father growing up in a very bad neighborhood, and was raised by a hard-working single mom.  She raised him to be an independent thinking, conservative, and insightful man.  He still is. We used to have great discussions on a wide variety of topics.

Dutch was particularly offended that MLK, Jr. was being cited as though he would have condoned the violence that was taking place.  Dutch, too, had studied MLK's writings at length, and understood them well.  He knew that nothing could be farther from the truth.  So in a conversation online one day, he mentioned his concerns about this disconnect and the fact that he was personally conflicted about the whole Martin mess... but was especially upset that MLK was being used as a rationalization.  

One of the unsettling things about the whole mess, he told me, was that it was so contrary to what the Civil Rights Movement was all about.  And the fact that accusations of racism in the Martin case were hardly cut-and-dried... and were never actually proven.  In fact, they were all but thoroughly DISproven.

After considering the conversation for a bit, particularly the stark contrast between the peaceful focus of MLK and the violent way that mobs were behaving as a result of Martin, the idea was born.

Like Dutch, I was conflicted as well about this case... which definitely muddied the water.  One of the things that had given me unsettled feelings was the fact that the situation with Martin/Zimmerman was so sketchy... it wasn't at all clear whether it was a case of racism on the part of Zimmerman, or aggression on the part of Martin.  In either case, the riot violence was disproportional to the facts of the case.  

Zimmerman vehemently denied that racism played a role in his actions, and a jury of his peers agreed.  Martin was painted as an innocent victim, but the facts didn't line up with that, either.  The part that really bothered me about the whole situation was that no one really knew what really happened as far as motivations went... or the actual incident.  It was all speculation. But none of that seemed to matter to those rioting.  It was a forgone conclusion that racism was at the heart of it.

Enter my son.  My precious son, my next-to-youngest, being very involved with current protests (and, unfortunately, rioting and violence himself), seized upon this cartoon recently (7 years later) as "evidence" that his old man was a "racist."  A term that used to have a specific meaning in our society, but which is now flung around at random, it seems, towards anyone who isn't in lock-step with someone else's political ideology as a damning epithet.

What hurt me the most about his condemnation-in-the-absence-of-comprehension was the fact that he never paused, even for a moment, to give me the common courtesy of asking me about it before just "deciding" that I was morally impaired and hopelessly bigoted... he simply declared me a "racist" and cut off all communication literally overnight.  I felt gutted and betrayed.  I had never treated him that way.  Ever.

This was not an abused, neglected, or otherwise mistreated young man.

This was a young man whose dad doted on him, and loved him beyond measure... who would have done anything for him, including sacrificing his own life.  

This was a young man who knew that his dad had his back... who went to bat for him repeatedly and consistently during his Jr. High and High School years... sometimes taking on an entire school district on his behalf when dad felt like he hadn't been treated fairly.

A young man for which his dad sacrificed heavily.  A young man who his dad had constantly encouraged and supported.  

A young man whose dad went above and beyond to support his music, and attended every single one of his concerts.

A young man whose dad had committed hundreds of hours as a debate judge, when that son became involved with debate in High School... just to support him and help him out and to be involved with something that was important to him.  

A young man whose life was literally saved by that same dad when he tried to commit suicide... and who never left his side while struggling in the ICU.

A young man whose friends marveled at how non-judgmental and accepting that dad was when he "came out" several years later... friends whose own parents had disowned them for their choices. 

That same young man couldn't be bothered to ask before severing his relationship with that dad forever... because of a political cartoon.  Not content with that, that same son then repeatedly and viciously stabbed that dad in the back by trashing him on social media.  And that son considers all of that to be "justified" somehow... because racism.

The world we live in is becoming extremely frightening in its cruelty and savageness.  Family units and intimate familial relationships used to be sacrosanct when I was growing up.  Family was all-important.  It was our bedrock... our base.  Our foundation.  And there were lines within those relationships that one simply did not cross... no matter how mad or hurt you were.  Those indelible lines related to remembering, at the end of the day, that no matter what else may be going on in the world, we're still family.  That we still, even though mad today, love each other and will be better tomorrow.  That we have each others' backs.  No matter what.  That we don't betray our own.

As the family has constantly come under attack in the last few decades, one of the casualties has been that we no longer seem to hold those all-important relationships to be as sacred as they really are... or should be.  We've come to the point where they are cheap and expendable... and many have been summarily destroyed without a second thought... out of spite, meanness, cruelty, and/or indifference.  

Loyalty to our loved ones has become a thing of the past.  Intentional cruelty, "cancel culture," and public attacks to shame and guilt are wielded with devastating results as a way of punishing someone for "thinking wrong."  It is emotional blackmail, where a lifetimes of love, devotion, and sacrifice are all thrown away as if they mean nothing... with the resulting anguish, betrayal, and hurt being waved off blithely because it is somehow intolerable that someone that we love should dare to be independent, and to believe or think differently than we do.  Instead, they must be punished.  Outed.  Humiliated.  Embarrassed.  Canceled.  And then destroyed.

That's the real tragedy here.  Families are no longer "safe spaces."  They are undermined at every turn, and their importance constantly attacked and denigrated.  We can no longer rely on our families to be there for us... and that is perhaps the greatest tragedy of all.  And the most frightening.

I love my son.  I always will.  When and if he ever decides to come home, figuratively or literally, I'll be here waiting for him with open arms.  Maybe he will, and maybe he won't.  But my job as his dad is to love him regardless and hope for the best.  That doesn't mean that it isn't devastating and crushing, though.  But that's the story.

Black Lives Matter

In light of recent events, I though it might be wise to take a few minutes and jot down some thoughts, if not for the sake of my family, but for me as well... writing sometimes helps me think through complex issues in more detail than I otherwise have a tendency to do.

I can't think of anything in recent memory that has divided this country as much as this issue.  It is tearing families apart as I write this... including my own.  Unfortunately, I think one of the biggest issues making this such a morass is that we are simply talking past each other.

The over-arching issue is racism in the U.S., and around the world.  The very word "racism" means different things to different people, depending on the age in which they have lived.  For instance, I was born in 1957, before the Civil Rights Movement, which really didn't grow legs until the 1960's.  When I was born, there were still "colored only" drinking fountains, bathrooms, and segregation was still very much the norm, even though Brown v. Board of Education had been argued 3 years before I was born.

The early 60's brought the issue to a head, and the end of many of the Jim Crow laws.  This view of racism among those who lived during that era has an unfortunate tendency to color our understanding of racism as it is experienced and perceived today.  In our current day, compared to the 1950's, racism is non-existent as we knew and experienced it.  For today's demographic, however, "racism" has a completely different connotation than we had, and I think that has contributed to many disconnects.

Today, racism is of a different variety and expression than it was when I was young.  It is experienced by a variety of different races in different locales, depending on demographics...  there is racism by whites towards blacks, racism towards Latinos by non-Latinos, and yes, racism against whites by blacks (and to a much lesser extent) Latinos.  It is not limited to one group or demographic.  Ostensibly, this is why some people insist that "All Lives Matter."  And all lives DO matter.  Everyone deserves to be treated with respect, regardless of the color of their skin.  Latinos don't deserve to be racially profiled in East LA.  Blacks deserve not to be racially profiled in Chicago.  And so on and so on. 

The matter gets even murkier when, as recent studies have concluded, based on law enforcement data, that there is no systemic racism in law enforcement... which has been the very foundation and flashpoint of the riots that have swept the country, and many parts of the world.  It is confusing for many.  How can there be this much hurt and pain and evidence of mistreatment, when the data says otherwise?  Who is to be believed? 

Here's the disconnect, as I see it... your mileage may vary, of course. 

The perception (and I believe reality) of wide-spread racism is of such a type in most cases that it never "qualifies" for the data points kept and analyzed by the FBI, and the DOJ... therefore is not recognized as the massive issue that it is.  Those who deny that such racism exists point to these studies as proof of their position.  I know, because I was one of them.

After careful consideration, however, I came to the conclusion that the undeniable reality is that those who have been brutalized or harassed by police as a result of the color of their skin have experienced very real, very quantifiable racism... consistently and frequently.  And to them, the arguments against systemic racism are not only insulting, but deeply personal and painful as well.  It's as if their experiences, humiliation, pain, and hurt are being dismissed, minimized and discounted instead of acknowledged, considered, and addressed.

Now.  I have a lot of heartburn with the Black Lives Matter organization per se.  The founders have admitted that it was created as a Marxist anti-Police organization, which ideologies I do not agree with or endorse.  But it is serving as a rallying point for a very wide-spread, and long-overdue effort to bring these issues to the forefront of a national consciousness so that it can stop being minimized and dismissed.

In discussing this today, my sweet, wise wife reminded me of the Parable of the Lost Sheep.  Because one sheep was lost didn't mean that the 99 didn't matter.  It meant that the Shepherd needed to stop... drop what He was doing, and rescue the 1 in order for the flock to be whole.  I think sometimes we get caught up thinking, "Oh, well.. we have 99 out of 100... that's not bad." 

Our black brothers and sisters should not have to be afraid when they are pulled over, or when they have interactions with police.  No one should.  But right now, they're the ones who need to be rescued.



    

New Years Unresolutions

I have something of a love-hate relationship with New Years. 

I love the idea of new beginnings, fresh starts, yada yada... but hate the fact that every year, all of those earnest commitments are broken and discarded within days.  With, of course, the resulting feelings of failure that accompany them. 

I've decided that New Years Resolutions are not for me.  They're just not.  They don't work for me.  I'm already depressed, so the inevitable feelings of failure in making  resolutions that I know I'll break (and embarrassingly soon) aren't something that I need in my life right now.  I just don't.  Too much stress going into an already bleak time of year.  Bad combination.

Instead, I think I'm going to adopt a tortoise-and-hare approach.  I think I can handle that a bit less ineptly than the whole "multiple major life changes at once" thing.

I think, in 2020, I'm going to adopt a "New Day's Resolution" and do it  365 times.

Every day, improve just a little bit... in one area.  Just a bit.  Be a bit better than I was the day before.  Improve just a smidgen.  Just a tad.  Slow and steady.  Explore new habits... but one at a time.  Integrate new practices... one at a time.  Slowly.  Deliberately.  Carefully.

Then, I'm going to go easy on myself if I'm not perfect even at that.  After all, it's just one day, right?  There are 364 other ones that I can turn into successes.

And when you think about it, that's less disappointing, isn't it?  Let's see... make all kinds of grand and glorious changes for the year, and fail at all of them within 10 days... or stumble on the 1 thing... the little bit... you're changing THAT DAY, knowing you can go have a bowl of ice cream to console yourself and  try again in the morning.

Yeah.  Definitely less stressful.

So this New Year, instead of scribbling down a poorly-thought-out list of major life changes I want to fail at in the next couple of weeks, I'm going to make un-resolutions.  And I'm going to take it slow. and steady.  And hopefully, at the end of this coming year, I can look back at a plethora of small, but significant, changes that I've made each day, that have come together to make my life just a little bit better overall than it was this year.

Confessions of a Spiritual Self-Saboteur

For some time now, I've been munging on the disturbing reality of my own self-sabotage.  It isn't an easy thing to admit... that you're been unconsciously undermining your own success at almost every turn in almost every aspect of your life... and yet that's precisely what I discovered I was doing to myself.

You see, no matter what anyone says, in my mind and heart I'm a Colossal Loser.  Big "L" on my forehead and everything.  And if nothing changes, I always will be.  Oh, I'll try to convince you otherwise... I put on a pretty good show about wanting others to "appreciate my work," or "admire my talent," or whatever it is that I think OTHERS value in who I am.  But in my mind and heart, I know that they'll never value me for ME.  I'll never be "enough."  I'll always be a fraud... and in that, always unworthy of happiness.

So, I make choices that will pretty much guarantee that I never find it.

I can't even begin to tally the number of times that I've had a "great idea," or an "ingenius spark of creativity"... only to watch it crumble in failure because I cannot bring myself to follow through on even simple tasks that would contribute to my own success.  Standing back and observing these trends in my life, it becomes actually comical in a dark, tragic sort of way.

The most devastating part of self-loathing (which is the fertile, well-manured underlying soil of self-sabotage), is that a) you realize that the thing that killed your chances of success in your life was... you.  And b) that your self-sabotage is part of an even greater cycle that is almost impossible to break out of.  The more you sabotage yourself, the more you fail and the more unhappy you become.  The more unhappy you become, the less you feel you are worthy of happiness, and the more validity is heaped onto the refuse pile of self-loathing.  And on and on and on and on.

You see, once we determine that we are not worthy of success or happiness, we often make unconscious choices that validate that belief.  "See?  I told you I'm a failure.  Just look at my latest 'great idea.'  NOTHING works for me."  It's easy to validate failure.  All you have to do is fail.  It's familiar territory.  It's your "old stomping ground."  It has all of the comfort of the proverbial "old shoe."  You know it, and it knows you.  It is a "known."

Of course, my inner self argues, "I WANT to be happy... I WANT to be successful... are you kidding me?"  The truth is that while happiness and success are things you desperate yearn for, they are invariably something that you inwardly know you'll never achieve, because in your heart, you believe that you don't deserve it, that you aren't "good enough" to achieve it, and that you aren't "enough" to be in that class of lucky people.  So, faced with your withering self-loathing, your obedient inner self snaps to attention with a hearty, "Aye, Aye, Captain!" and carries out your orders to make sure that belief is more than valid.

While it's fairly easy to see how this condition manifests itself in the secular workaday world... I'm not entirely sure if we realize the damage that it does to us spiritually, which I've discovered can be far more subtle and insidious.

Let examine the story of "Joe."

Joe suffers from chronic depression, and yet is a faithful member of his Church, and attends meetings every Sunday.  He fulfills assignments, and tries to be "good," since that is what people do who are "righteous"... they are "good."  They do "good things."  They treat people well.  They're perfectly honest.  They have perfectly pure thoughts.  They never do "bad" things.  They don't struggle with addiction.  They don't "sin."  They never stray from the "straight and narrow."  They strive to exemplify a higher standard in their conduct.  They are filled with the joy and light that result from being innately "good."

Joe was taught from a very young age that if he wanted to be with God, he must meet certain standards and criteria and basically must be pretty damned near perfect, as "no unclean thing can enter the Kingdom of God."  Joe looks around himself at Church, and all he sees are people that are "good."  People that are definitely better than him.  And people that deserve to be happy and successful and to live with God someday.

At church, Joe sees an entire congregation of people that, compared to him, are damned near perfect.  He feels out of place and "less than."  This causes Joe a tremendous amount of pain and anguish in his soul because he desperately WANTS to be "good."  He loves God.  He WANTS to be "righteous."  And yet, at every turn, it seems like he consistently does something that drives a wedge more deeply between this deep spiritual desire and achieving that peace and self-acceptance.

Joe doesn't believe that he measures up.  Not by a long shot.  He's nowhere near perfect, and in fact is obsessed with past mistakes and sins that he really doesn't believe deep down inside that he has ever been really forgiven for... because he's "Joe."  He knows how dark his thoughts and feelings can be sometimes. He knows that he can never be among the "righteous"... not really.  He isn't "good."  He's broken.  He doesn't have perfectly clean thoughts.  He is irritable and impatient with others.  He's made some pretty bad mistakes throughout his life.  He is damaged.  He is depressed about how he doesn't measure up, and the more depressed this makes him the stronger his belief becomes that he will NEVER measure up.  Not really.

Joe believes deep inside that if the others at church REALLY knew how badly he didn't measure up and how "bad" he was, they would throw him out and tell him to never come back.  After all, "good" people don't deserve to be burdened with someone so "bad."  It just drags everyone down.

As Joe plods through his Hell-hole of a life, he finds himself sometimes doing things... bad things... that do some pretty serious validation of his feelings of unworthiness.

It truly baffles Joe; he doesn't understand why he does those things... they don't bring him joy or light or happiness... he knows they're wrong... he feels deep remorse because of them.  He never set out to do them.  And yet it seems like some invisible force compels him to do them, almost against his very will.  Joe becomes more and more frustrated, angry, and depressed.  He desperately wants to be 'good.'  Being 'bad' is not what he wants.  But it seems that being "bad" is just what he is.  Every time he tries to be "good," he winds up doing something "bad" as if to prove that he's just not worthy of being "good."

Of course, every time Joe does one of these 'bad things,' his inner dialogue screams, "See?!  I TOLD you that I'm a Bad Person, and that I'm not worthy of ever being forgiven, much less 'good.'  I'm not like the 'good' people.  I just can't do this."  Joe's self-esteem drops like a rock.  Joe's self-loathing takes off like a rocket.  Same song, different verse.  Rinse and repeat.  Worlds without end.

Joe will eventually find himself so overcome with self-hatred and hopelessness that he will at least think seriously about taking his own life.  After all, he doesn't deserve to live. It's that bad.  Joe believes that his soul is so stained and filthy that it will never be clean again.  Everyone would be so much better off if he weren't there to drag everyone down and hurt those that he loves.

Does Joe intellectually know better?  Of course.  Blah, blah, blah.  Whatever.  Joe knows the REAL truth.  He's a Colossal Loser... always has been, always will be, and hell-bent on proving it to everyone... especially to himself and God.  You see, the loftier his desires and goals, the harder his subconscious works to prove that it will never happen... that he simply isn't worth it.  It is a self-fulfilling prophesy.

The Island of Misfit Toys

As I lay awake in bed tonight, struggling to quiet the ever-present demons, a thought occurred to me that whispered truth in my ear... and really made me think.  (One of the more common pastimes for those who are severely depressed is to wonder why they are so miserable and screwed-up... and why nothing seems to help).

Tonight I gained a tiny bit of clarity, I think.  It didn't help me feel better, of course, other than to gain another piece of the never-ending puzzle that is my depression.

The insight?  That I just don't "fit in"... and never have.

As I put this theory to the test and went back through my life story and thought about each discrete stage, event, or segment, I came to realize that in almost every case, I felt like I didn't "fit in" somehow. 

Childhood?  Didn't fit in.  Only child.  Broken and abused almost from birth through age 11.  Moved around a lot. Always the new kid at school.  Always the last one chosen.  Beaten up.  Kids are cruel and mean.  Never close to anyone.  8 schools in 12 grades.

Adolescence?  Didn't fit in.  Tried, and had some limited success socially, but in the end, no cigar.  Did a lot of great stuff.  Had great opportunities.  Only bright, shining spots in my life.  Most marred by serious mistakes, though..  Again, very few close friendships.  Friends that I did have seemed to be much better people than I knew I was... so I didn't "fit in" with their crowd.

Adulthood?  Didn't fit in.  Poor relationship with almost all of my siblings, as I was 10 years older than the next oldest... don't even really know them.  They detest me.  Moved around even more.  No roots.  Dreams of education shattered by poverty and sudden family responsibility.  Hopeless.  No future.  Loveless marriage.  Always the new guy at Church... and work.  Never part of the ward "cliques."  No close friends.  Any associations I did have that made me feel wanted and needed seemed to end abruptly.  First Marriage destroyed.  Kicked out of Church I loved.  Not wanted.  Went off deep end.  No close friends.  Completely alone.  No one to talk to or confide in.

Second marriage?  Tried valiantly to "fit in" with new spouse and step-kids, and then with my own kids we had together.  Never got there.  Ultimately sabotaged and destroyed.  Career sabotaged and destroyed.  Strike two.  Left the Church.  Totally hopeless, despondent, and suicidal for the first time.  Still no friends.  No one to talk to.  No support mechanism.

Third marriage?  20 years into it now and still constantly miserable and sabotaging my relationships.  Still no friends.  Step-children punish and torture my wife for staying with me.  Constantly feel guilty and hopeless.  Don't "fit in" with family.  Don't "fit in" anywhere... not at Church, not professionally (what profession?), not in any sense of the word.  Bitter.  Angry.  Resigned.  Too old to "reinvent" myself.

Days, weeks, months, years, decades come and go... all the while realizing that I've never "fit in" anywhere.  My Church doesn't want me.  Feels like God doesn't want me.  I've totally failed at being a husband, father, and apparently, friend.  Any "friend" I make only uses me, and then ultimately discards me.  No professional success of any kind.  Almost 60 and nothing to show for it.  If I died tomorrow, not only would my family not be able to afford to bury me, I seriously wonder if anyone would even notice that I was gone... much less miss me.  And many in my own family would actually rejoice at my passing.

Where will I go when I die?  I'm certain that I won't "fit in" in the hereafter.  Not righteous enough.  Not good enough.  Failure at even that.  I wonder sometimes if there's even a place for me... anywhere... where I truly "fit in?"

What happens when you don't "fit in" to eternity?  When everlasting happiness and peace is something that someone else... everyone else... gets to enjoy, except you?  I imagine "forever" as being a place where I'm consigned to always be the "outsider."  Never, ever "fitting in."  Anywhere.  Forever.

The Christmas Doldrums

Every. Single. Year.

I'm not kidding.  Every. Single. Year. it's the same crap.

It seems like EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. when Christmas rolls around, we're penniless, anxious, depressed, and stressed.

For the last 3 years, we haven't bothered to put up a tree.  We haven't decorated for Christmas.  It's just been another day.  Another depressing, "Let's-get-this-over-with" day.

This year is no different.

Let me backtrack a bit.

Iowa was... an experience.  We had high hopes for getting a bit ahead there, which were dashed when we realized that Tracy wasn't going to be getting any transcripts.  We lost money every month.  When our lease was up, it was a choice of either moving to yet another over-priced house to go further in debt each month staying in Iowa, or moving into a divey crime-infested neighborhood that we could afford, or move out of the state.  We chose the latter... counting on getting our deposit back to help us afford the move.

We moved in November (that's part of the problem, quite frankly... we keep moving right before Christmas, draining resources and what little funds we have).  The move was incredibly expensive.  We couldn't have done it without some miraculous sales on the hotel side, and a loan from my mom.  As if the holidays weren't stressful enough, at 62 years of age, I'm still having to borrow money from my parents to live.   So much for self-esteem.  But I digress.

We arrive in Utah, to new beginnings, new possibilities, and no money.  We hit the ground running, however, and work hard from the get-go, living in my parents' basement to save money.  So far, so good, right?  We find a house that's liveable, but MUCH more expensive than what we've paid before in rent, but we swallowed hard, had faith, and took the plunge.

Getting paid for Tracy's work is the dictionary definition of "frustrating."  She doesn't get paid until the attorneys pay.  Which sometimes is sooner, sometimes is later.  In our case, of course, they simply can't be bothered to pay before Christmas, at least, so that she can be paid.  Isn't a priority.  So, another Christmas, still destitute.  Still struggling.  Still stressed out of our minds.

Our deposit from our house in Iowa?  The landlords decide, "Hey, they're gone.  They won't come after us.  We'll just keep it."  Can't get a single attorney to call us back... even those we are friends with.  Everyone wants to protect and defend the landlords... after all, they have the money.  Not the tenants.

Of course, nothing happens the week before/after Christmas, so we don't know if we're going to make rent on the 1st of January or not. 

We are tired, weary, exhausted, and utterly despondent.  Tired of constantly having to deal with this.  Tired of the battle.  Tired of being taken advantage of.  Tired of... well... all of it, actually.

Fa la la.

Thoughts on Living, Dying... and Christmas

Living the kind of eclectic life I've lived, I've gained a perspective that others can... and in fact have... considered bizarre.  I was thinking about this recently when a dear friend of mine from high school passed away after a long battle with pancreatic cancer.

I was with her just after she was diagnosed, and did a portrait session of her at the time... which I knew inwardly her family might value when she was gone.  It was a gift from me to her.

From the time she was diagnosed, we spoke often on Facebook, and I was able to follow her through her anger, through her bargaining, through her stubborn resistance, through her outright denial,through her entire grieving process.  It tore my heart out.

One day, not long into her battle, in the midst of hearing her insist (yet again) that she would "beat this" and be "OK," I found myself getting emotional, and a bit indignant.  So I wrote her a message that I'm sure made her angry.  She was totally NOT expecting what I told her.  Keep in mind that she had just been given the news that she had Stage 4 cancer.

I said,

"I think you’ve been given a tremendous gift."

"Having been a paramedic for as long as I was, one of the things that never ceased to amaze me was the realization that every single patient that I treated that passed away, mostly from trauma... Didn't plan on going home that day.

"They were completely unprepared. They never had a chance to prepare. They never got to say goodbye. They never got to make their wrongs right.

"Each and every one of them would have given all they had for what you have... a chance to prepare.

"I think the thing that all of us forget sometimes in our illusion of immortality, is that all of us... without exception... are going to die sometime.

"The thing that matters is what we do with the time we have left.

"It may sound funny, but serve others. Immerse yourself in service where you can. And give your children the gift of your time, so that they can continue to create memories.

"They will cherish that. And write. Give them a part of you to keep forever. Write your personal history.

 She let me know that she didn't appreciate my sentiments.  She snapped back, "Thank  you.  But I'm not hopeless.  I still think I am going to make it."

Her response, while not unexpected, was disappointing to me.  If only we could truly appreciate the gift of time that each one of us has been so graciously given.  Time to heal.  Time to forgive.  Time to say goodbye.  Time to create memories that we will cherish for the eternities.  Time to do all the things we have been planning on doing "someday."

Someone told me that doctors rarely opt for treatment measures to extend their lives in the midst of terminal diseases... instead, knowing the kind of "quality of life" they will be extending for just a few weeks or months, they opt instead to prepare.  And from my perspective, that makes so much more sense.

Time is a gift.  This Christmas season, spend yours wisely.  You never know when your time will be gone.  It could be in an instant.  I could be over the course of painful months and/or years.  Prepare NOW.