My Hero

Not too long ago I shared some thoughts and memories of my heroine, my maternal grandmother.  Well I have a hero also and that is my father who passed away in 1988 after a battle with colon cancer.  I miss him so much although a number of years have gone by.  He was my rock and my savior many times in my life.  I am sure I would not be here if it wasn't for his unselfish nature.  He showed patience, love, understanding and aid during my childhood and throughout my adult years until he passed away.

Dad was quite the man.  He had it rough during his early years due to his parents being quite poor.  When he was fourteen years of age, his father, suffering from shingles, took an overdose of the pills he had been prescribed and died. His mother and younger brother needed assistance.  My father dropped out of high school and started working.  His mother became a house cleaner and between the two incomes, although small, they managed to survive.

My father's job was in a brokerage firm.  He was hired as a messenger boy and he worked both in the office and also ran messages to other firms and the Stock Exchange.

Now at the time, my father was quite short and the people in the firm called him Pinky and that name stuck.  The reason I share this is as my father got to his later teens, he shot up and became 6'4" tall and was actually one of the tallest people in the office.  Pinky was his name and it stuck until my father retired. 

At the time he was working as a messenger boy, my father went to night school and eventually, received his diploma.  He worked hard at his job and must have impressed his superioirs for they moved him up to higher paying jobs, although not anything impressive.  Every bit of money helped at home and his mother was thankful that the family managed to continue to live in their apartment in the Bronx. 

My parents were married in the thirties and had my brother and then four years later, I was born.  My father was a wonderful parent.  My mother was not and I did not have the happiest of childhoods.  My father, my maternal grandmother, who lived with us, and my older brother were my safety net and helped me to cope with the pain and distress caused by my mother.  My earliest memories of my father were feeling protected and safe while he was home.  He was an avid sports lover.  He enjoyed almost every type but his favorites were baseball and football.  Later on, when money was more plentiful, he began to play golf and enjoyed the game so much.  As children, my father took us to baseball games at the old Polo Ground stadium to watch the New York Giants play.  We also went to Yankee Stadium which pleased my brother and me since we were Yankee fans.  We were taken to hockey games, basketball, track and field events and professional football games.  I loved them all and attending these sports is one of my fond memories.  My father had patience with me if I didn't always understand what was going on but he eventually taught me how to keep score at the baseball games and I still, on occasion, do so. It was through these sports that my father tried to instill fairness and good sportsmanship in our lives.

As I grew older, my father had moved up the ladder at the brokerage firm and eventually, he became a partner.  To me, this was one of his most inspiring and difficult achievements.  He was one of many partners and the only one who had not attended college.  This was an embarrassment to my father but I am proud of the fact he worked his way to that position through hard work, devotion to the firm and by being a person who was respected and admired by many.  I know this because I still have the letters he received when his new position was announced. They are filled with admiration and heartwarming praise.

Of course, our financial situation had improved through the years, but his partnership brought a great deal more wealth with it and our lifestyle changed dramatically. We moved to a larger apartment in a well to do community, we joined a country club and we traveled for the first time.  I was also sent away to a preparatory school when I was fourteen.  I am not sure if this was because he thought I would get a better education or if he felt it would be beneficial to get me away from my mother.  At any rate, I went and then on to a two year college upon graduation. 

My father was very good mannered and genteel.  I never heard him use an expletive except when I eloped at the age of 18.  When my husband and I went to tell my parents months after the event, Dad was furious.  Of course he blamed my true love and called him an S.O.B. but he didn't use initials.  I really knew how angry he was at his choice of words but he later, being the gentleman that he was, apologized to us both.

Throughout his lifetime, my father was there for me.  I led a rather upside down life and often got into trouble.  Nowadays, Dad would no doubt be called an enabler but I know he had me in his heart and wanted my children and me to have as much as possible as far as living conditions, clothing and food went.  After my divorce, he practically paid our way in life.  I didn't have to ask.  He gave out of love and caring.  Of course, being an alcoholic, I took advantage of his generosity many times but still he took care of us.

I know he spoiled both my children and me terribly but his intentions were good.  We had a good life due to him and lived in good places with his help.  After my father retired, he lost his sight due to cataract surgery that caused an infection in one eye and then he had undetected glaucoma which became worse and worse and eventually he lost most of the vision in his other eye.  My mother passed away and later, he moved away with a woman who had befriended him.   I was not terribly happy about their situation but he adored her and she was a faithful companion.  He appreciated her attention and love which he had not received from my mother.  When she died, he was devastated and shortly after, he was diagnosed with cancer.  His last year was not a happy one and because of the distance between Maryland and New York, I only saw him once a month.  My late husband and I enjoyed our last times with him but we knew he did not have a great deal of time left.  He kept his dignity and love for me till the end.  I was very grateful that he died of pneumonia and did not suffer.  He passed away after falling into a coma.

I look back now and see a man who always did his utmost to take care of his family, to be a good husband and father. He loved my mother under difficult circumstances and I know that this caused him a great deal of pain.   His work habits were proven as he moved up the ladder at his firm.  He had many long lasting friends.  His love of sports prompted him to donate money for scholarships and many young people benefited by being able to go to college. He gave generously to many charities and always looked out for those less fortunate than he.  All in all, although he did have some faults, he was a wonderful and caring man.  I don't think there was a mean bone in his body and I cannot recall his ever having anything bad to say about another human being. 

I am so very proud of him and think of him often.  I know he would be unhappy with some of my political changes in this past year but I also know he would be pleased that I have gotten involved in the country and its government.  He was a very intelligent person and knew so many facts.  He knew the Bible inside and out although he did not attend church with my mother.  When the minister came to call and asked when he was going to appear at a service, he informed him that his home was his church and God was there with him.  I liked that. 

I have many fond memories of my father.  I so admired the way he dressed.  Everything always matched - suit, tie, shirt, socks, belt and back in the day, his hats. When my brother and I were young, he read the funny papers to us.  He also told us stories based on the bible.  He especially liked Proverbs and the Psalms.  He was a strict father but never raised a hand to us children.  His manner of punishment was deprival such as if I misbehaved, when we would walk to the ice cream store after dinner in the summertime, I was not allowed any treat and would have to walk back home, watching my brother devour his cone.  Believe me, most times when I was warned this punishment would be inevitable if I didn't behave, I was as good as gold. I loved simple things like listening to his wide collection of "records".  Dad loved music but was especially fond of Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman.  Whenever I hear "Sing, Sing, Sing" or "Moonlight Serenade",  I have a memory of a Sunday afternoon with my father reading the New York Times and tapping his foot along with the beat.

So that is a picture of my Dad.  He was and still is an inspiration to me.  I would love to have led his exemplary life.  His selflessness, honesty, diligence, caring and love were there for me to follow but many times, I chose other routes.  However, I am so very lucky to have had him in my life.  My hero - My Dad.

P.S.

It is purely a coincidence that LisB and I both wrote about our fathers at almost the same time.  Neither of us knew the other planned these blogs.  Like mother, like daughter?

Friendship is defined as co-operative and supportive behavior between two or more people.  In this sense, the term connotes a relationship which involves mutual knowledge, esteem and affection and respect along with a degree of rendering service to friends in times of need or crisis.

I am and have been an alcoholic for most of my adult life, in and out of the AA program.  At any rate, after my husband passed away in 2002, I once again turned to drink and after a short time of indulging, I returned to AA.  It was there that I met the best friend I have ever had.  Diana is her name and we hit it off from the git go.  I came to rely on her for help in relearning the twelve steps and suggestions of the program.  We attended a great deal of meetings together and were soon very close.  As we got to know each other better, we realized we had numerous things in common and began to feel as if we were sisters which was so wonderful.  Neither one of us had a sister and the bond between us was very strong.  We lived quite near to each other and spent many days and evenings visiting back and forth along with attending our A.A. meetings.  We made many other friends and it was a happy and rather peaceful time for us both.

Diana and I both suffered from bouts of depression and before I had rejoined A.A., I had sought counseling for my then serious and deep depression and anxiety which was diagnosed as bi-polar disorder.  I was also going to a psychiatrist and was on several medications for the problem.  I found I was improving and getting a handle on my life and Diana also seemed to have her depression under control.

Then a series of events occurred in rapid succession and changed Diana's and my life, perhaps forever.  First, she had both knees replaced due to an arthritic condition.  Although she recovered well from the surgery, she had developed a bedsore which subsequently became badly infected and she had to be hospitalized again.  It took a small operation to clean out the wound and she was kept for some days.  After she was released, she had visiting nurses to continue to care for the wound.  She became very anxious over her slowness to heal and before the nurses felt she was well enough, she developed a terrible stomach illness.  Within days, she was rushed to the hospital once again and was found to have an obstructed bowel which also needed surgery. This was just too much for Diana and while lingering in the hospital, she became terribly depressed and filled with anxiety.  She was put in the hands of a psychiatrist and prescribed medication. 

Finally she returned home but it was a different Diana completely.  She became reclusive, stopped going to AA and gradually became a shell of her old self. I barely knew her anymore and tried so hard to brighten her days and visited her almost daily.  I was extremely worried about her and wanted to make her better.  Her brother and I kept in constant touch as he lived on Long Island, and I became to feel almost responsible for her mental health.  She was absolutely positive she would develop another illness which would mean another stay in the hospital.  Her weight dropped down considerably and I realized she was barely eating. 

Diana and I phoned each other early every morning and had exchanged our house keys just in case.  One morning I phoned as usual and received no answer.  After several tries, I decided to go to her house.  I almost knew something was very wrong. Upon arriving there, I rang and rang her bell and finally looked through a window where I could see several pill bottles lined up on her kitchen counter.  I panicked and using the key, let myself in and found her flat on her bed.  I immediately thought she was dead but finally saw her chest rise up slightly.  I called 911 and also called her neighbor who was a retired nurse.  She arrived first and found a faint pulse and started CPR.  The ambulance came and they worked on her forever, it seemed and she went into cardiac arrest.  With equipment they used, they brought her back and took her to the hospital. When I arrived there, I called her brother and was given permission to stay with her.  She was put on a respirator and was admitted to ICU where she stayed for several days.  When she finally came out of her coma, she was moved to the mental health ward and from there to a mental hospital. 

At first Diana was angry at me for finding her and calling for help. I made her understand that if she had found me in the same state, she would not have left me to die.  However, her mental state was the lowest I had seen and she didn't care where she was or what would happen to her. She remained there for a year and was finally released with the plan to move her to Manhattan to a sublet apartment.  It was felt that it would be injurious for her to return to PA.  Her brother suggested she keep her house here so that eventually she could make the decision to either stay in the city or return here. 

After the following winter, I found she was sinking back into a deep depression.  Her new doctor in Manhattan had her on some powerful drugs and I felt they were certainly not working but she would do nothing to change the situation.  Her brother tried to speak with her doctor but could not unless Diana gave permission which she refused to do.

Much time has passed since that period and not long ago, Diana began to drink again.  It is a rare moment that I can call her and find her sober. I became very upset over this and tried my best to help her.  Once in a while, she would venture up here for a brief visit, but she was no different here, refusing to go to meetings with me and sitting alone in her house, barely communicating with anyone and she had many friends who phoned and tried to visit her.

I spent much time sharing my feelings and reporting Diana's state of mind with my AA sponsor who also knew her.  She was sympathetic to my concern and need to help Diana to get well.  But, she also kept telling me that there was little I could do to make her stop drinking or to really do anything for her state of mind. I could be there for her, listen to her unless she was drinking and be supportive when she was sober.  This was all very difficult for me.  I really wanted to kick her in the ass or throttle her and tell her to shape up.  I could feel myself slipping into a depressed state of my own and family and my doctor warned me that I could very well crash myself.  Since I knew how easily I could get ill, I shared even more with my sponsor who has helped me to see that I had to take care of myself first.

This has been very hard for me.  It is like watching as a family member sinks to the bottom of the ocean and not being able to reach out and pull them to shore.  I want to make her well again and know that I cannot.  I am in deathly fear that she will once again try to commit suicide.  She knows she didn't succeed in her first attempt and will go even further if she tries again. I doubt she could survive with the strong meds she is on.  I have suggested she return to PA where she has so many friends and good AA.  She does not attend meetings in the city and has no relationship with anyone.  I am lost and afraid but I just keep telling her how much I care and that I am here for her.  She does not want to come up here at this time so I sit back and wait.  It seems like a death watch to me and it is so defeating and difficult.  I know that I am not God and I can only pray for her.  I feel like a failure and yet I know deep down it is not my fault nor is there hope unless Diana finds hope for herself.  A friendship I cherish hangs in the balance.

In April of this year, my daughter, LisB, introduced me to TPM and from there, to the chat room where many of the bloggers hang out.  For this one time staunch conservative Republican, this was quite a political shock.  I was interested in TPM for the simple reason that Lis had told me she shared some of her poetry and other literary endeavors there.  Of course, I found that the blog site was mostly political and quite liberal, to my eyes.  I really didn't feel I belonged there but I read some of the posts, comments and replies.  I kept reading and reading.  First, I found some humor, and that pleased me.  I began to think that they were rather interesting and I followed along with a few of them, digesting all of the flow of opinions, arguments and pronouncements.  It was certainly an eye opener and far different from what I was reading and hearing from the Republican side.

I have shared about my political past and many know that I was born and raised with a very conservative viewpoint which I completely adhered to with out thought or conscience.  It was unheard of in my family to think anything liberal was right or just and big government was something one did not even consider.  Ronald Reagan was like a god to my father and even Nixon, with all of his foibles and dishonesty, was considered a good president except for that "one little lie".  I think my father went into a period of shock and dismay when the hearings ended and Nixon actually resigned - something my father was totally against.

At any rate, I have to be totally honest and say, I did not follow politics much in my past.  I dutifully voted every year, straight Republican ticket.  Never pulled a Democrat's lever and never intended to.  I think there were times I kind of envied liberal friends of mine - they always seemed so passionate about their politics and beliefs.  I never felt that way about anything regarding the government and politicians.  I either thought they were good guys or bad guys and it never occurred to me to look at the other side to see if maybe there were some "good" guys there.  If someone liberal looked okay to me, I would soon find some reason or another to dislike them.  If a conservative did something I didn't like, I would find an excuse for their behavior.  What a hypocrite I was and what a non-caring citizen of the United States.  I always complained about events and downfalls in the economy but blamed it on the Democrat in the White House or those in the House and Senate.  I never, ever tried to find the real cause or even look into the problem with an idea of discovering a solution, writing to my congress person or senator.  Those were the things for others more involved to take care of.  My character traits as far as politics went were non-involvement, lack of caring, preoccupation with more self serving things, and laziness.  Nothing to be very proud of but I really didn't give it much thought.

Then those damnable blogs came into my life.  I began to see what had drawn my once conservative daughter to Obama and to the Democratic Party.  Lis then invited me to the chat room where so many of her TPM friends sort of hung out.  I ventured in and became hooked or addicted. I found the most friendly, humorous, music loving, opinionated and great people I have met "in" my PC.  I will not mention names for fear of forgetting someone or giving up someone's identity.  However, it is a group of gals and guys from all over the States and even from some countries across oceans. I am one of the eldest.  We can get weather reports from all over, differences in time zones, and political thoughts from many areas.  Sure, there are diverse opinions and heart felt causes discussed.  Sometimes it even gets heated for there are strong voices to be heard.  There are times I stay out of it since I have not learned enough to venture a thought.  I have become braver though and I have started to ask questions.  I also have started to look up things on the internet and I seek truth, a better way and I believe I have become more caring and interested in my fellow man's fate.  It isn't all about me as much - I want solutions that will affect my country, just not my own little world.  It isn't all about Maggie anymore.  What a liberating and novel idea!!!!!!  You can laugh - I am laughing too............what an ostrich I have been with my head buried in the sand.

So thank you to my fellow bloggers and chatters.  I owe you so much for your patience, understanding, support of the blogs I have written and genuine friendship.  There is even talk of a Chicago get together sometime next year.  WOW!   It amazes me that people want to read my poems, musings and personal stories.  I have always written just for me and sharing those personal thoughts was hard at first.  I have found it liberating and fulfilling though and I am grateful for that.  Now as a dear friend here would say, "THE END".   Hahahahahahaha.

Most of us had heroes and heroines when we were young.  People such as the Lone Ranger, Penny from Sky King, move stars, presidents, etc.  I know I adored Doris Day.  I loved her freckles, her voice and her musicals.  Back in my day, there were movie magazines.  I remember cutting out pictures of my favorite stars.  I also liked Ike - I actually shook his hand as a child, at a rally by our town hall.  I was thrilled and declared I would never wash my hand.

My most important heroine, however, was my maternal grandmother, Nana, who lived with us.  She was a bright light in my life and the memories I have of her are both cherished and forever in my mind and heart.  She passed away when I was 12 years old but the time I had with her was golden.

My childhood was not the happiest time of my life.  I had a mother who was abusive but not at home much.  My father, although another light in my life, was wrapped up in his job and even worked on Saturdays.  I did have an older brother but he, of course, had his life and friends and I could not count on him to be there when I was lonely and afraid.

Nana was there for me and probably was the one who kept me from being a lost little girl. More often than not, she was the one who greeted me when I returned home from school.  I was always grateful to find her there and not my mother.  I was happy and felt secure when she, in her quiet but secure way, gave me a hug and offered me my afternoon snack.  She would sit at the kitchen table with me and inquire about my day, examine my drawings and work with great enthusiasm and even if I had not done well in some test or homework, she encouraged me and made me feel better.  After I changed my school clothes and donned my playthings, I would go to her room and settle in for whatever school work I had and then we would either read together or I would listen while she spun the most wonderful fairy stories or tales of her childhood.

Nana's room was magical to me.  She had the most wonderful possessions and would often let me play with things and admire her knick knacks.  Her room had a delicious aroma of lavender and even today, the scent will take me back to that sunny room.  There were several windows that had sheer curtains hanging but they were pulled back so I could sit and watch out the window.  We lived on the fifth floor of an apartment house giving us a marvelous view of the busy street below.  Nana had a big armchair from which she could sit and watch the traffic and passing and I would pull a smaller chair over to join her there.  Often we would see the same people coming home from work, getting on and off from the frequent buses stopping right below where we were perched.

There was a wonderful view and it gave us a glimpse of our neighborhood and its inhabitants.  On warm afternoons or in the summer vacation times, we would often go out of doors and sit in the little park behind the building.  Most of the people there were older retirees and I would sit with them and listen to their conversations. They always tried to include me and I felt very grown-up and a part of the group.  They fussed over me and made me feel very important. Nana seemed to be very popular with her peers and I felt pride in that.  My Nana was not only precious to me; others enjoyed her company as well.

I was not always sure that my Nana was a well liked person since my mother and she did not get along well.  No reflection on my grandmother.  My mother had a mean streak and often took her ill temper out on her mother.  It upset me terribly and I always had angry thoughts about my mother when she mistreated my heroine.  When I was very young, I was afraid other people felt the same way.

Having a vivid imagination, I would spin tales about fairy princesses and far off lands.  Nana loved to hear these and at my urging, would participate and play parts.  Then too, I loved playing with my many dolls.  I had a whole family of babies but was lacking a husband due to "his" tragic death while fighting in WW II.  I would visit Nana who was a pretend neighbor taking my children with me.  My name was Mrs. Uppington and I was an active member in the community and even was a member of my pretend club, Pink Gates.  I have no recollection of the function of this club but I do know I would dress up in some of Nana's fine dresses and clump around in her high heels. 

Nana suffered from a stroke when I was ten years old.  I will never forget it since she fell outside of my room during the night and I found her helpless on the floor.  I ran to my parents and she was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance.  As my parents were not one to discuss ill health in the family, I was not told what had occurred and I had terrible worries that I would never see her.  Children were not allowed to visit people in the hospital.  So I was left to imagine what had occurred in that hallway.  Later I was told she was coming home but that she was not the same.  I was to discover that "not the same" meant she had trouble with her speech and was partially paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair needing a great deal of care.  I think my mother could have been the one to administer some of that care but nurses were hired to be there from early morning till bedtime.  I grew to love those nurses.  They were wonderful people and attended to my grandmother with the utmost of dignity and love.  I learned early on that Nana could speak fairly well if she tried hard and spoke slowly.  My mother had no patience with her and would get exasperated when trying to converse with her. I hated that behavior and was always pleased when she would leave the room.  My father had a great deal of compassion for his mother-in-law and would often sit with her in the evening after the nurse left for the night.  He would hold her hand and talk quietly with her, listening intently to her slow speech and often causing a brief smile when he told her something funny. I would sit with them until my bedtime and enjoy those quiet moments with my two favorite people.

In the good weather, the nurse would take my Nana out of doors for some air.  I liked to walk along and even pushed the wheel chair a bit and felt so helpful.  I carried Nana's bag with her tissues and necessaries, which was the word she used for whatever was in her handbag. It bothered me that she was not able to do so many things like crochet, feed herself well or tend to other personal needs, but I loved her so and accepted her disabilities.  I wanted to spend as much time as I could with her and she never asked me to leave the room nor did the nurse scoot me away.  I think she realized we both needed those times together. 

Nana suffered another stroke when I was twelve and again she was taken to the hospital.  I was devastated and missed her so much.  I did not know the severity of this stroke and waited patiently for her to return home.  She never did and it was not until the day after she passed that I was told I would never see her again.  Similar to my mother's views on ill health, she had the idea that children didn't need to know about death so it wasn't explained to me and I did not attend her wake or funeral.

So my beloved Nana was gone from my life and I did not quite understand what that really meant.  I dreamt for years that she returned to life and was there for me once again.

It was not until later in my teens that I could fully grasp the finality of death.

Next week will bring my 70th birthday.  Yikes.  When I was younger, I thought people that age were ancient, fossils, over the hill, senile, and ready to be put out to pasture.  Not surprisingly, I don't feel that way any longer.   Perhaps I will now believe that when senior citizens reach 80, they are over the hill, but I still have quite a climb to reach the top of that hill.  I never believed I would make this age.  I lived a pretty wild life until recently and I was convinced, for years, that I would live a short one. My brother, who led a fairly exemplary life, died when he was 45, so I figured I would die relatively early also.  After all, my life had been rather off the beaten track and not any near as saintly as his.  At least I thought of his as near God like.  He was perfect in my eyes and I defied anyone who thought differently.

At any rate, I made it past 50, and 60 with no problems.  My health remained good, I looked younger than my years, or so people told me (God bless those who did) and some said I didn't act my age.  Not sure if that was a compliment or not.  I do think I have always been immature and my grandkids are fond of telling me I have never grown up.  That is because I played pokemon with them when they were younger.  They even bragged to friends that they had a "cool" grandma who played with a Game Boy and knew all of the Pokemon characters, also knowing how to cheat!

Nearing seventy, I started having "old people's" problems.  I lost most of my teeth and now wear these blasted dentures which I detest.  However, since I look like a terribly wrinkled old prune around my lips when I go without, I put up with them.  They are a necessity but a real reminder that I am up in age.  TMI?  Sorry!   Also have osteoarthritis in my knees which has caused me considerable pain and makes getting about harder and harder.  I am being treated for it though- some new gosh darn injections of gel right into the knee and I am feeling a great deal less pain, thank the good Lord.

My only other health issue is my bi-polarism - I am a manic depressive and am on medication which keeps me in a better space and also from bouncing off of the walls.  Only problem is the medications I am on are terribly expensive.  I am hoping that President Obama and Congress will do something with these drug companies that charge so much for necessary medications that so many seniors on fixed incomes are having to decide whether to eat or take their pills.  Dreadful state of affairs.

As I have shared with you in a past blog, I am growing politically.  That is a good thing.  To use my old brain is a step up for me.  I have been ignorant of social issues, foreign affairs and those running our country all of my life.  I just did not give a hoot about it all so simply followed in my family's footsteps and was a conservative.  Yes, one of those.
I never liked Rush but did follow Sean, Bill and lots of other folks over at Faux News, as my daughter fondly calls it. 

Well no longer do I sit in front of the TV watching any news shows, and to me they are shows.  Everyone vying for ratings and seeing who can outdo who on guests, breaking news etc.  I come to TPM, read the blogs and follow the news reports by going to different papers on line.  I try to get a broader view of the country and world news each day.  I am also trying not to laugh at my previous party's scrambling to decide who their leader is, what talking points they should stick to each day, and how much gossip and innuendo they can produce as long as it concerns the liberals.

So life is pretty darn good for me.  I have no real complaints - no one listens to them anyway.  Summer is almost here officially, and I am looking forward to being out of doors, enjoying my screened in porch and the longer days.  I have my AA meetings to go to, my time here with you folks, lots of family visits and any number of fun things to do.

Thanks for listening to the old gal ramble.  One of these days, I will get brave and write a political blog.  For the time being, however, I will stick with things I have knowledge of. 
I am, after all, a work in progress.

Where am I going, what lies ahead?

My life is so empty, my spirit is dead.

My contributions, so small if weighed,

What have I done?  No mark have I made.

The wounds I created to those I touched,

The many around me I used as a crutch.

I feel so shallow, so helpless, so small,

Is there nothing that matters, nothing at all?

Parents, children, friends; what have I done?

I failed them all, and then I run.

A coward, a liar, selfish - that's me.

I look in the mirror, ashamed of what I see.

Who am I?  What do I seek?

To be strong, alive, not to be weak.

To work at life, not sit back and cower.

I must have the strength, and find the power.

The answers, no matter how far ahead they lie,

Surely they aren't as unreachable, as the sky.

To find love and happiness, they must be there,

If I have the courage to look, someone will care.

Written in 1972

I wrote this poem in the early days of my drinking.  Alcohol had been my friend for many years, but it was turning against me.  Obviously, I had a very low opinion of myself and was punishing the person I was beginning to hate.  Alcoholism and AA were not words I chose to use that time but I think I knew I was in trouble and six years later, I ended up in rehab due to my eldest daughter who was tired of my drinking.

That was the start of many years of dishonesty and denial.  I didn't believe I was an alcoholic and so never worked the program of AA.  Six years ago, I finally got it and have been sober since. 

The point of this is to show myself that as a sober person, this poem no long portrays the person I believe I am today.  In those days, this blog would have bored me to death.  The idea of chatting with people each evening would have meant giving up time to drink and "have fun".  Of course there were no computers back then, at least not personal ones.  However, my point is that back then, I didn't try to get involved in news, Vietnam, politics or anything that took some time and some intellect.

Today, I am a new Maggie and I am beginning to like myself and have faith in my thinking processes.  I take a deep interest in what is going on around me; family, friends, current events and politics.  I have followed the war or wars with different opinions as time has passed.  In the very beginning when George the elder went to Iraq to help the people in Kuwait I  thought it was very justified.  I still do except for the idea that a great deal of the purpose was oil.  When W. and Cheney went after Saddam instead of Osama, I went along with the premise of weapons of mass destruction and even when none were found, I didn't believe that we had been lied to.  As the war continued after the fall of Saddam, I began to worry a bit as to what the reasoning was to keep our military there but again; I followed along with the Republican ideas. 

In other words, I did not think for myself but blindly accepted what I thought was the right way.  Now I question my beliefs and wonder at my naïveté.  There are many other aspects of my life where I did not question things.  I tried not to even think about events or other people's opinions.  I often lied to various people in order to go along with their outlook so as not to look dumb.  I avoided talk about subjects I was ignorant about and often worried of other's opinions of me.

I am slowly learning that I can have my own thoughts and state them without fear of being laughed at or criticized.  I have learned that I am my  own person today and although I am still learning about life and what goes on about me, I am pleased that I don't dwell in my own little world,  I am opening up to listening to others, not closing my mind to different ideas and opinions.  I am no longer fearful of asking questions and I do try not to think they are stupid or trivial.  I have been given courage by my children and by the people here at TPM.  I am proud that my blogs have been received well and want to continue to write.  It is good for my soul.

I thank you for accepting me into your world and admire the writings of so many people.  I look forward to reading them and digesting the facts and ideas put forth.  I find humor in many, and I can laugh out loud when someone jokes about something.  What an education I am receiving and at no cost whatsoever.  Isn't that a wonderful thing?

What in the world was I doing on an almost entirely liberal blog, I often wondered when I first arrived here.  I came due to an invitation from my daughter, LisB.  I had admired her writings for years and was curious what she was contributing here. Being a conservative

all of my life, I was not a happy camper when she announced at the beginning of Barack Obama's run for the White House that she had become a liberal. Her views were foreign to me and not very welcome.  I could not believe that this woman, who had wanted John McCain to win the nomination when running against W. for president, was

now firmly imbedded with the opposition.  I know I argued with her, trying to point out what I thought were astounding views on her part and terribly wrong in my eyes. 

Eventually, I grew to admire her strong support for Obama and her great interest in politics.  She seemed so knowledgeable about causes, world events and views that I almost felt uninformed and at a loss for good arguments defending my principles and well ingrained Republican talking points.  I continuously watched O'Reilly, Hannity and other Conservative thinkers, gleaning information to bolster my thinking and give me fodder against the Democrats.  I especially relished in the disclosures of Rev. Wright's sermons and Obama's close ties to his church.  It seemed to me this proved that he was un-American and had ultra liberals surrounding him.  I tied into the conservative press and their name calling, such as Fascist.

The notion of big government, high taxes and worsening of the economy was extremely abhorrent to me and I wanted Obama to fade away into the wood work.  However, he became the nominee for his party and I had to endure his acceptance speech and the hoopla that accompanied it.  Sheer staging and grandiose were my opinions at that time.  I saw the charisma of the man and the growing support and idolization.  I was envious of the attention from mass media and grew more and more attached to Fox News as the campaign continued.  There, I heard what I wanted to hear, or so I thought.

I can recall one argument I had with LisB regarding Palin.  I thought she was the wrong choice from the git go. I found her rather childish in her approach to the campaign and her family gave me nightmares.  With LisB, however, I was a loyal defender of McCain's pick for the vice presidency.  Looking back, I really was rather ashamed of myself for not being honest and agreeing with my daughter's assessment of her.  I think, at that time I became very disenchanted with McCain. I knew I would vote for him but not with any great enthusiasm.

Today - I am becoming more interested in what used to be "the other side" and the opinions stated here and in the news that I now follow.  I rarely watch TV but when I

put on the news, I put on Fox, Cnn and Msnbc to get all sides and then I can form my own opinion.  No longer am I willing to agree with ALL that the right or republican side put forth nor do I accept it as gospel.  I think I am in the "let's think about that a bit" faze and allowing my own feelings and beliefs to form my opinion and what I want to espouse to.

I wish to thank those who post such informative and well thought out blogs for me to use as a learning tool.  The chat room people have been so patient and helpful as I

grow and learn.   I have confidence in their guidance and understanding.  There are others here that have shared that they too, have changed their political thinking and I am grateful to them for showing me I am not alone.

In summation - I think I am still on the fence in many areas but I am tilting more and more to the left side.  I will register as an independent for the time being until I resolve some of the questions I still have regarding health care, the bail out of so many banks and companies, and the single pay issue which Obama seems to be against.  I will ask questions when I am not sure of facts, and I will do some major soul searching.  The one thing I do know is that it is okay, after so many years, to begin to grow and learn - it is never too late.

Hi! My name is Maggie and I am an alcoholic.  I probably repeat those words 4 -5 times a week at AA meetings.

Now I am sure people are muttering, "Why is she sharing this with us?"  Good question.

Well, I have shared a part of me with you already and being an alcoholic is another chapter in my life.  I am not ashamed to be one and I do not hide it.  I don't know where I "caught" this disease and I really don't care.  I have it, I am in recovery and I will be for the rest of my life. One day at a time.  I have found there is no cure for alcoholism.

I do know that when asked as a child, "And what do you want to be when you grow up, Maggie?"  I never once answered, "I want to be an alcoholic!"    The idea of becoming a nurse had been a dream of mine and I kept to that idea of being the newest Florence Nightingale until I went away to college, where I entered into a two year course of study which was to be followed by three years of nursing school.   For someone who didn't like schooling nor do particularly well at it, I was very ambitious.

Sadly to say, I found college to be the greatest place to party, not to study.  I began to find that alcohol and I had become good friends.  Being a shy person, and very introverted, drinking seemed to give me the courage to say and do things I had never considered before.  A sense of daring and devil-may-care attitude came over me and I often found I did not give a damn what anyone thought of my behavior.

Of course, my grades were going down and at that time, I met a guy.  Six months later, we eloped and that ended my childhood dream of becoming a nurse. Just like that!  Poof!

Becoming a nurse was no longer in my mind.  Marriage and having children sounded much more romantic.

But - it became a romantic haze that went on and on.  At times, it was exhilarating and fun; other times, it was downright sloppy and disgusting.  However, it didn't seem to matter which mood or actions came forth, I continued to drink on and off for many, many years.  Physically, the damage was minimal which was extremely amazing.  The amount of alcohol I consumed should and could have caused many health issues.  My only repercussion in the health field was constantly falling down and breaking bones.

Mentally, the toll was a great deal worse.  I was completely insane.  I knew my head was screwed on wrong but somehow; it never occurred to me that I had a problem with drinking.  I truly believed that other people drank the way I did.  Didn't everyone drink until they either passed out or went into a black out?   Wasn't it common for others to want a drink earlier and earlier in the day?  Truly I wasn't the only person to frequent different liquor stores so as not to be seen in the same one too many times.  And the local tavern I drank in was like Cheers; everyone knew my name.  Wasn't that an ordinary occurrence?

In other words, I was in complete denial that I was in deep doo doo because of my drinking.  I blamed what AA refers to as people, places and things.  If people would do things the way I wanted to, I wouldn't drink.  If the town I lived in was better, I wouldn't drink.  If I had a new car, TV or wardrobe, I wouldn't have to drink.  I could go on and on.  This is also referred to as the blame game.  I was good at it and never did I think I was to blame; I was the one who picked up that first drink.  If I hadn't picked up that first drink, I wouldn't have had the second, third, etc. I would not have gotten drunk.

The people I was hurting was another thing.  I was too selfish to think about the family, friends, co-workers, bosses and assorted people I met in my every day life who were affected by my drinking.  I was the harmed one I thought; no one else was influenced by a drunk who cared little for anything but for herself.

Sometime, later in my long life, I had left a trail of broken marriages, devastated children, a father who was enabling me by taking care of my family for me, numerous jobs I had had to quit because of absenteeism and lack of work, and worst of all, a shell of a person living in my body whom I did not know and did not care to know.  I was suicidal, in and out of rehabilitation facilities, under the care of a psychiatrist and in a deep, deep depression.  I had tried Alcoholics Anonymous several times, but in my self centered state, I could not identify with those "drunks" who seemed so happy and carefree.  How could anyone who drank too much be smiling and caring?

Walking in the door of that church, six years ago to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, was probably the hardest thing I had ever done.  I felt alone, vulnerable, afraid of what I might find, scared to death of what people would think of me, and I felt very, very old.  I was sixty four and I was miserable.

What I found beyond that door that night, was a miracle.  I found men and women who actually cared about me and put out their hands to me.  There was laughter and talking and suddenly I wanted to be a part of that.  I listened when people shared.  I heard things that I knew I had heard before but they sounded different this time.  I had a tiny glimmer of hope that I too, could find a smile to put on my face.  It was a beginning.

Since that night, I have found peace.  Something I never had before.  I found serenity, hope, willingness, a bit of humility, and the desire to have what other people with good sobriety had.  I wanted to be me, whoever I found "me" to be.  It didn't matter anymore if I had been lost and soulless.  I could find a life to share with my three daughters, five grandchildren and one great grandson (who now has a brother).  I had friends, good friends; I cared about them and they cared about me.  I found a Power greater than myself in whose hands I could place myself with trust and love.  I found Maggie!

You are there, so close in my thoughts,
I feel I can reach out and touch you.
But I know if I do, there will be nothing.
How sad, and yet so sweet-
To have you there in my thoughts.

It seems like yesterday, the memories so clear.
Your eyes, your smile, your voice, all still real.
Our laughter bubbling on-
The sound is like music, a song.
It is all so clear.

If I close my eyes, the picture is dear,
Your arms open, beckoning to me.
I want to run to you
I want to feel those arms holding me close.
Within my mind, you are still so dear.

These memories, this is all that is left for me.
You are gone, never to return.
I will go on living, day to day,
Remembering - smiling - longing.
I love you, but that is all that is left for me.

For my late husband, Don
A veteran of WW II and Korea

The wind tosses my hair as I walk to the edge of the beach.  The waves are high and crash against the sand.  It is late and the cottages behind me are in darkness.  The only light comes from the moon, bright in the sky and reflected on the water.  I feel very alone, small and insignificant as I stand with my feet buried in the wet sand.  It seems I am far away from anything or anyone. The water is warm on my feet, gently washing against me as it rolls up the beach. It is soothing, as I feel lost and afraid.  I do not want to see daylight arrive, taking away this protective darkness.  I cannot bear the harshness and reality of life anymore. It seems to do nothing but add to my hurt and utter confusion.
                                
I bury my feet into the sand to anchor myself against the flow of the tide, and my toes touch on a shell.  I wriggle it out and pick it up.  It is not very pretty and I wonder how long it has been tossed around in this enormous ocean, and what ugly sea creature it might have held.  I clasp it in my hand, and I remain rooted to that spot.  I have one shell in a vast ocean and I am one small person in an immense world.  I feel very close to that shell - we are alike I believe.

Looking up, I notice how many stars are out.  Twinkle, twinkle little stars  - like diamonds in the sky.  It all seems too beautiful for the thoughts I have.  It would be far more fitting if I was somewhere dirty and unsightly.   The thoughts I have make me feel sad.  So much beauty and I feel out of place.  Tears come to my eyes and I walk a bit further into the water. I plan to keep on walking and walking. As the water starts to reach up towards my hips, I step on something sharp and as the tide rolls back, I see another shell.  It seems to be smooth and shiny and glimmers in the moonlight.  I pick it up and it is beautiful, looking similar to an opal. I stare at it and feel it must have harbored a small, exquisite creation.

Thoughts swirl in my mind like the foam from the waves.  I hold on to both shells, and I start imagining what it would be like to feel like that shiny shell and not similar to the ugly one.  I suddenly feel how vibrant everything is around me - the sound of the water rushing to the beach, the moon and the stars so bright in the heavens, the feel of the sand on my feet, the slight breeze.  I picture it in the morning with the sun shining and puffy white clouds in the sky; perhaps a ship sailing out on the horizon.  I realize how just a bit earlier, I had planned to just keep walking out into the deep and never turning around to face my life as it was, so dark, depressing and hopeless.  I recognize that I do not want to walk out further.  The idea of allowing the ocean to swallow me up is no longer appealing.  I think of the two shells still clasped in my hand and I think to myself - I would rather be the beautiful one and not the ugly one.  I start to feel happy, yes, even smiling as I walk along the water's edge. I look down at the sand, ever moving as the tide rolls in.  I feel it is like life itself, ever changing and rearranging itself.  Perhaps, yes, perhaps I can change also.

Now I turn and walk up the beach towards the cottages.  I put the two shells in my pocket.  I think I will keep them as memories of this night. When bad moments come again, as I know they will, I can look at them and see how ugly like can be if you allow it, but how beautiful it can be if you want it.