Coloring Outside the Lines

There are no rules written for divorce.  

It doubles in complication when you have Stepchildren and get divorced.   These kids have already gone through a break up once, long before the Stepparent enters the picture.  

So, now what?  
So the situation doesn't work out, for whatever reason that may be, and how on earth does this work moving forward?

Logic would tell you that there is no special arrangements made for a former Stepparent to see the kids.   There is no agreement written where they have access to every other weekend and one day during the week.  That was already the arrangement in the first place before the second marriage.  

You are owed nothing.   
And you try very hard to make it as peaceful a transition as possible.

So it becomes unchartered territory.   
A bit of a mess.    

Is it easier if you walk away clean?
Is it already hard enough between the parents that you don't need to add to the mix and make things more challenging?

I was once in that mess.   

I try to color within the lines but I don't always do a great job.
I'm not gonna lie.
My canvas is a hot mess.
There is paint shooting off in directions that resembles chaos and commotion with the occasional splash of calm.
Sometimes I use the wrong color and want to repaint over something but I can't because the ink has already dried.


I often think of what it's like to live in that glass house.   You know what I'm talking about - where everything fits neatly in a perfectly square cardboard box with a big bow.   

White picket fences.   
The American Beauty.   
2.2 kids, a dog and the mortgage paid off at 45.

Somehow, I chose to live my life like those adventure books I used to read as a teenager.  And I say chose because I do believe it's not beyond my will to do it differently.

"If you think Joe should win the race, turn to page 33.   If you think Sally should win the race, turn to page 54."   Always choosing the unbeaten path.

It's not always well planned, there is a lot of decisions that go against the grain but here I am.  Still plugging away.    Some choices better than others. 

Trying to color inside the lines and occasionally I make a mess of a portrait.

***

Somewhere around 2003, (2004?), I met Callan and Connor while they were riding their bikes in my neighborhood.  

I was standing outside on my terrace at a little townhouse I'd bought in Mississauga.  In those days, I worked as a Guest Services Manager at the Holiday Inn Select hotel by the airport.  There I was, on a warm, sunny day, watering my hanging baskets on my small little deck as I was introduced to them.

By the end of the day, I was doing handstands and cartwheels defeating my age.   

Back then, they were 6 and 8.

Today, Callan has just finished her first year of University at Western and Connor must be close to done his degree.

Time flies, doesn't it?

The first day I ever spent time with them, I made a game resembling Fear Factor.  There were stations set up - grapes in oatmeal you had to bob for, a game at the nearby park with flags and landmarks along the way.  I thought I was truly brilliant at my creativity of stealing a theme from a television show.

It was a disaster.  

These two were so competitive, it ended in tears and rage. What a quick lesson that fun wasn't always what I envisioned.

I watched them grow up as they adjusted to me being around, carving pumpkins at Hallowe'en, endless days of hockey arenas and dance competitions. Homework, sleepovers and Saturday mornings with homemade croissants stuffed with brie and jam. 

I used to sit on the kitchen counter at our house like I did as a kid in my parents home and Callan soon followed suit to take that exact spot. She would come home from school and park herself on the counter while I asked them both to tell me the best part of their day. 

Back then, we had a pool in the backyard and the kids loved to swim.   I can't count the times they were in the water before an adult was present, which was our only requirement.  Connor was so driven with hockey that any attempted punishment for misbehavior came in the form of hockey regulations.   If he tried to lash out at Callan, there was a two minute penalty he had to come out of the water.  And Callan was not exempt of time outs either.  They were the best of friends followed by drama and fury.  I called a penalty often going into the house giggling trying to keep my face straight.



They were the two people that could make me forget about work in 5 minutes of being through the door which is a tall order.  

The last time I saw Callan and Connor was late Summer of 2007 before my separation.   

Right or wrong, I felt that these two kids had enough to handle with their Mom and Dad that I should not make it more complicated with Mike and I ending our marriage. 

And if I'm honest, I wasn't really sure how to handle any of it.   I thought it would be easier if it was clean and I wasn't trying to fit into an already challenging situation that could soon be further complicated when he started seeing someone else.

***

Last year, I had countless debates about whether or not to search them out.   

Social media sites make this possible but I wrestled with how much time had passed what the implications would be and if there was such thing as 'right timing'.

My genuine interest for how they were won the battle and I sent a "friend request" out to both.   Worst case scenario, they wouldn't answer and I would have to be at peace with that.   But I felt it was worth a try.

There were a few questions and concerns raised to me from this move.   

Am I falling back in time?   

Have I thought about the impact to the kids when I've been out of their lives for so long?   Have I thought about how Mike would feel that I was re entering their lives and is it fair?
Have I thought about the impact to my new relationship?

So... here it is.  
My $.02. 

Why shouldn't I be in contact with two people I felt so strongly for and dedicated so much time and love to?   

Has anyone thought of the impact to the kids of losing someone cut and dry that disappeared?  

  

Is it fair?   Nope, the whole thing wasn't fair.  
Life isn't fair and divorce surely isn't. 

I asked Callan if she was still dancing.

She told me her last dance was coming up at the River run centre in Guelph.

  

I knew it was time.  
I wanted to go.

*******************************************************************************

April 25, 2015.

I drove to Guelph overwhelmed with questions swirling around in my mind.   

Is this a competition or a recital?   

Am I supposed to buy flowers? 

I haven't seen her in 8 years.

I honestly don't remember if it's competitions or recitals you are supposed to buy the flowers.

How much time do I have?

I'll just get the flowers.

Should I get the flowers?

Maybe I won't have enough time for the flowers.

The flower debate took place for 45 minutes driving there.

I got the flowers.

She will remember the flowers.

I arrive at the River Run Centre a bag of nerves. 


After 8 years apart, I walked into that hall, excited and nervous to see her. 

I got the program and sat quietly into a seat by myself in the auditorium. 

(There is a funny whacked dance girl call out that can only be understood by a Dance Mom. This entire chant and drawl as the girls go up to perform.) 

I am watching the program, counting songs for when she's up next and I can hear the cat calls as Callan takes the stage. 

"Cal-un.   Uh-uh"   (Can't even do this justice).

She steps out. 

Callan has a true grace to her dancing that is beautiful to watch. 

I think back to the first time I saw her dance when she was 6 years old. 

And now she has grown into the young woman she is today, holding both maturity and poise she is exuding as she floats through this routine. 

The song ends and I am beaming. 

And this is the thing about coloring outside the lines.   That moment of reconnection.   The moment my mind has created about what that picture could look like.   There is risk.   There are no guarantees it's going to work out.  But I do believe it's always better to find out than to wonder.  

I rush out to the hallway to meet her, flowers in hand.

***

The embrace Callan gave me that day took away 8 years.   

That little girl sitting up on the kitchen counter talking about her day.

Riding her bike outside my townhouse with her helmet on.

Her time outs from the pool.

Saturday morning croissants.

There she was.

All grown up.


Her last dance.

I'm not sure she will remember the flowers, but I know she'll remember I was there.

Slipping Through The Cracks and Becoming Mary

We live in a world of global tragedies we cannot possibly understand.   

In my lifetime, 9-11.   The Boston Marathon bombings.   Alberta, currently under a state of emergency with the wildfires in Fort McMurray.   Endless school shootings, religious wars and lack of peace.

We also live in a world of increasing mental health challenges that we fail to understand. 

ADHD.   Depression.   Bipolar disorder.   Addictions.   Anxiety.   Perfectionism.   The list goes on and on and there are times in my life I've hit more than one of these categories.  The pressure from society to conform and to fit a mold.   Sexy and slim on our magazine covers.   Bullying in our educational system.  The overwhelming pressure as adults surviving in the work world, trying to balance families and finances without any clear direction or knowledge.  We are constantly trying to keep up, to do it all, with little time to reflect and take a breath or evaluate our path or happiness.

"Overprescribed America" handing out a drug to anyone who seems to struggle finding their way.   When an antidepressant doesn't work, we add Abilify to it as a sedative.   If that fails, we throw some Ritalin in the mix or Adderall to help concentrate.    

Prescribe, prescribe.   
Medicate, medicate.   

Remove the emotion.   Put the lids on the bubbling pots.   Calm the waters.   Ease the anxiety.  All the side effects written on the labels.   Alcohol can fuel a wild chemistry experiment further interfering with the brain, resulting in behavior far outside the original scope of the person underneath it all, who can be unrecognizable.

We never seem to solve the underlying problem or root cause.   We mask and hide and continue to skate the surface and move forward.  And occasionally, some fall short to the mental health system that desperately need it.   

I know people who believe you should be able to just make the switch.  

Snap out of it.   
Get your act together and stop wallowing in your sorrow.   
Ditch the meds and get a grip.   

I think only recently is it becoming more prevalent in today's society that there is a need for help and it's just-not-quite-that simple.  We need to look beyond numbing the brain to it's symptoms.  To uncover a way to permanently handle trauma or disorders with cognitive therapy, including the hard personal work involved to do so and recognition that there is a problem.  

I'm not saying medication doesn't serve a purpose in the right setting.   I believe it can help gain enough clarity to see the forest for the trees and view the world at 30,000 feet to make changes imperative to rising above the pain.   I also believe that certain disorders require it to change the wiring in the brain and some illnesses genuinely require both therapy and medication to survive.  The neurotransmitters are so out of whack that they need a boost like a car who's battery has died.  I just don't believe it's the be all and end all to every issue and a blanket treatment for the general public.

We have many life changing moments that hit us to the core.   A moment we can recall that changes how we view similar situations moving forward.   

There is a horrific tragedy and shortfall of our mental health system that I feel is appropriate to share. We are approaching the anniversary of his death and it coincides with Mental Health Awareness Month.

I am not trying to make all my posts about death, struggles or blended families - but I have had a fair amount of exposure to these and just like James Patterson who has written the same book with different characters 58 times, I guess it's what we do to ensure our message is heard.  

I promise I'll switch gears after this (well, after one more because I owe you Callan's last dance...) but I will move on.

*******************************************************************************

On May 28, 2008 at 6:30am I received a frantic call from a close friend of mine.   I can remember standing in my kitchen, suit on ready to leave for work, coffee maker brewing in the background.  The sheer panic as her voice shook asking me if I'd heard.   

Joshua Lall had died.   
But not only did he die, he had gone down in history as one of the worst Mass Murderers in Calgary.

So I'd like to talk to you about Josh.   

Because I can assure you that as long as I live, I will never view this man as a Mass Murderer.   He was the kindest soul you could ever meet.   Straight A student.  A+ at that.   He was a top notch cross country and track runner.   He was the President on our Athletic Council.   He was soft spoken and calm and an absolute angel of a human being.  He moved out west, got married and was an architect.  He was brilliant in every academic and athletic sense.

The news states that on that day, he stabbed his wife Alison, his two daughters aged three and five, and a tenant in his home and then himself, leaving only his third daughter who was 1 yr old, alive.

I am telling you that this is beyond my comprehension.   
I am telling you that this man was one of the most warmest people I've ever met in my life. 
  
And I'm not saying this at all because he's no longer here.   If I ever had the chance to meet up with him and his family today, I would be thrilled to pieces.  He had a peace about his mannerisms I cannot describe and how he interacted with others was amazing.  When I was in rushed hurried Sarah mode in high school, running ragged on whatever task I was trying to finish, he was my calming sense every time.

Our mental health system should've caught him.  He slipped through the cracks and it's absolutely heartbreaking to even grasp that this took place.

I think about him often.   

There are times I'm out running, having a tough run and I think of him in his lightening speed and ask him to help me through.   I think of his one year old daughter and how on earth in this internet age she will grow up.  Will she know how incredible her family was, including her Dad.   How was she spared and how will she cope with the reality once she is old enough to find out?  Will she ever see what we saw during our days with him? 

I cannot even imagine what awful demons Josh was facing when he fell apart that day.

The last time I walked through the front doors of my high school was for Josh's celebration.   

I can still see it in slow motion.   

Walking up to Our Lady Of Lourdes.  
The giant screen.   
The auditorium.   
Seeing Andy Behnan, our school Principal.   
Holding hands with my friend Amanda while we walked in.   
The shock.  
The surreal nature of it all.

I believe our wellness can easily be taken for granted.

Isn't it ironic that it is acceptable in our jobs to take a day off sick or to leave early for a doctor's annual physical or a dentist appointment but not to go and lie for an hour in the sun?  If I was to say I wanted to take two hours off for a run to clear my head or go to the gym, how is that perceived?   That should be done on our own time, right?   It's not acceptable to not answer a phone call or respond to an email. Yet, the reality is - perhaps that is exactly what we need.   Perhaps we need to take a mental health break.   To stop the influx of information for one minute.   To recharge.   To walk away and reset.   To run, to read, to play golf, to attend to something that is important to us.   Anything that helps recharge our own batteries to be able to play better in the sandbox of work or life.

I'm not saying that this would've helped Josh.   I believe he was really ill, that he required severe assistance from the medical system that was missed and that he didn't get in time.  

But I do believe, myself included, that we get caught up in the grind and mismanage our own state of wellbeing by constantly trying to do more.
   
Overwork.   
Out of balance.  
Trying to keep up.  
Parents rushing to get their kids to school so they can be at work on time.
Fitness failing to be a priority.
Vacations missed because we are all "too busy" to take them.
Fast food to replace a home cooked meal.
Medications to numb the reality and help us cope.  

We don't all fall into the category of Josh.  There are illnesses that far exceed what I'm discussing here.   They require proper hospitalization and care beyond the scope of what many of us are able to manage.  

I'm talking about what can easily fall to a simple fix.   

I've been there.

It has masked my emotion.   Kept me away from the creativity I need to be able to write and express and hit the hearts and minds of a person or two who can relate to my stories and understand that they are not alone.

The days of feeling paralyzed with decisions because my brain wasn't in order.   The days of piling on weight because functioning was a chore.   Days consisting of work and sleep because anything else was too much to bear.   Praying every night before bed that I would wake up with the sun shining and feel better, ready to embrace what was next in my life.  Always believing there was an out but not knowing how to get there.

Sounds funny, doesn't it?

The girl who just ran a half marathon and is sending all these messages about finding and chasing goals is the same girl who was numb to society with a pillow over her head and the blinds drawn.   Operating on auto pilot.   Fighting the alarm, wake up, coffee, go to work.   Come home, sleep, repeat.  The only energy consumed is to keep a paycheck and not lose her home.  Every single ounce of life sent out to the job she held and nothing left at the end of the day for any enjoyment in life. Making lame excuses to anyone asking her to do anything of why I am unable to attend.

I'm not sure the exact day it changed.   

When I woke up and decided I needed to come back down and learn how to function with a memory and be present.   That I wanted to feel the highs again and the lows and learn how to work through them instead of sleeping until they went away.  To stop looking at the flashing light on my phone of personal messages I hadn't responded to in days.   Where it wasn't all consuming to to dry my hair, make a plan and get out the door.  Where I wasn't making excuses of why I wouldn't attend something because I couldn't get my brain to catch up and not be afraid.

But it happened.

And there are many days I still fight with my own demons in my mind.   

Insecurity.   Worrying about keeping up in an Executive world.   How do I manage all the balls in the air?   How do I see my girlfriends when the lawn needs to be cut and the gardens need tending and the house needs cleaning?   What if I lose another employee?   What are we doing wrong? What do I need to change to retain them.   What if something happens to someone I love?   What if ... What if...

We all have our own list.

And it affects our brain.   
Our overall wellbeing.  

We should all stop and reevaluate how we are living and what we need to keep us well.

Get out a piece of paper and draw a 24 hour clock on it.   How many hours do you sleep?   How many hours do you commute and go to work?   What does that leave?   Is it what you want it to look like?   What changes need to be made so you are living your life that gives you happiness?  Where are your hobbies?   Where is your family?   Your friends?   What are you missing in this pie that you want to see?

Because to live past 100 I think we need to take a hard look.

And then adjust.

There are no guarantees.

*************************************************************************

My Auntie Mary died at 103.

Glass of sherry for breakfast and a shot of scotch before bed.
She tended to her English garden until the day she died.
She helped the old lady across her street with her groceries in her 90's.
She had a will and love of life that kept her going.

At 101, I heard she was having a tough time with her memory.
That's all we could criticize?

God bless her.

May we all be Mary and may we all live well.