How does it feel for you to say “I’m sorry?”  Does it naturally roll off your tongue?  Or does your stomach tighten up as the words stutter off of your lips?  Worse yet, do you at all costs avoid saying those two little words? 

When I was little I did something wrong to upset my mom.  I don’t know what it was…maybe something silly like touch her newly washed windows.  I’m guessing it was something even a little naughtier, based on how I remember her response.  I distinctly recall walking up to her in the kitchen as she was standing at the stove cooking dinner.  I took in a deep breath and told her I was sorry.  She basically rebuffed my apology.   Perhaps it was because of that experience or maybe it was just a part of my natural maturation process, but apologies were difficult for me growing up.

It wasn’t until I started working for my brother during college, I realized the importance of acknowledging your mistakes.  As a business owner and as a manager you need your team to admit their errors.  It is then and only then, you can feel assured that progress is being made and the mistake probably won’t happen again. 

I will be the first to admit I really hate making mistakes.  Mentally, I will quickly try to find all the ways in which whatever happened was not my fault.   At each mental checkpoint in which I can’t find my accountability escape, my stomach knots up a little tighter.  Eventually the sinking feeling settles in and I succumb. 

Dammit. I did this.  I must make it better.

Over the years, I have become better.  What a relief it was for my skeleton in the closet to expose itself and for everyone to find out I am human. 

I’ve learned to own my mistakes.  Apologize.  And then analyze.

What could I have done differently? 

I believe it is in those moments, we as human beings grow and become better.   In every situation there is something we could have done differently.

My husband is the BEST at saying he’s sorry.  Perhaps I am bias, but I believe he is good at everything he puts his mind to.  He likes to be perfect or as close to perfect as possible.  For someone who strives for perfection, he says he’s sorry and means it better than anyone I know.  He says he’s sorry when he’s at fault, but he also says he’s sorry when he wants to acknowledge someone’s unfortunate situation.

Today my son and I shared a lesson in acknowledging feelings and apologizing. 

My son’s phone stopped working, and I told him to go to Verizon to have it checked out.  When he asked if they would need authorization from a parent I told him to have them call me.  If absolutely necessary I could drive down and meet him there.  So…..45 minutes later after I had fought traffic to treat myself to a car wash I received a phone call from Austin at the Verizon store.  He told me they needed me to come to the store.  Authorization over the phone was not acceptable. He even double checked as I waited on the other end of the line. Disappointed, I got out of line for my car wash and drove down to Verizon.  As I walked up to him and the clerk standing in the store, the clerk told us we could just handle it online.  Grrrrrr…..

This was 98% NOT my son’s fault.  I didn’t say 100%, because we all own part of the blame in any situation.  What a huge pain in the neck and frustrating experience.  I was a little hot under the collar driving down there.  Walking out of the store, my flame was lit.

Unfortunately for Austin, instead of acknowledging my frustration or saying he was sorry for the hassle he poured gas on the flame.  He was defensive.  At one point he even turned it around on me to say that perhaps I should have went there with him in the first place.

After a bit of fuming and a few minutes apart he walked into my room and apologized.  Not for any mistake of his, but because it happened.  Flame extinguished.

Austin and I had a good discussion about acknowledging people’s feelings, being accountable, recognizing when we can do things differently and how meaningful it is to say we are sorry.

I’m convinced my son is going to make someone very happy one day…if I continue to do my job right.

Being human and making mistakes endears us to one another.   It’s okay to say you’re wrong once in a while.  It’s okay to say you could have been better.  It’s okay to say you made a mistake.  It’s okay to say you’re sorry.

The world will find out you aren’t perfect and love you anyway.

The hardest part of grief is feeling like no one understands.   You feel as though you are standing on an island not participating in the world, only witnessing it from a distance.  You stand alone while you try to come to terms with your changed landscape.  It is up to you to find the strength to heal and build your new life.

Grief is an isolating experience.   No one can truly appreciate what you are going through while you fight to accept the loss of a loved one. We are all unique in personalities and the ways in which we cope.  We are also unique in the relationship we had with the one we lost.  Therefore, no two people will experience grief in the same way,  As close as I am with my siblings, the four of us experience our grief differently and at different times. As close as we all were with our parents we each had special relationships with our mom and dad.  Even though my siblings and I understand each other better than anyone else we still don't know exactly what each one of us are going through.  We will all heal in different ways.

I love my husband and he loves me in more ways than I can adequately express with words.   He supports me in every facet of my life, but truth be told, my grief has been a challenge we have had to work through.    He does not understand, and I would not understand if the situation were reversed.  Men are naturally programmed to be pragmatic.  They are problem solvers and  their genetic makeup was created thousands of years ago to care for and protect their loved ones.   Realistically, it should not be simplified to say only men are programmed to protect their loved ones.  We all want to protect the people we care about…man, woman, child.    

But the grief stricken cannot be protected.  They cannot be fixed.  Grief cannot be removed or ignored.  It is ever present and continuously changes form.  Grief is like an octopus grabbing you with its tentacles one by one.  Sometimes grabbing you all at once.   The more you fight it, the longer the hold remains.  Slowly it may release its grip, only to find its way back again when you least expect it. 

This can be very difficult for a partner, a friend, a parent  or a child to accept.    They love us and they feel helpless to make us better.  No prodding, prying or pulling can release the grip of grief.  The only solitude and saving grace for the grieving is to be reminded they are not alone and they are loved.  Remind them their tears will be understood.

When you lose someone you love, you lose more than their presence in your life.  You lose your sense of self.  You not only grieve your loved one, you grieve all the pieces of yourself you lost when they died.   A new self is born.   

Sometimes I find myself marveling at all the things that have changed within me.  My purpose in life has become my biggest unanswered question.  The quest for the answer has become my biggest objective.  Time has becomes a richer commodity and time with my family has become my most valued priority.  Many of my relationships changed.  The circle of friendships has become smaller as I socialize less.  I am no longer the person who assumes the role of making other people feel happy.  It’s hard to make others feel happy when you are a little short on resources yourself. 

People may shy away from you unsure of what to say.  They may feel nervous they will say a word or a phrase reminding you of what you’ve lost.  They may be afraid of bringing tears to your eyes.  The reality is, you are never not thinking of your loved ones.  It is forever present.  And the tears….the tears are a welcome release from what you are continuously holding back.  Bringing tears to a grief stricken heart gives them a momentary vacation from the continuous strain of stifling the pain and tears.  Laughter maybe doesn’t happen as freely, but when it does, it feels euphoric.  With every ring of laughter you can feel a broken piece of you begin to mend. 

I believe there is one universal truth about grief which I believe is a necessary step to heal.  It was a truth that brought me to my knees when it was said to me. 

You must accept your life will never be the same.   

A hard, but necessary truth.  Once you stop trying to claw your way back to your old life, you can learn in time to find happiness in your new life.  You will take the good and the bad with you.  It is part of your heart and part of your soul.  It will teach you and guide you.  It will make you more compassionate and make life more meaningful. 

With every breath you take and every tear you shed you will begin to build the bridge, one board at a time.  You will build your way back to the world that is waiting for you with open arms.  It will look different, feel different.  It is different.   But it is life.  A life your loved ones would want you to live with your whole heart.

My mom was FRUGAL, and at the time of my birthday she was weak and couldn't drive.  The fact she paid for everyone's dinner and arranged the party will always leave an imprint in my mind.   Not enough time hasn't passed for me to think about that day without sadness and without tears.  But I  know, one day it will be a gift I will forever cherish.

So this birthday, I refuse to lay in bed and cry.  I wanted to honor the 40 years I've been here and the life I live all because of my parents.  I organized my birthday celebration.  It will be quiet and small.  It will be a weekend at the ocean playing games, flying kites, running with the dog on the beach and eating cake.  Lots of cake.  

My 40 years has been blessed beyond measure.  It has been loud with laughter and  full of a richness you cannot unwrap out of a box.  My family and their love has been the greatest gift to me year after year.  It's a gift my parents honored above everything else.  

So...happy birthday to me.  Mom and dad, you will be missed this birthday and every birthday thereafter.  But your love and your spirit will be in our hearts always.

I’ve been watching a lot of our old family movies lately.  With each video I’ve watched I’ve been drawn back into history…moments that feel like they happened a lifetime ago and just happened yesterday.

I watch these children in the video who were saying their first words, who were captivated by presents left from Santa and who were excitedly waiting to blow out candles on their birthday cake.  The videos are full of noise, chaos, family and laughter.  Lots of laughter.

I find myself mesmerized watching these moments in time wishing I could go back and experience them all over again.  I feel like I blinked, and the time passed.

I remember when the kids were little I felt anxious for the chaos to settle down. I felt stressed, tired, overworked, short of patience and guilty.  Always feeling guilty.  Guilty because in every moment of my children’s lives I wanted to be better.  Every day was defined by how I could be the best mom possible.  And always feeling guilty because I never felt like I was measuring up to be the mom I wanted to be.   

Every decision was made in what I believed to be in their best interest.  Sometimes I stumbled and sometimes I made mistakes.  Mistakes or not, I tried to parent with good intent and with love…so much love my heart ached at the end of a bad day and overflowed at the end of a good one.

This past Mother’s Day we sat in a circle surrounding our picnic lunch.  We went around the circle and listed two favorite things about our mommies and our favorite memory.  My kids listed their favorite things about me as my ability to take an awkward or difficult situation and make it funny.  They value my sense of humor.  They told me they loved my kind heart and how much I have supported them over the years.

While those words of endearment touched my heart, it was their favorite memories of me that surprised me.  My son’s favorite memory was of a time I had finished my half marathon and ordered a huge delicious bacon cheeseburger I had been coveting for weeks.  Sitting in the backseat of the car, he asked for a bite.  When he handed it back to me he had eaten two thirds of the burger.  Laughingly, he says to me “You were soooo angry!” 

My daughter’s favorite memory was of a time I took her bike riding on the Maple Valley trail.  I had packed the bikes into the car and had envisioned this nice little outing with the kids joyfully riding their bikes and me walking by their side.  Yet, what unfolded was an afternoon of tears and frustration.   I didn’t realize kids aren’t naturally inclined to peddle forward.  Their natural instinct is to pedal backwards and put on the brakes.  I was overweight, out of shape and sweating profusely as I tried to help my daughter ride her bike.  Frustrated I told her if she didn’t start peddling forward I was going to give her bike away.  My daughter was crying and I was disappointed.  I loaded her bike back into the car and called my own mom who set me straight. Big mommy fail.

How could these possibly be my kid’s favorite memories of me??

I have spent my whole life feeling guilty for moments like this.   Memories like the time I threw my daughter’s purple makeup into the garbage as her little blonde curls bobbed behind me while she cried “No mommy!  I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again.”  

Memories of me biting my lower lip so hard it was bruised.  Biting my lip so I didn’t lose my marbles and release the frustration that was contained inside me like a raging beast.  I never felt patient and yet my daughter told me the other day, “You were so patient.”

I was an imperfect mother.  I’ve made my fair share of mistakes.  I didn’t always feel patient and I didn’t always feel wise.  But I always felt love.  So much love for my kids that it overflowed from my heart at the end of the day and made me want to be a better mom when I woke up.

My love tucked them in at night, wrapped them up in a warm embrace and made moments I’ve felt guilty for... into their favorite memories. 

I have beat myself up for years for my imperfect moments in time.  It’s time to let it go.  As mothers we were never given manuals.  We do our best.  We make mistakes and then we try to be better.  If we let love, a little laughter and good intentions continue to guide us…. our kids just might be okay.

From the moment we become parents we dream the lives of our children will be better than the lives we lived.  This is why as parents we drive them to and from a zillion activities, scrimping and saving, putting our lives on hold to further their opportunities.  We lecture them about the ways of life as they roll their eyes in the back seat of the car.  We charter them through their education so they can attend the Ivy League college we never had the opportunity to attend.  This is why we evaluate the performance of our own parents deciding “I can’t wait to do that with my own family” OR “I will never do that to my kids when I’m a parent!”

There are days like yesterday, that remind me what my true vision was for my children.  Days like yesterday when I witness my success as a parent.  Yesterday afternoon my daughter expressed her talent and courage, talent and courage I’ve never had to audition for an advanced choir.  Last evening while visiting a bathroom before his baseball game my son was disgusted by some white smoke left over from the drug use of the previous visitor.  When I take a moment and see my children as grown adults and recognize their small yet large actions, I can appreciate I have raised the kind of children I had always prayed for.

I silently snickered when my son worried about the possibility of failing a drug test from his brief encounter.  And I laughed out loud when he asked me if it was possible to become addicted from second hand drug smoke... But it was in that moment I realized I have raised some pretty remarkable children who were indeed listening to the messages I shared with them while they rolled eyes sitting in the back  seat of the car.

They are courageous and brave.  They are kind and loving.  They are responsible and trustworthy.  They are smart, talented and very, very funny.  They are beautiful human beings who have made me feel successful.

Being a parent is the hardest job we will ever have.  It evokes guilt, shame, worry, pride, angst, disappointment and hope.  By taking a small breath and a moment in time we will see the goal is not to create better lives for our kids than we had, it is to raise good people. 

While my kids may not be interested in receiving a doctorate from Harvard, they are the young adults I had always dreamed they would be.