relatives
Learning To Check In With Spirit
It is likely you have a friend, co-worker or relative that is in an unhealthy or even abusive relationship. We all know people who are kind, sweet, giving, and thoughtful, who become involved with emotionally absent, dysfunctional, abusive partners.
I know someone who is currently in such a situation. Her loving nature and generosity far exceeds anything I have ever experienced in another person, and I count myself exceptionally lucky to have her as my friend.
We have known each other for many years, but have only recently developed a much closer relationship, because we have both experienced a deep loss in recent years. Grief and bereavement becomes somewhat more tolerable if one has a close friendship in which you can safely express and share your sorrow.
Judging by my friend’s gentle, kind nature one might expect she would be with a life partner who has similar traits and appreciates her, but shockingly she is in one of the most toxic relationships I have ever encountered. She is not being physically assaulted, but she is subjected to unbearable verbal and emotional abuse.
It has been going on for a very long time. I continue to offer her my unconditional love and support but feel at a loss beyond that. I have asked her why she is still in that situation with so very little to indicate there will ever be any miraculous changes? But she has always evaded these questions.
Recently, she finally confessed her reason for staying with him: she is worried about what people might think and say if she leaves him! I asked her what people? She replied, her friends and family. They might find fault with her for breaking up the family.
The True Tale Of The Praying Hands
Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with 18 children. Yes, eighteen! In order to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost 18 hours a day at his trade, as well as any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.
Despite their seemingly hopeless condition Albrecht and Albert, two of the older children, had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they were fully aware of the fact that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to the art academy.
After many long discussions at night, in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother who would attended the academy.
Then, after four years, when the brother who won the coin toss completed his studies, he would in turn support the mining brother to also attend the academy – either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg to study art. Albert went down into the dangerous mines, and for the next four years financed his brother whose creative work at the academy was an almost immediate sensation. Albrecht’s etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his fellow students and even those of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.
When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht’s triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled him to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were: “And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you.”
Grandma’s Love Was The Best
I remember what Grandma was wearing when she passed away. I also recall exactly what she said and everything else that happened that day, right down to the violets I picked in the backyard to place in her hand. She was wearing an oversized Winnie the Pooh T-shirt that could have been a night dress, I’m not sure. She had her red robe on and black slippers lined with greyish fluff.
She was told she was being taken to the nursing home, but it was actually hospice she would be going to. She could no longer walk and had fallen, and no one was able to pick her up. Not even myself. I wish I could, but I just was not able to.
I sensed she wasn’t to going be with us very much, and I was very upset about it. But constantly having to give her blood transfusions and her being in so much pain, it was the right decision at the time. I have made peace with that now.
Settling her into the hospice, Grandma was adamant the bed be taken out, as it was unbearably uncomfortable. She kept saying, “I just want to go home and die. This is no way to live. I’m ready to go.” She also told me, if I ever needed her after she had gone, all I would have to do is call her name, and she would be there for me. Grandma kept her promise to me. To this day I still feel her around me all the time, especially when I think of her and call her name.
I think the worst thing I ever experienced in my entire life was walking into that hospice room after she had passed and seeing her shell of a body. She was no longer there, obviously, but she was still around. I felt she was somewhere in the room looking at us and saying her goodbyes.
Pain had made her very bitter towards the end of her life. She wasn’t herself anymore because she was on so many different strong medications and invasive treatments. I sensed that she longed to be with her departed husband and her dear mother who passed when she was just a young girl. Her mom was also a psychic and apparently really good with things like Numerology and dreaming lucky numbers. I loved hearing all those stories.
Honoring Our Fathers And Forefathers
In our youth we easily forget to honor those fathers and father-figures who love and guide us. As we grow older, and hopefully wiser, some of us begin to realize that our fathers are the unsung heroes we never appreciated much. If we are one of the lucky ones, they were our champions growing up.
Always stalwart and steady, no matter what was going on around them or preying on their minds. How often must they have ended their day wondering whether they were doing enough for their families and what the future might hold?
After the fact, sometimes they openly share the worries, fears and insecurities that became all too real in times of crisis, but these challenges were carefully hidden from us, so as not to frighten us.
For those of us who have fathers who fought in wars for our freedom, we owe a great debt of gratitude. These courageous men who may have been terrified in the face of grave danger, fought bravely for their beliefs and the safety of their families. Many were lost or injured. Most returned home, greatly changed. And yet, we rarely heard about the realities of war, or their sacrifices.
Striking a balance between strength and vulnerability is a never-ending work in progress. Blessed is the man who finds his equilibrium with a calm, cool demeanor in the midst of the chaos that surrounds them. Blessed also are the children who call him “Dad.”
To the men who have acted as leaders and mentors to many protégés, perhaps without even knowing it, a great deal is owed. Whether it has been through leadership in business, teaching in schools, or volunteering in communities, many have no idea how deeply they have affected those whose lives they have touched, even peripherally.