8 Minutes Remain

Tonight, I sat down on the floor of our half-bath to wait for the washer to finish its cycle. I felt like I needed a good cry, but no tears came. 

Today, I woke up before 6am to get myself going. Truth be told, I slept like shit last night, but that didn't matter in the moment. I woke up my kids for school and made myself a morning caffienated beverage. I began work at 6:15, but paused several times over the next 45 minutes to make sure the kids were actually awake and leaving for school. 

At 7, I brought 5 loads of laundry downstairs and sighed. Over the next 5 hours, I switched clothes from the washer to the dryer... and then the dryer to the fold-zone. I folded and sorted it all, carrying it back upstairs. All of this while I analyzed data, attended meetings, responded to emails, and worked to solve the many data-related mysteries of Healthcare. 

Somewhere along the way this morning, I fielded texts from one kid, assured another that there was food to eat here, and wished yet another good luck on her interview .... all while working my paying job and attending to laundry. 

By 3pm, I was spent. My head was pounding, my hip and back ached, and I spent a fair amount of time questioning my worth, my ability to parent, and whether or not an emotional breakdown was really feasible amidst my schedule this week. 

At 5, I realized I needed to rally. Why? Because I needed to accompany a kid to an orientation for the next school year,  remain positive, and absorb the information given to me during said orientation. 

By the time I got home, it was 7:30. There was a line of laundry baskets in the hallway needing to be ran. If I didn't attend to it ... all 3 would 100% still be there in that spot in the morning. So I got to work on that pile while thankfully munching on dinner prepared by my husband.

At 10pm, we came up to bed, knowing there was still 20 minutes left on the washer cycle. And yet, the laundry I had washed/dried/ folded/sorted earlier still sat in baskets, not yet put away. 

I get it - who wants to deal with laundry that late at night.  But if not then, when?  It won't take care of itself.  Sigh.  

At 10:30, I went down to let the dogs out again, because I never wake up when they need to go out during the night and thought it would be a nice gesture to take care of this chore.

With 8 minutes to go on the washer, I found myself sitting on the floor of the half-bath, waiting for the washer to finished its cycle. I felt like I needed a good cry, but no tears came. 

How Broad A Brush You Paint

 How Broad A Brush You Paint

It's Not Always Black & White : My Story

There is a huge National discussion and debate right now over Student Loan forgiveness. It seems people are either clearly for it or clearly against it. There does not seem to be much grey area on the issue, which is not to say there are not folks out there who see both sides of the issue. But, in any case, here is my story .... 

I come from humble, but beautiful beginnings.  My father is retired from 36 years as a quarry worker. My mother, now passed, was a retired minister. My brother and I never wanted for anything, but we did not live a life of lavish. We had, what I always thought of, as a massive home as a small child. And we had a perfect family home after we moved to Fort Wayne. Small, but perfect - complete with a basketball court in the back yard! 

In the mid-90's, when it came time for college, we knew that if the scholarships and grants fell short, we would have to take out loans, because our parents made enough money to care for us .... but didn't have "college funds" set aside to pay for our advanced education.  This certainly played a huge part in my decision on where I attended University. (Make no mistake, I am BSU Proud - no regrets - to this day. But there were other choices I bypassed because of cost alone.) 

I was a fair student. I held my own and finished near the top of my class. But, even in the that Era, the competition was stiff, and if one didn't have all the best in all of the right categories, one would fall short of financial assistance. And that, my friends was my situation. 

I majored in Social Work. I minored in the Psychology of Human Development. Why? Because that was what I felt called to do, from a very young age. Career counselors tried, oh so hard, to change my mind - but were unsuccessful. I wanted to help people. I wanted to understand people, so that I could make a difference in this crazy, messed up world. And so I excelled through my program. 

And I took out student loans. 

After graduation, I immediately was hired into a job in my career field, making only $13/hr. I dedicated my life to my work. When I left that job only a year later, I discovered I was pregnant with my now 21 year old son. I was almost immediately hired in at my current employer, making only slightly more per hour. 

Understand that I loved my work. I felt called to do what I was doing. I was passionate about helping people. And I felt that when I began working in Healthcare, that I was now "home." But also understand that Social Workers are not compensated in the ways that Nurses are, or Physical Therapists, or Respiratory Therapists. Yet - when no one knows what to do with a patient situation or how to help, they call us. We are given the worst of the worst, thepst tragic, the saddest, the most challenging ... and we are expected to fix it. 

It took me 18 years to make a respectable wage. But by 18 years in my role, I was burnt out and physically unwell. And still not making as much as many of my of my most respected friends and coworkers in my organization. And so I gave up my calling for a different role - and immediately earned a $3/hrs pay raise ... and in the 3.5 years since, have earned an additional $10/hr or so in pay raises. 

But that is only part of my Student Loan story. Because you also have to understand that in addition to my disgustingly low wages earned, I sadly became a single mother when my son was only 18 months old. Hindsight is 20/20, of course .... and that was definitely for our best interest, over a controlling and abusive relationship. But as a single mom, barely making enough to live, let alone support a baby on my own - and, no, his father did not begin to financially support his child until many years later and a court order - I had no choice but to defer my student loans. 

See, I tried to apply for public assistance, but received a letter that I was over the income requirements by $600. Six Hundred Dollars. So that meant no rent assistance, no food assistance, and no utility assistance. I "made too much money." I put groceries on credit cards. I robbed Peter to pay Paul, as the saying goes, to avoid missing payments. Until I couldn't do it anymore. 

Defer vs Default. Those were my options. And so I chose to defer my student loans. And I had to do that for many years. So that I could survive and feed my child. 

I was a college educated, full-time employed Social Worker at the leading non-profit Healthcare provider in Notheast Indiana - and I couldn't support myself. It was humiliating. But it was my reality. 

So my student loan interest continued to compound for 4 years while I couldn't pay. And what would have been a reasonable loan to repay became even more unreasonable. And when I began to repay again, what I did pay each month only coveted interest. I didn't make any progress on the principal balance. That's how they get you and keep you .... for decades.

That is my Undergraduate student loan story. 

When I changed from Social Work to my current role in Healthcare, I also decided to go back to school. At the time, I once again found myself a single parent, but this time to 3 children. And so I added to my Undergraduate debt, with Graduate student loans. 

What's the point here? The point is - I dedicated nearly 2 decades of my life to the service of helping others. I sacrificed my own health, my well-being, and my financial stability. And hell yes, I want my Undergraduate student loans forgiven. I deserve that. I'm not a free-loader. I've paid my debts to society. And then some. 

College costs an INSANE amount of money. And unless you want to start to pay fairly for the careers that society demands and couldn't survive without - loan forgiveness is a must. Figure out a system of evaluating who meets criteria. 

Figure it out. Quit painting everyone and this topic with such a broad brush. That does no one any favors - least of all, people like me. 

The Power Behind the Word?

How do words impact your life? Specifically, how do the words you use impact your life and the lives around you? 

What about profanity?  Have you chosen to omit profanity from your life?  Is the use of profanity around you offensive?  Or does it not phase you?  Do you use profanity?  And if so, are you able to filter your use dependent upon your situation/location/audience? 

For me, profanity has not really been a huge deal for me.  My parents weren't adamantly against swearing, but I know it wasn't their first choice of sentence enhancers.  I don't have any recollection of profanity being a regular part of conversation in our household as a child.  They certainly didn't approve of my brother and I from swearing freely when we were growing up.  They would often tell us that the use of "those words" simply weren't necessary.  But I'm sure they were aware we said things out of their earshot.


As a young adult, I learned that while rarely used in conversation publicly, my mom's favorite swear word was "FUCK."  She told me once that she found a great deal of power in that word.  She didn't care for the use of it in every day life - as she certainly felt there was a "time and a place" for the use and inclusion of it in conversation.  But she described it as if it were the physical action of planting your feet and standing strong in the face of a battle. 


It's safe to say that my brother and I have both adopted an affection for the mom's favorite word, ourselves.  And we can both say we use it far more regularly than she ever did.  I have been known to use it as a noun, a verb, an adverb, and an adjective!  I've found quite a bit of versatility in the word depending upon the situation. I am, however, most definitely able to substitute and filter myself based upon my audience and/or location - often with the most unique phrases I can come up with. 


For instance, when I can't proclaim, "What the fuck?" I ask, "What the farfignutten?"  And when I am stunned and want to say, "Well Fuuuuuck!" I instead say, "Well Fiddlesticks!"  Oh!!  A crowd favorite replacement to, "Shut the fuck up!" is, "Shut the front door!!"  That one usually grabs everyone's attention with a double-take. 


I could go on, but you get the picture.  Honestly, I substitute words for all varieties of profanity - because I, too, believe there is a time and a place for everything.  The ability to recognize that requires a degree of maturity and responsibility.  I do swear in the presence of my children.  And I have used varieties of non-sensical word replacements as well. I have tried to raise my children in the same ways my parents raised me.  They see me as I am: real and raw, faults and all.  I ask them to avoid the use of profanity.  I ask their friends who come over to avoid the use of profanity.  And in return, I try to limit my use of profanity as well. 

Here's some unpopular opinion: I fully believe there are situations in which a distinct type of word power is deserving - and therefore profanity is 100% justified.  I'd like to provide an example of what I mean.

But first let me ask you - have you ever wanted to give up?  Really and truly give up and throw in the towel? Have you ever been so exhausted and so overwhelmed with the weight you carried that you wondered how you could continue to fight?  Have you ever wondered how it is possible to take one more breath?  Or wake up one more day in your life?  Have you ever asked yourself and God, "What's the point? Why must I bother??" Well, if you have, then you might understand the gravity and the power behind the message in the photo below.


That's where I was a little more than 15 months ago.  Many people recognized that in me and worked hard to hold me up in all the ways I needed in order to keep me going.  One of my best friends gifted me a simple, but beautiful bracelet with a message inscribed on the inside that said: "keep fucking going..."  I have worn that bracelet every single day since I received it as a constant reminder and as a source of strength. 


Around the same time I received that gift, my brother's health was rapidly failing and he was heading into the most challenging battle of his entire life.  I decided to share this message with him because I knew that the weight I felt as a healthy person must have only be a fraction of what he was feeling every day in the face of an impending heart transplant.  I couldn't bear the thought of him giving up the fight.  I needed him to keep fucking going.  And so birthed the hashtag that accompanied every social media update I posted, and every personal message sent from me to him.  I found it fitting that in honor of his journey and unbelievable strength, I wanted to forever have "our" mantra tattooed on my right arm, including the date he received the gift of life... his new heart.


Will people be shocked? Probably.  Will people disagree with my decision? Maybe.  Do I care? Nope.  Do I regret my decision to have this reminder permanently added to my body? FUCK no.  I look at my right arm countless times, every single day, and am reminded that giving up is not an option for me.  Not today, not ever.  There is power in this word for us - and it deserves a place where it can be seen and honored.


Artist: Teague Mullen
Studio: Dark Horse Tattoo Parlor - Fort Wayne, IN

Going Back in Time

While driving home from work recently, I heard the following question posed:

     "If you had the opportunity to sit down and talk with the younger version of you - maybe 18 years old, or 24 years old - what would you say?  Would that younger version of you even listen to what you have to say?" 

My mind began reeling with the possibility of hundreds (or more) of conversations I could have with younger versions of myself....  

• What would I do differently?
• Would I want to change the course of my life in any way?
• What did I do well?
• What words of encouragement do I have for myself?
• How can I prepare myself for what's to come?

This kind of exercise requires a kind of deep, uncensored, real, and highly self-aware state of mind.  In my opinion, the exercise would have less of an impact without those qualifications.  Realistically, we don't have time machines to take us back in time.  And honestly, I don't believe it is about "going back in time" with the intent to change the trajectory of our lives.  I believe it's an exercise in being able to identify our "wins" and recognizing any missteps we may have had along the way.  I think it is about being aware of how far you've come and how you can continue to grow as a person going forward. 

And so I began with 19 year old Claire... the college gal on a mission to change the world.  I decided I needed to start by cheering her on for following her heart and the call to study social work.  I would encourage her to slow down at school, though, because it is all going to fly by so quickly and she is going to want to soak up those experiences before they have passed her by - both in and out of the classroom.  The professors and mentors she meets will become lifelong friends and confidants.  The friendships and bonds she creates on and off campus will help build the village she learns to depend upon for decades to come. I might also mention to her that those 29% credit cards are going to cause her mountains of problems in 10 years - so she needs to JUST SAY NO to the people by the Scramble Light!! 

I would also need to tell her about the dark times just ahead of her.  I would look her in her eyes and tell her that she will get through them, that she is stronger than she thinks, and that she will not be broken by someone else's actions.  What would happen if I could rewrite history?  What would happen if I could make it so 19 year old Claire were never in that fraternity house that night and were never a victim of sexual assault?  Would that have changed the course of her life and the people she met over time?  Would it have meant that she never ultimately met the father of her oldest son?  Would that have ultimately changed everything?  I do not know.  I can never know that.  I certainly do not ever wish such an awful experience on any person, nor do I enjoy closing my eyes and reliving that night.  But it is an important part of my history...my story.  And for that reason, I have to believe that in some sort of twisted way, it has to remain a part of my story. A chapter that few knew existed before now, perhaps, because I chose to hide it in favor of moving forward.  Maybe from embarrassment or shame?  Maybe I blamed myself and felt no one would believe me.  I do know that if I could go back in time, I would absolutely take the time to thank the one brother in that house who so kindly made sure I was okay the next morning, and who drove me home.  Maybe he knew what happened, I don't know.  He never asked.  He just made sure I got home okay and always looked out for me any time I was around at future events.  I wish I could remember his name today.  I am not too proud to admit that I'm horrible with names.  He was one of the genuine good guys and I was grateful for his kindness that morning.

Let's visit with 24 year old Claire now.  You did it!  You are gainfully employed, working in your field as a medical social worker at the leading health care provider in your community. And what's this?  You have this brand new baby boy?  Holy cow!!!  Listen, newborns can be exhausting.  They don't always sleep.  They cry a lot and they can't just tell you what's wrong with them.  I know you rolled your eyes when your mom stopped by yesterday to help out and said "this too shall pass," but she's right.  No - don't roll your eyes at me, too.  It really will pass.  And before you know it, he'll be 20.  Yes, 20!  And you'll be wondering what happened to the past two decades of your life.  Before I go though, I should warn you that some things are going to be tough (again).  You're going to have to go this alone for a bit. You've got this, though.  Your support system is amazing.  Just keep pressing on and have faith.  Here's my advice for the next many years.... Try not to drink too much when T is away with his dad or over at mom's house for the night.  I know it's hard to be alone in that apartment, but going out and partying isn't the answer.  You'll only feel shitty the next day (or two).  And that guy you'll meet at the bar?  He's not the one.  Secondly, shopping with money you don't have not only doesn't solve that problem, but only adds to the debt load you started creating 5 years ago at school, so perhaps slow that habit down a little.  Otherwise you're going to seriously regret these decisions in another 5 years.  It is much more difficult to get out from beneath the mountain of debt than it is to create it!

Now how about if we move on to 34 year old Claire. I look back at myself at this age and all I see is an exhausted and wounded warrior.  I wonder how on earth I made it out to the other side.  I mean it.  That smile you see in the picture faded almost immediately after the camera was put away and the crowds left my post partum room.  Just two short weeks after bringing my princess home from the hospital, I was single parenting again - this time with a 2 week old, a 2 year old, and a 10 year old.  And I was hiding that fact from every single person I knew in the world out of shame.  So what would I say to 34 year old Claire if I could talk to her?  I would tell her to yell and scream for help.  I would tell her that there is no shame in being the one who was left behind.  I would tell her that her village is right there ready to help. I would remind her that she doesn't have to manage post partum depression, newborn stress, a full-time job, the entire household burden, sudden financial doom, and a broken marriage all by herself. 

And then I would remind her of how fucking strong she is.... Claire... look at how far you've come in 10 years! You've grown personally, professionally, and spiritually.  You are closer with your family and your friends than you've ever been.  You've learned to step back and evaluate situations before speaking.  And you found your voice.  Thank GOD you found your voice.  You have integrity that has never waivered.  You have kindness and grace and a kind unconditional love that many are still trying to learn.  You will overcome this.  Power through.  Look at those beautiful babies and know that they will guide you beyond the pain, the hurt, and the devastation.  Know that you are not alone.  It will be okay.  I promise.  Hold on.  Just hold on.

 

You guys, a little more than two years ago, I walked into a restaurant to have dinner with one of my best friends and several of his family members.  Sitting at the end of the table was a friend of theirs.  That is the day my life changed forever, I just didn't know it quite yet.  What started out as a friendship with him developed into the most cherished relationship of my entire life. I am happy to call him my partner in life, my rock, and my #1.  I'm grateful that he accepts me for who I am, accepts my whole story - even with the ugly parts.  We are so ready to continue on this journey with our kids and with whatever God has planned for us. 

So what was the point of this exercise and look back in time with Claire today?  I guess it's this: 

Sometimes looking back, it's easy to see the ugly parts that we may think we want to change.  But when we really take a look, we can see all of the beautiful things we've accomplished as well.  We can see the small wins that remind us that if we took away the ugly - we'd lose out in the long run.  You see, from where I'm sitting it takes all of the parts of our story to create who we are today. 

Are you up to the challenge?  Will you take the time to have some conversations with the younger you? 

One Year ... and Counting

I was listening to Pandora this morning while I was getting ready for work and Memories (Maroon 5) started playing.  I really love these lyrics and the melodies of this tune.  I've got to give a shout out to Adam Levine and the others involved for writing and producing a song that nearly perfectly captures what so many of us feel after losing someone important in their lives.  Whether it be a a parent, sibling, a grandparent, an aunt or uncle, a cousin, a best friend, or a mentor.  As I reflect on my first year without my mom, I can easily incorporate so much of this song into my experiences.  The release of this tune has been timed, quite therapeutically, at a perfect point in my life; and allows me moments to process every time I listen. 

There's a time that I remember, when I did not know no pain
When I believed in forever, and everything would stay the same

I've lost all of my grandparents, several aunts and uncles, a couple of cousins, and even a sibling.  I come from a very close, tight-knit family.  All of those deaths were very hard for me, especially losing my brother 10 years ago. But nothing rocked my world quite like losing my mom last year, on January 26th.  With all I know about life and death, I somehow felt unprepared for that moment -

 in which everything changed for me.  And despite my deep faith in God, Jesus Christ and the afterlife that awaits all who believe, I struggle daily with the absence of my mother here on earth. 

I want to call her to tell her about the silly things Lil C or Owen said yesterday.

I want to stop by and see her smiling and sitting in her seat on the sofa at her house as I walk in.

I want to hear her say, "How is my favorite girl today?" or "I love you to the moon and back."

I want to feel her soft hand in mine again. 

I want to hear her laugh.

Now my heart feel like December when somebody say your name
'Cause I can't reach out to call you, but I know I will one day

I am reminded, sometimes by my own children, that she's all around me.  I can talk to her any time I want and she will hear me.  I am reminded that I will see my mom again one day.  I am reminded that all of our memories are still there and that I can call on those memories at any time to smile and to laugh. Man, do those feel SO good.  Sometimes the memories bring tears.  So many tears.  I try really hard not to apologize for the tears.  Although, I find myself hiding in those moments, those tears, more often than I probably should.  The crazy part for me is that I am usually the last person to hide what I'm thinking or feeling, but for some reason, my mom dying changed this for me.  It feels as if some of my strength died with my mom.  Some of my fearlessness died with my mom.  Is that something that comes back or can be recovered? These changes are ones that I have been analyzing over and over for the past 365 days. 

Everybody hurts sometimes
Everybody hurts someday

Grief is a process.  Death brings on some really real things.  It changes us.  There is no road map.  There are no instructions.  There is no manual on how to weather the changes you'll experience.  Doesn't that seem unfair?  Because it seems unfair to me.  Because you get to live this life with people - sometimes, the amount of life you get to live with them is more brief than what you are given with others.  And maybe that impacts the level and degree of grief we feel - or maybe it doesn't.  There definitely isn't a guide to the degrees of grief based upon how long or how well we knew someone.  It just doesn't exist.  So all we can do is buckle up, hold on, and weather the crazy ride.  And it sucks.  And it's exhausting.  I'm exhausted - and it's only been one year ... and counting. 

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.”     –  Helen Keller

Everyone reminds me that while the pain of the loss will never actually go away - rather, it will change and evolve with time.  I have made peace with this reality and I can be okay with this, I think.  I know that I have this enormous support system all around me that I can lean upon any time, day or night.  I know that I can sit in silence and be with my thoughts, and that is also okay.  I know that I can write, or read in order to process the really hard days.  Everything is going to be okay.

Here's to the ones that we got
Cheers to the wish you were here, but you're not
'Cause the drinks bring back all the memories
Of everything we've been through
Toast to the ones here today
Toast to the ones that we lost on the way
'Cause the drinks bring back all the memories
And the memories bring back, memories bring back you

But everything gon' be alright

**Memories by Maroon 5. Released by 222 Records and Interscope Records on September 20, 2019

Mama C's Scratch Cheesy Delight

Who doesn't love a delicious mac-n-cheese from scratch recipe? (That was rhetorical, people - if you don't like mac-n-cheese from scratch, we can't be friends anymore) 


Since I'm not one of those bloggers who likes to sprinkle their recipes with loads of useless crap, let's just get right to it.  I essentially took 2 recipes I found online and combined them - and then added a little of my grandma's recipe (of what I can remember).  I have played around with several different cheese combinations, and have landed on this combo as the crowd favorite.


Here's what you need:

Just a few of today's ingredients!

• 1 lb dried elbow pasta (or whatever pasta you prefer - go on and get crazy here)
• 1/2 cup unsalted butter (1 stick)
• 1/2 cup all purpose flour
• 1 1/2 cups whole milk
• 2 1/2 cups half and half
• 1/2 Tbsp salt
• 1/2 tsp black pepper
• 1/4 tsp paprika (optional)
• 6-7 cups of Cheese (this is where you get to go crazy again)
• 2 cups Mild Cheddar
• 1 cup Gouda
• 1 cup Muenster
• 2 cups Colby/Jack
• 1 cup Velveeta
• Diced ham or sliced smoky breakfast links
• French's fried onions or seasoned bread crumbs

Here's how you make the magic happen:


Preheat your oven to 325 degrees and grease (or spray with cooking spray) a DEEP 9 x 13" baking dish.  Set that aside.

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.  Once it is boiling, add your pasta of choice and cook 1 minute less than the package directs for al dente.  Drain and place in a LARGE mixing bowl, drizzle with a little bit of olive oil.  This will keep it from sticking while you complete the cheese sauce.
2. While your pasta is getting started, grate all the cheese (unless you purchased it in an already grated state) and toss together to mix, then divide into three piles: approximately 3 cups for the sauce, 1-1/2 cups for the inner layer, and 1-1/2 cups for the topping.
3. To make the sauce, start by melting the butter in a large saucepan over medium heat.  Carefully add the flour and whisk it to combine.  This mixture will look interesting - like super wet sand.  Cook for about 1 minute, continually whisking.  Slowly pour in 2 cups of the milk/half and half, while whisking continually, until smooth.  Add the remaining half and half, still whisking continually.  (yes, your arm will get tired - but keep going, because you haven't even gotten to the challenging part yet)
4. Check on your pasta!!  Remember - don't let it get over-cooked!!! 
5. Okay, back to the sauce. Continue over medium heat, whisking almost continually until thickened to a very thick consistency. It should almost be the consistency of a semi thinned out condensed soup.
6. Stir in any seasoning and add 1-1/2 cups of the cheeses, stirring continuously to melt and combine.  Add in another 1-1/2 cups of cheese, stirring continuously until completely melted and smooth.  This process will take some time and should be done slowly to avoid clumping. 
7. In that LARGE mixing bowl, combine your drained pasta with the delicious cheese sauce and the diced ham or sliced smoky links, stirring to combine fully.  Pour half of the pasta mixture into your prepped baking dish.  Top with 1-1/2 cups of grated cheeses, then top with the remaining pasta mixture.  Sprinkle with the remaining 1-1/2 cups of cheese and fried onions or bread crumbs.
8. Bake for 15-20 minutes, until the cheese is bubbly and lightly golden brown. Yum! Remove and let your Cheesy Delight rest for about 10 minutes before serving. 

This recipe will easily serve a dozen people!!  It is a great carry-in dish or great family gathering dish.  Or if you are like us, it is a fantastic dish-for-two with crazy leftovers!!!  Make it your own and enjoy! 

For Everything There Is a Season

In a matter of days, we will pack up the last of our things and move out of the Kinnaird home - the home that I have referred to as the "RG Homestead" for the past thirteen and a half years.  In my whole life, this is the home I have consistently lived in the longest.  My first home was in Bluffton, where we lived for nine years before moving to Fort Wayne.  I lived in the Maple Grove home for the following ten years before moving on to college.  Over the course of the next eleven years, I lived the dorm life, and in about five different apartments between Muncie and Fort Wayne.  


It is crazy to think about transitioning away from this house after so many years.  There are a ton of memories, both good and painful, that live in this house.  Some I will take with me, and others I'm happy to leave behind. 


I remember vividly how exciting it was to watch the movers bring our things into the Kinnaird home back in February of 2006.  It was my first house - the biggest purchase I had ever made, aside from the trusty Camry I purchased as a newly graduated social worker, back in 1998.  I was a newlywed and felt like I was on top of the world.  I was able to get my son out of apartment living and into a house - with a yard, and space to move.  It was my little slice of the American dream.


Over the years, the RG Homestead brought me some of my greatest joys.  I brought my second son and my only daughter home here.  I adopted my first puppy and brought her home to this place.  I watched all three kids learn how to ride their bikes without training wheels.  I have celebrated holidays with my entire family here.  I have hosted countless porch, backyard BBQ, and New Year's Eve parties here.  I opened my doors to friends of my children, neighbors in need, my closest friends, friends of friends, and members of our community.  I have provided a safe place for anyone who needed a supportive ear or shoulder to cry on.  I have initiated countless dance parties on early mornings when crabby moods have tried to prevail.  I have helped the kids with hours and hours of homework (sometimes relying upon Uncle Google to help me solve math problems).  I applied for, worked through, and finished my MBA in this home.  I have laughed and laughed, even to the point of wetting myself.  I have smiled proudly, listening to a variety of musical instruments play hour after hour. 


I have witnessed life in this home.  I have felt love and acceptance in this home.  I have found peace in this home. 


But I have also felt deep sorrow and pain in this home. 


I was standing in the dining room when I received the call that my bonus brother, Tommy, (we didn't like the term "step-sibling") had killed himself.  I was standing in the front yard when I learned that my cousin died suddenly, only two weeks after Tom died.  I was sitting on the couch when my mom told me her sister died.  And I was sitting at the dining room table when I learned my mom's other sister had finally passed after a short battle with cancer.  It was here that I prayed and cried out to God - begging for the strength to carry on.


It was here that I discovered the affair my (then) husband was having, but did my best to hide that realization for months to come.  I abruptly figured out how to single parent a newborn, a two year old, and a ten year old as my (then) husband walked out the door in search of his own happiness.  I cried myself to sleep for months and months during that time of transition.  It was here that I prayed and cried out to God - begging for the strength to carry on.


It was here that I came to rest every evening while my mom lay in the ICU at Lutheran Hospital or the Hospice Home.  It was here that I came back to after watching her take her last breath.  It was here that I sat, amidst piles of pictures and memories, in an attempt to create honorable memory boards for her Celebration of Life.  It was here that I gathered with my mom's brother and sisters, my cousin, my dad, my bonus mom and sister, my friends, and my brother, sister, and niece in the hours before and after that service.  It was here that I prayed and cried out to God - begging for the strength to carry on. 


But most importantly, it was in this home that I grew as a woman - in my faith, in my peace and acceptance of who I am, and in my capacity to love, to be loved, and to understand love in its most pure form.  I learned that I was much stronger than I ever realized.  I learned that I am capable of managing an entire house on my own.  I learned that I can pay the bills, solve problems, change light bulbs, fix vacuums, slay rodents, manage landscaping, and ward off all forms of the boogyman.  I learned what it means to "know" when the perfectly fitted piece to your life's puzzle comes along. 


It was here that I enjoyed my very first unofficial date with Bryan.  It was here that we learned to enjoy the simple things in life together... like home-cooked meals, puzzles, quiet evenings together, and laughing over the silliest of things.  It was here that I learned the value of patience and trust during the difficult times.  It was here that I learned that the imperfections I see in myself are often the things Bryan loves the most. It was here that I finally felt I could be myself... no unhealthy compromises, no eggshells to walk on, no doubts, no fears.  It was here and with Bryan, that I felt no uncertainty or worry about the future.  It was here that I learned that every moment of life I have lived, up to the day Bryan left a simply sweet and adorable card on my front door to express his support and friendship, was preparation for this amazing and beautiful journey we are on together.  Our little family is pretty fantastic and I couldn't be more excited for whatever our future holds!


And so, as we approach the day that we lock that door for the last time, I will soak up all of these memories for what they were and for how they helped me become the woman I am today.  I will be thankful for every moment I ever experienced - good, bad, or indifferent - for they have brought me to a point of transition that can only lead to the best of what is to come!

3 Pages - Single Spaced

[What you are about to read is what I shared on the morning of February 4, 2019, when we celebrated the life of the greatest woman I have ever known.]

“If you could have dinner with anyone, alive or deceased, who would you choose?”

How many of us have been asked this question in a job interview, or as an ice-breaker, or in your English or Sociology class to spark discussion?  I can remember being asked this question several times in my life.  And as long as I can remember, 3 people have always been on that list: my Grandma Frances, my great-grandma Clare, and Anglea Lansbury.  Over the years, other folks have been guests at the table. John F. Kennedy, George W. Bush, Michelle Obama, James Corden, Mr. Rogers, Jimmy Fallon, and my oldest best friends Erin Arnold and Melissa Eckroth have all made the list.   Going forward, if I’m asked, I will forever have one more permanent dinner guest – my mom.  Oh what I’d give for one more dinner with my mom.

Throughout this entire ordeal, many people have said that my mom raised an amazing friend-daughter-mom-sister in me.  Thank you, by the way, for everything you all did for me and our family.  I don’t always feel amazing or strong.  Before I go on, though, I think it is important to set the record straight - I can’t give all the credit to my mom.  That man sitting over there has had a HUGE impact on who I am today – it’s just that we aren’t here to talk about how incredible he is today.  He’ll get his turn…. but, HOPEFULLY, not for another decade or more!! 

There are a million stories I could share about my mom – but then we’d all be here for days.  I can vividly remember her telling me when I was about 25, that for years and years she worried that she wasn’t a good enough mom.  Or that she didn’t do enough to make sure Erv and I knew how much she loved us.  That’s just silly. And I remember telling her that she was ridiculous for thinking that.  (Now that I say that out loud, I realize that I have recently questioned my own abilities as a mom a million times and have been reminded by many of you that I was ridiculous for thinking that same thing about myself.) 

My mom was the greatest at “leading by example” in nearly all aspects of her life. She suffered (and triumphed) through countless hardships growing up and in her early adulthood.  Those were her experiences to share, so I won’t go into them in detail today.  But the important takeaway is that she never gave up.  She fought through the darkest of days.  She relied upon her faith and something deep inside her to pull her through to brighter days.  When I was a teenager and young adult, I learned of those experiences. Shocking, painful, and horrifying experiences. I learned about her diagnosed Multiple Personalities.  She taught me that that diagnosis wasn’t something that should be hidden or to be ashamed of.  My mother wore that diagnosis as a badge of honor – to remind herself and others that she overcame and never gave up.  I learned about how she truly did become the matriarch of her family because her own mother passed away at a young age – leaving a houseful of younger siblings who needed her.  She stepped in and stepped up.  She did what needed to be done.  She wasn’t going to let life’s crappy circumstances stop her. It was while she was sharing those parts of her life with me, that so many of my early childhood experiences with her became more clear.  It was more importantly, in those years that my respect and admiration for her multiplied exponentially.  

My mom showed Erv and I what it meant to love ourselves and to love one another, without end and without question.  She taught us what it meant to be a family.  She showed us resilience.  She gave grace (frequently) and never ever gave up on us (specifically me – wow, did I make a ton of missteps along the way). She taught us about unconditional love and support.  All that she taught us bled out into the work she was called to do: in the churches she served, through the lives she touched at Crossroads, within the hospitals she worked, and in the many communities she served.  If someone needed her compassionate listening ear, my mother volunteered and listened for as long as they needed her.  If someone needed prayer, my mother prayed fervently.  If someone needed to understand the love of Christ, my mother taught them.  If someone needed grace, my mother gave grace.  My mom stood tall, decades ago.  First, as a woman Minister in a sea of men; and then as an openly lesbian Minister.  She didn’t allow people’s fears, hatred, ignorance, prejudice, or phobias deter her from being who she was.  She taught, loved, baptized, married, and celebrated the lives of countless people…. Literally, more people than I could ever count.  She made people want to BE better humans, make better choices, and do more with their lives.  She showed people, that one’s life circumstances need not define who they might become or what they might accomplish.

My mother talked to me about “becoming a woman.”  She lectured me about birth control and responsible self-care. Get your annual exams and mammograms, ladies!  She took her turn being in the passenger seat while I learned to drive a manual transmission (God blessed her extra for that job.  Phew!).  My mom urged me to follow my calling to serve, care for, and advocate for others – even if that meant I’d have to marry rich in order to live the “champagne lifestyle” I daydreamed about. (By the by, that last part still hasn’t happened yet, y’all.) My mom cheered me on at all three of my graduation ceremonies.  She was there when I got married.  And she held me up through my painful separation and divorce.  She was there for the birth of all of my all three of my babies.  My mom taught me to love fiercely and love first. And she encouraged me to try my best to always hate last.  She taught me to give grace and forgive often.  She believed the act of forgiveness was about freeing oneself, over freeing the other person from the pain of wrongdoings.  She echoed one of my dad’s mantras: “You’ve gotta take care of #1 first.” She reminded me regularly that one day, I’d be a grandma and I’d look back and laugh at all the little stuff I spend too much time worrying about. (But let’s not make me a grandma any time soon, mmkay??) She taught me that laughter truly is good medicine, and that life is too short not to eat dessert first.  She was second mom to all of my best friends, grandma to anyone under the age of 30 she met, and friend to the masses.  She was the voice for those who either had none, or for those who hadn’t found theirs yet.  She spoke her mind with a sophistication, eloquence, and grace that I have spent the better part of 3 decades learning to master, myself.  

My mom loved her grandbabies and spent years perfecting her grandma super powers. She made every effort to attend each and every special event, performance, and award ceremony they were involved in.  She would often tell me how much she wished she lived closer to her Amanda, so she could be there in person to cheer her on as well.  She looked forward to every sleepover, every Saturday morning breakfast, and most recently, every delivery order she and Carole made from Pizza King (just so she could get a couple extra moments with her Theo).  I cannot tell you the number of times I called my mom in tears, because I was having a hard day and just needed her.  I just need her – right now, I need her.  I’m not sure how I’ll do life without her.  Without her wise words.  Without her gentle and reassuring touch when I’m at the end of my rope and sobbing on her shoulder.  Or without her calming presence when one my kids is having a hard day or are on my last nerve.  I just don’t know how to do this without her.  In my opinion, she’s gone too soon.  Her grandbabies didn’t have enough time with her.  Erv and I didn’t have enough time with her.  This WORLD didn’t have enough time with her.  It all feels so unfair. 

Over the course of the last 2 weeks of her life, there were lots of times it was just her and I together.  We would talk.  Sometimes it would make sense and would be about things happening in my life right now.  And sometimes, she was a bit mixed up – and that led to lighter, more humorous moments together.  We spoke of how certain she was that God had a beautiful place waiting for her.  She told me that she knew I didn’t want her to leave us – but that it would soon be time.  She also told me one evening that she “hated to go” because she loved us so.  She told me she would always love me and would always be near.  She made me promise to take care of her “sweet boy,” Erv – making sure he would be okay, and fighting any doctor who stood in the way of him getting a new lease on the rest of his life.  She made me promise to remind my dad that she never stopped loving him, and to thank him for giving her the two best things she ever created.  She made me promise to always love Carole as my “nuther mother,” and to make sure she remembers to drink lots of water.  She made me promise to thank Susan for taking care of her so kindly and gently.  She made me promise to always cheer on my kids, to push them to follow their hearts, and to lead by example so that they, too, grow into amazing humans.  She made me promise to visit her Amanda as often as I could, telling Amanda all about how much she loved her.  And she made me promise to always love myself, to never give up, and to forever believe in real and lasting love – because she knew my forever love was probably right there in front of me. She said that God had a plan for me, bigger than I could ever understand.  She reminded me that brighter days were right around the corner and that I would be okay.  That we would all be okay. 

It's no secret that my mother sometimes was a little short on patience, but always heavy on the strength and stubbornness.  (That’s a Feltes thing, people.  Trust me.)  That certainly didn’t change over the course of 4 months of illness.  After we made the decision to transition to comfort care, she would repeatedly ask me why God hadn’t taken her home yet.  She would wake up from a nap and say “well, I’m not dead yet.”  I would respond, “No, mom, you’re not.”  One time she demanded that I “get on with things and move this party along, that she was tired of waiting her turn.”  Another time, she demanded that I “contact the Japanese powers that be, because it was them who determined when people got to die.”  Yes, that happened.  Often times, I wondered how much negotiating she was doing with God.  Lots of times, I noticed that she was muttering things which were mostly nonsense.  But one time I heard her say “After everything I’ve done for everyone else, can’t you just take me home already?”  My heart ached for her in those moments and I struggled to understand why it had to take so long when she was so ready. 

For 4 weeks, I sat with her every day.  Two of those weeks, I practically lived at Lutheran.  I talked to doctors, worked with nurses, provided reassurance, answered questions, sent a million texts, held mom’s hand, napped at her bedside, watched hours of court TV and home renovation programs (to pass the time), and hoped for the best.  And for those 2 weeks while she was at VNS HH, I sat and watched her breathe.  I cried with friends and family, I prayed (a lot), and I waited. I firmly, but gently, argued with her on why she couldn’t get out of bed and why I wasn’t going to give in to her demands.  One time while we were discussing why she couldn’t get out bed, I told her that she was too weak to get up, even to the side of the bed.  My mother responded: “No. I am NOT weak; I am just not strong.”  There was even some colorful language a time or two.  My mother told me I was a nag, and she mentioned she was mad at me a couple of times.  It was all a part of the process.  A process that was, by far, the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.  But I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.  I wanted to be with my mom when God finally called her home.  And I was.  She was beautiful.  She was peaceful.  She was comfortable.  One of my greatest treasures passed away January 26^th , 2019. 

In a moment, someone very dear to our family is going to sing a song that meant a great deal to me and my mother.  It was the first song I can remember singing on a stage, outside of a church, to a live audience.  I dedicated it to my mom in that moment.  She sat center-center of the auditorium at South Side High School, and when I was done – my mom was the only one giving me a standing ovation, with tears streaming down her face.  Mom, did you ever know that you’re my hero.  You’re everything I wish I could be.  I could fly higher than an eagle, Mama, but you are the wind beneath my wings.  After 27,686 days on this earth – my mother, the greatest woman I have ever known, the Rev. Dr. Clare Marie Walter, was called Home to her resting place for all of eternity.   I love you to Heaven and back, Mama.  Go rest high and be free.  We’ve got it from here.

Rev. Dr. Clare Marie Walter

April 9, 1943 - January 26, 2019

It Wouldn't Be Worth It If It Were Easy

There are a lot of things people say ... so many of those sayings feel cliché:

“That which does kill you, makes you stronger”

“Everything happens for a reason”

“It wouldn’t be worth it if it were easy”

 

I’m here to tell you,  being a single mother of 3 - trying to create and live a life of my own when I have 3 lives that depend upon my strength, guidance, and unwavering love – is certainly no perfect science.  And so every time I consider throwing my hat in the dating pool again, I ponder…. 

How do I know when it’s okay to trust in someone? How do I know I can trust their actions or words or intentions?  How do I know when it is safe to believe?  How do I balance what I know I need to cultivate a healthy relationship - without painful and significant risk to my own heart and mind, let alone to my children? There are a hundred critics out there, trying to tell single parents the "right" and "wrong" ways to date.  These critics all seemingly weigh-in about when the right time is to introduce your children to the one you are seeing, or when to immerse that person into your life and  into the lives of your children.  But what those critics don’t realize or don’t care to understand, is that every parent is different.  Every HUMAN is different.  We process differently.  We love differently.  We relate differently.  For most of us, these relationship and family blending puzzles aren’t easy puzzles to solve.  We think about these things.  We weigh our options, doing our best to predict the probability of it all ending painfully.  And we take a chance.

So when it all blows up in our face, and everything we thought we knew isn’t what we really know  – we can’t help but become our own worst critic.  I can assure you, that we criticize ourselves much harsher than any outsider could ever do.  We wonder how we could have planned better.  We worry about how our children will cope.  We wonder if it is even worth every trying again. We wonder if our lives are better spent without companionship, for the sake of our children.  We wonder how our hearts will ever heal and how we will ever come back from this moment:

When you try your best, but you don't succeed.
When you get what you want, but not what you need.
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep - Stuck in reverse.

When the tears come streaming down your face.
'Cause you lose something you can't replace .
When you love someone, but it goes to waste.
What could it be worse?

               (Coldplay - Fix You)

But what I’ve learned in those moments (much like moments I’m experiencing presently), is that all we can do is manage our grief.  We have to figure out how to cope with our feelings and to manage our response to the pain.  We have to learn to let go of what we cannot change or control.  For me, I let my faith guide me. I believe there is a plan – one which I don’t have a say in helping to predict or design.  I take the moments to cry when I need to, and I hold on to the promise that whatever I’m feeling right now will eventually grow weaker. 

I know that for some people, the serenity prayer is often associated with Alcoholics Anonymous. But I have found that it helps calm the anxiety I feel from trying to be a “fixer” in situations I do not have the power to “fix.”  And so as I navigate yet another heartache, I gently remind myself….

               God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,              

               Courage to change the things I can,

               And wisdom to know the difference.  

At the end of the day, I have come to believe that if I'm meant to find my forever and he will really be worth the rest of my life, the road getting there isn't going to be easy.  I just have to stay the course and trust that it will all work out in the end. 

Being An Anomaly

Anomaly – “Something that deviates from what is standard, normal or expected”

People have often half-jokingly referred to me as an anomaly.  I’m not like most people, they say.  And I guess I agree that I view the world and the relationships in my life differently than most people.

I believe that the world is made up of all kinds of people, each on their own journey.  That is what makes this world amazing and intriguing.  I have never thought that for two people to be successful together, that they must believe in the same things.  I have thought quite the opposite, actually.  Because for me – life is always about learning and growing as a person.  I have long since felt that a partner who challenges you to grow and rethink (or reframe) your perspective over time is a better partner.  Our differences should not divide us – they should bring us together.

Sometimes I wonder if I expect too much from people.  I had a long conversation with my dad the other evening.  Both he and my moms have echoed one another throughout my life.  My dad has often said “you’re not easy to live with”, but quickly follows that with “but that’s not a bad thing.”  He says I’m different from most people, and that those differences are hard for most people to process and accept.  He says he didn’t raise me to be like everyone else.  He raised me to be passionate about life, about love, about faith, and about who I am.  Both he and my moms have encouraged me to remain true to who I am and to not give up hope. 

From my perspective, the worst part about being me is that I believe in people.  I believe in what they say.  I take their words and actions to heart, and then I expect them to deliver.  And when they don’t, I am crushed and often gobsmacked.  And I feel like a fool for ever believing.  Deception and foolery is a terrible plague.  Saying to others what you think they want to hear because that is “easier,” is straight up wrong.  And becoming swayed by public input or expectations, rather than standing firm in what you know to be true about someone else or your relationships is equally as terrible.  No one wins when these things happen.

All of that said, I’m just doing my best to raise my little humans to be good adult humans.  And so I have taken these lessons learned, and started teaching them to my children at a young age, in the hopes they, too, will grow up to be “anomalies” just like me:

• Say what you mean, and mean what you say -  don’t dance around the content of your message
• Have the hard conversations, because they typically don’t get easier with time
• Extend compassion and be kind
• Give grace and forgive often
• Know your worth and find strength in both your successes and failings
• Listen with the intent to understand – this a fundamental core component of strong communication skills
• Be accountable and be able to admit when you are wrong
• Never stop growing and learning
• Have faith and believe in something good