The Long, Hard Road to Happiness

Have you ever wondered why it is that some people who have so little are able to sincerely appreciate what they do have while others who have so much can’t appreciate it at all? We all have an occasional blue day from time to time when the pity pot seems to be the most comfortable chair in the house. I’m not talking about those fleeting times where at the end of the day we stand up and realize we’ve worn a big red ring on our butts from sitting too long where maybe we shouldn’t have taken up residence in the first place. I’m talking about the general approach that some people have towards life itself where their negative disposition mistakenly makes them think that their pain and disappointments are always worse than their neighbor’s pain and disappointments. I’m talking about falling into the trap of using pessimism versus optimism as a general philosophy for living.

I’ve always been an optimist. Even in my darkest hours I’ve been able to recognize that wallowing in negative thoughts won’t help me climb back out of the muck of any given life crisis that all humans, at one time or another, go through---death of a loved one or a falling out with lover or friend, major disappointments and depression, loss of good health. For me, getting back up after a punch in the gut comes from being able to see that my metaphorical glass of life is half full---not half empty. It’s a personality flaw that I have to struggle to have sympathy for those who spend their entire lives describing their glasses as half empty. Sure, I understand that we’d all like to have our glasses over-flowing but more importantly I also understand that those times when they are over-flowing are as rare as penguin eggs in the desert. The optimists will tell you that the adversities we meet while we’re striving towards that goal is what makes a person strong and that our heartaches are what makes love---when it comes along---all the sweeter. The pessimists, on the other hand will throw in the towel the first moment things don't go their way and they walk around in circles like both of their arms are tied behind their backs. They delude themselves into believing that they have no control over their own happiness.

It must be hard being pessimistic, to aimlessly drag those woo-is-me thoughts and resentments around where ever they go. Optimists, on the other hand, achieve more in life---have more, are loved more---not because some divine intervention sprinkled magic fairy dust on some of us and not on others. Optimists achieve more because they don’t give up on themselves the way people with a defeatist attitude do. Pessimists don’t see each new day as a ‘do-over’ that can change the course of their personal history. They are so busy cataloging yesterday’s losses and tomorrow’s grim predictions to realize that they are stealing their own futures in the process. Pessimists are chickens, plain and simple. They are too afraid to roll the dice, take a chance and give up their defeatist attitudes long enough to work as hard at being happy as they work at being miserable. Nothing comes without a price tag, happiness included.


Life is full of hardships, challenges and heartaches for all of us and I am very proud to be married to a stroke survivor who never gave up on himself even when the medical community did. We---not just him alone as some survivors would have you believe of caregivers--- WE worked hard and proved the diagnosis of ‘vegetable for life’ wrong in every sense of the phrase. Some people out there in the stroke community don’t believe that it’s possible for someone who can’t walk, talk and use one arm to truly find joy in living again. That, to me, is both a sad and an arrogant attitude because it says that those non-believers value perfection to the point of being prejudice towards anyone who isn’t physically or mentally perfect in their eyes. I won’t deny that it’s often been a long, hard road getting to the happy place we reside in today and if that happiness annoys the pessimists of the world then I say, “Either follow me or get out of the way."


Jean Riva ©


No matter how bad things are, they can always be worse. So what if my stroke left me with a speech impediment? Moses had one, and he did all right. ~ Kirk Douglas

No pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars or sailed to an uncharted land or opened a new heaven to the human spirit. ~ Helen Keller

Optimism is a happiness magnet. If you stay positive, good things and good people will be drawn to you. ~ Mary Lou Retton

Winning is a habit. Unfortunately so is losing ~ Vince Lombardi


painting by Henri Rousseau

Building Our Own Violins

Do you know what impresses me? That a guy could apprentice to a long line of violin makers and still be able to take the craft to such new heights of perfectionism that people nearly three hundred years later are willing to pay millions of dollars to own one of his instruments. Antonio Stradivari, in his seventy years of professional work, made 1,100 stringed instruments and 650 are said to still be in existence. Truly amazing! From a little stab of maple, some pine, glue and varnishes, and with a methodical persistence to find perfection the Stradivarius was born, a line of instruments with full woody tones unsurpassed even today.

I wonder what it would feel like to be gifted at something. I wonder if Antonio knew he was a gifted. I doubt it. After all the whole town of Cremona in the northern region of Italy where he lived and worked had a history---three centuries long---of making musical instruments. Did he think of himself as just another guy on an assembly line? Like some guy in Detroit punching out automobiles? Or could he feel that his work was special? Antonio must have had some idea; he kept his vanish recipe a secret even from his wife and children and many people feel that his varnishing process is what gave his violins their magic sound. But then again he was making a living and people protect their livelihood from their competitors, so that doesn’t necessarily mean he knew he was creating masterpieces.

I have a book titled, Wherever You Go There You Are. That title amuses me whenever I see the book on the shelf. The author would not be happy to learn that I’ve never actually read the book cover to cover, but I’ve read enough of it to know that it’s about cultivating our ability to live in the present moment. Mindfulness. I don’t know where I am going with this except that I believe a person like Antonio Stradivari must have understood living in the moment. As he worked, he let the woods and varnishes speak to him and he listened in an analytical way that his predecessors, and those who came afterward, hadn’t done. He was not just another guy on an assembly line punching a time clock, picking up a paycheck. He had the “it factor” that Simon on American Idol talks about.

I have a sister-in-law who is a wonderful cook. Not only does her food taste fantastic, but her presentation, creativity and thoughtfulness in menu planning are something that I have long admired. She has the “it factor” in the kitchen. She’s in the moment when she is in the kitchen. I have a niece who is a mother to two sons. She has the “it factor” when it comes to motherhood. Her sister says she’s not just a mother, “She’s a human development specialist.” She’s in the moment when she interacts with her boys.

You can guess what I’m going to say next. Yup, I’m going to tell you that we don’t have to build Stradivarius violins or paint like Rembrandt to achieve a state of oneness with our surroundings. To find that that one thing that we can be passionate about, that something that regenerates our spirit and soul, we just need to look within. We do so many things on autopilot, thinking of past regrets or worrying about the future, instead of seizing the moment we’re in.

Someone in another blog said words to the affect that we live for the little moments in life that tell us that we’re alive. I couldn’t agree more. I would only add that increasing our happiness tenfold can come from practicing mindfulness—of teaching ourselves to really live in the small moments of life. To do that, we need enjoy and appreciate the process of whatever we are doing at the moment. Antonio Stradivari might have said it this way: “If you live in a town that builds musical instruments, build the best damn one you can build.”

Jean Riva ©

Photo: Violin Shop in Detmold Germany

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Finding Our Authentic Selves

Maybe it’s because my dad was a life-long golfer that I love movies with a golf theme. Except for an eight week course I took back in the sixties when I tried to love the game as much as he did, I’ve never played myself. Never-the-less the rich analogies and metaphors used in golf movies can easily apply to life itself, and I guess that’s what makes the ‘underdog’ sports movies like The legend of Bagger Vance so popular with non-athletes like me.

In a nutshell, The legend of Bagger Vance is about a disillusioned World War I veteran---Junah (played by Matt Damon)---who reluctantly agrees to play a game of golf to help a friend save a new golf course in Savannah, circ 1930, playing against the great Bobby Jones and Walter Hagen. Junah was a local golf pro before the war but had spent the last fifteen years being wasted. Trying to practice golf again, he finds the game futile until Bagger Vance---played by Will Smith---comes into his life to be his caddy and to teach him that the secret of golf is the same secret to mastering any life challenge.

“Inside each and every one of us,” says Bagger Vance, “Is one true authentic swing... Somethin' we was born with… Somethin' that's ours and ours alone... Somethin' that can't be taught to ya or learned... Somethin' that got to be remembered... Over time the world can rob us of that swing... It gets buried inside us under all our wouldas and couldas and shouldas... Some folk even forget what their swing was like.”

I went to the library today for the first time since shortly after Don’s stroke in May of 2000. Before the stroke, I was in the library at least twice a week. When I came home today and saw the rerun of The Legend of Bagger Vance on TV it made me think of all the caregivers, like me, whose ‘authentic selves’ got lost in the responsibilities of caring for someone else. Most of us, I think, lost that sense of being able to almost hear our surrounds breathe when we are happily perfecting our swings---wherever that swing might have taken us in our pre-stroke days.

At a critic turning point in the movie, Bagger tells Junah, “Ain't a soul on this entire earth ain't got a burden to carry he don't understand, you ain't alone in that... But you been carryin' this one long enough... Time to go on... lay it down...”

That movie line got me to thinking about why it is that we all tend to carry our burdens around long past the point when we should or could let go of them. For Junah it was the burden of being the only man to have survived a dangerous mission that he couldn’t let go. We caregivers aren’t running away from something filled with that much guilt but, just the same, I’ll bet there are many caregivers and survivors alike who wonder why we survived the trials and tribulations that life handed us, carrying the burden of the stroke event long past the point when we should quit wondering and just start living again. How many of us need to take to heart what Bagger told Junah?---that it was time for him to come out of the shadows and let himself remember HIS swing. I think that may be very good advice for some of us who’ve forgotten who we are.

Can we get our “grace in motion” back? Can we find our authentic selves again? Today I asked myself that question and I answered that I think I’m already am headed in that direction. I’ve been so wrapped up in the stroke support world these past few years that I forgot who I am, what my true swing in life is really all about. Sure, I am still a caregiver and always will be for as Don is a live, but his stroke doesn’t have to consume my life anymore. I can steal an hour here and there to take the advice Bagger gave Junah when he said, “You lost your swing... We got to go find it... Now it's somewhere... in the harmony... of all that is... All that was... All that will be...” I like that thought.

One of the scenes in this movie that I loved the most happened just before the 18th hole when Junah’s ball in the rough moved a few inches. By the rules of golf when that happens the golfer is suppose to call a stroke on himself but no one saw this happen except Junah and a small kid. Thus a moral dilemma is set up when the kid begs him not to do it, not to tell. “No one will ever know, I swear!” the kid says to which Junah replies: “I’ll know.”

This scene is based on a real incident that happened in a tournament between Gene, Sarazen, Bobby Jones and Walter Hagen. When it happened, the marshals left if up to Jones to call it a foul, or not, and when he did call it on him self the marshal declared it to be a “stunning act of sportsmanship.” Jones disagreed. “You don’t commend a bank robber for not robbing a bank,” he said. “This is the way golf should be played.” He eventually lost that U.S Opener by one stroke. The stroke he penalized himself. Seeing the fictionalized version of this incident reminded me of when my dad told me about this golfing, Hallmark moment years ago, inciting a long conversation about morals and ethics. I’ve used that “I’ll know” line on myself every since whenever a moral dilemma might tempt me towards a direction that I shouldn’t go.

Movies about sports, like The Legend of Bagger Vance, are usually pretty inspirational to me and this one was no disappointment. Where else can you hear philosophical thoughts like: “There's a perfect shot out there tryin' to find each and every one of us,” as Bagger put it. “All we got to do is get ourselves out of its way, to let it choose us.”

Jean Riva ©

Painting by August Macke

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Chance and Circumstance

Some days just start out wrong. Friday was that way for us. We went here and there and everywhere but nothing was working out. For example, at the township offices we found out that you can only get dog licenses there January through March. After that, you have to go downtown to the county building. Little Levi is still not legal. Seven stops that day and none of them worked out including the place where we wanted to eat lunch was closed under unusual circumstances.

Having our appointed rounds of errands go off into never-never land it was time for a decision. 1) We could go home grumpy and out of sorts because we'd have to spend another day in do-overs; or 2) we could declare a vacation day and go home after doing something fun. We picked door number two and went to a small town museum that by rare coincidence happened to be open that day. We've wanted to go to that museum for three years but they're only open by chance and circumstances like days when the town is celebrating something special. Bingo! Our chance we had come to tour the place and by the circumstances of everything else going wrong, we had extra time on our hands to do just that.

Life is that way sometimes. You plan. You hope. You take the steps needed to get you where you want to go and a gutter ball goes down the lane leaving all your pins still standing. Those are the times when I ask myself my favorite coping question: "Is this a disaster or an inconvenience?" Sure, it's awesome when things go just right and all your metaphorical pins go down in one powerful smack of the ball. It's almost as satisfying when it takes a second ball to get the job done. But I'll let you in on a little secret: if you live life without keeping score, you can still feel good about the gutter balls of life, about changing directions in the middle of the stream. Yes, it would have been nice to get all our errands done on Friday but if we had, we would have missed out on our impromptu mini vacation and going home feeling like we'd scored a happy memory instead of going home grumpy. ©
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Show Us Your Best

Over a person’s lifetime there are many labels used to describe that individual. Some labels we’re glad to outgrow like “teenager” and “student.” Some labels we may love having like “mom” or “dad.” Some labels define our professional place in the world like “doctor,” “officer” or “senator.” Other labels may define our passions like “artist,” “sports fan” or “musician.” Each of us carries with us at all times at least a dozen labels.

There is a whole sub-category of labels that we’re not always sure how they fit into our lives. “Survivor” and “caregiver” could easily fall into that description. Being a survivor is a positive label but many survivors, understandably, wish the label didn’t have a reason to hang itself on them. Not that they’d necessarily want the opposite end of the scale, which is being dead or a victim wallowing in self-pity, but they just haven’t found a way---yet---to be proud of overcoming the life-challenges a stroke brought into their lives.

Being a caregiver is a label I neither like nor dislike. It just is what it is, although early on in the process of becoming one it felt like a step backwards in the area of human relationships. It felt like I’d had to trade in another, more beloved label to get the caregiver status. For example, I went from daughter to caregiver to my dad and then again I went from best friend to caregiver with Don. “Caregiver” felt negative, like I was in charge of something I’d rather not be in charge of: another human being.

I remember the first time someone called me a caregiver. It was shortly after Don was released from the hospital. I had wheeled him into a medical office and the receptionist said: “Are you your dad’s caregiver?” Don and I are very close together in age and it really hurt to have someone perceive him as being that much older than me. It was the first time that I realized that our relationship truly had changed with the stroke. We were no longer just Don and Jean. It happened a lot in the first year post-stroke---being mistaken for daughter and father---but as Don got better and looking more and more like his old self, people quit hanging the father-daughter labels on us. A little color and a lot of animation in his face turned him from looking like a “victim” to looking like a “survivor.”

There is a phrase I heard several times in commercials a few years back: Show us your best. God, I love that phrase! I tried to research its origins but all I could find was a lot of photography sites where people were invited to show each other their best photos on various topics. The phrase applied to sports, though, takes on a whole new meaning---of working hard in the past to achieve something great in the present. I don’t follow sports but I can’t help but admire anyone who has earned the label of Olympic contender. I wish the Para-Olympics for disabled athletes were covered better by network television. I saw them last year and watching people with disabilities competing in many of the same arenas and venues of the regular Olympic athletes puts special meaning into the phrase: show us your best. It also puts a new meaning to the label of “disabled.”

Maybe we need a Caregiver's Olympics so all of us who wear that label could be prouder of what we've achieved. But there are no metals to win for that kind of dedication, determination and courage.........except for the ones we caregivers give each other with a soft-spoken, “I understand” or a loud cheerly shout of, "Way to go! You stepped up to the plate and showed us your best!"

Jean Riva ©
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Stroke Anniversary Number Eight

May 21st, 2008 will be the eighth anniversary since Don's massive stroke, a stroke that changed the direction of our lives as strokes do for most people. This year, to celebration the fact that my husband beat the prognosis of two neurologists and is far from being “a vegetable for the rest of his life,” as they predicted, I'm planning a day trip to Lake Michigan. There's a quaint tourist town on the eastern shoreline that we've both been going to since we were kids, long before we even knew each other. A ship that once took me on my high school class graduation trip is docked there, a maritime museum now. For some reason it gotten smaller as the decades went by. I can't imagine spending a week in one of those tiny cabins now, especially with Don's wheelchair in tow. Perceptions changes over a lifetime. Back then, I thought we were traveling like the 'upper crust' of society.

I suppose some people think it’s strange to celebrate a stroke anniversary, but it could have been so much worse and that ‘could have been but wasn't’ is really what we celebrate. Yes, Don is still wheelchair bound and can’t say more than a handful of unprompted words but he is cognitively almost back to his pre-stroke days and we can still find meaningful things to embrace and keep us busy from day to day. But more than any other benchmark, the stroke does not take center stage in our lives like it did in the first few years when therapies, changing priorities and goals, and downsizing our lives filled every waking moment. We arrived on the other side of the firestorm several years ago, rebuilt our lives from the ground up and now enjoy the fruits of our hard work.

I still visit the stroke supports sites from time to time but the strong connection I once felt there is holding on by a very thin thread. And that is a good thing in the recovery world. After all, it's the goal of any support group to help people to get their lives back on track and living in the real world again, however chanced and challenging that may be. When a member of a support group no longer needs to get or give advice or compare their battle scars the group has been successful in its mission.

One thing I still try to share with people new in the stroke recovery world, though, is the concept of acceptance. Some people mistakenly think that if they accept their stroke limitations---or those of their spouse---that it's akin to surrender and giving up. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Acceptance of what has happened gives you the power to fight your best fight for recovery. It's when people live in denial of their fallibilities or they play the blame game, mad at God and everyone else in their path, that they defuse their power because that denial and anger eats up an enormous amount of energy and time. Acceptance gives it back so you can redirect your resolve to places that will make a difference in the quality of your life.

Don and I have both worked hard over the past eight years to overcome "the vegetable for the rest of his life" prognosis and he's come a long way cognitively, physically and communication wise since the first few years out from the stroke. (Note: communication is more than just spoken or written words.) His ability to be good natured and happy despite his disabilities inspires people where ever we go. I'm proud of him and I think he is proud of me as well. Yesterday at the YMCA while we were both working out we were surrounded by young, healthy people Don looked at me with deep emotion in his smoky-gray eyes and said, "Me cool."

Those of us who live on the Planet Aphasia know that reversing relationships is common with speech disorders, so I pointed to him and asked, "Don is cool?"

"No," he replied and pointed to me while saying, "Cool" again.

"I'm gray haired, old and full of wrinkles and you're surrounded by beautiful young people and you can still say I'm cool?" I teased back.

"Yes!" he answered with gusto to which I gave him a rare public display of affection and then we went back to our workouts. Perception, as I said up above, truly does change as we march through our lives. When you're young and emerging into life I doubt anyone would label an old person working out in a gym as "cool." It's only through the grace of God, love and admiration for our fellow man that we learn to look past the exterior of anyone---disabled or not---and see the spirit within. ©

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Giving Back

"Everyday I remind myself that my inner and outer life are based on the labors of others, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving." Albert Einstein

I ran across this quotation today and thought, Wow, he sure took that self-talk seriously. Albert Einstein gave the world many things including his research in the photoelectric effect which scored him a Nobel Prize in Physics and led to our understanding of the quantum nature of light. Well, not exactly "our" understanding. I could read theories and principles of physics until I am calcified in the grave and it would still be gobbly-glop to me.

How lucky we are, though, to have the combined knowledge that mankind has passed down through the centuries---our concepts of science as well as mind, body and spirit---each generation building on the last. How lucky we are that we don't have to start from scratch every so many years to re-invent fire, wheels and Spanx's undergarments. But aside from Einstein, I wonder how many of us have ever thought about our responsibility to give back with the same measure as we've received. And would the "measure we've received" be the same for each of us? Should it be or could it be? I don't understand physics, for example, so I can't give back in terms of ground breaking scientific theories. No, it will be up to others to figure out if the earth is hurling off its axis and in danger of being sucked into a Black Hole---or does that only happen in sci-fi comic books?

But maybe for me, and others like me, it's enough to give back what we can in terms of the love, logic and sensitivity bred into civilized society one caring set of parents to their children at a time. Maybe it's enough for us to take care of our young and elderly, recycle cans, and save turtles from becoming road kill. We can't all be Albert Einstein. But some of us can be Leonard Bernstein's or Brad Pitt's or nameless, do-good people doing the best we can to give back the same measure as we've received. Maybe it's enough for ordinary minds to recognize and nurture the good in the world and ignore or fight back against the bad.

I guess this is all just another way of saying that each of us has talents or skills to add to the pot of soup cooking over the communal fire. Add what you can, when ever you can.

Jean Riva ©

Photo: Albert Einstein, Nobel Prize Photo, 1921

Fess Up, Anyone for Gluttony or Greed?

Lest you think I never write anything except stroke and speech related stuff, I'm going to share a tongue-in-cheek look at two of the Seven Deadly Sins that I wrote for Associated Content. Yes, it's slightly irreverent but what else would you expect from a senior citizen with too much time on her hands?

But if you really want to read something stroke related, Cooper (our dog) blogged about Don's stroke in his entry titled, Daddy's Little Service Dog. Click here.


GLUTTONY AND GREED

I've already written about lust in the first of this four part series, so I might as well tackle the other two of the Seven Deadly Sins that fall in the category of excessive love of earthly pleasures: Greed and Gluttony. If Dante could lump the sins of lust, greed and gluttony together in 'Purgatorio' I can, too. After all, without Dante to rank the sins would we even have---on second thought, let's not go there! I don't want the natives to get restless here.

We all know something about greed. Or we think it's about amassing money or worldly goods and hoarding it all for ourselves. Literally speaking this is true, I guess, but how much is too much? Who decides when we've got enough Ding Dongs and dollars in our cupboards to ward off future catastrophic events? Greed, as in one of the Seven Deadly Sins, only makes sense when we hold it up against The Virtue in which that sin offends. Here, that virtue is Generosity.

Okay, so sharing is good. I think I read that in a book titled, 'All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.' So in theory if we share our Ding Dongs with the cat and..... Click here to read the entire article.

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Day Seven

Strange how quickly we can fall into different patterns in life. Don's been in the hospital seven days now and already my days are in a rhythm that dovetails with his. By eight o'clock I'm up to shower and have a Slim-Fast for breakfast before taking off for the hospital on the other end of town. I stop for a Starbucks's caramel macchiato when I'm almost there and carry it into the hospital and by the time I've reached the fifth floor it's gone. The empty cup gets tossed in the waste basket by the guest lounge but not before reading the bit of writing that is printed on the side. Today it said: "Secret santas and soup-kitchen elves walk amongst us. Are you one of them? If so, we'd just like to say, 'Way to go.' That's what the season is all about." I'm not one of those but I second that thought although I was slightly disappointed that their usual bit of philosophy got set aside for that holiday message. Sometimes their mystic words stay with me all day long.

The mornings go fast in Don's room with succession of professionals coming and going. Today it started with two physical therapies who got him out of bed and wheeling his chair up and down the hall. Then the head of the rehab department came down to talk to us about the possibility of moving Don to their floor to get him stronger for transfers before releasing him. The social worker came next to interview me about our needs at home. "No, we don't have steps." "Yes, we have grab bars." As soon as she left Don had urgent business to do in the bathroom which took two men and a truck to get him on the toilet. His lunch came next and then a nap.

I went down to the café while Don slept. Chicken again. Already I'm bored with hospital food. Then I took a side trip to the gift shop to read the magazine covers before heading back upstairs. The afternoon was quiet as I read Barack Obama's book, "Dreams From my Father" until it was time to order Don's dinner and go back home to a sleepy, old dog who looked as if he hadn't moved all day long.

Every day I go down to the hospital thinking this will be the day Don will come home. After all, it was only suppose to be one night in the hospital. But INR readings were keeping him hostage at first and now they've added his physical ability to get back to his 'base line' as a second criteria to meet. Base line for Don is independent transfers. Part of the trouble at the hospital is that all the bathroom grab bars are set up for left side disabilities and Don is right side disabled. I requested a room change thinking they'd have reverse set ups in other rooms like they do every other room in motels. But this beautiful, brand new hospital has absolutely identical rooms through out. Identical rooms, I'm told, are supposed to make the nursing staff more efficient. Maybe so, but it sure puts all the right side disabled stroke survivors at a disadvantage and in Don's case it's making him look more caregiver-intense than he'll be at home.

Tomorrow we're expecting another snow storm to come through so I'm not looking forward day eight's commute.

Jean Riva ©

Christmas: Past, Present and Future

It's Christmas Eve and feelings of happiness that Don's aorta aneurysm surgery was successful are intermingled with fleeting feelings of fear and sadness. Fear of a future filled with loneliness should Don, at some point, cease to be before my time on earth has ended. Sad at past loses and flowing tears.

I left the hospital today, came home to an arthritic dog with cataract encrusted eyes and he reminded me even more of how fragile life can be. Don, the dog and going back and forth to the hospital couldn't help but bring ghosts of another holiday season not so long ago when I held my dad's hand at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve and shortly afterwards he ceased to be. Dead while the rest of the world rollicked in colorful wrapping paper and ribbons. Dead while shiny stars stood tall on the tops of twinkling trees and gazed down on laughing children who were too young to understand or care about the pain in my heart.

I had no Christmas spirit this year. No cards went out. Short of a wreath on the front door, no decorations shouted out their joy around our house. I barely was able to open greeting cards that arrived in the mailbox. I felt guilty cheating Don out of the traditions we've carved out for ourselves, living here these past few years since his stroke. But buried deep in the corner of my mind was the fear that Don would die or be forever lost in the maze of disabilities that would finally put him in a nursing home. It was a secret I couldn't share that I knew I couldn’t have come home, if the worst had happened, to a house with Christmas decor. It would have mocked me for being so presumptuous that Don would beat the odds once again. And it would have forever sealed the association of tinsel and boughs of holly with death. But the worst didn't happen and I am grateful that in a few days I'll no longer have to look across the empty space that Don usually occupies beside me in the bedroom.

The dog is doing what dogs do---begging for treats and his little toenails clicking on the Linoleum keeps the fear of the future and the sadness of the past at bay as I watch "It's a Wonderful Life" for the umpteenth time in my life. That old black and white movie with James Stewart and Donna Reed is Don's favorite Christmas film. It seems quite appropriate as I end this essay that I should hear Clarence, the angel-in-training, sum up the entire message of the film in two sentences: "Each man's life touches so many others' lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he."

Jean Riva ©

Disaster or an Inconvenience?

We all make ourselves crazy over stupid things. I know I used to do it a lot. I was the queen of making mountains out of mole hills and I would stress out over, well... the dumbest things. A missed appointment, a road closure when I was running late, a flat tire, a miscommunication with a friend over a planned engagement, a rainy day when I had special plans---these types of things had me fretting and fuming and feeling like a failure because I couldn’t micro management my life into a flawless flow of trouble-free days.

Then I learned “the secret” but it came after I’d neatly had a melt down after Don’s stroke. I’d been in the caregiver’s circus less than six months at the time. Don was still going to therapies four days a week, all afternoon, which of course I had to attend. I was also involved in selling off his heavy equipment that was parked all over four counties, and I was worried about the two houses we had sitting void of human inhabitants because we had to move into a wheelchair accessible apartment. Cash flow was a serious issue. Our futures were uncertain.

I don’t know who told me “the secret.” I could have read it in a book, I could have learned it from the Oprah Show---I don’t remember. But I do know it changed my life and I’m going to tell it to you. Free of charge, no strings attached. Drum roll, please. Here it is. Whenever you’re stressed out or mad over something going on in your life, ask yourself this question: is this a disaster or an inconvenience?

With those seven little words I learned to dial down my stress level and I do mean dial it down big time. A flat tire? No, it wasn’t a disaster. No one died, no one lost a limb because of it. A friend who didn’t show up when expected? A miscommunication---a disaster or inconvenience? It certainly doesn’t rate up there with losing your home to a flood or fire. By applying the is-this-a-disaster-or-an-inconvenience question to every situation that had the potential for raising my blood pressure or hurting my feelings, it helped get me through some very tough times. The bottom line is that very few things fall into the category of a disaster and very few inconveniences are worth trading in your live-in-the-moment card for a membership in the Doom and Gloom Club where they sit around for days after every miss-step in life stewing about what went wrong.

Jean Riva ©

P.S. The photo is of me from about the time Don and I met. See the previous blog entry for his circa 1970 photo.