About

My Daughter/My Sister

by 8hummingbirdway

I wrote recently about the fact that my sister gave birth to my oldest daughter. I believe this was a result of a choice I made that caused pain for both of them. See prior post.

My daughter’s path:

My oldest child was born to my sister, who had taken LSD multiple times with a group of friends at a young age, and at some point got “stuck” in an imbalance through her experience. At the age of 14 or 15, she was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Her partner, when she brecame pregnant, was an alcoholic who had served in Vietnam. Things were not easy in their home with a newborn child, and at the age of 3 months my daughter was brought to my mother’s house. My mom cared for her for 10 months while I trained for a career which would enable me to support a child.  One might think this was a simple happy ending, but all her life my daughter has carried the pain of abandonment that all adopted children carry. Trust has never come easy to her. For so many many years she felt less than others. She navigated an abusive marriage, which, thank God, she found the strength to leave when her sons were 8 +10. I carry this knowledge of my beloved daughter’s pain.

Today she is an amazing woman. She has healed and is still healing herself and her sons from abuse. She walks tall and is kind. My grandsons are wise and loving – in college and finding their way to full manhood. She has a job she loves and a partner she loves and is becoming a gardener like her mom (me) and also has a special feeling for animals like her biological mother did when she was younger.

She is a loving and supportive and wise and present daughter. I wish she was closer, but I can get to her in 3 hours. I give thanks for her daily.

My sister’s path:

My sister has not had an easy time of it. It was difficult for us (my parents and 4 siblings) to accept our loss of the gentle person we had known, her imbalance and delusions. She spent time in an institution early on, in which she suffered abuse of various kinds at the hands mostly of other patients, including rape. The medication she was given for mental illness made it difficult to think, function, or relate to others. She had a hard time navigating a job or keeping an apartment. Becoming pregnant did not add to her stability, but she did her best.

At the age of 22, my sister was a migrant worker in Florida. When she realized she was pregnant, she returned to the fold of her family. Her boyfriend followed her back North and they were supported to set up housekeeping in a nearby apartment. I lived 4 hours away, and I remember seeing her once during this time. She really did glow. When my sister went into labor almost 2 months prematurely, she was flown to a hospital. Her daughter was in an incubator for some time, without a lot of touch, as happens. My sister took a bus daily and pumped her breasts at the hospital in a city about an hour away to provide the benefit of natural immunities and nutrients carried only in breastmilk. I remember visiting the baby there. She was beautiful.

I don’t know what happened when she was released from the hospital. I was told that one day my sister’s boyfriend showed up at my mother’s door and told her that our sister had left and said “Here’s the baby.” My mom was not physically strong, but managed to care for the baby for close to a year.

I had no thoughts of parenthood, but my father was forceful – saying this child might be all we had of my sister. I acquiesced. Plans were made for me, the oldest, to become her guardian. About 7 months later the 2 of them showed back up again.

This is where my heart breaks. My sister had been pumping milk for all that time so that she could fill a bottle and once again step into motherhood. However, it was not a positive dynamic that they brought into my mother’s house. I had fully embraced the path ahead and “our” baby was now 10 months old. I was spending weekends with her at both my mom’s and my home.

Now my sister had returned and was setting up obstacles so the baby couldn’t get to my mom. She’d crawl over or around one, and another suitcase or box would be set up. Scarves were draped around her neck. I walked into this scenario unexpectedly on day of my sister’s return. My mom, paralyzed, was allowing this. I banished my sister and her boyfriend, taking “my” daughter home with me for a week while my mom had her locks changed. No conversations. No explanations. No attempt to navigate the change of course with compassion or grace. I just went into protective mom mode and took the action I perceived as correct. [Did I mention how much I loved and missed my sister? A story for another day.]

I think of this as the day I stole my sister’s child.

We didn’t see my sister again for years. This lovely child turned my boyfriend and I into parents; we got married and adopted her. We were a family. We had 2 more children a few years later. My sister did return to the area where our parents lived for a few years, and she and her biological (our) daughter got to know each other during family gatherings. Then she disappeared again. Nothing about any of this – presence or absence – was easy for either of them. 

My daughter never saw her biological father again. Our door was open to him and there was one aborted visit that broke her 4 year old heart. When she was a young adult, he called her off and on for a few years saying “Hi it’s your father.” She informed him one day that he was not her father, and maybe that’s when the calls began to include alcohol and anger. When she moved, he no longer had her number (cell phones). My daughter learned after trying to seek him out a couple years ago that he had died the prior year.

My sister now lives 2 times zones away, has a stable life and our youngest sister and her husband provide connection and family in the form of their children and grandchildren on a regular basis.

My gratitude is boundless.

So much pain all around. But a song arises, strangely from this telling. The words are …

From thee I receive, To thee I give, Together we share, And from this we live.

Because there is also so much love.

I thank my father for keeping my sister and my daughter in our lives.

I thank my youngest sister for providing so much for our challenged sister.

And as well as the knowledge of their pain, I carry the wonder of my sweet sister’s gift to me.

I will tell more about all of this – of us on our joined and separate journeys – at some point.

Listen to song mentioned above (hoping I posted it correctly). https://youtube.com/shorts/F1-eICA5hS0?feature=shared

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My Sister/My Daughter

by 8hummingbirdway

This is a long story that I will tell in pieces. 

I will start by telling about the time I went to see a psychic. I was around 32. The woman lived about 40 minutes away from me and was recommended to me by a friend. She had no knowledge of my life.

I came with a few questions, the first being “What happened to the souls of the 2 children I decided I wasn’t ready to give birth to?” [I had 2 abortions, which I regret today because of my experiences in parenting, my deep love for my children, my love for all children, because of what I have come to understand about the soul, and because of the challenges to myself and others that seem to have been created by that choice.]

I will never forget her answer to my question. “The one is your son and the other is your sister’s child.”

I had been told by a teacher of sorts that the souls of aborted children would circle around the mother and be stuck there for the rest of her life. The woman’s answer, however, brought me a great deal more than relief from that concern. At the time of this meeting I had two children – my very young son and my daughter, 6 or 7, who I had adopted when my sister was unable to care for her child. I told the psychic this, and she was deeply impacted, as was I. In that moment I felt relief, wonder and gratitude.

Over the years, I have also come to understand the grief that resulted from my earlier choices based in fear. I believe that I was meant to be their mom, and am SO grateful that they came again to me. My daughter found another pathway – and my sister must have agreed, at the soul level, to serve us in this way. I do believe that this is the truth of what occurred – and if I am right in my perception, my sister and my daughter have suffered substantially because of my choice.

I understand that I did my best.

I do not berate myself for choices made long ago.

But I do carry the knowledge of the pain I believe I caused.

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Truth, Compassion, and Especially Forbearance

by 8hummingbirdway

About 5 years ago, when I was still working, there was a woman on my floor who I met in the lunchroom a couple of times. She was soft spoken and friendly and her name was Yu. She was born in China. Her department moved up a couple of flights and I didn’t see her again until one day she was out in the courtyard at lunch practicing graceful exercises under a tall tree. A week or two later, I ran into her and asked her about it and she told me she was practicing Falun Gong, a type of Qigong. She invited me to join her anytime and she would teach me the exercises. 

And so my relationship with Falun Gong, also called Falun Dafa, began. I liked the graceful exercises. There was an aspect of dance to them. There were 5 of them. 1, 3 + 4 were fairly easy to learn. Number 2 was more challenging. It involved holding one’s arms up in a circle position (like wheel) for a long time in 4 different positions. It lasted 30 minutes and was grueling for a while, never easy. However, I was engaged by the flow and balance and grace of the exercises, and I mastered #2. Meanwhile, I was introduced to #5 which was called “Strengthening Divine Power.”  Each exercise has a name, an intention, and music that goes with them. Exercise # 2 was nothing compared to #5 where one is to sit in full lotus position for a full hour. I started with half lotus for 30 minutes and was able to push it to 40 or 45 minutes on occasion.  It was very uncomfortable – and that is part of the reason for it – to develop forbearance.

I practiced the exercises at home when we couldn’t meet. I found them compelling.

After several months of doing the exercises at home and at lunch breaks, I was invited to join a group that Yu was part of. She seemed to be the leader. They met in the evening and read from a book called Zhuan Falun, meaning Revolving the Law Wheel. This book contained the philosophy and beliefs behind the exercises. I had no idea about the book or the beliefs when I first learned and practiced the exercises. There was much in the book that I easily aligned with. There were also things that seemed fantastical, but I have learned not to judge prematurely. I do not pretend to know everything. I hold the information within me and I allow it to sit there. The most impactful thing to me was the 3 main tenets: Truth, Compassion, and Forbearance. Truth and compassion were familiar to me. I am devoted to truth, at least to my truth and I often find that the “truth of the matter” is key to me in navigating my life. Compassion is also an old friend. I do my best to sustain compassion. I sometimes fail, but it is a path I respect, admire, and aspire to navigate.

Forbearance, however, was a new concept to me. It translates into simply “putting up” with what I encounter. I had never been that kind of person. I fought with my big opinioin against unfairness and faulty judgment (especially in others), thinking I had all the answers. The book gave many examples of the proper way to conduct oneself and I found it wise. I may not have understood all of it, but I came to understand that I was lacking, not the book. It was my introduction to a deep humility that I find extremely valuable.

The discussions after reading the sections were helpful, and I slowly made changes that were difficult, yet so valuable to my personal development and my path in this life.

The following Spring I met with some members of the group outside weekly and we did the exercises together (as much as I was able). Sometimes we would read afterward. I was the only non-Chinese person, and was treated with kindness, respect, and increasing warmth.

In June of that year I was in a bicycle accident that injured my trachea, making one of the exercises unwise to do for a couple of years, and I stopped my pursuit of Falun Dafa altogether. I feel I have recovered, but I haven’t returned to the practice. It’s a big time commitment to do the exercises daily and to pursue the teachings – and I’m not ready to make that commitment at this time in isolation, or commit to meeting with the group.

Perhaps the day will come again. I feel the pull as I write these words. Until then, I remain grateful for the experience and for having developed forbearance – and the humility that it engenders within me.

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Addiction and Mental Illness

by 8hummingbirdway

Why does addiction have to exist? Why can’t we be protected from all harmful substances – from heroin to pesticides? Why can’t we be born into an environment of support, understanding, wisdom, love and harmony that would help us avoid the pitfall of addiction?

Addiction provides SO MANY challenges to block our way, pitfalls to get lost in, and falsities to misguide, weaken and frighten us.

I have watched a beloved member of my family fight addiction to drugs and alcohol for years and years. This is a kind, loving, funny, strong, loyal, helpful and delightful person of deep insight and perception. Addiction manifested early in this person’s life – with a group of experimenting friends, some of whom died young, some who did not succumb as fully, and some who are still figuring out how to be free of this burden. This soul-wrenching challenge brings them to their knees over and over again. I am grateful for AA, for the sponsors that show up repeatedly, and for the slow progress to stability, self-knowledge and personal wellbeing. (I know there are other pathways to recovery as well.) I am also grateful for family members that embrace and support our beloved one reliably, despite the pain we experience. We have had to learn to mitigate our disappointment and worry, to accept what is, what lines to draw and how to draw them in a way that is most helpful but does not harm us.

And then there’s mental illness. Two members of my immediate family were diagnosed as schizophrenic. More distant family members have been diagnosed as bipolar, “on the spectrum.” depressed, and borderline personality. I have to say I have my doubts about many of these diagnoses. Are the symptoms that allow categorization into these ever-newly created diagnoses simply responses to the emotional, spiritual, mental and physical environment we are born to? Are the medications simply to keep those with reactions to our culture “manageable?”

I feel I understand the reason for the existence of addiction and other obstacles to our wellbeing. I believe we choose them before stepping into life. I believe that we navigate multiple incarnations that include severe challenges of body, mind, and more – that result in increased wisdom as a result of encountering and rising up above these conditions – and sometimes wisdom gained by failing to overcome the challenges.

One of my tasks as a shamanic practitioner is to assist those who have died but have not come to terms with their lives. Often they have not been able to forgive themselves for the steps they took in their lives. Because of this (or for other reasons), they cannot move on or return to Source, to Spirit, to God. Engaging with and assisting these lost souls has taught me a great deal about the unfoldment of life, about forgiveness of self and others, and about how we gain knowledge.

Another task is to help those still living to heal their trauma. I am grateful for having landed in a place where I can help to mitigate the challenges, to show a way forward, call forth wellbeing and self love.

There are many who do not find their way to help, who are lost in the fog of addiction, mental illness and other obstacles to wellbeing. Some of them are people I love; some of them may be people you love. Our options are to either stand by or let go, hopefully in love.

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More about Dad

by 8hummingbirdway

I wrote recently about my father being fun and present when I was growing up. He played with us kids when he got home from work, took us “big” kids out on Saturdays, and actually took me to a couple of rock concerts when I was a teenager.

A lot of fathers barely engaged with their childrenin the 1950’s and 60’s. I have come to realize how fortunate I was.

Dad and I experienced some disharmony later in life, and we were estranged during the last few years of his life. Perhaps I will write about this someday; it’s a vulnerable place for me. Our estrangement was largely my doing and was not entirely justified.

More and more I look back and realize that he was a present and loving father. He is the source of much that I am and strive to be.

I met Dad in a lovely dream a couple years ago. We were watching over my older daughter, as we both did when she was little. I told him I hoped we would meet again in another lifetime – and sustain harmony. He said “I don’t know about that. We both have strong personalities and have often opposed each other.”

I guess that explains some things.

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Embracing Love

by 8hummingbirdway

I had the most amazing experience last week. I went to a local concert with my husband to dance and move a bit and simply enjoy myself. It was lovely.

While I was there I observed a mother and her young son (about 1 year old) strapped to the front of her. Their intimacy and love was palpable. It reminded me of my relationship with my first biological child, my son. The business of giving birth was behind me. And giving birth was transformational – changing me to mother most surely and bringing him life. The stage was set for a blissful connection. We were more aligned than I have ever experienced before or since. (Although I have experienced something similar with my husband at times.) Recently, however, I have been more challenged in my connection with my son, or lack of connection. But as I watched this mother and her child, I felt their love actually wash over me and remind me of the past, of how completely supportive and present I was for my child. I knew there was no mistake, that the experience of the mother-child love that I felt and experienced was a divine gift for me that would serve me. I knew this was the answer for me – to return to a fully supportive orientation with my son.

The next day I was still uncertain about how to shift the dynamics. I shared my challenge and my experience with a friend, and she gave me the most wonderful advice! “For the next couple of weeks just write yourself a quick note about how grateful you are for …. Fill it in describing the relationship you desire with your son. Describe it and feel how you would as if it is already established, in the present. How close you feel to him, the connection that you share, grateful that supporting him has brought this closeness and bond that reminds you of when he was a toddler. Think it, act it, feel it. – It is  amazing what can manifest in such a short period of time. Create and visualize the exact connection as if it is already happening. It has done amazing things for me. The law of attraction.”

On day one I experienced the love that I felt at the concert again. I gave thanks for it at my altar. I started to think differently about my son. I reached out to him in a supportive way on his last day home for Thanksgiving (at his sister’s) and I felt certain that a shift in the challenging dynamic I have been experiencing is possible. This 2 week assignment that my friend provided will help me sustain the supportive orientation and will change everything within me, which cannot help but impact our relationship.

I’m sharing this experience in the hope that others may take on this assignment to transform dynamics in their lives that are not as they would wish.

The truth is that WE are the designer of our lives and experience.

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Daily Practice

by 8hummingbirdway

One of the best things I do for my personal wellbeing is to connect with God/Spirit/Source every day. For me, this is often first thing upon awakening. It sets the tone for the day and renews my deepest intentions. 

It’s kind of like a visit with my best friend. 

Actually, it IS a visit to my best friend .. and biggest supporter.

An altar can be as simple as a candle that you light to symbolize or enact this connection. Or sage to burn. Or water to anoint yourself. Or a stone to hold.

I have all of these present on my altar because I am oriented in an earth-based tradition where the simplest aspects of spirituality are earth, air, fire, and water. We all carry these 4 elements in this physical realm we inhabit.

Over time, other items have come to sit on and near my altar – small photos of my most beloved ones, reminders of my helping spirits, symbols of my ancestors, seashells + feathers, and reminder notes about how to navigate my life.

I realize as I write this, that my time at the altar IS prayer. The presence of the 4 elements and other items make it stand apart from what I have thought of as prayer. But it is the same action – being present to the spirit within and the source beyond. 

Anything can be spokenor expressed here at my altar …gratitude, requests, intentions. Also songs are sung.

Gratitude – I give thanks daily for my life and for the present day, for my loved ones and my home, for my ancestors who walked this earth before me and brought me forth. I give thanks also, as I am moved, for spiritual support, for opportunities, experiences, teachings, etc.

Requests – I ask for protection, transformation, healing, release, expansion, alignment with my soul, opportunity to help, 

Intentions are woven into my requests – to walk a path of service and humility, to be more aware, to navigate life with love and generosity, to be present and open, etc.

If you are stepping onto a new path of connection with God/Spirit/Source, or if you want to strengthen the path you are already on, you may find a daily practice of your own creation to be a help to you.

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Practicing Letting Go

by 8hummingbirdway

Last year at Thanksgiving I found myself deeply upset because I couldn’t catch a moment with my 36 year old son, who visited his sister for several days. I hadn’t seen him for 6 or 7 months and I had expected he would come “home” to visit, but his slate was full before he arrived and mom time was not on the list. He agreed that in the future, he would be sure to make time to have breakfast one day – just the two of us.

This year, we set up a time for breakfast before he came home, and we had that breakfast this morning, the day after our Thanksgiving gathering. It was a positive time and I learned more about what is going on in his life, and shared what is up with me. Then, as I dropped him back off at his sister’s house, I said to call me if they were playing cards or a game I could join in, and he agreed. This afternoon I found myself fretting that there might be no call. My “boy” is 40 minutes away and I am not included in the activities.

I had received exactly what I asked for, but it wasn’t enough! I’m unsure what is at play.  I don’t miss my son terribly when he’s at his home, 8 hours away. I’m thrilled that he and his sister are so close. I have a full life of my own. It’s completely rational that he would want to spend time with local friends his own age.

So why this bereft feeling in my heart?

I really don’t get it. I think I’m in a great place and then I am blindsided by these leftover feelings from raising young children(?) Wherever they come from, these feelings are difficult to shake. And they make no sense.

This year, I will not share my disappointment. I will get busy cooking. I will practice my fiddle. I will take a walk. I will spend time with friends. I’ll go listen to some local music with my husband.

As time unfolds, I will continue to sustain positive relationships with all 3 of my children – without (or despite) that clingy aspect rearing its ugly head. I know how fortunate I am that I have positive relationships with my children.

Some days are just not easy.

Last Thanksgiving?

by 8hummingbirdway

I love Thanksgiving. It has long been my favorite holiday because of its simplicity, the blessing of calling people together, the simple activity of cooking together and sharing a meal, and the act of giving thanks together. Passover, which I learned to enjoy in my 30s, is a close second in its optimism and its celebration of freedom. It is also a lovely gathering of family and others around a specific meal, but …I don’t feel access to it in the same way. I wasn’t born into the tradition. We had a close friend nearby who would preside at our Passover table for several years in another state, but I rarely have a seat at the Passover table these days.

On Thanksgiving, I remember Grandma and Grandpa, aunts and uncles and cousins gathering in the late morning either at our home or my cousins. I remember the dates rolled in sugar that my father’s sister had on her table before the meal. I played with my cousins, Stephen, Kathy and Beth and my sister May. I soaked up some grandparent love and attention. We passed the time in these most pleasurable ways as Mom and Delphine focused on the extensive preparation of our elaborate and standard meal for a crowd on her fine china. This is one of the occasions where everyone would be called together to the living room, while we were waiting for the meal, so Dad could show off by standing on his hands and playing “Little Brown Jug” on his long abandoned violin. I remember Uncle Billy, a pastor, saying a Thanksgiving grace as the food steamed on the table before us and we impatiently waited to EAT!

As a parent, I took the lead in creating the holiday. Due to proximity, we usually had close friends rather than family join us, although sometimes my brother or sister would join the table. (I remember the year my younger daughter at the age of two absolutely would not keep her clothes on and she stood on her chair naked in the picture of us all at the table.) Although my children didn’t have cousins present, they had close friends. We did not possess fine china, but that was inconsequential to me. When we all sat down at the table, rather than listening to a prayer, we each took a turn giving thanks for the blessings of our lives before eating.

This is the tradition that my children were raised with and continue to facilitate, although an evolution has occurred. Now the cooking is shared by the generations. I still get the turkey into the oven and bring pie, but my son and daughter play their role, and my husband even made a pie this year. And now we start eating while the gratitude is shared around the table. I’m ok with that. I’m grateful to simply be there.

I told my children as they grew up that I wanted them to always come home for Thanksgiving when they grew up. The in-laws could have Christmas. This was successful for a long time, but now my older daughter is 3 hours away. She, her partner and my grown grandsons require flexibility away from “Over the River and Through the Woods to Grandmother’s House We Go.” So far my son has always come home, but the writing is on the wall, and I will have to travel in the future if I want to join a family table that includes my descendants. This morning I will go to my younger daughter’s house, about 30 minutes away, where she and her fiance will host the meal. My husband and stepson will be joining us (last year my ex-husband even came, which was nice).

My daughter and her husband-to-be will be moving to my son’s community next Summer, 8 hours away.

I have decided, while writing these words, that I will bring my fiddle to the Thanksgiving gathering today. I will call the memory of my father forth in words and by playing in my imperfect way “Little Brown Jug” before the meal. (I have only been “playing” for 2-3 months and it’s a very challenging instrument, I’ve discovered.) This is one small way I will feel that I can contribute to the passing on of the thread of family love …for my children and theirs.

There’s a plan for some of them to be here for Thanksgiving next year, but …I am unsure whether that will unfold. The future is uncertain. And I suppose I am letting go of this necessity to be at the table with them on this specific day. My oldest is 42, and so I have had a good long run.

Perhaps in the future we will join my brother-in-law’s table, although his wife has a large family. My husband is not inclined to travel hours to my family’s Thanksgiving. My beloved stepson and stepdaughter might be at our table, and possibly other friends – or we at theirs. I’m not ready to join the meal at the senior center, but I can see the blessing of simply arriving and chatting and sitting down to eat with friends. I do embrace change.

Expressing gratitude in community seems a blessed event to me. I am coming to terms with the changing shape of things. However I am not ready to stop. Perhaps I will try to incorporate giving thanks into some other gatherings. Or bring it to the table at home.

And …if my youngest daughter proves true in her intention to bring a couple of new humans into the world, I hope to be traveling to their table at this time of year in the future. Maybe by then I will be able to lure my husband too.

Dad

by 8hummingbirdway

I recently told my husband that my dad took me and my best friend to a couple of rock concerts in the early 70s. As well as the Rolling Stones, he took me to see Cream.

How generous of him! To sit and listen to that loud rock music with me!

This was not what other friends’ dads were doing.

When I was about 7 or 8, Mom petitioned for a weekly day of relative peace and quiet. Dad, who also worked all week in the city, took the ‘big’ kids out on Saturdays, mostly lunch and bowling or golfing. We held up other golfing groups, and I’m sure navigating us (all under 10) was a challenge, but I don’t recall him losing his patience.

When I was younger, I remember him giving me rides on his back and playing math games with me. He was fun, and I couldn’t wait for him to come home from work every day. I still love numbers.

I don’t know if I ever thanked Dad for the concerts.

I will be thanking him this morning at my altar, for all of it.

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