A Mother to Me

Mother's Day has been a day of mixed emotions for the last five years. In the same year I mourned my own mother's passing, I celebrated the life of my own child growing inside me. There was never a year without mothering of some sort. It has only been recently that I've been burdened by the question, "But who mothers me when I need a mommy?" What I've realized over these years is that in the absence of my own physical mother, so many others are working to fill the hole.

I've always had a few people at work who I think of as my "work mommy"--someone who I consider a mentor, a confidant, and who I know genuinely cares about me and has my back. I still have someone at work like that, and I'm grateful for her every day. This is mothering to me.

The obvious mothers in my life are my own family.  My Auntie, my Oma, my cousin Mari, my mother-in-law. Though I don't have daily or even really regular contact with these amazing women, they are all there for me when I need them, unconditionally. This is mothering to me.

In a different way, my strong female friends fill the mother hole for me. So many of them who understand me the way my mom did, and who have known me for so long and through so much, who have listened to me blabber and cry and question and contemplate. These women who mother alongside me and reassure me of my own mothering capabilities when I doubt myself and have no mother to go to for reassurance or guidance. We mother together. We are the village of the future, raising amazing people together through strong powerful motherhood. This is mothering to me.

In the last few days, Adelaide has started saying things like she can't wait to be the one to do things for me. She wants to cook for me and do the laundry. She has been commenting on how much I do for everyone. At this moment she is orchestrating a bacon-smelling extravaganza, in true mother fashion. She is already a caregiver for Joseph, and for all of us. It amazes me how much her spirit is my mother's. When she was conceived mere weeks after my mother died, I knew her spirit was in this child. But now that she is growing into this person, I know it for a fact.

The full circle is being drawn and I am in the center of it. Surrounded by the love and spirit of the mothers and mother-spirits in my life. Safe, and protected. Looked-after with compassion and concern. I am not without a mother. I am the mother. We are all mother. Today I will not mourn the absent. I will celebrate the mother-ness and completeness of my amazing life.

Thank you my beautiful women.

In Memory of Mike Kullman

Colleague, Friend, Behavior Analyst

Mike passed this morning at 4am in peace, Kathy said. Just a few months ago he was in the office complaining of indigestion and fatigue. Two useless rounds of chemo later, the cancer metastasized all over his body. Within a week he couldn’t walk. That was three weeks ago. There’s no rhyme or reason to why bad things happen to good people, and everyone who knows Mike knows he is nothing if not “good people.” I’m writing in tribute to him, to never forget his purpose, his legacy, and to somehow keep a place-holder in this ridiculous gaping hole that is now left in our amazing team.

Sitting in a coffee shop, Mike’s favorite place to get stuff done (he couldn’t stand the chaos and drama of the office and preferred his book closet at Gregory Gardens, or a cozy coffee shop), I remember his favorite drink: medium (grande) coffee with skim milk. He never deviated from that (except on his birthday when he would splurge with a mocha). We frequently met at the Starbucks near Sun Terrace, to catch up on the issues around his caseload, to ponder questions of supervision and behavior analysis, and to lean on each other for support.

He gave me a run for my money as a supervisor. He taught me to stand up for myself. He taught me that you have to say what you think unapologetically when you feel strongly about it. And he felt strongly about many things, most of all, doing the RIGHT thing for CHILDREN. At the root of his passion was his drive to serve kids ethically. As much as we bickered about caseload minutia, he motivated me to be a more compassionate and thoughtful supervisor, but also how to hold the line even through complaint. Through this relationship, we both felt mutual respect. He told me on many occasions that he has stayed longer in this job than any job he has ever had. Because of me. He told other behaviorists, if it weren’t for me, he would have split. He spoke often of retirement. I would see him in my mind’s eye spending all of his time riding the Harley, fixing up his cars, and maybe consulting with us from time to time to solve our most challenging behavior-analytic issues. His time was cut short. He retired on Monday. He died on Thursday.

Mike will always be remembered at the preschools for his annual appearance as Santa Claus. He relished this more than anything. And that’s saying a lot for a Jewish guy. In my second-to-last visit with him, we shared pictures of his preschoolers on his knee as Santa, and he was moved to tears. It was too much. Mike’s love for the children was always evident. Who knew a big hairy biker hippy could be such a softy? (All of us did.)

Mike’s treasured program was CEP at Sun Terrace. He felt at home in the mental health world. He felt he could go back to his roots in counseling and bring the support of behavior analysis to this world. Our next project together was going to be to “breech” the entire MDUSD Mental Health Collaborative. He was ready and excited to take it on, and the sites literally asked, “When can he start!?” Sadly, Mike never got the chance to embark on this journey with us. Our team will carry on that goal as we move forward, in his spirit and his honor.

Mike and I shared many things: a love of coffee, being a nonconformist/hippy at heart, being sorta Jewish (though he never did bring me those famous potato pancakes), a passion for clinically-sound behavior analysis, and most of all, DATA. His nickname was GraphMan, dubbed so by a sarcastic principal, but the nickname stuck, and suited him well. Mr. Mike, GraphMan. Always could be counted on for some STIP data, or a collaborator in the interpretation of your ABC data. He reminded us all to always be behavior-analytic, even in the face of sarcasm. And to wear the labels with pride, knowing every second he was doing the right thing for the children.

Every time we go to Diggers Diner, we will see Mike and have a spot for him at our table. Gregory Gardens will always have a room where he did his best work. Sun Terrace has a chair for him at their meeting table. Our behaviorist office hasn’t housed him for several years, but his absence is devastating. We will fill our space with his books and the knowledge he kept on paper. There will be no replacement for the knowledge, wisdom, and experience Mike had to share, and that is what we will miss the most. He made us all better behavior analysts. He made me a better supervisor. He made teachers better. He made children smile. He improved the quality of life of everyone he touched.

And yesterday, in his last hours, he held my hand so tight and looked me in the eye, and I know he knew it was me, and I know he was happy. Kathy said in his ear, “Mike, you have done everything you can do now. Lorien will take care of everything else now. You have done your work for the children.” I think closure was achieved for her and for him. Now it’s my job to fulfill the expectation and to carry on the legacy in our department. Literally big biker boots to fill with my little size 7’s. But I’m going to give it my darndest. And with the impressive team standing beside me, we’ve got this made.

Dead-Head, gearhead, bikey, hippy,teddy bear, Santa, GraphMan, Mr. Mike, Educational Consultation and Behavior Management Specialist, professor, friend, mentor, father, husband, brother, son….. Mike was many things to many people. What an honor to have known him.

Rest in Peace Mr. Mike

Today I aimed for joy

In yoga, you begin every practice by setting an intention. In the past weeks since I have been regularly practicing again, I have chosen things like "patience," "calm," "peace," "strength," etc. So today I chose joy. Because I wondered if I am capable of reaching that. In my previous practices, I have achieved those intentions, but did I achieve joy today? Do I even remember what actual joy feels like?

Since my episode last year with anxiety, I have been so focused on just being "ok" and "just keeping going" and "just getting through it." I think I've achieved and surpassed the ability to just be ok with just being ok. Now I want more. This month of "no grumping" has been so eye-opening. I've mastered the art of keeping the grump at bay, making room for new feelings, beyond just coping and fighting the grump. It's time for joy! I can find joy through gratitude, but it seems different to just think thoughts of joy without actual feeling the difference. Not being grumpy and just being ok is a very stagnant feeling.  I do believe that there must be downs in order to appreciate the ups, but can I just be up now? Or can the downs be things unrelated to stress or grumpiness? I don't know. 

So I think I am a step (or vinyasa) closer to finding actual joy. I'm not there yet. I wonder if Zoloft has something to do with it. I have relied so heavily on it to just stay sane and deal with life, but am I now at the point of compromising other emotions and feelings in favor of maintaining that controlled calm? What is the trade-off? I feel happy. I feel content. I feel satisfied. But is there joy? I don't know. Perhaps joy isn't a feeling that can just be summoned. Perhaps I need to let the feelings of contentedness and gratitude grow into joy. Perhaps the things I have been feeling content and grateful for can become things that make me joyful. 

Maybe my new mantra and intention every day in life is not just to find gratitude. I think joy begins with gratitude. So now I've mastered gratitude. Now I'm aiming for joy. On we go....

A Letter to the Parents Hanging Around at Drop-Off

I don't know you. But I'm not gonna lie--I'm jealous of you. Standing around chatting in your yoga pants after dropping your children off at school while I scurry back to my mom-van to rush, yet again, to my stress-case of a job. After spending every waking moment of my with-children time rushing to and fro and fro and to and back again, all I want is a stretch of time, uninterrupted by necessities, BY MYSELF. Like you. Standing around in my yoga pants, talking to adults about whatever fanciful, meaningless thing might pop into one's head. And even as I sit writing this, when I am supposed to be writing a report for my stress-case job, I feel guilty for daring to take work-day morning time to vent something for my own mental health.

But I implore you, parents hanging around at drop-off, don't look at me with pity, as the line between my eyebrow deepens with intensifying fret. Because my mom-van takes me places where I can change the world. Not just for myself, but for EVERYONE who lives in it. And though I'm not wearing yoga pants, I'm bending over backwards to incite change in this unfair world; to advocate for the under-dog, stand up for those who cannot stand, and to speak words of love and justice on behalf of those who cannot speak. While you stand around chatting about your next girls' spa weekend, I am creating the future for all of our children, including the ones you just dropped off at school.

So I'm ok with that. Jealous and all.

Now back to work.

Marin

She taught us how to love. Whatever the purpose of her short life, she gave us that. No moments taken for granted in our own lives. The fear of losing is real. Loss is real and unbearable. And what's left? Wondering, wishing, regretting.... What is the purpose? Why would so small a person be brought onto the earth just to live and die? Why should they have to live through this torture? Is it better to have known her at all, just to lose her? What is the purpose. The purpose is love. To know love and to appreciate love and to move forward with a different love in your heart. The love that was lost. Better to have loved and lost.... And what's next? Hope? Why? Sadness. Abundant. Resilience. Necessary. Impossible? Maybe. Survival. More practical. Marin's life, as short and precious as it has been, is not for naught. She taught them love.  She taught us how to exist in love. Keep moving forward................

Rest in peace beautiful girl. Oma Judy is yours now. 

On Being A "Mother"

September 19, 2013

I never envisioned myself as a mother.  I never dreamed of being a mommy or felt any attachment to that concept.  Oddly, I’ve spent three years as a mother and only just realized this fact.  I recognize that I am a mother, cognitively.  Emotionally, I’m not sure what it’s supposed to feel like.  I think I maybe felt like a mother to Addy before Joseph was born—that feeling of overwhelming and all-consuming love—I think that’s the feeling that would equal “mother.”  But it went away when I had Joseph.  Instead of my heart growing, it went cold.  I’ve spent the last month trying to reconnect and rediscover the pleasure of being a mother.  It’s been nearly impossible.  I know I love my children.  I know I’m responsible for them and that I would do anything for them.  But to identify myself, appreciatively, as the incessant “mommy” that I’m labeled as by this small person, there’s a disconnect.  I don’t love being called “mommy.”  I realize that’s the most appropriate thing for my children to call me, but I don’t think of myself with that word.  I can’t remember if I ever did.  Maybe it’s because I can only associate that word with my own (lack of) mother.  I’m sure I’ll need to explore that topic some other time.

I think all this is closely related to my anxiety.  Until last weekend, on my own with the 2 kids (and the dog, and her fleas), I had absolutely no concept that I could actually handle my own children.  I had been faking it, with a constant sinking putrid feeling in the pit of my stomach, but not connecting myself with any of it.  By the end of the weekend I felt so good about myself.  So confident!  So connected to my parenting abilities!  I suddenly realized that I have spent 3 years raising an amazing (if challenging) child who most people enjoy and think is cool so I must be doing something right.  And I have done this “baby” thing before, though I don’t think I really enjoyed it that much the first time around.  I think I eventually started enjoying it.  I don’t know when, but I’m definitely holding out for the enjoyment factor.  Right now, I still feel like I’m in survival mode.  I have sneak peeks of pleasure, but nothing lasting and tangible enough to make me 100% sure I understand why people have (multiple) children.

I’m not sad anymore, and I’m not particularly anxious anymore.  I know I’m on the “upswing” from where I’ve been.  However, I am definitely coming into many realizations about myself, being a parent, and how these massive choices I’ve made are going to stay with me forever.  I can’t ever go back to a carefree life of my own.  There are moments each day that I still long for that life.  I’d like to point out moments where I feel gratitude and adoration for parenthood, but I can’t at this point.  I’m still partly faking it, but at least it’s getting easier…

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