Inspiration – Page 2 – Are You Finished Yet?

There You Go, Mom…Making Me Learn Stuff Again

Published on October 9, 2012October 9, 2015 by Kelly Suellentrop7 Comments

My parents did a very convenient thing: they were born four days apart from each other. Needless to say, when they hit those important milestone birthdays, it makes things easier on me and my siblings. One giant bang of a celebration, and we are good. That is exactly what we did this past weekend. I am still exhausted.

P1000351 — Do I really have parents this old?

My dad welcomed his sixth decade on earth last week, and today it is my mom’s turn. But today is a little more than just a birthday; it is a celebration of second chances. As my dad tearfully admitted at their party, there were two times in his life when he didn’t think he would live to see 60: when he almost fell from a jerry-rigged rope bridge between two fly ash electrostatic precipitators (…um, no clue. That is total enginerd territory), and when he was being wheeled down a hospital corridor on his way to a quadruple bypass surgery. And there was one time, much more recently, when he was afraid my mom wouldn’t make it to 60, either (cue the tears from the entire room, the resulting red eyes ruining all good photo ops during the “Happy Birthday” song…thanks, Dad).

I have only mentioned my mom’s accident once in this blog, for a few reasons. I try to keep this space fairly light-hearted, mostly because I don’t like reading stuff from negative nancies, so why would I expect other people to be interested in reading about my woes? Second, facing things like the mortality of your parents is pretty heavy and emotional stuff and, well, I have a good dose of German blood running through my veins. We don’t always deal with that stuff very well. We like to bottle it up; and when we do let it out, it usually results in a rather uncontrollable “ugly cry” and virtually indecipherable words between sobs.

But let me give you the Cliff’s Notes version of everything that has happened the last five or so months: My mom had been having these spells where she would pass out, and the doctors were not sure what was causing them. Before they could figure it out, she unfortunately fainted and fell one morning, landing on her head. She fractured her neck and bruised her spinal cord, an injury that could have very well left her completely paralyzed or dead. There was quite a long time of uncertainty about how my mom’s body would heal. The doctors said she would regain feeling and mobility in her hands and feet, but they could not say how much or how quickly. And they still couldn’t figure out what was making her pass out, which put her in danger of the same thing happening again. After weeks in the hospital, dealings with blood clots, months at a rehab facility, and even more months in outpatient therapy, my mom has persevered and is able to walk on her own again. The cause of the fainting spells has been found to be seizures, and she is now on the appropriate medication to (hopefully) keep this from happening again. She is still not back to where she was pre-accident, and probably never will be. But considering the alternatives, I don’t think I would have it any other way.

So today, my mom has made 60 even more fabulous than it would have been. And to celebrate, I would like to share six things I have learned from my mom’s accident.

Sexy. (*not my mom's legs) via Wikipedia licensed under CC BY 2.0 — Sexy. (*not my mom’s legs) via Wikipedia licensed under CC BY 2.0

1. My mom can rock a pair of TED hose compression stockings like nobody’s business. She even pulled them off with formal wear at two weddings this summer. Who needs fish nets?

2. I am apparently of the age where doctors seem to feel I am the keeper of and the person whom should be consulted about my parents’ health history and concerns as well as the medications they are on. And I am absolutely not comfortable with that. When my mom was in the hospital, her neurosurgeon (who was quickly dubbed as being “my buddy”) would direct all conversation about my mom’s condition to ME…despite the fact that my father, the patient’s HUSBAND, who is of sound mind and body, was also in the room. Dude, my parents are just turning 60. They aren’t that old. I’m not committing them to the nursing home quite yet. I still refuse to believe I am old enough to be the mother of a seven-year-old, let alone keep track of the bazillion and one medications you are about to put my mother on. Give me a few more years to defer all important decisions to my parents. I’m not the matriarch yet. Geez.

3. No matter how young you are, everyone who uses a walker ends up looking like my Great Aunt Ginny, God rest her soul. Sorry, Mom. You were totally doing the Aunt Ginny shuffle.

4. The best motivation for not having to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of your life is to order your wheelchair from a company who never actually delivers said wheelchair. It’s a long and ridiculous story (as are most things health insurance related), but basically, my mom never got the wheelchair they ordered. So it’s a good thing she’s walking now.

5. When the going gets tough, you realize how amazing your friends and family are. My mom is lucky to have so many people who care about her. The outpouring of prayers and support was vast. Even better was the number of friends and family who were literally at my mom’s side; bringing dinners, driving her to therapy, keeping her company at home before she got the green light to be by herself, and taking her to the store or just out to lunch. That did wonders for my mom’s spirit. But it also put my dad at ease as he went back to work, enabled my sister and I to keep our own households running, and helped my brother deal with being in another city, knowing that mom was cared for. We are all so grateful for this band of generous souls.

6. My mom is pretty bad ass. If you would have asked me that day in the emergency room if I thought my mom would be where she is today, doing what she is doing less than six months from the accident, I probably would have said no. Not because I didn’t have any faith in my mom, but simply because everything was so unknown and, frankly, scary. But my mom did not let that get the better of her. And I know that she is doing as well as she is today not only because of the miraculous way the body can heal itself, but mostly because my mom decided on how she wanted things to be. And she made it so.

So Happy 60th Birthday, Mom! Welcome to the decade of second chances, you compression stocking fashionista, you. Love you.

The Firefly Effect: The Disappearance of Childhood

Published on June 20, 2012September 3, 2013 by Kelly Suellentrop10 Comments

“Hey look! A firefly!”

My kids scampered off into the duskly shrouded park to chase the lone intermittent yellow illumination, as my husband and I sat listening to the music of Cornet Chop Suey’s free concert.

“Remember catching fireflies as kids and putting them in mason jars with holes punched in the lids?” I mused. “You don’t see as many fireflies these days.”

“Because there aren’t as many as there used to be,” my husband replied.

Silently, I mourned that childhood just isn’t what it used to be. It seems even fireflies are finding themselves in the same company as trick-or-treating, riding bikes around the neighborhood, and imagination…the vanishing company of childhood.

We accuse many thieves in the robbery of youth. Mistrust of mankind keeps us from allowing our kids to knock on strangers’ doors and see how much candy their costumes can bring in. Rising violence and fear of child kidnappers and pedophiles make us wary to let our little ones roam in carefree exploration of new ventures of play. We blame technology for doing the legwork of imagination for our kids, or claim that they are too overloaded with school and extracurriculars to have any time to daydream. And in the case of the disappearing fireflies, the culprits appear to be industrial development and light pollution. With all of these things becoming endangered species, what kind of childhood is left for our kids to enjoy?

But maybe things are not really as different for our kids as we think. Maybe it is just OUR perspective that has changed. We see things with the practicality and rawness of adulthood. True, the world may be changing…but this is the only world our children have ever known, and the only childhood they have ever experienced. We might see the absence of a few fireflies, but our kids simply see the ones that ARE there. And they have just as much fun chasing the five that are in their backyard as we did chasing the fifteen that were in ours. So the only thing that can rob our kids of childhood is if we tell them there aren’t any childhoods left to live.

It was silly of me to mourn that night in the park. Because as I looked around, I saw families sitting on blankets and nibbling on picnics…a playground full of kids giggling and squealing with the delight that comes from swings and merry-go-rounds…bikes and scooters gliding along paved paths…little tongues turning shades of blue, red, and purple from sno cones…and oddly enough, more and more blinking, glowing orbs lighting up the darkening sky.

Long live childhood.

The Greatest Mother’s Day Gift

Published on May 11, 2012September 3, 2013 by Kelly Suellentrop2 Comments

Do you smell that? It’s the smell of tempera paint, clay, a fresh pack of construction paper, and Elmer’s glue mixed with some misshapen waffles and the aroma of overpriced flowers. Ah…the smell of Mother’s Day.

Kids (and dads) everywhere are hustling to put final touches on homemade gifts. Reservations for brunch are being made. Men of the family are struggling to put together menus for family get-togethers that don’t consist solely of barbequed meat and beer. Gift certificates for manicures, pedicures, and massages are being bought at an alarming rate. Hallmark stock is likely skyrocketing.

What mothers really want for Mother's Day — What mothers REALLY want for Mother’s Day (from https://www.facebook.com/guggiedaily)

I myself always look forward to seeing what my kids and husband cook up for me every Mother’s day, both literally and figuratively. But as a post my friend Maggie (check out her awesome blog at Perspectives Writing & Editing…little plug) made the other day on Facebook, it really does not take much to show us mothers some honest appreciation. I would be happy if my kids could just understand that I would give my life for them at any given second of any given day…and treat me accordingly as the unselfish and heroic queen that willingness to sacrifice proves me to be, bowing to my every wish and command. I guess breakfast in bed is nice, too.

But honestly, nothing my children could give me could ever match the gift I was given simply with their advents into my life: a true and pure understanding of unconditional love. Never have I ever been so angry or upset with my kids that I did not tiptoe myself into their rooms after they were asleep, whisper a kiss across their foreheads, and silently thank God for the dreaming little blessings before me. And it will always be that way. I know that because the moment my oldest child came to be and I was able to feel that unconditional love stirring within me was also the moment I understood, for the very first time, just how much I was loved by someone else. For me, it took becoming a mother to know the depths of my own mother’s love for me. To look at my daughter and my son, to feel my adoration without horizons for them, and to realize I am the source of that same feeling in someone else…well…that is a beautiful revelation.

I think those of us especially with young children get wrapped up in Mother’s Day being “ours.” We are now a part of that sacred female community, and we feel a bit entitled to a day where we get a pat on the back for surviving sleep deprivation, temper tantrums, and assaults of various disgusting messes and smells. But when you get those adorable cards with crayon lettering, framed handprints, and handmade beaded necklaces that you will sentimentally treasure for the rest of your days, just remember that somewhere in a box or a closet in the house you grew up in, your mother has packed away all those little things you made for her. And now, you will understand why.

Happy Mother’s Day, especially to my mom. I love you.

(P.S. Mom, you just said the other day that you told someone, “Her blog will make you laugh…and cry.” Well, I’m guessing the tissues are out on this one. Sorry.)

Sesame Breadsticks and a Happy Heaven Birthday

Published on March 27, 2012March 31, 2012 by Kelly Suellentrop9 Comments

I just wanted to make a quick little post because today my grandpa (a.k.a. “Papa” to me and a.k.a. “DooDa” to Grace) would have been 87 years old. But he’s been gone for almost five years now. Or has he?

kelSP_A0083[1]2 — A picture of the rainbow that encircled the sun on the day of my grandpa's funeral.

Some say that after a loved one passes, he or she will send you little signs occasionally. I’m not sure I believed that until my grandpa was gone. And he wasted no time in making it abundantly clear that he was okay, and that he would be watching us. After his funeral, the family gathered for your typical Irish wake. In the midst of beers and Bloody Marys and laughter and one-upping “Big Ed” stories, someone glanced toward the sky and saw a most unusual sight: a rainbow encircling the sun. Not a rain cloud for days, not even the smallest of haze…but still, a ring of color where none of us had ever seen one before. Coincidence? Maybe. An unusual scientific phenomenon? I’m sure it is. But at that moment, it felt like Gramps was finding his own way to crash the party.

meandpapahhi — Papa and his little Keeny

I’ve experience other little reminders of him gently nudging me throughout the years. And gosh darn it if Big Ed didn’t send me one today, on his very birthday. I was at the grocery store in the salad dressing aisle. I was walking rather briskly, barely paying attention to the shelves, because I knew I did not need anything in this particular area. All of a sudden, my eyes deadlocked on a package of sesame breadsticks, and I stopped in my tracks…and smiled. You see, my grandpa ate these ALL the time…so much so that we nicknamed them “Papa Cookies.” I don’t ever remember taking notice of them at the store before (mostly because they are right next to things like capers and olives, which as a rule, I usually avoid). Without a second thought, I picked up the Papa Cookies, put them in my basket, and whispered to myself, “Happy Birthday, Papa.”

doodaandraggedy — Grace and her DooDa on Halloween 2006

So today, yes, I am missing my grandpa, missing the fact that he’s not physically here. Missing the tree trunk arms that would wrap around me. Missing the way he would bite his lower lip and smile when he was proud of me. Missing the way he would always greet me with an enthusiastic “Hello Keeny!” as if I was still the little girl who couldn’t pronounce her own name. But if it has to be this way, and by nature’s law it does, I am happy to have our time together over things like rainbow enshrouded suns and unexpected lunches of sesame breadsticks.

I’ll leave you with a poem by Chief Tecumseh that my cousin Bill, my grandpa’s nephew and godson, suggested because it embodies the man my Papa truly was. If I did not know better, I would have thought my grandpa penned these words himself, because he certainly lived them:

So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their view, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and its purpose in the service of your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide.

Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none.

When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision.

When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.

Papa, you were one hell of a man. Now you’re one hell of an angel. Happy Heaven Birthday.

Love, Keeny

A Girl Needs Her Friends…Just Ask the Fish

Published on January 25, 2012November 23, 2014 by Kelly Suellentrop14 Comments

“A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” – Irina Dunn

My friend Karen made reference to that quote the other day, and I smiled when I read it. I immediately had a flashback to my sophomore year of college when my dorm mates and I adopted it as our unofficial slogan, since all four of us had hopeless crushes on guys who either barely knew we existed or were masters at mind games. We were even going to make tee shirts emblazoned with the phrase, complete with a drawing I had made of a fish riding a bicycle, toting the four of us along in a side car. We never actually made the tee shirts which, in the long run, probably helped my future dating life, lest I be branded a man-hater.

And I have to admit now I sure need my husband a whole lot more than a fish needs a bicycle. In my case, maybe I could change the analogy to “A woman needs a man like a fish needs that little snail who eats all the crud off the walls of the tank and makes the place a little less lonely.” But the spirit of sisterhood the original statement implies is still something I believe in…probably now more than ever. A woman needs her girlfriends. Period.

I have amazing girlfriends. Funny, intelligent, big-hearted, supportive, do-anything-for-you amazing girlfriends. And I am lucky to not just have a few of them…I have a lot of them. For some reason, I must have been at the right place at the right time on several different occasions to acquire all these groups of women who at any given point in my life fill my bucket when too many things have been dipping into it. And they can each do it in a way that is special and unique to the certain bond that we have, be it our nostalgic high school or college experience, having kids in class together, our family ties, our shared love of music, all being married to fraternity brothers, or having worked side by side as colleagues. But they can also do it in a way that can not be matched because they are women, and we all share bits and pieces of a larger conscious, like Ralph Waldo Emerson’s over-soul: a conscious that allows certain things to go unconditionally understood.

Yet that does not keep us from sitting around a table of margaritas and Mexican food, talking about anything and everything for hours on end. My average girls’ night out dinner runs about three hours, and probably would go longer if we did not get such dirty looks from the wait staff who are trying to close up and go home on a Tuesday night. My husband has said on more than one occasion, “What do you talk about for that long? How do you sit in one place? I’d shoot myself in the eye.” Well, that’s how I feel about football, which is equally as long, not nearly as funny, and no one is wearing anything that I care to know where it came from so I can go get one for myself.

So yeah, girlfriends rock. To all my girlfriends, consider this my love letter to you. I thank each and every one of you for being in my life, for making me laugh way too hard, for talking me through things, for listening me through things, for having my back, for making me feel normal, for making me feel special, for inspiring me, for giving me role models to look to, for loving me for who I am, and for letting me know who you are. Because you are all beautiful. I feel honored to swim in your schools.

And to my husband, lest he feel slighted by this post: This fish may not need a bicycle, but I have never been a strong swimmer, and I much prefer the ride offered by your wheels.

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Gratitude from Grief

Published on November 5, 2011September 3, 2013 by Kelly Suellentrop2 Comments

November. The official month of thankfulness. The promise of savoring sacred family recipes always serves as a cue to be mindful of my blessings. And a number of Facebook friends are posting things large and small for which they are thankful, one for every day this month. But yesterday something happened. Something that was like a bullhorn screaming at me to pay attention to all that is good in my life. Something that I wish had never happened, and would never happen again…to anyone.

angel child comforting mother — A powerful photo my friend posted on her Facebook page.

Yesterday, our friends Justin and Angie lost their four-year-old son Chase. Months ago, Chase contracted E.coli, which developed into something called HUS. It ravaged his poor little body. For a time, despite all that had happened, a miracle drug seemed to be giving his family and doctors hope for recovery. But his progress was short-lived, and soon there was nothing more the doctors could do. After a few weeks of being kept comfortable, Chase surrendered to his final rest. And now Justin and Angie must live in a world without him, after knowing how beautiful the world was with him.

It’s not fair. It’s not right. Pure and simple.

Being a parent, I can not help but try to imagine what this must be like for them. But I know anything I imagine can not possibly come close to the reality they are experiencing. My heart breaks for them, for Chase, who was robbed of his chance to live a full life, and for his five-year-old brother, who is way too young to have to deal with so much grief. The weight of all of that will sometimes envelop me. But then the relieving moment comes, like when you wake up from a bad dream, when you realize all is right in your own reality. And within my sadness for my friends, I find my ability to be thankful for my own blessings.

I am thankful that my two children are sleeping soundly in their beds. That I can kiss them and hug them. That we can read books together and I can watch them play in the backyard. Even that they can whine and pout and thoroughly annoy me, because that means that they are HERE…with me.

I must be honest in saying there is a pang of guilt in this, as if feeling this way is somehow an insult to my friends. But then I think the greater tragedy would be to have witnessed their tremendous loss and NOT find more reasons to be grateful with what I have, for however long I have it. Because the fact of the matter is, we just don’t know what our lives have in store for us. We can hope, we can pray, we can plan. But Justin and Angie did all those things, and I am certain that what they are going through right now was never on their lists of hopes, prayers, or plans.

So I am going to love as fully as I can. I am going to kiss my kids even when they don’t want me to. I am going to read them one more page before bedtime. I am going to remember what is truly important. I am going to realize the next time the kids ruin something in the house that I am lucky to have them, not whatever was ruined. I am going to listen when they laugh. And I am not going to wait until Thanksgiving to be thankful.

Rest in peace, little Chase. You gave your parents a lot to be thankful for.

A Lesson for a Teacher

Published on July 16, 2011June 2, 2015 by Kelly Suellentrop6 Comments

A few nights ago I had dinner with a former student of mine. She had recently found me on Facebook, was coincidentally back in town, and she wanted to catch up. I was elated. It is always a treat to have these little versions of “What Are They Doing Now?” whenever my path crosses with an old student. As a teacher, I could not help but get invested in my “girls,” as I would call them (no, it is not that I ignored the boys…I taught at an all-girls Catholic high school). It is the nature of the craft.

I have gotten together to catch up with students before; some I even talk to on a fairly regular basis. Inevitably there are always kids you grow a little closer to: you taught them for multiple years, you helped them solve an important problem, and so on. I always seemed to strike up a deeper relationship with my Yearbook students since the nature of that class afforded us all to chat about our lives; therefore, I knew them all a little better. These were usually the kids that would shoot me an email when they were in town to grab some lunch and catch up.

But this time was a little different. This particular former student was in the very first class I taught as a fledgling teacher. They were a great class, and we all got along smashingly, her included. She was a good student, but art was her thing, not English. So after leaving my class, she became one of the many students who would still say hello to me in the hallways, and that became the course of our relationship until she graduated. I was just as proud to see her receive her diploma as I was of any of my students, but then I never saw her again. As far as I knew, she didn’t give me another thought. It happens.

But then we met up the other night, and it was wonderful to hear about where life had taken her. She is an amazing, and I mean AMAZING, artist, and it was beautiful to see how she has found the courage and strength to find what will make her feel happy and fulfilled. When I told her how delighted I was that she had contacted me, and how it is always a nice little surprise when students find me on Facebook, she replied, “Of course! Who wouldn’t want to ‘friend’ you on Facebook? We always had fun in your class!” Well, shucks. But seriously, that was a wonderful validation for me, even now that I am not teaching anymore. I know how much of myself I put into being a teacher; I know how much I racked my brain for ways to keep my students interested; I know how much I agonized when they were not working to their potentials, or when I just could not seem to get something across to them. But they did not know that. So it felt really good to hear that somehow it all came through, and even better to hear it from a student I would not have expected.

Photo via Karen Watson liscensed under CC BY 2.0 — Photo via Karen Watson on The Graphics Fairy liscensed under CC BY 2.0

Now I sit here and think of all the teachers I had over the course of my education and wonder how many of them realized the impact they had on me. My grade school Music teacher Miss Mooney, who undoubtedly created the connection in my brain that music equals fun, and who taught me that everyone has the right to sing by giving me a solo in the spring concert…despite my lack of tone and pitch. My fifth grade teacher Mrs. Semsar, who taught me that some things in life are just “no big hairy deal.” My middle school Science teacher Mrs. Lonigro, who was so knowledgable and passionate that she made me love regenerating amoebas, and who probably taught me more about the written language with her strict grading policies than my middle school English teacher. My eighth grade History teacher Mr. Blackford, who was the first adult, nay person, to really and truly encourage my love for the Monkees by giving me his old Mike Nesmith-inspired wool hat. My high school Art teacher Ms. Ahrens, who taught me that you do not have to be the best, but you have to do your best. My high school English teacher Miss Wilson, who gave me my first B in the subject, pushing me to reach her expectations, and who told me that my dreams of being an English teacher were still achievable even if I did not completely understand Shakespeare at age fifteen. My high school Latin teacher Domina Creed, who, dare I say, made Latin fun, and who called me after I had four teeth pulled to make sure I was feeling okay. My university History professor who once lectured a whole class period in the character of a stockbroker who lost everything during the Crash of 1929. My university English professor Dr. Preussner, who opened my eyes to the fact that Hawthorne was kind of a “hottie” and who made discussing Melville kind of interesting (sue me, I am not a fan). And finally, my high school Math teacher Mr. Stein who blew my mind by using the current love triangle on Days of Our Lives to explain inductive and deductive reasoning, and who, more than anyone, made me want to be a teacher.

This list of ladies and gentlemen boasts an astounding amount of talent. And if in any way I had the same impact on my students that they had on me, I am truly humbled.