My Saving Grace Blog Post

Heather & Abbie backstage at Willy Wonka, Jr.

The question was, how have you been influenced/changed by a child.

My answer is this:

One of the first days of Middle School I received a call from the Assistant Principal relaying to me this story:

My daughter, tiny for her age, but mighty in personality was busy meeting up with friends from the prior school year and being introduced to an abundance of new friends when she spotted a frail looking girl, standing by herself, close to tears. My daughter, leaving her friends behind, walked over to the girl and asked her name. “Heather,” she replied. Heather is a special needs student with a long list of health and mental issues who, because of the fact that she was not maturing at the same rate as her classmates, had been left behind by those who may have called her their friend, at one time. My daughter leaned in to whisper to Heather, “Heather, I’m Abbie, and I think we’re going to be great friends.” Soon thereafter, Abbie’s friends came to surround Heather and Abbie and Heather was cared for and protected and loved for her entire Middle School stay.

This year they started their time in High School and one of the first things Abbie did when she came home from her first day of school was report on how Heather was doing, and how great it was to see her again.

I say this often and people sometimes chuckle because they don’t think I’m as serious as I am: “When I grow up, I want to be just like my daughter.”

The gang

On a final note: Shortly after Abbie attended Heather’s birthday party her mother asked me if Abbie still watched Barney videos.  I was a little surprised at the question because it had been YEARS since our house held the Barney Show theme song as it’s number one hit.  “No,” I said, “she hasn’t watched that in years. Why do you ask?”  Heather’s mother smiled and said, “Heather does still watch Barney & when Abbie showed up early for the party, she’d brought a Barney video for she and Heather to watch together, that’s why.”

So I say it again, “When I grow up, I want to be just like my daughter…”

God’s Will

Bridge

Earlier this week I joined many family and friends at the memorial service held for my friend’s 17 year old son, Will.  This is not a commentary on who was there, or how many people were also in attendance (believe me, there were too many to count) but I have to share what this bright, articulate young man, whom I’d never met, taught me.

Will, like myself, was a writer.  I immediately fell in love with that part of him and feel so blessed to have been present during his memorial service where two of the pieces he’d written were read. 

The first piece was an idea he had about a new holiday: End of the World Day.  In his writing the first line that struck me was when he wrote, “If we had a new holiday that were held on the last day of the world’s existence, it might, at first, sound like that would be a sad day, a day to dread and fear but that’s not what it would be like at all.  It would be the one day that you could say whatever was on your mind.  It would be the day that you could tell the people that you loved, you loved them and you wouldn’t have to be afraid of what someone might think of you for doing something that you’ve always wanted to do!”  If you think about it, there is true genius in what Will had dreamed up and I knew from just that example that he and I thought alike.

The other writing was from a recent journal and it detailed what a young man of 17, who is becoming a man in his own right, might be thinking.  He talked about not being particularly politically-minded.  He described the apathetic view of a young person who believes they will live forever and that their one voice could not, even if heard, make any difference in the big picture.  But he goes on to realize that he may be only one voice but how could change ever occur if the entire world felt that way, that if no one spoke up because they believed they were only one small voice, nothing would change and the powers that be would have their way and dictate to us all.  In his writing he comes to the understanding that if he spoke his mind, and two or three or more people spoke their minds, that it could have the capability of creating the change that is desired.  He vowed to take local and world situations more seriously and was ready to take his part, by voting and having an opinion as soon as he turned 18.

I’m not sure what happened to Will as far as his death goes, that may always remain a mystery but I know one thing for sure, I was in the right place that day earlier in the week when I sat amongst all of those teenagers, who were crying and mourning the loss of their friend because I heard exactly what I was supposed to hear that day and my life will forever be changed.

Thank you, Will.

My Friend, Greta.

Greta

My friend and confidant of several years was, Greta. We met while I was pregnant with Abbie. She was a class A nurse at Beverly Hospital and happened to be sitting at the desk with her friend, the lovely Beth Henry, when I walked up to them, 30 weeks pregnant and in labor and said, “I’m Jill Henry and I’m here NOT to have a baby.”

I remember how she & Beth looked at each other and laughed and Greta said, “I’ll take HER!”

I spent the next few weeks in the hospital under the watchful care of my favorite person — ever, my OBGYN, Meg Rodgers. I had a turn with just about every Labor & Delivery nurse during my extended stay but hands down, Greta was the best.

As we were taking Abbie home from the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit, Greta happened to be the nurse working that night. I noticed she was working on what looked like homework and when I asked her what it was she said it was a Bible study. I was so excited to learn that there was a Bible study nearby that I asked her if she could get me some information on it. She gave me her home phone number and said that I could call her anytime, even if to ask a baby-related question.

I DID call her at home and we spent time getting to know one another over the phone and within six months we bought our first home about 2 miles from where Greta lived. Our friendship blossomed and for the next six years we were nearly inseperable.

When she was marrying her Prince Charming she asked ME to be the Matron of Honor at their wedding and I was beyond honored. The following few years were tough on us, because she moved a few towns away and we drifted apart. She was never far from my mind and we kept each other involved in our daily lives and were never at a loss for affection for one another.

It was a shock to me when I received an early morning email from a friend expressing her sympathy at Greta’s death. I immediately called her younger sister, Jean, and when she answered the phone and I heard the saddness in her voice I began to sob. Jean explained that Greta had been sick for less than one month before dying and that several attempts at phoning me had only been met with frustration because my phone had been temporarily shut off. There wasn’t any time to get someone to my house because of the time frame and, although sad, I understood the circumstances.

In all honesty, I don’t think I could have handled her death, in person, and I believe that there was a reason I wasn’t at her bedside. I think the God that Greta and I shared spared me from a reality that might have really been devastating and something I could not have handled. 

It has been more than 3 years since Greta passed away and I can honestly say that I think about her every single day. I’ve never lost anyone I’ve been closer to and although we were not communicating on a daily basis in the end, there is no one I miss more than Greta.

Why I Want to Grow Up to be Just Like My Daughter

Those of you who know me, you know that I often say that, “When I grow up, I want to be just like my daughter.”  Maybe you chuckle and think I’m being cute, or funny, but probably not serious…well that’s where you’d be wrong.  You see, I really DO want to be just like her one day, and I’ll tell you a story that happened today that might help you to understand what I mean.

For the past two years she’s had a friend, whom she often declared as her BFF.  (Best Friends Forever – for those of us over 35!)  This friend of hers is a spit fire and they met 2 years ago while in the throws of Middle School.  They clung to one another and for a long time were really great friends, and as is expected at this tumultuous age, had their ups and downs but always seemed to work it out for themselves.  Unfortunately, recently their disagreements have had bigger consequences and feelings have been a little more than bruised.  Take the example of my daughter getting a ride home from her friend’s mom just  before the end of the school year.  When she came into the house, I was home and she started to tell me an unbelievable story that her friend had just shared with she and the girl’s mom on the ride home.  It seemed that a boy in their grade had acted inappropriately sexually and after quite the tale of how he chased her into the hallway and into the girls room to grope her, she brought it to the attention of the Middle School staff and the boy was suspended.  Just hearing this story made my skin crawl, thinking that maybe this could have happened to my daughter and how would I have handled that situation?  My daughter looked at me with her big, bright, beautiful blue eyes and said, “Mumma, can you believe how brave she was?  I mean, she stood up to that boy and probably helped a bunch of other girls in the meantime by having him suspended.  I’m so proud of her.”

I beamed with pride and agreed with my daughter that she was exactly right that maybe this boy would learn a lesson and not repeat this type of behavior.

Within minutes of hearing the details of this ordeal the phone rang and my daughter answered it.  It was her friend, that we’d just been talking about.  I saw the look on my daughter’s face change dramatically and heard her simply say, “I don’t think I want to talk to you right now…” before hanging up the phone.  When I asked what her friend had said, she relayed to me that she was calling to say that she’d made the whole story up and that none of it ever happened. 

I watched my little 14 year old try to comprehend why someone would tell such a cruel story that was a complete lie.  She couldn’t get her head around the fact that this person she’d been calling her best friend would lie right to her and then didn’t understand it when she didn’t want to talk with her at the moment.

The phone rang six more times before I picked it up and told her friend that my daughter was not able to speak to her at that time and that they would see one another in school the following day. 

My daughter came to forgive her friend but let her know that she’d really felt hurt by the whole ordeal and she didn’t want a friend who would do that kind of thing to her again.  They went on for a few more weeks and I think the relationship was always a little fragile after that but they still spent time together, knowing they would be separated by different high schools in the fall.

Over the past week, since my daughter has been home from her father’s wedding, this friend of hers has called accusing my daughter of being angry and ignoring her.  She’s been frustrated and has even said, “I was just hoping that the natural course of our friendship would play out, and she would go to her school and I would go to mine and we’d find different friends.” 

I was in awe of how mature that statement seemed and I said that probably would happen eventually and there wouldn’t be anything she would need to do to make it happen. 

This afternoon there was a knock at the front door and when my son answered it, it was my daughter’s friend.  She handed him a beautiful blue gift bag, filled with blue tissue paper, an obvious gift for my daughter and asked him if he would see that she get it today.  He agreed and accepted the package.  Minutes later my daughter came into the room and asked who it was that was at the door, when she was told who it was, she started to head toward the front door, to see her but we said that she’d dropped off a gift.

She was puzzled by this gift and I could see the smile come to her face thinking about what they’ve come to meant to one another.  Inside the bag was a note book that had different items taped to the pages with explanations written on the page.  After a few minutes my daughter looked over to me and said, “This is all the stuff I’ve given to her over the time we’ve known each other.  Necklaces, clay figurines my daughter is famous for making for individuals that have special meaning and all of the pictures that my daughter has drawn for her. 

My heart broke.  I knew immediately what this was all about and my daughter read thru the pages in the book, recalling times they’d shared.  She laughed along with the stories, thru tears and when she got to the end the last page accused her of not being a good friend and the big, anticipated, “Goodbye.”

Being a Mama Bear, I will honestly say, my first thoughts were not anything I could act on and I decided to remain quiet and let my little girl process this whole situation.

She was heading up to her room, fully crying, and I asked her for a hug.  I said I was sorry that her friend had been so mean and that she had nothing to do with it, that this was all her friend’s idea and probably a way for her to get my daughter to come calling after her and begging for forgiveness.  She sobbed and sobbed, and I did, too, and when she asked me why it hurt so badly, all I could say was, “Because it DOES, sweetheart.  What you feel right now, you won’t feel soon, because our feelings are fleeting and they (thank God) don’t last very long and they never have to dictate how we feel about ourselves.” 

She went up to her room to process her thoughts and came out an hour or so later with a poem she’d written, that if I get permission to, I’ll post here, for her friend.  It wasn’t forgiving or mean in retaliation, it was a tribute to what had once been a good friendship. 

My little 14 and a half year old clone is a woman with INTEGRITY and I am in awe of her.  I wiped away her tears and told her that she will always be what she was at that moment; a woman of dignity and honor and I was proud as hell to have been around to watch her these past years because she always inspires me.

It’s times like that when I think to  myself, or say out loud, “When I grow up, I want to be JUST LIKE my daughter…”  And I mean it with my whole heart.

Want to Read a Great Book?

 I’m someone who loves to read and I cannot say enough about this book!  It’s one of those life-changing experiences and I’d LOVE to hear what anyone else has to say about it.  Once I’ve “processed” this amazing story, I’ll write more about it.  I’m still going over my notes and digesting everything it taught.

Stay tuned…

Lemons

When Life Gives You Lemons

One of my favorite ads that has run on local TV has mega-slugger, Superstar Boston Red Sox player, David Ortiz and he says, “When life gives you lemons — smash them with the bat.”

We all know the REAL 2nd part to that wise testimony is actually, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” 

I’ve had my share of lemons this past week.  For almost an entire week I’ve been hanging on to the fact that I was “let go” from my job for one reason: someone at work didn’t like me.  I have a hundred ideas as to why I was not liked by this person and they are all so petty and child-like that I won’t even give them air-time.  I’ve been nursing my wounds for as long as I’ve been able to.  I know that we all do things that are hard, only until they become too hard and we ask for help.  I got on my knees this morning, in tears, and asked God to heal my heart and allow me to move on.

Being let go from a job that I liked and that I did well, merely because someone’s personality didn’t jive with mine, has really hurt.  Losing my source of income isn’t an easy pill to swallow, either, but these are not defining moments in my life and 5 days of wallowing in my hurt is long enough.

I am completely positive that I was supposed to have this experience…no matter how hard it has been.  I had to meet the people I’ve met and learn the things I’ve learned, even when it didn’t feel all that great in order to become the woman God wants me to become.  Today, on my knees, as my tears dried I knew. without a doubt, that I’m going to be taken care of and that by believing God could remove the anger from my heart also meant that I could believe that his love for me will always be ‘for the best’ in the end.  Sometimes it takes a while to see the blessings, and there are times I believe we NEVER get to glimpse them, but I know for sure, that when there’s pain, there is growth and where there is faith there is LOVE.

Okay,God, bring it on!

A Day at the Beach

Lighthouse at Wingaersheek

At the beach.

Handsome Teen

Every year we take a “skip day” and head to the beach.  This year was tough because by the time the end of the school year came upon us, the kids had too many important days they needed to be in school and I was working (up until last Wednesday) so we weren’t able to get up to the beach until this past week.  Abbie’s BFF, Victoria, or Kaede (sounds like “Katie”) came with us and we headed up to the beach early — at 9:30 we were one of the first ten cars in the lot.  We grabbed our things and headed to find a spot to settle.  The tide was out and we all walked and walked until we were almost paralell to the lighthouse, which is about 1/4 of a mile out.  I took some photos of those awesome teens and aside from my killer sunburn (I’m Irish and it was my first time on a beach this season) we had a great time!  It may not have been the “skip day” we’ve enjoyed in years past, but it was fun!

That night the kids went with their dad and left for St. John’s Maho Bay the following morning where they will be spending the week with their dad, his fiance and her two girls and at one point they will be getting married while there.  Everybody was excited.

I wish them the best.

You Never Know When Life Is Throwing A Curve Ball

Jill

I feel like I was standing at the plate, I’d warmed up on-deck for my chance to bat.  I stood with the perfect pose, I’d made all of the adjustments I’d been told were going to benefit my game and increase my productivity on the team.  I was watching the pitcher closely because I knew he and the catcher were going to try anything to get me out, even if it meant stretching the rules.  The catcher mumbled something under her breath and I saw the pitcher’s face change; he was going to enjoy this next pitch and it would be at my expense, I was sure of it.  I stood confidently, not taking my eyes off him, almost afraid at what was going to be coming my way.  He wound up and as the ball left his hand, I could see what was coming — he was throwing it directly at my head.  Can you imagine the pain of a 92 mph fast ball hitting you in the head?  It took me out of the game that day and I’ve never been “right” since. 

Each time I get up to the plate these days I can see that ball headed right for my head.  Should I duck?  Should I tell the umpire what’s going on?  Would anybody hear me?  What if it happens again? And just when I’m confident and comfortable at my ability to bat I get a hit in the head that lands me back in the hospital? Should I risk having to recover again?  Is it worth getting hit in the head again?

 One of the problems is that I’m an asset to my team and I have a loyal, loving affection for the team I am with; but I’m afraid I’ll never be able to trust myself enough to get back in the batter’s box and try for another hit.

Everyday I try to remember that God doesn’t want me to have dark, ugly feelings towards others, and for the most part I have been able to “let go” of the hurt and anger I have at that pitching-catching duo.  But there are days when I’d give anyting to have the bat in my hands again and be given another shot at that pitch that fateful day.  Instead of playing for another team, I’ve decided to go into broadcasting and every once in a while I’m given the perfect opportunity to put that dynamic duo in its place with just the words of my profession. 

The saddest part is, all I want is for them to acknowledge how much they hurt me and how wrong they were for doing it.

…and that will never happen, because neither of them will take responsibility for their motives in ending my career.