Cousins comfort

As a little girl, I had one elaborate nightly ritual. I would pile dozens of stuffed animals in bed with me. Each evening, my mom would come in to kiss me goodnight, and she’d say, “Aubrey, choose one and put the rest back.” I obeyed, at least while she was in the room. Soon after she left, I would grab my animals one by one and put them back in bed with me. I was sure any left behind would be cold and lonely. This simple routine brought me much comfort. In a world of unknowns, this somehow quieted my fears, allowing me to sleep easier.

As an adult, I have realized there are still people in my life who bring me the same peace of mind. These people share my DNA, they share my family, they have shared my life. They are my cousins. There is no explaining to do when Uncle Joe is ranting and raving in a drunk stupor or when Aunt Betty starts talking crazy from her meds. They have seen your best and they have been there through your worst. I am infinitely grateful for my cousins.

One in particular has lightened my burdens. She sat next to me at my dad’s funeral, she made me laugh, she let me cry. She is bright, kind and quirky. She’s a living reminder of my dad and the innocence of childhood. When I am with her it takes me back to simpler days. The familiar days of being safe and warm at my great-grandmother’s house. Laughing, playing, being the children we were meant to be.

When I have no idea what the future holds, when my life is full of chaos, I crave the familiar. I desire normalcy and I need comfort. My cousins give me all these things. Being with them gives me the same feeling I had when I snuggled in my bed surrounded by dozens of stuffed animals. They are familiar, safe and secure. They quiet my fears and take me back to childhood. I can rest easier knowing I have the comfort of my cousins.

Start a new chapter

My great-grandmother loved to read. Her house was full of books. Much like her I am an avid reader. As a little girl, I would disappear into a good mystery: the excitement that built as I turned each page. I would usually tell myself, “Just one more chapter.” This would be repeated dozens of times, until my eyes protested and let me know it was time to quit for the day.

Life is not as simple as reading a book, however. Change is good when it’s happening on a piece of paper, but it’s not so easy to accept in real life. Unfortunately, you can’t stay in your favorite chapter and keep reading it indefinitely.

A year and two months after my dad died, my family had to start a new chapter. My dad’s wife and son, as well as my aunt and long-lost cousin, all came to North Carolina for a visit, without my dad. As we picked them up from the airport, it felt like a layer of fog was hanging over us: heavy fog that wouldn’t let the rays of sun shine through. My mind kept telling me, “Dad should be here.” But he wasn’t.

This turning point was hard, but it was what I needed and the story did start to improve. We had a spectacular week together. We reminisced and we cried, but more than anything we laughed. I got to know my aunt, my dad’s wife and my favorite cousin better. My dad, who normally was the connector in our family wasn’t there to connect us, so we had to do it on our own.

While my aunt was with us, she said that the day my great-grandfather died they all worried about my great-grandmother surviving without him. They went into her room to check on her that night and found her snuggled in bed, reading a book. That was the last thing they expected a grief-stricken widow to be doing, but maybe she knew what I am just now understanding: sometimes you just have to turn the page and start a new chapter.

My parents have been abducted

Sometimes I wonder if my real parents have been abducted by aliens. The parents I grew up with could not possibly be the same people who are now my children’s grandparents. Some people reason that with time comes wisdom. Absolutely not true! I think my parents were wiser when I was a child. Now they think feeding children unlimited amounts of sugar, buying them anything they want, never telling them “no” and not offering an ounce of discipline is the best way to raise a child. Who are these people? The worst part is the denial! They will lead my children to believe that they were far and away the best parents in the world, which is why they are such awesome grandparents.

I saw my dad less than a handful of times during my first pregnancy. Most of my family was at the hospital the night my daughter was born. As expected so was my dad. What I never saw coming was his reaction to his first grand baby. He glowed. He beamed. He kept hugging my husband and telling him what an amazing job he had done. The next morning before breakfast was served, my dad was the first to arrive. He was mush! My daughter had abducted his heart, his soul and his reasoning ability.

So what is the best way to deal with grandparents that drive you crazy? Look on the bright side: First, a bad (which is really a good) grandparent is better than no grandparent. Second, there is a small chance they are paying you back for all the things you did to them as a child. And lastly, if you are fortunate, someday you will become a grandparent and before you know it, that new little baby will abduct your heart, your soul and your reasoning ability.

We will recover

Humans are resilient. We have the ability to recover from illness, change or misfortune. We can be stretched, pulled, compressed and bent in multiple directions and yet retain our original shape. We survive. There is an internal strength that we all have, whether we’ve had to use it or not. It is the lifeboat waiting to carry us to safety when the ship sinks.

I have seen this amazing quality displayed repeatedly. When I was pregnant with my oldest daughter, my grandmother was diagnosed with colon cancer. She was rushed in for emergency surgery and told that if she did not undergo chemotherapy she would not survive more than a few years. She chose not to have further treatment. Somehow, thirteen years later, she is not only surviving, she is thriving.

An adored friend of mine was diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer. She underwent almost a year of chemotherapy and radiation. All around her (myself included) soon realized just how wimpy we were and how vigorous she was. She handled the ordeal with grace and determination. The last time I saw her, she looked beautiful. She had been stretched and pulled, but bounced back to who she was before.

Some things are not optional. The only way we survive is by trudging through the swamp and not giving up along the way. It may be the most difficult thing we will ever endure, and we may not think we can last another day, but somehow we do. The hard times soon become a distant memory and we look back, amazed that we are still alive. We find strength that had been there all along and it gives us confidence that, whatever the future holds, we will recover.

Tears cleanse the soul

There is something about an afternoon thunderstorm that is exhilarating. It restores life to the atmosphere. The day starts out still, with heat and humidity as thick as wool. The pressure soon begins to build. You can see the black clouds in the distance, and know it’s time to take cover. The lighting flashes, you hear the thunder and the downpour begins. All the energy is released, and the air is left pure and refreshed.

It can be the same with our tears. We have been given the ability to cry for a reason, it is the overflow valve for when our heart cannot handle the pressure. It may be in times of sadness or times of joy. Tears can bring renewal to our souls.

When my oldest daughter was born, I did not cry, but my sister did. The emotions during the birth of a child can be the most intense you will ever experience. There is nervousness, excitement, tension and anxiety, all climaxing in joy. When the event was over, my sister was sobbing. She cried for the next twelve hours. All the energy of that amazing event had built up, and needed a release.

I, have cried more in the last few years than I have cried my entire life. The tears seem to be waiting for any opportunity to slip out. I use to think being overly emotional was a sign of weakness. That may be true, but now I look at it as restoring the life to my spirit. It has a purifying effect on a heavy, thick heart. Tears were made to cleanse your soul.

A car doesn’t make a person

If you drive a flashy car, it can mean a few things. First, you may have a large payment; second, you might desire attention; and lastly, it's possible you are overcompensating. I am not talking about a classic car that may be well deserved. I am talking about a flashy car. The big canary-yellow Hummer with chrome wheels and tinted windows (please skip this part if you own that car).

My dad had the opposite philosophy. He would always say, “Any man can get attention driving a flashy car, but only a special few will get noticed in a clunker.” If a woman turns her head to look at you in a dilapidated Dodge Dart, you know she is either taking pity on you or that you got it goin’ on!

My parents tried to teach me this philosophy as a teenager. I was responsible for purchasing my first vehicle, and boy did I find a diamond in the rough. It was a 1976 AMC Matador. She was white with a blue top. I say she, because you have to name a car with this much personality, and her name was “Maddie”. We were born the same year. She had four doors, three of which actually worked. She was incontinent, always leaking some type of fluid. She ate tires and was an excessive drinker of petroleum products. Yet, I was proud she was mine.

As with most first cars, she taught me much. I learned how to drive, how to be responsible and how to be independent. I also realized just how many of my friends cared about appearances. The few who were willing to set aside their pride and ride with me, usually did it out of desperation. And you can be guaranteed they ducked their heads whenever a cute specimen of the opposite sex was nearby. Despite my age, I knew that if you didn’t like me because of the car I drove, I probably wouldn’t want to be your friend anyway.

Even though I am much older now I still prefer the vehicles I can name. The one’s with quirks and defects, much like myself. There are others like me. Those who can afford more, yet they purposely buy the clunker: the rusty, personality-filled hunk of metal. Like my father, they want you to know that they will not fit into the mold. They are rebels. They are confident in themselves, and understand that a car will never make a person.

Change is not impossible

There are habits so deeply ingrained in each of us that it would be easier to alter the course of the Colorado River than reshape our lives. Unfortunately, these changes must come in order for us to grow and to be true to ourselves.

I have experienced many changes in the last few years, but my biggest battle has been with myself. Adversity brings out weaknesses, and I have realized that I am riddled with inadequacy. Each quality is permanently attached and will require invasive surgery to fully remove. If I survive going under my own knife I will live up to my full potential. I hope it’s worth the risk!

The majority of people, want to change but only accomplish it for a fleeting moment. Some have no desire to change, but often need it the most. And then there are the extraordinary few who are determined and have the tenacity not only to transform themselves, but to hold on to their newfound strength.

Sometimes it is easier to put on a performance. It’s simpler than exposing your most fragile limitations. Change starts with reflection, continues with dedication and persists with diligence. It will be a tedious process, but not an impossible one.