Tag: Alcoholism

The Chipped Bowl

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In Western cultures, we tend to value perfection. When something breaks, we throw it away and buy a new one. Value is placed on that which is flawless. It is quite the opposite in the East. According to Wikipedia, the Japanese word, Kintsugi, refers to a broken item, such as a chipped porcelain bowl, which has been meticulously repaired with gold or silver thread, highlighting its imperfection, and in that way, celebrating the unique quality of the bowl. The chipped bowl becomes even more precious to the holder because of its flaw. I find that both lovely and remarkable.

We always look forward to the annual gathering of our families at the holidays. We idealize that time together and imagine it will be carefree and loving, like the warm and wonderful scenes in a Christmas movie, everything merry and bright. The reality is often not quite that. How did Thanksgiving go for you? What is it about a large meal with extended family that brings out the worst in people? It could be the combination of rich food, alcohol, and conflicting views on sports teams? Maybe.

All efforts to maintain civil behavior seem to fade into the bountiful slices of pumpkin pie and melt away with the vanilla ice cream. There’s always the family member (or two) who drinks too much and gets messy. In my family, the dinner conversation would somehow always turn to politics during dessert. Of course, no one agreed, and before long, fireworks seemed to explode over the table. We children would look at each other with something akin to terror. Please God. Not politics. But, there was no stopping it. Like clockwork, all the kids would rise and silently start clearing the table. Better to wash dishes than listen to grownups argue.

The adults never said a word to us, or maybe they didn’t even notice we’d left. When the table was finally clean, and the dishes were sparkling, it was time to go home. Goodbyes were sprinkled all around and hugs were exchanged as we hurried to our cars, clutching our boxes of tasty leftovers from the feast. Everyone breathed a unified sigh of relief as we drove away into the night. Thanksgiving dinner – check! Moving on.

Erma Bombeck once said, “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a little emotional scarring.” It’s the deep truth in the words that makes them funny. To her credit, the illustrious Ms. Bombeck also said, “There are friends, there is family, and then there are friends that become family.” I kind of love that. For me, it is my friends who make the world go round.

Families. Holidays. Arguments. Stress. People wax poetic on the importance of family, but sadly, family life too often is less than idyllic. Every year we send and receive holidays cards with photos of our families looking happy and successful. It’s easy to believe that these lovely families don’t have a worry in the world – indeed, once more, all merry and bright. But, the truth is hidden behind the smiles. Family can be precious and beautiful but also jealous and unkind. Your siblings are supposed to be your best friends but what if they are not? People move away from home and put thousands of miles between themselves and family for a reason. Just because someone is related to you doesn’t mean you like them. Or have anything in common with them. It makes sense that these annual gatherings are often fraught with tension.

The blood link is considered strong, but families that can actually live and play together peacefully through the years have a unique gift. It is the exception, rather than the rule. The rest of us must do the best we can. The modern world has created families through marriage, divorce, blended families, and adoption. Many of us have made our own families from a ragtag group of misfits who simply fit together – like missing puzzle pieces, reunited at last. The people in our lives should love us for our imperfections, not in spite of them. Like the beautiful, chipped bowl, repaired with golden thread. Kintsugi. Perfectly imperfect. During this holiday season, remember to be grateful for the people we call ‘family’ in our lives. Not the ones we are supposed to love, maybe, but the ones we do love. Like the chipped bowl. Perfect.

Happy Holidays to you and yours.

Homecoming

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As I assist my beautiful teenage daughters to get ready for their Homecoming dance – the dresses, the shoes, the hair, the makeup – I remember far too well my own Homecomings at my own high school many years ago. Home coming. Coming home. A rite of passage for Americans, as old and young, we gather back at our childhood schools and reminisce. I was so very young, as are they. So very young, indeed, yet trying on womanhood for size and seeing how it feels. Watching these young ladies, my daughters, slightly gawky, slightly insecure, terribly beautiful, and now very tall, stepping out all dressed up makes me feel proud, yet wistful. I can’t help but wonder where the little children who populated the last two decades of my life have gone.

A child is someone who passes through your life and disappears into an adult. We watch it happen and cannot believe it is so. Sometimes I feel sad and miss the funny little souls that they were. Even slightly panicked, as though I’d misplaced those children somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention. Look away and you’ve missed their childhood. When you’re in the thick of it, the days feel long, and it feels as though life will always be like this. The routine will never vary. You’re in it for life. They will be young forever. But that’s just a mirage in the mind of a sleep-deprived mother. Because they do grow up whether you are a dutiful mom or not. There’s not stopping the swift passage of time.

As we roll forward into thoughts of college and the next step in the lives of my kids, I miss the mommy that I was and the simple life we had – playing at the park, eating ice cream, napping, taking long walks with the double stroller, somehow managing to get them both back into their car seats, folding up all 40 pounds of that stroller, and tossing it into the back of the faithful minivan. Spending time learning and laughing together.

I fondly remember nighttime prayers and endless choruses of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” That particular song was slow and gentle and soothed them into a deep sleep. I only remembered a few verses but would sing them over and over again until either they fell asleep, or I did. I wondered if the lyrics might scare them but of course they heard the song the way a child might, in words that make sense to them. “Swing Low, Sweet Cherry Eyes…” “Cherry Eyes.” That’s what my daughter thought I was saying. No rhyme or reason needed. So funny and dear. It was simply the soothing quality of my voice that they craved at the end of the day.

 A year and a half away from high school graduation, and I am feeling grateful for the times we had. That I succeeded in raising them alone though I had no idea what I was doing. Never did find an effective handbook with all the Motherhood How-To’s. Grateful that their addict father didn’t damage them irreparably along the way. I was always there to pick up the pieces and be the responsible parent they needed. Grateful that they love me and that we all love each other as they’ve grown up. A lot of families are not so fortunate. Grateful every time I hear them say, “I love you, Mom,” even as they are running out the door. Grateful that I represent safety to them. Grateful for the dear children I thought I would never have.

I still don’t know how to do this motherhood thing and have surely made thousands of mistakes. But I am still here, and I have my daughters’ hands gripped in my own. One child for each hand. And as such, we will travel through the rest of my days until they take the lead and I fade into beloved memory, many years from now. Though we live in a society that fears old age, I welcome each day and every day I can spend with these two souls. My daughters. As they travel through life, I am their guide. How did all this happen? Who knows? Life is ever mysterious and beautiful.

Holding Out for Dawn

Posted on Posted in Addictions, adoption, adoptive mom, Alcoholism, fertility treatment, Motherhood, Parenthood, Single Mom, Survival, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

By Elizabeth Kate

We recently celebrated Valentine’s Day – a holiday so often fraught with unnecessary pressures and stress. I try to avoid the anxiety and focus on the love, because isn’t that what it’s all about? I think so. I took a moment to write loving valentines not to a significant other, but to my children. Why? Because I adore these kids.

I spent many years of my life struggling to get pregnant and failing miserably. Trying to adopt and hitting a wall. It seemed I was destined to live life without ever playing the coveted role of ‘mother’ until my life transformed, and I became mommy to not one but TWO gorgeous baby girls. Miracles abounded.

Mommy. Such a magical word. One I thought I’d never hear whispered to me with sticky peanut butter and jelly kisses. But my dearest wish came true, and I was unceremoniously thrust into the world of parenthood. I welcomed it with open arms and have enjoyed every day of this crazy ride – the good and the bad – because the journey is one I never thought I’d take. The babies were children I thought would never be mine. So, I embraced the sleepless nights and all the madness that came with it.


I got divorced along the way and fought to keep my head above water during that more-than-two-year ordeal. My life has been colored by proximity to people struggling with addictions. Thankfully, I don’t mean my daughters. Dealing with addicts is never easy and through the years, the challenges have come at me fast and furious. But I survived.


We survive because there is no other choice. We survive because we must, because there are people depending upon us. We survive because this is our life, and we won’t get a second chance. The trick, however, is to not just survive, but to thrive. To find joy in the little things and not let yourself sink into self-pity. Because tomorrow is another day, and they say the night is always darkest just before dawn. I’m holding out for dawn.


The beautiful constant in my life has always been my love for my daughters, who are now 16, by the way. We’ll call them ‘Serena’ and ‘Alexandra’. It’s hard to imagine that I’m the mother to teenagers with all the crises and angst and sheer goofiness that comes with adolescence. But I am. And I love it, though our road together road is pitted with potholes and certainly never easy.


My girls and I like to watch old episodes of ‘The Gilmore Girls’ and laugh at Lorelai and Rory’s follies because so many of them echo our own. I’m mom to my daughters, first and foremost, but I’m also their friend and confidante. How lucky is that? And while I try to be a ‘cool mom’, sometimes I’m woefully uncool and wonder how we will ever make it through the drama of the day. But we do. Every time.

Someone once told me that if you don’t know how to pray or don’t have time to pray to God or to the Universe or to whatever you believe, it is enough to just say ‘Thank you.’ That resonates with me. ‘Thank you.’ So easy. I try to step through a life paved with gratitude, because there really is so much beauty – if only you would take the time to see it.

Thank you for reading this.
~ Elizabeth