Getting ready to leave tomorrow for the third Quest retreat of the year.  I’ve tidied the house but not really cleaned.  It could use a vacuuming but the week’s work has not given me time.  Good news is that I’ve finished the week’s work!

Revelation: A clean house is about control.  My house has benefited from three years without adequate control.

The moon is full tonight and visible as I type, through a living room window, high up in one of the small rectangles which has a name that I do not know and cannot find.  I am reminded that I have not seen a full moon in awhile -- not spending much time outside at night.  I don’t gaze at winter moons, just acknowledge them and get warm. It feels like warm is coming in. I am also reminded of the moon in Harold and the Purple Crayon.  It is by the moon with a window drawn around it that he finds his way home.  

I am beginning to understand non-striving -- what was talked about in my second MBSR class and also to get a emotional hold of beginners mind.  The later is connected right now with those first months after David’s death.  The raw, unthinkably new time when my soul was torn from all that was my world and my eyes did not know what to fall upon.  That was a sad definition of beginners mind and I think it was my first experience in years of it.  There is a happy definition as well although apart from seeing my children for the first time is not as immediate.  But what is seeping in is an understanding that is beyond the event and the emotions around the event.  I have understood this beginners mind because death pull me present and robbed me of all comfort.  I don’t relish the sadness but I do the understanding.  

And non-striving.  It is doing without judging.  Being without criticizing.  Shushing kindly the quiet voice of “should’s” and disappointments, as well as the whispers of victories.  I can bring little that is unique to my definition, but I understand the determination and will needed to begin over and over, not praising or condemning the act or the effort.

Beth is 60 today.  Beth is David’s sister.  She has never been very friendly to our family or to her father, to tell the truth.  I’ve never taken it personally -- David and Dad had far more reason to than I did.  But They would both call her on her birthday.  She fawned over us all when David and her father died -- trying to project an image that she had been a fixture in our constellation.  Then she abruptly faded.  Again.  Today, I resent her terribly.  I know it is very ungracious to imagine even if for a moment that David deserved to celebrate his 60th much more than she does.  He was much more respectful of his body.  He loved more, gave more and had more to live for, but really who am I to judge.  She is who she is; he lived as long as he had to live.  His life was not cut off.  It was merely finished.  Like Jenifer’s at 19, and all those people who die when they are 90 whose obituaries I scan similarly resentful and with similar bitterness, they lived as long as was necessary and appropriate for them.  I am not proud of the bitterness, but there it is.  Naked.

When I come back on Sunday, I will be able to look forward to gardening.  My daffodils are opening -- I will miss some but I am already busy in my head planning, making lists and persuading myself to set a sensible budget.  What a lovely way of not living in the present.

This is the last night of a four-day, pre-retreat fast.  I may describe it another time, but suffice it to say that this is the proper way for me to prepare for a retreat.

Traci, Snick, and Sharyn, thank you for commenting.  These days and for awhile, I've written without thought that I was being read.  Thanks for pulling my feet back to the ground.  And thanks for the love.

Last night, Julia and I sat down to do a pretty formal family tree.  Once again, I gritted my teeth.  This is a tree that has no room for the people in our lives, only for the genetic ancestors of David and myself.  There is no space for other children or sibling, let alone our beloved friends who are more family than those who are genetically linked.  At times, it seems like family ancestry is another “R” and required labor each and every school year so that a child who does not know their formal “family” will never be allowed to forget the fact.

However, Julia took on the challenge with gusto, prodding me about the spelling and pronunciation of each name.  She took in the Sarvetnick’s and the Zlobicki’s and the Batt’s and Krauchuk’s and the Levine’s and the Reszitnyk’s never once complaining about long, impossible to spell names.  These are her family names and although I might be reading into her steadfast application to the task, I felt her respect, as if she would have no problem setting up an ancestor shrine like the one in the movie Mulan, especially if she could put in a little dragon or dinosaur.  I asked her and she had no trouble agreeing to put the names “China Mother” and “China Father” next to David’s and my name but my heart hurts for the other family who will never have the gift of Julia’s honor and respect.  And it is something that is not within my power to give her.

I send them my grateful heart for my Julia, but I do wish that we could take them into our family.

I had my second MBSR (Meditation Based Stress Reduction) class today.  I was a very bad student all this past week.  I did not read the suggested reading, did not fill in my meditation log and did not even do the informal practice that I had been assigned.  I have been unwilling to fully enter into this experience even thought I committed to it after so much considering and deliberating.  I should not punish myself or feel guilty -- that is so much against what they are trying to teach me.  I should not even regret.  Instead, I should be returning to my commitment anew again and again.  Perhaps this considering and re-dedication is my first informal practice.

This school year is winding down for me.  I have another two assignments to finish, but little else.  Nothing is settled for next semester and at present, I feel only the need for some space and time.  I need vacation.  It is not that the work is so much stress and strain but that I am still cannot see how doing what I am doing now will lead me to what I want to do.  Whenever I go down that road of thinking, I think that I must be judged incredibly foolish to go begging for work that is only a dream in a place that wants evidence based practice and lettered leaders.  But fortunately the MBSR word of the week is “non-striving” and if I use it as a guide, I should be drawn back into the present and follow what my heart knows is correct and appropriate.  This is not easy for me.  My mind darts to future and past; how difficult to sit in the present.  How difficult to wait and trust that what is to come will unfold in its own time, not in mine.  

One of the final tasks of the year is to chart my progress through the goals that I set in my Individualized Leadership Development Plan.  I cannot make myself sit with it long enough to do another edit -- I am not sure that what I have done is directly related to my proposed goals and I have no clear vision of what I will take on next year and how it will move my toward my large goals.  And I wonder how much this paragraph related to the last?  It is not that I am unwilling or unable to work hard.  I am impatient to know what to do and how it will relate to larger goals, but I do seem to be mired in the present and assigned to let what is to come unfold without foreknowledge. 

I feel like that there is an answer here that blows past me.  I am not very good at hints and clues.

On the gardening front, which is still pretty bare, we have our first open daffodil.  Neighbors have more, but we seem to be on a "cold" corner.  One daffodil!  It does not satisfy me in the least but there again, more unfolding that is out of my control.

So, a few thoughts at 4 in the morning.  

Damn, why is sleeping through the night such a challenge?  

No, that is not really a thought.

Today, my MBSR, Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction, class begins.  I had to fill out forms for the class and one of those forms was about my stress level.  I certainly admit to being stressed.  Whether my stressors are viewed by others as stressors is up for grabs but certainly I am stressed by them.  But none of those situations was on the sheet.  The sheet perplexed me when I filled it out two days ago and when I figured out why yesterday, all I could imagine doing was to add to the created list:

Raising a child with disabilities

Raising a child on the autism spectrum

Coming change in your child’s therapy schedule

Being a single parent

Long time grieving of a partner

Concern about a very ill friend

Transitioning to a new career

I have to look again, but possibly only the last item is on the list of stressors.

I did get to go outside and do a bit of cleaning of the lawn and garden beds late on Sunday.  I had hoped to do it on Monday afternoon as well but we had rain.  Even the cleaning outside is of comfort and eased the sadness and stress I am feeling.

I’ve been angry and teary and of course, worried about Matthew.  The feelings are easing somewhat, except for the worry.  When I feel this way, the only situation that I imagine will ease the feelings is to be closer to Cheshire and Lisa.  This stress makes it hard to see my supports that are closer to home.  And there are those, certainly.  As this fog lifts, I am grateful for Rowan making me a salad on Saturday and for the response on Facebook that I got when I posted that I decided to join a swim club this summer.  Both very small gifts, but gifts nonetheless.  I am thankful for those.

I get scared about so many things -- it is almost embarrassing to write them down and to write them over and over.  As I come up for air, I perceive the messages of hope and patience.  This is a journey, so much of it is a practice.  Arriving, complete satisfaction are not the point.  

Coming up for air, I’ve made some decisions about the summer -- cut back on Julia’s at home school work (maybe just reading and online math), draw and paint with her as our work together, join the swim club and spend summer days at lessons and pool play, garden, bike, cut back therapy to 10 hours of autism therapy (less than 1/2 of our schedule for the last 4 years), speech and attachment, check out music or art based social groups, take a week away (hopefully with Lisa or Cheshire or both), and I’d like to camp.  The summer away from Madison does not work this year, nor does distant travel -- the desire is there but the energy and will involved is not.

I realize that I have been trying to change Julia, to push her as quickly as I can to make her what she is not, my typical Chinese child.  It is not that I will stop urging her forward, but I need to do it to help her become the best of who she is, not some image that I have.  Very simple, right?  Reading in bed tonight, a book that she is not quite ready to ready by herself, I remembered doing the same thing with Cheshire when she was 7 or 8.  I don’t think that Julia has made it that far, probably more like 6 or 7 in a very modified way.  She was not interested in chapter books without dinosaurs last year, I am not always crazy about her literary choices but those are maturing.  And the other day, she asked who the books in our house were for.  She appreciated that we had so many for her to read -- two shelves that should be of great interest in the next year.  So many times her understanding has huge gaps.  I’ve constantly tried to fill those gaps -- teach to the gaps.  And I need to just breaths and find joy in our accomplishments and truly teach to her strengths.  She doe have them.  It is hard for me who, preach what I will, believes in the academic and social world that I’ve traveled and grown in, that there can be a satisfying life without good grades in school and an “important” profession.  For both of us, I need to change that view.

I fall and stall and fail at this task and then I get up again, forgive myself (still working on that) and work at it again.

Elliott wrote that “April is the cruelest month” and I sure hope so.  At least for the year.  It’s been pretty cruel so far and we’re only half way through.

A few days ago, I drove past the bay to avoid some Park Street traffic.  I have not be walking near the bay because of the cold (and it is still cold) and I am tired of the ice.  The first thing I noticed was the bobbing ducks, then the lack of ice, then the almost white capped waves.  Even a short glance at those ducks promised to make me seasick, the waves pretty fierce and those ducks all bobbing furiously.  I felt the coming of spring -- still coming, not here and the resiliency of those ducks who could endure the freezing water and the motion of the bay.  I struggle with what those ducks do with little perceived effort.

Mid-April and the reason to write here are piling up.  The will, for some reason, diminishes with each day that passes.  And writing, as soon as I put fingers to the keyboard or pen to paper, is a primary practice for me.  I question how I can ignore such basic knowledge and is deep within me.  Of course, I also know deep in my soul that I should exercise regularly and eat wisely.  

I have the capacity to ignore much of the wisdom stored in my soul. 

Yesterday, I went to the last of 5 meditation classes, “Buddhism in context.” 

After five weeks I have some understanding of dukkha -- suffering -- and that all life has it although it still seems to me that I have more than my share.  I have some understanding of second arrows -- the suffering we add to the actual suffering of life, sometimes called regret or guilt.  Finally, I have listened to the lists and lists to help one who practices meditation -- some of which I can understand, some are too much to hold in my head during the teaching let alone when I am “on the cushion” -- kinda’ cool expression for sitting and meditating. As it was a first class, so much of the teaching have rinsed through me.  I have caught small bits and pieces and for the most part I remain the unlearned student.  There was advice given yesterday: Let the teachings come to you.  I have no choice.  

It has been a revelation and a “duh” that  I’ve finally grasped a bit of the importance of meditating in community.  I ran to church and became a much more involved Unitarian after David died.  Sometimes feeling that there was no way that I was going to fit in but insisting on finding community in the place that insisted on preaching community.  And I have found some community at church but still did not grasp the benefit of spiritual practice in community.  But getting some of it through our Quest activities and now this class under my belt, I feel benefit beyond a simple community.  I am not articulate about this yet, but it is palpable. 

On Tuesday, I begin my eight week Meditation Based Stressed Reduction class at UW.  I signed up for this course as a way to gain credibility in the research world, but now it is much more.  I do want to learn more about contemplative practice for its own sake, for my sake.  I am very happy to have started with a buddhist base, not that I am looking for a new religion but I know that the MBSR course washes away the spirituality of meditation so that it can appeal to a broader audience of students.  I, however, like the spirituality and need the science.  I am excited to begin.

I am exhausted -- not always physically, although my nighttime sleep is regularly punctuated with time awake and so it is rare that I get a full night’s sleep.  It is an exhaustion of the soul and my second arrow is that I fear my life will never change and that I will spend the rest of living this life weary.  

Awhile back I was talking to someone about adult service for the disabled and the person casually said, “When you daughter applies for services . . . “  The words were a punch in the gut.  The person had no intention of hurting me, and truly there was no reason not to use Julia as an example during that conversation, but suggesting that Julia will need adult services for the disabled when she is an adult hurt badly.  It may sound crazy but I hold onto a belief that she will be “normal,” “typical” or at least be able to support herself with employment and have friends, even a partner.  I did not know how invested I was in that belief.  Evidently greatly no matter how irrational that dream is.

Julia is still asleep beside me this morning -- Sunday is the only day we are in bed late.  She is the source of so much of the dukkha in my life.  Truth and sadness.  Last Monday, Julia peed in the car again. She peed because she would rather play with her iPad than mind her body.  She couldn’t wait to jump in the car when we were going to do errands, do food shopping and then go to speech therapy.  She did not go to the bathroom before we left because she wanted to go into the car and play with the iPad.  She never asked to go to the bathroom at the various stores we were in and just before speech, I had enough time to run into the food coop to pick up tofu.  Julia asked to wait in the car.  When I came back to the car she was still on the iPad and she had peed in the seat.  I had to stop at the rehab clinic and cancel speech, then home where the car needed to be cleaned out immediately and then go to the car wash for a bio wash that cost $139.00.

The peeing made me angry and the anger sat with me for an entire week.  Towards the end of the week, I saw clearly how much the anger had to do with the loss of control. I have been holding knowledge without acting on it -- that her tioleting habits have deteriorated badly and I’ve lived just hoping they would get better with time.  Nothing that Julia does gets better with time without much teaching and practice.  Julia needs to be reminded to pee and poop even when she is potty dancing.  And it isn’t just when she is immersed in compelling activities.  It is everything -- emptying the dishwasher or putting toys away.  And I am terrified that my life will be nothing nothing but taking care of her.  Forever.  Now with her period I have another another layer of responsibility.  “Change your pad, go to the bathroom.”  Remind, remind, remind.  More and more care for someone who can’t even carry on a decent conversation.  Forever.  Another second arrow because I do not know that this is true.  It is fear nothing else and the truth is that there is little I have control of.  Why let this unknown punctuate my days? 

Opening the blinds this morning, I spy the snow on the ground.  There were weather reports of a spring-like day today and the updated report is that it will be warm for a short time today, but the wintery mix of snow, sleet and rain will only turn to rain and not allow for any gardening.  Gardening is my own true practice.  I have not done it as a practice, as anything more than a struggle for three years.  I am hopeful for this year but the practice needs the spring and it is not here yet.   

The dear son of a dear friend is very sick.  It scares me.  I feel very far away and unable to do anything.  I try to hold my “what ifs” at bay, but they come crowding in all too often.    We have a history, this friend and I, and the history makes it hard to be optimistic.

I know that there are many things to be grateful for, still I whine:  I placed an amazon order for some birthday gifts for Cheshire.  I had a few missteps but when I finally got to the part that would allow me to write a greeting, I broke down in sobs.  The sadness of missing David, of our life together and as a family, of all of the small steps of raising Cheshire, of the joys of raising Cheshire, of knowing that this family life is irrevocably over jumps out at me.  33 months and it can still be so raw.  I know I am not through the tunnel of grief completely, but I did not know how close the tears can still be.

I awoke this morning with the idea the no one does what I want to do.  No one indulges me. I almost laughed at myself for such a thought.  It was so childlike and so utterly selfish.  Is that what having a partner means?  Indulgence?  Not that David, or any partner, does what the other wants all the time, but sometimes, I got or expected to get my way.  Crazy, selfish, considered or wise, David catered to my whims and wants sometimes.  And that was delightful.  The immediacy of a partner is a blessing and still, still, still, I miss it. 

And so, this is April so far.  I hear NPR stories about cherry blossoms in DC or dandelions’ first bloom, and it is as if those word are personal attacks.  I need spring.