Category: Alanon

San Francisco 2021

by Ashley filed under Alanon, Dad, Healing, Travel

I’m 41 years old today. I feel indifferent, which is how I feel most every year on my birthday. This year, I’m excusing that feeling knowing that this time, last year, I was racing home in hopes of getting to say goodbye to my dad for the last time.

In recovery we learn about God’s will versus our will. Because we get to choose a God of our understanding, I refer to mine as the Universe. This trip was a lesson in me pushing my will and the Universe reminding me I’m not in charge.

The night before, on the 4th of July, we were in San Francisco, on a boat, watching fireworks. I had splurged and spent more money than usual under the pretense that it was my 40th birthday and watching fireworks from a boat in the Bay of my favorite city with my three favorite people seemed like the best gift I could give myself. I knew my dad wasn’t doing well and up until that point I didn’t know if I wanted to be there for his passing. Watching his decline was hard enough and the speed of which it was all happening didn’t even leave space for the denial that (arguably) got me through other hard times of my life, like my marriage.

By the time the fireworks started, Sonny and Van were already fast asleep. Wanting to get what I paid for, I tried to wake them up a few times and hoped the few explosions they might have seen would be downloaded into their memory banks. When the show was over, we found ourselves stranded at the tip of a city that had only one way in and one way out and we became small fish in a big sea of people all waiting for the same thing: uber. I carried Sonny as we walked blocks, moving faster than the gridlock traffic, in a frenzy to get to a location where an uber could pick us up. We waited over an hour; it was nearly midnight before we got a ride. We made the short drive, which resulted in a huge bill, and I scooped Sonny’s limp body up as we left, recognizing the puddle of urine he left behind. Walking up the steps to our rental with a sleeping, urine-soaked child over my shoulder, I started to wonder what it was I was doing and why. Why did I do this to myself? I was in constant contact with my mom and sister, getting updates on my dad. Even while watching the fireworks blast off into the air, I wondered if he was still alive.

I wondered why we were in San Francisco at all. I still can’t answer that question. I don’t know if it was denial that my dad was dying, or me pushing my own will by forcing my life to continue as it was, or a mix of both. All I knew at that time was that it didn’t make logical sense to get on the road to see my dad before the fireworks because the 7-hour drive ahead of us we would get us there after dark, the kids would need to be put to bed, and we’d likely be sharing the road with people who had been drinking. I made the decision to cut our trip early and leave the following morning, on my 40th birthday.

I set my alarm for a few hours past our usual 4am departure time when we’re on the road and decided that the extra sleep was needed. I asked my sister and mom to not include me in the play-by-play texts, recognizing that there was nothing I could do.

I loaded up the truck in the morning all the while wondering if my dad was still alive, or not. For the entire 7-hour drive home, I wondered that. I just wanted to get there. Tears rolled down my cheeks, a mixture of no longer being able to deny what was happening mixed with that harsh inner critic that was telling me I’m a piece of shit for not even knowing if I wanted to be there for his passing. In those 7 hours, I was solid in my inner knowing: I wanted to be there. I hated myself for not being there. The thought of not being there was torturing me. My inner critic was handed an infinite amount of free passes to destroy myself with and I beat myself up that entire drive home.

We drove directly to my parents’ house and I rushed up the steps, flung open the front door, asked my sister if he was still there and I broke down in her arms when she told me he was. I kept saying “I hate that I didn’t know how bad I wanted to be here” and she just held me. My mom came up behind my sister and suggested that the kids not go in the room; my dad had changed a lot over the course of the preceding months and the boys were witness to it all. But in this last phase the change was so drastic and my mom wanted to protect the boys. I felt it was important for the boys to make the decision for themselves so I pulled them aside and explained that this would be a final goodbye and that he was going to look different than he had before. They all chose to say goodbye, in person, facing a reality I had been desperate to avoid. Kids are magical like that… they haven’t found all the rocks to hide under yet. The only way they know is through.

My sister and I sat in the bed with my dad. She told me that she’d told him I was coming. She told me she thought he was waiting for me and on a visceral level, I knew that to be true. His eyes were closed, his mouth was open, and his chest looked like it strained to make each breath. At one point a roadrunner appeared outside the window. My sister and I googled what roadrunners symbolize:

“The spiritual meaning of roadrunners is magic and good luck while also symbolizing transitions. Whether it’s a life change, epiphany or physical transformation, the spiritual meaning of a roadrunner is about moving forward and embracing the coming changes that your life will inevitably face.”

We went to bed that night wondering what it was he was holding onto or holding on for. My sister laughed and said, “he wouldn’t leave on your birthday, he’d want you to have that day.”

It’s true, that’s precisely who my dad was; never one to overshadow and always one to shine the light on someone else. And so it made sense when my birthday came and went and we were awoken that night by the hospice nurse and told it was time.

A gift from the Universe to have been there for him. Especially because I pushed my own will so hard. There’s so many lessons embedded in pain, I think that’s why I’ve learned to turn into it instead of away from it. A lesson in the Universe being the only one in control, in transformations, and in impermanence.

My birthday will always be a time for me to reflect on that one time I rushed home to be where I should have been but didn’t know I wanted to be and allowed space for the not knowing. A time when I heard my inner critic put me down and chose grace instead. A time to reflect on my coming into this world and my dad leaving this world and a time to be grateful for all that happened in between the two to bring me to where I am today, on my birthday, surrendering to it all.

 

 

Southwestern Road Trip, 2020

by Ashley filed under Alanon, Divorce, Family, Travel

 

It’s hard for me to keep up with this space even though my heart lives and beats in these posts. I can scroll back and see my story unfolding, my evolution and it keeps me going. I often find myself reflecting back as finding the time to write in the moment is a luxury (and burden) I’ve had to learn to let go of. I’ve found it can be just one more way for me to beat myself up — for not making the time and letting all those epiphanies that spark like firecrackers fizzle out before they meet the ground the same way my thought is lost by the time I find the time to turn it into words.

But there’s a blessing in looking back, too, and the more I find myself embracing that, the more I feel pulled back to this space. Looking back makes more room for the clarity that comes with hindsight; the clouds parting ways, the path clear, so I can see what was right in front of me the whole time. We all strive to live in the moment but sometimes the moments are loud and messy and chaotic. There’s a serenity that comes from looking back in the absence of the chatter and the thoughts that rattle in my brain.

Last year was a rollercoaster of a year for many of us and at the time so much of it felt all-consuming, never-ending, and dizzying. I opted for the online school option which added so much to my plate and so much noise to the house but as time has passed and I can reflect with the peace in knowing that chapter is over (I hope), I see it all in a different light. I see it all through the lens of gratitude. It was hard, but we did it. In all the change and surrender, we found new ways to carry on being. And, we were together. Always.

There’s so many things about single motherhood that no one tells you about. Going through these photos brought a release of tears. Not because of the fleetingness to motherhood but because of the fleetingness to single motherhood. I didn’t know at the time what a blessing this time with my kids was; how these moments solo with them would string together to build such a beautiful, connected, relationship. A relationship that I really wouldn’t have had with them if not for divorce. There’s something so freeing about mothering them on my own; it’s a true ownership of the role, a forced self-reliance. I was grieving a loss that I still grieve to this day but looking back now, from hindsight, I was also celebrating a freedom I didn’t really know I had. A freedom to rely solely on myself, to make game time decisions, disciplining decisions, a freedom to surrender when I needed with no need to explain or argue, justify or defend. A self-reliance I didn’t know I was lacking before. And a connection, born out of all these memories, with the most special little people; the kind of connections born out of 10 consecutive hours in the car together, crossing state lines together, searching for WiFi together, visiting places we’ve been in the past as a family of 5 and making new memories as a family of 4 in those old familiar places. I’m so grateful for all of it. I always thought of single motherhood as some decrepit thing no one wanted… I see now that it’s been one of my biggest blessings. I get to love these boys and experience these boys with no distractions, relying only on my self. Before I looked at it as something I had to do. Now I look at it as something I get to do. I have gratitude to thank for that. And recovery to thank for that gratitude.

 

There were so many memories made, here’s a few:

-Sonny had a cold and we were in the sleepy ghost town of Jerome with no convenient store. We spent longer than we wanted trying to find some elusive cold medicine (mostly so he could sleep… but also mostly so I could, in turn, sleep too). We had no luck but when we returned to our rental we found a small brown paper bag on our steps and inside of it was some cold medicine. Someone we talked to in the neighborhood earlier that day dropped it off for us. A small moment of connection, a gift from a stranger. A needed reminder that we not only need each other but but that we have each other too.

-After driving for hours we arrived to the earthship community in Taos just as rain started to fall. The winds swept in as we (I) unloaded the truck. The clouds looked like they were fighting one another; a beautiful battle of opposites with the light trying to find its way through. And then the most beautiful rainbow. A full rainbow, end to end. And then a double rainbow. Surely I know it’s not all about us but in that moment, it felt like a blessing from the universe just for us. A way of saying “you’re here, you made it, and you’re doing it”. Fuel for the soul.

-We stayed in an octagon on an Indian Reservation where we made friends with dogs that stole our socks. Those same dogs would follow us each night as we hiked up behind our octagon to catch the sun setting behind Monument Valley. Two nights in a row we were approached by a fox; the most beautiful and majestic creature that stopped us all in our tracks and for a brief moment – before getting the hell outta dodge – we stood in one another’s presence, in what-felt-like honor of one another.

-At a skatepark in Page I helped Sonny skateboard and I recall this being the point where he really got it and – from that point forward – didn’t need me quite so much anymore. It was also there I read the news of RBG’s passing and the boys and I shared tears over the tragic loss and the significance of what her loss meant to the future.

-We found ourselves surrounded by Trump flags while livin’ the lake life at Lake Powell. I went into the truck to get a few things and came out to discover that Hooper had taken the clipboard he was using for school-on-the-road and made his own Black Lives Matter sign that he proudly displayed in front of his chair. Later, the universe intervened and we got stuck in the sand and it was one of those Trump supporters (complete with cowboy boots and a sticker that said “I’m that conservative your parents warned you about”) who happily towed us out. We had many moments like this; where the school agenda for the day consisted of things like multiplication and division but what we ended up learning was life lessons about how we’re all an integration of opposites and not a separation of parts.

 

States visited: Arizona, New Mexico, Utah

Cities visited: Jerome, Arcosanti, Sedona, Albuquerque, Taos, Monument Valley, St. George, Lake Powell, Page

 

We enjoyed this trip so much that a few weeks after coming home we hit the road again. I’ll dig deep to try to find the time to share that trip, too.

 

The Beehive

by Ashley filed under Alanon, Life

In my healing journey, the notion of a higher power is one that has been suggested to me many times and one I’ve grappled with and struggled to let in. Having been raised agnostic, I grew up believing I controlled my own destiny. I’ve learned that while I certainly have a part, there’s much that’s not in my control and also not meant to be in my control and consequently a lot I need to hand over. I don’t subscribe to God and if I did, I’d refuse to call him a He and I downright refuse any organized religion; rather I’m defining my own power greater than myself and learning as I go. There’s more to say here but for the purpose of what I’m sharing and in conjunction with where I’m at on that journey, that’s that.

Yesterday we left Santa Cruz in the wee hours of the morning, caught sunrise from the road, came home and unpacked, napped, made it out to our local skatepark, made dinner, and even had time to squeeze in sunset at the beach. And it was there, at the beach, that we stumbled upon a beehive. I noticed a man peering under the stair and when we caught eyes, he directed our attention to it. He signaled to his husband ahead of him and I called over to Hooper, who was still climbing on the rocks. And together, we stood in amazement watching all those bees climb over and through one another. Social distancing disregarded in a way only a hive can allow. Before the man walked away with his husband he said, “it’s hopeful, isn’t it?”. It is, I said. And we went our separate ways.
When we got back in my truck, I recounted the experience to the kids and said, “isn’t it beautiful how nature can nurture human connection?”. It is hopeful. It’s also how I see my own higher power reaching out to me, reminding me she’s here.