Looking for “More”

November 15, 2016

“Who are these people?” That’s the question I asked myself upon leaving my fiftieth high school reunion dinner one Saturday evening last month.

I went to a small country day school in Connecticut, starting at age four and ending at age 18. I was one of thirty-eight students who graduated on a sunny Friday morning in June 1966. Such a small number allowed us to believe we knew each other pretty well by the time we were handed that diploma. But, really, at age 18 how well do you know anybody? How discerning can you be?

We each had our own page in the Class of 1966 yearbook. As was the custom, we wrote long, gushy love notes to each other on our own page of each others’ yearbook. We promised to stay in touch.

But we didn’t. We had more important things to do–grow up, figure out our life purpose, have our heart broken and repaired, and discover what’s right and wrong. Career, family and community took center stage.

Fast Forward Fifty Years
In May of this year I was reminded that my fiftieth high school class reunion was slated for the first weekend in October. Even though the Alumni Office would send out one or two notices during the next six months, no one else was going to take the time to round up my classmates unless a few of us made the concerted effort.

Having organized lots of groups over the years, I identified three classmates who wanted to join me in planning our reunion. This entailed finding lost classmates, divvying the class list among the four of us and calling folks to stir up interest. One classmate who had been a librarian used her sleuthing skills on the Internet to find those without contact information. She found one classmate from his daughter’s wedding announcement in The New York Times and helped me confirm another’s death by locating his daughter in San Francisco.

The initial calls surprised me. Conversations averaged 45 minutes, and that was with people I hadn’t spoken with for 50 years. When I got off those calls, I was excited and hopeful. People who expressed doubt and reluctance about coming back for reunion at the beginning of the call said they would give the idea serious thought by the time we hung up.

The Planning Process
When we started, the planning committee met on the phone every two weeks. We were serious. In addition to calling classmates, we had to identify a restaurant for our Saturday night dinner. It took more than one try, but once a restaurant was found and our reservation was locked in, we could focus on making sure people came.

I created e-mails to gin up interest. I asked a few classmates to write about their favorite teacher, describe a memorable moment, and/or share why they wanted to attend reunion. I asked for current photos of those who contributed, so folks would recognize them when reading the article. Thanks to the Internet, I added cartoons, pictures and a relevant blog one guy wrote about attending his fortieth.

“We Got the Best We Could.”
The reunion was a two-pronged event: A lunch at the school on Friday and a dinner at a restaurant on Saturday. Out of 33 living classmates six attended the school lunch on Friday and 11 attended the dinner. This may not sound like much, but statistics would probably deem it a success.

One woman who attended the lunch delayed her winter sojourn to Florida for a week so she could join us. Out of the 11 who came to dinner, five of us were from out of state. One classmate arrived home in New Jersey on the morning of our dinner after taking the red-eye from Seattle to Newark, retrieved her dog from the kennel, and then drove to Connecticut to be with us for our 6:00 PM start time. That afternoon another drove from Massachusetts and two more from Rhode Island. All of them save the New Jersey classmate were driving home after the dinner.

Without our calling, cajoling and corralling our classmates, it’s highly unlikely there would have been any reunion. What touched me the most was learning two classmates who deemed each other best friends in high school had had no contact for 50 years. At the dinner they pledged to resume their friendship. As one classmate on the planning committee put it, “We got the best we could.”

So, Where Did I End Up?
In short, I was not where I wanted to be. Sitting at a long table with access only to the people on both sides of me and the one in front of me was not ideal for mixing with everyone who attended. The man across from me spent the better part of the evening proudly telling me and the woman to my left how many houses, boats and cars he had acquired through the years. For some reason this conversation dragged on and on. The woman to my right was consumed with the conversation to her right.

Usually I can talk easily with people I meet, but that evening I found myself disinterested in the conversation and too exhausted to interject my own stories. No one cared enough to ask. Dazed, I couldn’t figure out what had happened. After all the calls, e-mails and planning meetings, I felt disconnected and disappointed. Who were these people anyway?

Once home, I separately shared my disappointment with my doctor and my meditation teacher. Both had experienced the same phenomenon with old friends–lonely, empty connections. And then my minister made it exceedingly clear in her Sunday message, “When you open the spiritual door in your life, there is no going back.”

I opened that door in the early nineties, and assumed that most people I knew came with me. Not so. I went to my reunion looking for a connection with my childhood friends. I guess that’s why I unwittingly left home in the first place—looking for rewarding connections. Lovely as my adult classmates are, we are in different places today where my connection to them is tenuous and no longer needed. I wanted “more” from them and this experience. I learned this is not where “more” resides.

Time’s Up! What’s Your Exit Strategy?

Imagine being in a weekly bridge group for 44 years and wanting out. This is the dilemma a friend of mine has found himself in. To the outsider, it seems easy. Tell the other person(s) you are leaving and go.

Well, it’s really not that simple. A lot of personal information is shared during those meetings. You become privy to the intimacies of what’s going on with those other people, and you’ve probably shared some pretty personal stuff yourself. It can feel like being stuck in a sticky spider’s web. If you lift your foot to leave, you end up with half the web stuck to your shoe.

You probably know “those people” more than you care to. Not all the information is discussed at the meeting, but may be gleaned on the sidelines. It can come from other sources, like mutual friends or even the newspaper.

The Elephant on the Table

One day when reading the newspaper my weekly bridge-playing friend discovered that one of his bridge partners broke the law. Yep, he read it in the newspaper! This was no small crime, but a pretty hefty embezzlement. You are probably wondering how the subject was broached at the bridge table? Well, it never was. They just kept playing bridge. You can imagine what everyone was thinking, yet nothing was said.

How many times have you gotten together with “friends” and had a running subtext going on in your head? That subtext might go like this, “Why did I say yes again? I am done with these folks. I am ready to find someone else who I can connect with more honestly or who I can grow with or learn from.” While this is going on, the “outer you” is congenial, friendly and, above all else, pleasant.

What Keeps Us Tied In?

When this conflict keeps turning your stomach in knots, this is when you must go within. You’ve got to ask yourself some tough questions. What keeps me coming back? What’s my role in the group or with that other person? What would happen if I left? Could my leaving affect relationships that my family members or other close friends have with members of the group? Answering those questions may cause you to feel that spider web getting stickier. Don’t let that stop you.

Guilt weighs heavily in this equation. By ending your commitment, you might think you are letting the other person(s) down. Of course, this is all supposition, because you probably haven’t asked the other person(s) how he/she (they) feels if you were to leave. And what if they pitch a fit and beg you not to leave? Does that mean you can’t? Did you make a lifetime commitment when you agreed to join this group or meet regularly with these persons? I bet you did not.

And how many times have people left you or a group you are in? You got over it, right? My bridge-playing friend has seen people come and go throughout the 44 years he’s played with these cronies. He’s now found another bridge group that plays at a higher level. He wants to leave. In fact, he’s straddling the line. He’s already playing with the new group, wants to ditch the old, but feels he cannot.

What’s Important?

The simple answer is YOU—how you feel and how you spend your time. A long-time friend once told me when I was wrangling with a decision that involved others, “Do what is best for you. Because whatever you decide will be best for everyone else.” It took me awhile to wrap my arms around that, but the more I applied that philosophy to any decision I made, the more it felt right and made sense.

Why spend time with people just to assuage your guilt, which, by the way, rarely works? If those other people knew you felt guilty, they probably wouldn’t want you to hang around. Don’t you have better things to do that inspire happiness or expand your mind? If you find yourself bored with others’ company or stopped from moving into new areas of learning because the group wants to stay right where it is, then ask yourself why are you there? Guilt is not a good enough answer.

The old cliché “People come into our lives for a season, a reason or a lifetime,” seems to fit here. These groups we join or alliances we make fit into one of these categories. I suspect a season or a reason is the optimal choice in this discussion. Which is it for you? Has the reason been fulfilled or the season ended? If it has, then time’s up. Be kind, honest, and diplomatic. Give thanks and then say “Good-bye.”

Ask the Question

September 7, 2016

Years ago I was having no luck in the relationship department.  A divorce by the time I was 29 and then several failed relationships followed me well into my forties and early fifties.  I kept telling myself, “I am a nice person. Why can’t I have a decent relationship?”

My blurred vision obscured the fact I was the one constant in each equation.  Years of psychotherapy wrested the cataracts from my eyes so I could see the role I played in every choice and action I made.  If I was going to progress and move beyond my hamster-wheel of failed relationships, I had to ask the question, “What was/is my role in all of this?”

Extracting those cataracts wasn’t easy.  In fact, making sense of what propelled me to choose Mr. X or continue with Mr. Z, felt like scraping wallpaper off a wall.  Issues like self-worth, abandonment and neediness had to be identified and explored for me to understand why things hadn’t worked out.  Of course, wading through all of this was painful.  Oh, my gosh, very painful.

Who Makes The Decision?

Recently a friend of mine shared her relationship blues.  This made me reflect on my own vertiginous past.  Only when I discovered I was the decision maker of my life did I see things differently.

My friend had broken up with a man after dating 10 months.  They had gone back and forth ending it several times.  Finally my friend told herself and him, “This is it!  I am DONE!”  She called it “OVER!”

In this day and age when texting is the premiere way of communicating, he decides to send her a text.  In fact, a complimentary one.  Being polite and not wanting to appear insensitive or rude, she feels obliged to send a thank you.  He returns the text.  She responds and soon the entire exchange turns ugly once again.

Now, you may be scratching your head and asking, “What went wrong?”  It’s easy to make a judgment here.  She told him it was over.  He writes her.  She responds.  However, if it were truly “OVER” for her, why did she respond to the text?  Because when she responded, she chose to continue the conversation.

The Could-Have-Been Moment of Truth

This is where it can get confusing.  By responding, did she somehow want to continue the conversation?  Even though she wanted to end it, perhaps she wasn’t ready to do so.  There were many good parts to the relationship.

When she was deciding whether to respond could have been the moment of truth, had she asked herself, “What am I doing?  Why am I doing it?”  What if she had taken time to understand her own feelings?  A part of her loved what they had together and didn’t want to let it go, but another part of her most definitely did not and was ready to sever the tie.

How can she best be true to herself?  Only she can answer that.  To get the answer, she is best served to take time to sift through her feelings about the relationship in order to understand “What am I doing?  Why am I doing it?”

The Grand Scheme

When we take the time to understand our choices and behavior, we learn why things unfold as they did and do.  We more clearly see our role in each relationship.  We begin to see the red flags when they pop up.  Instead of pushing them aside, we pick them up when they appear and examine why they appeared.

We can be more objective and begin to choose more carefully with whom we spend time and share the vulnerable parts of ourselves.  It’s all part of the grand scheme of life—learning and evolving.  Let’s not only ask the question; let’s take time to explore our feelings and discover the answer.

I never paid much attention to angels until I heard angel maven Doreen Virtue of Hay House fame recount an experience she had when she was with a friend, who was about to celebrate her birthday. They were browsing a collection of scarves in a small store that didn’t take credit cards. Doreen’s friend saw a scarf she loved, but the friend decided to hold off buying it.

Doreen then decided as a way of celebrating her friend’s birthday, she would buy it for her. Guess what? She remembered she didn’t have any cash. Relying on her trusty relationship with the angels, she asked for their help to seal the purchase. When she opened her wallet, there it was, just enough money to pay for the scarf, including the sales tax.

Why Not Write A Note?
I tucked that story away for several years, until a good friend of mine reminded me I could write a note to my angels. A long-time client (seven years to be exact) started to question my work. My work included bookkeeping and managing her personal files. I hadn’t changed my approach or attitude, but she had lost her husband of many years and her health was declining (she was in her eighties). Our weekly sessions together were becoming argumentative and I wondered if I should just quit.

The evening before our next appointment I pulled out a journal, poised to write. All of a sudden another situation came careening into my thoughts. Four months before I had had an automobile accident. Coincidentally it was on the way to meet with this same client. A car had backed into my car while I was stopped at a stop sign on a narrow street. The driver was making a U-turn and even though I honked, it was a second too late. The insurance company had decided I was at fault. Why? I am still unsure.

As I discussed the situation with my insurance adjuster, she suggested I submit this case to “Arbitration”—what I call the car insurance appeal board. When I asked how likely it would be to get the decision overturned, her response was, “Not likely and it will take awhile.” With nothing to lose and not feeling sanguine, I said, “Let’s do it.”

Back to My Journal
I had hardly given a thought to this arbitration case since discussing it with the adjuster, but with my journal in front of me and my pen in hand, why not write two notes? Both were addressed to the Angel of Harmony. The first one asked for a swift decision by the arbitration board. I would accept any decision they made, providing it was fair and just, but if the Angel of Harmony could do his/her best to prevent an increase to my premium, I would really appreciate that.

The second note requested a harmonious meeting the next morning with my client. I had no idea what to expect. When I arrived, she asked me to pull old files she hadn’t looked at for years. We sat together in her office. She perused her files and I did my usual bookkeeping tasks. Throughout the entire morning, in between bursts of laughter and sighs, she thanked me several times for bringing these files to her attention. They evoked wonderful memories for her. All the while, I am thanking the angels for the great job they are doing! Oh, let me not forget to tell you this: As I was about to leave, she invited me for lunch, an invitation I received only once before during my seven years of working for her.

A Few Days Later
My angel letter writing took place on a Thursday evening. The meeting with my client was on Friday. Let’s fast forward to Monday morning, when I was on my landline talking to the same friend who suggested I write to the angels. During that conversation another call came through. Since I have call-waiting, I decided I would pick up the message once we finished our conversation.

A minute later my cell phone rang. I told my friend I should probably get that call. We ended our conversation and I picked up my cell. If you are following my story, you can guess who was calling me. Yes, the insurance adjuster! She called to tell me that the board met and decided in my favor. I would receive a check within the next few days for the deductible I paid several months ago. This meant my premium would not increase.

Wow! I started dancing. In between my dance steps I bowed to my angels. Thank you for this outcome. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! The arbitration board must have met on Friday—something I had no idea was going to happen.

All this is to say that if you’ve got a puzzling problem, why not write to your angels? You can ask without writing, but since I like to receive written notes, I bet they do, too. Ask for relatively small things at first. I bet you’ll decide this is definitely a technique worth trying.

Starving and Obsessed

May 13, 2016

As a Tarot card reader, I am given the privilege of hearing people’s deepest desires, searing hurts and glorious dreams. I am honored to be privy to such intimacies.  In the searing hurts category, many come with a broken heart or one that is breaking.  More often than not I wish I could wave a magic wand and say, “You’re healed.”  But it doesn’t work that way.

Countless times people come to me stunned.  Someone they shared intimacies with has now blocked their calls and  texts. That “other person” has vanished without a goodbye or any indication they’ve chosen to recede into the annals of the past.  No discussion, no declaration that “We’re done here!”, no leaving in a huff.

This, to me, is a cowardly, despicable act, and it is so painful to the one on the receiving end.  Maybe the best way to describe the anguish my clients feel is being thrown out of a moving car and left by the side of the road—pretty much like roadkill.  The one left behind asks repeatedly, almost addictively, “What did I do? Why has this happened to me?”

The most asked question clients who’ve been through this scenario want answered is “Will I get back together with him/her?  Is there a chance?”  Some of the more wounded will bark, “That person will never find anyone as good as I am!”  Angry and bereft, they’re left starving for something they thought they had and obsessed with the disbelief they don’t.

The answer is not as simple as many would believe.  Subtleties, nuances and denial come into play.  By the time someone in this state of anguish comes to me, it’s likely it’s not the first time this has happened.  So, what transpired for this to happen again…and again?

Jumping the Gun

Perhaps it’s haste in making a judgment.  I, too, have had such experiences.  Finally with the help of a therapist I discovered I was the common denominator in each scenario.  Switching my focus from blaming the other person to taking responsibility was not a pretty picture.  You might think it was easy to flip the switch, but it wasn’t.

I had to ask myself, “What caused me to pick the wrong person time and time again?”  First, I had to accept that I PICKED the person.  How could this be?  I was always looking for that magical zing.  The zing consisted mainly of the externals.  Was he good looking?  Did he have a good job?  Was he fun to be with?  Was he nice?  When I would meet a Mr. X, the zing had to be there and pretty instantaneously.  I concluded I wasn’t the one choosing Mr. X, but rather it was just a synchronous, albeit magical, encounter.

For the longest time I couldn’t admit I was making a choice based on external factors without getting better acquainted with the internal factors, the true makeup of his character.  I would attach myself to a person I didn’t really know.  I’ve since discovered it takes time to know someone—to really know.

Patterns Set By Our Parents

Now, this is where it gets tricky.  A good therapist can help you see how patterns set by your parents play a role.  For me, my father left an indelible imprint—he died when I was 10.  As an adult I would consistently choose partners who couldn’t be there for me either emotionally or physically or both.

Subconsciously the unavailable man was attractive to me.  I told myself that if I couldn’t keep my father alive, perhaps I could keep my relationships alive with the unavailable man.  I would do this with what therapists call—manipulation.  Unbeknownst to me until I finally wised up, I used manipulation as one of tools in my arsenal to hold onto a relationship.  When I did this, I was a shocked to discover I wasn’t being true to myself.  And I was  exhausted doing this time after time.

The Big Kahuna—I Must Not Be Worthy

The biggest reveal I learned from all this was my sense of self-worth.  If asked whether I was worthy of a wonderful, loving relationship, I would respond without hesitation that I am.  All my clients are, too.  But the subconscious is a stealthy predator.  For reasons we don’t always know, our subconscious self tells us we aren’t and then keeps directing us to the choices that are the perfect fit for fulfilling our diminished sense of self-worth.  For me, that would be choosing the unavailable man time and again.

For most of us, it takes time to understand this.  As our awareness grows, the kinds of choices that didn’t work for us in the past are not worth hanging onto.  We can choose to no longer passively stand by and wait for the other person to direct the relationship.  Instead we decide for ourselves and take whatever steps are necessary to end an unhealthy relationship.  In fact, once we’ve figured it out and we are ready to engage in a healthy relationship, the available partner will show up.  Not always on our timeline, but at a time and in a way that works best for both parties.

 Why Can’t We Bypass All This?

It turns out we all come into this life with specific lessons to learn.  These painful relationships are a catalyst for us to grow physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.  The sooner we get the lesson of each painful experience, we can move on.  Other lessons await us.  We progress.

Sometimes, though, we get only a piece of the lesson.  We may feel as if we are back where we started.  We aren’t.  Through each experience in intimate relationships we become more aware of our role in that situation.  We have choices at all times.  Knowing this, we are empowered to change, for the better, for ourselves.

Many people are averse to taking responsibility for what occurs in their life.  Looking within doesn’t seem to be an option.  After all, it’s got to be the other guy’s fault.  Introspection, however, is a necessary step to seeking and keeping a happy, healthy relationship.  Gaining awareness as to why we make the choices we make is essential.  A Tarot card reading can help us go within when we are in a relationship turmoil, or when we are ending or beginning one.

Clutter, Clutter Everywhere

September 28, 2015

Everyone has clutter. For some it’s not visible, but the mental residue of unwanted thoughts and worries rests in their mind. For others, a pile here and a pile there are periodically swept away and then a new pile is born.

But what about the person who feels the need to cover every flat surface in her home with a multitude of crystals, knickknacks, and tchotchkes? Or the person who has so many clothes, she cannot fit them all into her closets and bureaus? Or the person who cannot get through the endless stacks of paper that confront him in his home office, on his kitchen counter or covering his coffee table?

Why does clutter exist?

What I’ve learned during the past 10 years of helping people de-clutter is to listen to each client’s back-story, because in that story lie the reasons why the clutter exists and persists. In most cases there is loss or trauma hidden underneath all the stuff. How much clutter there is at the present time and how it is handled depends on the degree to which the trauma has been dealt with.

Those who have undergone a loss or a trauma have a critical need to feel safe. Job loss, death of a loved one, a sudden disability, or a violation of any sort is an example of such trauma. Tangible, physical items, like clothes, shoes, cars, or even paper, can give the illusion of safety and control. Since most of us determine what we bring into our home, the single act of buying an item we want but don’t need can give us a sense of control—control that didn’t exist when or after the trauma occurred.

Why is there such resistance to addressing clutter?

Most people don’t realize there is a whole lot more to clutter than just stuff. Having possessions is a wonderful distraction. Anything you own means you have to manage it, store it, maintain it, repair it, use it, clean it, or display it. When you have too much of it, it becomes clutter. We Americans have the wherewithal to buy lots of stuff we don’t need. Why do we do it? Because we can and because it soothes us temporarily. I suspect, though, there are other reasons.

If we were to probe more deeply, we might discover the feelings that propel us to acquire unnecessary, excess stuff. If we were to face these feelings squarely, we might call a halt to the endless influx of stuff we allow and usually welcome into our homes. This is not easy to do. In fact, this is a profound realization, and when people get it, they are willing to start dealing with their clutter in a deep and lasting way.

No Response is A Response

October 21, 2014

Have you ever written someone an e-mail message asking a question and never gotten a response?  Or left a voice mail message requesting a call-back?  I can answer a resounding “Yes!” to both.  In most cases the person I am writing to knows me.  We have been friends or had a business relationship, and he or she has never expressed dissatisfaction regarding our connection.  This kind of communication roadblock drives me crazy.

I agree we’re all bombarded by texts, e-mails and voice mail.  No matter what, I still think I merit a response.  One therapist I went to a long time ago, when I was bemoaning a man I was dating who hadn’t called me back, told me the scoundrel had answered me.  It’s called “No Response” or as Greg Berendt and Liz Tucillo so aptly titled their book He’s Just Not That Into You, The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys.  

I must be delusional, because I thought those people I wrote to or called were into me enough to write or call me back.  I thought they were into me enough to open and read the e-mail I sent, but my best friend informs me they probably deleted it before opening it.  That shocked me.  And, of course, it could have even gone into their Spam folder.  This saddens me more than I am willing to admit.

Why Be Sad?

But, why be sad?  Perhaps one reason is that I gave more meaning to a relationship than it was due.  I feel deeply enough about the interactions I have had with a person that it feels worth holding onto.  In the past I credited myself as a good judge of character.  I thought I knew when a particular relationship was worth my time and energy.  Lately, though, that’s all changing.  Relationships I considered close are not so close.  People’s interests are shifting.  Demands on our time are relentless.

I keep thinking there’s more to it.  When people don’t respond to e-mail messages I send just to them, I start questioning the nature of the relationship.  Somewhere along the way a judgment was made and I wasn’t in on it.  The other person has moved onto other things more tantalizing, fulfilling, and worthwhile, or new demands, even a crisis, may have usurped their time.  He or she no longer sees the need to pump energy into our relationship.  Here’s what’s so disconcerting:  The decision probably wasn’t conscious or arbitrary.

It reminds me of a buffet.  The buffet’s first course has been well picked over and now a second, more delectable course replaces it.  Those people I wanted to hear back from have gotten up to get the second course.  Meanwhile, I’m still eating the servings I loaded on my plate from the first.  I’m not ready to return to the buffet table for the second course.  Or worse, the helpings I took when the first course was served were just too big.  If I had taken smaller portions, I could have gone back for the second round when the others did.

Decision by Others

What troubles me the most is other people’s decision to move on without some sort of closure, without informing me things are changing and what we have will be different from what we had.  This makes me remember the day I came home from school (I was ten) and learned my father had left our house on a stretcher by ambulance.  A neighborhood friend, someone I wasn’t even that close with, told me she had witnessed his departure.  No one told me this would happen.  How could someone else I didn’t even know that well see what I should have seen?

My father hadn’t been feeling well all summer and couldn’t join me for Father’s Day at day-camp.  He was beginning to spend a lot of time in bed away from his medical practice as an obstetrician/gynecologist.  Unbeknownst to me, he was diagnosed with cancer and it was progressing.  Occasionally other doctors would come to the house to see him.  Since I knew these doctors as my parents’ friends, I thought the visits were meant to give support, not to diagnose the progress of his disease.

Things started changing.  Out of the ordinary gestures became routine.  Instead of my mother driving us to school, one of my brother’s classmates picked us up each morning.  People brought casseroles to the house.  Friends stopped by for no apparent reason.  Relatives started showing up.  I thought I heard people whispering, but no audible sounds were heard.  Something was being said, and I knew deep-down it wasn’t good.

Time to Move On

My mother made decisions that affected my two brothers and me.  She took us twice to visit my father during the four weeks of his hospital stay.  The second and last visit was the most disturbing.  One part of his hospital bed was tilted so he appeared sitting up.  An oxygen tent–something I had never seen before I walked into his room–encased him.  I remember he was lucid and carried on a normal conversation, but nothing about the visit was normal.  I couldn’t hug him, kiss him or snuggle up to him.  He was untouchable.  I didn’t understand it.  I was ten, unable to ask questions or figure out what was going on.

On October 13, 1958, my father died.  I knew my father was ill, but I didn’t know he was dying.  No one informed me his situation was so dire.  How could this have happened?  What happened?  If only I had known, perhaps I could have done something about it.  I would have written him letters that might have consoled him.  Or I would have asked to visit him more.  Perhaps I could have been a participant, rather than a side-lined child.  More importantly, perhaps I could have prepared myself for a loss that has colored my entire life.

Those same feelings of being a side-lined child surface today when people don’t answer my e-mails, calls or letters.  I am aware something is no longer as it was, but no one told me what that is.  People are so busy.  Finding the time to let me know that a situation or a level of relationship has changed is not their priority.  I can ask.  I can keep sending e-mails or make repeated calls, but when the answer is “No Response,” I must remember what my therapist said long ago, “No Response is A Response.”  I must somehow come to terms with the silence, accept what is, and let it go.  I know it’s time to move on and be open to what presents itself to me now.