The second greatest day of my life

I was in my bedroom when she called my name. My mother was standing at the foot of the stairs. And she was falling apart.

Through her tears she told me that, before going to bed, my dad had told her he didn’t think he would live to my sister’s wedding two months later, that he felt the cancer was winning and the end was near.

We went downstairs and sat on the couch, for the first time in my life (although not nearly the last) I held her as she sobbed; the feelings she’d buried deep inside finally overflowing, out of character for a woman so strong and in control. Dad heard us and came downstairs. He stood at the door of the living room looking small and lost. The woman he loved more than his own life was falling apart, and she had called out to me instead of him. Because, through the years of his illness, the years of them being strong for each other, they had unintentionally grown apart.

He sat on the chair across the room in obvious discomfort. When he finally spoke he said he didn’t realize she cared so much, he thought she’d already let go. She had gotten into the habit of crying out on the patio after he was asleep. She didn’t know that, in trying to be strong, she appeared to be disconnected.

I realized at that moment why I was there. Why I had left my home and my career to move thousands of miles from the west to the east. I was their link, I was there to bring them together again.

Eventually he moved to the sofa and I sat between them. We talked about the end of his life and what it meant. I played the roll of mediator; how do you feel about this, what will happen after that, perhaps we should consider rescheduling, maybe we need to get ready to say goodbye.

The night ended with them holding each other as they cried, and I retreated once again to my bedroom. The walls had come down and they found the words that had been lost in the silence of strength and getting things done.

All of us changed after that. There was more laughter and more tears. He lived to walk my little sister down the aisle. He lived to see his and my mother’s 44th wedding anniversary and his 67th birthday. He lived to be my dad, wondering how Mom would ever learn to buy groceries without him sitting in the parking lot, fuming because she was taking so long. He lived to teach me the right way to mow the lawn and return the recyclables. He lived to say good-bye, to give away his prized possessions, to swear that the next time he had a terminal illness, he would make sure he was gone before the hot weather came.

And there was my mother. Still in control but with a new empathy that had been buried before. There was my mother, smiling, telling him to shut up and take his drugs already. There was him taking those drugs, prolonging a life he was ready to turn from. For her. There was love. Open and honest love. Between us all. Finally.

The greatest day of my life was the day I held his hand for 10 hours or more so I knew that he knew he wasn’t alone, my father turned to me suddenly and the light left his eyes. The second greatest day of my life was the day I brought my parents together again, the day I reminded them that feelings - even feelings that made you cry - are better shown than hidden.

HMV: Her Mother's Voice

It's no secret that I spent a lot of time and effort trying to come to terms with my weight issues over the past decade or so. Perhaps the most important thing I did was stop spending so much time and energy worrying about my weight. A lifetime of yo-yo dieting, frustration and self-abuse had led to a terrible body image. I was tired of avoiding mirrors and basing my worth on the reflection in them. To be honest, I also secretly believed that if I truly overcame my weight issues, I would magically become thin. And yes, that was probably the driving force that led me to getting my brain under control.

My brain? Most people would say I needed to get my eating habits under control but, after nearly 40 years of being on (or rebelling against) a diet, I knew I was spending all of my energy trying to fix a symptom and I needed to go deeper than that to find the cure. So I decided to try the one thing I'd never tried before - I let myself off the hook. It was 'no holds barred', no rules, no self-deprecation, no regrets. For the very first time in my life I didn't berate myself for not exercising, I didn't give myself a lecture for eating food that was unhealthy. I allowed myself to eat what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted, without regard to the number on the scale. I ate so much junk! Oh, what fun I had!

It should be no shock when I tell you that, six years later, I am the largest I've ever been. What might shock you, though, is that I'm okay with that. Like, more than okay. I giggle into mirrors, I jiggle my rolls, I actually carry this great big belly before me like a trophy. An accomplishment. A prize. I did it, I succeeded. I'm okay. Fatter than ever but also better than ever. I have a strong sense of self-worth, I have a career I love, a home, a car, a family and a man who loves me in exactly the way I always wanted to be loved. I won. I more than won, I conquered. Food is no longer my enemy, exercise is not a dreaded chore. Finally, a bag of chips is no more enticing than a salad, a chocolate bar is a nice snack but no better than my homemade trail mix, a bowl of fresh cherries will trump a bowl of ice cream any day of the week.

Ironically, I still want to lose weight. That doesn't really made sense, does it? It is something I have been struggling to understand myself, believe me. But it has nothing to do with how I feel about myself. I have boxes and boxes of clothes that are too small right now and no financial means to replace them so my wardrobe would be significantly improved if I dropped a size or two. I also get this pain in my chest sometimes and my right hand goes numb a dozen times a day - I'm not sure what is causing these things but it can't possibly be good. Probably most importantly, I want to lose weight because I want to keep up. I want to be active, to spend more time outside, to walk with my friends without having to take a break every 15 minutes, I want to run with my step-daughter, to swim and snorkel when I go to Hawaii in a few months.

Hey, did I mention I'm going to Hawaii in October? (At least once a day, my friend... to anyone who will listen!) My brother very generously invited my mother, sister and I to tag along on his family vacation and we are very excited. My mother called once the arrangements had been made and promptly began talking about her plans to lose some weight before we go. But she couldn't start her diet until after the barbeque she was invited to next week because everyone knows you have to get in all the good stuff you can before you start punishing yourself with eating healthy. And there would still be lots of time - if she started losing weight next week she still had three months so if she lost one to two pounds every week she would definitely get to her goal weight, all she had to do was deprive herself of all the food she enjoys and get used to being hungry all the time and force herself to get on the treadmill in the cold and damp basement every single day and everything would be just fine. Then she asked if I wanted to participate in a little weight loss challenge to give us some motivation? No.  No, thank you very much I do not want to not even one little tiny bit.

When I hung up the phone that day it hit me - her diatribe was exactly the type of thing the voice inside my head used to say, nearly word for word. I would lay out all the timing and terms, I'd list all of the things I needed to give up and remind myself of the torture of daily exercise that I had to suffer through to become the person I wanted to be. And I would always start 'tomorrow'. Unfortunately, though, my youthful brain added in other stuff. I had to do a lot of work to become the person I wanted to be because the person I currently was wasn't good enough. I had to give up the foods I loved because I needed to suffer to learn my lesson. I needed to not be disgusting anymore because no one would ever love me if I was fat. No one could love me if I was fat, not even me.

I walked around in a stupor for a long time after I hung up the phone that day. The voice in my head all those years wasn't mine. The voice in my head was my mother's. Let me be clear that my mother never once said she wouldn't love me if I was fat, what she alluded to is that she wouldn't love herself if she was fat and I took that lesson and applied it to myself. I grew up believing her absolutely because I loved and looked up to my mother in every way. She was great and wise and everything I ever wanted to be as a human being. But she was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

I've decided to see if the new voice in my head can have a talk to the voice in my mother's head and make her realize that the poison she's been feeding herself is so much worse than high calories and fat. Don't wait until tomorrow when you can start yesterday. In fact, don't think of it as starting at all... just continue. Don't give up and have to and force yourself. Just find a reason that means something to you and let it evolve. There is nothing wrong with being fat, and there is nothing wrong with wanting to lose weight. Do or don't. Make the effort or not. It's okay. Just be at peace and stop beating yourself up. I vow that when my voice is in my step-daughter's head, it will be a voice filled with love, confidence and self-worth. A new voice and a whole new idea.