Kindness Matters: Affirming Each Other!

   Often, we get so used to those we spend our life with that we stop affirming their gifts, offering praise over how they parent so effortlessly or are quick to offer kind words or how they take-charge and get things done without blinking an eye.  Each person has unique ways of being in the world and it is powerful to offer appreciation for who they are.  I have found that the more I appreciate all that makes me an individual, observing my idiosyncrasies and how I show up in the world, the more I truly see others and can celebrate and affirm their gifts.

It doesn't matter how old we are or how much we have accomplished or how confident we appear to be.  All of us need affirmed and praised!  I invite you to explore this.  Start by being kind to yourself, taking a pause to see yourself, taking inventory of your gifts - all that makes you "you".  From this space, you can offer kindness to others, affirming them, reminding them that they matter.  The coolest part is all the kindness you give others comes back to you so you will walk around feeling lighter and more connected. 

Below is an excerpt from my book Passing On Hope from the chapter Tender Moments.  At the time of this experience with my mom, I was 33 years old, already an accomplished entrepreneur, living a wonderful life but her kind and affirming words filled me more than I can possibly language.  

KINDNESS MATTERS!  Be kind to yourself so you can be kind to others...BE GENEROUS.                         

   ☼        ☼        ☼                               

As my mom lie in the hospital bed following a mild stroke, with her tiny body being swallowed by the one-size-fits-all gown, her gaze was far beyond the confines of the room, as if she were searching for answers.

Sitting next to her, I was looking for some way to bring her back out of nowhere. I surprised myself by asking her if she wanted me to read her a piece that I had written, which was a first for both of us. Her lips began to quiver from the start, and by the time I finished reading, she allowed herself to cry. I asked if it made her feel bad, and she shook her head side to side with her lips pursed together, trying to choke back her tears. I asked her if it made her feel good, and she nodded that it did. When she finally opened her mouth and broke the awkward silence, she spoke a few magical words, “You are a writer.”

In an instant, I was 8 years old again. I began to release tears of joy over her blessing as I laid my head on her chest in an attempt to get closer to her. She patted me like she had done countless times throughout my life in an effort to comfort me. This was something I had waited for my entire life, and it was sweeter than I had imagined. My mom’s words, spoken with sincere belief in me, meant more than a rave review from a renowned critic or any praise I could ever receive regarding my writing. It didn’t matter what anyone thought, because my mom told me I was a writer. She lifted me to a new height and validated what I knew to be true. No one could touch me where I was, standing on this higher ground safely wrapped in my mom’s approval that left me soaring, enlivened in a sense of self and purpose.

The physical therapist entered the room to assess Mom’s mobility and make treatment recommendations. Now alert, Mom sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Staring at me with a girlish grin, she told the therapist that I was a marathon runner and a writer. The therapist inquired about my marathon training and asked if I did any coaching. Mom impatiently interjected like a child who couldn’t wait to say what she had to say, telling me to give the therapist a copy of what I had written. Taken aback by Mom’s boasting, which was completely out of character, I felt tongue-tied, not knowing how to act or what to do or say, but that quickly faded as I let in this unfamiliar experience that ultimately left me smiling. It was difficult to open my heart to Mom’s approval because I was just beginning to approve of myself after years of trying to be who I thought I should be. Grinning even wider, with her feet dangling over the bed, Mom then winked at me, playfully sealing the moment.

Tender Moments...HUMOR Heals!

My Mom, Aggie Budenz McHugh, died 10 days after my 41st birthday.  My mom was 41 when she gave birth to me and my 41st birthday was a full circle moment as I sat by her side as she laid there in the bed where she spent her final days.  Here we were two women with distinctively different lives yet both rich with beauty.  I had begun a ritual of kissing her all around her face as a mom would her child, asking her:  Do you know why I do this?  She would shake her head from side to side and grin with the face of a child in on the game but pretending coyly not to be.  I would say to her:  Some day, I won't be able to kiss your face and I want to remember all of my days what it feels like.  She delighted in this thought. Then, looking her in the eye, I told her that she was my hero and explained that the thought of having a child now makes me cry; and she had seven more children at this point in her life.  In awe of her own journey, she agreed that she didn't know how she did it; she JUST did it. 

I miss my mom and have felt her so close over the past few weeks.  I am so grateful for her legacy of humor as this is indeed medicine from the gods.

Below is an excerpt from my book:  Passing On Hope from the chapter, Tender Moments...Sure hope you ENJOY this moment!

Tender Moments

“Grace fills empty spaces, but it can only enter where there is a void to receive it, and it is grace itself which makes the void.”

—Simone Weil

My mother told me that she cried the entire nine months that she was pregnant with me because she had seven other children to care for, which left her exhausted. She thought, at age 41, that she was too old to have me. There were stories she told about the young mothers in the maternity ward who were parading around in little nighties and had young husbands doting over them and their babies. The birth of baby number eight, Kathleen Sue McHugh, was no big event. Before leaving for the hospital, my parents told my brothers and sisters that they were going to the movies. Things like babies being born just weren’t discussed in our home. Babies just appeared over the years without questions or answers. My dad took my mom to the hospital and brought her home, with me, a couple of days later. This was just his way; it was just their way.

One day while driving my mom home from an eye doctor appointment with my cousin Chad, I tried to distract her by pointing out the spectacular views of fall lining Highway 37 in southern Indiana. Chad had discovered that her vision problems were due to a neurological condition, and a new prescription wouldn’t bring the quick fix we had hoped for. He referred us to a former professor of his, a neuro-ophthalmologist who was the top in his field and squeezed us in his tight schedule thanks to Chad. I was trying to get Mom to focus on the fact that we knew more than when we left home earlier that morning and now we had a game plan going forward. She reached her hand over to touch my shoulder. I continued looking straight ahead glimpsing over for a nanosecond, but I could feel the enormity of her love for me. As if reading off her grocery list, she said, “I may have cried the whole time I was pregnant with you, but now I know why God gave me you.”

There was a pregnant pause so we could process this moment. Finally, I laughed as if my very life depended on it and then she laughed hesitantly and then deliberately. I reached over to touch her hand as I playfully said, “Well, I’m sure glad that you have figured out why God gave us each other.” We laughed some more, making up for all the times we couldn’t find humor. I called my siblings to update them on Mom’s appointment and told them that she knew why God gave her me, but she still wasn’t sure about the rest of them.

The power of PRESENCE...

According to my mom, I began to talk when I was 9 months old and never stopped.  Even as a child, I never knew a stranger, talking to anyone and everyone, feeling that I was always among friends.  I still love engaging in conversation and at times, I get so excited to share that I burst with all that comes up, interrupting others to say what I need to say.  This passion for talk and love of connecting with others is what inspires my work as a speaker, writer and coach where I get to share healing stories that have touched my heart. But the power of listening, being fully present is equally as essential.

Lois, who is 85 years old, is one of my youngest friends in her incessant pursuit to explore, live in wonder and stay open to life.  Like me, she loves interesting chitchat but she has also perfected the art of listening.  A rare bird, she listens to not only what is said but what is not and asks questions that seem to rise from another dimension, bringing through new ideas and thoughts that leave me in awe.

Shortly after my husband, John, died Lois and I met for lunch.  She greeted me with a hug and we sat down.   Sitting across from me, she took my hand and said, “Tell me about it, Dearie.”  In all the exchanges that I had had at the funeral services with family, friends and strangers, no one ever asked me to tell them about my experience. 

There were “pep talks” where well-intended friends, family and strangers told me in their cheeriest voices and with much conviction that I was going to be okay and how strong of a woman I am and explained how all the adversity I had faced in the past would lead me through this too.  I wanted to jump through the phone and the email and choke them.  I wanted to physically lay my hands on them as the anger and rage over this great tragedy bubbled up exploding like hot lava.  I screamed out curse words that echoed in the silence of my empty home, telling them off and explaining with heat the difference between adversity and heartbreak.  These outbursts actually relieved the pain of the multitude of feelings within me that I couldn’t language and didn’t know what to do with.

Being with Lois, safely in her genuine care as she held space for whatever I wanted to say taught me the power of presence.  She didn’t just listen politely.  She sat with me fully in the moment: physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.  She didn’t try to fix me or advise me.  There was no agenda or expectation.  She simply let me tell her about it.  She let my truth stand on its own.  My pain didn’t scare her.  She graciously welcomed it all and contained it for me.

This experience has led me to invite others to “Tell me about it.”  Assuming that we already know something or that we understand because we have had similar losses or trials doesn’t allow for the miracle of presence and the emergence of truth.  The best gift we can give another is our self, wholly.  Healing happens when we sit open-hearted and open-minded with another human being.

Meditation: Reflect on a healing moment in your life and what it taught you.

Action:  Practice presence:  sit with a friend and be present with all of yourself.  Observe yourself wanting to fix, to advise and watch your discomfort come and go.

The Soul Knows...

On my way to a Super Bowl party at a friend's farm, I came across a flock of geese resting in a frozen corn field burrowed in between the withered stalks still forming rows.  I stopped to appreciate their majestic beauty and count them.  By the time I got to 67, they were beginning to stand and get restless feeling the disturbance of my presence so I drove on with a smile on my face and in my heart.

I love geese! and drink in their good medicine whenever I see them.  It wasn't always like this.  I used to view them as wretched creatures who crapped all over the running paths and from time to time threatened my fellow runners by coming after them when they got too close to their nests.

6 months before my husband, John died we were driving to dinner when we saw a dead goose in the middle of the road and another goose on the side of the road.   This broke my heart and I felt myself weeping and John got choked up too.  Scanning the scene in slow motion:  one minute, my eyes were on the dead goose and I felt the tragedy of that; and the next minute, I saw the goose on the side of the road mourning, waiting for the other and I felt its longing.  Shocked by my observation, I said to John needing confirmation:  It is as if the goose on the side of the road is mourning the dead goose.  With tears in his throat, he explained to me that geese are mates for life so the goose on the side of the road was in fact mourning the mate.  Having a complete meltdown sobbing with every fiber of my being, I asked:  What will happen to the one left behind?  John said tearfully but with reassurance:  It will be okay - the flock will come and take it away.

By the time we arrived at dinner, we were exhausted from the depth of this surprising experience that was so beyond explanation.  John wasn't prone to crying out of the blue and to feel grief to this degree over the death of an animal in the road was not common for me.   Our tears turned into a belly laugh as we sat in the parking lot of the restaurant drying our eyes and asking each other: What the hell just happened?

That event was our souls' knowing that we soon would part.  Mates for life, I would find myself standing on the side of the road alone, mourning John, waiting for him and longing for our adventure to continue.  The flock would come and take me away, leading the way to the next destination, holding me with great love and standing by me through it all.

At the one year anniversary of John's death, I held a ceremony in a memory garden that I had created.  The flock, friends and family gathered as we opened with John's favorite song:  Amazing Grace, Aaron Neville's live! version that would melt the hardest of hearts.  I began to tell the story of the geese and prayed for the words to explain the power of that event in our lives.  As I opened my mouth, 3 honking geese flew right over our heads, much lower than usual.  We all were flooded with chills and wept as we felt John's undeniable presence in the form of these geese.  And the fact that there were "3", not an even number as if they were still mates was a symbol that my life had gone on and will continue to go on.  In numerology, the number "3" is the vibration of playfulness, spreading joy, creative expression and light heartedness which captures the essence of John.

The geese experience is one of many stories that led me to believe that the soul knows when it will leave this earth and it is grace that keeps the veil over our consciousness.  The day before John's death, he went to Walmart as he did every Tuesday to buy dvd's as that is the day of new releases and he loved movies.  And he labeled the 20 keys on the houseboat and placed them into a ziplock bag writing on the outside:  Gee, spare keys xoxo (Gee was his nickname for me).

On December 13, 2008, almost 2 years before he died, John was awakened in the middle of the night by a poem that came to him that he just had to write down for me: 

When...

When all the years have gone,

When all the smiles have faded,

When our hands tremble to touch,

When our steps shuffle,

We will still love each other.

When we look into each other's eyes,

When the last moments are gone,

When we embrace again,

When we say, "Sweet Dreams,"

We will still love each other.

When we awake each day together,

When the years fade to moments,

When our souls share this life,

When we are sad, we smile,

We will still love each other.

When we begin to say, "I do,"

When our journey is over,

When our next journey begins,

When we say our first, "I love you,"

We will still love each other.

To Gee, My Heart!

I love you, John

xoxo

John had never had an experience like this and just had to wake me up to share it with me.  Normally, I would have balked at him waking me up in the middle of the night, but I sensed his compelling need to give me this gift so I sat up and drank in every word.  We wept over the beauty and the poetic description of our eternal dance.

I will continue to count geese in flight and delight whenever I see them as I am out and about living my life, flying with various flocks on my adventure.  We don't have control over how or when we die, but we do get to choose how we live every single day.  The soul knows this too.

BELIEVE! BELIEVE! and BELIEVE! some more...

SUPER BOWL SUNDAY!  What a perfect reminder for us to BELIEVE in the impossible and assess our beliefs, letting go of what no longer serves us, making room for beliefs that set us FREE. 

What if the only mountain to move is YOU?

(BELIEVE!)

BELIEVE in PEACE:  It Comes from Within…

There is a well of PEACE within us that is unsinkable and cannot be touched by the chaos of the outside world.  This isn’t a place where we can hide from life, rather it is a well so vast that it can contain whatever life brings our way.

BELIEVE in GRATITUDE:  Give Thanks for the Little Things…

The attitude of GRATITUDE is the vessel that carries the light into all moments of life.  Be an appreciator and say, “Thank you!” all day long.  Be in awe of your life and all life and meet each day with a sense of reverence for all that is.

BELIEVE in FAITH:  BELIEVE in the IMPOSSIBLE…

Things that we now know are possible were once believed impossible.  FAITH makes space for what wants to come through us, beyond the limitations we have imposed on our self and our life.  FAITH cultivates untapped potential waiting to be birthed.

BELIEVE in HAPPINESS:  LIVE.  LOVE.  LAUGH.

HAPPINESS does not exclude unhappiness.  HAPPINESS allows all of life and welcomes what comes as a beloved friend with much to share.  HAPPINESS knows that to simply be ALIVE is a grand thing, to LOVE is the greatest legacy; to LAUGH is a healing balm like no other.

BELIEVE in MIRACLES:  Magic Happens…

We show up for life and life unfolds – MAGIC HAPPENS and beyond our plans more than we could ever have imagined occurs.  When we stay open instead of thinking we have life figured out and stop trying to control everything and everyone, MIRACLES flow through our life that reveal we are far more than we pretend to be.

BELIEVE in DREAMS:  Follow Your Heart…

The longest 18 inches is the journey from our head to our heart.  DREAMS are born of the heart not dictated by the expectations of family or culture.  The HEART is the wisest part of us, the keeper of the truest self that is free, fierce and full of possibilities.

BELIEVE in HOPE:  Never Give Up…And PASS IT ON!

HOPE never gives up on us, on others, or on life itself even when we have to give up the life we had planned.  We must remind our self again and again of who we truly are and what we are made of so we can remind others. 

Together we RISE to heights unknown!

Created by Kathy McHugh Threewits                                                                                       McHugh_Kathy@yahoo.com

www.PassingOnHope.com

Save Some Time to DREAM...

This piece was inspired by a story John Mellencamp told at his fall of 2010 concert at IU.  Since junior high when he was still known as Johnny Cougar, I have been inspired by the music and especially the poetic lyrics of Mellencamp.  He shared with us that night that he had just turned 60 and how strange it was for him to have the young guys passing him on the street seeing an old man when he didn't feel that way at all.  He added that he wanted to tell the youngins' that one day believe it or not, they will be old men too. 

Before he sang his new release "Save Some Time To Dream," he told the back story.  Mellencamp's 80 year old dad had phoned him and he was telling his dad ALL that he had going on and that life was happening at a frenetic pace.  His dad listened and from the wisdom of 80 years on this earth, he advised his son, his child:  "Don't forget to save some time to dream, Johnny." 

This is my INVITATION to you all:  SAVE some time to dream as dancing with the universe includes sitting still...DO. BE. DO. BE. DO.

Life expresses uniquely through each of us.  These various expressions are the birthing of dreams throughout our lives which stoke the fires of an adventurous journey where we listen with the heart and let its wisdom guide us.  The Yogis say the longest 18 inches is the journey from our head to our heart.  The head often gets stuck in the expectations of family and culture, defining success as it has been conditioned to see it.  Dreams are born of the heart which is the wisest part of us, the keeper of the truest self that is free, fierce, untamed and full of possibilities.

I remember the feeling of when I was living one of my dreams, owning a thriving business that I gratefully gave myself to day in and day out for over twelve years.  And I remember the feeling when the dream that had been was no longer.  My life had become stale, joyless, over-burdened with obligations.  The passion was gone and I didn’t know what to do.  I was afraid of jumping off the crazy-train because it was familiar and worried what others would think.  I didn’t know who I was outside of what I did.  I feared my husband wouldn’t love me if I wasn’t bringing home the money we had grown accustomed to and I grew increasingly bitter toward him for being so happy and enjoying life while I sacrificed myself (for us) like a good martyr.

There was a stirring within that wouldn’t be dismissed, a struggle to repress or flow with what wanted to come through, but I continued to hide from myself with chronic busyness.

My brother had been battling metastatic prostate cancer and had received word that there was nothing more they could do.  Looking into his eyes, I asked him, “How does it feel to know that your death is imminent?”  His silence said what he couldn’t.  In this sacred space, I felt safe to share with him that I wanted to write a book – something I didn’t want to admit to myself.  He urged me on saying, “Don’t wait.”  I knew he had experienced many dreams come true but many he had postponed would die with him.  It became clear that life is now and someday may never come.

The next day I began to write my book which was a 2 ½ year expedition.  I imagined myself gleefully typing away, but in actuality, I found myself on the floor in a puddle of tears wondering what the hell I had done, as I cracked open wider and wider.  I had to let go of who I thought I was to allow more of myself to surface and this continues to be true as more life emerges. 

Today, I understand fully the gift of this moment, this day and measure living the dream by loving my life.  If I am not feeling the love, I assess what is blocking the flow of life and make choices that free me.   

Meditation:  The ancient Greeks did not write obituaries.  At the end of a man’s life, they simply asked one question:  Did he have passion?  How would those who know you respond to this?

Action:  Listen to John Mellencamp’s song, Save Some Time To Dream and read the lyrics:  Save some time to dream…save some time for yourself…don’t let your time slip away…or be stolen by somebody else…save some time to dream ‘cause your dream might save us all.  

Appreciating the Body for Carrying Me Through Life

It was an ordinary Tuesday in my life with things to do, people to see, places to go.  My annual mammogram was on the books so I headed off to my 1:30 appointment.   With my driver’s license and insurance card in hand, I checked in with the receptionist,   breezed through the stack of forms and returned them with a smile.  My name was promptly called by a gentle woman who escorted me into the back room where I changed into the mauve mini hospital gown.

After the quick-change, I was led into the mammography room.  No sweat.  I had no problem with the stretching and pulling required to coax my small breasts into the machine in order to get the best view.  This wasn’t my first rodeo so I knew what to expect as she instructed me with the precision of a drill sergeant on a mission:  Do this.  Don’t do that.  Done. 

Once again, I was placed in a waiting area.  The women sitting with me were funny, using comic relief to ease nerves.  There were cookies, chocolates and treats sitting on a table.  We jovially discussed the psychology of these treats like a kid getting a sucker after a shot.  One woman grabbed a pack of cookies confessing she wasn’t even hungry but eating gave her something to do.  The banter continued until one by one the women were dismissed.

To my surprise, the doctor requested additional images.  “What the F---?” was my muted reaction as the technician explained that it is her job to prove this is nothing.  I began to repeat silently, “This is nothing…”  I was informed an ultrasound was necessary.  Then, sheer terror engulfed me as I lay there completely vulnerable.  I began to give thanks starting with the fact that the ultrasound gel was warm but gratitude couldn’t stop the tears from coming.  As the hot tears poured down my face, they landed in my ears and I was grateful for this release of emotions.

The doctor came in and thoroughly explained the images on the screen, assuring me all was well, but she needed to see me again in 6 months for a follow-up.

Arriving home, I was done with the day ready to retreat from the world so I ran a bath at 5:00 and climbed in, soaking, breathing, closing my eyes, praying and finally, cupping my breasts and appreciating them as they are.  At 44, my breasts are not perky, the skin doesn’t quite fit – they fall to the side when I lie on my back and dip forward when I stand.  They are two different sizes – the right barely an A cup and the left almost a B.  None of this mattered.  All that mattered was my breasts were healthy.

Rubbing lotion on my naked body, I thanked every inch of it, as I knew in a more profound way that it is far more than a size or weight – my body is the sacred vessel that carries me through this life.

Meditation:  What keeps you from loving your body as it is?

Action:  Let go of any judgment about your body and take time to appreciate it every day.