Not seeing the trees in the forest

December 15, 2012 AmeliaJake 3 Comments

I started thinking this morning about a couple of things – you know, about that adage that we get smart too late and old too soon. Of course, I wish I had done some things differently, but the essence of that is that I wish I could have seen – and accepted – the spectrum of life.

I was not a nice little girl; I think I was pretty nasty and vaguely remember one four-year-old in Bloomington, Indiana telling me, “I’m going home.” I remember thinking that I would be happy when I grew up and didn’t get myself in hot water with people. HA. Rally, it’s true; I just couldn’t find it in me to act on it.

I wasn’t a nice little girl . . . but, when it came to school performance, I was a “good” girl. I was a very good girl. I was lucky; a lot of stuff came easily to me and I had a love a reading and an ability to concentrate and stick with a problem. I could sit still; I could keep my mouth shut when the teacher was talking.

But I could never see that performance really wasn’t a measure of worth. People had to cut it in my book. And if they didn’t, well, they didn’t. End of story. Later, if they were connected to me, it wasn’t the end of the story. There was no unconditional acceptance; it was cut it or feel my disappointment and frustration. Like when I was a girl, I was not a nice adult. Neither nice nor kind.

I truly know that now. And, hopefully, I finally try a little to change a bit. Of course, there is the adage: You can’t teach and old dog new tricks.

I don’t know if it helps that I’m sorry.

3 thoughts on “Not seeing the trees in the forest”

Albug says:

December 15, 2012 at 5:53 pm

Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m beginning to think even the nice girls weren’t nice little girls. There is nothing wrong with being snarky, your snarkiness toughened those little girls up. That’s what is wrong with kids now, I think, they expect everyone to be nice to them.
You’ve probably guessed by now that I was not always a nice little girl or always a nice adult. When I was in my teens I learned that “good girls go to heaven but bad girls go everywhere” to quote Meatloaf. I’m not proud if being mean and snarky either, but I think it was how I had to evolve, to survive . My boys will tell you I was the mean parent. Now I do work hard to be um…not mean. I make the decision a million times a day it seems to bite my tongue and say something nice. So, if it helps, being sorry does count for something. At least I hope it does.
pottermom says:

December 15, 2012 at 8:50 pm

Well if it helps I’m known to all four of my kids families as “the mean grandma”. And they actually mean it.

Those “good girls”….. they treated me worse than any of the mean girls in school growing up. I hated school. I got straight A’s and found the work really easy but could hardly wait for it to be over. Such a waste of time in my opinion. I didn’t do well with the social graces. And the cliques. Oh my… I DO NOT accept cliques to this day. Hate them. And they are usually the “good girls”.

I only know of one person able to unconditionally love and it took an immaculate conception for Him to happen.

Good girls are way too over-rated. But I do understand the desire to make changes where led to change and saying sorry is a huge first step. I’m betting that you are much harder on yourself than anyone else. Change what you need to change and keep what you need to keep. People like you because of who you are and you can’t change it all!
AmeliaJake says:

December 16, 2012 at 2:06 pm

Thank you both and (grin) I love the “snarkiness toughened those little girls up” philosophy.

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***Jody Lynn Vance: 1985-2011***

Jody was born at sunrise on a bright, sunny, cold, snowy Groundhog’s Day and from Day One she was a gift to everyone around her. Her infectious laugh and rambunctious spirit made her the center of attention where ever she happened to be.

She and her Dad would watch Sesame Street and sing at the top of our voices (and quite out of key) all of the songs. She enjoyed having Mom fix her hair so it was fancy and just right.

As a toddler she had quite an impressive vocabulary and often had a lot to say. One time Dad was headed out the door to go to work and she pointed her finger and said, “No. No. No. Don’t go anywhere!“

Jody was very seldom crabby, always happy and she wasted no time in spreading that joy to everyone around her. Jody’s favorite place was to be perched on the lap of Mom or Dad or playing with her toys spread out all over the floor. Jody was always affectionate, wanting hugs and “moochies” as she called smooches on the cheek.

At around two, Jody’s illness began to attack her. It took a beautiful, innocent child and put her through untold pain and suffering,

I know that through all of that she was not afraid. She had the heart and spirit of lion. She never gave up; time after countless time, she would open her eyes and there would come that smile. Jody lost her speech, but never was at a loss for words. She could say more with a look or a half smile than most people do yakking all day long.

After numerous doctor, hospital, and specialist visits, we were given the news of her illness. I remember that moment frozen in time … it was as if the entire world stopped. It was in that brief moment we both knew that we must make the very most of the time we had remaining together and not dwell on the despair of all of the things that would never be.

Jody was not expected to live more than three or so - but she had too many things to do and stories to tell, so she cruised by that birthday and over two more decades of birthdays, Christmases and millions of smiles and hugs. Jody was well-liked by other kids; once when she was being wheeled into her classroom at Handicare, one of the children yelled, “Hey everybody, Jody’s here” and all the kids cheered.

Two of the biggest joys in her life were her two little brothers, Joey and Sammy. She would just beam with joy when they would sit next to her and when they began to get older she’d love to listen to them running through the house and playing together. The two of them would start laughing and Jody would laugh right along with them. She would listen intently to everything they did and they would include her as often as they could. The three of them loved watching Saturday morning cartoons and The Three Stooges.

Joe and Sam did without a lot of things that other kids had, did and took for granted … and they never once complained or were resentful of the way things were. That shows a special kind of love and a special kind of family.

As the years went by and the boys grew up into strong and healthy, Jody’s health slowly and steadily declined. She would have long stretches where she was fairly stable and then would become so very ill.

Many times we were sure the end was near and then she would open those sparkling blue eyes and stretch just like nothing had happened at all.

Once she was in the hospital with her usual bout of pneumonia and lapsed into a coma; this went on for 8 days. One Dr. came in, examined her and just shook his head. Later that night Jody’s eyes popped open and she was refreshed from her cat- nap.

People over the years have commented, ”I don’t know how you do it. ”This always struck me as odd. My thoughts would always be: How could you even think of turning your back on someone who needs you that much?

It was always our promise to Jody that she would always live at home with her family and I think she found comfort in knowing that.

But, no one person can take the credit for caring for this wonderful young woman. It has taken an army of doctors, nurses, teachers, aides, pharmacists, friends, and family over the years to maintain Jody at home, and we could never begin to thank you enough.

Jody always kept her head held high and never seemed to be afraid; she has truly been my inspiration on many occasions. When things were gloomy and seemed hopeless, just one smile and a hug was all I needed to go on. Jody will always be my hero. I love her and will treasure the time we had together.

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3 thoughts on “Not seeing the trees in the forest”

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