#1000 SPEAK FOR COMPASSION - CONNECTION

The theme for this month's #1000 SPEAK FOR COMPASSION is CONNECTION. And already like last month, when challenged with a topic somebody else chose, I find myself staring at a blank computer screen, willing the ideas to flow. All I can think of is that in my youth there was a gay nightclub called Connections and I don't quite think that knowledge is going to help me fill a post!

So, once again I check out the writing prompts (no...I'm not cheating) and there it is - staying connected with children, with family, with friends. Now we're talking!

Me and the princesses - rare occasion all together. I must have been paying!

Some days I feel that somewhere along the way I won a lead role as a yo-yo, because that's what my life feels like. I yo-yo from one place to another. One moment I'm in Perth with the children and my

extended family, next I'm in Geraldton with my husband and his family. Occasionally if I can make it happen I catch up with friends. That's a hard one because schedules often don't match( especially if you have children), and it's easy for weeks, months and years to suddenly pass.

There are many meanings for the word " connection" including apparently a supplier of narcotics if you're North American! The words I like however are bond and link. So, the question for me is to think about what I do to stay linked to people I want to remain connected to.

First thing is that staying connected is a two way task. I have had friendships I valued, where often I realised that I was the only one putting in the effort. In reality there was no value in those friendships. People who want to stay connected to you do. They make space in their busy schedule and make it happen - a text here, a call there, a quick coffee or drink. I have learnt to let some people "go". By that I mean I might make occasional contact but I no longer feel the need to be connected or feel upset if they don't reciprocate. Its just not worth it.

I have to admit social media helps in most other situations.

For example, there are times when if it wasn't for Facebook and text messaging, I wouldn't connect with my younger daughter at all, such is the busy life she leads. But its all I need when we're not in the same place. The phone is better. Herself in person is even better. BUT staying connected via social media with her helps and I am ever so grateful for the technology. I just want to know how she is doing. She might be 18 but to me that's still so young and I worry.

Mum with youngest grandchild

Staying connected with parents involves more effort because often they don't use the social media we have become accustomed to. Take my mother for example - she hates Facebook. I've never really worked out why, but I do understand that for her if she can't see me in person, its my voice she wants to hear. Funnily enough though, she is competent with e-mails and texts so that's an option. But real connection with my mother does not involve technology unless it's a kettle and of course coffee and cake.My father does occasionally venture into Facebook but even after many years has no idea how it or "his stupid phone, not his smart phone" work. Technology and social media are great but not the best for staying connected with all people. Dad, I'll visit soon I promise!

Staying connected with my husband when I'm away is the hardest job of all. His texts are usually one word when I'm wanting sentences, paragraphs, essays even. The odd " I love you" or " I miss you" never hurts either instead of:

Me: Good morning
Him: Morning.
Me: How are you?
Him: Good
Me: What are you doing today?
Him: Working

There are also long pauses on the phone. Eg he will watch TV, with me on the other end of the phone
waiting for him to speak. He is so frustrating especially when I know how much he can chatter on the phone,when its to someone else. He is slightly better when he can see you. Thank you Skype and Facetime because I would probably have done something bad to him by now. Life is definitely more connected when we are in the same house together, but circumstances (long story) mean we are often apart and that makes me sad. Sometimes when I'm home we go out on date night ( dinner and movie)
and I always sit and have a cup of tea with him when he gets home every day. It takes effort and commitment to stay connected to your partner. I don't think a lot of people get that.

The hardest connection of all is with myself. 

Those who are regular readers of my blog " Chronicles of a Lumpy Person" will know the hard times I've been through and the never ending struggle to stay on top of things. Learning to connect with myself involves maintaining strong beliefs and faith, learning to self care without guilt and for me blogging! These are all ongoing works in progress and focus on my strengths not weaknesses.

So, I suppose the link between compassion and connection is really quite simple. Compassion comes from Italian "con passione" meaning with love. Connection is an act of love. How you link the two may vary from situation to situation. Its not always easy to stay connected.

Till next time when WE connect...xxx

ST

TRAIL OF THOUGHTS

It's late and I should sleep, but there is so much to think about. Some is important, some not so. My mind darts from one thought to another. Even I'm confused.

I feel pain from the drain bottle I'm still attached to and irritation where blisters are forming next to the sticky plasters I can't tolerate. It seems major. It's not. I think about two men awaiting a cruel fate in Bali. How must they be feeling? What must they be thinking? That's major. My worry is not.

Then I think about some old friends who are experiencing a hard time but only "shared" today, days later. They didn't want to add to my load as I was having an operation. I'm upset. I love my friends and don't want to be " that" friend that no one can talk to because my situation will always be worse.

And I think about what I just wrote. It will always be worse. Yes it probably will and now there's double dose in this family. And there are conversations that start and end with " it's not fair". No, it's not fair but we work with what we've been given.  And we soldier on.

And just as quickly the next thought is for young Meghan, an 11 year old girl with CS. Ashton wrote a news piece for a journalism class on this child and her mother, who are exemplary in blazing a trail in how to manage our condition. Then I think of the photo of her hugging the boxing kangaroo I sent her last week. Apparently it's going to hospital with her next week. It's not fair. She's only 11...but she's tough

My children are equally tough. Today I took them to lunch - just me and my girls. It seems lately that we can't be in the same place at the same time long enough, so lunch was a treat for me, even when they started arguing. I miss this noise. Even with a noisy husband my home lacks heart. It lacks their noise, their smell, their chaos. I ache to turn the clock back but know it will never happen.

And just like that the tears start to flow. It happens occasionally. I have coped with lots in my life but living a long distance from both my children cuts me in half.

Today Ashton did her final interview. We've now had enough of the topic but marvel at how stupid the media is. Despite all that has happened in the last week, only one media outlet asks for proof of Ashton's medical condition. We give it willingly. We have nothing to hide. But we're smug because once again they've made the same mistake without checking.

It's late and cold. I worry about Ciara working at the cafe till all hours. It's messing with her body clock and she doesn't need this in a week of assessments. I loved listening to her warm up today. That voice!

I haven't seen my husband in almost a week. I can't go home because of this stupid drain and because in between assessments for both girls, we need to pack. Yes...we're moving...cos this is a great week...not.

Ashton chose the place. I haven't seen it except in photos. It's a big girl decision. If she can shake up the Australian media, do radio interviews and vote, then she can choose a new place to live.

I say a quick prayer. I beg God for a miracle and to spare the guys in Bali.

I pray that God blesses my family and that my mother stops asking me where my sister is taking her for Mother's Day. Honest to goodness! Patience is a virtue woman.

I pray for drains to be out, tumours to be benign, appointments to be made easily and maybe some good fortune to come my family's way. It's about bloody time don't you think?

Till next time...xxx

#1000 SPEAK - 1000 VOICES FOR COMPASSION

On February 20, 2015, 1000 Voices For Compassion will share their thoughts and stories about compassion in all its forms (love, kindness, understanding, empathy, mercy, etc.). I am so excited to be part of this, because in the last few years I have been on the receiving end of so many acts of compassion, a couple of which I would like to share today.

One of the stories which comes to mind occurred when Ashton was in grade 1. She was 6 years old and was suffering from terrible asthma and recurring pneumonia. At one stage I felt so desperate because the GP just did not seem to understand how sick Ashton really was and was limited help. So, I placed a call to the paedatrician in Perth and told him about my worries. I actually sobbed my heart out because he was so kind and attentive. He told us to come straight to Perth ( 4 1/2 hrs away) and Mark, my husband left with Ashton within the hour.That's a big job, to drive for that length of time with a very sick child.

Why didn't I go? Well at the time I was a Home Economics teacher and my students and I were in the middle of preparing to cater for a big function. This was a big assessment piece which needed me there and I just could not leave until it was over. So, the plan was that Mark would go down with Ashton to the paediatrician and I would fly down with Ciara (age 3)  when the function was over.

I was exhausted beyond belief. For the two weeks leading up to this I had very little sleep - kids always want Mum at night! On the days the GP had actually hospitalised her I had been sleeping at the hospital and leaving for work from there. I would then return to the hospital after work. My house was a disaster zone. Neither one of us had the time nor the energy to cope with anything other than the kids and some work.

With the function successfully over and with Ashton admitted to the children's hospital in Perth, I started to pack to join them. I felt terrible not being with my child but was making the best of the situation. At 8 pm, while I was bathing Ciara my doorbell rang. Being past exhaustion I hoped it wasn't a social visitor who would require a cup of tea and time I didn't have.

It was a visitor, my colleague Kate whom I had seen at work that very day. But, she wasn't there to be entertained. She was there to help.

In the next two hours she cleaned my house from top to bottom, helped me pack clothes for myself and my daughter and made me coffee and food. She joked about my fridge, telling me she never knew I had an interest in cultivating bacteria. I should have been so embarrassed but I wasn't. Her compassion overwhelmed me and I left for Perth in the morning with a spotlessly clean house and a place in my heart that will always be hers. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.

Ashton spent 8 days in Princess Margaret Hospital.My mother's intuition was right, she was very ill. We booked into a nearby hotel we couldn't really afford, so that we could  be close to our girl. It was the worst hotel I had ever stayed in but we had no choice as it was the closest to the hospital. Over the eight 
days Mark and I worked in shifts. One night he would sleep upright in a chair near Ashton's hospital bed and I would spend the night in the hotel with Ciara. The next night we would swap. Ciara screamed non stopped for whichever parent wasn't there. She was terrified and so was I by the drunken shouts from adjacent rooms.

When Ashton was finally discharged, we went to pay the bill at the hotel only to find that some compassionate human being had paid the bill for us. Now, I'm pretty sure I know who did it but she never admitted it. The fact that we didn't have to pay for that accommodation saved us, because as I had been off work I wasn't getting paid and we really had very little money.

Over the years as our health issues amplified there were many other examples of compassion. To me compassion is being empathetic. It means showing people in some way that you get their situation and you're on their side. It means going out of your way to make life better for someone else.

During my teaching, I often did a " pay it forward" project. If you haven't seen that movie you should. I found that the kids I taught, often from low socioeconomic backgrounds absolutely thrived from showing compassion; by doing good deeds for others and forgetting about their own situations for a while. One year for Mothers Day we made hampers of goodies for older women in the community who deserved a treat. The compassion and the love that went into these works of art was amazing! The tears on the kids' faces when they realised they had caused this happiness was priceless.

A little compassion in a world hell bent on negativity and bad news goes a long way. Try incorporating it into your life on a regular basis and always remember to pay it forward. Sometimes all it takes is a simple smile at someone to show you care and wish them well.


C  O  M  P  A  S  S  I  O  N

Till next time...xxx

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ST