Sunday, November 4, 2007

Back to my roots.....


Hello all, I'm back.....At least, I think I am. Just in case anyone was wondering, I had so much going on in my life, so many things that, actually, I was trying to ignore, that my old Blog became a chore. So I abandoned it and became not only disenchanted with my paltry excuse for a blog, but also with my faith -albeit only for a short time- as my families problems got worse.See, my mother has cancer, and is going thru chemotherapy, and instead of dealing with it, I found things to be mad at, and unfortunately, my faith suffered because of my denial.



There were a myriad of minor problems as well; work wasn't going well at all. On top of working with a Bi-polar woman whose favorite sport is to berate and nag our production supervisor constantly (I mean from 7:00 AM until 4:00 PM nonstop) it seemed like no matter what I did, I always messed things up. Despite 18 hour work days, production fell behind, I was demoted, and I really didnt feel as if I belonged.I had to stop my EMT training (something I had really wanted to do) for the sake of my job, and then all the thing I had enjoyed more than anything as a 3rd degree member of Knights of Columbus -Christmas card sales- was taken from me without any notice or thanks for the effort I'd put into it for the past few years. The only thing that wasn't going bad was my relationship with my wife and kids, though it was strained from time to time, mostly due to money.

Anyway, all these things simply added to my disgruntled attitude, and unfortunately, my faith suffered. I stopped reciting the rosary daily, stopped going to Mass if it looked like I was going to be even 3 minutes late, stopped tithing, I just................................................stopped.

But here I am, a year later, and things are looking up again. Money isnt any different, I still have to deal with the psychotic secretary, and I actually coach soccer now (how nuts am I?), so I have even less time than I did then, but things got soooo depressing, that I pleaded with God. I gave myself up again, and I feel like I did 7 years ago when I went thru the final stages of RCIA.


So, I figured that as long as I'm trying to come back, I might as well get back in the practice of writing a blog. It always did seem to help.

5 comments:

Barb, sfo said...

Good to see that you are back. And I'm glad that you have gotten past the despair. But yikes--SOCCER?!

UltraCrepidarian said...

Hey dude,

Thanks for the honest post. I appreciate it. You are duly subscribed in my RSS reader.

Thanks for the blog link, and welcome back!

Are you a secular franciscan? or interested in it? i just noticed a THEME in your blogroll.

Warren

Lisa, sfo said...

Steve, I totally feel yer pain! :-) And I was wondering the same thing as Warren when I saw your blogroll and sidebar book list. Are you discerning a vocation to the SFO?

BTW, thankee much for including my lil' blog in your list o' links. :-D

John Guzlowski said...

Hi, Steve, the part about your mom and her chemo touched me. My mom had cancer too, twice. I wrote a poem about it, about her strength at that time and my weakness. I hope you don't mind my posting it here.

My Mother’s Optimism

When she was seventy-eight years old
and the angel of death called to her
and told her the vaginal bleeding
that had been starting and stopping
like a crazy menopausal period
was ovarian cancer, she said to him,
“Listen Doctor, I don’t have to tell you
your job. If it’s cancer it’s cancer.
If you got to cut it out, you got to.”

After surgery, in the convalescent home
among the old men crying for their mothers,
and the silent roommates waiting for death
she called me over to see her wound,
stapled and stitched, fourteen raw inches
from below her breasts to below her navel.
And when I said, “Mom, I don’t want to see it,”
she said, “Johnny, don't be such a baby.”

Six months later, at the end of her chemo,
my mother knows why the old men cry.
A few wiry strands of hair on head,
her hands so weak she couldn’t hold a cup,
her legs swollen and blotched with blue lesions,
she says, “I’ll get better. After his chemo,
Pauline’s second husband had ten more years.
He was playing golf and breaking down doors
when he died of a heart attack at ninety.”

Then my mom’s eyes lock on mine, and she says,
“You know, optimism is a crazy man’s mother.”

And she laughs.

AnnieElf said...

Dear Steve, I've been perusing older posts and found this. Ah, the aches and pains of life; so universal and so solitary in their impact. I'm happy to see that you came out on the other side and into the light again.
Blessings,
Annie