Counting Blessings

It's Tuesday evening and I'm feeling incredibly mellow and at peace with the world.

The big Birthday went well yesterday. Miss Eleven received two new DS games and some books from me and, as a "goodwill gesture", I also wrapped up and gave her a hideous brown wig I found in a thrift shop. It's acrylic and might best be described as "a bob". She wore it while her best friends were over for a Birthday Tea yesterday. Their unanimous view was that she looked awful! I think that puts hair-colouring to bed for another year or so!

I continue to be diligent with the fitness regime. Yesterday I just went for a run and did a few floor exercises when I got home, but this morning I hit the gym again and surpassed my previous record for laps in the pool. I'm still avoiding the temptation to step on the scales but I'm convinced my waistline has reduced by almost half a belt-notch, especially when I breathe in deeply!

All my appointments today went well. There are days when I feel absolutely seared by the heat of a person's anger, or deeply affected by someone's despair, or, perhaps, indignant at what some people are forced to endure. Sometimes it's difficult to mask one's feelings, sometimes it kills me to model the unshockable, unjudgemental and accepting person they need me to be. But everyone I saw today is making good progress and no great demands were placed upon my professionalism.

Another really good thing about today was that I actually managed to speak with each of my children one-on-one. Essentially, the older three rang to wish their little sister a Happy Birthday, but it was great to hear their voices.

Ms 28 - now the beleaguered mother of four children under six - found time to have a little moan about what hell parenthood is! I made all the appropriate noises and comments and felt grateful that - because she and her munchkins live some hundred miles north of me - I am not expected to lend a hand.

I find it amusing that she now consults me as an "expert" in child-rearing. Once upon a time, when she was sixteen, I can recall her telling me I was "the meanest Dad on Earth". I think it was because I refused her permission to get an eyebrow piercing!

Mr 26, having recently moved to the other side of Australia - near Sydney - gave me a report on his new job as an associate in a legal firm. He completed his Law Degree last year and has moved to New South Wales to live with a girl he met at a concert in Queensland. I know he'll settle down eventually. Right now, I suspect, his dick rules much of his thinking!

Ms 24, who now lives in Australia's far north-west, is undoubtedly the most placid of my children. She, too, seems to regard me as some sort of parenting guru, but her son - who had his first Birthday in June -is just as placid as his mother so I'm rarely called upon to proffer advice.

I can't help wondering if Jennifer would be pleased at how they've turned out. I know I'm pleased, but I cannot claim too much credit because all three of them had a wonderful mother in their teen years. I think, like me, Jennifer would be glad they're all healthy and happy. She and I shared a view that the chief responsibility of a parent is to prepare children to be independent and responsible citizens - to instill in them a set of values and a high respect for the rights of others.

So far, so good. The kids show no signs of being bigoted or judgemental or addicted to drugs or alcohol ... or any of the million other things parents worry about. I'm sure they've all done things they don't want me to know about but nothing so dark that I've had to post bail or apologise to a foreign power!

My younger son was seven when his mother died. I recall him asking me if I was going to die too. I promised him I would live to be a hundred. Now I'm more than half-way there and I'm sitting here tonight counting the blessings of the first fifty years and wondering what to do for the next fifty!

I think I'll just take things one day at a time for a while but, sooner or later, I feel it's important that I re-invigorate myself in some way - find something or someone to be passionate about. I still have my own teeth, my back is fine, my hair has not evaporated and my memory is unimpaired. Even my sex drive is intact!

However disastrous it seemed at the time, my one night of "passion" with Pam has left me yearning for regular sex. Definitely with someone who at least has a pulse. And preferably with someone who actually enjoys it. You'd be surprised how difficult it is for an ostensibly respectable widower to get laid on a regular basis. There must be some middle ground between the whores one pays by the hour and the widows who want to marry me and ensure I eat healthy food and have sex every second Saturday!

As for Pam, I've yet another blessing to count. She sees Tony tomorrow and I'm sure he'll help her a great deal. I think she needs to get a life but it could be a long haul. I don't think she will ever become my bosom buddy "with benefits". I'm okay with that - big of me, I know! - and I'm happy to be her friend.

The kids were referring to Pam as "Dad's girlfriend" over the weekend. I told them she was simply "Dad's friend" and that I'll let them know when someone comes along who seems ideal for the wicked step-mother role.

Having established that their father was not going to do anything so gross as to marry again, the kids conceded that they'd quite liked Pam, so I guess another barbecue and a game of tennis is not out of the question.

Ironic. Almost time to hit the hay. I've been listening to Diana Krall most of the evening. Right now, she, Elton John and Elvis Costello are giving a stirring rendition of "Makin' Whoopee". If only I were!

Still, we're counting blessings here. I may not be makin' whoopee right now, but I sure as hell want to and I know I can!

Comments

comically said:
All my appointments today went well. There are days when I feel absolutely seared by the heat of a person's anger, or deeply affected by someone's despair, or, perhaps, indignant at what some people are forced to endure. Sometimes it's difficult to mask one's feelings, sometimes it kills me to model the unshockable, unjudgemental and accepting person they need me to be. But everyone I saw today is making good progress and no great demands were placed upon my professionalism.

This is fascinating to me. Having seen a number of social workers, psychologists, and psychiatrists over the years, I always wondered what was going through their heads.
 
Belly Dancer, your comment is equally fascinating to me.

When writing of how various professional encounters affect me personally, I confess I'd not thought greatly about anyone wondering what goes through the head of their Pschologist, Counsellor, Psychiatrist, etc as he/she listens to someone pouring out their anger, sorrows or feelings of self-loathing.

We often hear that people like nurses and doctors cope with the tragedies they deal with on a daily basis by developing a shell, or by treating it as "just part of the job" and not allowing themselves to become emotionally involved with or affected by it. I guess I've met the occasional health profesional with all the empathy and sensitivity of a nazi storm-trooper, but I'm willing to bet good money that they are in the minority.

My present case-load includes a policeman who weeps as he describe finding a dead infant discarded in a trash bin; traffic police who can never rid themselves of the images of broken and shredded bodies in a vehicle accident; ex-soldiers forever scarred by the sights and smells of war; and a fireman forever haunted by the screams of children whom he could not rescue from the flames.

My point is that many of the people who are supposedly inured to tragedy and death will go on to develop Post-Traumatic-Stress Disorder. So it's hard to argue that such professionals can all somehow grow a shell that makes them invulnerable to pain and suffering.

For my part, it is fortunate that a good deal of my time is spent with people who are dealing with little more than the normal slings and arrows of outrageous fortune - lots of run-of-the-mill stuff like grief, infidelity, feelings of inadequacy, marital disharmony, etc. I'm not trying to downplay the importance of such problems to the person concerned, but I do not go home nights and experience difficulty putting these discussions behind me.

Recently I've been counselling a 45-year-old guy who was sexually abused on a daily basis from age five or six through to age sixteen. He dealt with it by ignoring it totally for over twenty-five years. He married, had kids, and then, one day, out of a clear-blue sky, he fell apart. He began to experience flashbacks and began to think of himself as a filthy, unworthy human being - one who was somehow guilty, somehow complicit in all that happened to him.

Listening to him filled me with enormous rage - I wanted to hunt down his long-dead father and cut his balls off ... with a dull spoon! But I couldn't say that. I can only lead him slowly towards a realisation of where the guilt truly lies and hope this enables him to shed his carapace of guilt and shame. I also like to hope that the people who consult me can see compassion in my eyes and detect real feelings of empathy in my voice. (Sorry, that last bit sounds like Mother Theresa!)

It's a fucked up world for so many people, Belly Dancer. I'm no longer astonished at just how inhumane man can be to his fellow man. Every now and then, though, we hear of astonishing acts of kindness, compassion and sacrifice, and that leaves some room for optimism I guess.

Anyway, if you ever have to deal with social workers, Psychs and shrinks again, I hope you get someone who really listens and gives you the feeling that he/she really does give a shit for you and your situation. If not, walk out and shop for someone better. If all else fails, give me a hoy and I'll see what I can do long-distance! And I promise not to breathe a word about it in my blog!

Best wishes
 
Tonight you're at peace with yourself, and all's right with the world. At least until morning. A wonderful position to be in, and to be aware of. A compelling glimpse into how you feel about therapeutic relationships. My sense, however, is of a calm before the storm. There's much unfinished business that has yet to unfold, though I am confident of the resolution.
 
Thanks, mate. Hope your optimism about the future is justified, especially when it comes to getting laid by someone who isn't toting too much baggage!!
 
Great Post Comically. It is hard for us to put our situation in perspective. Compared to what some people have to deal with (child abuse or witnessing something traumatic), most of us are truly blessed.

Keep up the good fight and thanks for posting!
Greg
 
Comically, I must say you write very well, in a manner that pulls us in and allows us to care about you, your family, and others in your domain down under. I will admit I laughed out loud at some of your comments and felt I was laughing with you, certainly not at you. You sound like a man we all would benefit from knowing better. Your wife was a very lucky woman, and I'm sure she is filled with pride at the job you have done as a caring and compassionate dad. Thanks for sharing your thoughts in such a compelling way and good luck with that getting laid thing!

Bryan
 

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