Pondering Perfection

Note from IreneE: Do NOT schedule Christmas at our home when we are just finishing a class segment! Just when did you expect to get everything done?

Note from Irene: She’s right! But she doesn’t have to pout just because I haven’t been able to write regularly in - - - oops too long! Like I can’t feel the pressure and need to write on my own? It’s not the guilt though – there is a NEED to write! I gotta let go…

OK – this is Irene, the mortal. I’m not perfect and somewhere, sometime we will discover that the biggest sin we can create is in trying to be – so at the risk of sinning big time…

A box arrived for me in Red’s box from his dad.

I didn’t see him opening it as there was a lot of family over and I was probably distracted. So when he brings me over a smaller box and a handful of photos I was caught completely off guard.

In my hand was a picture of myself. Well not just me it was a picture of Red, Kasmira, my ex-inlaws and me.

There I was about 12 or 13 years ago staring into the camera. I was happy. Relaxed. Healthy. I was me as I see myself.

Me. Before my 2nd divorce – the one from the kids’ dad – before I’d ever heard the term “near affair” and understood why my marriage was so void.

Me. Before congestive heart failure and hysterectomy.

Me. Before my 3rd divorce.

Me. Before being a single parent.

Me. Before finishing my BA – after 25 years of taking classes on again and mostly off again.

Me. Before my daughter chose to leave me in favor of living with her dad.

Me. Before beginning the MASPED program I have almost completed. (6 more weeks of class!)

Me. Before the foreclosure notice was nailed to my home and my garbage cans were repossessed.

Me. Even before the word autism became a household phenomena for us.

Me. A life-time ago. Well, a dozen or so years ago anyway.

Me. With no worry lines, at my ideal weight – the picture of hope, happiness and health.

A picture of me with my kids (the ex-inlaws can be edited out!)

There were a few more similar pictures, some other pictures of the kids and an older picture of my great-grandparents in the box. No note.

Christmas morning I looked at that picture and almost cried with the rush of every emotion possible.

Where was that person now?

The image shows me as I feel a good chunk of the time – but the camera doesn’t reveal her anymore.

Images of me have been replaced with a cynic who looks 35 pounds heavier, with complexion the color of stress. Images show me as the pasty, worry- faced, fatter, less optimistic version of how I see myself.

After I got over the shock of seeing myself so happy and relaxed and healthy I wondered why the heck the ex would send me the box of pictures?

My inner cynic responded immediately – they are photos of me with his parents in the picture – he couldn’t send them to his parents and he didn’t want them – they were an “in-your-face” cheap shot. (yes – you’d have to know the ex to understand how I knew this).

And my inspiration.

OK – the photos were not all of his parents and me.

There were some of the kids and such and now I vaguely remember him telling me that my ex-husband #3 had given them to him to return to me – and he’d told me he was keeping the duplicates and would be sending the box out sometime – and he did.

Staring at myself in my hands is my inspiration. This is the year I reclaim myself.

I am more than a survivor – I Thrive with life. Truly!

I am Happy, Healthy, Wealthy and Wise. I am Blessed. This is not a destination but a way to enjoy the journey.