Diary of a LAN Manager

My children think I'm an elitist because I'm happier in Nashville than I was in Greenfield. My son in particular thinks we're bragging about how well we've made it in the big city when we tell folks 'back home' how we're doing. I don't blame them, really. They have no concept of what kind of struggle it was to stay out of bankruptcy court. They haven't yet figured out that we could never have afforded college educations for them the way things were - that we were (and still are) paying off our own student loans which have been in default more times than I care to admit, mostly because when it came to putting food in their bellies or paying the bills, I made sure that they ate. As for the bragging, it's what you do when you come from a family that wasn't well respected in the community and when you were never expected to amount to anything. Yes, my father-in-law served as a police officer in that lovely little hamlet, but it got him no respect

"Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end? " Tonight or tomorrow I head back to Momma's house. She has another round of chemo scheduled for tomorrow, which surprises me considering who much fun she had after her first dose. Three days in the hospital and two blood transfusions doesn't sound like something you'd want a person to have to do again, but cancer is very unforgiving, so the treatment is also unforgiving. Regardless, she's a strong woman, and we'll get through this. We have to. June has slipped away like most of the other months of my life, as I move from what seems to be one crisis after the other. I can't imagine having a life where I could actually have a few hours to enjoy a hobby or watch a movie, where coming home from work didn't mean starting the next project. And sleep - oh, to be able to sleep for more than six hours a night on a regular basis. But I'm just whining. It's my natural reaction to stress.

One of the more uncomfortable things one can do if one is not particularly introspective is to ask oneself what will one be remembered for (in case you wonder, I hope you'll remember me as being a stickler for correct grammer... but I digress). Will those memories be about style, grace, attitude? Will they be about a difference made in another's life, a positive influence during a bad situation? My kids will probably remember my insanity as they suffer through years of therapy to undo the damage I've done. While I like to think I've remained the calm one of their parental units, I know better. I remember most of the rants and tirades, the occasional broken dish, the tears cried in the middle of the kitchen. I also remember good things, but I'm not sure they will. What I want most is for them to realize how much I care about them, and how I want nothing more than for them to be happy in the choices they make. I want my son to know I believe in his abilities, even w

"In the wind we hear their laughter In the rain we see their tears Hear their heartbeat We hear their heartbeat.." U2; Mothers of the Disappeared Thanks to Geoff for reminding me that it's important to seek out friends when the darkness threatens to overwhelm. Sometimes I take myself too seriously, and sometimes I fail to remember that most grief is actually guilt in disguise. I'm saddened by Sherry's passing, but I'm also sorry for not being closer to her. And I guess that's the lesson - to quit putting up these barriers between myself and others, and accept that I am human and I need other people as much as other people need me. I am never alone, no matter how alone I choose to feel. I am blessed with family and friends. I am blessed.

Dear God, We need to talk. I'm at a loss here for what I'm expected to do. I come into work only to find that a co-worker, a friend, has passed away suddenly in the night, and the whole world is upside down. But lately all I do is move from one catastrophe to the next and I don't know what it is I'm supposed to learn. My family is all together for the first time in years, but we're all walking around in our own private depression and I can't find a solution, not for me, not for them, not for anyone. I'm tired and I want to curl up in the fetal position and cry, but I don't know that I can cry anymore. Everyone thinks I'm so strong but on the inside I'm screaming for help. So here I am, Lord, listening for that still small voice to guide me through this mess. Otherwise I'll spend the rest of my days going in circles.