2016 An Important Year!

When I was a little girl, I had terrible “growing pains” in my legs. Some nights it was so bad my Da would have to carry me to bed. I would try so hard not to cry, because I wanted to be strong, I didn’t want my father to think I was weak.

He would give me children’s aspirin, a glass of water, kiss me on the forehead and whisper, “Is minic a rinne bromach gioblach capall”, which translates to A ragged colt often makes a strong horse. My tiny mind didn’t understand. In his words I only heard him calling me a ragged colt, as though I was broken.

My father and I were extremely close his whole life. He was stern, but he always loved me unconditionally. He never stopped loving me when I did something he did not approve of. He accepted me for exactly who I am, never in spite of it.

My father was not an educated man. He came to the United States from Ireland in the nineteen twenties. He never attended school as a child, but still he was and still remains the wisest man I will ever know. He said many wise things to me over the years and it amazes me even now, that I’m still just finding the lessons in his words.

After three years of excruciating pain in my legs my father brought me to the doctor, where I was diagnosed with Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis. Back in 1980 when I was diagnosed it was still a brand new disease. There was no cure, actual treatments or medications that were effective, the only answer was, enjoy your life as you can now. You will likely be in a wheelchair by the time you’re eighteen.

When we left the doctor’s office with this news, I could tell my father was devastated. Here I was, his ragged colt. Broken. Unacceptable.

We stopped at our favorite hole-in-the-wall diner, Mixx’s. I had french fries (I was a vegetarian) and he had shit on a shingle.

We sat silently at the bar and I remember listening to the sound of the dishes clanking and the other patrons chatting wishing my father would say something.

We got our meals and mid way through my father turned to me and as though he could read my thoughts and said, “ Is minic a rinne bromach gioblach capall”

My eyes welled with tears, because I knew that I was a disappointment. I was thinking of all the things we weren’t going to be able to do together anymore. Load hay and grain, gather kindling for hours in the woods, chase after the ponies when they got loose, woodworking, climbing trees, none of it. I was going to be in a wheelchair, my life was over.

I looked into his tired blue eyes and could see the tears forming. All I could choke out was, “I’m sorry Da.”

His expression twisted with confusion, “Why are you sorry, Bug?”

I lowered my head and the tears spilled down my cheek, “Because I’m broken and I won’t be able to be your pal anymore.”

His tears spilled over, he slid off the stool and turned me around to face him. “Bella, you will always be my pal. Whether you can walk, waddle or crawl.”

He shook his head and looked at me with something I didn’t understand at the time, “This is a bump in the road. This is a blessing.”

I know I had to look at him like he was crazy. All I could think of was all the things I wouldn’t be able to do. Then I felt horrible, because I was doubting him. I didn’t believe him, how could this be a blessing? I shook my head, “How?”

He wiped his tears with his napkin and put his hands on my knees, “These knees aren’t who you are. Whether or not you can walk, doesn’t define you as a person.” He could see his words weren’t helping, He squeezed my knees again, “These knees are strong.” He put his hand on my chest, “And this spirit is stronger.”

I just stared at him because he wasn’t making any sense to me. In my ten year old mind, I was still just done. Game over.

“Bella, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, nothing worth doing is. I’m saying I know you can beat it. I know that you are the strong horse.”

“No, Da, I’m the ragged colt.” At this point I was sobbing and choking and making that awful sound when you cry really hard.

He smiled and said, “How do you think the horse gets strong? Through an easy life? Through not having to work for it? No, the horse became strong because she could overcome.”

“You think I can be the strong horse?” I started to feel hope. If he believed in me, maybe I could do it.

He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me dead in the eye and said, “I know you are the strong horse, you just have to know it.”

I didn’t know it at the time, but that moment, that disease, that talk I had with my Da defined me.

I never stopped moving, I pushed through all the pain. When it would hurt, when I wanted to ask him to help me up the stairs or help me muck out the stalls I would remind myself that I was the strong horse.

When he would try to help, I would tell him, “No Da, I’m the strong horse.”

Thirty-six years later I’m still dancing.

This isn’t a story about my arthritis or the challenges I still face with it. This is the story of the ragged colt, becoming the strong horse. Over and over again.

For many 2016, has been a difficult year. But I challenge each and everyone of you to truly stop and consider what the past year represents. I’m not saying it hasn’t been a challenge or painful, but the results of much of what we’ve been through can be beautiful and amazing. It’s all about the choice we make.

I’m choosing to live, learn, thrive and continue to grow from the lessons of this year and whatever next year holds for me.

Is minic a rinne bromach gioblach capall.

I looked at what I had become, I was once again the ragged colt. I was allowing people to walk all over me. I was begging toxic people not to leave me. I was pathetic and broken. I didn’t like who I was. I had given up on writing, because it was hard and my addict husband spent all of my publishing money on his disasters. Now, I’m working 50+ hours a week to barely care for my children. I got caught up in the minutia of despair.

Then it happened.

Slowly, I had been taking my power back. Bit by bit. First by starting to make my home the place I want it to be. Not the junk pile that my soon-to-be-ex-husband wanted to live in. I started cleaning up my yard, taking back my place. Making it a home for my family.

I had already been going to the gym, and for the first time in my entire life, I was doing it. I was getting results and I was becoming physically stronger. Yes, I still have arthritis, but I don’t let it stop me. I push through.

It’s still hard, but I’m moving forward boldly.

I’ve broken away from a destructive, abusive addict. Filed for divorce, had to turn to the church to be able to feed my children, faced homelessness (still are), and the scariest of all is coming to terms with what I want, who I am and how I choose to move forward. Boldly.

This year has taught me that I will no longer keep people in my life that will withhold their love if I don’t behave how they want me to. Fuck them. I don’t need them.

I will not longer beg anyone to be my friend and participate in my life. They are making their choices, and I accept that perhaps I’m not one of them.

I’ve chosen to surround myself with people that are positive and love me for exactly who I am, not in spite of it.

I’ve made decisions to cultivate and grow the most important relationships in my life and in my heart. I’ve Been clear in how I define them. I’ve let the important people in my life know that I love them, cherish them and want them to continue to be part of my journey. Because they are important to me. I’ve given them the opportunity to make their choice whether they want to be part of my life.

I will not compromise, I will not allow people to use me or disrespect me in any way. Again, fuck them, I don’t need that.

I deserve to be cherished, I deserve to be happy and I deserve to enjoy my life and the people I choose to keep in it.

I’m still here for those that need and want me in their lives. I welcome them with open arms, every time.

I’ve chosen to move forward boldly and continue to carpe the fuck out of every diem. That’s who I was, that’s who I’m getting back to.

I’m remembering to enjoy the NOW, enjoy the middle.

December 31, 1999 is the last time I talked with my father. He was in Florida and I was in Colorado so we were on the phone. He was so bright and alive for our last conversation, which was a gift since he was so ill.

He asked me to look after the family, that I would have to be the glue that held everyone together. I tried, but I failed.

He told me he was proud of me and my beautiful children. To always remind them that Papa loves them and is with them always.

Then he told me that he knew it was okay for him to go, because I was going to be okay. That every time I forget, I have to remember that my spirit is stronger than anything life can throw at me.

I wanted to be selfish, and I was for a moment. My father was in terrible pain, but I didn’t want him to go. I pleaded with him, “But Da, you are the one that made me strong.”

He replied, “Oh, Bug, I didn’t make you strong, I just reminded you of who you are and who you are is the strong horse.”

Our conversation lasted for over an hour. It was wonderful. I wish I had a recording of it, because I go back to that conversation whenever I feel like I just can’t make it through a hard day.

He died the next morning at 4am.

We all have to look back on this year as a long series of growing pains. And believe me, it’s been painful. But what I’ve come through, what I’ve become once again is the strong horse.

And so are you.