The music was so loud, I could barely hear myself think in the Steve Madden shop where I was trying on a pair of cute shoes. And it wasn’t Mozart. How can you stand it?” I asked the twenty something salesgirl at the register. “I don’t even hear it anymore?” she said. If she works there for for much longer she literally won’t hear this Madden(ing) Music, or anything else, because she is going to go deaf.
My nephew’s girlfriend worked for another fashion retailer that blared the music at deafening levels. She quit. Smart girl.
Sylvia, my FOF friend, complained about intrusive music in yet another shop. “Do you think it’s our age?” she asked me and another friend, Terry.
“I thought we were supposed to get hard of hearing,” I laughed.
“I read something about loud music making you buy more,” Terry added.
My Lord. This world is going crazy. Perhaps every one of the retail executives who decides to employ this noise attack should first be forced to sit alone in a room for 24 hours with non-stop music. And I don’t mean Mozart.
You can imagine how quiet things would get.
Artist, Louis Reith
“They have wonderful dispositions. They don’t throw tantrums at all, ” said my FOF friend about her three-year old twin grandsons. We’d all love to have tantrum-free children, except my pal’s grandsons have something we don’t want any children to have: Autism.
The boys’ condition was diagnosed earlier this year and now they undergo hours and hours of therapy every week and will, understandably, attend a special school. “They don’t talk but they’re learning to point. I feel worst for my son, that he has to go through all of this. He is so worried that they won’t stay happy once they become more aware of their surroundings,” my friend said.
Most parents completely agree with the adage, “You’re only as happy as your unhappiest child.” Every single one of us would trade our child’s pain for our own.
It is ironic that the autistic twins are happy in their own worlds, yet the people who love them are suffering emotionally.
We all want to take away the suffering of those we love, but often the best we can do is to make it a bit more bearable. I have great admiration for my friend’s attitude and practical approach to her son’s ordeal. No doubt, it will be a long one. She helped him locate the resources he needs to care for his children. She spends lots of time with him and his family. She is an emotional support.
The love between parent and child is indescribable. It’s indescribable, indestructible, and indispensable.
I got to where I am, personally and professionally, because someone or something helped me…
…a co-worker who took the time to critique stories I wrote; a boss who never stopped teaching me how to be a great salesperson; an ex-husband who let me cry on his shoulder for hours about my love life; a therapist who steered me towards more self-awareness; a book that walked me through the first stages of motherhood; sisters who never stopped liking me, even when I wasn’t very likable.
It is our obligation to pay it forward and help whoever we can, whenever we can, I believe. I emailed a FOF member who lost her daughter two years ago: “I was heartbroken to read your email about the loss of your daughter. I wish there was something I could do or say to lessen your heartache. If you ever want a ‘pen pal,’ please drop me an email.”
It was a small gesture, but I meant it, and yesterday I received a wonderful email from my FOF friend telling me how she’s doing. “Thank you for letting me talk a little about myself, my giant step forward on this path to a new life…” she wrote.
I brainstormed with two other FOF friends who are starting their own businesses and wanted my advice. “Thank you so much for taking the time out of your afternoon yesterday to talk with me,” one of them emailed. “I have to say you have such great energy and your willingness to share and brainstorm is contagious.”
Another FOF friend has a marvelous idea for a screenplay and she asked if I’d connect her with someone in the business, which I did.
I adore getting thanks, but that’s not the reason I help.
No matter how much experience we have, we can always benefit, and grow, from others’ connections, expertise and compassion. I know people are there for me and I will always be there for them.
Last year, a mass in my groin suddenly appeared. Within 24 hours, I visited my dermatologist and internist and had a sonogram. A hernia was ruled out, but no one knew for sure what it was, so I was advised to go to a cancer surgeon. By the time I saw the surgeon, a few days later, I had decided I had lymphoma and would probably die. He, too, couldn’t make a firm diagnosis, so we scheduled surgery.
I was apprehensive, for sure, but I was formulating my plan of action. I’d do everything I could to take care of my problem. I wouldn’t tell my kids until I absolutely had to since I didn’t think it was necessary for them to suffer, too. I’d also continue working, provided I was up to it.
I am not overly brave or selfless but I needed to have a plan of action so I could avoid having an illness take control of me. Even if disease stinks, I wouldn’t want it consume me mentally. Physically is bad enough.
My sister’s FOF colleague had Stage IV colorectal cancer and worked until the weekend she died. A fellow parent had ovarian cancer, over 25 years ago, when our kids were in Pre-K. She didn’t let it get her down and was there for her daughter as long as she could hold her head up. My former mother-in-law had serious pulmonary disease in her eighties but did everything she could to live as normally as possible. No one bitched and complained, “Why me?”
Why not me?
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