Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Yes, that's my act of kindness...not cruelty.
I’m intrigued by the notion that some of you folks think I’m cruel. Perish the thought, please. I think of myself as a rather kindly gentleman. I have no intent of harming anyone. Just the opposite. I try to help people. By thinking positively and upbeat. Happy thoughts. Like with the very idea of suicide. Or with Alzheimer’s. With about anything that has the potential to put one in the doldrums. Yes, I look for silver linings in the proverbial cloud. I’ve discovered that attitude makes a big, big difference. A positive attitude. Even in the worst of times. I think of myself as sort of a spin doctor. Or philosopher. I invariably look for the good spin. The good angle. The good perception. Like right now. My Chicago Cubs are locked in a tight pennant race with the Milwaukee Brewers and the St. Louis Cardinals. I passionately want the Cubs to win it all. But I’m programming myself for the possibility that the Cubs don’t make it. That they fall short of their goal. And so I’m preparing for that disappointment in a positive way – by acknowledging that it’s a pleasant experience just to see the Cubs contending this late in the baseball season. Last year, they finished last. So they’ve made tremendous improvement. So, if the Cubs fall short, it’s still been an interesting and thrilling season. Enough to make me reasonably happy – that is, if I adopt a positive attitude. Being grateful even for something short of complete success. I tell myself that I have to learn to accept happiness in whatever dose I can find it. Big or small. Especially when I really can’t affect the outcome of an event. I’m just a sideline observer, not a player or manager. Whether I exist or not won’t make a difference in what the Cubs end up doing this season. So I have to learn to accept it. Gracefully. And preferably, happily. In a way, that’s how I coped with Jeanne’s Alzheimer’s. I had to accept the fact of Jeanne’s dementia, and that it would get worse and lead to physical and mental decline and death. But still, I could do something positive about it. Something kind. I could make life better and happier for Jeanne during the 13-year siege with Alzheimer’s. I could make Jeanne feel loved. I implemented my so-called good vibes therapy. And I comforted Jeanne. Made Jeanne’s life more bearable, despite Alzheimer’s. And I discovered that in helping Jeanne, I also helped myself. Love does that. And now, when I talk about my dad’s suicide almost 60 years later, I do it, in part, to let people know how I coped with such a tragedy. When I was a youngster. I didn’t have to let it get me down. I think I’m being helpful and kind. I tell other survivors of suicides of family members and close personal friends that it’s possible to get over it and to get on with happy living. I tell them that, yes, all is forgiven. That one can learn from the experience in positive ways. That from the seeds of a personal tragedy one can cultivate a bountiful and happy life. Yes, that’s my act of kindness…not cruelty. –Jim Broede
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9 comments:
"I think of myself as sort of a spin doctor."
spin is a usually pejorative term signifying a heavily biased portrayal in one's own favor of an event or situation. While traditional public relations may also rely on creative presentation of the facts, "spin" often, though not always, implies disingenuous, deceptive and/or highly manipulative tactics.
When I spin something, I look at it from the positive side rather than the negative side. From the point of view of a romantic idealist, a free-thinker, a liberal and a lover. So very often my cup runneth over. Life is good. So that's how I spin things. It doesn't do any good, for instance, to lament my father's suicide forever, or Jeanne's passing forever or the Cubs inability to win a World Series forever. Instead, I try to make the best of these bad situations, these bad events. I see my dad as a hero. I continue to commune with Jeanne's spirit. Yes, I continue to love Jeanne. I'll accept the Cubs season as a relative success, even if the team finishes second or third. Today, it's overcast. The threat of rain. But that won't stop me from going for my 10-mile daily walk. I'll take an umbrella, or a raincoat. And enjoy the rain as it drips down my big nose. I'll stick out my tongue to catch a few raindrops to quench my thirst. And I'll think to myself, "We really need this rain. Things have been dry. This will help the plants." See, that's the way I give a good spin to the day. I don't mutter and wish for sunshine. I accept the weather as it is, and make the most of it. The best of it. I like to feel good about life, and about myself. And so that's my spin. Really, there's no deception, no manipulation in the process. I genuinely feel good. If I felt lousy and I told you I feel good -- well, that would be deception. That wouldn't be right. I don't have to fake feeling good. I'm able to make myself feel good. Because I have a feel good attitude. --Jim Broede
Interesting. Just the way some of you post. It's obvious you have negative attitudes. You assume the worst. If you happen to be Alzheimer care-givers, that ain't good. You need to start thinking positively. You need to stop whining and bemoaning your lot. I learned to like being a care-giver. It became a very fulfilling and rewarding experience. It didn't start out that way. But I grew into the job. Made me more appreciative of what really counts in life. Being able to care. Being able to love. Nothing more satisfying than that. I think it made me a better person. --Jim Broede
I can understand why some of you whiners and criers could find some of this stuff hard to do. Because you spend too much time whining and crying. It's all right to whine and cry to some degree. But eventually you've gotta get over it. And get things done. You need to spend less time at pity parties and just get to it. I know that not all of you are whiners and criers. Just wear these titles if they fit. Nothing wrong with occasional whining and crying. But not all the time. That doesn't do the patient any good. You've got to exude good vibes. And whining and crying deosn't qualify as a good vibe. And remember, this is just my opinion. You have the right to disagree. --Jim Broede
Jim for starters, I am not a caregiver. Second I ran across your blog posted on Hometown, Third and not last I started doing alittle bit of reseach on my own. So you can say I don't really care about anything but the truth. And I think a little bit of truth came out today.
By the way, if any of you need instruction in diaper changing and clean up of poop and pee, I'm an expert. I do a very good job of it. I've mastered the art. I'm good at many household chores. In fact, I'm thinking about starting a pioneer housewives school, where I would be the chief instructor and dean of admissions. I'd train women to be as versatile in the household as the old pioneer women. Some of them are my heroines. They had stamina and fortitude and a sense of adventure. Many of them went out to the barn to milk the cows and shovel the manure. And through it all, they maintained their sense of humor. Believe me, they were my kind of women. --Jim Broede
There'd be a separate school for pioneer househusbands. To be trained in leisurely pursuits. --Jim Broede
We've got so many postings and so much participation -- beyond my wildest dreams -- and that makes it hard to read everything every day. Wow! Wow! Wow! --Jim Broede
I just refuse to be offended over humor. I like certain kinds of humor. Humor that some people find insensitive. And offensive. I think it's even all right to laugh over Alzheimer-related jokes. Unfortunately, some people lack a sense of humor, period. I like put-on humor. And some people take it so seriously. Makes me laugh. Even happens on the Alzheimer's message boards. And right here in this blog. In the comments section. Norman Counsins wrote a book about how laughter cured him of a so-called incurable illness. He decided to watch videos of comedians and humorists. Day after day. From his hospital bed. Just immersed himself in bounteous laughter. And what do you know? It made him well again. When people poke fun at me or call me names in anger, I find it easy to laugh. Because it's funny. Really funny. I can't take it seriously. --Jim Broede
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