Advocate aRose, Petal 2

Petal 1's intro was yesterday. Now, for today's Petal 2...

...Being an advocate is like rescuing someone from the cold. An advocate sees from a different perspective and at times has the ability to change the natural flow of events. An advocate stands in the gap and many times can keep in mind the higher good, taking the hit for others. An advocate provides an extra voice. Attorneys are advocates for others (maybe Dad chose that profession partly as a reaction to years of yearning to defend his belittled family of origin); and so, I meagerly attempt to follow his footsteps, through a less intellectual venue. Not through the court system's judges, but through the many blogs I have written over the past 6 years. Learning as I go. This hands-on learner sends re-worded dialogue out into the creative universe that is finally and hopefully less assumption-based than Detective/Author my great-Grandfather Frederick Weber's 1920 book: "Is There A Creative Power in Disintegration?" (inspired after an astronomer's discovery of the mega-bright 1918 Nova Aquilae that occurred 100 years ago).

I strive to clearly convey my reasoning behind the creative belief: "This" Relates to "Us". Possibly the purpose and compelling reason for surviving and thriving through stage 2, virulent grade 3 of 3 breast cancer is to be an advocate, for my parents and my siblings. In 2006, it felt like a supernatural presence guided me through cancer's life-and-death, decision-after-decision, practicing the presence of God. My perspective is forever changed.

Practicing God's presence, plus some early-morning 5:30 a.m. instincts, have especially been needed for heritage blogging, as well. Critical heritage segments were hidden or out of whack, so research and blogging became compulsions. It felt like something was missing, like that annoying lost mate to a favorite pair of socks (maybe stolen by the sock fairy for her hidden stash)... or, wanting that $500 car fob, lost somewhere around the house (so many places to look)... or, needing to return home because of a stove burner or a hair straightener left on... or, missing that one annoying puzzle piece, and believing that piece is somewhere nearby... or, certainly there is something you have forgotten, but remembering what, is another matter (maybe that needed battery for the smoke detector, "This Is Us"). It has taken time to realize that some segments will always be mysteries; but, helping to combine information already known heritage-wise with information I would eventually learn, I needed the Advocate-in-the-wings. He was always there.

Ever the peace-seeking "crumb-snapper" in a home of dysfunctional love with underlying mismatched tensions, I believed that problems could have easy solutions. I noticed unnoticeable things when I should have been pre-occupied with childhood play. It would have been impossible for me to write this perspective until now. I am finally able to assume the circular and complex grandparent ↺ parent perspective, partly because our long-distance daughter is blessed with three beautiful and energetic children. We have tried to be there for her in a variety of ways, and when we are there physically, it is 24/7 (foul breath, eye boogers) togetherness.   

So, the argument to figuratively slip into Mom's "Cinderella" casual footwear is snug, but hopefully logical and convincing (my size-10 foot's sandal size is almost Mom's size 8). They loved us; they loved each other; but overarching it all, as young parents they were overwhelmed; and to survive, they reacted to most challenges blindly. Both sets of grandparents were, for one convoluted reason or another, absent for support. Young-parent Mom and Dad basically sought for little help-structure; and few, if any, were available for them to closely observe who had strongly "gone before." Tensions snowballed with each additional child. Dad also had two nearly-destitute widows-in-the-wings (our two grandmothers); and for a while, Mom's nearby struggling widowed sister-in-law; and a few times, Dad needed to legally "be there" for his elusively-charming baby brother (17 years his junior).

Emotional and financial "fail-safes" were out of the picture. All money was brought in by, and blood-sweat-and-tears earned by, Dad. Imagine having minuscule help, 6 stair-step children, a sporadic and irrelevant church life, and a somewhat isolated day-to-day existence. Dad was "on his own" financially and Mom was "on her own" regarding the kids. Mom's family was at best a 45-minute suburb drive or long-distance phone call away, and Dad's family lived a 6-hour drive away.

Hillary Clinton is right when she says, "It takes a village." Mom's village and her children's was intentionally kept at arm's length. My parents lived in the 1960's low-tech age with no Internet, cell phones, texting, or email; no Dr. Dobson or "This is Us" time-travel family therapy television programs; and, charges for every minute of a long-distance rotary-type phone call were high. It was a communications world that, these days, most of us can barely remember or conceive. As a 10-year-old, I would slip away, barefoot, for hours to the nearby park, railroad tracks, or small swamp and never be missed...