Need Your Feedback on This

Guys, can you take a moment to read this draft of my next WLS Lifestyles article? What I need to know is, do you think this is a positive reflection, or a negative one? In reading this, do you feel "down" or "uplifted" - I really need your take on this before I submit to the editor - thanks! Reenie My Father's Song In these dark gray days of Connecticut's lingering winter, I work my body indoors on a well worn treadmill in a gym that is as cheerless as Connecticut's lingering winter. I long for crocuses and daffodils and sweet bird songs outside my opened bedroom window. My body feels heavy as I move one foot in front of the other on this completely uninspiring piece of machinery. These are the days that try the souls of those of us who attempt to stay vigilant in sustaining significant weight loss. I sigh in resignation of giving myself half-heartedly to my workout and tighten the ear buds that connect me to the Judy Collins disc nestled in my CD player, the non-skip version. Most people choose music that will motivate them to a more intense workout; I choose instead to ease my mind with the soothing sounds of Collins' crystal clear voice. I punch the play button and increase the speed and incline of the treadmill, 3.8 mph at level 2. My father always promised us that we would live in France; we'd go boating on the Seine and I would learn to dance...My mind is transported to the time of my adolescence when in the mid-1960s, Judy Collins was at her peak and I was a terribly shy and unattractive girl. How effortless it is to go back there as if time has stood still and I am filled with the same overwhelming feelings of embarrassment and self-consciousness. I was my mother's burden and my father's Princess. He was an imposing man, standing 6' 4" tall and well over 200 pounds of mostly muscle. In stark contradiction, he exuded a quiet and gentle strength and wanted nothing more than to do right by his family. I pull myself out of my reverie long enough to demand more of my leg*****hing the speed to 4.8 mph and begin a steady lope as I sink back into the song's lyrics. On his dreams like boats, we knew we would sail in time... I didn't know then what I know now. I didn't know that he was aware of my pain, the inner conflict of a girl who escaped into books and old movies in order to avoid her homeliness. The more I tried to hide from myself, the fatter I became and the fatter I became, the more I tried to hide from myself. I didn't know then what I know now--my father thought I was beautiful. He looked passed the acne and crooked teeth and misshapen body and saw instead soft azure eyes--my mother's eyes--that danced with mischief when we were happy. And when we weren't he kept a subtle watch at arms length so as not to intrude on my growing up but ready to carry me on his broad shoulders should I falter. I sail my memories of home like boats across the Seine; and watch the Paris sun as it sets in my father's eyes again... I am sweating on the treadmill, moving past the slow and melodic swells of one of Judy Collins' most memorable signature tunes, feeling the physical strength I have cultivated in these post-op years give support to an emotional strength that has ebbed and yielded to winter's gloomy landscape. I see myself through my father's eyes, a woman whose beauty radiates from an inner place of values that were instilled in my youth--kindness, compassion, honesty, decency, friendship and family. Values imparted from a father to his lonely and awkward daughter who grew up to be a super-morbidly obese woman because she could not see what her father saw. My father always promised us that we would live in France; we'd go boating on the Seine and I would learn to dance... Today, my father is aged and frail and he worries about how he will leave this world. He sees his body as tired and worn out, one that hunches over tiny shuffle-steps as he moves slowly from one room to the other. Through my eyes, I see an imposing gentle giant of a man who carries me on his broad shoulders and tells me I am beautiful and urges me to fly. I hope he knows now what I've always known. My father's song is the music of my life. May you learn to dance to the music that is yours while Living Normal.

I absolutely love this for so many reasons. First of all, it is downright beautiful. Second of all, not only are you exercising your body, you are exercising your mind and emotions at the same time.....like a symphony of Reenie....I could go on. Don't change a word. Love, Joanie

Thanks, Joanie! Hey, how is your daughter doing at school? And how are you doing with that "empty nest" feeling? I have good and bad days with it... Reenie

I agree Very uplifting words. Go for It!!! Thanks for sharing before you have it submitted. Great Reading!! Ladybug Marilyn

Thanks Marilyn!

wow- it's beautiful- however- i felt both down and up-- i felt down like you really were disillusioned with life and winter drearies and up by the fact that ppl can see inside to the true beauty of our souls and you encourage that introspection... i am not entirely sure that it would inspire me if i read it in the mag; however..... i have been on the river seine and it was a beautiful experience- i have been on the champs elysee and been in awe of what i had studied as a girl...right now i am trying to keep my sanity as my husband is (by his choice) locked in a psyche ward...so i am seeking positives and brite sunshine and smooth waters and stories of happiness... i almost see it more as a wondrous tribute to your father...not to living normal.... reenie- you write beautifully---take my current situation with a grain of sand about the article... you asked. hugs

Thanks Margo - I'm happy for this feedback! And it was absolutely written in tribute to my Dad. He has been very ill and I wrote this last week while he was in the hospital and telling me not to rush down to FL to be with him. He has since gone home and is rebounding but he's got serious health issues right now related to diabetes, congestive heart failure, and low kidney function. I don't think he'll be around too much longer. I have submitted the article to the editor who has gotten back to me with a resounding thumbs up for print in the next issue. Now then, what's going on with you? And what's up with Michael? We're hear to listen and offer support, as always, darlin' - what's going on? Reenie

Margo, I just want to hug you right now. Before he died of sleep apnea/weight related issues, my husband was seriously mentally ill. At least 12 hospitilizations in about 10 years and none of them were his choice. I'm glad that Michael has chosen to get help for his sake as well as yours. What helped me get though years and years of living with a mentally ill spouse was to remember that it was his disease, his issue, not mine. A million years later, I can look back and laugh at some of the crazy episodes that Dan's mental illness brought about. One of my favorites stories involved my sister-in-law, Diana. She never understood how seriously ill her brother was and thought that I was cruel in continuing to have him admitted to the hospital. After a three or four day spell of Dan trying to drop an anvil on my head when I was asleep because he thought I was trying to kill the sun goddess, Dan in the yard trying to put out the sun with a garden hose, Dan chewing on rocks because he thought they were carrying aliens who were trying to destroy earth, I finally talked Diana into helping me take him to the hospital. She wasn't convinced that he needed to be admitted until we pulled up to the hospital doors and Dan told the doctor that Diana and I were trying to get him locked up because we were lesbians. Somehow Dan trying to drop an anvil on my head Wile E. Coyote style was not crazy, but thinking that she was a lesbian was crazy as hell and warranted him being locked up. She couldn't wait to get him out of the car and medicated. I understand the relief that having your spouse safely hospitalized can bring and the guilt that comes with feeling so relieved. I understand the anxiety of always waiting for the other shoe to drop and the helplessness of not being able to "fix it." I understand wanting to leave and not feeling like you can. Be good to you Margo. Take care of you. Much love and many hugs, Connie

after spending a few hours with him tonite- omg connie- you are a hoot! your sil story will remain with me! seriously- he is looking pretty good but he needs to get out of there...and monday would be the earliest- he signed a 3 day writ and monday would be #3 cuz of teh weekend...so we shall see... he is stuck on my procrastination --that it is a real kicker in the marriage- well- i ahve been that way all of my life- maybe i can change a lil but i will never let it go completely! he still doesn't really understand how sick he was/is...he still doesn't totally comprehend how volatile the situation was the other day- how quickly he moved from calm and admitting he needed help to becoming the incredilbe hulk! anyhow- thank you so much for your understanding and just being here! so many can say that they understand -they cannot unless they have lived some of it somehow! i spent today doing some margo stuff...not enough but a start!

What a great tribute. I've always loved your writing. Hugs, Connie