“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.”

Melody Beattie

One of my DBT skills I am working on this week involves making a gratitude list.  Since it’s November, I thought it would be appropriate to share some items that have made it on my list.  Leah, of course is always at the top when I think about the good things in my life.  We have a way of balancing each other’s crazy and I think to a degree we know each other better than we know ourselves.   My time with Patrick has accentuated how important it is for me to recognize the positives in my life and for that I am truly grateful.  Even though it is heart wrenching at times, I think taking this job is one of the best things that has happened to me.  I am able to get a perspective that I could not get while trying to climb up the corporate health care ladder.  There was not time to take a step back and enjoy life when I was leaving the house at 6:00am-6:30am and returning home anywhere from 6:30pm-8:00pm.  If I wasn’t grumpy from the long hours and endless texts, the traffic made sure I arrived home in  heinous mood.

I am learning important life lessons from Patrick that are necessary at this point in my life. Success is not as important as I once thought or maybe my definition has changed drastically.  Today I would define success as a happy home.  Nothing else really matters.  I can make all the money in the world, but if I can’t enjoy the time I have right now with my wife, than what’s the point?   I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future and making memories now might be my saving grace when life throws another curve ball my way.

Patrick has also shown me that men folk are not that bad.  I have to admit that I judge men pretty harshly.  One has to be an extraordinary man in order to make it into my inner circle.  I was taught at an early age that men are generally mean, judgmental, and unpredictable.

My father died nine years ago this month.  I tend to wrap my feelings into nice little packages and push them deep down.   I think I still have a lot of grief to work out not from the sadness of his passing, but from the death of hope.

My dad was ill most of my life.  I think he had his first heart surgery when I was six years old.  Fifth grade was spent predicting what kind of dinner we were going to have by which hospital my dad was currently living in.  Swedish Hospital has the best turkey tetrazzini by far.  We had to call 911 on Christmas of that year because my father passed out after being at home only for a couple of days.  That holiday was spent with my mother preparing my brother and I for my fathers nearing death.  My brother also had to learn CPR in case my dad passed out again while he was at home.  Within days my mother was teaching me how to do my own laundry in preparation for her departure for San Diego in hopes that my father would receive a successful heart transplant.  I would be staying at home with my 18 year old brother.  I remember a talk in the dark before my mother left that involved the idea that my mother may come back to us alone- without my father.  Fourteen years later my father died and I think I spent that entire time aware that I had to be prepared for him to die at any moment.

When I received the phone call that my father was in a coma and only had 24 hours to live I dissolved into tears.  I think in that moment it wasn’t necessarily my father’s death that was overwhelming, but all hope was gone of ever having a relationship with him.  I would never get his approval.  It didn’t matter how thin I was or if I lettered in soccer, or that I worked for straight A’s my senior year in college….my dad was dead and I never made him proud of me.

I am ashamed to admit that I hoped my mother would come back from San Diego alone or at least that my father would have a personality transplant along with his heart. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about that time and I think working with Patrick has had me thinking and processing a lot about my dad. Towards the end my father also suffered from dementia so this dance with Patrick is somewhat familiar.  I’m able to feel and work though my emotions this time.  Patrick is not dangerous territory for me.  He is gentle, sweet and caring.  I don’t have to worry about what might come out of his mouth or the stinging impact of showing kindness to a man who did not show me any.  I don’t have any baggage with Patrick.  I’m ready every morning for whatever comes my way that day and I don’t have any expectations as to how clear or fuzzy he might be.  I consider it a good day when we share a laugh or a smile and it’s an exceptional day when that laugh also comes with the recognition of my name.  An added bonus is when that witty sense of humor comes out and we banter.    We like watching concerts together, going to the park with his family, looking at old family photos, and watching a good movie.

There is a DBT skill where you find the good in a bad/difficult situation.   I am grateful that Patrick is teaching me how to be present in the moment and to be more aware that moments are precious and it’s important to enjoy them instead of dwelling on the past or worrying about the future.

<img src=