I'll see you when I get there...

Four years ago today, I was blissfully unaware of where life would lead...unaware of the cards I would be dealt...unaware that life as I knew it would change forever. And today, I'm feeling that ignorance I was so lucky to have. Even four years later, it is painful.

Four years ago tomorrow would be the last time I spoke to my best friend. Four years ago tomorrow was the last time I made him coffee or complained to myself how lucky he was that I let him sleep in. Four years ago tomorrow he was rushed out of our house in an ambulance while our kids were watching. Four years ago was the last time I spoke to him with his eyes open and looking at me. He was getting ready to be helicoptered to St. Louis and I said, "I'll see you when I get there..." At the time I meant St. Louis, now I know the destination is outside the realm of this world.

Today, I wish I was "there" if only for 45 minutes. Four years later, I feel like I am finally dealing with loss. It's scary, debilitating and more painful than I ever thought imaginable. But, the loss isn't just for myself, it is for all of us. It is for all of the things we have faced and are going to face, without a husband, a father and a friend. After Jason passed away, I didn't lose it...I didn't have time. I had so much to figure out, kids to take care of and things to keep going. I became a professional at spinning plates like those people in the circus. I convinced myself that this was how I was going to deal with loss. While I know this year is just one of many that grief will be difficult, perhaps when the circus leaves town this is how it feels.

There are all of these things I cannot do or memories and experiences I cannot recreate. All of these things that kids really need their father to help them, and those same things that I long for my husband to help me from loosing my shit. In the beginning I think I thought I could play both roles and everything would be fine. But I see looks in the kids eyes sometimes, and I think to myself, "Yes, if you only knew how hard I was trying to NOT make this a shit show..." Every mother loves her children, but I am not sure if mine will ever know the magnitude of my love. I love them for two people one they see and one they cannot see.

Anger, fear and loathing, are all consuming, and I don't blame any of one in this house for feeling them sometimes. I know that the Talls would rather talk to their dad about personal stuff. I know Nora has told me she never wants to get married because her dad can't walk her down the isle. I know that Atticus looks just like someone he'll never meet, and he only knows this because everyone tells him. I have been told that maybe another "male figure" could fill in for some things in the kids lives. But the fact remains that they just don't want someone, they want their dad. I've seen people who lovingly try to step in and be that "male figure," and I almost cringe, as I know exactly what the kids are thinking...all the while praying that my kids see the kindness of the gesture before blurting out, "Step off buddy!" We will get to that place eventually, but I am not sure any of us are ready yet.

"The Little Bulldog" is what Jason used to lovingly refer to me as. He saw me give a nurse a talking-to one time when he was in the hospital, and never let me forget it. He said while that side of me didn't come out often, when it did people better look out. Well, he was probably grinning recently, as it did come out and subsequently, I no longer work outside of the home. Everything happens for a reason, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved. I missed doing my full time job, the tittle I'm most proud of on my resume, raising my kids. Jason would be proud that I tried something new, but grateful that I know to put our kids as my priority.

Some days are going to just be like this and there is no avoiding it, as it will only be worse if I do. Regardless of wanting to talk to Jason one more time, chanting it to myself before I go to bed won't will it to happen. I look around and think at how much has changed and how much we all have changed. While that is scary, I know how proud he would be of all of us...four years later, that is the takeaway I have to adopt. "I'll see you when I get there..."

thank you Smelma...

Honestly, I don't know what is going on with me, but I am off. I'm not sure if it is because I've been sick on and off since Labor Day...maybe the cocktail of steroids and antibiotics are rotting out my ability to be normal? Maybe it is the fact that it is dark outside by 6 p.m.? Maybe I've just finally hit that point, you know where on-lookers are saying, "Yup, I called it, she's lost her shit...now give me the 20 bucks you owe me." Whatever the case, something has been looming for too long...and I want to be rid of it.

This time of year, well completely sucks. No matter how you slice it, it is a stale piece of cake no one really wants. Usually I give myself a couple of days and I'm done. But much like the steroid cocktail that I have been on and off, the boost of energy is fantastic-but when the bottom falls out you wish you were hit by a truck. So, tomorrow is another day, and as I am finding out, one of my favorite days to write about in the past- Parent Teacher Conferences.

Luckily this year I only have one, Nora. I am mentally preparing myself for the wild and exhilarating things I will no doubt hear about my only daughter during her off hours of being with me. She has grown so much just since school has started this year. She has discovered the "wonders" of making a sack lunch. While at first she was usually telling me she needed one whilst walking out the door in the morning, now she comes home from school and immediately starts making her lunch for the next day...I like that kind of growth. I am interested to hear what her teacher has to say, but of course mentally preparing myself as well.

My hope is that I can fill my kids with enough creative ideas and a little bit of creative expression that they can use it to help themselves when needed. It used to be when I was down, I would put everyone to bed, come into my room, write and everything would be back to normal. Sometimes, it just isn't that easy anymore. Sometimes I feel like I am complaining about the same thing over and over again. Sometimes I worry that this is the wall, like THE WALL that I have finally hit and maybe there is no way around it. It is scary. No one wants to move backward, not when they can see how far they have come. No one wants to admit that the things that used to come easily to them are now a struggle. No one really understands you, better than you...but what happens when you are the last person you understand? What then?

A woman who works where I work stopped me today and asked me if she could buy my book. I looked at her probably crazy-eyed and said, "What? ...I'll give it to you." I think I was half astonished that she even knew I wrote a book, and for a moment I kind of had forgotten I had too. It seems like a million years ago, when in reality it was like a minute. I thanked her profusely, and thought to myself, "Kate, get your shit together. You have a job to do, and you will get out of this funk." She was the first person I spoke to on my first day of work and probably will never know how grateful I am to her for sort of nudging my psyche.

It wasn't until tonight, the whole creative expression thing sort of hit me where it needed to. I was talking to Atticus before saying good-night to him. He told me that he had an imaginary friend. I asked what his name was, to which he said, "Her name, is Smelma Stinkyfeet." I said, really, is she Slavic with a name like that? He said, "No, she's from Knox, Ind. Smelma's not good with money, so to make ends meet, she has taken in a couple of horses to live with her. Her house isn't very big, but the horses help pay the bills." I dawned on me, funks come and go, but if you are lucky, creativity can stay with you forever...thank you Smelma.

...just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

It's October...and the litany of all things fall/Halloween commence. My kids love this time of year as much as I do, even Oscar today said, "Where are the fall books? I need to read some, I'm just in the mood." There will be cookies to make and pumpkins to carve and costumes to try to put together. I am grateful that my kids are still "into" these things, as I know they won't be forever. The October 1st tradition is to watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. As it was starting, and we were all together, I looked at every one of my kids and I touched their arm. It seemed odd, but it was like I was caught up in the moment. We have been watching this movie for as long as I can remember, for some of my kid’s whole lives. We laugh and we recant our favorite parts, it's like a secret tradition that we have always somehow kept.

So many things are happening at once it seems like a whirlwind. Some things are great while others are challenges. Nora learning to ride her bike finally seems like a rite of passage. And as promised, she got to ride to Casey's General Store for doughnuts this morning. Instead of following her in my car like I did the first time she rode her bike to school, I went along for the bike ride. She is FAST! I had a hard time keeping up with her. As I watched her this morning, I envied her lack of fear. I watched her, albeit cautiously, peddling downhill, seemingly flying and thought- ah, to be seven again. I'm proud of her for facing her fears, just wish she had a slight fear of speed at this point.

The sojourn of being a single parent at times is more than difficult. No matter how others offer to help, it is just not the same. Perhaps it is my control freak tendencies, maybe it is habit, or maybe I'm the only one who really knows these kids behind closed doors. Like the saying goes, they're good for company. Sometimes it is what goes on when there aren't any witnesses that are really truer than the sometimes-fiction they portray for others. The pangs of seeing a kid who really needs their father, a sojourn I never signed up for, but we'll get through it. Like I said, people have offered to try to step in and be that person, for which I am grateful, but it is just not the same. They will know when they are ready to speak up about it, until then I wait…and of course worry.

I am going to be more honest right now than I probably ever have been. After Jason died, there was a time when I just hated him. I hated him for leaving me a single parent. I hated him for never showing me how to do some things. I hated him for not being able to see how our kids have grown. I hated him, hated him, because somehow it took the sting out of missing him. If I could be angry at him, I wouldn't miss him. The fact of the matter is, he was my best friend and I loved him. He was a good father and a good person. Sometimes I just miss talking to him, asking him for advice or some sort of reassurance that I am doing the right thing, or saying the right thing. I'm outnumbered by people in this house who don't have the same parts as me...and sometimes that terrifies me. I miss my friend, the other half of my children, who gets them as much as I do. I no longer hate, but I hope that I am doing the right thing by him.

The last four years have seemed like a decade. My mind goes back to all the things I didn't appreciate at the time, the moments I didn't pay enough attention to or the things I didn't coin in the moment as special. Sometimes they can still knock the wind out of me. While these kids at times drive me to drink, terrify me and give me endless laundry and stories, I know that they are some of the strongest human beings I know. I marvel at how sometimes things just come together... In the middle of chaos driving down the street, Atti cheering out the window to Nora while she rides her bike,"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming." Mean while the boys show their less than stifled embarrassment to merely be seen with us...I see how far we have come, but sometimes I miss the one who isn't there to laugh about it with me.

Autumn and the voice of reason...

...my favorite time of year is finally upon us, autumn. With the temperature outside being warmer than it was on the first day of summer...it is a stretch to really feel its presence, as one or more  have been sick for the last 3 weeks in this house. At this point, I need autumn. I yearn for autumn. It has been my antidepressant for years, and at times when I have had to deal with the hardest things in life. We have had a long lasting relationship, autumn and I. In German it is called "Herbst," I always loved that word.  It is the embodiment of all good things: Charlie Brown, pumpkin patches, hot bon fires, hot chocolate and cozy blankets. As the leaves change, it is a gentle reminder that so does life. You either jump into the moving car, or get hit by it...

There have been some subtle and not so subtle changes going on in this house. The preteen quotient is soaring, and frankly I was telling someone today, "If there were a military school close enough to just use as a threat, it would be appreciated." I know noting. I was never in Jr. High School. I'm lucky to have a driver's license. The not so subtle comments mixed with small doses of testosterone and drama- yeah, I have three more times to go through this, and we are yet to the hard part. Terrifying, troublesome and TITO'S come to mind. I keep trudging away with my harebrained notions, like a pack mule going up and down the same dusty road day after day...someday I will know what I'm talking about. I was in 7th grade at one time, but I was never a boy. I have to remind myself of that. When everyone else around you has a dropping voice, five o'clock shadow and pit hair- and you aren't there yet, you have something to try to prove. Sadly, I get caught in the crossfire. It is about understanding the day, understanding the way and putting a mental "pin" in things that you know you're going to have to deal with three more times.

With the start of school, it has been sort of nice for everyone to have something to do, something new to discuss at the dinner table or something routinely to look forward to. A couple weeks ago, I was helping Atticus off with his shoes, talking about his day- and it hit me. He was talking a mile a minute, describing things into great detail, and I was sort of in awe. He wasn't speaking in a sort of baby way, he was using big words, using his hands to speak, he was instantly grown. It probably was happening subtly, but I nearly fell over as it sort of caught me off guard. Since then, I've noticed he has become this ball buster. Day to day speaking to my kids, they tune me out sometimes I don't blame them. Maybe because I speak too much? Maybe because they don't want to hear what I have to say? In the last two weeks I will say something, and it is crickets. The next thing I know, Atticus is sternly announcing, "HOW ABOUT WE ALL CALM DOWN HERE AND QUIT ARGUING." The first time, I almost laughed out loud. But since then, it's like he's my mental evaluator, letting everyone involved know, that indeed this chick is going to lose it, you don't get a second warning. Tonight it happened, and I just pointed at him and said, "Ah, the voice of reason..."

To many, autumn is the not so subtle reminder that winter is just around the corner. To them, it isn't the beauty of the colors all around them, but the dying off and the subsequent clean up. I guess I look at this season differently because it has also represented some very hard things in my life...change that no one asked for, clean up that no one wanted to face. But in that same moment I have to remind myself that there is definitely something bigger, a higher power, because how could anything that is dying off be so beautiful? How could any time of the year just by becoming crisper outdoors bring people together? No matter what this time of year has brought me, I am reminded of where I am, why I am here, and how lucky I am to get to enjoy it...with the voice of reason and my possible reasons for Tito's.

Lone Wolf...

Fear and loathing...that's about where we are. With the new year of school literally creeping up my rear, all the old fears set in. The anxiety of going back into a schedule, homework, laundry and hoping to not forget to wear my clothes on the outside of my underwear. Single motherhood isn't always a walk in the park, add the first few days of school into that equation and cut to me mentally drinking at 7 a.m.

Don't get me wrong, with the bickering level in this house, I'm pretty sure even the Pope would drop an F-bomb. Saying I'm ready for school to start is an UNDERSTATEMENT. But, getting out of that laid back, sleep until 9 a.m., lounge in pajamas and do nothing but worry about what posts have been missed on Instagram phase? A hard rain will fall for Oscar in 72 hours. I have already lowered the boom on Nora that the "summer-time-wardrobe" will not be part of the school-time dress code, to which I rendered her speechless for about 45 minutes. I'm worried that Abe's stand-up routine, while wildly anticipated by some, will not be for his new teacher. Atti, well he just needs to be with some other kids his own age. Tonight he said to me while dancing in the living room, "I dance alone. I'm a lone wolf." We've entered and new and exciting level of strange around here. I am hoping that the time spent AWAY from each other will some how make "the heart grow fonder," but I'm not holding my breath. I am however lousy with power at the notion that with everyone out of the house, my grocery bill will lower and my house will stay cleaner.

The unspoken fear around here is that of the unknown. Lockers. I never remember a locker striking as much fear in my heart as a kid, but around here, it is all a few people can talk about. Switching classes, gym class and showering, and don't even get me started on a conversation about a need for a study hall. I actually started laughing when Oscar said he was taking one. He kind of looked at me like I was crazy. What I didn't have any hesitation in admitting is that the one time I took study hall, I did very little studying, ever. I remember being in 5th and 7th grade, but I guess that was "way back when" according to my kids, clearly age has rendered me witless to the time of my adolescence. But I have had to hear, "...well, back in the 80's, things were different than they are now." I always answer back with, "I know, it was tough. I had less electronics and more imagination." They just look at me. Karma is one tough broad, tougher is explaining that being a kid when you actually are a kid is the only chance you get...

Most of my problem, is me. I get way to strict, stressed out or caught up about dumb things and in the process miss out sometimes on the moments that make memories. I caught myself tonight. The kids were acting crazy at dinner, and clearly the tone of my voice they have gone slightly deaf to. After telling everyone to calm down, wishing the full moon would get here and take the pressure off, I noticed something. No one was bickering, no one was fighting and everyone was acting goofy and laughing- granted the neighbors probably heard as they could have woken the dead. But I caught it. I use to try to find one decent thing a day as my take-away for said day. I've forgotten that, and tonight I was reminded I need to start again in this new start of school phase. It might be my saving grace.

Tonight at dinner, we had a semi regular conversation starter- What is your rose, your bud and your thorn for the day? The rose is something you liked, the thorn something you didn't like and the bud is something you are looking forward to tomorrow. Tonight they mostly had to do with the start of school. Meeting their teachers, seeing their classrooms and finding a boyfriend for the year...WHAT? I'm not sure if Nora really meant what she was saying or just trying to get a reaction from everyone. Oscar quickly chimed in with, "You're in 1st grade, why don't you start with that and see how it goes." Finally, some wit and wisdom that didn't come out of my witless mouth.

competitive cartoon artists

I envy these moms. First of all they have it together enough to want to go to multiple ball games in a week, clearly, they have enough underwear that they don't do laundry as often as I do. They get into the game, they know the right things to cheer and they sit on the hot/cold/rainy/bug infested evenings in a bag chair, just to watch their child play a sport. I sat there the last couple of weeks, twice a week, trying to learn. Trying to watch and listen. Trying to hone some competitive instinct in me. It was probably the quietest I've ever been.

And in those weeks, I realized, I've got nothing. I haven't a competitive bone in my body. I wanted to try, for the sake of Oscar, to get into the games, but at the end of a game I was like, "well, you did your best..." Clearly, not the best sports-pep-talker. I am proud that he tried something new, even though his teammates were seasoned ball players, and took a lot of guts. Every game, when he would walk out on the field, it was like watching "Rudy" Ruettiger walk out onto the field- different sport, but same premise. The notion of wanting to do something enough to not care that you were new or inexperienced. Some might think it’s foolish, I thought it took moxie.

But, moxie wears thin at times, as eventually, I saw myself. There he was standing on the field, and not a competitive bone in his body. Things sort of started to shift. Being compared to people your age, in an area that is completely out of your wheelhouse, is difficult, let alone not a whole lot of fun. This sort of comparativeness, while I know goes on for the rest of a person's life, after a while stings. Watching my boy, who has never really played sports outside of the side yard before, at times was painful. He just looked as if he was thinking, "let's just get this over with." And near the end, I can't say I blamed him.

Then a wonderful thing happened. One of these inspiring, afore mentioned moms congratulated him. She told him that despite the fact he was new at this whole thing, he did a great job and he should be proud of himself for giving it a try. Considering my lack of sports knowledge, and even though I had said the same thing to him, it was like getting a compliment from Babe Ruth himself...and I was so very grateful!

But, through it all, I think he we learned a few valuable lessons. The one lesson, that was inevitable as he was bound to learn it in puberty, is comparing yourself to others is dangerous. Noticing all of your inadequacies rips at you from the core. As I sat there, watching him do his best, I thought, "I wonder if any of these boys are good at drawing?" I had to chuckle to myself, as it didn't matter. There's no competitive cartoon artists, or book illustrators, or authors for that matter. They find their drive someplace different within them, and there is no competition. The creative side of life is his stolen base or home run...and clearly, I hope he at least learned more baseball terms than I currently know.

...the gift of memories

Seemingly for the last few weeks we all need to wear signs stating, "Wearing pissy pants...you've been warned." It's summer, what do we have to be pissy about? It wasn't until I was doing a little reading that I realized, we're like this every year about this time. There is something just underneath the surface. Like a large break out of poison ivy that is irritated except there is nothing that can quite quell its symptoms.

Summer, even though not officially yet, has been hectic. We are trying new things and while that is great, the schedule that comes with it has been a learning experience. It is interesting to watch Oscar play baseball, he's learning a lot and it is nice to see his confidence grow. I think the experience will be teaching him more than just about the sport, and for that, I guess the hectic, whiny children on late nights is worth it. Abe has learned the value of the dollar in the summer of 2016. Volunteering to mow the lawn, for a monetary reward of course, has been helpful and interesting. He has also picked up a side job of sharpening mower blades, a job that actually pays better than mowing...I'm in the wrong business. Of course Nora wants to hire a lawyer, because she does not understand the notion of child labor laws, and feels she too should be getting paid...our lawyers are in deliberation. Atticus has taken to start his juvenile detention career early. The list of things he has pulled this summer thus far are lengthy and terrifying. Grateful for him, glad he is my last child to rear and getting him fitted for the orange jumpsuit he will possibly have to wear in the future...I'm keeping an open mind and a stocked liquor cabinet.

Writing every day, while it is a great opportunity, makes jotting down my little quandaries or musings sort of the very last thing I want to do when I get my kids all snuggled in their beds. While my mind has plenty of things to say, my brain says, "Who gives a crap?" Then the other day, I met a man who is a retired professor and has written/illustrated 29 books. He was rife with stories and insights, his life was fascinating and his outlook was positive. I honestly didn't want to stop listening to him or asking questions. This man reminded me that if you have a creative mind and something to say, be grateful and acknowledge it. Who knew a short conversation with and 85 year old man would do so much.

I never know if I should bring it up, or just let it ride with the topic of Father's Day. It is my third year pulling double duty on this holiday. It's not like they don't know it is coming, as the commercialization of all Hallmark holidays, it's all you hear about if you watch TV or listen to the radio. Our old tradition of celebrating every month on the 7th, the day that Jason passed away, started to seem unnecessary. We had grown out of needing that, and frankly it was getting costly to celebrate. But yet, Father's Day is Sunday...the kids have wonderful grandfathers and men in their lives that are important, but it still just isn't the same. I teeter this time of year wondering if being open and inquisitive about their feelings really isn't just ripping off a scab. Or worse yet, worried that I need some ridiculous gratification or sign that they are, "all good."

I guess what it all boils down to isn't necessarily Father's Day, it is the blatant reminder that there is no "Father" in this house. It pains me to really think of what they are missing. It pains me that their memories of their dad are so very distant that they might just disappear. It pains me in knowing that they'll never know their dad the way I did. It is a struggle for me, because I cannot recreate memories for them of their dad, other than a story. I cannot give them, what deep down, they all really need. And the kid getting fitted for the orange jumpsuit? He has nothing but pictures and stories. It is more than just a gift giving holiday to this household, it is a forever reminder that we are different...and I can't really do anything to make it better.

Then, completely out of nowhere, something wonderful happened. Without any prompting, or discussion on the matter, my kids all mentioned something yesterday about their dad. Little tidbits they remembered, from the way he tickled them, to some funny thing he said once or just the notion that if they could speak to him every day they would. It was like they were reading my slightly sad heart and mind, and did what I wasn't sure they could anymore. They reminded me that they still remember. It was like a gift that I probably could never pick out the right words to describe. It was the best Father's Day gift this mom who is pulling double duty could ever ask for...the gift of memories.