...idiot light...

Being laid up for a week, I understand how people can become slightly addicted to the Hallmark Channel. Their stories, and maybe it's the hydrocodine talking, are all rather similar to mine. That character, who is down on their luck...in a small town...learning the ropes...and Harry Connick Jr. is their neighbor...it's just like my life...the meds seemingly kicked in. But there I was, not used to laying in bed having someone else do my job for me. It tripped me out. All of my triggers were tripped and while I was icing down my new hip, possibly enjoying these moments of solitude...I was trying not to have a nervous break down.

One friend boldly mentioned to me "...in 4 months, when all you want to do is walk into your bedroom and shut the door, you'll miss these days." She's probably right. Hearing the nightly noises that I usually hear first hand through a baby monitor from the other side of the house, it felt eerie. Depending on people-trigger. Letting go of control-trigger. All the while having to remind myself that a break from life now meant a new lease on life later. More over, looking forward to not being physically broken down like some old car that has 3 idiot lights glaring on the dashboard...low fuel, turn signal light out, service engine soon...

Having to physically slow down taught me a lot. Having complete strangers attaching monitor probes to my most personal regions taught me more. It seemed that about the time I finished telling one person wearing medical scrubs my personal history, I was having to turn around and tell another one. Every word coming out of my mouth probably disconcerting to them. At this point I tell what has been a rather emotional story more or less in a matter-of-fact manner...it's just been my life, as common as the gray hairs on my head.

Every time I was forced to hear the words coming out of my mouth, sort of put into perspective for myself how far I've come. In the past at this hospital, I was never the one wearing the backless gown. I was never the one being probed. I was never under the scope...I was always sitting next to the bed of the person who was. Quickly, very quickly, I became more aware of all I had to lose...all I had to live for...those four reasons I can't walk into my bedroom in the middle of the day and shut the door.

I stressed for weeks that this surgery was no big deal to my kids...mind over matter? Maybe. More like 'someone who is going to this hospital and will indeed come back home' is probably more where my head was. I didn't want to impart any unnecessary fear in them...and maybe at the same time reassure myself. I've never had a surgery. I didn't know what to expect. I had plenty of people reassuring my that this thing would be a breeze...the two people would tell me some horror story of how they caught staph infection...well, that's reassuring.

So, now I'm a week and some change out of surgery and I'm doing better than I had expected. The mere act of shaving one's legs is life altering at times (clearly I'm easily pleased) and in four days my staples come out. It's crazy to think of what my body went through in such a short amount of time. However, it's crazier for me to think of what my mind went through in these last few weeks. I have a new appreciation for those I didn't get to take care of for a bit...and an understanding that you could never be a failure by letting people help you when you need it...they're just trying to help you turn your idiot light off...

...black and white...

I’ve always considered myself a ‘grey area’ person. Always someone who sees a situation, good or bad, and looks for the silver lining, as it has become a way of life for me. Someone who can always see both sides of a story, situation, or problem. Not in a condescending/self-righteous way, just as a means-to-survive-to-the-next-day sort of person. Some might call such an insight on life ‘Polly-Anna’ but thus far it has seemed to work for me…until it didn’t for a bit. Those who know me well, know the saga of my life. Nothing from a Monday-Night-Movie, but it’s been interesting/trying nonetheless. Little did I know what phrase set me into the stratosphere until I finally heard it? “…Abe’s urine sample had blood in it…” And, that was it.

We have always had our kids tested for kidney disease. It might seem sort of ‘doomsday’ but when one parent has it, error on the side of caution. Jason had it. It was a big part of his life, even though he rarely mentioned it to anyone but me. He was constantly remarking that because of it, I would never outlive him…it was a sort of honest but treacherous way to live. We started getting the kids urine samples at their yearly check-ups and that was that. Now, not to make excuses, but I’ve had a few things going in the last year…so it was very due that we have a check-up. All came through their awkward urine collections fine. Nora walked out of the bathroom at the medical group saying, “…now THAT was really fun!!” She, however, wasn’t the one collecting it. I figured we were erring again on the side of caution, all would be well…until it wasn’t.

 Jason used to say “…if they call you the same day as your test? Yeah, well you’re pretty much screwed. No news is good news…” Then I get a call from the Medical Group. I figured it was to remind me of something unimportant and almost dismissed it. I answer it, and find out that Abe’s test came back with some issues. My heart sank. Was I that much of a fool to think we could escape this issue? Did I actually think that we’d catch a break on this one? My heart was in denial…

They had found blood in the urine test. In my head, screwed up as it may be, I immediately went to Abe dying of kidney disease. All of the whoop la and talk that I’ve given others, not to mention myself, went out the window. I went straight to death before ever comprehending that it is ALL TREATABLE. My head reeled and heart sank as they were telling me the next procedure they were wanting to do. All the while I went directly to BLACK AND WHITE…never grey, as I had been for the last dozen years. My mind was saying “…this boy that you love is going to die…How are you going to deal with that?!”

 For about 6 hours I just did. I didn’t want to scare him. I didn’t want to tell our family, as I feared they too would think the worst (sorry I didn’t have more confidence in you, but I honestly didn’t have it in myself). I played it off as a ‘non-issue’ perhaps the fact that Abe hates drinking water or maybe his kidney has a ‘cold’ or something. But, the fact of the matter was…I was terrified, for about 6 hours. Then, I pulled myself up and simply said NO. I realize that is a stupid thing to do. Smiting God. Thinking that I had ANY CONTROL on the situation. I kept reminding myself of one thing…Abe.

The kid is amazing…don’t get me wrong, he can drive me up a tree. But, the kid has this crazy resilience that is unlike anyone I’ve known. He is this great kid, creative mind, basically he’s a one-of-a-kind human being. There would be NO black and white with this matter. He would not be stricken with this, at least not yet, as he had so much to give and so much more to learn about life first. As if my worries were literally taken off my shoulders two days later. His kidneys appeared fine under examination. He would need to come back in six months for another test. For now, while I’m trying not to be ‘black and white’ about the issue, I know we have bought ourselves time. I know that we cannot escape this VERY MAJOR issue that their dad had. I know that we will have to continually deal with it from year to year. And, it's treatable. However, now I know that to me, it doesn’t have to scream a death sentence…moreover, it’s a reason to celebrate the fact that we all are still living…

 

 

...good-bye summer...

Pulling up to eight-one-five that day, I knew I would see changes… I knew that things would look different. Little did I know the fall-out mentally that would ensue in the hours/days afterward. How does one put a term to what I was feeling? It wasn’t that of a spouse. It wasn’t that of a child. It wasn’t that of a sibling. It was all of those on another level. Pulling up to the house that I have found comfort, refuge, even spiritual significance in looked different…very different.

 I was blessed in the spring, thank you to many friends and family’s support, to win a yard make-over contest. To me, applying for such a contest seemed futile, never for a moment thinking that I would win. But, as I said, due to many friends and family voting for us, we won. For me, the headache of yard maintenance with boys that never learned from their dad “how to” mow was an uphill battle. I would walk out into our yard and immediately grimace at all the work that needed to be done while simultaneously marveling at how great our yard was. I’m unbalanced I know. At any rate, we won this wonderful chance to beautify the outside of our house while making it so much more maintenance free. Their demo day (removing what needed to be out, to replace with fresh, new, and easy) wasn’t a day I was figuring would be that emotional…but it was.

 I place, more than I had ever thought, a lot of importance to this house. Like previous mentioned, I’m not sure how to quantify it, other than a person. Someone you love. Someone you trust. Not someone you are obligated to by blood. A warm, soft, beautiful something that you feel connected to. This house has such a presence, physically and spiritually. It has been my touch-stone over the last year and a half. Comforting me when I’ve been in doubt. Reassuring me when I’ve begun to question it. This house has holds a special significance in the deepest part of my heart.

 The attachments one holds can’t really be put into words. Fear. Anxiety. Transition. They are like a symbol of perseverance and the continuance of life. To me, this house has always been the strong-hold. The one thing that even if it falls in around our heads, we all have together, just the five of us. It has been our sanctuary and safe haven when we needed it. Pulling up to a new version of that, well honestly my mind was blown. Knowing that this place we call home, held so many more attachments to me than just an address.

 In this whole process hindsight has taught me how easy I may have had it in the beginning. It has given me a moment to appreciate that time is a miraculous thing. What once was, has to change as that is the only way to grow. The routine I once held, is changed up. Three are heading to school in less than a month. One is breaking free (screaming and kicking) of what once pacified him. While the façade changes, my heart still holds tight. In that moment I am able to appreciate what we’ve been through and look forward to our new reality. Good-bye summer. Good-bye yard. Hello the endless possibilities that still await us…

...my looking glass

It's funny to me how sometimes the best lessons to be learned are by watching others...no need to get your hands dirty, right? The lessons that I can learn through my kids, while at times mind boggling, are seriously placed for a reason. As if someone were coming in and creating this perfect mishap of a moment. You are in the right place at the right time and you saw it. It's times like these that really make me believe in God, fate, and the fact that there are no coincidences.

Off the heels of a dark day, the kind I haven't had in a while, there was this afternoon that seriously put things into perspective for me. We went swimming. Not really profound stuff, but the events that occurred while there, to me, were pretty profound. There are however two reoccurring themes about this story...something so very simple can really open one's eyes and Nora. She was put into my life for reasons far reaching the fact that she's my daughter...sometimes she's my looking glass.

Our first winter here, just a couple of months after Jason passed away we all trekked up the hill nearby. Sleds in hand, not a clue how serious the hill really was, we were getting ready to look fear in the eyes. That simple release of the sound "WEEEEEEE!!!" was life altering that day. We needed to just let go of how life was for a moment. After the first trek down, Nora was so exhilarated that she screamed "...TELL 'EM LARGE MARGE SENT YA!!" To her, she'd just went headlong down Everest, and she was hungry for more. For me, it was seeing such a release that reminded me it was okay to let down one's guard. Letting go could sometimes be fun...and in this case may induce peeing one's pants.

We were visiting friends at their country club pool. Instantaneously upon pulling into the parking lot, I gave the kids SERIOUS ground rules: best manners, be courteous, do not pee in the pool. We get settled and Nora starts eyeing the diving board. All summer long she has asked to jump off other places, and all summer I have pushed her off the idea as I didn't think she could do it. She just hung up her water wings a couple of weeks ago, right? But seeing that there were more lifeguards there than actual swimmers, I thought okay...figuring she would chicken out.

She walked up to that platform...goggles on, wearing a slight wedgie with her bathing suit. She went to the edge, and then looked back at me. She stood there for a minute, and we all started cheering her on...Nora...Nora...NORA...and she did it! She jumped in came right back up to the top and screamed "...THAT'S THE BEST THING IN MY LIFE!!!" That one act, seriously will be cemented in my mind for a very long time. With her new found talent, she spent the rest of the time there, chatting up 3 teen aged boys. There she was, in ten foot waters, perched up arms off the side of the pool, getting jumping tips off of them...for her, it was an epic day!

Turns out, all summer long, she's been ready...I was the one who was not. I was holding on. Figuring out that letting go, was not only a hell of a lot more fun, but at times necessary. Her ability to face her fears and check off her summer bucket list is pretty damned admirable for a 4 year old. While I love all of my kids, I will be forever grateful for what my little looking glass has to teach me...

Thank you, Louisa May...

Time is the funniest thing...It can transport you. Encourage you. Engage you. Help you remember how far you've come, how old you are, and that there still is a long road ahead of you. It is interesting how one date, not even a significant date in the calendars of time, can be recalled as if it wasn't years ago, more like hours or minutes. Today, out of the clear blue no where, time kicked my butt...

I stupidly tried to fight it off today, being conceited and thinking I could shrug it off. My burying skills are the stuff of legends. It's not that I don't want to deal with what might have me down, that isn't healthy. It's just the fact that I do not have the luxury of breaking down and bawling, at least without some sort of audience. I try to do anything else to quell it, at least until a quiet time. Today Not a chance.

Today, for the first time in a long time, it was in public, in a quiet church, and for some inexplicable reason, I just wanted to cry. I sat there, trying to stop it. Mentally giving myself a SERIOUS inter-monologue on how this was NOT THE TIME...no Kleenex, no wipes, forgot to even pack a rouge diaper today. I had 4 different snacks, 5 action figures, 3 colored pencils, 24 index cards and no Kleenex. That should have been my first clue that today was going to be off.

I sat there, willing myself to not be noticed. Willing myself that if I just focused on what was being said in church, I could trick my brain if for only 17 minutes to forget what it was doing. Like some sort of mental Sudoku puzzle. Nothing. Well, nothing but anger then. I felt flushed, nervous, and twitchy. I found it funny when about the time I was wondering if I should just walk out of church, as clearly the message was being lost on me today, Atticus turned to me and said "...so, is it time to go?"

I was trying to pinpoint the 'thing' that had me going crazy. I was trying to understand it and figure out what to do next. Not so easy to do in a church pew. I had all of these things running through my mind. What to fix? How to change? What's for lunch? How to stop feeling like I was going to ugly cry? We weren't the first ones out the church door, but we didn't stay to mingle. I walked that block home at the most brisk pace I could. Walked in the front door, answered Abe's 'What's for lunch?' question with 'FOOD', and excused myself to my room for a minute.

I sat, grabbed a roll of toilet paper, and bawled. Two years ago today we moved into this house. It was a hot, sweaty, tiresome but exciting day. I will remember it because of all of those things, but today it just made me sad because sometimes time is terrifying to me. I would never have believed that my life is where it is now moving in that day. I know I have some abandonment issues. Based on things thankfully not everyone fully understands. It seems treacherous and unproductive to push people away, but it's those 'inner survivor skills' bursting through at times to a fault. My instincts unfortunately at times are to push people who love me away, because I don't want to try to figure out how to live without them later.

So, as I tried to dry my eyes I looked up and saw a picture a dear friend got for me. It is a quote from Louisa May Alcott that simply says...

                        "I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship"

I looked at this metaphor for life, knowing that it is more than a daily mantra I should be uttering. It is a reminder that the stuff I thought was hard before? Yeah, that's just a 'try on' to what could happen next. All the while hoping that while I am learning how to sail my ship, I remember that I don't always have to do it alone...it could take a while...

Hormones and the FULL moon...

Nothing I type into my computer is that profound I feel. For some reason at this point, I have to force myself to go back and edit my other blog. I'm not so gently reminded by my 8 year old, "...so, what's the deal with your book? What are you doing about it?" I take that more than subtle nudge to get back at it...All the while knowing that having to edit, having to read through what has gone through my head in the last couple of years is hard. If only the edits to be made could be applied to life...

I have to wonder. I wonder about people whose lives were so very hard, and they had the presence of mind to journal about it...How did they know what they were going through was hard? Did they realize that their words would shape generations later? Now, I'm not saying I would ever be within miles of these people. But wouldn't it be interesting if Anne Frank survived? Wouldn't it be interesting to know what her thoughts would be re-reading them? But, editing words is easy, editing life is impossible as hindsight is always golden.

Then there are the questions that are asked of you...by a nearly five year old. Nora's ability to not filter her thoughts, sometimes embarrassing, are thought provoking and admirable. Her ability to express her fears, while at times maddening, are a lesson in how to live. Her fears, very numerable, are text book as to what she has been through in her life so far. She and her brothers have had profound life altering events, all before the age of being able to really process them and or cope the way an adult would.  Answering her questions as she lays down at bedtime are at times like walking a tight rope. The wrong answer will just initiate more questions. The right answer might indeed break her heart. All the while knowing how most kids her age don't have to ask these questions. They live in a safe-unbroken world.

Then I find myself in a funk. I could blame the full moon. I could blame hormones. I could blame the lack of adult time I've had lately. Not really knowing if writing about it would even change things. But this funk is different. It's a mixture of feeling lonely (yeah, like that happens around here) and wanting to isolate myself all at the same time. Counter productive? Indeed. Wanting to claw my way out? Definitely. Lately, it's my kids faces. It's the moments just after telling them how their lives had changed and I could do nothing to make it better. It's the sleepless dread I had even telling them their dad was gone. It's the feeling of knowing my words were/would crush them. And, it sucks.

I wonder, is this whole thing another wave? Were the other ones just a teaser, leaving me cocky and headstrong for no reason? I have to admit, I don't really want to know the answers. I'll blame the moon and hormones, squint a little as to not see what might be coming and hope for the best. With any luck I'll try to remind myself that this might be a chance to 'edit' as life happens...

...there's ol' Widow Hunt...

...the funny thing about life? You don't really understand it until you have to...You don't really know what is in store for you, until everything you knew is sort of worthless. Some would look at this as a growing experience. Some would look at it as a chance for rebirth of their faith. Some would even go so far as saying you are better for it happening to you. But that's the thing, they aren't you...

Life is full of all of these terms and generalizations branding situations that are so very individualized that it is almost laughable. The things that people say while one is grieving? You can either laugh at them or if you are really talented you nod your head while mentally punching them in the face. I wish I had the proper response to someone who is grieving...but the only thing that comes to mind is a hug, a bottle of good booze, and a smile.

Now, thankfully, I'm no longer settled into this place. I remember it, and I remember it well. Every now and again, someone will say something to me, and I seriously have to stunt the urge to tell them that unknowingly what they uttered is not only offensive, but sweet Jesus don't ever say that to anyone again. These are thankfully few and far between. I know people are stunted for knowing what to say, and even an overly verbal person like myself NOW knows saying nothing is almost preferred.

So, this rant? Does it have a reason? One word...widow. I sort of hate that word. Understandably, it meant something a little different years ago, it's origin is from the 1400's. A woman's husband would die, leaving her destitute and feeble...leaving her to scuttle off to the edge of town, rarely to be heard of or seen. Her name would be totally forgotten for anything other than that of "...'Ol Widow (insert last name here)..." She would rarely be seen out from underneath a darkened veil...yeah, that sounds like me.

This word, this term shouldn't have to determine my grief...but to some it still does. Grief shouldn't have to be worn to know it's happening. One term shouldn't brand you for the rest of your life. But, try explaining your situation if you are one...head tilts and sad looks. As if that is going to help the fact that you cannot be at the orthodontist for one of your kids at 6:30 am. There's no real great way to meet new people unless you are ready for their possible response. And nothing starts a party like the phrase, "...I'm a widow..." Pass the fun flask...

I decided a long time ago that I would grieve the way I needed to. I would let the break downs, the fall outs, the waves come when I needed it to come, in my own time, my own way. Not wear it on my sleeve like some scarlet letter. Not have to constantly remind people that I'm damaged, I'm a widow. I sort of feel some stupid sense of empowerment from it. I think my spouse would be proud of me, as crazy as I am, for grieving the way I have despite the way the world works. I'm not saying that I fully understand life, but I'm saying that I understand it more than the word widow could possibly identify me...and end rant.