October has always been one of my favorite months of the year....we are fully into fall, pumpkins, apples, sweaters, tea...mmmm. Comfort and warmth. I just love this time of year. Yet this year, like last, it is covered in a layer of sadness....that twinge of grief that steals your breath as you remember.
Since Cora's and Crosby's birthday late last month, I find myself thinking of what was happening "at this time last year....." pretty often. It is hard not to....I still have trouble accepting the stark contrast between last year and this one. How can so much change? It is like a swift kick to the gut.
I knew these 27 days were going to be tough, and I was right. If they are tough for me, I cannot even fathom what they must be like for Suzanne and KellyBoi. And for Mr. and Mrs.Ely....for Janet and Toby....for Shawn and Kate....for Andy...for Aidan. Sigh.
This morning I received an e-mail entitled "anniversary notice." When I opened it, it was reminding me that in one week it will have been a year since Cora passed. It seems to be generated from the funeral home's website (I signed the guestbook). I have never gotten one before, so perhaps they are being kind -- recognizing the depth of grief experienced by parents losing a child and encouraging their loved ones to rally around them at this hell-aversary (Suzanne's word). That is a nice thought and gesture.
But all I can think is that I didn't need the damn reminder. I know it is coming, I am conscious of it all the time. I surely didn't need it today....the one year anniversay of the day I last held Cora in my arms.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
Dough Boy & his Goddess
What a neglected little blog we have here! Time to rectify that…..let's talk about a torrid love affair, shall we? And by torrid, I mean all talk and no action. Also, no real love - not of the romantic kind, anyway. Let's start at the beginning....
My baby brother, Shaun, a.k.a. Dough Boy, is five years younger than me. We have always been pretty close, and it’s been one of the great joys of my life that we have remained that way. He is one of my most favorite people on the planet……despite what I am about to relay.
You see, Shaun has long had a crush – fully REQUITED!! – on Suzanne. I have no concrete recollection of how or when it started, but one day Shaun and Suzanne were in love and going to get married. “Someday,” they said.
It became a thing. They flirted – shamelessly. They asked about each other – incessantly. They made inappropriate comments to see me squirm. I admit, I laughed a lot. As did they. They LOVED/LOVE to play this up. For two people with only minor interest in the theatre, they are stellar performers. They were (and are) too funny.
Soon, Suzanne became Shaun’s “Goddess,” a title she holds to this day. Not even Suzanne’s marriage could deter their love – Shaun professed devastating heartbreak, but vowed his love could survive this betrayal. Suzanne told him hers would, too. Their "love affair" almost ended forever upon the birth of Rory, however. Shaun said that marriage was one thing, but to have another man’s child? Unforgivable. Yet, she remains his Goddess. When Kyan was born, and we were trying to decide who he looked like - I couldn't stop myself. “Truth be told, he reminds me a lot of Shaun when he was a baby,” I told Suzanne. This made Shaun’s day...week....month...year, of course!
To this day, their love endures, though perhaps in a slightly different form. Shaun has resigned himself to KellyBoy and the children, not that this stops the two of them joking of running away together (Shaun and Suzanne, not Shaun and KellyBoy....disturbing). When I talk to Shaun, there is always a "And how is my Goddess?" often followed by a "Tell her I said....{insert saucy comment here}." And in a Facebook post about an outing with Dough Boy, Suzanne had to chime in, with "Did he bring a date? 'Cause I know someone....." They entertain me always. And don't tell them this, but I love their silly, outlandish, often inappropriate, hilarious repartee. Two of my favorite people on this planet trading quips and cracking us all up? That sure is my idea of a good time.
When Suzanne received her diagnosis, I called my mother and sobbed........ howled....... ranted........ raved....... raged........and when I was somewhat coherent, I shared this awful thought: "Oh no, how am I going to tell Shaun?" Because, despite their theatrics, there is a real affection there, of course. I had a harder time telling him than anyone else, I think. And when I began work on the smile book, Shaun had only one request.....
This picture. It is one of my favorite pictures ever – Suzanne and I were juniors in college; this was Easter of that year. Shaun would have been a sophomore in high school, I think. Notice their arms around each other and their giddy, laughter-filled grins. The wagging finger in the picture? That is me (holding my baby cousin Chelsea, who is about to graduate high school!), giving them what-for over their flirty shenanigans! This picture makes me smile and laugh....it sums them up perfectly.
Dough Boy & Goddess......fake loving since the mid-90s.....how lucky I am they are both part (the nutty part, of course!) of my family.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
foster the people
Five years ago, my husband and I became foster parents. It was a long road - classes, more paperwork than a thesis, more signatures than your mortgage, fingerprints, letters to parents and potential foster children, home visits, panel discussions, role playing, fire and safety checks, and then boom! Our certificate came, and we were ready to go. Of course, it came around the same time as the results of my thyroid biopsy. So, the fostering had to wait.
I learned right away that, sadly, there are always kids out there who need you. No matter how often we said "no" when they called us with placements (surgery, recovery, treatment, isolation, recovery, med adjustments), they still kept calling us. To this day, it hurts my heart to have to say "no" (though actually saying it is easier).
Often the call comes before a child is even in foster care. The possiblity exists, CPS (Child Protective Services) are headed to the home with police and whatever they need, and "if this child comes in, can you take him/her/them?" We had a bunch like that before we had our first actual placement. And, as with any placement, you go into chaos-management overdrive. What do you need to live with a child of this age? What do you have already? What can you borrow? What do you need to go to the store to get? What store? When? Who will do this? Who will do that? It's like a shot of crazy adrenaline!
Me, I make lists. I take copious, fast notes when the homefinder caseworker calls us - jotting down any and every piece of information I am given. I ask questions, jot down my answers. Another paper comes out: what do we need? My mind races.....I am usually at work, so I call my husband and we brainstorm some more. Yet, I know I have not covered all my bases.
So, I call/text/email Suzanne. We often get called with babies, and well, she has babies. She knows! I distinctly recall one time when we were called for a 6 month old girl. Potentially coming in to care that night. We said yes, and the lists began. Well, my list was woefully inadequate - I think I even forgot bottles! Thankfully, Suzanne was there for me....we went over my list, and she added the missing pieces. Plus, she did not make fun of me for being such a dumb ass. She is good people. (Oh, and the 6 month old girl did not end up coming into foster care. I still say a prayer that she is okay. She is probably 6 now.)
Thanks to Suzanne, I am better prepared these days. We have a "foster baby" box under a bed. It contains some necessities: bottles, liners, regular bottles, spoons, baby monitor, blankets, bibs, burp cloths, etc. We have a pack-and-play, which is the perfect bed for a little one who drops into your life unexpectedly! But, I still ask for validation, for reassurance, for the missing pieces of my list. And she is there to fill in what I have missed, to ask me what I need, to reassure, to help.
We took in a baby boy almost a month ago now. We were in pretty good shape for him (see above paragraph), but we needed a high chair. Knowing Crosby needed his, I didn't call/text/email Suzanne. I put a quick update on Facebook: "We have a little one staying with us for a few days, and we need a high chair. Does anyone have one we could have/borrow?" Who do you think responded first? Whose high chair do you think is now attached to my table? Of course, Suzanne's. Crosby uses the standing high chair, they also have a table-attaching one. "Take it, Crosby's not big enough for it yet."
I'm not sure I can be a foster parent without Suzanne. She's my lifeline, my Google, my baby whisperer, my brain, my person. It is reason #995,674,357,190,872,109,724 why she is going to beat this thing. The foster children need her! Well, at least the ones who live in my house do.
I learned right away that, sadly, there are always kids out there who need you. No matter how often we said "no" when they called us with placements (surgery, recovery, treatment, isolation, recovery, med adjustments), they still kept calling us. To this day, it hurts my heart to have to say "no" (though actually saying it is easier).
Often the call comes before a child is even in foster care. The possiblity exists, CPS (Child Protective Services) are headed to the home with police and whatever they need, and "if this child comes in, can you take him/her/them?" We had a bunch like that before we had our first actual placement. And, as with any placement, you go into chaos-management overdrive. What do you need to live with a child of this age? What do you have already? What can you borrow? What do you need to go to the store to get? What store? When? Who will do this? Who will do that? It's like a shot of crazy adrenaline!
Me, I make lists. I take copious, fast notes when the homefinder caseworker calls us - jotting down any and every piece of information I am given. I ask questions, jot down my answers. Another paper comes out: what do we need? My mind races.....I am usually at work, so I call my husband and we brainstorm some more. Yet, I know I have not covered all my bases.
So, I call/text/email Suzanne. We often get called with babies, and well, she has babies. She knows! I distinctly recall one time when we were called for a 6 month old girl. Potentially coming in to care that night. We said yes, and the lists began. Well, my list was woefully inadequate - I think I even forgot bottles! Thankfully, Suzanne was there for me....we went over my list, and she added the missing pieces. Plus, she did not make fun of me for being such a dumb ass. She is good people. (Oh, and the 6 month old girl did not end up coming into foster care. I still say a prayer that she is okay. She is probably 6 now.)
Thanks to Suzanne, I am better prepared these days. We have a "foster baby" box under a bed. It contains some necessities: bottles, liners, regular bottles, spoons, baby monitor, blankets, bibs, burp cloths, etc. We have a pack-and-play, which is the perfect bed for a little one who drops into your life unexpectedly! But, I still ask for validation, for reassurance, for the missing pieces of my list. And she is there to fill in what I have missed, to ask me what I need, to reassure, to help.
We took in a baby boy almost a month ago now. We were in pretty good shape for him (see above paragraph), but we needed a high chair. Knowing Crosby needed his, I didn't call/text/email Suzanne. I put a quick update on Facebook: "We have a little one staying with us for a few days, and we need a high chair. Does anyone have one we could have/borrow?" Who do you think responded first? Whose high chair do you think is now attached to my table? Of course, Suzanne's. Crosby uses the standing high chair, they also have a table-attaching one. "Take it, Crosby's not big enough for it yet."
I'm not sure I can be a foster parent without Suzanne. She's my lifeline, my Google, my baby whisperer, my brain, my person. It is reason #995,674,357,190,872,109,724 why she is going to beat this thing. The foster children need her! Well, at least the ones who live in my house do.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
survivor guilt
This is something I don't talk about anymore. I wish I could type it in a whisper now, actually. You see....I am a cancer survivor. Four years ago this month, after months of tests and doctor appointments and a "suspicious" biopsy, I had my thyroid removed. The surgeon told me I "dodged a bullet," as the cancer was just about to burst out and spread. Thankfully, they got it all.
Lately, I ask myself "why?" all the time. Why me? Why Suzanne? Why? WHY? Why, if she had to have cancer, couldn't she have thyroid cancer? Why? Why not anything easier to treat than what she has? Why did I get to walk away from it and she is stuck in its grip? It eats at me. Guilt. I hate that my road, in the grand scheme of treatments, was the easy one......and hers appears to be an uphill climb. Guilty. I feel so guilty.
Because.......after a treatment regimen and finding the right medication, I'm doing great. The cancer has stayed away, and I am diligent about doctor's appointments, bloodwork, and taking my medicine (well, mostly..I forget about once a week). I do ultrasounds every third year, and now my endocrinologist lets me do my WBS (whole body scan) every other year instead of every year (this was HUGE for me, as it means no LID [low iodine diet] every year, which is the worst!).
When the diagnosis/pathology came first came in, though, I was in shock. I spent a LOT of time researching, trying to understand. It is such a unique cancer, especially in its treatment. I joined an online support group that was a lifesaver. I "met" a dear friend there - we had surgery the same day and have been close friends ever since. I spent a lot of time reassuring my family and friends that it was okay, I was going to be okay, and as far as cancers go, it was treatable.
Still, it was cancer, and it shook me to my core. It took away a constant in my life, something I took great pride in - my health. I'd never had to worry about it before - seasonal allergies, horrific cramps, winter colds, but nothing major. I'd never even broken a bone (still haven't - knock wood!). I hated it. And, as much as I reassured everyone else, I couldn't reassure myself. It was CANCER, for heaven's sake. Cancer! At 33! It was terrifying. And, recurrence is always a possibility (hence the diligence with the endocrinologist).
Today, I am grateful. I am so grateful that it was treatable. I am so grateful that my GP checked my neck and ran tests. I am grateful to Dr. D'A. for being the best doctor in the world. I am grateful to Dr. A-D. and even the odd Dr. McC. for treating me, testing me, for keeping me here. I am so grateful for radioactive iodine, Thyrogen, and Synthroid. I am grateful to all the patients who came before me for their lessons and the Low Iodine Cookbook. Mostly, though, I am just grateful to be here. Living my life. Loving my family and friends. Counting my blessings.
I want to see my Pookie here - at the grateful place. Battle-weary, but surviving and grateful to those who made the journey possible. I will wait for her here....arms open, smile ready....I will wait.
Lately, I ask myself "why?" all the time. Why me? Why Suzanne? Why? WHY? Why, if she had to have cancer, couldn't she have thyroid cancer? Why? Why not anything easier to treat than what she has? Why did I get to walk away from it and she is stuck in its grip? It eats at me. Guilt. I hate that my road, in the grand scheme of treatments, was the easy one......and hers appears to be an uphill climb. Guilty. I feel so guilty.
Because.......after a treatment regimen and finding the right medication, I'm doing great. The cancer has stayed away, and I am diligent about doctor's appointments, bloodwork, and taking my medicine (well, mostly..I forget about once a week). I do ultrasounds every third year, and now my endocrinologist lets me do my WBS (whole body scan) every other year instead of every year (this was HUGE for me, as it means no LID [low iodine diet] every year, which is the worst!).
When the diagnosis/pathology came first came in, though, I was in shock. I spent a LOT of time researching, trying to understand. It is such a unique cancer, especially in its treatment. I joined an online support group that was a lifesaver. I "met" a dear friend there - we had surgery the same day and have been close friends ever since. I spent a lot of time reassuring my family and friends that it was okay, I was going to be okay, and as far as cancers go, it was treatable.
Still, it was cancer, and it shook me to my core. It took away a constant in my life, something I took great pride in - my health. I'd never had to worry about it before - seasonal allergies, horrific cramps, winter colds, but nothing major. I'd never even broken a bone (still haven't - knock wood!). I hated it. And, as much as I reassured everyone else, I couldn't reassure myself. It was CANCER, for heaven's sake. Cancer! At 33! It was terrifying. And, recurrence is always a possibility (hence the diligence with the endocrinologist).
Today, I am grateful. I am so grateful that it was treatable. I am so grateful that my GP checked my neck and ran tests. I am grateful to Dr. D'A. for being the best doctor in the world. I am grateful to Dr. A-D. and even the odd Dr. McC. for treating me, testing me, for keeping me here. I am so grateful for radioactive iodine, Thyrogen, and Synthroid. I am grateful to all the patients who came before me for their lessons and the Low Iodine Cookbook. Mostly, though, I am just grateful to be here. Living my life. Loving my family and friends. Counting my blessings.
I want to see my Pookie here - at the grateful place. Battle-weary, but surviving and grateful to those who made the journey possible. I will wait for her here....arms open, smile ready....I will wait.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
look it up, write it down
Lately, I've been doing a lot of research. I research all sorts of things.....recipes (for myself....I am a dork who reads cookbooks like novels), chemo treatments/side effects, crochet patterns/ideas, "heart wills" (the memories a terminal patient makes to leave for their family), cancer statistics/studies/info, cars (I want to buy a new one someday), fundraising ideas, survivor stories, Kindles (I'm thinking of getting one), Ron Swanson (I have a problem), quotes....I could go on and on. A big shout-out to Pinterest here - what a game-changer it is when scouring the Internet!
A few weeks ago, this research led me to a stage 4 cervical cancer survivor's post. It has really stuck with me. She wrote, "Don't let the odds speak for you.....someone has to be that 2%, that 5%, that 20%, and it might as well be you."
Do you hear me? It might as well be YOU, Suzanne. It WILL be you. You ARE the Outlier.
A few weeks ago, this research led me to a stage 4 cervical cancer survivor's post. It has really stuck with me. She wrote, "Don't let the odds speak for you.....someone has to be that 2%, that 5%, that 20%, and it might as well be you."
Do you hear me? It might as well be YOU, Suzanne. It WILL be you. You ARE the Outlier.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
corn toasties & a firm, ripe banana
I wish I had better recollection of this one....but a lot of the details are lost to me. This does not mean I am getting old, thank you. I blame it all on my thyroid...or lack thereof. My memory has been crud since I lost that thing!
Regardless......our senior year of high school, a group of us began going to breakfast before school. Howard Johnson's was our destination of choice, and I think we went to both the South Glens Falls and Queensbury locations. Forget coffee, laughter really is the best way to start your day.....and that is mostly what we did at breakfast!
For certain, I remember myself, Suzanne, and Jenn (Barton) going.....some other faces jumping out at me are Michelle (Nichols), Danielle (LaPrairie), and Sue (Baldwin). I could be wrong on all of those, though! And I am sure I am forgetting people, too - I hate that. I'm also not sure of how often we went....maybe once a week or once every other week....darn memory!
We did actually eat at breakfast, along with being silly and obnoxious. I do believe Jenn is responsible for the "firm, ripe banana" that was often ordered. Corn toasties were another popular breakfast choice. My daughter now loves them, and I smile every time she asks for one.
I warned you - this was a fuzzy one, but for some reason it was on my mind today. Us...young and carefree....taking off before school with our friends....to have fun.... rolling into school full of inside jokes and laughter. Man, the little that is left of the memory sure is wonderful. I can't stop smiling when I think of it. The good old days indeed.
Regardless......our senior year of high school, a group of us began going to breakfast before school. Howard Johnson's was our destination of choice, and I think we went to both the South Glens Falls and Queensbury locations. Forget coffee, laughter really is the best way to start your day.....and that is mostly what we did at breakfast!
For certain, I remember myself, Suzanne, and Jenn (Barton) going.....some other faces jumping out at me are Michelle (Nichols), Danielle (LaPrairie), and Sue (Baldwin). I could be wrong on all of those, though! And I am sure I am forgetting people, too - I hate that. I'm also not sure of how often we went....maybe once a week or once every other week....darn memory!
We did actually eat at breakfast, along with being silly and obnoxious. I do believe Jenn is responsible for the "firm, ripe banana" that was often ordered. Corn toasties were another popular breakfast choice. My daughter now loves them, and I smile every time she asks for one.
I warned you - this was a fuzzy one, but for some reason it was on my mind today. Us...young and carefree....taking off before school with our friends....to have fun.... rolling into school full of inside jokes and laughter. Man, the little that is left of the memory sure is wonderful. I can't stop smiling when I think of it. The good old days indeed.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
mudslide memories
The summer after our junior year of college, I joined Suzanne working at the Shoreline restaurant in Lake George. It was my first time working in a restaurant, but Suzanne was a pro. Thank heavens, or I never could have done it!
The best part of that summer, other than working with Suzanne, was the mudslides. At least once a week, we would gather at Suzanne's for mudslides after our shifts. Mudslide Sundays....Mondays...Tuesdays.....any day would do! Mmmmm. Our tools: a blender, ice, ice-cream, Kahlua, vodka, and milk. Divine! Shawn, Sue, and Suzanne were pros - they mixed a mean pitcher of mudslides without even thinking about it. One night early on, they let me mix them.....then promptly forgot that I was A) mixing them and B) had never done it before. Ice, check. Ice cream, check. Kahlua....no one is watching me...okay, that looks good. Vodka.....no one is watching....should I stop now? No one is watc - "Stop!!!!," shouts Suzanne. Much laughter ensues as we try to determine if we can still drink them. Holy intoxication, Batman, those were the strongest mudslides ever! Stole your breath, put hair on your chest strong. I can still see Shawn's face when he took the first sip! I think we may have had to mix them with a second pitcher. Oops!
The four of us had a lot of fun that summer....the Melissa Etheridge concert may go down in history as our finest moment. (But that's a story for another time!) I'm happy to say we are all still friends.....and Shawn and Suzanne are now (legally and officially!) related.
I learned so much that glorious, alcohol-soaked season, but one lesson has really served me well through the years: making a proper mudslide. Of course, you need the right ingredients, but, most importantly, if you want to drink them: never, ever let the newbie make the mudslides.
The best part of that summer, other than working with Suzanne, was the mudslides. At least once a week, we would gather at Suzanne's for mudslides after our shifts. Mudslide Sundays....Mondays...Tuesdays.....any day would do! Mmmmm. Our tools: a blender, ice, ice-cream, Kahlua, vodka, and milk. Divine! Shawn, Sue, and Suzanne were pros - they mixed a mean pitcher of mudslides without even thinking about it. One night early on, they let me mix them.....then promptly forgot that I was A) mixing them and B) had never done it before. Ice, check. Ice cream, check. Kahlua....no one is watching me...okay, that looks good. Vodka.....no one is watching....should I stop now? No one is watc - "Stop!!!!," shouts Suzanne. Much laughter ensues as we try to determine if we can still drink them. Holy intoxication, Batman, those were the strongest mudslides ever! Stole your breath, put hair on your chest strong. I can still see Shawn's face when he took the first sip! I think we may have had to mix them with a second pitcher. Oops!
The four of us had a lot of fun that summer....the Melissa Etheridge concert may go down in history as our finest moment. (But that's a story for another time!) I'm happy to say we are all still friends.....and Shawn and Suzanne are now (legally and officially!) related.
I learned so much that glorious, alcohol-soaked season, but one lesson has really served me well through the years: making a proper mudslide. Of course, you need the right ingredients, but, most importantly, if you want to drink them: never, ever let the newbie make the mudslides.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
THAT taxi ride
This story has been told repeatedly over the years, yet it never fails to make us both laugh and, more often than not, attempt a re-enactment.
Once, when we were young, we lived in New York City (though I believe this was just before Suzanne moved there). One day, we were in a taxi headed somewhere (bar, I am sure), and our driver was truly a New York special. Driving was not his forte, that's for sure. Suzanne and I were talking and laughing in the back seat....young and carefree and looking forward to a good time. And alcohol. Suddenly, the driver slammed on the brakes.
Now, to hear Suzanne tell this story, she saved my life right here. Tossing her own safety aside, her only concern was for mine. She's my best friend, so it is rude of me to doubt her intent, right? Right. Ha! It was a classic move - she threw her arm across me as the car screeched to a halt, to keep me from hitting my head or falling out of my seat. Her aim was true. Arm across my chest, her hand ended up.....on my breast. Holding my breast. Sheer shock, both from the stopped car and the (now named) grope, gave way to fits of laughter. We laughed until we cried.
If I'm not mistaken, this was part of our Breast Groping Weekend Extravaganza. Suzanne was visiting and stayed with me. We shared my bed - staying up talking and laughing at night like a couple of teenagers. She went to show me something one night, out went her arm, and her hand again found its way to my breast. "On purpose!," I yelled, and we dissolved into hysterical laughter again.
We've gotten a lot of miles out of this incident - both of them, though the taxi is certainly better known. I am laughing now remembering it. To this day, if someone puts their arm across me in a car, I immediately cover my chest and laugh at the same time. Some things just stay with you.
Once, when we were young, we lived in New York City (though I believe this was just before Suzanne moved there). One day, we were in a taxi headed somewhere (bar, I am sure), and our driver was truly a New York special. Driving was not his forte, that's for sure. Suzanne and I were talking and laughing in the back seat....young and carefree and looking forward to a good time. And alcohol. Suddenly, the driver slammed on the brakes.
Now, to hear Suzanne tell this story, she saved my life right here. Tossing her own safety aside, her only concern was for mine. She's my best friend, so it is rude of me to doubt her intent, right? Right. Ha! It was a classic move - she threw her arm across me as the car screeched to a halt, to keep me from hitting my head or falling out of my seat. Her aim was true. Arm across my chest, her hand ended up.....on my breast. Holding my breast. Sheer shock, both from the stopped car and the (now named) grope, gave way to fits of laughter. We laughed until we cried.
If I'm not mistaken, this was part of our Breast Groping Weekend Extravaganza. Suzanne was visiting and stayed with me. We shared my bed - staying up talking and laughing at night like a couple of teenagers. She went to show me something one night, out went her arm, and her hand again found its way to my breast. "On purpose!," I yelled, and we dissolved into hysterical laughter again.
We've gotten a lot of miles out of this incident - both of them, though the taxi is certainly better known. I am laughing now remembering it. To this day, if someone puts their arm across me in a car, I immediately cover my chest and laugh at the same time. Some things just stay with you.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
a roll of the dice
Tonight I steal Suzanne's blog inspiration.....because it's Bunco night.
A few years ago (4? 5?), Suzanne asked me to be a sub for Bunco in her 'hood. My response was, "Bunco?" To be fair, I had heard of it before - a girl I worked with in Memphis played Bunco. But I had never heard of it outside the South. Turns out some of the women in her neighborhood got together once a month to play. I figured, "Why not?" A night out with Suzanne, new friends, good food, fun, and money - sure thing! I subbed a few times and got to know some of the women in the 'hood, and it was a great time. Then there was an opening in the group (it's limited to 12), and I was asked to become a regular. I accepted.....and the rest is history.
We switch between houses - we rotate hosting (I host at Suzanne's, as I am one of the few who lives out of the 'hood), everyone brings a snack to share, and we play for cold, hard cash. Competition is spirited, and often loud (I'm looking at you, Lisa!), and we laugh all night. Even this night, our first since Suzanne's devestating news, we laughed all night. Vicki P. brought Suzanne a bag of new socks - so funny and sweet.
Suzanne wasn't kidding about what a great group this is....it blows me away. Some people have joined and left, we lost one to cancer, another lost her husband to cancer, a former member is now in her second battle with cancer, another member is a cancer survivor (along with me), and tonight we heard a former member wants to come back. This group is solid - we take care of each other, we care about each other, we have fun together. When Cora died, this group rallied immediately.....they stayed back at Suzanne and Kelly's during the services to get the food ready and set out, they stored it in their refrigerators, they reheated it in their ovens, they cleaned it all up when it was over. The Bunco bunch takes care of their own...I guess that's why I feel so at home with them. Another gift Suzanne has given me - the enduring bond of friendship with not just herself, but these awesome ladies. I am so happy to be one of them.
A few years ago (4? 5?), Suzanne asked me to be a sub for Bunco in her 'hood. My response was, "Bunco?" To be fair, I had heard of it before - a girl I worked with in Memphis played Bunco. But I had never heard of it outside the South. Turns out some of the women in her neighborhood got together once a month to play. I figured, "Why not?" A night out with Suzanne, new friends, good food, fun, and money - sure thing! I subbed a few times and got to know some of the women in the 'hood, and it was a great time. Then there was an opening in the group (it's limited to 12), and I was asked to become a regular. I accepted.....and the rest is history.
We switch between houses - we rotate hosting (I host at Suzanne's, as I am one of the few who lives out of the 'hood), everyone brings a snack to share, and we play for cold, hard cash. Competition is spirited, and often loud (I'm looking at you, Lisa!), and we laugh all night. Even this night, our first since Suzanne's devestating news, we laughed all night. Vicki P. brought Suzanne a bag of new socks - so funny and sweet.
Suzanne wasn't kidding about what a great group this is....it blows me away. Some people have joined and left, we lost one to cancer, another lost her husband to cancer, a former member is now in her second battle with cancer, another member is a cancer survivor (along with me), and tonight we heard a former member wants to come back. This group is solid - we take care of each other, we care about each other, we have fun together. When Cora died, this group rallied immediately.....they stayed back at Suzanne and Kelly's during the services to get the food ready and set out, they stored it in their refrigerators, they reheated it in their ovens, they cleaned it all up when it was over. The Bunco bunch takes care of their own...I guess that's why I feel so at home with them. Another gift Suzanne has given me - the enduring bond of friendship with not just herself, but these awesome ladies. I am so happy to be one of them.
Friday, March 9, 2012
achtung baby!
I am trying to pinpoint the year Suzanne and I went to a BIG concert by ourselves. I am sure a simple google search could do it for me, but I'd rather remember. I vote the summer after senior year of high school or freshman year of college. We borrowed her father's car, so it was before we had wheels of our own (could it have been junior year?). Hmm. Regardless....U2 came to the Saratoga racetrack (way, way, way before the racino), and we went. U2!! In Saratoga!! We were SO excited!
I had been to a couple of concerts before that...I mostly remember Billy Joel. Billy was a great concert, don't get me wrong, but it is him, his piano, and a tight, back-up band. He is truly a singer-songwriter, and his shows reflect that. And I adore them. Now, U2.....U2 is a different story, and this was the year of "Achtung Baby." "Mysterious Ways." "One." Bono in his full, flashy Fly-regalia. This was a SHOW. A spectacle. An event. And it was amazing!
It must have been general admission, because we stood the whole time, in a "field," with a ton of other people. There were huge screens blowing up what we couldn't see. Drunk people, lighters, lots of screaming. What a blast!! I bought a t-shirt at some point during the show, and discovered that, folded, it fit perfectly in the front Velcro pocket of my windbreaker. When it was time to go, it was a mess getting out of there. Tons of people headed the same way, pushing, hitting, bumping - just an ugly, crowded, slow-moving mess. Then genius struck. If we folded that t-shirt a bit more and stuck it out, that front pocket of my windbreaker turned into....
"Coming through! Coming through! Lady with a baby," Suzanne yelled. The crowd parted. We walked through, me clutching my "stomach" every now and again for effect.
By the time we got to her dad's car (which we had parked in somone's yard for cheap), we were breathless with laughter. "Lady with a baby!" we would say, and dissolve into fits of laughter. (This would go on for years, and still give us the giggles every time!) Our laughter died down a bit upon discovering that some yahoo had ripped one of the windshield wipers off her dad's car. Gulp. Ripped it off - who does that? Thankfully, it didn't rain on our way home, and PapaBear took it pretty well.
To this day, "Achtung Baby" remains my favorite U2 album. I know all the songs by heart still. I don't skip a single one when they come on my iPod; in fact, I often blast them and sing loudly. If I close my eyes, especially during "Zoo Station" or "Mysterious Ways," I am back in that "field" with thousands of other fans, singing loudly with my best friend, screaming, basking in the bright lights of Bono, Larry, Adam, and the Edge, and clutching that t-shirt. Our golden ticket out. I still have it.
I had been to a couple of concerts before that...I mostly remember Billy Joel. Billy was a great concert, don't get me wrong, but it is him, his piano, and a tight, back-up band. He is truly a singer-songwriter, and his shows reflect that. And I adore them. Now, U2.....U2 is a different story, and this was the year of "Achtung Baby." "Mysterious Ways." "One." Bono in his full, flashy Fly-regalia. This was a SHOW. A spectacle. An event. And it was amazing!
It must have been general admission, because we stood the whole time, in a "field," with a ton of other people. There were huge screens blowing up what we couldn't see. Drunk people, lighters, lots of screaming. What a blast!! I bought a t-shirt at some point during the show, and discovered that, folded, it fit perfectly in the front Velcro pocket of my windbreaker. When it was time to go, it was a mess getting out of there. Tons of people headed the same way, pushing, hitting, bumping - just an ugly, crowded, slow-moving mess. Then genius struck. If we folded that t-shirt a bit more and stuck it out, that front pocket of my windbreaker turned into....
"Coming through! Coming through! Lady with a baby," Suzanne yelled. The crowd parted. We walked through, me clutching my "stomach" every now and again for effect.
By the time we got to her dad's car (which we had parked in somone's yard for cheap), we were breathless with laughter. "Lady with a baby!" we would say, and dissolve into fits of laughter. (This would go on for years, and still give us the giggles every time!) Our laughter died down a bit upon discovering that some yahoo had ripped one of the windshield wipers off her dad's car. Gulp. Ripped it off - who does that? Thankfully, it didn't rain on our way home, and PapaBear took it pretty well.
To this day, "Achtung Baby" remains my favorite U2 album. I know all the songs by heart still. I don't skip a single one when they come on my iPod; in fact, I often blast them and sing loudly. If I close my eyes, especially during "Zoo Station" or "Mysterious Ways," I am back in that "field" with thousands of other fans, singing loudly with my best friend, screaming, basking in the bright lights of Bono, Larry, Adam, and the Edge, and clutching that t-shirt. Our golden ticket out. I still have it.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
the bread dip & the beagle
Once upon a time there was a pooch named Barney. Barney was Suzanne's family's dog, a beagle. Barney was SO sweet and cute and stubborn and funny. Suzanne was often late to high school (so much so that she got a warning note about not passing English, our 1st period class, if she missed any more classes or was late to them!) because Barney would follow her to school. He would sit outside the side doors at school - so comical! She would have to turn around and take him back home.
Barney also got lost from time to time. I can still see the "lost dog" ad in the paper for him. Michelle (Nichols) had it taped up on the back of the door in her bedroom....wow, hadn't thought of that in ages!
If you laid on the floor at Suzanne's, Barney was right with you. Maybe on top of you. He was not shy. Wonder where he got that from?
One of my favorite Barney memories involves a sad occasion - the death of Suzanne's grandfather. I believe we were in college. I offered to bring something to the house for the family, and I made a spinach dip in the big bread bowl. It was put on a tray and placed outside on the screened in porch. But then, it was missing. Where could it have gone? Mrs. Ely couldn't believe it was gone - we looked all over. (I know you know where this is going!)
Barney. He was so large he could barely walk - he waddled. The dip, bread and all, was in his belly! Mrs. Ely was horrified. Suzanne and I could not stop laughing. Mrs. Ely was upset that he had eaten something I made for them, and I was worried Barney was going to get sick from it. Barney was fine, thankfully. Mystery solved. The bonus? It's given us laughs for many years. Though I really hadn't thought about it in some time - it made me laugh right out loud. Poor Barney - he was, quite literally, stuffed for days!
Barney is no longer with us, but I still smile when I think of him - not just for his love, loyalty, and sweetness. But also for that one afternoon, when he gave us the best of gifts on a sad, somber day - laughter. Thanks, buddy.
Barney also got lost from time to time. I can still see the "lost dog" ad in the paper for him. Michelle (Nichols) had it taped up on the back of the door in her bedroom....wow, hadn't thought of that in ages!
If you laid on the floor at Suzanne's, Barney was right with you. Maybe on top of you. He was not shy. Wonder where he got that from?
One of my favorite Barney memories involves a sad occasion - the death of Suzanne's grandfather. I believe we were in college. I offered to bring something to the house for the family, and I made a spinach dip in the big bread bowl. It was put on a tray and placed outside on the screened in porch. But then, it was missing. Where could it have gone? Mrs. Ely couldn't believe it was gone - we looked all over. (I know you know where this is going!)
Barney. He was so large he could barely walk - he waddled. The dip, bread and all, was in his belly! Mrs. Ely was horrified. Suzanne and I could not stop laughing. Mrs. Ely was upset that he had eaten something I made for them, and I was worried Barney was going to get sick from it. Barney was fine, thankfully. Mystery solved. The bonus? It's given us laughs for many years. Though I really hadn't thought about it in some time - it made me laugh right out loud. Poor Barney - he was, quite literally, stuffed for days!
Barney is no longer with us, but I still smile when I think of him - not just for his love, loyalty, and sweetness. But also for that one afternoon, when he gave us the best of gifts on a sad, somber day - laughter. Thanks, buddy.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
precious time
It is amazing how a little drop of hope can sustain you. It is like the most beautiful flower in your garden...the one you never expected....the seed roots, it grows, it gets stronger each day....it blooms...it opens wide. You feel happy and warm and content when you look at it.....hope is the same. It dries my tears, it warms my heart, and it stills my soul.....it helps me sleep at night. I hold tight to it, my grasp never weakens. I believe.
I don't live in a fantasy world, though. I do not have giant rose-colored glasses on. I am not sticking my fingers in my ears, louding saying, "La la la la la I can't hear you!" (a current specialty of my child!) I do not stick my head in the sand. Cold, hard reality is a constant companion. Hope just makes its company easier to bear. Stage 4 cancer is still stage 4 cancer. It's, as Pookie said last night, a death sentence. It is. That's cold, hard reality. The hope is in the time......anything is better than that wretched 9 months. I believe with all of my heart and soul that it is not right. We have more time. I feel it. Is it 20 years? Probably not. I know this, though it does not stop me praying for it. Is it 10 years? God, I hope so. Is it 5 years? God, I hope so. Is it 2 years? God, I hope so....and more. Time, precious time....you don't know how precious it is, you really don't, until someone puts an expiration date on a person you love.
To try not thinking about it - to stop the near-constant presence of tears, of despair; the white-hot anger that burns my belly; the pain that brings me to my knees - I plan. I first discovered this skill when we lost Adam 6 years ago. I did not know what to do, only that I could not bear my Uncle Charlie's grief. It is a grief I have never forgotten - that of a father, losing his only child, the son he raised alone. So, I cooked. I planned. Who is bringing what? What should we have? Where are we going after the funeral? Who is picking Kristie up at the airport? Who is staying where? My aunt, mother, cousins, brothers - we made it happen. Then, on that bitter cold February day, I sobbed through the funeral, but pulled it together and got busy for the reception after. ( I did the same for his burial in the spring...though I do recall making Uncle Charlie laugh through his tears there.) I did the same when Suzanne and Kelly lost sweet baby Cora. I needed to do something, I needed to help -so, I planned. It helped that, as her lifelong friend, people asked me what to do, what they needed, etc. I had purpose! Oh, how it helped me get through those stark days. I truly hope it helped them, too.
Both times, though, I noticed how lost I felt when it was all said and done....that business of death. The arrangements and services and people and food and attention. People went home. Dishes were washed. Nothing left to do. I was bereft. My purpose served. Grief came for me.
Now here I am - planning again. Flying blind, by the seat of my pants, this time. This is not what I know how to do.....I can cook, I can bake, I can coordinate a potluck like no one's business. This is all foreign, which helps more. I have to figure it out AND plan. I am not stupid - I know this is escapism. I know it, and yet I still welcome it. Because without it, I am staring that awful 9 months in the face. That 9 months that is not true.
So, I will keep planning. I will plan and love and laugh and work and smell that glorious flower in the garden. The one called hope.....and let its warmth spread through me. I know grief will come for me eventually (it drops in unannounced for visits now), but it's not time yet. It's just not time.
I don't live in a fantasy world, though. I do not have giant rose-colored glasses on. I am not sticking my fingers in my ears, louding saying, "La la la la la I can't hear you!" (a current specialty of my child!) I do not stick my head in the sand. Cold, hard reality is a constant companion. Hope just makes its company easier to bear. Stage 4 cancer is still stage 4 cancer. It's, as Pookie said last night, a death sentence. It is. That's cold, hard reality. The hope is in the time......anything is better than that wretched 9 months. I believe with all of my heart and soul that it is not right. We have more time. I feel it. Is it 20 years? Probably not. I know this, though it does not stop me praying for it. Is it 10 years? God, I hope so. Is it 5 years? God, I hope so. Is it 2 years? God, I hope so....and more. Time, precious time....you don't know how precious it is, you really don't, until someone puts an expiration date on a person you love.
To try not thinking about it - to stop the near-constant presence of tears, of despair; the white-hot anger that burns my belly; the pain that brings me to my knees - I plan. I first discovered this skill when we lost Adam 6 years ago. I did not know what to do, only that I could not bear my Uncle Charlie's grief. It is a grief I have never forgotten - that of a father, losing his only child, the son he raised alone. So, I cooked. I planned. Who is bringing what? What should we have? Where are we going after the funeral? Who is picking Kristie up at the airport? Who is staying where? My aunt, mother, cousins, brothers - we made it happen. Then, on that bitter cold February day, I sobbed through the funeral, but pulled it together and got busy for the reception after. ( I did the same for his burial in the spring...though I do recall making Uncle Charlie laugh through his tears there.) I did the same when Suzanne and Kelly lost sweet baby Cora. I needed to do something, I needed to help -so, I planned. It helped that, as her lifelong friend, people asked me what to do, what they needed, etc. I had purpose! Oh, how it helped me get through those stark days. I truly hope it helped them, too.
Both times, though, I noticed how lost I felt when it was all said and done....that business of death. The arrangements and services and people and food and attention. People went home. Dishes were washed. Nothing left to do. I was bereft. My purpose served. Grief came for me.
Now here I am - planning again. Flying blind, by the seat of my pants, this time. This is not what I know how to do.....I can cook, I can bake, I can coordinate a potluck like no one's business. This is all foreign, which helps more. I have to figure it out AND plan. I am not stupid - I know this is escapism. I know it, and yet I still welcome it. Because without it, I am staring that awful 9 months in the face. That 9 months that is not true.
So, I will keep planning. I will plan and love and laugh and work and smell that glorious flower in the garden. The one called hope.....and let its warmth spread through me. I know grief will come for me eventually (it drops in unannounced for visits now), but it's not time yet. It's just not time.
Monday, February 27, 2012
hope springs eternal
I am never going to delete the voicemail Suzanne left me tonight. (I can save it with the text message I still have on my old cell phone, "Knocked up!" when she first got pregnant with Rory.) Breanna and I stopped at the drugstore on the way home from dance class to get some cold/flu medicine for a very sick Mike (his hours awake today: 5 total. Bless his heart.) When we got home, I took my phone out and noticed I had a voicemail. It was from Suzanne...my heart sank. I mean, after the spate of bad news from her, how could it not??? I played it as I got pots and pans out for dinner....and ended it with my jaw hanging open, unable to form thoughts or words. I played it again. I called her back and left her what I am sure was a pretty incoherent message. The only thing I remember saying is, "You can call back anytime. I will stay awake all night if I have to!" She called back within 30 minutes.
Her liver biopsy came back. She is so special that she has TWO different types of cancer. At the same time. This is incredibly rare. Even stranger, the liver cancer is not liver cancer - it's a digestive cancer. Original site? Unknown. The cervical cancer is now a stage 2B (!!!!!!!), but the liver is 4. More testing, headed out to Dana Farber (to see my kind of doc, an endocrinology oncologist) as the liver cancer is so rare (she is SUPER extra special!), then we proceed with two treatments (we think). Also, the liver cancer is not as agressive as metastasized cervical cancer, making it more treatable and (hopefully) life-extending.
Our official line is cautiously optimistic, but I cannot describe the feeling in my heart....I felt hope literally blossom like a flower in my chest. As it spread, I felt weight lift off my shoulders, I felt the dark clouds begin to dissipate in my mind.....I felt joy again. I laughed.
Oh, please Lord, let this be true. Let this be the miracle for which we so desperately pray each day. And, Lord, if it cannot be the miracle, let it at least be the gift of time......anything is better than the measly 9 months we were holding so tightly this morning.
I believe! I BELIEVE!!
Her liver biopsy came back. She is so special that she has TWO different types of cancer. At the same time. This is incredibly rare. Even stranger, the liver cancer is not liver cancer - it's a digestive cancer. Original site? Unknown. The cervical cancer is now a stage 2B (!!!!!!!), but the liver is 4. More testing, headed out to Dana Farber (to see my kind of doc, an endocrinology oncologist) as the liver cancer is so rare (she is SUPER extra special!), then we proceed with two treatments (we think). Also, the liver cancer is not as agressive as metastasized cervical cancer, making it more treatable and (hopefully) life-extending.
Our official line is cautiously optimistic, but I cannot describe the feeling in my heart....I felt hope literally blossom like a flower in my chest. As it spread, I felt weight lift off my shoulders, I felt the dark clouds begin to dissipate in my mind.....I felt joy again. I laughed.
Oh, please Lord, let this be true. Let this be the miracle for which we so desperately pray each day. And, Lord, if it cannot be the miracle, let it at least be the gift of time......anything is better than the measly 9 months we were holding so tightly this morning.
I believe! I BELIEVE!!
Sunday, February 26, 2012
and the winner is....
Tonight was the 84th Academy Awards. I always think of Suzanne and Kelly on Oscar night...before we all had children and couldn't stay out late on a Sunday night, they used to host Oscar parties at their house. If I close my eyes, I'm there...sitting on the floor in the living room, loving on Buster. If I really go back, I'm in the great room of the house on Overlook Circle...that's the party at which Jason fell on the sidewalk while leaving, bless his heart. I hope his ass doesn't hurt every year on Oscar night, remembering that icy walk! I should have asked him that during our Oscar text-fest tonight.
Usual Murphy party rules applied - drinks provided, bring your own if it's something not on the list, bring a snack to share, and, remember, Casa de Murphy is a national park: you bring it in, you bring it out. ( I could often weasel my way around that by bringing something one of them really liked....I still enjoy doing that.)
Score cards, printed by Suzanne and Kelly, in hand, we would pick our favorites, fix plates, and get down to business: judging the dresses. Who saw which film? What do you think the front-runners are in each category? Who is picking winners at pure random? Friends would catch up by the food table during commercial breaks, so much laughter rang through the house....and some really loud voices. One year, I even worked on a baby blanket Suzanne ordered from me for a friend's baby shower (Davey Hoy, maybe?) while I sat on the floor by the fireplace.
At the end of the night, prizes were given to those who had picked the winners. The prizes were crazy - re-gifted items no one would ever need, use, or want; dollar store specials; always funny. So funny. One year when I won, I remember hiding my scary prize under the couch cushions.....a treat for Suzanne to find later. I played dumb when she said she found it, but I couldn't stop laughing. It gave me away, I'm certain!
Tonight on Facebook, Sukrit posted that he was watching the Oscars and thinking of the fun times at Suzanne and Kelly's....it warmed my heart so much to know he was thinking of it, too. He posted a link to a blog he wrote after one - my favorite line was about KellyBoi (who he referred to just this way - I actually laughed right out loud! I thought only Suzanne and I referred to him as the Boi!), introducing Sukrit to all their friends. KellyBoi said that we were the most "sensitive, non-judgmental" group of people. I can think of no finer compliment. We are funny, we are loud, we are kind, we talk about theatre too much (or did before we had kids!), we geniunely love each other.....but wow. How wonderful that those were the first two things a friend would point out.
I doubt I will ever spend an Oscar night without smiling at these memories, trying to recall more details, feeling grateful that God blessed me with these people. It's my own award, more precious than any golden statue. Though I still wouldn't say no to a real Oscar.
Usual Murphy party rules applied - drinks provided, bring your own if it's something not on the list, bring a snack to share, and, remember, Casa de Murphy is a national park: you bring it in, you bring it out. ( I could often weasel my way around that by bringing something one of them really liked....I still enjoy doing that.)
Score cards, printed by Suzanne and Kelly, in hand, we would pick our favorites, fix plates, and get down to business: judging the dresses. Who saw which film? What do you think the front-runners are in each category? Who is picking winners at pure random? Friends would catch up by the food table during commercial breaks, so much laughter rang through the house....and some really loud voices. One year, I even worked on a baby blanket Suzanne ordered from me for a friend's baby shower (Davey Hoy, maybe?) while I sat on the floor by the fireplace.
At the end of the night, prizes were given to those who had picked the winners. The prizes were crazy - re-gifted items no one would ever need, use, or want; dollar store specials; always funny. So funny. One year when I won, I remember hiding my scary prize under the couch cushions.....a treat for Suzanne to find later. I played dumb when she said she found it, but I couldn't stop laughing. It gave me away, I'm certain!
Tonight on Facebook, Sukrit posted that he was watching the Oscars and thinking of the fun times at Suzanne and Kelly's....it warmed my heart so much to know he was thinking of it, too. He posted a link to a blog he wrote after one - my favorite line was about KellyBoi (who he referred to just this way - I actually laughed right out loud! I thought only Suzanne and I referred to him as the Boi!), introducing Sukrit to all their friends. KellyBoi said that we were the most "sensitive, non-judgmental" group of people. I can think of no finer compliment. We are funny, we are loud, we are kind, we talk about theatre too much (or did before we had kids!), we geniunely love each other.....but wow. How wonderful that those were the first two things a friend would point out.
I doubt I will ever spend an Oscar night without smiling at these memories, trying to recall more details, feeling grateful that God blessed me with these people. It's my own award, more precious than any golden statue. Though I still wouldn't say no to a real Oscar.
Friday, February 24, 2012
it's not just a river in Egypt. really.
I keep telling myself that I started this blog to write in it, but I just can't bring myself to sit down and do it. I tell myself it's because I can't pull the memories out....they are on a continuous reel in my mind, it never stops. It's as if my life is flashing behind my eyes....I can see all the moments that include Suzanne, but I can't see the details. They don't come. It won't slow down long enough for me to remember them properly. Ugh.
I believe it's a defense mechanism. My brain is trying to protect my bruised heart - it is too much. I also like to think it's saving them, hoarding the details away for a time when they are all I have left of her. Then the details will come, when I need them most - when I need to feel her spirit, to remember the fun we had, the love, the laughter, when my heart is ready to start mending.
I really hope that is true, because I need them - for the book, for the pages I need to write for Suzanne and Kelly, for me.....for comfort. Comfort escapes me now....so I try to stay busy. I work on the book, I work on Team SMAC's page, I answer e-mails and phone calls. I stay up too late, so sleep is hard and heavy....no dreams. Busy leaves me little time to think, and I love that. Time to think means that cold, hard reality creeps in...into every thought....it whispers all the awful things I am struggling with in my ear.....it leaves me battered and bruised, crying, aching.
It's after midnight....up too late again....I shall head to bed. I shall sleep....but not to dream.
I believe it's a defense mechanism. My brain is trying to protect my bruised heart - it is too much. I also like to think it's saving them, hoarding the details away for a time when they are all I have left of her. Then the details will come, when I need them most - when I need to feel her spirit, to remember the fun we had, the love, the laughter, when my heart is ready to start mending.
I really hope that is true, because I need them - for the book, for the pages I need to write for Suzanne and Kelly, for me.....for comfort. Comfort escapes me now....so I try to stay busy. I work on the book, I work on Team SMAC's page, I answer e-mails and phone calls. I stay up too late, so sleep is hard and heavy....no dreams. Busy leaves me little time to think, and I love that. Time to think means that cold, hard reality creeps in...into every thought....it whispers all the awful things I am struggling with in my ear.....it leaves me battered and bruised, crying, aching.
It's after midnight....up too late again....I shall head to bed. I shall sleep....but not to dream.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
love & grief
To be honest, I had never truly thought about us dying - either of us, really. It never occurred to me that life could exist without her. Now that I am forced to face that thought -death - I find that I have the perfect scenario in mind: When we were both 90 - 100+, we would both die on the same day. Within minutes of each other - so neither had time to find out about the other. I like this plan. In this plan, I would never, ever have to live in a world that did not include her. This plan calms me, makes me smile....we are old and grey (grey-er for her - ha!!!), our families are big and boisterous, we are sharp and content and enjoying our twilight years.
Reality sucks. Wait, what's that '90s movie? Reality Bites. That' s it. Boy does it. Reality means this is not how our lives will play out. Reality says that I am going to have to face a world that does not include her. Maybe for a long time. I am not okay with this bastard, reality. I am not okay with our plans not happening, not growing old together, embarrassing our children together, doing ordinary things together, all the laughing....oh the laughing. I know should she leave me, I will miss that most of all.
I know what people will say...they say that because I am (working hard on) accepting reality that I am a fatalist. I have accepted the doctor's odds, and I have given up hope.
You could not be more wrong. Hope is exactly what I do have. Hope. Belief. Belief in this incredible woman by whose side I have walked most of my life. Belief in miracles, because they happen every day. Belief in the power of prayer, the power of love, the power of positive thinking.
I believe. I also believe that if she has accepted reality, then I should honor that. Hell, any one of us could get hit by a truck tomorrow. End of story. When the story ends, for either of us, I want to smile through my tears, knowing that I shared all that was in my heart. All the memories we made together filled my heart so full, and I told her how much it all meant. That as much as I love her, I will love her children that much more. For as long as God will let me. This I can do...to combat the helplessness....to work through the sorrow....to screw my head on straight so I can show one ounce of the courage and grace she exemplifies on a daily basis.
I believe.
Reality sucks. Wait, what's that '90s movie? Reality Bites. That' s it. Boy does it. Reality means this is not how our lives will play out. Reality says that I am going to have to face a world that does not include her. Maybe for a long time. I am not okay with this bastard, reality. I am not okay with our plans not happening, not growing old together, embarrassing our children together, doing ordinary things together, all the laughing....oh the laughing. I know should she leave me, I will miss that most of all.
I know what people will say...they say that because I am (working hard on) accepting reality that I am a fatalist. I have accepted the doctor's odds, and I have given up hope.
You could not be more wrong. Hope is exactly what I do have. Hope. Belief. Belief in this incredible woman by whose side I have walked most of my life. Belief in miracles, because they happen every day. Belief in the power of prayer, the power of love, the power of positive thinking.
I believe. I also believe that if she has accepted reality, then I should honor that. Hell, any one of us could get hit by a truck tomorrow. End of story. When the story ends, for either of us, I want to smile through my tears, knowing that I shared all that was in my heart. All the memories we made together filled my heart so full, and I told her how much it all meant. That as much as I love her, I will love her children that much more. For as long as God will let me. This I can do...to combat the helplessness....to work through the sorrow....to screw my head on straight so I can show one ounce of the courage and grace she exemplifies on a daily basis.
I believe.
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