Stepford Crazies

My Knee-Jerk, Mom Reaction to Today’s Events

December 14, 2012 by Queen of Spain 5 Comments

My son and his friend are running around my house ‘shooting’ each other with Nerf guns right now. They are diving on the floor, collecting bullets, telling the other “YOU ARE DEAD DUDE” and generally being nine-year olds.

I want to make them stop. I want to freak out and take away their toy guns and stop their game and tell them they are DONE.

There will be no more fake gun fights in this house. I no longer want to raise a son that glorifies the gun culture. And as a parent I take full responsibility for allowing him to go down that rabbit hole. The toy guns. The endless video games with nothing but war play. Things we find totally normal.

Normal.

I realize in his mind it’s make-believe. In his mind he KNOWS the difference. But today I just can not take the fake vs. real when a friend’s nephew was in that kindergarten class in Connecticut. When so many parents tonight grieve. When the unthinkable CONTINUES to happen again and again in our country.

It begins at home as the culture of guns and violence is forever put in front of their young faces. Even responsibly they are desensitized to the bloodshed. And yes, kids have been doing this forever. If not Nerf guns they would be making guns from sticks or out of their hands. But would they be doing it as much? Would it be as vivid? As real? As daily? As routine?

I just don’t know. I just know I can only control what happens in my own home. I can not control what happens in my child’s school not matter how involved I may be. Or if they are at a friend’s house no matter how well I think I know the parents.

I have to teach my children just how dangerous this world can be, without stealing their childhood…their innocence. Without taking away the very thing youth should be about: discovery and joy and laughter and play.

I watched the President cry. I felt the pain in my friend’s words from across the miles. And I agreed with the Governor when he said evil came to their community.

The problem being…I see no end to the tears, or the pain, or the evil until we, as a nation, face this culture we have created and now celebrate. A culture of hate and violence. A culture of “I’ve got mine, who cares about yours.”

A culture of not being your brother’s keeper. All anyone wants to do is make sure they’ve got their weapon, their safety, and to hell with anyone else.

This is the last lesson I want to teach my children. Ever. Yet this is the lesson so many are teaching theirs’.

As others fight to make further cuts to services we need…like mental health services. And education-the ONE thing that could save us all.

So as I debate all the toy guns scattered about my home, and the violent video games we play…I ask you to think about where this conversation begins as a community. Where it starts as a nation. Where we really dig in and make some changes so no parent, no family, no children ever have to go through this again.

Because I don’t think any of us can take this anymore. Our hearts can only break so many times before healing becomes impossible.

Filed Under: #suckit, Feeling YaYa, Holding Court, Stepford Crazies

38

December 13, 2012 by Queen of Spain 2 Comments

My 38th birthday was this week.

There is something rather peaceful about getting older and not caring as much when birthdays pass. Don’t get me wrong. I love gifts and attention more than anyone, but very honestly this time around I was entirely fine with getting the kids to school, doing laundry, and going to the DMV.

Yup, I spent my birthday at the Department of Motor Vehicles. The land of HAPPY.

But I awoke to homemade cards and homemade movie/date night tickets from my husband and kisses and hugs and I was entirely content.

A far cry from my 35th birthday where some of you joined us in Vegas in the Marilyn Monroe suite at Planet Hollywood where we lived it up until an ambulance was called and security *might* have gotten involved.

What a difference a few years and few hundred doctor appointments make.

You know what has been making me even MORE content? Celebrating my husband’s big 4-0 milestone. And continuing to celebrate throughout the week and weekend. It’s ridiculously fun to lavish someone and smother them with everything from big gifts to big parties. Putting a huge grin on his face makes me even more at peace and I get the feeling he’s juuuuuuuuuust fine with that.

I spent the rest of my week in treatment, recovering from Disney despite the wheelchair. Trying to keep up with the kids and their final two weeks of school before break. The holiday shows, the final projects. The parties, the teacher gifts. I know I’m forgetting something. I always am.

But with the chaos always comes the calm. Once again our family has been tried in ways I could have never have seen coming. A very ill aunt. A cyclone. A mundane broken kitchen sink. A speeding ticket. Parking ticket. Vasculitis, shoulder surgery, even multiplication tables gave us reasons to cringe and hug. Long story, don’t ask.

But we keep on keeping on. Maybe once again hugging a bit tighter. Snuggling a bit longer before bed. Having a harder time saying goodbye at the school room door. At the front door on the way out. Relieved as everyone walks back in for the day.

So while yes, I turned 38 this week without much craziness or pomp, it was exactly as it should be. I was content to be growing old with, hopefully, some grace. But more importantly, with those I love.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies

He is 40

December 9, 2012 by Queen of Spain 2 Comments

This is one of those blog posts I’ve stopped and started at least a dozen times.

I was sappy at first. But that just didn’t seem right. I mean…have you met my husband? When I get sappy, he just teases me more.

I was making ‘old man’ and ‘over-the-hill’ jokes. But that wasn’t right either. The guy just had shoulder surgery for the second time. And while the ‘old’ jokes can be funny, I’m going to save my roast for his 50th.

I even considered the video blog, so I could just blab and blab and yap yap yap…but let’s face it, my husband gets that from me daily. And it’s the man’s BIRTHDAY. The least I could do is give him a tiny bit of silence.

So in the end I thought I’d give him a post and virtual birthday card HE would enjoy: short, simple, and to the point.

Ahem.

Ok.

Here I go:

40 looks damn good on you, love.

May this decade be full of happiness, less stress, and you enjoying every moment.

You deserve it.

Happy Birthday.

Now, just to annoy him, everyone run on over to his Facebook and Twitter feed and wish him a happy 40th. Because nothing says ‘love’ and ‘birthday’ like internet friends and family and co-workers bombarding you with messages via social media.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Kaiser, Stepford Crazies

In Fantasyland, I Find My Inner Mrs. Jumbo…Again

December 7, 2012 by Queen of Spain

A very long time ago, geez…back when we were all baby bloggers…I wrote a post about Mrs. Jumbo. You know, Dumbo’s Mom.

There is that heartwretching part of the movie where Dumbo and his mother have been separated and he finds his mother in circus jail and she cradles him with her trunk and the beautiful, yet haunting, ‘Baby of Mine’ plays as we all weep. I had to write about seeing Dumbo again, this time as a mother:

Can you imagine being torn from your children and locked away without any knowledge of their wellbeing or welfare? Maddening.

Ok. Enough.

I’ve never really been a collector of trinkets or things (shut up, my dear Kaiser husband…regular things don’t count) but I honestly think I may take more of an interest in anything with Mrs. Jumbo.

She deserves the recognition.

Mrs. Jumbo. I’m with ya’ sister in motherhood- in spirit and in ass size.

I also think she should be our new mascot. For all us “naptime activists” and mother’s with causes, Mrs. Jumbo shows we won’t take any shit and will fight if you mess with our kids.

Disney doesn’t just tug at your heartstrings during this moment as a mother elephant reaches to touch and hold and comfort her baby. Disney demands you are present in this moment for all time.

It’s something you never forget because it is locked in your heart forever, never to be let out and never to be erased.

It is a million of those magical moments that make up the expansion of Walt Disney World’s Fantasyland. And yes, like you have been seeing on tv and in your papers and blogs all week, I have been lucky enough to bring my family to experience the biggest thing to happen to the Magic Kingdom in a very long time.

Disney offered to bring me out*, and I opted to bring my Mom and kids along to ‘test’ just how family friendly the ‘new’ Fantasyland really is. Because let’s face it, I’m in a wheelchair for park experiences, and Disney just isn’t Disney without your kids.

But I very quickly learned it wasn’t about all the new features- like an air conditioned play area for you and your kids while you wait ‘in line’ for now TWO Dumbo rides (no really, your places is held in line while the kids can go RUN AROUND AND PLAY) – or seeing the showstopper of Fantastyland: the Beast’s castle.

It’s about the moments. The little things. Like walking into the gift shop with my family and seeing Mrs. Jumbo and baby Dumbo and immediately tearing up. Then having my Mom purchase said stuffed toy for me for my 38th birthday which is on Monday. Yes, this grown woman just got a stuffed animal from her Mom at Disney World for her birthday.

But it meant the world.

It’s the silly moments…like getting to talk ‘dinglehoppers’ with Ariel. And laughing hysterically because my kids wouldn’t go near her yet I was there chatting away about dinglehoppers AND football (she didn’t know what that was, she plays clam ball) while my kids watched on half in embarrassment and half in awe.

There were also the moments of wonder and pure magic. Like the look on my children’s faces when the most amazing, and very mysterious dragon flew over our heads and over the Beast’s castle as we explored Fantasyland with the other guests. We had just finished riding Goofy’s Barnstormer’s roller coaster (for the second time…great for smaller kids who like a thrill) when what I swear to you was a REAL DRAGON swooshed over us and around the clouds a bit and then disappeared somewhere near the castle lurking over the hillside.

That dragon had jaws on the floor and everyone buzzing. Including my children who are now dragon-crazy and DETERMINED to find out just where it lives, why it’s here, and where they can discover it’s lair.

And then there is the moments like tucking in tired children who are tightly clutching new LightSabers and new Dragons, having decided to become Disney pin traders…even pin traders who stand for the rights of others…

…and dreaming of what is to come tomorrow when they get to explore another part of the park.

But with all the crowds, and lines, and buses and boats and monorails- all of which accommodated my wheelchair with smiles and ease- nothing beats the moment sitting in my own bed in our family suite where I could reunite Mrs. Jumbo and Dumbo for all time. Making sure Mamma and her baby lived happily ever after.

Even if it took me 38-years.

*Walt Disney World Parks provided travel, accommodations, and media availability for the grand re-opening of Fantasyland, including tickets to park attractions

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Royal Family Outing, Stepford Crazies

Mom, I Can See The Curvature of the Earth

December 4, 2012 by Queen of Spain 8 Comments

My son has spent over three hours looking out the window of our plane.

He doesn’t want to play on his iPad.

He has no interest in the little books and games and gifts I brought to keep him and his sister busy on this over four hour flight.

He’s just been staring out the window. No really, a nine-year old boy who never stops moving has been doing absolutely nothing but looking out a window for HOURS.

Mom do you think the clouds can feel us splitting them apart when we fly through them? Ok I know they can’t really feel but do you think clouds would rather be all together and not broken up by anything, like a plane or a bird or anything?

Mom do you think the pilot really thinks all that turbulence is bad or do you think he just wants us in our seats? That’s why school should be on planes: because it’s so beautiful everyone would pay attention and when they didn’t the teacher could put on the seat belt sign.

Mom, do you think the air that goes through and around the planes gets mixed up in the clouds and the clouds are somehow changed by it? Like could those clouds end up being clouds they shouldn’t have been?

Mom, see where that cloud reaches that mountain over there? See that area right in the middle where is just doesn’t touch and there is that teeny tiny bit of space? That space is the most beautiful space ever.

Mom, do you think when we fly at Christmas time there will also be clouds or do you think the sky will just have nothing?

Mom, I need a tissue. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry. It’s just all so wonderful and beautiful.

We’re now on hour four. And yes, THAT is my son.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies

Four Years Later: Indivisible

October 27, 2012 by Queen of Spain 13 Comments

I can tell you that many, many things have changed in our home in the past four years.

From celebrating the election of President Obama, who I backed earlier in the race than some which got me into a good bit of hot water, to my first visit to the White House.

Yes, the first year of the Obama Administration was a whirlwind for myself and my family.

I had taken on my first full-time job since having our first child and thrown myself in the same way I throw myself into everything- with all I have. I traveled, I spoke in front of small crowds, large audiences, students, and chatted it up with national news outlets.

My mission was to make sure the world knew that women online were a force. They could not only be the difference in elections but also change the world.

I’d like to think I succeeded in spreading the word and creating opportunities for every woman. The stay at home Mom, the career woman, the childfree, the childfull, the hobby writer, the hard core moneymaking writer, and even the just finding her way blogger.

At home, I would like to think I put just as much effort into my children and into my marriage. Making dinner when I could, making sure everyone was where they needed to be, had what they needed to have in their possession, got done what needed to be done, and was loved ridiculously along the way.

I was exhausted, but happy. It was chaotic, but fun. I looked forward to important conference calls, parent teacher talks, and husband wife romps later on.

And just as my life began to reach the peak of where I had always hoped it would be, everything came crashing down.

Everything.

And now nothing is where is should be. Where it was. Or where I want it to be. Parts of my body are missing. I do not recognize myself in the mirror and when I do, I struggle with what I see.

I try so very hard to keep the normalcy of what once was, only to find I’m the only one still trying. Or at least, the only one who seems to think life can go on just as it was.

Before Lupus.

BL. AL. It’s like Before Christ and After Christ, but without all the miracles.

I now cherish every moment I have with so much more enthusiasm than I thought possible, only to find blank stares from the kids with the typical ‘Mom, stop hugging me so tight’ eyeroll. And that romp in bed is more of a snore induced by drugs and the hope of maybe a kiss before work. Hope being a strong word.

I feel like I am living someone else’s life. Because this certainly is not the life I planned. It’s not the life I had. It’s not the life I want.

But it is, currently, the life I am given.

So I remain grateful that the stroke wasn’t even detected until after, and the rehabilitation was minimal. That I only lost part of my colon, not all of my colon, and I do not have to wear a bag…which certainly would have destroyed any hope I had of a sex life.

I remain grateful not having a gall bladder means I can only have one or two fried pickles instead of a basket full, keeping the 100lbs I have gained from steroids to just 100lbs.

And I will forever pretend I am grateful that the total hysterectomy, which finally rid me of the excruciating pain from the inflammation destroying my uterus and ovaries. I will never have another period and never have to carry tampons or pads or worry about any of that mess ever again. Even if it has destroyed me emotionally in too many ways to count.

I’m grateful my little family has grown closer in many ways, having gone through a tremendous crisis that my kids can now talk to producers on camera about it:

…the worst was when she got sick on Mother’s Day..WHY WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE THAT DAY!!

Now it only reduces me to minor humiliation and minor, inner sobbing.

Just like every single day when everyone finally walks out the door to go about their lives, and if I don’t have to leave for the doctor I sit here wondering what to do with my life…feeling again, only minor humiliation that I no longer am what I was to any of them, yet am something different. Some of which I am proud of, most of which I am not.

As I grow stronger, as we get a handle on this beast, I am getting a handle on me. And she’s pissed off.

I have no one to talk to about this anymore, because frankly no one should have to talk with me all the time about this. They deserve a break and a normal life. So I write here. After so many years- getting sick just after President Obama was elected, and now coming up on the next election, all of this is old old old old old.

And the truth of the matter is I hate it. And while I understand things will not be the same, I want them as close to the same as they can get. And I am fighting so fucking hard to get there. So hard. Too hard maybe.

I know I am the only one who can fight, I just miss doing it with locked arms all around me. My husband, my mother, my brother, my father- all my biggest supporters have their own lives that must be tended to and they can’t spend four years on me, me, me, and only me. I don’t expect them to. And I do appreciate their support now when it’s given. They remain amazing and there for me. In very different ways now, of course. But they are there. For that I am grateful. So many have lost their family over so much less. I’m trying to remind myself of that as I trudge through.

So four years later I keep getting asked over and over and over again if my life is better than it was four years ago.

No. No my life is not ‘better’- but that depends greatly how we are qualifying ‘better.’

It’s ‘better’ in that I am getting healthier. Stronger.

It’s ‘better’ in that our medical bills are becoming more manageable thanks to the Affordable Care Act aka ObamaCare.

It’s ‘better’ in that we did not lose our home due to foreclosure, or even get near foreclosure, because JP Morgan Chase worked with us to modify our mortgage (through HARP and HAMP) and I was finally granted the private disability check that took a chunk out of every paycheck I made with that full-time job I took after the President was elected.

It’s ‘better’ in that my daughter still has Title IX in place to play co-ed, PeeWee basketball, and she can score her very first every basket:

It’s ‘better’ in that the President has backed same-sex marriage, equal pay for women, he has repealed Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, he has taken care of Osama bin laden, he has put into place an Auto rescue of Detroit keeping many of my friends and family back in my hometown in jobs.

And, as always, his administration has taken the time to show the compassion to follow my illness and express their concern and thoughts when necessary. For that, I am grateful.

These are good people.

I don’t think any of us are where we thought we would be four years later. My family being probably more surprised than any of you.

But I know there is no way we’re going back. None. Just like I refuse to go back and allow this illness to overcome my mind, body, and soul…I refuse to let the political illness attempting to turn back the clock in this country to overcome our collective mind, body, and soul.

We are Americans and we do not give up. We have a strong family here in my home and we certainly do not give up.

I refuse to allow setbacks, and seeing that brink of the abyss, to scare me into thinking turning around is the right answer. I know nothing could be further from the truth.

I also know the hearts of all those involved. From my family, to my friends, to those working for me and you in the White House. And I know how hard *I* fight.

There is too much fight in me left to allow how far we have come to slip away with fast talking, slick, typical frat boys trying to sell me an easy fix.

There is no easy fix to Lupus, and as the President has said from day one, there is no easy fix to the mess we’re in. We will have to continue to work hard and continue to work together.

I know it is a lot to ask of anyone. We are all tired.

I’m willing to go this alone and shoulder it all for myself and for you and yours. But I ask that you join me, because we are so much stronger together. We are so much stronger when we work as a team.

We are so much stronger united.

…indivisible. Through sickness and in health. With liberty and justice…

…for all.

Filed Under: #SUCKITLupus, Feeling YaYa, Holding Court, Obama2012, Royal Decree, Stepford Crazies

Today My Daughter Is At School For Malala

October 15, 2012 by Queen of Spain 14 Comments

My daughter did not want to get out of bed this morning for school. This is nothing new. It is a scene we play out every single morning.

She rolls around and moans and whines in her bed. I send in the dog to lick her face and rouse her awake.

Except this morning was different. This morning, when she did her usual whine and moan, the dog was laying comfortably next to me on the floor as I rubbed my little girl’s back.

I need you to get out of bed and go to school this morning for Malala.

Grumbles and a slight roll over from the bed.

Hala. I need you to get out of bed today, without any whining, without complaining for Malala.

…and then a grumpy, whiny voice comes from under the blankets.

Mom, what are you talking about, what is Malala.

No. Not WHAT is Malala…WHO is Malala.

Malala is a girl, just like you. She lives in Pakistan. And all she wants to do is go to school and learn. She wants to get out of bed every morning and learn. And the other day, she was coming home from school, and horrible men who think she should NOT be allowed to learn shot her. They shot her because she is a girl who dares to think she deserves an education. She dares to think she is just as smart as boys. She dares to think she should get to read every book and do every math worksheet and write every paper and do every report and learn and learn and learn just like every boy in Pakistan. But some of the people there do not believe that girls should learn. Malala stood up to those bullies. She stood up to the mean, horrible men who believe girls should not be allowed to go to school. And she went to school. So you, you will get out of bed, and you will go to school without one whine, without one moan, without one complaint…because you are lucky to live in a country where you CAN.

Slowly my daughter got out of bed. Looking at me with confusion. She got dressed with me watching, and we went into my room where she brushed her teeth and continued to get herself ready for school. So far, she hadn’t said a word. She was still processing everything I had told her. The silence was deafening.

I wasn’t sure I was going to tell her. She is only seven. A seven-year old should be not burdened by the evil in this world. But she is also old enough to understand that she is extremely fortunate to be able to get an education in a world that still does not treat its females with the respect and reverence it treats its males.

She has noticed this recently. She sees it. She has asked me questions. So when she did not want to get out of bed for school, it seemed only natural I remind her there are thousands of girls who would give anything to be getting out of bed this morning to go to school, possibly none more than Malala.

Finally, while I brushed her hair, my daughter spoke about what I had said to get her out of bed and moving:

Do you think she’s going to be ok?

Who honey?

The girl, the girl who wants to learn and they hurt…

Oh. I hope so. But I’m not sure. They got her out of Pakistan and she is in England where doctors are working right now to try and help her. I haven’t seen the news yet but I know they got her to a hospital in England.

She has to be ok Mom. She has to be. And those men, the ones that hurt her…they probably won’t get in trouble, will they?

I don’t know honey. They do things differently in that country. It’s not like our country.

I know but, they are men. So they probably won’t get in that much trouble, even if they do get in trouble.

I continued to brush her hair, listening, in awe at how much she understood about a situation I had only given her a fraction of information about. And I answered as best I could without depressing her entirely. It didn’t matter though, she seemed to grasp exactly what was going on, and exactly how dire the situation is for women and girls.

Mom, it used to be like that here, didn’t it?

Well, not exactly. But there was a time when women couldn’t vote and there were only women’s schools- and at a lot of those schools they only taught things like cooking and how to take care of your husband…getting you ready to be a ‘good wife.’

What if I don’t want to be a wife?

Well it’s a good thing that things aren’t like they used to be, then, huh? You can now be anything you want, and you do not have to get married, or you can if you want. It’s up to you.

I’m glad it’s up to me. I want a ranch, and horses, and I might get married or I might not. We’ll see. But I want that girl to be ok Mom. She should come to school here. Why doesn’t she just move here?

Well, it’s not that simple. She wants to make sure girls in her country are treated equally. She could just come here, but she wouldn’t be able to forget about all the other girls still in Pakistan who are scared into saying home from school. Scared into putting down their books. She can’t forget about them, can she?

No. No. But all the girls could come. What if our Army guys went and got all the girls in all the places and brought them here.

But honey, what about their families? They wouldn’t want to leave their families. And they want to change their own countries. They want to change the world.

And I held her face in my hands, and I looked into her eyes.

Do you understand why you need to go to school today. And every single day.

And with a resolve I see ONLY in my daughter, especially when she’s angry, she nodded.

We then went about our usual morning. Breakfast. Shoes. Backpack grabbing…and we headed out the door.

As we left in the car I caught her in my review mirror. She was looking out the window.

Honey, are you ok?

I’m fine Mom. I’m mad.

I’m mad too.

Being a girl shouldn’t be hard.

No, it shouldn’t.

She’s going to be ok, Mom. I know she is.

And the morning continued. She met her friends at the school gate and giggled. And I watched them enter their classroom, iPads in hand, along with toys and books. So many luxuries. So much at their fingertips. She waved goodbye and I waved back. She blew me a kiss and I caught it and put it to my heart. I blew her a kiss back…and she put it on her iPad. And I knew what she meant. That’s where she keeps her books. She took my kiss and in an instant gave it to Malala, and showed me she understood those books on that iPad would be used.

She understood.

Today my daughter is at school for Malala.

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut, Stepford Crazies

Lost in a Sea of Sunflowers

October 8, 2012 by Queen of Spain

A year ago today I lost my Aunt.

She shouldn’t have died. She wasn’t supposed to die.

She got sick, the doctors fixed her, but for some reason…she just didn’t want to live.

I don’t understand why.

She lived alone. She went to mass every Sunday. She hated learning email and would still send me long, handwritten letters telling me about the weather in Michigan. How the leaves were changing, how she was planning a trip with her friends/cousins. How she wished we could see each other more often.

We sent each other sunflowers a lot. For no good reason. Birthdays and what not, sure…but every so often we just sent each other sunflowers.

I don’t understand why she’s not here.

My Dad thinks in many ways she lived very much like a nun. She had her rosaries and her mass schedule and as far as we know did not date or have any interest in dating.

I’d ask her now.

Before I just let her be her. Now I have so many questions. Mainly because I don’t understand why she’s not here.

The doctors needed her to push herself to recover. She had no interest. She could have recovered with therapy, and will. Or so I am told.

In her last days my other Aunt held the phone to her ear for me. I did all the things someone would do knowing this was the last time they would talk to them. The I love yous. The so many I love yous. But I also told her to get up. To do what the doctor’s said. Why wasn’t she?

I don’t think, by then, she could hear anyone. And my health meant that in the months and weeks prior I couldn’t have traveled to try and get her out of bed.

And so I sit here tonight, with the clock ticking away, thinking about the people in my life that could be gone tomorrow. How I just can’t bear losing anyone else. Yet I know I will.

There are so many things I don’t understand right now. So many moments that are slipping past that will never, ever be given again. And this anniversary just reminds me that an entire year has gone by of those moments. An entire year.

Have I made each moment worth it? Have I given of myself to each person in my life as fully as I can give…so that when their time comes, they want to fight and get out of bed? Or will they want to simply be done with it all, for reasons I can’t begin to understand.

I’m selfish. Horribly selfish. I want them all to fight their hardest for me. Because they want more time with me. One more hug. One more sunflower.

Yet I know, deep down, I can’t make sense or let go even after a year. And yes, I know the old saying and I know I have to let go…but I can’t. It’s not right. It doesn’t make sense. And I am not ready. I didn’t get to say hello enough, let alone goodbye. Goodbye over the phone from 3,000 miles away while she was in a vegetative state does not count.

I bought a new rosary in her honor for this anniversary. I’m not practicing, but she was my confirmation sponsor and gave me almost every rosary I own. I feel like the least I can do is to light a candle and say her prayers. Maybe I will add one to the collection every year. To remind me that life is too short. That people we love deeply can be gone so quickly, and almost without warning.

Even more importantly, to remind me that those I have with me now deserve joy and love and everything the world has to offer so they always want to stay right here. I can even lose my selfishness and understand that here does not need to be with me. So long as here means in this world.

As much as my body aches and as hard as things get, there is no place I would rather be. But maybe it’s because I have seen the other side for myself. It’s cold and lonely and horrible. This side has love and a place where you can always bury your head to cry, or lips that are always there to be kissed. It has laughter. It has warmth.

It means I order extra photos at Christmas time because she would want them, and of course then I would order too many and my husband would roll his eyes and shake his head at the money I wasted. But I had to make sure she got enough. And I did learn over the years to just order hers separate, because making him happy and making myself look smart is never a bad thing.

It means I crave moments with my children, almost creating them as we sing silly songs or point out the wildflowers on the side of the road.

It means I lay my head on my pillow every single night with an I love you and I go to bed with my husband at the same time, even if I get up moments later because I am not tired or feeling well. Because those moments matter too much.

It means I see sunflowers everywhere right now. They are bright and beautiful.

And I want desperately to share them.

Comments for this post are closed

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies