I am Titanium...

Rockstar is having his ACL reconstructed as I write this post.  I am sitting in the hospital waiting room sending positive thoughts and energy his way.  He was so sweet to me while in the holding room and under the effects of the first batch of "happy drugs".  He was holding my hand and telling me how glad he was that I was there with him, that he felt better and more calm because it was me standing there next to him and not his dad or his best friend.  That made my heart swell.  I know he was under the influence and probably won't remember it but at least I know that deep in his heart he really does love his mom.

He is facing six months of recovery and rehab.  It is going to be an interesting time for the whole family but I feel we will make it.  We survived my six months of chemo; we will get through this too.

I feel blessed that we have great doctors and great technology and that he is young and healthy.

My Journey, His Journey, Your Journey, Our Journey

And I'm not talking about the band Journey although the title of this blog post could easily be on a flyer for any karaoke bar here in St. Louis...

No I'm talking about that path we all march on from birth to death... our journey.

Sometimes it crosses others, sometimes it merges, sometimes it veers right when others go left.  The only consistent part is that you are still on it, on your path.  Only you can walk it, dance it, run it, drive it.  Sometimes we want to keep our journeys merged with other people's because it is more fun, more interesting, we love them or we are afraid to be alone on our own journey.  But what do you do, how do you cope when the paths diverge and you weren't ready yet?  Or you thought you weren't ready?

TRUST.  Yep that little word.  You must surrender to trust in your path. Sure, you can be sad that you won't be walking, dancing or running together anymore.  Please, shed some tears too.  Those are all good and necessary to healing and to seeing your way clearly on your own path again.  Try your best to fight the urge to analyze under a microscope every step you made while on the merged path.  Try your best to not be angry at your fellow sojourner who took the fork in the road which was only evident on his/her map.  If you can allow yourself to trust that you are walking down the path exactly as it is supposed to be, you can look forward to all that you are about to encounter, and you can be grateful for all that you have already walked.  Sometimes your paths will cross again or merge again and then that section of your journey(s) is even better than the first time.  But sometimes they do not ever come into contact again, and you have to trust that that was just how it was meant to be.

I walk mine.  You walk yours.  Sometimes we walk it together.

Until our paths cross again, god speed...

-the Philosopher

Two years hence...

Wow! I went on vacation to the lake house & didn't blog once! What does that mean? And the two-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis was last week & I didn't write  about that either! What does this say about me & where I am right now in my life? Should I be concerned?

I don't think so. I'm very busy writing & editing my first book that I'm publishing hopefully around valentines day. I'm dealing with a lot on that project which will explain the blogging deficit. But the cancer thing, that is weird especially since my quarterly blood test is Wednesday and I'm nervous as usual. Can't sleep well & get the night sweats frequently now. I'm hoping it's only menopause (early onset, chemo-induced you know)... I'll know more Wednesday. Until then, I'll keep busy moving forward with life. I won't make mountains out of a mole hill, at least not this mole hill.

Cheers xx
-the Philosopher

Update: Good visit with oncologist.  All blood tests came back great.  My CEA levels are 1.1 lowest in a year (not that 1.3 and 1.4 are very high mind you especially when anything under 5 is considered normal).  They think the pain I'm feeling in my upper left abdomen is merely functional and related to the healing process from the colon resection surgery from almost two years ago.  In addition, I don't have to go back until January.  I am now on the six-month rotation instead of every three months... NICE!!!

There were no molehills nor mountains, it's all good.

Timing is everything...

"Dear Minivan Philosopher,

The right people always find each other at the right time.

Relax,
The Universe"


This message appeared in my email inbox at exactly the right time. I had been dealing with some festering anxiety (R-PTSD symptom flareups) about the upcoming lack of time with 007 due to school schedules and family vacations.  I have been so happily spoiled these last six weeks; how was I going to make 10 days without being with him? I tried to stay awake as long as possible last night so I could create a memory map of him to recall when I really started to miss him. The little anxiety voice was getting louder and at 5:15 a.m. it was downright obnoxious.  So when the alarm went off and I checked my email, there was that message from the Universe.  I said "thank you" and sighed the anxiety out of me. I became calm and peaceful, again.

The old wise men and women all say that timing is everything.  And I truly believe it! I don't think I would have been ready for 007 a few years ago or even last year during my cancer treatment (although he would have been a great partner to have by my side).  Nor do I think he would have been ready for me before now.  Even though we have been attracted to each other since we met and friends before now, we each had to continue on our separate journeys, to make mistakes, to learn and to grow, to forgive and to let go.

We are still navigating our own journeys but they are made a little nicer and a little sweeter because part of our respective journeys now includes each other.

And although ten days will feel like an eternity compared to how much we have been seeing each other, it's not forever.  I'm definitely looking forward to the "reunion".

007 is the right person for me at this time.  I am thankful. And dear Universe, I am relaxing.

No longer "A Dozen" but "My Dozen".

Hardboiled
Scrambled
Organic
Cracked
Raw
Over Easy
Sunny Side Up
Poached

2003. January. Cold. Big Belly.  Pregnant with apprehension.  Pregnant with resentment.  Pregnant with anxiousness.  Just go.  Quit making your children cry. Empty heart.

2003.  June.  Hot.  Big Belly. Baby (the Sage) sleeping in my arms.  Ladybug & Rockstar by my side holding my hands. Just go.  Quit making your children cry. Empty heart.

2003. August.  Hot. Just go. Quit making me cry. Empty heart.

Present day.  Cold. Windy.  Not so big belly anymore.  Ladybug living in Portland.  Rockstar &
Sage by my side holding my hands.  How is my heart?

Hardboiled
Scrambled
Organic
Cracked
Raw
Over Easy
Sunny Side Up
Poached

A dozen years have almost gone by.  A dozen to match the number of years I was married.

For a long time, I dwelled on the fact that I have been alone without a significant other during these last 12 years.  Yes, I've had 'relationships'.  Some have been more heartbreaking than others.  Some have been fleeting.  Some were good.  Some started good.  Some ended good.  Some did not.  I kept thinking there must be something wrong with me.  I kept asking the universe why was I still alone?  If I'm going to be alone and single the rest of my life, please make it very clear so I can quit hoping. This was the sort of message I had been internalizing or verbalizing when stuck in traffic.  But I'm trying to change.

A good friend of mine that I met through shaking meditation once said to me to change my perspective & to change the statements from focusing on what you want less of to what you want more of.  For instance, "I want to cuss less"  re-worded "I want to have more loving words come from my mouth."  "I want to quit being fat," re-worded "I want to be more healthy."  Pretty simple.

Today while stuck in traffic, and after a particularly melancholy evening dwelling on my 12 years of aloneness, I thought that perhaps my dwelling on being alone has perpetuated it.  I decided to shift my messages from the negative and focus on the positive of being the leader of my own single life. 

I have enjoyed personal freedom.  I spend my money as I want.  I sleep in the middle of my bed.  I go where I want when I want. I say yes when it benefits me and no when it doesn't.  I have met some of the most amazing people.  I have not had to live in a house with someone who did not want to be my partner.  My heart is free to love and to be hurt and to love again.  I have proven that I can survive. I make my own happy

There have been many more positive things about being single these last 12 years than cons.  And I am hopeful that one day there will be someone who will come into my life and continue to add to those positive aspects. 

My dozen, when perspectives shift, is a beautiful rainbow of colors, butterflies, and twirling swirls repeating as often as happiness can. Sunny Side Up.

30 days hath September...

And a busy thirty days it has been!
Lots of tests, procedures, doctor visits  and more.  Mostly brought about because my insurance resets on October 1 and I have to climb that steep deductible hill all over again.  So instead I pushed to get as much done before October 1 as possible all with good results, too!  My PET scan came back all clear again - "grossly unremarkable" said the doctor.  Then my blood tests came back all normal.  So my port was successfully removed on the 22nd. Saying I am so happy to have it out is an understatement.  (I am thinking that perhaps when I pass the five year mark, I will get a tattoo over the scar.)  And then finally today I had my one year follow up colonoscopy and it too came back clear!  They want to see me again in three years!
The monitoring/maintenance plan will consist of blood work every three months for four years and a CT scan every six months for the next two years.

I have also cut my hair short with great results.  My post chemo hair is so wavy.  I used to have straight straight (did I mention straight?) hair.  So having all this wave is quite interesting.  Friday night I was told I looked like Katie Couric (which I have heard before) and also Princess Diana which was a new one for me.  Then this morning's nurse also said Princess Diana.  I am very much flattered.

It seems I've been struck by Paco Rabanne's Million again at Café Eau but this time he's an Italian pilot.  Stay tuned, the philosopher's phase 2 could be really really interesting.

A fortnight of emotions

What a fortnight this has been!

I had a wonderful visit with my mother and her companion (#teamgary) in Florida.  Four days of bliss at the beach watching the waves slow dance with the shore, lounging by the swimming pool, attending a University of Florida football game and sipping rumchata nightly.  It was my first trip to Florida without children in nine years.  It was soul restoring.  It was long overdue.

Initially I started this blog posting out of a need to get on paper all that has happened in the last two weeks.  I started writing but it felt too juvenile.  So I started editing it, then it felt too restricted and self-censored.  I was staring at the screen frustrated at the problems I was having at writing this post.  So I walked away and did other things still mulling about which approach would be best, what words should I use and more.  And I realized that my frustration was self-induced.  No matter what I write or how I write it, I will always think it could have been better.  And that self-criticism and self-judgment was impeding my writing today.  So I said to just fuck it, write it - whether it rambles, is in bullet points, whatever just get it out.

So here goes.....

I wish I had a river to float away on... (just something I wrote today)

Never in the farthest reaches of my mind did I think I would be burying my wife before we would have spent years graying and losing our hair, getting fat and having our joints ache and creak at every move.  No I never thought that our time would be cut short.  Never thought I would be a widower at 48.  Never thought I would be this intimately connected to grief. No I thought we were going to be together forever.  But forever would have been too short too. 

Oh my sweet;

Oh my heart.

The first time I saw her, she was singing.  I had finished with some court business and needed a drink.  I didn’t know it was karaoke night.  I had just about walked out when I heard her sing.  It was hauntingly beautiful; it cut straight to my core and shook it, violently.  Her voice upturned my whole world.  I walked mesmerized to the bar and never took my eyes off her.   Nor did I take my eyes off her our whole time together.  Even when I slept, it was her face, her smile, her laugh in my dreams.  But the real thrill was opening my eyes to see her lying next to me, my dream come true. How am I supposed to manage now only seeing her in my dreams?

I couldn’t believe my luck.  Here, the most beautiful woman in the world let me in hers.  She let me love her; she let me make her laugh; she let me wipe her tears and caress her hair and hold her close.  She let me kiss her; she let me make love to her.  She let me listen to her sing. She let me love beyond what I thought was humanly possible.  And we were happy, so happy.

When she was diagnosed with cancer, she looked even more beautiful to me.  We approached the news with heavy hearts and minds.  The doctors said it was a complicated case.  We tried everything conventional and everything alternative.  We flew across the country seeing specialists, getting IV therapies, seeking second, third, fourth opinions.  Many sleepless nights I scoured the internet for any news, any hope that we would be able to cure this horrible disease.   She was my world, the reason the sky was so blue and the stars twinkled at night.

I felt helpless as she took the treatments and I watched her body, at first, rally and fight the cancer.  But  the days extended to months and once we passed the projected one-year mark, we both knew that her body wouldn’t be able to fight for much longer. 

I remember when she told me she was done fighting:

With tears spilling from her eyes, she said she didn’t want to do any more treatments.  She was tired and couldn’t bear to deal with any more medicine or the side effects.  She said that she wanted to use whatever energy she had to hold my hand and lay in my arms.  She said she wanted what days we had left to be about us and not about doctors and cancer.  She said “I’m absolutely and totally devastated and gutted that I won’t be around longer.  But I’m done being sick and I’m done being angry.  I just want to be surrounded in your love.  Will you do that for me?”  I grabbed her and pulled her to me, my tears never enough to relieve the sadness inside.  “yes, yes” I whispered to her.  And we just stood there, holding each other.  I felt if I held on to her, no one, and especially not cancer, could take her from me.  So I stood as tall and strong as I could and let her pour her heart and soul into mine.  I would carry all that she needed.  I would be her protector.

After she made the decision to end treatment, her body had a slight rebounding.  I naively hoped that it was a sign that she was getting better and wasn’t actually dying.  But about a month later, it was rudely evident, like a serrated-knife cutting skin rude!  Looking back, I’m glad we had that month.  We did as much on her bucket list as possible.  She asked me one morning to take her out again on the bike.  She said she was feeling strong enough to hold on and wanted to enjoy the sensation of the speed, the wind and the vibration of the bike again.  I’m telling you, I took us on the longest, most beautiful ride ever.  I tried to look at the scenery from her perspective and I think God made the colors that much more vibrant, and gave the wind a touch of cool.  I could feel her smiling behind me and every so often, she would just give me a little squeeze.  I whispered back, I love you too.

I hate this.  I hate remembering!  I don’t want this to be past tense.  I want her here.  I want to be touching her and holding her.  I want to be kissing her again.  I want to see her walk through the front door.  I want to listen to her sing again.  I don’t want to be talking and thinking about the last time we did this or we did that.  I want to wake up from this horrible dream and see her smiling face lying beside me.

When we made love, time stood still for us.  Even on those instances (they were RARE instances) when I came too quickly, time still stopped for us.  Our lovemaking was beyond instinctual; it was as if our two bodies were made exactly for each other.  Everything fit so well from our brains to our souls to our body parts.  I would say that when we made love, it impacted the universe but I might just be overcompensating for the fact that she is gone.  But I do know that it changed me, every single time.

The last time we made love, she initiated. 

She said “please honey.  Would you make love to me? “

I stammered “won’t it hurt?  I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t think so.  Take it easy and slow, sweetie.  Please.”

“okay.” I hesitated. “ I’m scared though.  I might break you.”

“Then dammit, fix things so you won’t break me.  Christ, I just want to get laid!  Did you forget that I have cancer and I’m dying!?”

I looked at her shocked.  I stammered over my words, “I, sorry, I , oh, uh, gawd, give me a minute. I’ll be right back”.

I left the room so I could get my shit together. 

Bear with me, the  memories are just...

After a few deep breaths, I returned to our bedroom.  She was sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to the door.  Her shoulders were drooped and I could tell she was crying.  She said “I’m sorry, dear.  I’m just scared.  I wish I weren’t dying,“ she paused to catch her breath between sobs, “I only wanted you to make love to me so I could feel you inside once more.  To have time stop for us.””   She turned to look at me.  Her eyes were swollen from the tears. Her body was so much thinner than I remembered.  Her remaining hair was doing a poor job of hiding her skull.  The scars from her surgeries, the stretch marks from childbirth and that spot by her heart where the chemotherapy port used to be, glistened and shimmered in the light from the windows. 

“God you’re beautiful.” I said and walked over to her.  I took my time with her.  I touched every inch of her body making a mental map. I held her close and made love to her to last for an eternity.  She cried when I entered her.  I thought I was hurting her.  I asked her if I should stop and she said “no, please don’t ever stop loving me.  Don’t ever stop.”  I replied back that I loved her more than I could ever show.

Afterwards in our bed, cuddling and talking, she took my hand and weaved her fingers in and out of mine.  She looked up at me and said, “Darling, I keep thinking I need to tell you how much I love you and how sorry I am that I got cancer.  I keep thinking that I need you to know how thankful I am to have been your friend, lover, wife and that if I could change things, I would stay alive forever to be with you.”

I tried to shush her but she continued.  “please know all these things.  Please know that for everything I have said, there is so much I didn’t know how to say; that my love for you goes deeper than the words available to describe it.”  She wiped her tears.  “And that there would never have been enough time.  But I thank you for everything.  Everything.”  She sobbed through those last words.  I can still hear her say it.  I can still feel her chest heave with the tears and the breaths.  I can still feel her body fall into a slumber while I held her.  And I can still feel the sting of my tears.

She didn’t last much longer. 

She was surrounded by her family, her children, a few close friends and me.  I was sitting beside her cradling her in my arms, her children touching & holding her as well.  The morphine eased her pain.  I told her it was okay to go.  That I loved her and I always would.  And with her eyes closed & using all the strength she had left, she squeezed her kids’ hands, took three breaths and stopped.

And she was gone.

Just like that.

I hate cancer!!

My friend from my weekly support group is now in hospice care. She is 42. She did everything right. She is simply amazing. Her husband & 2 daughters are so devoted. There is sooo much love there. I can't stop crying. Crying for them & for me too. I hate cancer & what it does to people. I ask every day why did this happen to me? Have I been spared/cured? If so, why? How long do I have? What should I be doing? Why does the body turn on you? Why? Why? Why? It's just a matter of days now. She is in a lot of pain right now. That her pain will be over is a small, very small,  comfort.
Is it selfish that I am so thankful it is not me on hospice? I hope though that whenever it is my time, that I carry myself with the grace & courage she has. But I don't want to face that for decades upon decades. Decades.
Sorry. I'm a bit of a mess. Alone in the dark, a mess. My heart is so heavy for them; and then my own emotions for me come crashing like waves on a beach before a hurricane.
Sigh, exhale.

One year ago I was clueless....

It feels so strange to be here. It seems surreal that one year ago I had NO clue what I was about to be faced with, undergo and overcome. Last year at this time I was nursing a confused, sad heart. I had no idea that my colon was nursing a cancerous tumor. No idea.

It was a little overwhelming for me today as I set out on my usual lake house walk to recall last year's vacation and the innocence I had. I look at the flowers, the farmhouses, the baby chipmunks differently now.  I felt slightly jaded as I walked on feet that still feel stumpy but are improving daily (approximately one millimeter per day). Gone is the feeling of youthful hope and joyful wind breezing through my soul. There is a quiet tentativeness instead. Believe me, I am happy to be alive and to be done with these last twelve months, but I'm just way more emotionally cautious now. Your life can change in a flash. And that flash can feel like forever. And ever. And ever.

I am happy to be here. I've got my stack of library books to read. And, they've got wi-fi here now. (Insert smiley face emoticon). It's just different now. It won't ever be the same. Nor will I.

The one-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis is ten days away... I'm betting I'll be spending a lot of time remembering this time last year. Pardon me while I retreat into my soul for a few. I'll be back. I promise.

Sparky 2006-2014

The first time I saw him I knew he would become a part of our family.  I was sitting in the minivan with the kids just after church and I spotted two young beagle/lab(?) mix puppies sauntering back and forth across the street having so much fun.  I could almost hear their laughter from the smiles across their faces. 

The children and I worked with another family to corral the two dogs and put them in their backyard.  We fell in love with both dogs immediately but I knew I wouldn't have the stamina to have two puppies.  We left both dogs with the other family for our weekend trip to my brother's place in Oklahoma.  When we came back, the other family asked if we wanted one of the puppies.  We jumped at the chance and crossed our fingers that we could have the one they had named Sparky.  We brought him home that hot August day in 2006.  We were all thrilled.  I was thinking I must be crazy to take on a dog along with raising three children (11, 7 and 3) by myself.  But somehow I knew he belonged with us.

He fit right in.  He bonded with my ladybug and became truly HER dog.  Whenever she was around, he preferred her.  He would tolerate the rest of us but his heart was glued tightly and forever to her.  They played together.  She nursed him through his recovery from the neutering procedure.  (He was approximately 9 months old when he joined our family).  He followed her wherever she went.  He was her best friend.

Ladybug started playing the saxophone in 6th grade that year.  She would sit on the back porch practicing her scales and her lessons while Sparky sat beside her, howling and singing right along with her.  They were my very own lounge act.  I loved it.  She loved it.  And Sparky loved it.

He also loved to hide his prized possessions.  One time my sister gave Sparky (and our other dog Toby - we got him a year after Sparky & that was when I KNEW I was crazy) some chew toys.  Sparky loved getting chew toys and going to work immediately on them. However chew toys that resembled a bone were like gold to Sparky and he would set out to find the best hiding spot for it.  The scene would go like this:

Sparky would lurk around with the 'bone' in his mouth casting sideways glances at the two-legged and four-legged inhabitants, assessing who was watching, was it safe to hide it.  When he felt it was, he'd 'hide' it (maybe under a shoe or next to a back pack or under his sock collection).  And he'd walk back to the living room with the rest of us.  Toby would go 'find' the bone, retrieve it, bring it to the center of the room and start chewing on it.  Sparky would look at him with disbelief that it was found.  He would be thinking "How does he know?  Every. Single. Time?"  Sometimes Sparky would go so far as to hide it outside.  Toby would go out a few minutes later and bring the bone back inside.   Toby would chew on it for a few minutes and then abandon it to sit in the picture window barking at the falling leaves or two-legged creatures who might be breathing one street over. 

Once abandoned Sparky would tip toe back to the bone, pick it up in his mouth and start looking for a better place to hide it.  As long as you were watching him, he'd act like it was no big deal having a bone in his mouth.  Once he thought you weren't watching him, he'd hide it again.  Maybe this time in between shoes or besides the foot of the couch always making sure to creep away from it in order to not draw attention to it.  Within seconds of Sparky hiding it, Toby would be picking it up again.  This would go on for hours.  Watching this dynamic would leave us in stitches.

He loved going on walks around Carondelet Park.  He had to put up with being on a tandem leash and having Toby pull and bark the whole time.  When he did get to go on walks solo, he seemed to relish in the peace and quiet and attempted to pee on every tree, bush, fire hydrant, and mulch pile.  One time Ladybug had him on a walk and when they returned home, Sparky was sopping wet.  I asked what had happened and Ladybug told me through her tears and laughter that he just fell in Boat Lake.  Walking along minding his own business and not paying attention, splash! he went into the water.

He loved his sleep and especially on the big bed in Ladybug's room.  If you entered the room after they had retired for the night, he growled and barked so ferociously that if you didn't know better, you'd be concerned he'd bite your head off.  He was simply being protective.

When Ladybug went off to college and I started my chemo treatments, he followed me around.  He laid on the flokati rug beside my bed; he snuggled next to me on the couch in the basement; he laid beside the couch in the living room.  Wherever my tired, cancer-fighting body was laying he was there.  He would follow me to the kitchen, to the bathroom, outside, to the laundry room.  He became my shadow.  But his heart was still betrothed to Ladybug.  Sometimes when we would Facetime, Sparky would hear her voice and spend the whole convo trying to find her.  We thought it so cute and endearing at the time not thinking that maybe his heart was hurting with her absence.

I thanked Sparky last night for helping me through my chemo treatments, for being there when I couldn't breathe (a side effect of one of the drugs) and giving me a calm, loving face to focus on as I attempted to relax and get air back in my lungs.  I thanked him for keeping me warm all those fucking cold winter days/nights when the cold sensitivity made being anywhere painful.  I apologized to him that I couldn't help him get better.  And I thanked him for staying alive long enough to let Ladybug hold him close and kiss his face while he was put to sleep. 

Our hearts are breaking. Our grief is real.  We loved him so.

 

Sparky

2006-2014

RIP

Boys to Men

There was a small pile in the hall outside the Sage's room. I asked him what the pile was for, why was it there? He replied, "To donate to Goodwill, Mom."  I said "Oh that's right, Thursday, yes."

I looked closely at what he was giving away. It was clearly things he didn't need anymore. I got a little choked up when I saw the Spider-man sheets & the Scooby-Doo pillowcases. I don't have any more little boys in the house. Ones who would run & jump from couch to chair or who would fly from room to room with action figures in their hands & superhero capes fastened to their Jammie's. No more little boys asking to watch Shrek or Monster House for the millionth time. Or who would stand atop their red wagon outside belting out Sonia Dada's "lover lover you don't treat me no good no more" because I played it too many times while driving the minivan. No more little boys who were thrilled to receive a balloon for no reason or who collected Yu-Gi-Oh cards or built elaborate cities first with their Thomas the Train sets and then next with their Legos.  No more little boys who instinctually held my hand when walking with me or who didn't think twice about kissing me good night.  And who very innocently declared that I must have been the girl James Blunt was singing about in his song, "You're Beautiful".

No somehow, someway when my head was turned or I was napping on the couch, my little boys grew up. They have bigger beds now to hold their bigger feet. They watch MTV2 & laugh uncontrollably. They Facebook & Twitter & Instagram. They play hard and sing loudly "their songs" not mine.

But even though they're growing up, they still hug me, still talk to me about everything (and I mean EVERYTHING!). They don't hold my hand when crossing the street but they put their arms out to stop me from getting hit by the car "that just appeared out of nowhere." They listen to me as I go through chemo & do what they can to ease my pain or discomfort. We laugh & joke & cry together.  But instead of them only leaning on my shoulders, we lean on each other's.

Yes I am a bit sad that my little boys are gone, but I love the men they are becoming.  And so I move the donation pile to the front door for Thursday. It's okay. It's all okay.

Super weird, new normal or an anomaly?

Nine weeks left. 
I have managed to survive this week's polar vortex (for those not in St. Louis - 12 inches of snow, 20 below zero wind chills, more snow, more freezing temps and now 7 hours of rainfall...).  I have worn lots of layers, got me some fancy silk long underwear that has really been worth the $$ I spent.  I used up almost all of my "toe warmers" as I couldn't leave the house without them.

Thankfully, I have three able-bodied children who did shovel the snow so we could get out of the house.  There was no way I was picking up a shovel!

Homecoming

Ladybug is home from college on Christmas break. It feels good to have us all back together again under the same roof. We have missed her a lot!

I'll write more later. I'm tired now from driving 11 hours in two days. But it was so worth it.

Feeling very blessed.

Hope you are too!

Delicious Ambiguity

I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity. - Gilda Radner

I wanted the perfect ending too. I wanted to have the perfect life. I wanted others to envy my life like I envied theirs. I was jealous of the happiness that seemed to be everywhere but in my soul. So I mimicked. I tried to replicate what I saw others doing. But no matter how I succeeded in following the paint-by-numbers direction, no matter how ‘beautiful’ I made it all appear, I was not having the perfect life nor the perfect ending. The happiness eluded me. And I cried, quietly and softly, inside for years. With every attempt to renovate failing though, my tears got less and less and resignation set in. My heart’s desire to be happy extinguished. No use continuing to try to appear perfect or to strive for that perfect ending I saw everyone else having. Life for me was always going to be gray with the occasional fleeting bursts of sunshine. Because no matter how hard I tried it wasn’t working. Why were others happy and I wasn’t?

My first memory of trying to manufacture or manipulate happiness was back in high school, I successfully stepped in and filled the shoes of a beloved classmate whom everyone loved. She had it all, I thought. She was blonde. Vivacious, outgoing, happy. She made you feel that the moments she spent with you were as valuable to her as it was to you. I wanted to be her. So when she moved, I did all the things that she did. I did the same activities. I even ran the same sport in track. And it worked. At the end of the next year, a boy, whom I had a crush on, commented to me that I reminded him of her. And I was thrilled but also sad because even though I had succeeded in becoming LIKE her. I still was NOT her. And I NEVER would be. I would always be Michelle. I couldn’t ever be anyone different. So I decided that I wanted people to like ME for who I was not for whom I made them think about.

(You might think that was the only lesson I needed to learn about manufacturing happiness. But no, I need multiple lessons before brilliance sets in.)

So for the next 20 years I didn’t try to be anyone but myself. BUT I followed the instructions laid out for me by many previous generations and influences in my life. I tried to amass those things that were necessary to make me happy to give me the perfect life, the perfect ending. Where people could look at my family’s photo and think, “Wow. What a great looking family! They look so happy!” I graduated high school (with grand hopes for my future), went to college on scholarship (still hopeful), got married (cause that’s what you did and everyone else was doing it and they seemed happy), went to graduate school on scholarship (having multiple degrees means you’re smart which if you’re smart, you have to be happy), had one baby (because people who were happy had children), started creating my career path (earning money naturally makes you happy) , bought a house (a mortgage means you are grown up and grown ups are happy), had another baby (mothers with multiple children are, naturally, happier than those with just one), got another job (earning more money had to bring me happiness), bought a bigger house (I had to live on this one particular street because every time I walked on it, everyone there seemed so happy), got a dog (pets are important for happiness, I read it in a magazine.), got laid off (oh wait, what about the money equaling happiness part?), saw less and less of my husband (oh wait, I’m raising two kids basically on my own. I’m still not feeling happy and now I’m getting angry), got another job but on a different career path (I could make everything right again if I were employed; life would have to get easier and happiness would then come), had another baby (another child would be the perfect antidote to the misery that was enveloping my life; the child would make me happy), and I began screaming and raging inside because my ‘perfect life’ was far from it and I didn’t want that ‘perfect life’. Happiness had eluded me at every turn and at every attempt so far. I woke up from my years of resignation and knew there had to be more to life than I was getting. And I was determined to change my path. My perfect ending, my perfect life was not what anyone else could describe or plan out for me. It was inside me the whole time. I had just been afraid of living it. I didn’t know where it was going to take me but I knew that it was going to be perfect… for me.