Chapter 2 - I hope

Remembrance - reposted from blogs on 9/11/09

2010-09-12T09:46:00.002-04:00

Today is Patriot day or more ominously, 9/11. Many of you have your own stories to tell about that day and the days surrounding those horrific events. Just as when our parents remember Pearl Harbor or the day JFK was shot, we will remember what we were doing, thinking and feeling that Tuesday morning 8 years ago.

On Tuesday September 11, 2001 I was employed by a major airline. My normal role was as the manager of a small team dedicated to employee recognition, meeting and event planning and the assurance that all corporate initiatives were completed by the 32000 worldwide employees in my division. Basically we spent money on fun. It was by far one of the coolest jobs I have ever had. I was also trained for the airlines SAP... special assistance program. The SAP was the go team in the unlikely event of an airline “incident”. I had dual responsibilities including data reconciliation, procurement and as a survivor assistant on the incident site team.
That morning I was working from home, prepping for my proposal presentation for an upcoming division meeting. My husband was living 600 miles away, my daughter was in AZ at college and my son was in his senior year of high school was still asleep. My son was being incredibly difficult that morning, basically refusing to get out of bed and get to school. I, at one point went to get something out of the car he had been driving the night before when I found 2 unopened bottles of beer under the driver’s seat. I was incensed. As I ran back in to the house, I head Peter Jennings say a small plane had hit the twin towers. I had an amazingly strange feeling come over me and I knew, life was about to change. I succeeded in getting my son out of bed by telling him about the crash. As we watched the beginnings of what would ultimately be non-stop coverage, I called our control center. No sooner had I been connected than the 2nd plane hit. I could tell by the colors, it was our plane. There is a sick sense of relief in the airline industry when there is an “incident” and you realize that it’s not your aircraft… As I waited on hold for confirmation that the team was being activated, I began to plan. If I had to leave to work the crash, what would I do with my son? Could my husband get back in town? At that point, the scope of what was happening seemed to only affect my world. I was not yet entrenched along with millions of people around the world, in the gravity of what was happening.

As a SAP team member we were required to keep a suitcase packed with enough clothing to last a week, stored in your car. Ideally the team should be ready to travel within an hour of an incident. I had used my suitcase the prior week to attend a hockey tournament in Boston. As I waited on the phone for confirmation that I had been activated, I asked my son to help me. I sent this poor 17 year old down to the laundry room to grab 5 pairs of panties, 2 bras and so on… when would that ever be appropriate?

I received the confirmation I needed and contacted my husband. My husband had been in a meeting and no idea what was happening. I told him I had been activated and needed to leave. He told me he loved me and to be safe and that he would figure out the next steps in terms of our son. We didn’t know at that time there would be no air travel for days, we didn’t know there were other aircraft under attach. There was just so much we didn’t know. I was packed and ready to go. I looked at my son, so young. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew I had to leave. I grabbed my son and held him tighter than I had ever held on to anything or anyone. He was shaking. I looked him in the eye and said, “If you are ever going to be a man, I need it to start right now”. He nodded and kissed me.

I don’t remember much about the drive from my home to the command center. I only remember being hysterical for what I knew would be my only opportunity to lose control that day… As I arrived I was briefed along with those on the team. At that time we were told our plane was the second in to the Twin Towers. We were also told there were a number of planes” out of contact”. At that moment, we were told a plane had smashed in to the Pentagon. As terrible as it sounds, the question of “whose plane is it” went through the room. No one knew the answer to that question. Air travel had been stopped in to and out of US airspace. Planes were grounded immediately. I was asked to help begin the process of designing teams for where we may end up sending manpower. Ironically the company was holding a number of large scale leadership meeting in Chicago that day. We had an abundance of skilled employees should we need them. We were very well prepared for one aircraft incidents. This situation had the potential to involve many planes and many, many lives. We began to prepare for 5 teams. One to be deployed to Boston the origin of the aircraft that crashed in to the towers, one to New York, one to D.C. anticipating the Pentagon crash was ours and 2 teams marked only with question marks. These represented plane we could not make contact with. I walked around the huge room we were in introducing myself and asking if anyone had bio-medical experience. We were given information regarding one of the question mark planes. The pilot made contact and it had landed safely. We were then alerted to Flt #93. Our flight, flying too low over Ohio. The NTSB locals arrived along with the state police and FBI. We were beginning to get a clear picture that this was not just a fluke or major malfunction of the nation’s air traffic system. Flt 175, the Boston flight was reconciled and the passenger and crew list certified. The phone teams arrived and took over as emergency family contact numbers were activated. We concentrated on completing our teams. In between briefings and teaming, we secured blocks of hotel rooms in New York and Boston. These would serve as work locations as well as lodging for passenger families. The response boxes, large metal cabinets with the ability to turn a plain meeting room in to a communication center were readied for air travel. Pallets of cell phones, fax machines, printer and computers were stacked at the dock waiting to be assigned to a site. The Towers came down and word spread that Flt 93 crashed in to a remote section in Somerset County PA. The aircraft in to the Pentagon, not ours. All planes accounted for. We decided we needed 3 team readied for immediate travel. One to NYC, one to BOS and one to Shanksville, PA. The president stops all air travel until further notice. Both air carriers were give special permission by mid afternoon to have one plane go to one location. We decided to send a team to PA based on the premise that we could actually gain access and begin the next steps.

I stood on the tarmac, taken aback by the silence. We all had automatically put ear plugs in… but there was no need. While there were aircraft in every possible section of the tarmac, they were silent. I stood in between an FBI agent and 2 huge National Guardsmen. I had the list and information of those who were flying in the only aircraft in US skies. They were headed to Johnstown, PA and then by bus to Shanksville. None of us knew if the skies were safe or if the aircraft was ok. These dedicated team members, one by one boarded the back stairs of the plane to do what they could for those passenger’s families and loved ones. I read the information on my list to the FBI guy and he verified the team member’s credentials. Many of these people were my friends. Many of them were visibly scared and shaken. Most of them hugged me tight and whispered in my ear. Many asked that if something happened would I please tell their husband, wife and/or children that they loved them. I made promises that day that I prayed I would never ever have to keep. As the plane took off I cried. I cried because I was scared, because I was confused and because I knew what lay ahead.

We returned to the command center only to be told that we could send out another aircraft. The plane to Johnstown had landed safely. Boston was the next team to roll. As we prepared to board the buses to the airport, we were called back. Something had changed and we were now on a 3 hour delay. It was now roughly 6pm. I called home and got updates from my son. I called my husband. We discussed ways for him to back to our son. I called my daughter. She always wants to be in control and she so wanted to come home and watch over her brother. But I explained that I needed to know she was safe at school while I did what I was going to have to do over the next few days. At 8:00 they sent those that lived within an hour, home and the rest went to a hotel. We were now delayed until sometime in the early morning. I went home to find my neighbors in my front yard. They knew where I was and were working out who would feed my son. I came in to the house and made some calls. I was glued to the TV. We had such limited information all day that I only knew what was happening with our planes… nothing else. I had not heard about the people jumping from the towers, the evacuations from New York and all that the outside world had been watching all day. At midnight the call came to be back at the command center at 3:00.

We departed at 5:00 am. The plane was packed with SAP members, FBI, NTSB and a few AFT hitched a ride as well. The plan was to take our plane first to Newark, drop off a team and equipment and then on to Boston. I was to prep the crew, oversee the removal of equipment in Newark, re-board the aircraft and go on to Boston, set up Boston and drive back to New York to lead the team there. As we got settled on the plane, the pilot came on the PA and said that while we were welcome to listen to air traffic, it may be boring as we were the only aircraft in US airspace. They also referred to the hospitality crew, commonly known as F16 Fighter Jets that escorted us on our trip. Everyone put on their headset and listened to a succession of welcomes and sighs of relief from air traffic controllers across the country. “Glad to hear you in the sky”, “Godspeed and God bless” from those unseen but heartfelt comrades. As we began our descent in to Newark, the pilot gave the information, if we wanted to see it, we were about to fly past what had once been the glorious World Trade Center. It was devastating. Smoke still rose from the wreckage and the past 22 hours came hauntingly in to perspective.

Remembrance part 2

We had to do a short landing. The pilot told us to brace as his instructions were to land and stop. He was told that any deviation could cause problems. I had already been instructed to have the flight attendants change in to street clothes prior to landing. This directive was designed to keep them safe in the event there were media in the airport or other undesirables. The pilots had already changed out of uniform shirts in to polo shirts. We landed and immediately stopped. It was rough. As we taxied to our gate there were planes everywhere. I’d never seen more aircraft in one place before. The F16s were next to us the entire time. As we pulled to the gate we asked that those continuing on to Boston stay seated. I went with a number of others in to the terminal to meet with the team from Newark for a briefing. Some of the FBI, NTSB and ATF left our group. One AFT officer who I had sat with on the plane came and hugged me. He wished me good luck and I to him. As we were flying past the World Trade Center, a few moments before, I was in the window seat, he in the middle. He leaned over to see the wreckage with me… in that very short time as we passed by what were the towers, many of us became, emotional. He took my hand and held it very sweetly. I will forever be connected to this man I only know as Kurt. As Kurt hugged me, he whispered his well wishes in my ear, I could feel this huge, well muscled man, trained to deal with incredibly difficult people and situations, tremble. I was introduced to my escorts. 2 National Guardsmen with large guns on not only their hips, but in their hands. We made our way to the tarmac and began off loading the equipment earmarked for the local team. I was given instruction as to where I was allowed, where my parameters were. With every step I took, Guardsmen took an equal step. If I turned to the right, he turned to the right; the soldier on the left would stand guard. I was running, in heels mind you, between 2 belt loaders, one in the front of the plane, and one in the back. I think I crashed into my Guard about 20 times. He always apologized even though it was my fault. At one point I asked if we could compromise on the step to step issue. Right guard said no, left guard said yes. I told them that this process would be a lot faster in they got out of my way. I think I said something stupid like, shoot me if you have too, but get out of my way. They eased up a bit and the transfer of equipment was complete. Those of us who had left the aircraft boarded and we took off for Boston. I was exhausted. I had been operating on pure adrenalin and lots of caffeine. I tried to close my eyes for the short trip to Logan International. I remember my mind racing through what had to be done as soon as we landed. I kept thinking about my husband, kids and family. What would happen if something happened? Did they know what day the trash was supposed to be picked up? Did they know how much I loved them?
We arrived in Boston with little fanfare. The tech team unloaded equipment and headed for the hotel to set up. The site team met with the local team to be briefed and accept the official paperwork for the flight. I had been given information that 2 Logan airline employees had been passengers on 175. The employees were gate agents on their way to Las Vegas via Los Angeles. Because the local team was mostly agents, they were understandably devastated. Not only had they lost 2 beloved colleagues, but they had checked in, boarded and dispatched flight 175. They were shaken and relieved that we had come in to help take some of the pressure off their shoulders. As the team began to hear the details of the passengers and what families were already seeking assistance, the enormity began to sink in.

We were transported to the hotel where we immediately began to set up our work room. Because this was not a normal crash, there was an extra layer of security and many legalities to contend with. The tech team had us up and running within hours, we had everyone in rooms, had met with the catering teams and received our official documents regarding passengers. The normal scenario for a crash has the airline at one hotel along with the official governing body, normally the NTSB. At a nearby hotel, the American Red Cross and the passenger families as well as media and other interested parties. The reason for the separation is the need to have space and time between entities. In the case of 9/11 there were so many planes, so many people and so much detail and data that we were forced to all be in one hotel. FBI, ATF, Mass-port police, passenger families, site teams, Red Cross, the other airline and so on took over the Logan Hilton in what is normally the slowest time of year. The Hilton had actually let their seasonal staff go the Friday before. With the full to capacity hotel and not enough manpower to manage meal times for the various groups, it was decided that all “working staff” would be served 3 meals a day buffet style on what was now being called the “staff floor”. The 3rd floor had numerous meeting and banquet rooms. All entities were assigned rooms and staff liaisons. We were also given our own Mass-port security detail. A large banquet room would serve as our cafeteria. Teams were given credentials allowing them access to the 3rd floor. The elevators and escalators were guarded at all times.

The work of creating passenger files fell to me and a kindly gentleman I did not know. We worked long in to the night prepping for the intense work the next day would bring. At around 2:00am we had finished creating the files and reconciled data based on family phone calls and contacts. We had designed data bases of local businesses for the family reps to access as well as assigned cell phones and rental cars. As we prepared to close up the work room there was a knock on the door. 2 FBI agents and 2 AFT agents came in asking for, me. Ok, I thought …what now… they asked that I contact my airlines legal team back in to Chicago. I did. I was told that I would be used to read some of the data regarding the tickets that were used by what we now knew were the highjackers. I was told I would work with this team providing any information they needed. I know I was shaking. They began by asking me to dissect the ticketing data... where was the ticket sold, who sold it, how did they pay for it. Then I verified the transaction logs. This is the log that is updated every time something having to do with a ticket is touched. When did the passenger check in? Did they change their seat assignment? When did they board the plane? The gate agents were interviewed shortly after the crash as is standard practice. They would have been asked to document their activities and I was simply confirming or not, what they had stated. We worked on this until about 4:30am. As we all exchanged business cards and contact information, we started to leave the work room. One of the FBI agents asked who was responsible for the passenger files. I thought he was asking because they were so neat and organized. Nope, he was asking because they were considered legal evidence and needed to be in a sort of protective custody at all times. It ended up that I was the holder of the files. This meant that with the exception of our working hours in the work room, the files had to remain with me at all times. No problem during the day, but at night, when we closed and locked the work room, the files had to go up to my room with me. I also had to be escorted when bringing the files to and from my room. So each night I called and an FBI or ATF agent took me and my file to my room, at exactly 5:50am every day for the next 3 weeks there was a knock on my door for my morning escort. That first day, my files and I arrived safely in our room at 4:45 am… The first full on passenger family interaction day began for me just 1 hour and 15 minutes later. My escorts learned very, very quickly how wonderful I can be when someone brings me coffee.

At home things were a bit calmer. My husband couldn’t get a flight back to our son and was planning to make the drive on Friday by himself. As luck and the powers that be would have it, some sales reps from his company had rented a van and were driving on Wednesday evening. They happened to have room for one more. He arrived home on Thursday and thankfully his employer understood and allowed him to work from home for the next week or so.

Remembrance part 3

My work days began with a briefing conference call. We learned how much operating cash the airlines had on hand. This was critical because no airline was allowed to fly and no fly means no cash. It was unbelievable how little operating cash was available. While the no fly was hurting all carriers, United and American also had mounting costs dealing with the families, employees and staffing needs for those directly involved. We exchanged data on family contacts, site progress, investigational needs and next steps.

We handed out assignments to the family reps and took stock of who from each family would be our contact. We worked hard with the telephone team as they had been the link to the passenger’s families prior to the team’s arrival. At this point, it was decided that I would stay in Boston. There was little to do for the airline teams in New York. Most of the passengers on flight 175 were from the greater Massachusetts area or from the intended destination of LA. Our main focus was to do whatever we could for the families. Some required counseling and we looked to the Red Cross for almost all of those needs. I worked on the administrative and legal issues. I worked closely with the company when it came time to meeting with the families of the 2 Logan employees. The pilots and flight attendants families were not part of the group we worked with. We only worked with the passengers. I remember when I met with the FBI and AFT that first night in Boston. One of the ATF handed me a manifest. He also handed me the updated contact list. The contact list is the master document that shows who from what passenger’s family has called and made contact with the airline. At that point there were numerous contacts next to each passenger, except for 5. The space next to those names was blank. I felt as though I had been slapped in the face. I stupidly said something like… “Wow, look no one has called about these guys”. The AFT agent just stared at me. SLAP. Ok, I got it. No one would ever be calling about those passengers. In meeting with the employee’s families, I had to discuss the insurance payout and forms, payable vacation and all the details of the benefits the family was entitled to. If I can say one personal piece of advice; get your house in order. None of us know what tomorrow or even today brings. Be sure your family knows everything they may need to know about you, your past and what maybe uncovered in the event of your death.

I didn’t get off the Hilton property at all during that first week. The extent of my fresh air was on the first Friday. The nation held a candle light vigil and we observed it at the Hilton. I used one of my sisters as a lifeline, calling her when I needed a calming female voice. She “went” with me to various activities while I was in Boston, via cell phone. My sister “attended” the vigil with me from her front porch in the Midwest. While my husband and children offered me more love and support than can ever be repaid or properly acknowledged, my sister was as I stated earlier, my lifeline to the outside world. I never have been able to thank her and to this day I cannot put my gratitude in to words. The image of all the staff from airlines, security, Red Cross and victim’s families standing together holding candles was overwhelming. People pulled in off the highway and joined us. I remember seeing a group of motorcycle guys standing off to the side, holding up a huge American flag. The outside of the main entrance of the Hilton had a glass overhang. In the middle of the service I looked up…. All the candles were reflected back down on us… it looked magical and took my breath away. Slowly, everyone noticed the beautiful illumination and we were all so moved. The Logan airport Chaplin presided over our vigil. This dynamic man met with us daily as not only a spiritual guide, but as a trusted member of the community and for me, a newly acquired friend.We continued to plan and execute memorials and prayer services for the victims. We built a Viking boat, set up a service at a football stadium and ran the concession stand, planned a service for a Jewish man at a Christian church, and facilitated a service at a hall at Harvard, work with city officials to assist with parking for events and security against the media for families. At one point we began to work with the coroners to gather DNA for possible victim identification. I worked with the Connecticut State Police when a family member left her dress at home and decided she needed it to attend her daughter’s service. A trooper gained entry into the house, got the dress, and drove it to Boston. We cleaned houses and painted rooms. We took kids for haircuts and shopping for clothes for services. We cooked and served meals. We did anything and everything families needed us to do. I got little sleep but was invigorated by the challenges. I compiled a daily briefing newsletter chronicling the events for the day and updating what families were considered, completed. Once a family’s immediate needs had been met, the family rep took a step back. There is the chance of a growing dependency on both sides so we monitored our team very closely. Each evening we held a team de-brief. We all gathered in a suite and shared our stories of our day and an adult beverage. Much care was taken to ensure a minimum amount of alcohol was available. We had a fabulous team of counselors with us, for us. These de-briefing sessions were mandatory and they were a great way to gauge each other’s emotional state. It was a huge group therapy session every night. We would also announce who would be leaving the next day. Given the situation we were in, there were some relationships formed, quickly and deeply. Some were very healthy and have continued to last to this day. Some were neither healthy nor lasted. As we moved in to the second week, we began to send reps home to their own families. Our little leadership team wanted to do something special for each person as they left. The impact of this time was something that few would ever be able to express to those not involved. The evening before a team member or members were to leave, they were honored at the de-brief. Each was presented with a guardian angel pin, blessed by our new found friend, the airport Chaplin. Each was also given a book I created with photos taken from the airplane as we passed over the World Trade center. The book also included other photos, team pictures and a poem that was our team mantra. Contact information became the first page everyone looked to. When the team member boarded their flight home, they were seated in First Class and presented with a bottle of champagne by the Captain. The Captain also paid tribute to the special assistance member over the PA. I understand that on each flight, the passengers erupted in a tremendous applause of gratitude. When the flight landed at the team member’s home airport, we made sure to have their family as well as many colleagues and co-workers there to meet and greet our returning heroes.When I returned after almost 3 weeks, I asked that there be no fanfare. I was tired, sad and a bit disoriented. I was also worried about my colleague and now lifelong friend who was staying behind to close out the project. The captain did tell the other passengers and they did applaud. I did receive my champagne, still have it. On my final night, there was just me and my colleague. We had received our pins and booklets a few nights before. The team presented me with a gift, a large brass lantern. Odd I thought until I read the inscription on the front. It simply said, “You were the light that guided this team to greatness”. As I came off the airplane I saw my husband, I knew I truly have never been happier to see anyone in my life. Every fear I had suppressed for the past 3 weeks came rushing forward as he held me in his arms. I remember sobbing. Sobbing for all that had been lost, all that still was to be discovered, all I had gained and all that lay ahead.There are a million more stories I could tell you about those three weeks as well as the weeks, months and years since. I have continued relationships with members of the team, families of the victims and those I worked so diligently with. Those are for another time.

Saturday February 6, 2010 Image

2010-02-06T14:31:00.000-05:00

What a powerful word. I often think of how my image of myself would compare with the image others have of me. I believe we all have a variety of images in our lives. I think if you asked my neighbors what they thought of me, you would get an answer different from the one my work colleagues would give. I know there are many in the world who believe me to be a fairly together, well adjusted and confident woman. Sorry folks, that’s really not my image of me. Our self image recipe comes from every single aspect of our lives. As adults, we have to take a cup of childhood self worth, a pound of teenage angst, a heaping tablespoon of media influence and so on to make up how we think of ourselves and then, how we present that image to the world. Then the world cooks it all up and creates its own opinions.

When I was growing up, I had a number of conflicts in my heart, head and home. I was what would be called the “fat kid” in my family. I find it ironic that the teasing and mockery about my weight came from inside my home rather than from school mates as is the norm. This isn’t a statement of blame or intended to harm anyone. It’s more about how what is said in an attempt to help can be so wrongly misinterpreted in the moment. It’s amazing to me how so many years later, a little song a family member made up and sang very loudly, very often, now comes in to my head as I’m on the treadmill.

The public image of my family was very different from what I knew to be true. When I was a kid, what happened in your home, stayed in your home. We didn’t have families showing up on Jerry Springer to air dirty laundry. Many of my friends had similar issues where the image of their home life was vastly different than what went on behind closed doors. In retrospect, you think back and wonder why your friend’s mom never came out of her bedroom or why you never interacted with the father. What was the story with the aunt living in the basement bedroom? Why did one kid in the neighborhood always seem to lurk at other houses at mealtime? I’m pretty sure that in our electronic, gotta have it now world, more people know more about each other than ever before. I’m not sure that is such a good thing.

I’ve recently discovered how easy it is to make judgments and create opinions on the image people portray online. We have created a society that decides self worth in under a minute based solely on a picture and a paragraph. We discard people because they don’t look how we want them to look or are not great writers. I’ll admit I do it too. I have a friend who felt I needed a push to the next phase in my life and set up an account on an online dating site. She posted a picture and wrote a bit about me. I found this out when e-mails began coming to my mailbox touting, my ideal match had been found! I quickly scanned the photo and the first line or 2 and moved to the next. Nope, nobody there for me. Then I realized, these “matches” had not made the choice to contact me. We had been matched based on some unknown criteria. Each of us was sent the others information and it was up to us to make the first move. I panicked at the thought of these men actually attempting to make contact with me. What was I supposed to say or do? Did people really meet this way? Was I even ready? As I continued to dabble in this new frontier, I began to discover some interesting if not funny things about men. OK, I know a lot of funny things about men but I think I am beginning to learn more about how they think.I love the profile that begins with a statement like, “I want a lady who is willing to put my needs above all else”. The next line talks about his love for his cats. No way. There was the guy who described himself as highly intelligent, wealthy, well educated, well connected, successful in business, a great father and so on. He is looking for a female (yes he used that word) with no higher education, no outside interests, looking to “be faithful to me but understand my need for exploration”. What the heck in my profile matches this garbage? I have to say he closed our connection almost immediately. His reasoning, the distance between our hometowns was too great. He lives in the next town over from mine. If you have the chutzpa to post a profile like that, have it to say you aren’t interested in a suggested match. The men that post that they are athletic crack me up. Many are but some of them look to have been athletic at some point in their lives but it hasn’t been in the last 20 years by the looks of their pictures. The pictures that show a guy with “a few extra pounds” or “husky” are so funny when accompanied by the request for a woman described as 5’ to 5’7, slender, 125-135lbs. He’d crush her like a bug. At one point I was changing my photo and as it was reviewed by the online powers that be, I was matched, picture-less. I was amazed to see the number of picture- less matches that contacted me, not to get acquainted but to say basically, let me see your picture and then I’ll let you know if you are worthy. Next time I see my late husband… he’s getting an earful for putting me in this position. This may not be the path I should be taking at this point, but at least it good for a laugh or two.

As I’ve walked through this journey my image of myself has changed drastically, both mentally and physically. I’m slowly changing from a wife and companion to wrapping my head around thinking like a single woman. I’m working hard to break my life down from everything being for a couple, to being for just one. I find myself having to think before answering personal questions so that I don’t give the answers that come to mind first. It’s interesting and very difficult to change your way of thinking. It’s going to take some time. At the end of October, I decided I need to physically change as well. Thanks to some great support from friends and family, I’ve had a significant weight loss and work out almost every day. I’ll just say, I’ve lost as much weight as my 6th month old Lab/Sheppard weighed in at the vet this week. As I’ve changed my thinking about my status, I’ve changed my thinking about food and how I eat. People have noticed and that’s great. My clothing is ridiculously too big. But as I walk past a mirror, I still don’t look. In my teenage years, I learned to look only at my face in the mirror. Because I believe I will only and always see the “fat-kid looking back at me, I avoid the disappointment. But the other day I was at a store. It was crowed and as I shuffled down an aisle, a lady with a cart pressed past me. I was forced to turn and face a full length mirror. I almost jumped back thinking there was someone on that side of me as well. But, no… it was me. I took a good long look. Looked up and down. I felt some confusion at what I saw. It wasn’t the “fat-kid”. It was an ok looking 49 year old woman. I discovered lines in my face that I hadn’t seen before. Where were those pesky double chins? Where those bones showing on my neck? As I turned I felt my face flush… where the heck was that sizable ass? It actually looked…not horrible, maybe even something close to ok. Walking away from the mirror I knew I’d quickly revert back to the old mental image I had swirling in my head. But maybe that’s not the worst thing. Maybe that image will always need to be somewhere in my head. Maybe the intended outcome of that terrible little song sung to me so many years ago, was having its intended effect. Maybe all of these things are what I need to find and embrace the image I want to achieve and portray for the next chapter of my life.

I hope so…

Wednesday 01/13/2010 Teach your children...

2010-01-13T09:46:00.000-05:00

*****Sorry for the delay, I took the holidays off!*******

I’m blown away by the number of people I know who have recently had babies or who have had babies in the past year. I’m so happy for all of these folks. All brought their babies into a world with 2 very loving parents. The bonus is that in all these cases, to the best of my knowledge, the parents truly and deeply love each other as well.

So having taken this journey myself, also with a loving husband and father, I’d like to share some of what I believe you should teach your children. Hey, I’m no expert but then really, who is?

Teach your children:
To swim.
To be kind to everyone.
To ask questions.
To listen to the answers.
All about love.
What is important to you and why.
To tie a man’s tie... even girls need to know this.
To respect the earth.
To cook.
To laugh at themselves more than they laugh at others.
To fish.
To accept responsibility for their actions.
To trust.
To find the joy in the sun shining off the water.
To save money for a rainy day.
To appreciate, effort.
To see with their hearts as well as their eyes.
Why they are loved.
The value of winning and losing.
Why and how to tip.
How to do a Tequila shot.
That it's ok to make a mistake. The value will be in how you handle and accept the consequences of that mistake as well as the lessons you learn.
To help a stranger in need.
To value those they love for their hearts more than for their actions.
To understand the past, is past and cannot be changed.
That asking for help is not a sign of weakness.
To try new foods at least once before deciding they don’t like it.
It’s OK to have dessert, before dinner.
To be watch out, they may have kids of their own one day!

I hope so…

Tuesday - 12/22/2009 Wishes

2009-12-22T23:23:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I spent a wonderful day with my parents, sisters and their families. It had snowed the night before and it was a bit gloomy outside. The long car ride to their place in the world always gives me the opportunity for my generally scattered mind to wander a little farther than normal. A bit scary given that I am driving a car but I seem to be able to do these two things at once. I was enjoying wonderful holiday music by Mannheim Steamroller and thinking about the season, when I passed a huge sign that simply said… “What’s Your Christmas Wish?”

To almost everyone who either knows me or follows this blog, my answer is seemingly obvious. As quickly as I thought of my wish, I thought about why maybe that wasn’t really what my wish would or should be. I’ve wished for many things in my life. I have been blessed with the granting of many of those wishes. But what was granted wasn’t always what I thought I had wished for. Sometimes it was better. Sometimes it was very different but turned out to be what I should have wished for in the first place. And sometimes I received what I needed more, when the wish wasn’t granted.

As a kid, it was a fabulous day, that day, every December; when the mailman brought the big Sears “Wish Book”. My brother and sisters and I would get a pen or marker and start circling anything and everything we thought was wanted or needed from the back of the big catalog. The life sized dolls. The doll houses, the roller skates and on and on. There were fights about whose turn it was to view the book, who had it too long. My poor parents. As I think back, I never really remember ever getting anything from those wish books. I don’t know that my parents ever even went through the motions of pretending to take note of the items circled… but on Christmas morning, it didn’t matter. The gifts we were given were always more than we expected and in their own way, the gift we should have wished for. All my childhood Christmas morning memories are wonderful and cherished.

One year, I wished for a Dance-a-rina doll. I wished harder than I had ever wished before for the 3 foot, ballet dancing, toe shoe wearing, big bad hair like a 1st runner up in a Miss Alabama beauty pageant, doll. If you manipulated the plastic crown on her head, after inserting 12 D cell batteries in her back, she could twirl around on her toes. Very cool. She was the hot item that year, a sure sign I wasn’t getting her. I hinted, cut out magazine ads, annoyingly sang the jingle at every opportunity but knew my parents well enough to know the chances of that 3 foot blond bombshell being my gift were slim to none. But like Ralphie and his Red Ryder Carbine Action BB Gun, I just had to keep wishing. As the day got closer, nothing even remotely sized or shaped like Dance-a-rina had been brought into the house. I don’t remember if my excitement began to fade or my stress level rose as time began to run out. One evening, my mom asked me to run out to the car and get her cigarettes. Ok, it was the early 70’s, you sent your kids to get stuff like that and, hold on... kids were sent to get the parent’s drinks as well. I do owe the fact that I make one hell of a fine martini (3 olives please) to the misguidance of parents that didn’t believe asking an 8 year old to mix a cocktail may not be the best developmental or age appropriate task. Anyway, as I pushed open the screen door, Mom yelled that they were in the back seat… who the heck leaves their cigarettes in the back seat? Weirdo. As I looked in to the back, all I saw was a pile of dry cleaning, no cigarettes. I knew if I went back in to that house without those darn cigarettes, my mom would be very upset. So I jumped in the back and dove into the pile of dry cleaning. As I crashed in to the pile… I lost my breath. Could it, no wait, yes... This was it!!! My wish, it had come true! But wait, was I supposed to find this or was this cruel trick? For many years my parents hid a neighbor’s kid’s Hanukah gifts at our house… oh God please don’t let this be one of those years… but I’ll admit, I didn’t know if I should scoop up the box and run gleefully in or if I should wipe the smile off my face and casually saunter back in the house like my world had not just collided with a parallel universe in the back seat of a Ford Fairlane…. So I grabbed the box and although it looked different than the box on TV, it was my Dance-a-rina and she belonged in the house. My mom and dad were standing at the door as I brought her in. Funny but they didn’t have the look I had come to expect. Usually when they had busted their bottoms to get one of us something special, they had a glow, an excitement to their face. So why did they look downright scared? No time to worry about them. My Dance-a-rina needed to be unpacked, batteries inserted and she needed to dance. As I began the slow tender process of getting her out of the box, it dawned on me… why wasn’t anyone offering to help me? Why was everyone watching so intently as I struggled with the box? Once I got the box open, I understood. I understood the look on my parent’s face, the need for my brother and sisters to stand aside and the reason why the box was somewhat different than the one on the Saturday morning commercials. This Dance-a-rina was, as we said back then…. Black. The room was so very still as everyone watch for my reaction. Would I accept this as the Dance-a-rina I was meant to have or would some terrible prejudice enter in to my 10 year old world? As I yelled “she’s so beautiful” a collective sigh of relief went through the entire house. The back story is that my parents literally went to every conceivable store to get this doll. At one point they relied on information from a fellow Dance-a-rina hunter who had heard about a truck load of the doll coming to a certain store. My parents made the trek and once got there were thrilled to learn that yes they had the doll. Yes they had the doll but only in the African American version. I’m pretty proud that my parents had enough faith in me and wanted so desperately to fulfill my wish that while I’m sure they were nervous, they took the leap of faith and made the purchase.

When my late husband and I had our children, we did, as my parents had, try to do all possible to make their wishes come true. We worked more than one job, worked opposite shifts, went without. Was all this hard, you bet. But it was so worth all the long hours, sore feet, sleep deprivation and the lack of extra funds to produce the great people I proudly call my kids. My kids didn’t get all they wished for, I don’t think anyone should. But the wishes that were granted and those they weren’t, helped make them who they are today.

The holidays have always been a time of giving back for my family. As a kid we always worked on projects that had us helping our community. As an adult I have been blessed to take part in some amazingly huge wish granting programs. My previous career was with a major corporation and every year the company would grant wishes for children who were part of the DCFS system. I always dreaded the day when we received the lists from thousand of kids along with their wishes. We had to do some organizing of lists and set up how they would be distributed throughout the company. Employees would come and grab a stack of wish letters and read through them until they found the one they wanted to grant. I believe there was a two week turn time between getting the wish and returning the item or items for distribution. In all the years I was involved, we were so fortunate to grant an average of 5000 wishes each and every year. The wishes were for everything from underwear to bikes. How sad to make your one shot at a really big wish, be for underwear. Think of all the times your parents got you socks for Christmas, how did you feel? Did you ever really have to wish for a pair of tightie-whities? Sadly many kids wished for items for their mom or dad. Some even wished for food. I always loved that my kids actively participated in this event. I still get goose bumps thinking about the huge trucks being loaded with the mass quantities of gifts, wishes now fulfilled. DCFS never anticipated the care and compassion of my fellow employees. The generosity was overwhelming. If a kid asked for a bike… he got the Cadillac of bikes. We were always allotted one 18 wheeler… most years we had to hire an additional 3 or 4 trucks to take everything to the agency. The sense of pride that comes along with giving back is indescribable. In many ways, my family was not the norm in our wish granting or our desire to give back. We also gave of our time and talents as well. I always wondered why some believe that you can only give items or money to make a difference in this world. Your time has an amazing value, as do your talents. Until we moved back to this area we had always participated in a huge day of service held every June. Thousands of folks gathered together to join in and paint the schools in this major Midwest town. Some years our kids joined us, but most years it was just my husband and I. I’ll always remember quite fondly the year we realized this event would take place on our 25th wedding anniversary. We never considered not attending. What better way to celebrate our accomplishment then by assisting in the painting of over 200 schools. We agreed that this was our way of, together giving back. As I write this, I’m so fondly reminded of walking in to the classroom he was painting, I had been painting the hall. On the far wall in the most obnoxious pink paint was written… “I love you more this minute than ever before… I can’t wait to see how I feel in an hour, 25 years… piece of cake! Let’s go for 25 more”. I couldn’t wish for anything more…

So, what is my Christmas wish? Of course I wish you all whatever your heart most desires. I wish all the babies recently born into my world or those just about to introduce themselves, all the love they need, all the happiness they can hold and all the best of everything. My wish for the new parents is simple, breath, trust, love and laugh. I wish for my family and friends to know all that they mean to me. I wish them to know my love for them deepens every day. I wish for my wonderful son and daughter, peace in your heart and head. I wish that they know the depths of love that brought them into this world and I wish it sustains them going forward. I wish the world would understand the closeness of a wish and a prayer… I believe God answers prayers and that God uses people to grant wishes... I pray that God answers my prayers and will help me understand why I can’t have what I truly wish for… I believe when the time is right he will…
I hope so…
Merry Christmas…

Friday 12/11/2009 snow

2009-12-11T23:34:00.000-05:00

This week my little neck of the woods saw its first measureable snow. Well at least I think we did. I left work much later than normal and as I walked to my car big fluffy flakes began to fall. It was crisp and cold and just the kind of night you would much rather be in front of a fireplace, snuggled up with someone special. I was getting into a cold car with only the prospect of snuggling up to my getting-bigger-every-second puppy. Ok I’ll admit she’s soft and warm and a pretty good snuggler but some of her ill timed nips really catch me off guard and yowza they hurt. Because she’s been in her crate for a few hours she needs to be played with as soon as I get home in order for her to be ready to climb in bed with me when I get sleepy. So the cuddle in front of the fireplace isn’t gonna happen anytime soon. Anyway, as I drove home the snow was getting ridiculously thick and it looked as if it had been snowing for hours. The roads were a mess and I was getting scared. I couldn’t see any ruts in the snow that I could follow and the snow was falling and blowing at me making it very hard to drive. Once I got off the main highway, it seemed to let up just a bit to ease many of my fears. Given how tired I was and I guess I would add stressed, both from the long day at work and the drive… my thoughts began to turn to snow storms in the past.

I've always loved a snow storm. I grew up in the Great Lakes region and learned 2 very important weather terms very early in life: Lake effect snow and wind chill factor. I lived where both terms could be jubilation or sorrow. Jubilation as the lake effect snow dumped and extra 6, 8 or 10 inches of snow causing schools to close and sorrow as it wasn’t until I think I was in high school that the powers that be understood that kids should not stand outside waiting for a school bus when it’s -70 wind chill. I can still feel that spine snapping, throat tightening zap of cold, those mornings brought. I was most fortunate to have survived the blizzards of 1979. I had planned to graduate a semester early from High School. Nope, not that I was a wiz kid or anything like that… it was pure self preservation. I loved high school… not the classes, not the learning; nope I loved the socializing… I knew that if I had a reduced schedule for the 2nd semester, more free time during the school day, I would really mess it up and possibly not graduate. So I’d love to say at this point that I buckled down and worked my ass off but, not so much. As the holidays approached, I somehow kept forgetting to go to class. I don’t really remember why but suddenly there was a letter home saying that because I ditched class I was being given 3 days of in-school suspension. Ok so what sense does that make? I hated Ms. Ienichner’s class so I ditched and then as punishment... I don’t “get” to go to her class for the 3 days before Thanksgiving. Oh darn! That really hurt. The cool thing was I had 6 hours each day to catch up on all the stuff I was falling behind in. I kept the pace up until the Christmas holiday break. I knew if I could skate through the 3 weeks after the holidays, I’d make it and graduate. We were slated to go back to school the first Monday of the New Year. However on Sunday we had the first of 2 or 3 major snow storms. Some crazy number of inches fell in record time. It was the wet heavy snow that causes all types of problem. The cleanup was slow, schools was closed for Monday and Tuesday. By Tuesday evening we were being hit with round 2 and schools were closed for the week. Friday the cleanup was progressing nicely until the next storm dumped 20 new inches of snow on top of the already dangerous amount on the ground. School was closed for a second week. But lightning didn’t strike a 3rd time and we went back to school for what should have been finals week. We were supposed to take our finals and then graduate the following Sunday. It was decided that finals for the general students were delayed 2 weeks. But they could not delay graduation. Some kids were registered for collage classes beginning the next week. So we were told to go discuss with our teachers our grades or what had to be completed to get a final grade. Bonus!!! I could so talk my way to graduation... and in some cases I did. Then came the wrinkle… I had never actually finished Freshman Biology and it had slipped through the cracks. I met with Mr. Oak… Mr. Oak was one of those guys that wanted you to think he was a jerk but in truth was a great guy who loved his wife, his kids and teaching. He told me I had to take the final the next morning and in order to pass the class; I basically had to get an A. I studied so hard but knew the odds were stacked against me. But I showed up bright and early. Mr. Oak approached me with a huge stack of papers. The room was set up with stations of slides and fetal pigs and other never needed in my lifetime before or since biology crap. I took my seat; Mr. Oak actually offered me a cup of coffee. It was meant as a reassuring gesture but it scared the heck out of me… He handed me the test packet and said to only turn it over when I was told to and he left the room. My head was spinning. I was supposed to give the benediction at graduation. I hadn’t started writing it and now I thought that might be a sign. I thought it was a sign that maybe I couldn’t write it because I knew deep down I wouldn’t be there to present it. After an eternity, Mr. Oak came back in the room. Turn the test over he said in his quirky voice…. Shaking, I turned it over… in big bold letters it said… Spell the word BIOLOGY. There was a #1 and a line for my answer. I wrote B-I-O-L-O-G-Y and turned the page. Nothing... not on that page or any of the other 15 pages. On the 16th page in Mr. Oak’s block penmanship it said... “You got an A... now go out and do the best you can to have a fabulous life”. I so clearly remember he walked over to me, kissed my cheek and said “good luck”. My heart was bursting, not because I had passed but because for one of the first times in my life I understood what it meant to truly enjoy, the joy of others. I knew how good he felt and that made me want to have that feeling too. In that moment I also knew just what I was going to say for the benediction. It took me about 15 minutes to write and a second to get the approval from Dr. Hoffman the Administrator. I’ve had this happen again recently. I had decided to do my husband’s eulogy. I felt I was the one who knew him best and it was my duty. I decided this very early Saturday morning after he had died just hours before. I had no idea if this was the proper thing to do or what I should say. I called the folks at the Pastoral care office at the hospital. They had been so kind. They gave great tips and provided some pointers that came in handy. But I still didn’t know what to write. I thought about it all day Saturday and Sunday… I couldn’t come up with anything. This was a rich, full and wonderful life my husband had shared with me and I couldn’t get a thought together to honor him. The service was scheduled for Tuesday. By Monday evening I was drained and couldn’t think clearly. I was so tired and sad and if I’m being honest, lost. I was about to let many people down, least of all was myself. I was feeling overwhelmed and decided I needed air. My house was so full of people who loved him and I needed to breathe and not talk about the past 4 days or the past 30 years. As I stood at the front door, the police officer who was with me as they tried to save my husband came around the garage. I was so relieved that he was there. I didn’t know why until later but for having just met this young man a few days before, I felt deeply connected to him. He was the only person in the world I didn’t have to explain to what had happened. As he came in I hugged him and felt myself exhale. We chatted and he met some of my family. I thanked him again and I will continue to thanks him as time goes on. He said something to me about me being awesome and if there was anything I needed, I actually don’t remember. What I do remember was that I got the same feeling I had years before on that most snowy day, with Mr. Oak. I had the feeling that this young cop knew he had made a difference when he was with me that terrible morning and he was proud to do it. As we said good bye with the promise of talking again I knew what I had to do… I had to honor the man I loved so deeply for so long by telling the world all the wonderful things about him they may not know. The journey we had taken together would be the cornerstone of his eulogy. I knew then that like Mr. Oak, my husband had taught me to bring out the joy in those around me. Like the young officer, my husband showed me how to care for someone I really didn’t even know but immediately connected with. What I had agonized over for 4 days… took about 20 minutes to write. I was proud of what I was able to express. I was able to open up avenues for others at the service to piggyback on and say what was in their hearts to say about him.

So I arrived home on that snowy night earlier this week and let my puppy out. She looked back at me as she stepped into the wet snow, possibly looking for some explanation. The she got excited and started jumping and playing and sliding. At one point she slid off the end of the deck and looked up at me as if I had done something to cause her to end up on her back. We played for a bit and went to bed. Very early the next morning she needed to go back outside, nature calls. As I opened the door… no snow? It was 43 degrees and there was no trace of the snow we had played in just a few hours before. For a moment I thought I was dreaming. But as the weather is here, I should not have been surprised. My pup was a bit disappointed. But she will learn that there will be storms of all kind that come in to and out of her life. Just as I have learned so completely that there are people who come into and go out of our lives. Some hang out for awhile… some leave before you are ready. I hope I give joy to those I meet and I take joy from our meeting. I think if I can do that more than not… I’ll be just fine.

I hope so…

Wednesday 12/2/2009 Edna

2009-12-02T22:23:00.000-05:00

Every day I am, as anyone in my situation is I believe, faced with things or people, maybe music or even a scent that reminds me so deeply of how my life has changed. But we are all in this same predicament. We, no matter our level of loss, have things around us that stir memories. This time of year for me is especially rich with memories. My friends, the professionals as I have called them before have talked with me about the power and the curse of memories. Emotions surfacing because of the holidays or the first snow fall or any number of things can be both joyous and devastating at the time.

This past weekend my incredible and wonderful middle sister came to play. We had no plans. We decided to do some shopping. We braved IKEA and enjoyed lunch at Chilies’. As we entered one of my favorite stores, Hobby Lobby, we walked down the Christmas tree aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it. The tree was 7 feet tall with pinecones, snow, berries and lights. As I stood staring, my sister commented on how beautiful it was. In the back of my mind I kept hearing a voice asking me what I was planning to do this year for a tree. There was the old artificial tree down in the basement. But could I go back to that old thing after lobbying so hard for years to go back to a real tree? Then again… a real tree… the memories…

Our first real tree was specially selected by my husband up at the family hunting camp. Our trees for many years were carefully sought out and hand cut at the end of the week at camp. He would walk around the land looking for the perfect tree. He would spot the one he thought was, the one. If it was early in the week he would call me and tell me he thought he had found the best tree ever but he wasn’t 100% sure. I knew by the excitement in his voice that he was giddy with anticipation. He was always so proud of the tree he had presented to us. We switched to artificial trees during the years we were ensconced in travel hockey. I think we had traveled on more Christmases than should be allowed. Having the fake tree made it so much easier to not have to worry about taking it down before we left. Remember, I’m a firefighter’s daughter, always concerned about the Christmas tree fire. When we moved to my current home, we once again enjoyed the luster of a real tree. Although he no longer brought our tree home from up north, we would spend a day searching our local tree farms for the tree that touched our hearts.

So there I stood. Wondering if this was what I wanted to have in my home for the holidays. My first thought was of him balking at the price. Just a small surge of power went through me. Just as quickly, the feeling of being powerless flowed. Shouldn’t I do what we had always done? I’ve heard that the more you try to make something the same as it was, before your loved one died, the more it is obviously not the same. I thank God my sister was there. I don’t know if she saw how many times I tried to walk away from the tree. How many times my eyes filled with tears. My grown up mind was telling me it was just a tree. My heart was breaking at the thought of choosing a Christmas tree by myself for the first time in my entire life. I don’t know how long I stood there but I know that my sister was kind and patient and all a big sister should be. I bought the tree. We went home and rearranged the family room to accommodate the most beautiful tree in my world. I know she would never say anything but I wonder how awkward the silence was for her. We didn’t say much as we put the tree up. Oh we talked as we moved the couch here and the table there… but when we were doing the actual tree… it was quiet. I was so afraid that if I opened my mouth to speak I would loose control. To better explain what I was feeling and thinking about... my husband and I usually did not exchange gifts at Christmas. It began years ago when money was tight. So we designed our own celebration. Late Christmas eve, after the kids were in bed, we’d finish wrapping the gifts for the kids and stuff the stockings. When everything was complete, we’d turn off all the lights, except the tree and open a bottle of Asti. We would snuggle up close by the tree and then share our gifts with each other. Our gift was to fulfill one wish, just one for each other for the entire year. I remember one year, my wish was to not be reminded about how often I stayed at work way past the end of my shift. For the next year, he worked so hard not to call me out for working too hard. I remember the year he wished that I never question his love for me. He had had a stressful year and had at times brought those stresses home. So for the next year, I stepped back during conflicts just to be sure I remembered how much I knew he loved me. We continued this tradition until just last year.

So I’ve experience another “first”. I can’t determine how I feel having crossed yet another threshold. This week will be most interesting as I have a fairly major “first” about to happen. It will be the first time in 30 years he is not here on a special day. But I’ll get up on that day and go to work. I’ll remember how special I was always made to feel on this most special day. I will be celebrating my birthday without him for the first time since I was 19. I’ve had more birthdays with him… then not. I can’t help but look back on all the fun birthdays over the years. The surprises, the quiet evenings, the dinners out and all the other ways my husband helped me celebrate. A few years ago he told me one morning that he needed to borrow my car for the day. Odd as we had exactly the same vehicles, one just one year older than the other. But I took the bait and gave him the car. I mentioned the car trade at work that day and a colleague said something like wouldn’t it be terrible if he took it to have something like an automatic car starter installed? She went on to lament about how that was the worst gift and if a guy ever gave her something like that….blah, blah, blah. I kept thinking that would be a really cool gift. Lucky me, that is exactly what he had installed on my car as a birthday gift. I was thrilled and I to this day love that he thought that much about my comfort. I also every year, on my birthday and Mother’s Day received some form of the perfume I had been wearing since I turned 21. I feel so sad thinking about this past spring. He had so recently past and I was just about out of perfume. I went to Macy’s and as I stood there it hit me. I had never purchased my own perfume. My original scent was a gift from him. I know it sounds silly to say but this was his job, not mine. He would scour the newspapers for the Estee Lauder “freebie” and then make his purchases. I can almost picture him now, charming the sales girls. But he was always so excited about giving me something we both enjoyed. I’m not sure why this just popped in to my head but years ago, when I was just about to turn 16 or 17, my mom and I were having some common variety conflicts. A few days before my birthday she kept asking me what I wanted my cake to say… I think she was trying to make conversation but I was completely annoyed. Had she not been around for the past 16 or 17 years to see what previous cakes had said? Anyway, in an effort to be a smart ass and frankly shut her up, I said, “how about happy birthday Edna”? She gave me the mother of all killer mom looks and I very quickly left the room. As we celebrated that birthday, the cake was brought to the table as those around me half heartedly sang. As I looked at the cake I saw it… “Happy Birthday Edna”. In that moment, I clicked with my mom as I never had before. To this day, she often will call me Edna. I’m sure it’s her way of re-attaching our connection. I told that story to my late husband years ago. Every year, there would be three birthday cards from him. There was the funny card, the loving card and the card addressed to Edna that would be, how can I say it…the passionate card.

I’m flooded with the warmth of these memories. I’m proud that the bitter sweet in my heart is beginning to lean more to the sweet as the bitter begins to fade ever so slightly. I plan to enjoy the day and enjoy the tree. As I’ve said before, it won’t be the same but it can be just as good. I plan not to even try to make things as they were for either my birthday or the holidays. I believe if I did and I failed either myself or my families, it would hurt even more. So I’ll channel my inner Edna and enjoy the day.

I hope so…

Friday 11/27/2009 Thanksgiving

2009-11-27T22:15:00.000-05:00

I would suspect that most of you are expecting some type of Thanksgiving piece from me. Actually, I am expecting it from myself. I expect it, but have no idea what it should be about. I guess I could write about all the things I’m thankful for and believe me there is so much... But I’m not sure I’m at the place yet where it doesn’t sound contrite or self serving. I’ve thanked many people in these blogs and I do understand that I need to continue to thank them again and again. That is the right thing to do but it is also what I feel deep in my heart I must do.

So we all know the Thanksgiving stories… the Indians, oops… Native Americans and the Pilgrims, sorry …displaced illegal residents, turkeys, friendship and football all gathering together to express their thanks for all they have. Gosh I hope people don’t wait until this particular day to tell those they love about all the wonderful things they are thankful for. It would be as sad as waiting until Valentine’s Day to tell the people you love how very much you love them.

Growing up we usually went to my aunt’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. It was ridiculous. My parents are both from good catholic stock and many of their siblings really took the “be fruitful and multiply” thing to the extreme. If my dad’s whole side of the family attended this wonderful dinner, there would be 47 people. That breaks down as the original parents, my dad and his siblings, spouse’s and then all those kids… 30 if I’m counting right. We had the required kid’s table and I’m not sure I ever graduated from there. Actually, now that I think about it, I was more towards the end of the mass procreation cycle. I always found it funny that my aunt finally had that much needed addition put on her house, after the big holiday meals were disseminated to smaller individual family gatherings. But those were great times filled with so much love and laughter. For as silly and goofy as we all were and for how different our families functioned in private, these celebrations were golden moments. Whether I was oblivious or in fact it never happened, there never seemed to be family squabbles or fights at the holidays. I’m thinking today about recent news items that have families having issues during this time of year and taking matters to the extreme. If we ever did have this type of conflict, I think my family’s best revenge was making everyone attend the Christmas meal together and then Easter and so on. That’ll teach ‘em! The food was always great, abundant and really bad for our hearts. Then again, there weren’t heart health warning posted on every food item and we all have seemed to survive. There were the years we were given a little wine with dinner, yep kids too. Was it because they wanted us to feel grown up and sophisticated? Was it so we could appreciate the blessings and toasts more completely? Or was it simply their way of mellowing out the kids so we didn’t fuss and fight? I’m pretty sure I’ll never get a completely honest answer, but it’s a very fond memory. When I was a senior in high school, we had a wild Thanksgiving weekend. My oldest sister was getting married on December 23rd. She was living on the east coast, training for her new grown-up job. Given the practice in those days, she didn’t hop on a plane every weekend to take care of the planning and the festivities. The long Thanksgiving weekend was set aside to not only wrap up the planning, mail the invitations, find bridesmaids dresses for my other sister and I, but we were to also attend 2 wedding showers. One was Friday night, the other a luncheon on Saturday. It was hectic and crazy but in my memory, fun and fabulous. I just so clearly remember thinking I couldn’t wait to get married… all the fuss, all the gifts… my kind of fun! I also remember thinking how far that was in the future. I was dating a guy, well 2; actually I think it was 3 but, whatever. There was no way I would be in this situation for years. In fact, just a year later, give or take a few weeks, I was engaged. How funny is life I ask you? I find it so ironic that my middle sister was probably thinking the same thing… and she was married roughly 8 months later. Hey when the girls in my family know they’ve found what makes them happy, loved and complete, they jump in and grab with both hands. We tend to hold on for the long haul. There was a bit of friction that weekend, just brother/sister sister/sister stuff and nothing to cause concern. We were just all growing up so fast, wanting to be heard and validated. Our little family world was changing faster than we expected. Most importantly we each wanted to be valued. But we were no longer little kids you could hand a coloring book to or give a new board game to and ask that they sit quietly and play. We were the children of 2 really wonderful and unique parents. They say that as each child is brought in to the world, then brought in to the family, they have a different set of parents than the child before or after. I thought this to be a really stupid thing to say. But it’s so true. I think of myself with my daughter. What did I know about being a mom? Who was I kidding? Certainly not her. But when my son came along, I was just that little bit more grown up, more comfortable with myself that I know I mothered him differently and maybe for the first few months, better. So as with me, my parents were the same way. My brother was born when my mom was a relatively young wife. By the time I came along, 3 kids later, she had more knowledge, was a few years older, and knew herself more completely. I would say the same for my dad. He had by then understood more about what he needed to bring to the table to not only meet the needs of his wife and children, but to meet his own needs. I treasure the fact that my husband learned from his own life growing up what he wanted for himself and his children. I didn’t include myself in that statement because that took some time for him to understand what I needed from him. Some of it was because I didn’t tell him but much was because he had a different dynamic in his home. His father passed away when he was a young boy. My mother in law, as the sole breadwinner, worked harder than almost any woman I have ever known. She didn’t have a mate to hold her at the end of the long day. No one at that time was concerned about what made her happy or sad or frightened. She, to my understanding didn’t let her kids know that she needed any of these things either. Back then, a mom didn’t discuss things like that with her children. My husband grew up thinking she was fine, just because she was the mom. I feel so blessed that I was able to spend really good time with her before she died years ago. The stories she told were fabulous and some so out of the character my husband believed her to be, that I never shared them with him. I certainly miss her. I feel so very fortunate that I have both my parents still here to tell their stories. But the Thanksgiving of 1978 was the last Thanksgiving we were all together in the house we all grew up in. Many moves, marriages, babies, divorces and deaths have happened since that weekend. All making us stronger in both mind and spirit.

So now it’s the weekend of Thanksgiving, again. So much has changed. So much is the same. I am still loved by a wild, wonderful Mom and an equally incredible Dad, an amazing brother and 2 indescribable sisters. My circle of love has continued to grown in both membership and substance. I pray that I love more than I am loved. My kids and I jumped though some major obstacles to be together for the holiday. I think we just needed to be close, allowing the ability for a hug or smile, maybe just the brush of a hand, a touch on the back. Flights were canceled, missed, rescheduled in order to get them home to me. I feel selfish wanting them near. As I saw my son walking toward me yesterday when we met up at Ford Field, he was his dad. The same semi crooked smile I fell so deeply in love with was walking toward me. I was caught a bit off guard. The hug was the same as the great hugs his dad gave too. What other wonderful qualities will I come to discover he has from his dad that I may have over looked? Only time will tell. As my daughter came bouncing down the steps to our seats for the Lion’s game, the stadium felt like all the air had been sucked up and the lighting brightened just a bit more… just like her father, she brightens the space she comes into while she takes up all the oxygen in the room. Her joy or angst is proudly worn on her sleeve, just like her dad. I have always been keenly aware of the millions of ways she is like her dad. I know as a mom I should be proud, yet I am over the moon with pride. I love these 2 creatures much more than life itself. We sat down last evening for a meal and had a chat. We talked about what we needed from each other, what we could give each other. We talked about how we miss him. I believe this will be a discussion we have many, many times throughout our lives.

So, what am I thankful for? I could go on and on. But I’m thankful that there are people in my life who love me. People in my life who love my kids. People who loved my husband and still wish to love me even though he is gone. I’m thankful for my husband and all that that allows. I’m thankful for old friends. I’m thankful for new friends. I’m thankful for friends who comfort me but ask that I comfort them as well. I am deeply thankful for unlikely friendships. I am so thankful for my family, all my family. I am thankful to God for allowing me to have 2 amazing kids. I am thankful to my kids, for all they have done and continue to do for me every minute of every day. And finally, I am thankful to all of you who have enriched my life in such an amazing variety of ways this year. I am truly humbled by your love and I thank you. Someday, when the time is right, I hope you can say the same about me.

I hope so…

Tuesday 11/24/2009 PITA

2009-11-24T08:56:00.000-05:00

Some of you are already thinking this is about food…. But nope, it’s not.
I enjoy having great banter with just about everyone. I love to tease and be teased. I have such a strange sense of humor that sometimes I hear or see things so differently than others that it gets me in trouble. I am a glass half full girl and generally assume everyone is telling me the truth at all times. So having spilled all that, I have to say that I can also be a huge pain in the ass. My late husband used to call me, as a term of endearment, a PITA.

I’m not good with surprises. At least when the surprise is on me… Oh, I love to surprise people and have done so very successfully many times. When my husband and I were in our commuter marriage years, I’d surprise him by flying in during the day, cleaning up his place, making dinner and being there when he came home. We would have a great unexpected night and I’d fly back in time to get to my office the next morning. Every so often my husband would call me in the early evening and sound sad. He would tell me how he had hoped all day that I was secretly planning a “pop-in” but was so sad to come home to an empty house, an empty tummy and an empty bed. A few years back my husband and sisters planned a surprise birthday brunch for me. The plan was to have my mom and sisters come in to town and hide out at the restaurant we had already planned to visit for brunch. I would walk in and “surprise”! But the day before, my husband was offering to dust, vacuum and wipe down the powder room. The more I suggested we wait until the next day, the more he protested that he needed to take care of the tasks right then and there. Something was up. I dogged him. I started asking questions in an effort to get to the bottom of his sudden domestic insistence. Based on his answers, I began to put the pieces together. I knew something was up and I wanted to be sure. I came out and asked him... who or what was being planned for my birthday? Of course he said no one but there was just the slightest hesitation in his voice so I wouldn’t let it go. I kept on him until he had no option but to tell me. While I was relieved, I was disappointed in myself for being a… PITA and ruining his surprise. I did run around like a mad woman to get my house in order for the next day.

I tend to be the same in business. I’ll grab on to a problem or project and throw myself in to it at all costs. My biggest issue is that I assume everyone is the same as I am… but they are not. I end up picking up the slack or taking over the whole project in an effort to achieve. So my drive, enthusiasm or passion is mistaken for me being a pain in the ass. Maybe I am ,but there is no malice or ill will implied.

I have found that in the past 8 months my PITA ranking has slipped. Am I letting more roll off my back these days? I’m really not sure. I know what bothered or upset me before is of almost no consequences to me these days. But what didn’t bother me before in some cases makes me crazy now. Is it because I have no one to be a pain to? No that can’t be it. I know I have people in my life who think of me as a pain. I push people and prod people and ask a lot of questions. I guess I do that to learn and understand. But I also understand that to some it’s just me being a pain. I think that now I step back a bit from what I used to gravitate towards. I have found myself closing my circle and selecting just a very few people to remain inside. I know that to my sisters especially, I may be reaching an elevated PITA status. I have a few friends who may soon hit the panic button as I make their lives difficult. I hope they do... I might need the wake up call. My husband would occasionally wake me up. I need that. I think we all do. We need someone in our corner who can tell us when we are crossing the line in the sand.

A few weeks after my late husband and I started dating, he turned to me at a bowling alley and asked me if I wanted to get married, that night, right then... Long story short we opted for dinner instead. The next day we were at the mall shopping for a Christmas gift for his Mother when we went into a jewelry store. He asked the clerk to show us engagement rings. I was sure he was just kidding so I went along with it. I kept telling the sales girl that he was kidding and that she shouldn’t get too excited. I picked out a beautiful set and he began talking about financing and I dragged him out of the store. The following day I came home to find Mrs. Fields cookies and a note from him. I panicked… the only place he could have purchased the cookies was at the mall. What business did he have at the mall? We had found the gift for his mom… Did he go back and get the rings? Was he serious in his proposal? We had been dating only 2 weeks! As I walked into his apartment later that day I heard him on the phone telling someone he was getting married. Again I panicked. You see, this was December and he had broken up with the girl he had lived with for 3 plus years only 2 months before. Was he getting married to her? OMG! He tried to play it cool but I had to know. I peppered him with questions, but none of them were direct questions. About an hour after I began my interrogation, he called me a PITA for the first of many, many times. I asked about the girl. What had happened to her? Had he seen her? Was she still living in the area? He wouldn’t give me a straight answer. I switched tactics. Tell me about the Mrs. Fields cookies. I asked. I poked and prodded until he had no excuse but to pull my engagement ring out of his pocket and kind of toss it to me in frustration. I had my answer, but had ruined his moment. I called myself a pain in the ass.

We laughed many times over the years at the events of that night. I suppose I’ll always be a pain to those that don’t know me or my passion and drive. I really think this may be a problem when it comes to meeting and beginning a relationship with another man. While my husband thought this was quirky and funny… not so sure it will translate the same way to someone else. Now I’m thinking I shouldn’t have to worry about what a potential mate thinks, but I know I will when the time comes. I just a bit taken a back that as I write this I am tearing up and feeling the loss of having someone to be a pain to. Good God, will this ever stop sneaking up on me? I'm fearful that I may overcompensate to someone new in order to see if they pick up my PITA vibe. That could be both dangerous and awkward. I tend to be the same with my kids but at this point, they have their own well defined coping mechanisms, allowing them to deal with me. I guess a key insight to me and how I tick is that I will generally not be a PITA to things, people or situations I don’t care or have feelings for. So please, if you think I’m a PITA, know I care about you. Also know that if I become too much to deal with, you have my permission to tell me. I’ll always appreciate the wake up.

I hope so…

Friday 11/20/2009 Unconditional love

2009-11-20T11:28:00.000-05:00

I’m in love. It’s silly and ridicules and oh so fun. The new love in my life has the goofiest face and ears that are too big. The subject of my affections has doesn’t listen to me and I am sure, while undiagnosed has ADD. My baby has horrible eating habits and the noises made during a simple drink of water are disgusting. I am often left feeling both exhausted and invigorated by the actions of this one. Alright, I’ll let you in on the secret. My new love is an 18 week old Aussie Sheppard/Lab mix. I’ve written about Bauer in a couple of blogs before. I have fallen head over heels with the first dog I’ve ever had that seems to want me to believe she could take me or leave me. My little girl is all about the hugs and kisses when I come home. She looks to me for comfort when something scares or startles her. At night she sleeps so that some part of her is touching me. Her head may be on my shoulder, her back aligned to my side or even just her paw on my arm. During the bulk of the day, she gives me the impression that I am just here as a chew toy. I’m smitten. I say all this but know that Bauer Jett knows when I need her to be my comfort. This has been a particularly difficult week. For many reasons and no reason at all. Each time my emotions back up, I have seen a subtle change in her… she bounces from demanding my attention, thereby forcing me to focus on her rather than whatever has triggered the back up or she just simply snuggles up to me or leans into my side. I believe she has just begun figure me out while I still struggle to know how to be all she needs me to be.

I’ve had many pets over the years. Most fabulous, loving and well behaved pets with unique personalities. These pets have brought spice, joy, angst, comfort and balance to me over the years. I’d like to think I gave them all they needed for a wonderful life. I know the journey of my pets as never been dull.

As a very small child we had a huge cat named Bop-Oh. I take no blame for that name; I was only a few years old. While I have fuzzy memories of the cat, legend has it that I was terrible to her. Stories of me walking past the cat, sleeping deeply on the top of the big old console television, grabbing her tail and sharply yanking her to the ground are retold to this day. Maybe the fact that I choose to perform temperature checks on the poor feline with a pencil has something to do with why I am not in the medical field. Nope, I won’t elaborate. I’ll assume Bop-Oh went to cat heaven when it was her time but have no memory of any sadness at the loss. I do believe that my relationship with the cat is why I am not a big fan of cats.

We had a succession of wonderful dogs as I grew up. Dogs that were like siblings. Jill was a pure breed lab we had for a very long time. She was the best of what a dog in the family can be. She is what I have always wanted for the dogs in my kid’s life to be. Jill could be anywhere and stay with us without being on a leash. She loved everyone we loved and protected us against all evil-doers. Jill taught me about unconditional love. She loved me without exception. I was heartbroken when it was time to say good bye to the old girl. What a treasure. After Jill, we didn’t have a dog for a short while. We had gerbils, worthless large mice in my opinion. You can’t snuggle a gerbil and gerbils are terrible with a tennis ball out in the yard. At one point we had Tadpoles. They were wonderful to watch as they slowly morphed to frogs. My mom would beg to differ. I would be neglecting my duties as a story teller if I didn’t share the …Saga of the Tadpoles. My mom loves to talk. Most of you are smiling right now, like mother, like daughter… exactly and I love her for all the ways I am like her. Anyway, we had a cord on our telephone that allowed my mom to go to almost any room in the house as she talked. I remember the day clearly. Mom was walking around cleaning; talking on the phone I had just been admiring the tadpole growth progress. As I headed outside I heard a scream like I have never heard before or since. Seems one of the Tadpoles, a touch more advanced than the others, flexed his new legs and jumped out of the bowl and down on to the tile floor of the kitchen… as mom paced and talked, barefooted I will add, she.. stepped back and squished the adventurous Tadpole between her toes. With a string of profanity that I am sure is still hanging over the house on Dell Road, she took the bowl of Tadpoles and ceremoniously dumped the contents in to the toilet and firmly flushed. There were no tears for the loss because there was no love for the reptiles.

We once took in a stray my dad had encountered. The dog was bruised and battered and seemed to have a tragic life. Her tail had been repeatedly broken and was covered with scabs. She was terribly underweight. I named her Patsy and our bond was immediate and exceptional. Patsy thrived under our care and fell deeply in love with us and we, with her. Imagining all the horrors that had happened to this Lab mix brought the angst of the world I to my own home. I learned quickly that not everyone embraces the unconditional love a dog can give. While we were thrilled with her weight gain, her tail was an issue. As she began to understand our love for her had no strings and that we would do anything possible to care for her, she felt free to express her love for us. My girl would wag that broken tail with abandon. Unfortunately her tail would connect with the wall or the door frame of whatever she was standing near, causing it to split open and blood to spray all over us. I’m certain there was a great deal of pain involved but she was so very happy that her tail just wagged uncontrollably. I’ll never forget the day, soon after my parents again commented on Patsy” weight gain and general good health that she delivered 13 very healthy puppies. All makes and models…many fathers. Seems my girl Patsy was a very popular young lady. Next came Gimlet or Gimmie for short. Gimmie was a French Canadian stray my uncle found and ultimately gave to me. Gimmie was so kind and gentle. Gimmie love me and I her. Gimmie was the first one I told I was in love with my husband. She was also the only one that didn’t either object to my decision to marry or give me a rough time about my age or the short amount of time I had known him before we became engaged. Gimmie stayed with my parents when I moved out to begin my adult life. Just after my second child was born, she came to live with us. My big black beauty forced me to make adult decision regarding her health and when to end her days on earth. My kids remember her although they were very small when she left. We remained dog-less until the kids were in grade school. We then were blessed with Kate. Kate was again a black lab and just the perfect dog for our kids. Lessons about life and loss were learned by all four of us from dear Kate. We had Kate for many years. I’ll never forget the time we were at a forest, walking round a large pond. Kate jumped in and sank… I looked at my husband, frankly stunned that he was not shedding clothing to jump in and rescue her. Once she surface, he as was his great style, calmly walked toward an area where she could walk out of the water herself. Another disaster diverted. We tragically lost Kate to a hit and run driver. While my heart broke at the loss, it broke more because my son witnessed the accident and I believe somehow blames himself. As I have learned so vividly, you should never tell someone what to feel or not feel. I do know that the events around this accident were not in our control. I hope in his life my wonderful, loving son learns to let go of what he cannot control. Maybe good advice for me as well. You’ve heard the stories of my Max, who was with us for 11 years. I never wanted a male dog and Max was all boy. He proved all my misconceptions about male dogs to be wrong. That big boy knew many of my secrets and he loved me regardless. He loved me when I was happy, sad, sick, ugly and at absolutely every second of our time together. The feelings were mutual.

As these dogs have given me unconditional love for my lifetime, I pray that I have given them what they need to be happy to have been with me. My new pup, Bauer is still trying to figure me out. While I would love to have her at the place where anything and everything I ask of her is accepted immediately, I love this time of learning we are currently working through. We ventured out to a local park yesterday. Bauer discovered bridges and fast moving streams. She had her first squirrel encounter. Both of us came dangerously close to spending quality time in the river as Bauer attempted to swim with the ducks. Thankfully I caught us at the last possible second. I trust that as we move through our time together she understands my love for her. She will most likely be a very different relationship than I have ever had with a dog. This is the first dog I have raised solely on my own. This is the first dog I will raise with such a different understanding of the fragility of life. What is causing a lump in my throat is that Bauer never knew my husband but every day when she does something funny or wonderful I have to stop myself from reaching for the phone to tell him all about it. I know this will pass. I hope I learn to be a bit more unconditional in my love for not only those in my life but for myself.

I hope so...

Monday 11/16/2009 Truth be told

2009-11-16T10:45:00.000-05:00

I’ve never found men with long hair attractive but a nice shaved head or close cut is looking kind of hot lately.

I owe the fact that I actually graduated from High School, to the Blizzards of ’79.

I can be easily persuaded to do almost anything, by food.

I took part in a major prank in High School and didn’t get caught

My energy level is either 125% or zero

Part of why I got married at 19, spite

I can watch Law and Order over and over again

There is something wrong with a biker dude in biker dude clothes, pushing a grocery cart full of bags up to his bike and standing there looking confused.

If you’re over the age of 5, you really shouldn’t wear a fake fuzzy tail at anytime, for any reason.

You have every right to hang your outside Christmas light up, on the last few warm days of November. But they should never, ever be turned on before Thanksgiving. Just as importantly, they must come down in January.

To my knowledge and I'll admit I'm not an expert... but Frosty the Snowman, Santa and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer were not invited to the birth of baby Jesus... They should not be portrayed as guests at the occasion by their placement next to the Nativity scene in your yard.

Everyone should have at least one “adult” encounter in life that is wild, crazy and out of character.

If you donate money to a cause you believe in, just once ask that your name be listed as anonymous… it’s fun to hear the speculation about who the generous person is and believe it or not, it really makes you feel great!

Keep people guessing. I once took one of those fake cats that looks like someone’s dead stuffed cat and placed it on a blanket, set it in my cart at Petsmart… I walked around talking to it… when people came to pet it…OMG I loved the look on the faces when they went to pet the kitty… my husband almost had to sit down he was laughing so hard.

At the store, I’ve been in the 10 items or less line, with 15 items, sorry.

I was at a party where adult toys were the prizes. I’m not a prude, I applaud the innovation, but really should electrical cords be involved? Just imagine if there was a power surge…or god forbid… a blackout!

I’m the only person I know who actually drinks 8 glasses of water a day.

I’ve never smoked a cigarette.

I’ve found some of my best friends from the most unlikely situations and strangest moments of my life. I thank God I was paying attention.

I really have trouble asking for help. While I feel like that’s all I do, I’ve been told I need to do it more.

I’ve discovered it’s a sad day when you realize you’re not the super woman you’d like to think you are.

I’m beginning to hate the emotional sneak attack that happens many, many times a day. I may be allowing it to surface more these days but to find yourself at your desk with big drippy tears in your eyes does not portray the image of a calm cool professional person I pretend to be 5 days a week.

You will never know why people love each other. Be careful of your comments when or if they hit a rough patch. Your friendship could be jeopardized.

I’ve learned that the truth cannot always be told. Feelings will be hurt and miss-understandings will happen. Just be a genuinely nice person.

Friday 11/13/2009 Camp

2009-11-13T08:33:00.000-05:00

I was talking to a friend today and he seemed distracted. He appeared to want to pay attention to what I was saying but didn’t really seem to be connecting everything. I of course assumed it was just because I tend to ramble on but no it was much more than that. He finally disclosed that he was getting ready, ready for camp. Now some of you are thinking that you know what I mean, but do you? I’m talking about HUNTING CAMP. The Grand Poo-bah of all male bonding experiences. A huge right of passage in life for many fathers and sons. Now please, I’m a woman of the current decade and I do know women hunt and go to camp but my experiences are that they do not go through the rituals or to the extreme that guys I’ve known and loved have and do, year after year. There is the prepping and packing and the preparing and purchasing and pilgrimage... up north. Given where I live, up north could be 10 mile up the road. For many it is a long overly anticipated drive to a remote location most times with limited bathroom facilities. Then there is the unpacking and the unloading and the re-purchasing of things forgotten. If you have planned it all with great strategy and finesse, you’ve saved vacation days, timed the drive properly, you settle in to camp the night before the most magical day of the year for a hunter…opening day. And then, just as the hunter’s father and grandfather and great grandfather and so on for the generations before has done... it’s the pre-dawn race to the blind. Know that special attention has been paid to wear the best in camo... first time hunters in my family are spotted by the overindulgence in orange clothing. The new hunter wearing the most orange is likely to win the yearly pumpkin award. Trust me when I say this is not an honor bestowed out of admiration. So the hunter settles in the blind, gun at the ready and eagerly awaits the deer. And waits, and waits and waits…

My late husband took me to camp a few times. I loved him but camp, not so much. He had no issues with my choice to stay with relatives in a well heated, water running, electricity working, actual walls and a roof, home rather than camp. Back then the family camp was actually an old chicken coop. Now mind you a new chicken coop smells like chicken... droppings. I still reel at the thought of that place… but the hunters loved it. Many years later camp was moved in to a house of a deceased relative. Every few years my husband would trek up to camp, off season and do work around the old house. Oh he moaned and groaned about this or that breaking but I knew he loved being there, tinkering on the water heater or whatever needed the most urgent repair. I remember my first visit to camp. I really did try to be a trooper and get into the camp spirit. My camp experience was… interesting. I shot a gun for the first time in my life. I loved the care and tenderness that he used in showing me his gun, explaining what was what and trying to teach me the ways of the hunter. I know he knew as well as I did that there was absolutely no way in this lifetime that I would ever be hanging out in the next blind during that or any other hunting season. But, that was fine. I believe one of our strengths as a couple was the appreciation for hobbies or activities we enjoyed, separately. So there I was a 19 year old newlywed holding a gun that seemed so long, so heavy. I tried to remember everything he said, watch the scope, hold the gun lovingly not rigidly, don’t lock my knee, and aim for the target... breath. I pulled the trigger… I’m not sure which one of us started laughing first, I think it was me. I was text book… pulled the trigger and landed flat on my butt. I’d never seen reaction time as quick as I did when he lunged forward as I felt myself going down. Oh it wasn’t me he was reaching out to catch… it was the gun. The only saving grace was that we were alone at camp and no one else saw my gun slinging debut. Almost every year as he prepared for camp… we would re-visit that day and laugh all over again. The next trip to camp for me was when I was 6 or 7 months pregnant with our daughter. We had decided that it would be best if I went up north and stayed with his wonderful aunt rather than be alone for the week. That week has gone down in family history as the week I learned to make Potato Sausage… I understand this was an event… get the young “city girl” to manage the business end of the grinder. If you have never has this experience, the end of the grinder is where the casing is attached. Whatever is becoming sausage shoots out of a tube into the casing and is at intervals tied off… frankly it’s disgusting. But yet again, I was a trooper. I took my place at the casing end and began my task. It never occurred to me to say no or ask for assistance. To this day I am always cautious about sausage. Later that night, I took a big pan of sausage out to camp. He was so proud of me. I have no idea if it was any good but he would have eaten it if the casing had been filled with mud. I miss seeing his face and the look that passed between us whenever one did something solely to please the other.
For years the main objective of camp was to bring home a deer. I learned early in my life with him how to cook venison and cook it well. Many years we didn’t purchase beef during the winter, we used the fruits of the hunt. Most years the meat came to my house already processed, by the hunters themselves. I loved that everyone seemed to remember how each family liked their meat packed. Great care was taken to have the right amount of steaks, chops or ground packed and marked, ready for the freezer. I proudly say that there were a few years he didn’t get his deer early enough to process at camp and I help process at home. My first reaction was... gross! But as I was taught the art of hand butchering, I found it fascinating.
In the past few years, camp became something more. It wasn’t about the kill or the meat. It was about the time, the land, the fresh air and the peace. Last season, we had taught my husband how to text. It was at the time my favorite hunting season ever and it will remain one of my favorite memories of him. He sent texts all day from his blind. Mini love letters, photos and random thoughts poured into my cell phone. I loved the relaxed, renewed and well rested husband that returned each year after…camp. To see his beautiful, tanned, well rested, relaxed and newly bearded face come through the door after the annual 10 day pilgrimage to camp, is both a loving lasting memory and something that brings tears to my eyes.
I’ve heard from some family members who have expressed concerns about camp this year. Some feel camp will not be the same without him. For many it will be a very difficult season. He was the Pied Piper at camp and in life. He rallied the troops, planned the party and took care of everyone. I’m not sure who is either willing or able to fill those shoes at camp. I know there will be angst about his ashes as well. His wish was to be cremated with his ashes spread out at camp. When he died I told every one of my plans to come to camp in the summer and... leave him there. There was much anticipation by many of the hunters to join me in this task. But I didn’t go to camp this summer. I can’t. I’m sorry that I put a time frame on this. I am not yet ready to make that final step. If I let the hunters down I am sorry. I hope you understand and I pray that my actions or lack of do not put further pain in your hearts.
At some point, I will take him to camp. He will be where he felt renewed. I will be happy to leave him there when the time is right. I trust that my heart and head will tell me when I’m ready…

I hope so…

Wednesday 11/11/2009 Veterans

2009-11-11T10:59:00.000-05:00

Today is the day we set aside to honor those who have fought for our freedom. I wish this day was more celebrated and offered more recognition for our veterans.

My dad was in Korea. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to say he fought in Korea. He worked on Aircraft and was in a dangerous area. My dad has not shared many “war” stories with me. Is it because he can’t? Are there things he shouldn’t share with his youngest child? Or is it simply that I have never asked or give any indication that I am interested? I do know there are the infamous Korea slides… holy moley! My dad took pictures of everything… some are so beautiful and belong in a gallery. The old Kodacrome slide colors are a sight to behold. Many of the photos are of the countryside and its people. As a kid, the slides were boring and almost punishment. My dad would talk about each slide and give detail about the day the picture was taken. As an adult, I was the keeper of the slides for a number of years and wish with all my heart I had paid attention and could re-tell those stories. There is one photo of a mother with her children. They appear in clothing of workers. The mother is beautiful but shows all the struggles of the time in her face. She is holding a baby. The baby is naked. There are 2 children standing at her side. On its face, the photo is a masterpiece. Ahh but that’s to the normal mind. I however do not possess a normal mind. When I first noticed it, it may have been the 20th time I saw that slide. We were at my grandparent’s home. I was sitting near my grandma. Grandma has suffered many mini-strokes and was no longer verbal but she was oh so mentally sharp. The slide came up on the screen. At first I thought I was crazy. But no. This beautiful Korea woman held her naked child with one arm. In essence the baby was sitting with its bottom in her palm, tucked up against the inside of her arm. Most unfortunately for my strange mind, the woman’s middle finger was protruding out between the baby’s legs giving the unintended image of a well endowed, highly…excited male. As terrible as it is for me to admit, I was hysterical laughing. No one else understood what I was laughing at...except my non-verbal grandmother. She saw it too and was laughing so hard tears were rolling down her cheeks. I relish this memory of her and it is amazingly special. I remember taking her hand and asking her if she was laughing at the “finger”. She looked deep in my eyes and very slightly raised an eyebrow and I knew. I often dream of that moment when we last connected. I feel so blessed to have had that fabulous laugh and moment with her. So that is how I view my dad’s military service. I know I am short changing the great work I am sure he did and the contribution to the… conflict that he made.

I have cousins, friends and colleagues who have served in various capacities in the military. I would love to hear their stories. I’d love to know just how to support them when they are active or retired. Is it appropriate to ask questions about their deployment or service? If not, why not? I think it would be hard to share the stories. But have learned that sharing stories is very freeing.

I remember a family friend being sent to Viet Nam. I must have been in 3rd or 4th grade. I just remember thinking that I would never see him again. Unlike any war or conflict before, we watched all the devastation every night on the news. I heard but didn’t clearly understand what it all meant but I knew it meant great people were dying every day. Oh my, too many great people were dying every day. My generation was the first to have the war in our living rooms every evening. So I was conditioned to think young men, boys really didn’t come home. On the slim chance they came home… they came home very different than when they left. I cannot adequately describe the jubilation I felt walking in to my house to find our family friend sitting on the couch. He was alive and physically whole. I cannot say how the experience affected his mental state. I didn’t ask. I remember going to bed that night and crying. I don’t remember if it was out of happiness or sadness. Happy because he came back, sad because in the new era of television it was all too clear to me as a child, that many, many families would not be welcoming their friend home from Viet Nam.

I’ve been so fortunate to have met so many wonderful men and women who have served our country. Some have served in active combat, some as peripheral soldiers. All deserve the utmost respect and our unwavering admiration. I can be reasonably sure that I will never be in active combat in a war. I thank God for that. I could not do what the millions of soldiers throughout the history of our great nation have done. But I know with all my heart that I could not do all the wonderful things I have been able to do in my life without the contribution of every single person who has served. A thank you seems so small. Small but many times, not offered as it should.

So to you who have served, thank you. I am an American and proud of my country. My country, that is as free as it can be, because of the hard work, dedication, passion, love and lives of those who have served. May God richly bless you. May I learn in my lifetime how to honor you and fully cherished all you have done for me. I know if I can make just one veteran understand my gratitude it will be a small but powerful gesture.

I hope so…

Tuesday 11/03/2009 A letter to my Husband

2009-11-03T23:48:00.000-05:00

Honey,

It’s been almost 8 months since you left. I’ve missed you.

I wanted to tell you something and didn’t know how before today. I wanted to tell you that I lied to you. I’m sorry. The night you died, I held you so tight. I said to you that it was ok if you had to leave. I lied. It wasn’t. I said we would be ok… I want to take everything I said back. I want you back. Please don’t think I’m sitting at home wallowing in self pity and self doubt. I’m not, well most days I’m not. But I’m sorry I lied when I said it was ok if you had to leave. I thought I meant it and maybe at the time I did. But really, I was kidding myself.

So much has happened since you left. How’s Max? I’m sure you weren’t surprised that I had to make the decision to send him your way. Let’s talk about decisions… You left me with so much to decide. It isn’t fair that I have to make absolutely every decision that has to be made. Quite frankly it sucks and I blame you. I also thank you. During our lives together, you challenged me to think things through, weigh out the good or bad of a situation and make decisions based on my head as well as my heart. Learning that has helped me tremendously.

Our kids are doing ok. They miss you. We are at the point now where we can talk about you with both good and bad memories and thoughts. I like that they both seem to have a clear understanding of the man you were and weren’t. You’d get a kick out of the perfect man you have become to some people. I’ll admit it pisses me off sometime to hear people say how wonderful you were. You were and I’m the first to sing your praises. But you know as well as anyone you had your faults and issues. You’d also be one to jump on how many people have said that I was so lucky that you loved me. Weren’t we always saying how lucky we both were?
Many believe that you are watching over me. Most days I believe that too. But I’m not sure I believe that you now have a hand in everything that happens to me. Please don’t forget our pact. You’re supposed to find someone just as amazing as you are, for me to continue my life journey with... you didn’t forget that did you? You promised. Ok, and let’s talk about the promises you made me… I have to admit, you promised me a lifetime of love. I should have read the fine print. You must have meant your lifetime, not mine. So I guess you kept that promise. You never promised to grow old with me and long ago I thought that was strange. Now I’m glad you didn’t. It’s one less thing for me to be mad about. I am mad at you. I’m not mad that you died. I’m just mad that you can’t hold my hand or sing me one of your silly little made up songs. I’m mad that I have to go through all the crap we went through 30 years ago. I’m mad that I have to explain to someone new all the strange things about me. I’m mad that no one will ever tease me about the way I put on a shirt or understand my issue with pajamas. I’m mad that I’m terrified about being intimate with someone…new. But aside from being mad, I’m scared. I’m too young for this crap and too old to accept it all with grace and oh God, charm?
Having just blasted you with how mad I am at you, I need to say that you should be proud. You should be proud of who I have become since you left. I get sad and blue sometimes and I ache to feel the touch of your hand. But I’m stronger now than before. I think I listen to people more intently. I know I listen to myself like I never have before. I’m much more cautious now and that may not be a good thing. I’ve done something’s to keep your spirit alive. I think you would be proud. I’d give almost anything to hear you say that to me. I’ve started writing. I kept hearing you say “write it, do it” as you had been saying to me for years when I would tell you about a story that was clunking around in my head. I know the few thing I wrote when you were here made you laugh and you gave great tips on changes or editing. You’ve provided me with an amazing array of stories and I thank you. It been a great outlet for me and helped a few folks along the way as well.

Well, I think I’ve said all I can for now. There’s a line from a Michael Buble song that goes, “I feel just like I’m living someone else life… it’s like I just stepped outside when everything was going right”. That sums up how I feel these days. It’s not sad but not 100% happy. I’m optimistic for the future but would gladly go back to the past. Thank you for allowing me to love you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for the laughter, the tears, the secrets and the millions of kisses. I remember what you used to put on card you gave me when we first started this journey… yesterday, today and forever. I’ve learned that our forever isn’t measured on a calendar, it’s held gently in my heart.

I will always love you,

Monday 10/26/2009 Marriage

2009-10-26T00:29:00.000-04:00

I was married for just under 29 years. I learned a thing or two. If I had to impart wisdom on staying married for the long haul and enjoying it, it might look something like this:

TALK
Talking is key. The person you are with should want to share everything with you. You should be able to talk about your hopes, fears, joys and passions. I’m a talker… shocking to many of you I know.
It took a long time to get my husband to open up about many aspects of his life. I remember before we were even married we started having “tell all” nights. Truth be told they did involve some amount of risk but it really laid the groundwork for what was an amazing journey of conversations over the next 29 years. We would sit facing each other, no TV, music or anything…. you were allowed to ask a question, any question and the other person had to give you an honest answer. Ok some of you are thinking that this is garbage and you would just say anything, but we really did attempt to be as honest as possible. Over the next years we would have versions of the “tell all” nights when we would find ourselves losing our connection. We had rules about what could and couldn’t be repeated or re-questioned. Some of my best memories of my husband are lying in bed next to him talking about our day, our hopes and our future. It’s not a matter of needing a solution from your partner. When you talk to your beloved about a problem or concern, you are basically giving half of it way. I loved when he would share a problem or concern with me. It made me feel valued. We talked all day, all the time. We texted, e-mailed and even faxed. I miss our talks and I still will reach for the phone to share something from my day with him. While we talked about the important stuff of life we also took the time to say the little things. I was told I was beautiful more often than I actually felt it. I told him how handsome I thought him to be. If we were going out to someplace special and I would ask how I looked he always responded… well what he said leads me to the next section…

SEX/MAKING LOVE
First and foremost understand the difference between sex and making love. Also know that need and want are two very different things. Frankly sometimes you just need sex. There is a stronger word but I’ll let you figure it out. Sex is a physical need being fulfilled… Making love is both emotional and physical. If you’re grown up enough to be sexually active, be grown up enough to tell your partner what you want and/or need. If one of you is a morning person and the other is fond of the night time, work it out. Feel free enough to get what you need but be generous enough to give what is wanted or needed. Don’t be afraid to shake things up. Do something unexpected, but nice. Ladies, there is no rule that says your partner is the only one who can initiate a rendezvous. I’ve been told it’s a welcome change for some guys. Now for you men, please…change up the repertoire every so often. Your partner shouldn’t be able to tell time by where you are on her body or what you are doing to her. If you’re doing it right she shouldn’t be able to think at all. Never be afraid to ask questions. But be careful what you ask for, you may get it or some variation of it. Always remember that passion makes almost everything better. I’ve always been a fan of the slow burn, flirty passion that can take hours to reach its peak. But a quick passion filled moment can be just as satisfying. Never, ever fake it. It will come back to bite you in the butt, someday.

HUMOR
I don’t have any idea where I would be today if I wasn’t blessed with both a quirky sense of humor and a partner who both appreciated and encouraged my craziness. Life has thrown way too many punches in my direction to not appreciate the humor that is always in every situation. It’s important to find what makes your partner’s giggle. There is definite value in a well timed full body laugh shared by two people who genuinely care for each other. Inside jokes are a must. I will always treasure the time my late husband made me burst out laughing at a funeral for his uncle. He turned to me and whispered something about his cousin’s striking resemblance to a duck. Of course I looked over and yep… she looked exactly like a duck. I let out a laugh so loud it was embarrassing. On the other hand it was so satisfying and a huge tension release. To complete the image you have to know that my husband never even cracked a smile… his lips didn’t curl. Nothing. I think I may never live down that moment with that side of the family. I purposely made sure to have humor in his eulogy, because it was such a part of our lives together. When out with friends we could look at each other and know that something we had heard was wildly funny, even when it wasn’t intended to be funny and would actually have to turn away for fear we might offend someone by laughing. Find a person you…get and who gets you. Find and hold on to the person who can know when to laugh with you and of course know when to and how to cry with you.

FAITH
Ok, this gets tricky. While faith in a higher being is a wonderful thing and I’m all for it, I’m not talking about that kind of faith. I’m talking about believing in someone when there is no earthly reason to believe in them. Blind faith is dangerous. But a deep faith is a must. Have faith that you chose the right partner. Have faith in yourself. Make decisions together, the big ones and the little ones. Ask each other’s advice and opinions. Have each other’s very best interests in mind at all times. Always trust that the decisions your partner makes are from the heart. Assume best intentions. Remember just because someone is louder, doesn’t make them right-er.

LOVE/LIKE & LUST
You need all three of these to keep it all together. I believe you should always love the person you’re married to, but in all honesty you will probably not always like each other. Believe it or not, it’s ok. You should never marry someone you just love but do not like or lust after. You should never marry a person you just like, but do not love or feel lust for. My guess is that you know lust alone is a tough sad state. Danger zone! All three of these are fluid. We feel them coming in and going out of our hearts minds and spirits at speeds that can make you dizzy. To me love either is or isn’t there… Like and lust can and should be cultivated and cared for tenderly and consistently.

I will never claim to have all the answers or to have had the perfect marriage. But I know some things to be true. I know what my heart told me at the time was right. Given how I feel now that the love of my life is gone, I know this all to be true in my head as well. So my parting thought is to lead with your head, but listen with your heart. Maybe at some point I’ll take my own advice.

I hope so…

Friday 10/23/2008 Wishes

2009-10-23T12:15:00.000-04:00

I’m rambling again but…

I wish…
• telephone etiquette was still taught in grade school.
• I understood more about what’s happening in the Middle East and could then understand why we are at war.
• fitted sheets were as easy to fold as flat sheets
• ladybugs went back to their own homes in the fall, not into mine
• the weather forecasters were right at least some of the time.
• the lighting in the rest of the world made me look as good as the lighting in the powder room at my house does.
• my puppy would figure out the difference between a kiss and a bite, sooner rather than later.
• people would clean up after their dogs
• commercials weren’t louder than the show you are watching, causing you to leap for the remote to reduce the volume.
• I could tell everyone how much they mean to me.
• I understood that forever isn’t measured on a calendar, but in your heart
• I could fund all the causes that are important to me
• all those that want babies could have babies and those that don’t…don’t.
• I could play the piano
• I worked for the NHL
• we all were given time off work to volunteer at schools or in programs with children
• I paid more attention to Mrs. Kuhl in 4th grade, I’m sure I’d have better penmanship
• someone could figure out how to stop gym shoes from making that squeaky noise on the floor, and then I might like basketball
• it wasn’t so sadistically funny to give your dog peanut butter and watch them try to get it off the roof of their mouth.
• I understood why I am offended when some people call me Ma’am and charmed when others call me the same thing.
• I knew how to shut off the smart-ass in me sometimes.
• I was adventurous enough to take a piece of Godiva chocolate without looking at the guide.
• I was as confident as people think I am.
• I had a job that made a difference in people’s lives.
• sleeping in on the weekend meant 8 or 9 am not 6:30 am.
• we all routinely performed random acts of kindness.
• for world peace, duh.
• Gas prices were the same for gas with cash, credit or that silly car wash option.
• I didn’t crack up when I see someone driving this time of year, in a costume.
• people had the respect for small town police and fire fighters that they did when I was a kid.
• I could sing as well as I have fooled myself in to thinking I can… I’d be a rock star.
• I knew how to pick a ripe melon.
• I had someone warm and snuggly in my bed at night. Oh wait I do… a 14 week old, 13lbs puppy.

I should be careful what I wish for…

Wednesday 10/21/2009 Girlfriends

2009-10-21T22:36:00.000-04:00

This past weekend I had the unique pleasure of spending time with some fabulous women. As I have mentioned before, my late husband kept in contact with a group of women we affectionately called “the girlfriends” Friday was dinner out with a few of the GFs and a couple of boys from my husband’s high school clique. It was nice but where I had always been brought in to the conversation and up to speed by him, I was on my own. We did some wonderful dancing around the elephant in the room. Having said that, it was never intended to be a night all about my husband or me, but I would have enjoyed hearing more of the boy stories from the past. I did the smile and chat as I have become so good at. I did enjoy myself and there was plenty of laughter, but it’s a hard thing to feel so lonely with so many people right there with you. I found I missed the car talk. You know, the ride home from a nice evening where you recap what was said, how everyone looked and so on. It had turned cold in my area and the chill felt somewhat more profound as I took the dog out once I returned home. Sleeping that night I had the dream I have every night when my stress level is too high. I see my late husband out somewhere in public. He looks fabulous and from across the room or store or wherever that night’s dream is set, he sees me. He smiles at me, waves and turns and walks away. I yell to him but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Each time I’ve had this dream, there is someone standing next to me… I tell the person that the man is my husband. The person always says “Yes, he was allowed to come back, it wasn’t his time”. I’m overwhelmed with joy, happiness love and lust. The person sees my reaction and says, “well he was allowed to come back, but he decided he didn’t want to come back… to you”. So yet again a good restorative sleep eluded me.

Saturday dawned as a cold and raining day. We opted to stay in jammies until late in the afternoon. At one point we sat out in the cold drizzle wrapped in blankets, just talking. The need to hit the grocery store and the apple orchard caused us to shower and change. Saturday night had been set aside for a girl’s only slumber party. Jammies were required as was the understanding that we would laugh and cry freely. As each lovely lady arrived they were given a tiara and thanks to the great thinking of one of the GF’s we had boas and toe rings. We ate well, drank much and laughed and cried. This was a great time for these ladies to catch up with each other. Many times during the evening I found myself getting wrapped up in emotion. Because I was conscious of the fragility of some of my guests, I would just disappear for a few moments. Sometimes during the past 7 months my emotions are out of whack. I laugh when others are crying. I cry at the drop of a hat. Many things have gotten better as time begins the healing process but this seems to be not worse, but hyped. So I left my little party and dealt with my fears, tears and all the rest, alone. I know that my emotions would have been welcomed by these women. But the night and in fact weekend was not about me. It was about them and their connection to him. My husband kept all the school pictures these and some other girls gave him. They were the headshot schools take every year, these ranged from 7th grade to senior year. Most had something written on the back. Toward the end of the evening, I gave the photos back to their original owners. They are not mine. They are something between him and the girlfriends. The pictures belong back with the girl who, for whatever reason gave it to my husband. Now some may believe this to be a strange thing to do but I felt it would give them a sense of how much they meant to him and that their connection, lasted a lifetime. It may help them as they make their journey through the grief process.

I discovered this week that I am fine; actually enjoying talking about my husband and even his death with people who knew us. Knew us as a couple or individually. My issue comes when I have to share the events of our lives and his eventual death with strangers. I really hit a wall earlier this week just after a presentation of a check to the city council of my little town. I had decided to donate the starter funds for a new K9 unit. To make the donation official, I had to do a formal presentation. It went well I guess but I didn’t have the great feeling I thought I would. Why was there such an emotional let down? Was it the look in the council’s faces? The faces didn’t convay what I thought they would. But frankly I’m not sure what I expected. I have to remember that while this loss affected many, many people it really only affects me every second of the day. I had a rough few days, trapped a bit in a swirl of sadness. Thanks to a really great friend, I’m much better. I appreciate that this friend let me whine and bitch but didn’t let me wallow. Will this happen again, I’m sure of it. Are these stepping stones of this process? You bet. Will this get better with time?

I hope so…

Tuesday - 10/13/2009 Fall

2009-10-13T21:19:00.000-04:00

It’s cold and raining at my house tonight. Leaves are turning to their beautiful colors and falling from the trees. Our area orchards are bursting at the seams with a huge variety of ripe and wonderful apples. This is my favorite time of year, I think. The reason for my waffling is the same reason I have gone from being a pretty terrific, semi well adjusted wife and mother to …the current me.

My late husband lived all year for this season. He loved to hunt in the fall. He would start bringing out his equipment, checking his tools and supplies to be sure they were ready. We would make the annual trip to Cabela’s in order to replace any items that had been lost or damaged the season prior. I always did this kind of fake protest when he would bring everything up from the basement. He would leave things in little piles all over the house. Truth be told, I loved it. I loved it because of the excitement I saw in his eyes. He would begin this process about this time in October for a trip that usually took place the week of Thanksgiving. I loved the smell of his hunting gear, the order he kept everything. For many, the order is a surprise. But his uncle taught him well when it came to hunting and caring for the tools of the sport. We had only a few actual Thanksgiving dinners together and that was fine. I knew from the moment we met that his life included going up to the family hunting camp for the opening week of hunting. Most years the opening week was the same week as Thanksgiving. Autumn also began our “deer drives”. We live near a group of beautiful Metro parks. We would drive through the parks at dusk to look for deer. My husband was like a little kid. He would actually giggle when we saw deer and be so disappointed when we didn’t.

The fall also fed my husband’s love of sports. He was a huge fan of Michigan football and Red Wings hockey. Saturday’s were filled with the anticipation of the big game. Some of you know my husband always felt that I had the ability to sway a Michigan football game just by my presence. He believed that if U of M was ahead and I was out of the house, they could loose if I came home. Actually it proved to be true more times than not. The start of the hockey season brought out an excited anticipation of another Stanley Cup being awarded to the Wings. The schedules of everyday life were altered in the fall to accommodate these… traditions.

Also working to keep him forever young, was Halloween. The trip to the farm stand to get pumpkins, bales of hay, mums and cornstalks was an all day event. He would hitch his trailer to his SUV and we would spend hours finding just the right pumpkins, mums, and the biggest stalks of corn and deciding if we needed 2 or 3 or maybe even more bales of hay. He took great pride in turning our front yard into a cornucopia of fall colors, shapes and sights. He threaded electrical cord through bushes and underground to illuminate gigantic jack-o-lanterns. The corn stakes were staked deep into the ground, scarecrows, a man and woman would be placed on the bales of hay, their arms around each other... On Halloween he would bring our fire pit to the end of the driveway. Lawn chairs and the big bowl of candy along with a stack of firewood would be placed lovingly near the fire. After getting our fire started he would help the neighbors get their fire going. He loved to greet the kids and ask them about their costumes. We always had candy for the kids and wine for the kids over 21. We always enjoy this time of year, together.

So this past weekend, I went to the farm stand. All I could manage to get were the mums. I don’t have a hook up for the trailer on my car so I couldn’t get the corn stalks. At least that was my reasoning. Truth be told we only had the trailer for a couple of years. Before that they seemed to fit just fine in the back of my SUV, but not now. I stood staring at the vast array of pumpkins. Did we get 8 big and 10 little ones or was it the other way around? I was overwhelmed with making yet again another decision on my own. So I left the farm stand with my mums. I’ve taken out the stands for the jack-o-lanterns but cannot seem to go in the basement to actually bring the huge orange globes up. I think I’m supposed to check the lights in the lanterns and where are the little spare orange bulbs should one be out? Is all this decorating really worth all the trouble? As I write this I’m discovering that yes, it is. As with everything else for me now, I can have what I had before. It will never be exactly the same, but it can be just as wonderful. Will the kids in the neighborhood remember where the pumpkins were placed last year or the year before or if there were 8 big ones and 10 little ones? Probably not. But they will remember that there were pumpkins and mums and corns stalks and giant light up jack-o-lanterns. Will they notice that the female scarecrow is holding on just a little tighter to the male scarecrow this year? Probably not. But she will be holding on tight. Because this year, I believe we both understand how much can really happen from one season to the next. Next year will there be a lump in my throat as I go through these rituals again? I hope not. Maybe there will be a new scarecrow to sit on the bale of hay and hold the old girl. Maybe, maybe not but…

I hope so…

Wednesday - 10/7/2009 Food

2009-10-07T22:22:00.000-04:00

From my earliest memory, food was a major focus in my life. I learned to cook at a very young age. At one point in my childhood I cooked almost every night. My parents both worked outside the home and since I arrived home first, it was assumed that I would make dinner. There were times when my mom would leave a check made out to the grocery store on the kitchen counter. I would ride my bike the 2 miles to the store, shop for dinner, ride back and have it ready when my mom and dad came home. I learned to cook almost anything; turkey with stuffing, Coho Salmon on the grill, Firehouse Chili and everything in between. Some of my best culinary education came from the firehouse and the firemen who worked with my dad. My mom gave me the freedom to experiment in the kitchen. She was kind and gave all us kids a bit of a wide berth when it came to cooking. If you ever meet my mom and want to see a great older lady go pale in a heartbeat… ask her about the year we kids prepared green scrambled eggs, green butter, green home fried and green orange juice for her and our dad for St. Patrick’s Day brunch. Little did I know of the green beer consumption the night before. Just imagine the conflict… your children’s beaming faces, a tray of …green, everything. A raging hang-over, head, stomach… do you eat it? My poor parents. As an adult, I still get a warm, calm feeling when I am outside in the winter, cold and tired and I can smell pot roast or meatloaf wafting through the evening air. We’ve all stepped out of our cars on one of these evenings and had the aroma swirl up in to our nose and we start to pray… please God, let that smell be coming from my house. The summertime BBQ can cause the same desire in me.

The first time my late husband invited me to his apartment for dinner was in a word, interesting. He told me he was cooking and we were having steak and salad. I love a good steak, medium rare. I was really excited when I arrived at his very sparsely furnished apartment. He didn’t have a dining table nor did he have a sofa. He had one dilapidated, old, ripped leather recliner. The chair stayed with us for a few years, affectionate named the “whipcliner”. You could recline but to recover from being stretched out could cause whiplash. So that night we sat on the floor and had our dinner. Now I like to think I’m an adventurous eater. I’ll try new things and usually have an open mind. But I like to know before the unique foodstuff is actually in my mouth. I thought about having a really good steak all day. When I arrived at his home I was met with a glass of wine and a wonderful aroma of grilled onions, garlic and pepper. The salad was like no salad I had ever seen before. It was based in cottage cheese. It has become one of my favorite foods of all time. He took a carton of large curd cottage cheese. Chopped up green peppers, red peppers and yellow peppers. He also chopped up onion, tomato and celery. Mix this all with a few tablespoons of Miracle Whip, salt and pepper to taste. Fabulous! Good to know that it is better the 2nd day but not as great the 3rd or 4th day. So my expectation of a nice lettuce and tomato salad was way off but delightfully so. Next came the steak. It looked a little different but it smelled good so I made the first crucial cut, stab and dip in to A1. Once in my mouth, I knew something was, not wrong but unexpected. All I could think of was what did he do to this steak? But I went with the flow and ate the steak. As we were cleaning up, he mentioned that he was surprised that I liked venison. I like venison? Over the course of the next few years, I did learn to like venison. I became a very good venison chef. Fajitas, stroganoff and chili became my signature dishes in the winter months. My husband was an excellent cook. I will miss his “Soup Sundays” this winter. I used to work on Sunday and would arrive home to wonderful smells and delicious soups during the cold winter months. He would always accompany his soup creation with homemade rolls or bread. I especially loved the nights when I arrived to find not only the soup but a crackling fire in the fireplace. I really do miss my Sunday evenings with my husband. As it gets colder, I’m sure I’ll miss them even more.

I have cooked for the same people for the past 30 years. I knew who liked what and with what. I knew who would need catsup or pepper. I knew who like a big breakfast and who preferred yogurt and granola. So now what? Will I have the opportunity to learn these things about someone special again? Is there a chance that there is someone out there who is just waiting to have my famous homemade ultra rich Cheesecake made especially for them on their birthday? Will I be smart enough to know him when I find him?

I hope so…

Monday - 10/5/2009 Reunion

2009-10-05T09:15:00.000-04:00

I am about to spend time with some of my best friends from grade school, Jr. High and High School. Yep, you’ve guessed it. It’s time for my high school reunion. I’m excited about it but as we all are, I’ve a bit of trepidation too. I’ll be seeing kids I haven’t seen in years. The last time most of these people saw me or talked to me, I was a married woman. I know there will be others there with a similar story. They may be single because of a death or divorce. I recently had the most fortunate opportunity to talk with some high school friends via Face book. Some were great friends since kindergarten, some friends from high school. Many were just classmates. I believe there is a distinction between friends and classmates but it seems muddled as the years have gone by. I have shared much of the past few months with wonderful people I would have classified as classmates before, but now they are friends. I can’t wait to hear their stories,learn of their lives and cherish the opportunity to reconnect and make new memories. I look forward to seeing their smiles.

Although I’ve not seen many of these folks in 10 or so years, I’m very excited to just know they are well. The process of growth is so subtle when you’re in school. Almost everyone goes through the same growth spurts both mental and physical at roughly the same time, give or take. But as we age, some reach different growth milestones at very different times. What I’m talking about is everything, maturity, body changes, career changes and all that leads up to you being a grownup. I remember at our 10 year reunion, it seemed all anyone really cared about was who was married, how much money you made and so on. There was a decided lack of concern for the individual. Our 20 year was so much nicer. People worried about the person more, but not exclusively. There were still the comments like “Oh boy did she put on the pounds” or “OMG is he bald or what?” I made some very fun connections and new friends at both reunions.

So the main events are over. I have laughed so hard in the past few days. I’ve shed a few tears as well. My tears have been for joy, sadness, nostalgia, love and if I’m honest, loss. The loss isn’t all you would expect. This weekend I’ve learned about loss from a side I have not yet experienced. I talked with so many people about the loss of their parents or in some cases their child. I find it both ironic and flattering that most shared their story with me without knowledge of my husband’s death. There is one woman, absolutely gorgeous, athletic, and intelligent; I always thought she was perfect. Perfect in high school may not be what perfect should be or is in the real world. We made eye contact at the event Friday and as I passed her once she said hello. In high school I wouldn’t have classified her as a “mean girl”. But I was never in her circle of friend and as I look at it now, it may have been more my reasoning’s rather than hers. I spoke to this wonderful woman at length and found her to not be… perfect. But that made her all the more wonderful. I learned of the passing of her Mom. I’d never had the pleasure of meeting her mom; I didn’t even know this girl. Her pain way still so deep and she seemed to need to talk about the loss. I felt honored she had shared this with me. It would have been inappropriate for me to share my history with her so I didn’t. She shared her dream of finding a lasting love. This dream had eluded her. She seemed unexcited about her career. She spoke of being sad never to have had children. For a split second, I felt somehow superior to her. But I’m not and I know it. I had just taken a different path. As she hugged me when we prepare to move on to make other connections, she seemed to have been genuinely happy for our moment together. As was I. The “mean girls” for the most part are still the “mean girls”. The highest echelon of coolness still exists. The cliques still live on but maybe with some softening of their admission criteria. There are the beautiful people who were beautiful only on the outside but who no longer meet that qualification. Of course those with both inner and outer beauty seem to have come through the past 30 years somehow even better. I was amazed how often I heard women say that they were not planning to attend the reunion. They had gained weight, gone grey, lost too much weight, were divorced, in a bad marriage and so on. But they came and I truly hope they are the better for attending. I know I would have missed them had I not been able to see them. I was really unsure why some of the faculty showed up. I guess I just never knew they would be interested. I think it is how I was raised but the personal life of your teachers was, personal. It was gratifying to hear that I wasn’t the odd duck I sometimes remember myself to be.

The career path for my fellow Spartans is wide and varied. We have doctors, attorneys, teachers, nurses, accountants and pilots. I was amazed to discover the huge amount in law enforcement or fire service. I’m a bit unsettled to know some of these guys are legally allowed to carry some serious guns. I understood there to be fairly stringent background and psychological testing done before these positions were awarded to these guys. I could tell a few stories about some of them. The best job most of these kids have is that of parent. Absolutely all of those I spoke with relished their children and proudly presented pictures and shared stories.

The bittersweet of the weekend was the sharing of the news about the passing of my husband. There is no easy way to tell someone this information, in this setting.
Because he had attended a reunion of mine before and I have always talked incessantly about him, people asked. Some kids new just because of my continuing relationships with them but for many it was a dark cloud I reluctantly cast. I was somewhat shocked that people who did not choose to acknowledge me at the events on Friday or early in the events of Saturday, sought me out to express their condolences. It was very nice but awkward.

Our time together ended on a wonderful note with a brunch on Sunday. One of my friends kept absolutely everything. She had every dance program, every pin, badge, everything and anything that signified our high school experiences.It was fun to re-visit the stuff that made these event just that much more, special.

On the airplane home, I sat at the window. A lovely woman sat at the aisle. Just before the doors closed a very handsome man came and sat between us. The flight attendant came by to see if we were interested in a beverage during the short flight. The guy pulled out drink coupons and asked for 3 white wines. Given the very short flight, the flight attendant said she could only give him 2. He looked at both of us and said “how about a glass of wine”? Both of us said yes and he presented 6 drink tickets. The gentleman had recently returned from a 14 month tour of duty in Iraq. The woman was a very recent widow. Her husband of 16 years was part of the NFL. She was returning from a Sunday NFL game where her husband was being honored. And of course there is my story. In the short flight, I learned so much about these two strangers, I’ll now consider friends. We exchange information and hope to continue the conversation. When we received our wine, the Navy man raised his glass and said, "ladies, here;s to chapter 2". We clinked glasses and as I attempted to regain my composure after the irony of his toast, we continued to talk. We plan to have a reunion. I plan to attend, just as I will do all possible to attend the next high school reunion and the one after that. I discovered friends and relationships that I clearly need to support. I discovered the friend, I want to be. I’ll look forward to nurturing my friendships and relationships as I look to being nurtured. We may all just get some healing in our hearts, minds and bodies.

I hope so…

Wednesday - 8/30/2009 BFF

2009-09-30T22:13:00.000-04:00

A sad thing happened today. I realized that I no longer have a best friend. Oh, I have many fabulous and ridiculously close friends. Some male, some female. But there is no one who knows all my secrets. There is no one who has seen me at my very best or at my extreme worst. There is no one who by just looking at me knows my mood. What a terrible thought. I no longer have that bond where I know I’m safe in whatever I want to say. I know there are those of my friends who I can say almost anything to, but it’s not the same. As an adult there are very few times it is appropriate to have a temper tantrum. But occasionally I have had that need. I could only do that with one person. That one person knew what I needed when I had a headache, a tummy ache or felt scared. My best friend knew what made me happy, sad or made me tick. He knew at what point I would get choked up when we attended weddings. He knew what size clothes I wear, what perfume I like and what moisturizer I slathered on my face. My best friend knew what frightened me and what made me laugh. This friend could give me a look solely to crack me up and it always worked. This was the person I always called when something funny or great or terrible was happening to me. My friend could and did talk me down from a million different situations. As my best friend did all this for me, I did the same for him. We became best friends before we ever married. This is by far the strongest and longest best friendship I ever had.

I’ve had a ton of best girlfriends in my time. We shared secrets and told stories about our “firsts”. First kisses, crushes, dates and the really big first… “it”. There are girls in this world who know details that they will never tell because it would break the best friend rules. I know so much about so many of my friends and I would never divulge a single secret, never ever. I know things that at this stage in our lives wouldn’t upset anyone to know about that person. But that’s not the point. The point is, you have to keep the secret because that story is yours to hold silently in your heart. It’s not your story to tell. It’s all about the relationship.

My late husband kept close to almost every relationship he ever formed. Let me tell you about a group of women he and I affectionately called “the girlfriends”. There are 4 women in the core group…but the number expands. These are women my husband had everything from a crush on to a few he had a more intense connection with. These women helped my husband become my husband. The women in this group could not be more different from each other. One is divorced and single, one happily married for a very long time, one divorced but in a committed relationship and one in a second marriage that from the outside looking in seems not to fulfill her needs. I’ve fallen in love with each of these women over the years. The phone call to one of these women when my husband died was gut wrenching to make. I literally held the phone for over an hour turning it on and off. The irony is that her phone number was in his phone and I never thought to copy it down and call her from my phone. They spoke often. As she picked up the phone, I heard her cheery voice say something like “hey baby” thinking it was my husband. When I said her name… I knew she knew. I heard her gulp in air and my heart began to break. Our kids had been on swim team together, we had gone out on Saturday nights, visited them when they relocated, we had attended her daughter’s wedding and celebrated when she and her husband became grand parents. I think I told her what I could and said I’d get back with her.Unfortunatly she was unable to attend the service. We will see each other for the first time in a few weeks. I am sure we will have a fabulous, long over due cry. Two of these women live very close to me. In the days between his death and the service, they made phone calls, brought food, sent flowers and called me to see how I was doing and what I needed. I always liked and loved all of these women. Now my sense of admiration, gratitude and respect for these women is a bit overwhelming. I will try very hard as I go on to tell and/or show these women what they don’t know, they have done for me. One of these women will laugh when she read this, because I think she will know I am talking about her. I always saw her as a fierce business woman. I’ll be honest; she intimidated the hell out of me. I thought she had it all, was it all. She is part of a family that is very well known and very respected in the area. Until just a few years ago, I had made assumptions about this family. You know what they say about assuming. Her family lost a brother a few years back. My husband and I attended the wake and I learned more about this family in that hour than I had in the years before. This was a good, strong, faithful, loving and above all, kind and caring family. They were hurt to their core at the loss of this son and brother. Watching them console the guests at the funeral home was a lesson in how to truly care for others and I was moved by their graciousness. I truly believe that their example in some small way helped me when I was called in to that role. I’ve since learned so much about the struggles in their live and I admire them for their ability to press on and be fabulous. My connection to this “girlfriend” continues to grow as we discover our commonalities. We have had some wonderful discussions on loss and love and what happens next. On to another amazing women, my little buddy is also one of “the girlfriends”. This lady, what can I say…? She has been there for me. All I have to do is pick up the phone. She has included me in many fun times. She had introduced me to her neighbors. I’ll even forgive her for yelling loudly in Whole Foods that she thought I needed to get… well you know the rest. I feel like she is the comic relief I’ve been missing since he died. She gets my sense of humor and she likes it. Not everyone does. This is a woman who is so open and accepting that I have felt comfortable with her and her family since the first time I met her. We have only known each other for a few years, maybe 4 and a half or so. I was once at a jewelry party at her home and we were bantering back and forth. A neighbor asked how many years we had been friends… we cracked up. I think one of us looked up and said “6 months”. The neighbor was shocked… so were we. It felt like we had been friends forever. The last of “the girlfriends” puzzles me. She is kind and beautiful and seemingly successful. But to me, behind her very beautiful eyes there is a sadness. I don’t know her as well as I know the others and I’m sorry for that. I believe at some point someone said I said I didn’t care for her and that is not true. I just don’t know her. I’d like very much to know her. I know we probably have more in common then not and I believe we could be a terrific support to and for each other.

These women added something to the life of the man I love. The man I married was the man I married because of the experiences he had up until the time we met and married. Without “the girlfriends” having been friends or dates or pals or lovers of my husband’s, I can’t say our marriage would have been what it was. So a toast to “the Girlfriends”… as the late great Frank Sinatra said…. “To you and your families, may I simply say here’s to everything you want, everything you wish, mostly love and sweet dreams, lots of kissin and huggin and all that stuff... Salute”.

So maybe I’ll get a new best friend or maybe I won’t. I do know I will do all I can to be... the best friend.

I hope so…

Monday - 9/28/2009 Lessons

2009-09-28T08:59:00.000-04:00

I’ve learned a thing or two in life:

· Always wear clean underwear.
· Drink your orange juice before you brush your teeth.
· Always be sure those you love know it and feel it.
· The largest zit you have ever had will begin forming approximately 5 days before your high school reunion.
· Mosquitoes only make noise in the dark when you are trying to sleep and you can’t see them to catch them.
· The hot and adorable bag boy at the grocery store will always put the canned good on top of your bread if you distract him by attempting to flirt.
· If a large tomato is going bad, don’t put the whole thing in the disposal and turn it on unless you feel like washing the ceiling above.
· Pray often and mean it.
· Most fast food drive thru windows now have a recording asking if you would like to try their latest and greatest item… this is a recording, do not place your order with the recording… be patient a real person will take your order in a moment.
· If you are down to one good bra, the underwire will break as you drive to work causing not only that annoying stabbing feeling, but distinct sag on one side.
· Just when you think you can survive with ½ a roll of toilet paper until you grocery shop later in the week, unexpected guests will arrive, one with a “funny feeling” in their tummy.
· Never, ever drink a glass of milk that someone hands you and says “does this taste funny to you”?
· When life gives you lemons… get in the car, pick up some limes, tequila and triple sec and make Margarita’s
· Talk to those you love about what they want to have happen in the event that they cannot make those decisions known themselves.
· Almost every situation in life has a solution that is based on an episode of Seinfeld.
· Chocolate is one of the main ingredients in my recipe for a happy life.
· The day you choose to run to the store without taking a shower or brushing your teeth is the day you will run into either your old boyfriend or your husband’s former fiancée.
· Read the Bible and ask questions about what you are not clear on
· Enjoy the glass of wine you enjoy, not the one someone says you should enjoy.
· Be generous with your time, your heart, your money, your love and your humor.
· Nothing beats great sheets.
· Since marshmallows have no place in the food pyramid, they don’t count and can be eaten often
· If you are driving and you have to sneeze, don’t step on the gas or the brake.
· Dogs have families, cats have a staff.
· Learn to drive a stick shift
· How do you know if yogurt is bad?
· Every once in awhile, stop at the park and swing on the swings.
· I never met a woman who didn’t feel jealous when flowers were delivered to someone else in the office.
· Puppy kisses rule.
· At what point should someone be told that their toupee looks like a toupee?
· Hummingbirds have an amazing calming effect on people.
· Fresh coffee, a wood burning fire and fresh cut grass are among the greatest aromas in the world.
· Never eat anything you can’t pronounce.
· Smoking sucks.
· The greatest cup of coffee? Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, The Golden Tulip Hotel in Aruba and my house (no particular order).
· Funerals are for the living. Do what you want to do in order to honor your loved one. They really only have a say on if they are buried or cremated.
· I think I’d rather have a cut with 3 or 4 stitches than a bad paper cut.
· Be kind to everyone. You never know who you made need to lean on in the future.
· Contrary to what your Mom said, crying does help.
· Always remember you have skills. You can talk, you can love and you can laugh. You can do anything.
· Write the names of those in photos on the back of the photo. You’d be surprised who you forget.
· Apples are best eaten in the fall, oranges in the winter.
· Keep cards, birthday, get well, sympathy, congratulations and blank ones in your desk. Something happens every day and it makes a huge difference to acknowledge the event immediately.
· Share and play nice with the other kids.

Saturday 9/26/2009 - Trapped

2009-09-26T22:54:00.000-04:00

I’ve had this feeling before. I get this trapped feeling every Thursday night. Every Thursday for the past 6 months to be exact. That Thursday, 6 months ago was such a good day. I had the day off and I had spent the day cleaning and catching up on family tasks, dry cleaning, picking up his prescriptions, replenishing the bird seed and so on. Early that day my husband had called to say he had taken Walleye out of the freeze and that he would make dinner. I gathered the items he would need and had them ready when he arrived. Dinner was wonderful, baked Walleye cooked to perfection. After dinner we took a long walk. We discussed plans for the summer, we talked about the kids and we talked about how fortunate we felt to be together. The events that ended with his death began in actuality on Friday morning. But now on Thursdays… I think about each and every event that took place.

Some of my friends have told me about being trapped in a bad marriage. I never could empathize with what they were feeling. I never understood what they meant. I have a friend who has been married for more than 40 years. She married in her mid teens and frankly does not care for her husband. Their marriage is loveless and likeness. They have adult children in common and that is all. They do not socialize or pursue any interests. When I have asked why she has made the decision to stay married, her response is “what can I do, I’m trapped”. How sad. But now I understand that caged animal feeling of being trapped. I wonder if it is harder to be in a bad marriage forever or be in a really good marriage and have it end the way mine did. I guess one of the hardest things for me is that we worked so very hard to have our marriage get to the level it reached and then, what? It was taken away without any consultation or warning. I’ve said it before and I will continue to say it, “I loved being married. I loved being someone’s wife”. I want people to know that I am single, not because I failed at my marriage but because of a twist of fate. Fate. I suppose you could argue that fate is the cause of all marriage failures. An example, fate brings two people together, they have an affair and a marriage ends. I can’t imagine having this trapped feeling every day of my life. Even feeling this way for one day a week sucks the energy right out of me. I am without exception, amazingly exhausted on Friday nights. It is astonishing to me that I have never had or felt this deep exhaustion before. When my kids were babies, they are only 13.5 months apart; I never ever felt this, cry at the drop of a hat, weak in the knees, head hurting exhaustion. I was tired, drained and in need of a shower, but never even close to what I feel now. Ironically, it only happens on Friday nights after 24-30 hours of that trapped feeling. The professionals I‘ve spoken with say it’s all part of the process. The regurgitation of each minuet detail of the day my husband died should dissipate in time, so they say.

I’ve been trapped 2 other times in my life. Just before my husband and I married, I moved in to his apartment. We convinced ourselves it was a cost saving measure. The plan was that it would save money we could then put towards our wedding. Oh my gosh I thought I was such a grown up, 19 years old and living with a 25 year old! Thankfully, my naivety has diminished with age. I was attending community college at night, wisely choosing Monday nights in the fall for my toughest class, Biology. My thought was, being out of the house on Monday would shield me from Monday Night Football and allow my husband some well deserved space. If you never had the pleasure of watching a sporting event with him, you missed out on something special. I have never seen anyone get so into a game, physically, mentally and emotionally. It could be scary if you didn’t know him. So on this particular Monday, I went off to class. Please remember this was well before cell phone, the internet or cable community access channels. Once I arrived I was notified that class was cancelled. I wasted time by running a few errands and then went home. I pressed the elevator bottom to go up to our apartment. The elevator began its assent and stopped. Stopped and shut down between floors. There was no phone or way to make contact with anyone. So I sat down and waited. I read the box of Cheerio’s, the carton of milk… Jennifer Martin was last seen wearing a blue jeans and a pink sweatshirt, she stands 4 foot 5 inches and has blond hair…. I heard someone yelling, asking if anyone was in the elevator. I responded and the yeller said he was getting help. I waited. Meanwhile, my parents were sitting in their home 2 towns away; I’m sure enjoying the bliss you get when your children are out on their own, when a call came over the police/fire scanner. My dad being a fire fighter always had these radios active. It became common practice to stop all movement and conversation when one of the scanners began to squawk. My parent heard the call for assistance at my building for someone trapped in the elevator. They thought it was amusing so they placed a call to my house to ask if I knew who was trapped. My husband answered and said I was at class and he wasn’t aware of anything happening in our building but at half time he would check it out. When half time rolled around he walked down the hall to the elevators. He met up with the Fire Chief. The Chief told him a young woman was stuck in the elevator. I could hear them talking above me. I so clearly remember my beloved husband say something about “only a woman would get herself stuck in an elevator that only goes up 2 floors”. Just then the elevator began to move. The doors open and I wish I could describe the look on my husband’s face when I stepped out. A few years ago I was completing what had become my Sunday ritual, dropping my husband off at the airport, going to gas up the car for the week and stopping at the grocer for items needed. As I filled up I thought I would treat myself to a touch less car wash. I entered the car wash and pulled up to the designated spot and stopped, car in neutral. I was just admiring the scent of the multi colored soap droplets when everything stopped. No loud noise to indicate a breakdown no indication as to what the problem was. The silence was ominous. As the soap slid off the windshield I saw a huge sign stating “DO NOT GET OUT OF VEHICAL”. So I waited. I waited for almost an hour. I didn’t have a signal on my cell phone so I couldn’t call for help. I started thinking of the headlines, “Suburban Mom dies a touch less death” or “Washed up” or some other editors dream headline. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t taken a shower and I was in sweats. Please God don’t let the media take pictures… Finally I saw headlights on the other side of the door. There was honking, as if I had control of the wash system. Eventually the headlights changed to flashing lights and the police and fire department removed the exit door and then rolled the wash system off my car so that I could leave safely. As I pulled out and the State Policemen was gathering information, the owner of the gas station came to the passenger side of my car and began to yell at me. He wanted to know what I had done to his car wash, how I had caused it to malfunction. Seriously. As I was driving home the stress of being trapped in the car wash for almost 2 hours hit me and I started to freak out. It’s funny that I don’t usually freak out in the moment, but I clearly make up for it later. When I told my husband of my ordeal, he, as was his style, thought it was the funniest thing he had ever heard and laughed his head off.

So now I’m feeling this trapped feeling again. Unfortunately I don’t have my husband to make light or put things in perspective for me. But I’ll trust those that tell me this will lessen with time. I’ve always liked Thursdays and want to appreciate this last vestige of the work week again. So I’ll give it time and allow the process of grieving to take its course. It will be worth the wait.

I hope so…

Thursday - 9/24/2009 Home

2009-09-24T10:33:00.000-04:00

What or should I say, where is home? Some say it’s where you live or where those you love live. I’ve questioned this a lot in the past few months. Can you have more than one real home? Of course there are all the clichés about home being where the heart is or home is where your story begins but what does home mean to me?

I took a trip back to my home town this past weekend. It seemed exactly the same but so very different. It had grown with progress but had aged too. As you might think, it seemed smaller that I remember. I found comfort in seeing buildings and businesses that had been part of my childhood. I went back to see my kids. Both my children live in the area and I had decided I would take a drive to visit. I invited my sister-in-law along as her son had just been transferred to that area with the military. My nephew’s wife has recently returned from her 2nd or 3rd tour of duty in Afghanistan. These two soldiers are awe inspiring. They take their service to our country very seriously and I’m so proud of both of them. I have such trouble thinking of my nephew as a well respected military man. Not that he doesn’t deserve the respect, he does but he will always be this little tiny kid with a constant runny nose. My mental image of him is nothing like the tall, handsome, commanding man he is. My niece-in-law is an adorable, funny, kind woman who I look forward to getting to know. When my husband died, she had already been deployed. At first I didn’t think about her. A few days after he died, I had a dream. In my dream she was hurt. She was hurt very badly. For some reason my nephew and I were there with her as she lay suffering. In the dream I told my nephew it would be ok if she didn’t make it, his uncle, my husband would be there to take care of her in heaven. My nephew looked at me and in a very commanding voice said... “He can’t have her. I’m not done loving her yet”. I completely understood those feelings. I woke up from the dream so scared that something would happen to her. I knew she was coming home soon and they say that is the most dangerous time for a soldier. I’m sure if I had told her any of this, she would have understood why I held her so very tightly on Friday when I finally saw her. But now they are home, together. I have to say that my emotions were on high alert this weekend. I could feel tears and maybe sobs about to burst at any second. It could have been a “Mom” thing. It could be that the weekend marked 6 months since he died. Maybe it was that this was the first time since just after he died that we were all together. It may be as simple as this town was where we had spent a great deal of our married life, one of our many homes… and I was there, alone.

One of my objectives this weekend was to check out a local shelter and see if I could find a puppy that needed a home. My kids, my fabulous son-in-law to be included, visited the same shelter where we had obtained our beloved Max. We had Max for 11 great years and I thought we could see if lightning would strike twice. As we made out way through the kennels, looking at tons of puppies a little black lab mix caught our eye. I should say her eyes caught our attention, one black, one blue. We brought her out to the bonding area and she took to my son immediately. Since she was going to be my dog, I needed to see if we connected. The answer… no way. She wouldn’t make eye contact. It was ok. I’m a big girl and I know not everyone and everything is going to like me. Better to learn it now than to drive the 6 hours home and make that discovery. We went back to the kennels. Sitting in the same kennel, actually a sister to the blue/black eyed pup was the cutest brown, black, white and golden puppy I had every seen.
I immediately got the warm puppy kiss and she tucked her little head under my chin. I was hooked. If there is a pre-adoption class that puppies go through, basically how to reel people in, my puppy was valedictorian. So I adopted Bauer and she appears to have adopted me. Bauer now has a home and I have someone to come home to. This puppy will be spoiled and there is nothing I intend to do to stop that. This puppy will grow up to be a good sized dog and will be taught the basic social skills she will need. But this puppy will be over-loved, if that makes sense. She will sleep in my bed if she chooses and will be indulged as I see fit. I will keep this puppy safe, healthy and others safe from her. But there can be no mistake in my mind that I need to have this puppy. I need to shower someone or thing with love and attention. My genetic make-up requires it.

So Bauer is now safe in her own home. She has already attended her first hockey game, enjoyed a lovely breakfast at an outdoor café and taken a long car trip. She handled all of this with a great air of confidence. She will be a great part of the next chapter of my life and I certainly hope I will be the same for her.

I need to add, yesterday as I arrived at work and Bauer was beginning her first day on her own, I was actually panicked. Did I do the right thing? Will my dog walkers show up? Am I just being selfish? As I got out of the car, the big fat rabbit that seems to show up in the parking lot whenever I am filled with self doubt hopped out of the cattails and stared at me. I’ve come to take this rabbit’s visits as a sign. Right or wrong, I’ll accept this as a sign that this will all be good.

I hope so…

Thursday 9/17/2009 Back up

2009-09-17T05:59:00.000-04:00

This post was delayed due to my 9/11 blogs

Today I’m sitting in traffic. It’s Sunday, why a backup?

Why a back up indeed. I’ve just come from the pet store where a local group was hosting an adoption event. I was looking at a little female lab/rotti puppy. I figure we both need adopting. But while I was there and the volunteers were asking me questions about my prior pet ownership, I could feel my throat tighten. The more I spoke of my buddy, my “puppy” Max, my 11 year old Lab Newfoundland mix dog, it all… backed up. This is the 3rd time this week this has happened. Each time has been at what was in actuality a tribute to either my husband or my puppy.

The first was on Thursday. I decided I needed to give back to the communities that mattered in the lives of my late husband, my children and me. I had asked to support a number of projects since March and was amazed at the red tape I had to go through just to support a worthy cause. I began speaking with the coach at the high school my husband attended. My husband was a star athlete, excelling in both Football and Baseball. I wanted to somehow impact the football team at his high school. After much back and forth, I “adopted” the freshman football team. Well that may sound a bit bigger than this is. What I really did was agree to feed the freshman football team. The Varsity and JV teams are given a hot meal on game day. But there is no budget to give a hot meal or any meal to the freshman team. So on Thursdays, freshman game day, I provide a meal for 35 players. On the first Thursday I was planning to have the lunches delivered but luck and timing allowed me to be in the area to assist with the delivery. I met the coach in the main office and he seemed a bit surprised to see me. I think he still wasn’t sure my offer was sincere. He asked if I would accompany him to the locker room to meet the other coaches and deliver the lunches. Because my husband had taught me the game of football, I started asking questions about the Varsity team as we made our way around campus to the athletic office. I asked about his team’s passing game, ratio of seniors to freshman and so on. As we entered the office and locker room, I began to feel a huge sense of pride. The coaches all stood as I entered the office and one coach started reciting my husband’s football highlights. I felt a wave of emotion come over me and a young coach standing next to me leaned in and asked if I was ok. I said I was surprised at the emotions backing up on me. He smiled and said, “I know what you’re feeling”. Oh my gosh I thought, not another widower about to share his loss with me. I knew I couldn’t handle it at that moment. But the look on my face must have caused him to elaborate. He leaned in close to me and said... “You’re emotional because, you’re in the boy’s locker room! If you want, I can show you the boy’s bathroom”. I started to giggle and could not stop until I got back in my car. Once in my car, I allowed the tears to fall. The experience was so gratifying and gave me a sense of closeness to a time in my husband’s life I was not a part of. As thankful as the coaches and team are, I am even more thankful. I think I got the better end of this deal.

On Saturday, the 12th Annual Run for Ryan took place in my town. Ryan was a senior in high school when he collapsed and died during Cross Country practice. His family spends the bulk of their time honoring this wonderful young man with fundraisers benefiting the booster club and local charities. I chose to sponsor this event because of what I read about this wonderful young man. He touched the lives around him so deeply and in such a profound way, as did my husband. I spoke with Ryan’s mother and knew from the moment she answered the phone that we had a profound connection. I sponsored the event and volunteered to help out on race day. Race day was exactly what you would hope for, cool yet not cold. The 8K, 5K and 1K was held in the evening and as I sat at the registration table, signing in runners, I began to realize that while this event and its significance was new to me, it was not new to the community. Former participants were welcomed with open arms. I was introduced as an honored guest, a friend. I met more people from my own town than I knew even existed. I saw the police chief I had spoken to by phone but had never met. When he was introduced to me there was a moment before he seemed to pull my name up and connect it… He then just stepped toward me and hugged me tight saying he was so glad to finally meet me. I was never introduced as a widow or someone who had had a loss. I was “our friend” or a “generous supporter”. With a few hundred runner/walkers the event was much more popular than I could have imagined. I worked the registration table, signing in the runners and noticing how young and old, these were folks who had deep roots in my little city. The names were business names, street names and building names. The people’s fathers, Grandfathers and Great Grandfather’s settled my town, developed our history. As all this was happening, I found my emotions backing up. No tears or sadness but a wave of emotions I was cautious to control.

Outside, as the National Anthem played just before the race was started, Ryan’s mom came over to me and put her arms around me. We held each other and cried for a short moment. Not only was this the day of the race honoring her young son, it was also the anniversary of the death of her husband, Ryan’s father. I had an unspoken kinship with this woman. This woman. Such loss yet she got up every day and searched for ways to honor the lost men in her life. As she did that day in and day out, she honored herself as well. She found great peace in keeping not only their spirit alive but also keeping her passion and drive vibrant and engaged. As it was time for Ryan’s mom to start the race, she introduced some of the key players in the event. She thanked her family, her friends the community and then she thanked me. It wasn’t a big gesture and almost no one knew what it meant, but just before the race, she turned to me and said, “mother to mother, wife to wife”, she blew me a kiss and fired off the starting gun. In the split second between her message and the start of the race, I looked up and saw the young police officer who had been with me the night my husband died. Between us there were maybe 100 people, but I knew then, more strongly than I have ever known anything before in my life. I knew I would survive. I knew that I was doing what was right. I knew I was part of a community in a way I have never been before. I knew that while painful, I was on my way to the next chapter in my life and it would be…ok. It will be as great as I choose it to be or as I make it. I knew I had great people around me, in my family and my community who had survived and triumphed.

When the race ended I stayed at the after party for just a short time. I walked around the park thinking about what I had experienced in the past few days. Would I have had these moments if he was still alive? I don’t know. There is also the bigger question, why wouldn’t I have the experiences with him alive? The answer may be as simple as me not creating the option for the moment in the structure of my life before. I think my ah ha moment was… I hold what happens to me in my hands. I could wring my hands and say oh poor me or I can grab on to something and hold on tight for the ride. I think I’ll grab on and hang on for the ride. I think it will be great. Different, but great. Scary maybe, but great. I now believe I can be great again as well.

I hope so…

Wednesday 9/9/2009 Vacation

2009-09-10T00:24:00.000-04:00

Everyone needs a vacation. I’ve often wished I lived in Europe where they get 5 weeks of vacation each year. Vacations are designed to recharge your engines, relax your brain…get you back to square one.

Vacations when I was a kid were nothing like the vacation now. 90% of trips were done by car. We didn’t have DVD players built into the seats. No Game Boys or other hand held devises to amuse or occupy the kids. We had books and crayons. In the better years we had these little cardboard games to play. One was a square of cardboard with little red cellophane windows with the names of all the states inside. When you saw a license plate from one of the 50 states, you closed the corresponding window. When you closed all the windows… you won. In the 1960-70 it was pretty tough to see a Hawaii or Alaska plate going from Illinois to Wisconsin. Nothing could be as fun and stimulating as a rousing game of ABC. Remember using billboards... you had to find a word on a billboard that began with the letter you were looking for… Q could usually only be found on a gas station sign for Quaker State Oil. Rules were modified sometimes, depending on the desolation of the area you were driving through. But we were amused and we came out relatively unscathed after the journey. It would be unfair not to mention that no one… unless you had 10 + kids had a van or mini van. So in my family, we had Mom and Dad in the front, sometimes with a dog on the floor at my mom’s feet and 4 yes 4 kids in the back seat. The hot, vinyl back seat. It was brutal. The stories about my oldest sister and her insatiable need for her own space will have to wait for another blog. We actually once made a trip from Illinois to Wyoming in 2 days in a Road Runner. If I remember correctly it was a 2 door with no air conditioning, no back windows. Frankly, we never thought to complain or not be grateful that we were even able take a vacation. We always made the best of the trips we took as kids. I just remember the pure joy I felt just having all of us together, no fire calls for my dad to run off to and no everyday issues to deal with.

My late husband and I took our kids on a number of trips. We once did an Alaskan Cruise. My daughter had just returned from 6 weeks in France and my son was in between hockey camps and cool hockey trips. Neither of them wanted to go but it was one of our only family trips that did not include some sports tournament. Almost as soon as we got on the ship, they started whining about the cruise being a “grandma” cruise. Ok, they were sort of right. The ratio of geriatrics to non was about 2:1. We vowed to make this a great trip and tried to give the kids a wide berth. Our first stop had us in Juno. The kids wanted to go up to the rain forest on the tram and being the fabulous parents we were… we went for it. At the top, the scenery was breathtaking. The kids seemed to relax and really take in the beauty all around them. Both kids asked if we could walk the trails down rather than take the tram. Being the fabulous parents we were… we told them to lead the way… being a fabulous parent doesn’t always mean you are the smartest parent. Hindsight being what it is, we should have confirmed that there was actually even a trail to follow down and out of the rain forest. They say the mind blocks out memories that are too hard to disseminate… I don’t recall every detail of the trip down the side of the mountain, but this I clearly know. The kids were almost running down the slippery, moss covered ground clearing a small path for my husband and me. I remember my husband saying not to hold on to each other, just in case someone falls, they don’t take the other person down with them. A split second after I heard him say that behind me, I felt the full weight of his body slam into me as he slipped and fell. I’ve never actually seen anyone tumble like he did, well no one that wasn’t a cartoon character. Shortly after he recovered, as we were continuing to make our way down the side of the mountain, we came upon a group of folks working on some nature project. They stopped their work to chat with us. Their first question was of course to be sure my husband was alright, and then they asked why we were there. We must have said something about walking the trail down… between their laughter; they mentioned that the trail wasn’t open or in fact even built. I just remember my husband looking up the mountain and deciding we were better off continuing our downward trek. Moments later he took an even bigger, longer, harder and faster tumble. After 2 hours we emerged in a neighborhood far north of the town of Juno. We could see the smoke stacks of the ship off in the distance. My husband was covered, head to toe in mud, pine branches and needles poking in and out of spots they were never intended to be. As we walked through the town tourists and townsfolk alike were jumping to get out of the way of the 6 foot 4 inch man in the U of M hoodie, covered in mud and rain forest parts. The next day we took an amazing kayak trip… Bald eagles, salmon, wildlife, snow, mountains and breathtaking views made this an amazing experience. Our 2 kids were in a kayak together and disturbed the Alaskan beauty by fighting about absolutely everything for the entire kayak trip. It was miserable. The misery continued as my husband got stuck in the kayak and almost had to be cut out of it. We survived the trip and made it home in one piece, kids moaning and groaning the whole way. Years later, we were all having dinner, my husband and I, our kids and their significant others. Somehow we ended up talking about the cruise. You could have pushed my late husband and me over with a feather. Our kids were telling their guests about the “great” “fabulous” “trip of a lifetime” we took to Alaska. How amazing it was that we took them kayaking! Who were these kids? What trip did they take? Please, bring my children back!

So why the change? Is it because they now appreciate things like trips more or understand the value of the time? If their comments had been made since their dad died, I would think that to be the case, the change of heart or realization was months before he passed. But how great is it that they could express to him and me their appreciation for what we did in an effort to make them happy. Ironically I have done the same to my parents. I have fond memories of our trip no matter how illogical that may be. Maybe it is what I think, that it just the appreciation for the undivided attention of your family. My kids will never again have that dynamic and that makes me sad. I am so proud that my late husband gave so much of his time and talents to our children and to me. To repay him, I will work closely with my children to discover ways we can give back in his honor. To the dad’s out there, it’s not the size of your wallet that will be the things your children cling to should you need to leave them. It is the size of your heart. The ability to laugh at yourself, learn from your mistakes, the ability to forgive and most of all your capacity to give and accept love that will make your children what you have always wished them to be.

I hope so…