Two days ago marked the twenty-five year anniversary of the day we got the phone call that would change us forever. It was the beginning of a series of events that destroyed us in a way, but also made us stronger in a way too.
I would rather have stayed the weaker version of myself, frankly.
My 29-year-old sister, Joanne, was stepping off a commuter train. A conductor didn't look back like he should have and moved the train forward. She stumbled. She hit her head on the concrete platform.
And died.
Today marks the day that they took her off the machines that were keeping her alive.
Oh, how I miss her.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Being Brought Up To Speed
Emma is thirteen. Thirteen is hard. Not hard in the way I feared when I thought about thirteen so many years ago when she was a baby. I feared she'd be addicted to meth or something by thirteen. But she's not. She's a great kid - good grades, well-behaved, involved in some fun healthy activities, lots of friends.
But...
It's still hard.
She wants more independence from me and I understand that. It's what we all really ultimately want for our kids, isn't it? We want them to be healthy, happy, independent, contributing adults. They aren't going to get there if they remain dependent on us. It has to happen sometime and thirteen seems to be the age that the inevitable occurs.
But oh how I miss her. I miss knowing everything about her life (her friends do now). I miss being the go-to person in her life (her friends are now). I miss hanging out with her (she hangs out with her friends now). I miss her wearing princess dresses (none of her friends would be caught dead in one now).
I will admit that I'm one of the more fortunate moms though. She does seem to share more with me than her friends share with their moms. The silence that descends between mother and child at this age is so very hard to accept. And from what the other mothers tell me, they have to keep getting their hearing checked to make sure they haven't suddenly gone deaf. Ooooohhhh, I haven't gone deaf. WHEW! It's just my kid pretending that I don't exist! What. a. RE-LIEF!!
With this in mind, I will take any little tidbit of information about Emma's current life that she chooses to grace me with. The other day, on the way home from school, she tells me that Matthew finally asked Marilyn out - "FINALLY!" This was big news indeed. Matthew had been trying to build up the courage to ask Marilyn out for weeks. (Which, I always thought was kind of funny because Marilyn is hardly an intimidating girl, and she liked Matthew and Matthew knew that she liked him so....what's the big risk really Matthew? Man-up and ask the girl out already!)
As Emma and I were chatting about this - when he asked her, where he asked her, how he asked her, what she said back when he asked her, etc. - she concludes the story with, "And then the WHOLE CLASS was staring at them all during lunch! It was EMBARRASSING!"
I was confused. "Why was everyone staring at them?" She sighs deeply at my ignorance and says, "Because they sat together at our table and they've never done that before so everyone knew that they were going out now."
Oh, I see. I get it now.
"So, when you 'go out' you have to sit together at lunch?"
She sighs very loudly again, rolls her eyes, looks at me with a disgusted expression on her face and replies, "It's STRONGLY advised, Mom."
Six months, eleven days, fourteen hours and nine minutes until she's done being thirteen.
But...
It's still hard.
She wants more independence from me and I understand that. It's what we all really ultimately want for our kids, isn't it? We want them to be healthy, happy, independent, contributing adults. They aren't going to get there if they remain dependent on us. It has to happen sometime and thirteen seems to be the age that the inevitable occurs.
But oh how I miss her. I miss knowing everything about her life (her friends do now). I miss being the go-to person in her life (her friends are now). I miss hanging out with her (she hangs out with her friends now). I miss her wearing princess dresses (none of her friends would be caught dead in one now).
I will admit that I'm one of the more fortunate moms though. She does seem to share more with me than her friends share with their moms. The silence that descends between mother and child at this age is so very hard to accept. And from what the other mothers tell me, they have to keep getting their hearing checked to make sure they haven't suddenly gone deaf. Ooooohhhh, I haven't gone deaf. WHEW! It's just my kid pretending that I don't exist! What. a. RE-LIEF!!
With this in mind, I will take any little tidbit of information about Emma's current life that she chooses to grace me with. The other day, on the way home from school, she tells me that Matthew finally asked Marilyn out - "FINALLY!" This was big news indeed. Matthew had been trying to build up the courage to ask Marilyn out for weeks. (Which, I always thought was kind of funny because Marilyn is hardly an intimidating girl, and she liked Matthew and Matthew knew that she liked him so....what's the big risk really Matthew? Man-up and ask the girl out already!)
As Emma and I were chatting about this - when he asked her, where he asked her, how he asked her, what she said back when he asked her, etc. - she concludes the story with, "And then the WHOLE CLASS was staring at them all during lunch! It was EMBARRASSING!"
I was confused. "Why was everyone staring at them?" She sighs deeply at my ignorance and says, "Because they sat together at our table and they've never done that before so everyone knew that they were going out now."
Oh, I see. I get it now.
"So, when you 'go out' you have to sit together at lunch?"
She sighs very loudly again, rolls her eyes, looks at me with a disgusted expression on her face and replies, "It's STRONGLY advised, Mom."
Six months, eleven days, fourteen hours and nine minutes until she's done being thirteen.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Narrative on Grief
Grief may be a thing we all have in common, but it looks different on everyone.
It isn't just death we have to grieve...it's life, it's loss, it's change.
And when we wonder why it has to suck so much sometimes...has to hurt so bad...the thing we gotta try to remember is that it can turn on a dime.
That's how you stay alive. When it hurts so much that you can't breathe. That's how you survive....
By remembering that one day, somehow, impossibly, you won't feel this way.
It won't hurt this much.
Grief comes in its own time for everyone. In its own way.
So the best we can do - the best anyone can do - is try for honesty.
The really crappy thing, the very worst part of grief, is that you can't control it.
The best we can do is try to let ourselves feel it when it comes...
And let it go when we can.
The very worst part, is the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again.
And always...
every time...
It takes your breath away.
Grey's Anatomy
2009
It isn't just death we have to grieve...it's life, it's loss, it's change.
And when we wonder why it has to suck so much sometimes...has to hurt so bad...the thing we gotta try to remember is that it can turn on a dime.
That's how you stay alive. When it hurts so much that you can't breathe. That's how you survive....
By remembering that one day, somehow, impossibly, you won't feel this way.
It won't hurt this much.
Grief comes in its own time for everyone. In its own way.
So the best we can do - the best anyone can do - is try for honesty.
The really crappy thing, the very worst part of grief, is that you can't control it.
The best we can do is try to let ourselves feel it when it comes...
And let it go when we can.
The very worst part, is the minute you think you're past it, it starts all over again.
And always...
every time...
It takes your breath away.
Grey's Anatomy
2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
One of Those Lifetimes
Lately, I feel like everyday is about all that I do wrong and all that I don't do right.
It's discouraging.
It's discouraging.
Friday, October 2, 2009
From Here to There
I went on a trip last week. A special occasion. One that I frankly never thought I'd get celebrate. But I did, so I went. And it was fun!
Except for the getting there and the getting back that is. I hate that part. Every time I travel I try to psyche myself up for it. Talk myself out of the foul mood (and mouth) that I have by the time I reach my destination. I just hate it so very much. Drive the car to the parking lot, take the parking lot shuttle to the airport, take the airport train to the plane, take the plane to the next airport, take the train (or tram or whatever that particular airport is calling it) to the baggage claim, take the shuttle to the car rental place, drive the rental car to the hotel....
HATING IT!!
Right about the time I get to the car rental place I am fit to be tied. So pissed off. Irrational, I know, but it just drives me nuts, all of the transferring of bodies and luggage and purses and carry-ons and just OMG all of the CRAP!
None of that even addresses the fear I have of traveling. I never liked the idea of dying in a car or plane crash, of course, but ever since I had Emma, that fear multiplied exponentially. If she's with me I worry that her life will be cut short or that she'll be maimed or paralyzed and have to live with the trauma of that. And if she's not with me, I worry about dying and leaving her behind without her mom and having to live with the trauma of that. It's a lose-lose.
This was compounded last week by the fact that it occurred to me as the plane took off from Atlanta-Hartsfield Airport, how completely and utterly INSANE flying is. I mean, it really is - INSANE. It's just nuts. But all transportation is, I guess. Hundreds of millions of us get inside these little rooms with seats in them and proceed to roll about on these things called roads so we can get from here to there quicker than our feet can take us.
Then, when we fly we still get in a little room - a long tubular room - and sit our asses down and then we let another person - the pilot - rev those engines full speed and lift the tubular room that we're all sitting in (that includes a gas tank with hundreds of gallons of flammable liquid in it) OFF THE GROUND AND INTO THE SKY. All so we can get from here to there faster than our cars or buses or trains or subways can take us.
It's crazy stuff, I tell ya. CRA-ZY.
But here's the kicker. I love to travel. I want to see every country in the world. I want to experience other cultures. I want to meet the people and smell the smells and see the sights. Whenever asked, "What would you do if you had a million dol----" They don't even have to finish their question. My answer is always a definitive, "Travel."
So, I suck it up and try to do better with my mood and patience each time I go somewhere. I work hard not to think about how totally bonkers it is to put myself on these various modes of transportation. And I always try to remember that, for me, traveling is not about the journey and all about the destination.
Except for the getting there and the getting back that is. I hate that part. Every time I travel I try to psyche myself up for it. Talk myself out of the foul mood (and mouth) that I have by the time I reach my destination. I just hate it so very much. Drive the car to the parking lot, take the parking lot shuttle to the airport, take the airport train to the plane, take the plane to the next airport, take the train (or tram or whatever that particular airport is calling it) to the baggage claim, take the shuttle to the car rental place, drive the rental car to the hotel....
HATING IT!!
Right about the time I get to the car rental place I am fit to be tied. So pissed off. Irrational, I know, but it just drives me nuts, all of the transferring of bodies and luggage and purses and carry-ons and just OMG all of the CRAP!
None of that even addresses the fear I have of traveling. I never liked the idea of dying in a car or plane crash, of course, but ever since I had Emma, that fear multiplied exponentially. If she's with me I worry that her life will be cut short or that she'll be maimed or paralyzed and have to live with the trauma of that. And if she's not with me, I worry about dying and leaving her behind without her mom and having to live with the trauma of that. It's a lose-lose.
This was compounded last week by the fact that it occurred to me as the plane took off from Atlanta-Hartsfield Airport, how completely and utterly INSANE flying is. I mean, it really is - INSANE. It's just nuts. But all transportation is, I guess. Hundreds of millions of us get inside these little rooms with seats in them and proceed to roll about on these things called roads so we can get from here to there quicker than our feet can take us.
Then, when we fly we still get in a little room - a long tubular room - and sit our asses down and then we let another person - the pilot - rev those engines full speed and lift the tubular room that we're all sitting in (that includes a gas tank with hundreds of gallons of flammable liquid in it) OFF THE GROUND AND INTO THE SKY. All so we can get from here to there faster than our cars or buses or trains or subways can take us.
It's crazy stuff, I tell ya. CRA-ZY.
But here's the kicker. I love to travel. I want to see every country in the world. I want to experience other cultures. I want to meet the people and smell the smells and see the sights. Whenever asked, "What would you do if you had a million dol----" They don't even have to finish their question. My answer is always a definitive, "Travel."
So, I suck it up and try to do better with my mood and patience each time I go somewhere. I work hard not to think about how totally bonkers it is to put myself on these various modes of transportation. And I always try to remember that, for me, traveling is not about the journey and all about the destination.
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