Still Hurts

Nine years. Feels like yesterday. Like any kind of grieving, it never stops hurting, you just find a way to move forward with the grief as your uninvited companion.

Many blessings to those families who lost loved ones on this day nine years ago. Their heroism is beyond measure and I am forever grateful.

Just Don't Look At It

Greg got a new haircut. It's a buzz cut from the nape of his neck to about halfway up his head and then it's his regular length. I was proud of him for doing that. He knows I get bored with the usual "look". You know what I mean - the uniform that men of his age wear - khaki pants, polo shirt, some sort of brown leather shoe, hair cut short and parted on the side or slicked back. YAWN.

The three of us were riding in the car last night and Greg asked Emma what she thought of his hair and she's like, "EH."

EH???

He questioned her about her response, "You don't like it? I wanted to try something different." She replied, "Welllll....it's not terrible. I mean, it's okay - you know - if you're not LOOKING at it or anything."

I swear, that kid....so damn funny!

The Big L

Every time I sign onto AOL and don't hear, "You've got mail!" because I don't have any new e-mails, I always imagine it saying, in that same peppy voice, "You're a big LOSER!"

Hahahahahaha!!!!

My Two Selves

A while back I wrote this post:

http://laughingeden.blogspot.com/2009_05_01_archive.html

It's about how hard it is to try to be okay for everyone else in your life but inside you know that you'll never be okay again - not really - not in the way that you were before whatever it was that changed you forever happened. Changed you in a way that wasn't all that great.

I just finished reading Every Last One by Anne Quindlen and she seems to have nailed it in her writing much better than I did in mine.....

"I have two selves now, the one that goes out in the world and says what sound like the right things and nods and listens and even sometimes smiles, and the real woman, who watches her in wonder, who is nothing but a wound, a wound that will not stop throbbing except when it is anesthetized. I know what the world wants: It wants me to heal. But to heal I would have to forget, and if I forget, my family truly dies."

So you see? There's no way to ever be what you were before. The you that everyone wants back so they can be more comfortable around you again. So that they can be comfortable with what's happened in your life.

There are days that I'm really bitter about that. Bitter about others being inconvenienced by the tragedies in my life. I often want to scream at them, What's happened to me is hard on YOU??? Walk one day in my life, with the burden of grief I carry. ONE DAY!! I dare you.

But, then, there are days that I totally get it. I get the instincts within all of us to get things back to normal and be okay. Because when things are okay and normal, it means you're safe. All of the upheaval of tragedy makes you feel really unsafe and scared. It shakes the firm foundations you've based your life on - turns them to dust and you're slipping and falling and grabbing at something - anything - to anchor yourself. To steady yourself again.

I remember when my sister, Joanne, was killed. I left the hospital and went to my friend T's house. I stayed there for days. I finally had to go home to get ready for the funeral and I desperately didn't want to. I knew instinctively that once I went home, to the home that Joanne had been a part of, it would all be real. She would really be dead. Gone forever. Never to walk in that door again. Never to sit in the living room watching a movie with me again. Never in the kitchen baking with me again.

I knew that as long as I stayed at T's, as if it were just another of the hundreds of sleepovers I'd had with her, then Joanne's death could just be a bad dream I'd had. Everything could be normal and okay.

My instincts were spot on: going home was hideously painful. Gutted me. Forever changed me.

But here I am, many years later, changed but surviving. Laughing as often as I can and loving in a way that maybe only someone that's been through what I've been through knows how to love - fiercely and striving towards the unconditional.

I'm living my life as best I can.

I think Joanne would be proud of me for that.

Another Day

I'm tired. But still thankful.

~A new friendship with a neighbor

~Polka-dot pajamas

~Baking

~Thunderstorms

~Water

Faith

"I've ceased to believe."

"Believe in what?"

"In sense, in justice. In life."

~Philippa, Heaven


It wasn't so long ago that I was at a place in my life where I realized I believed in nothing anymore - God, marriage, friendship, family, the church, health, joy, life, myself....

It was an awfully scary place to be and I'm so thankful that I've clawed my way back to believing in a few things again. I still struggle on some fronts but I'm working on it.

Trying Hard to be Grateful

Ever get to a point when EVERYTHING is crap and it all hurts and pisses you off and if you don't want to cry then you end up laughing this ridiculously maniacal laugh that scares the people around you?

Yeah....that's where I'm at.

But there are still many things to be grateful for and here are just a few:

1. Mad Men (so damn sexy!)

2. My daughter's innate wisdom

3. Coupons!

4. Jennifer Weiner

5. That I can eat tons of crap all day and still lose a pound overnight. (I don't know why that happens. It just does. Don't hate me.)

Five Things I'm Thankful For Today...

....Starbucks Double Chocolate-Chip Frappuccinos.

....True crime television shows.

....A washer and dryer in my home. (I remember having to go to the laundromat!)

....Dooce.

....People with Midwestern accents. (You betcha!)

What I've Noticed About My Daughter

She's very tall. She has now surpassed me in height and it kind of freaks me out.

She hates injustice.

She NEVER hangs up her towels.

She loves stories.

She thinks I'm nuts.

She's someone that you think isn't paying much attention, but then later, you learn that she was TOTALLY paying attention.

She surprises me with her music choices. In a matter of three months a while back she went from Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift to Muse and Skillet. Not sure how I feel about that...

She does not care if her clothes are wrinkled. I know EXACTLY how I feel about that.

She loves to play Slug Bug. (My arms have bruises.)

She's funny. A very dry sense of humor.

She's argumentative. Drives me crazy sometimes.

She has good instincts. She always has.

She knows her own limits. She always has.

She sleeps a lot.

She's very brave. So very brave. Braver than I ever was as a kid and it truly amazes me.

I love her.

Words That Elude Me

I dream of being a writer. I love words. The idea of stringing a bunch of words together in a particular order of my choosing - and having people respond to those words in a way that's positive for them - would be such an amazing thing to me.

But, aside from a brief post the other day, I have found that I cannot write here lately. I have so much roiling inside of me every second of every day recently, and you would think that this would be a time of great creativity. A great releasing of the words. The feelings. The emotions. Cathartic, right?

Um, yeah...not so much.

I feel like I'm going to explode. It's an actual physical feeling of pressure inside of me that makes me want to open the valve and scream a primal scream so loud that it would make the earth shudder. Spew a million words with my frustration and sadness and fear and anger. Say these words in an order and in a way that would make sense and express all that's happening inside.

But, you see, that's not my style. As my mother said years ago when my sister died and someone made the comment to her that we were "very calm" (this person was wondering why there wasn't a lot of weeping and wailing) - "We're German. We don't do that."

We approach all things with stoic faces, practical attitudes and an infuriating need to stand up straighter and taller in spite of it all.

My daughter has inherited this way of reacting and coping, and I must say, it's the thing that she's inherited from me that makes me the saddest. (Which is really saying something considering that she also got my enormous ears and unfortunate saddle bags.) One of her teachers told me this past year, "Emma is completely and utterly unflappable. I have never known anyone young or old with that kind of unflappability." At first, I was flattered. But upon reflection, it just made me really sad. Appearing unflappable is a rough way to go in life. The calm veneer will serve you well in many ways. But in the end, all of that STUFF is left inside of you and you are alone with it. And it eats away your happiness and backs up on you when you are your weakest.

My sweet girl...I am aching and worrying about her so much these days. She is hurting about so many things and seems completely stuck as to how to talk about any of it. How can I teach my daughter to find the words if I cannnot myself?

I hope I can find the words again soon - and the order they need to be put in to express all that I want to express. I hope my girl is okay. I hope I can stop bawling.

I mean, I am German after all. I need to represent.

Not So Fast

I've learned recently that you don't have the right to say "The past is the past" unless you've learned from the past. Most of the time that people use this handy quote is when they've done something wrong....and it's hurt someone they care about...but they are getting tired of having to deal with the consequences of that wrong action...so they conveniently say, "The past is the past. Why can't we move on?"

Moving on is a luxury only earned by doing whatever you have to do to rectify the wrong you've done and prove that you've truly learned something from it - enough not to do it again.

I'm just sayin'....

ARGH!!

On my eyelid.

At the age of 44.

WTF??

Who gets pimples on their eyelid? Who gets pimples when they're 44?

So ridiculously annoying!!!!

The Fabric of Our Lives?

I've always had issues with my figure. What girl doesn't?? I know I'm fortunate in that I'm fairly tall (5'9") and fairly thin (currently 136), so I try not to complain too much. But my long and lanky figure is also problematic. My inseam is 34 inches so finding pants long enough is a hassle. I'm also very short-waisted so finding shirts short enough is a hassle. My high waist is also very thick and if it weren't for my moderate saddle-bags I wouldn't have any illusion of a waistline at all. I am also lacking in the hips and ass area. And alas, my shoulders, double chin and big ears are also a problem - which basically makes me one big hot mess.

The other day I ran out of my usual underwear. I typically wear Fruit of the Loom cotton bikini undies. Not glamorous but very practical and they do the trick. The trick being to cover my ass and allow me not to feel naked in my clothes - which seems like an oxymoron - but since I said it, it's just MORON.

Anyway, I ran out of my FOTL bikinis because I was lazy and didn't get to the laundry and all I had left were a couple pairs of these lacy satiny jobbers. (Not much occasion for those lately unfortunately. Although...maybe if I WORE them more often, I'd have OCCASION for them more often - IF you know what I mean.) So, I put on a lacy pair, got dressed and then got on with my day. About halfway through that day though I noticed that I kept having to hike up my pants. Step, step, step, tug...step, step, step, tug....and on like that ALL DAY. It was driving me crazy. But then it occurred to me, Hey! Maybe I've lost weight! That MUST be it! That's why these old-jeans-that-used-to-fit-just-right keep falling down! That thought made me happy so I gladly tugged away the rest of the day and was even a little puffed up about the weight I'd lost without even trying. Wasn't I so amazing?! I can lose weight just by merely EXISTING!

The next day, I was down to that last pair of satiny undies (I still hadn't done any laundry) so I put on those bad boys and then put on a pair of black yoga pants over them. (No, I don't do yoga. I just like the pants.) Now, in case you didn't know, yoga pants are made of a stretchy jersey type of fabric that tends to cling to your skin snugly. I was sure that this would solve the I've-lost-so-much-weight-that-I-have-to-tug-up-my-pants-all-day problem. But it wasn't to be. An hour later I noticed that I was still tugging them up every few steps. Step, step, step, tug...

That's when it hit me.

I haven't lost weight. IT'S THE SATIN UNDIES. All of these years, little did I know, that it was my practical cotton undies that had been keeping my pants up. My assless, hipless, waistless figure gave nothing for the pants to hang onto. The friction from the cotton-on-cotton held my pants in place whereas the slippery satin ones just let them slide on down all willy-nilly like.

I was so disappointed. Disillusioned. Distraught.

I had not lost weight. And even worse, I was not cut out for the sexy satin undies. I was doomed to be a cotton undies gal forever and there was nothing I could do about it.

Or so I thought.

When I told my tale to Emma and lamented my boring underwear destiny, she sighed heavily, closed her eyes as if to find her patience somewhere deep inside of her soul, took a deep breath and said, "Why don't you just wear a belt, Mom?"