Homesick-or "Ode to California"

Well its been almost two years since we moved to Vermont and I'm still homesick for California.

I don't know what it is, maybe the cold, maybe the different culture, maybe the fact that when we moved here my oldest son decided to move in with his dad. I don't know. What I do know is that no matter how poor the air quality, crime, gangs, etc, it was my home. And I miss it. I grew up in Oklahoma and that will always be where my roots are. But I don't know know or when but CA worked its way into my heart (and my friends there) and it will not leave.

This is a conundrum...what a word right? Not one that I usually use. But I'm feeling especially melancholy tonight. Maybe it's the weather, maybe not.

But I want to go "home". And home for me is southern California. And it always will be. The children we raised there feel the same way. My oldest son thinks about it all the time, my middle son talks to me about it as does my youngest, my daughter, we try not to talk about it around "Dad", this is where he grew up. This is where he thinks we belong, and he's a good man and we want to make him happy.

I know this blog will make some people angry. I'm sorry if it does, but this is something I have to get out.

These cold New England winter's. The different culture, even the food. It's not "right", not for me. I told my husband I'd give it a year, we're going on two and my heart still hurts. Hurts for my friends that made me laugh until I pee'd my pants, my friends that "got" my humor, hurt for the fact that I didn't even own a pair of open toe shoes (until I came here), and wore mostly skirts and sandals year round (not even a possibility here) - where it takes 30 minutes to bundle up myself and the kids for our 5 minute drive to school and work.

I hurt for the memory of locking up the elementary school I worked at in a migrant community (I miss my job there too) on a Friday night with the sound of Mexican music playing as families gathered in their neighborhood to start off the weekend, the smell of homemade tamales, the sounds of laughter, the cries of "bye maestra! have a nice weekend mija!

I miss the sunshine, beach sand, drinking wine on Zuma beach, then sledding in the Tehachapi Mountains a couple of weeks later, 4 wheeling in the desert with my Xterra (that was destroyed by a Moose shortly after moving here), the next weekend finding hidden oasis's, strolling down Hollywood Blvd or going to the flea market on Melrose on Sunday's. Watching the tourists gape at Ventura, Malibu, Hollywood Blvd...trying not to look like tourists and failing.

I miss the people, the crazy/wonderful people - the laid back culture. Everything. When we first moved here the busdriver who picked up our children said she knew we were from California because we were so friendly and always smiling. But life is hard here - and we don't do that as much anymore. I know why.

It is work to live here, to live here in the winter-5 miles from the Canadian Border where the wind from the North Pole blows down an arctic chill from October until late May.

All of it. When we moved to California, my oldest was 6 and my middle son 2. My daughter was born there, one of the few actual California residents actually born there-when she lived there that is.

We made our home there for almost 10 years, raised our children there. Loved, lived, laughed, cried, grieved, sweated, worked, and went on with our lives for almost 10 years. I never thought I would leave.

I feel like a piece of myself is still back there-waiting for the rest of me to catch up, to come home, to come to my senses and go back to where I belong. I cry sometimes with happiness at the memories, sometimes with sadness at the memories, but always with longing.

That horrible longing that actually hurts inside of my chest; like an emptiness waiting to be filled. And there is nothing here for me in beautiful Vermont that will fill it. The people here are great, the area is beautiful. My job is okay. But my soul is not at home here. As cliche as it may sound, it just isn't. And I know with a sense like knowing your own children- thoughts that I will always feel this way-no matter what transpires in the future.

So what will I do? This is where my husband (and my best friend for the past 14 years) wants to make our home, to finish raising our children, there are choices to be made.

There are always choices. Sometimes I think that maybe I should have made a different one when the talk started about leaving our home and moving here. Other times I am glad I made the choice I did. It is still there...my free will. The question is, what will I do about it.

Probably stay here, hold my memories close, try to hold my long distant friends closer and go on.

I am not a disease

All - Many of you know that for about the past 5-6 years I have increasingly become more tired, "foggy", and my body has increasingly caused me pain. In late September to early October after being tested for Lupus and many other auto-immunie diseases I was finally diangosed with Fybromalgia.

This was a relief (to finally) know, and at the same time even more depressing because I thought I would have to try to manage this chronic pain, depression, and increasing brain fog (at times so bad I can barely string together a sentence) for the rest of my life.

Then there came a time about 3 weeks ago when I decided that I did not want to go on living in chronic pain. Also, many people do not understand about Fybromalgia or (FM) and I was tired of people being scornful when I was REALLY IN PAIN, FATIGUED, AND CONFUSED. Yes, I was definitely feeling sorry for myself and in a very bad place. It started with feeling like I didn't want to wake up. I started just praying that I would not wake up. Then after I had stayed in bed for 4 days after a really bad "episode" I started making plans. Even now its hard for me to say it. But I work with people in crisis and I knew that if my mind was "making plans for my demise" that I was in trouble.

I called a friend from work and she got me help, fast. I was admitted into the hospital under a suicide watch, I was given medicine, rest, food, and water and for the first time in a long time I got a good nights sleep.

The next day I couldn't believe what I had been thinking about doing the day before, but this just goes to show you that the lack of sleep, combined with chronic pain and fatigue (along with feeling like you've lost 50 IQ points) can put you over the edge. That's when I decided that I was going to do everything I could possibly do to research and fight this disease.

I have been to the pain clinic at Dartmouth and have established some pain management. I still deal with fatigue and brain fog but I have also found a group on facebook that is helping me (there is a link above). I figured that there are support groups for many diseases and problems so there must be one for FM. There is and I've joined it. I don't want to be a victim and I don't want to sit around feeling sorry for myself. I want to fight this auto-immune disease that has tried to take over my body and mind and I want to advocate for myself and others who have the disease.

I'm not going to give up without a fight. I have 4 beautiful children, a husband who loves me, a good career, and friends that love me too. I have also found Maja (a FM advocate in Sweden) and even one of the parents of one of my students who suffers from this disease.

For many years I wondered what was wrong with me. I wondered if I was going crazy. When the pain and fatigue became unbearable I DID think I was crazy. But I'm not, and if you're reading this and have suffered from the same symptoms your not either. Don't let the doctors just tell you that you are just depressed. Yes, you may be depressed but a lot of it is probably because you are suffering from a disease that causes almost constant chronic pain, fatigue, and confusion and you may feel like its not worth going on. But it IS!

Do not give up hope. Periodically I will be posting here about FM and things that have helped me. In the meantime go to the website listed above and also set up an account on Facebook and search for "Maja" or "Fybro". There ARE other people out here that are suffering. People all over the world. Let's get the word out and let's find ways to help each other. Remember...Pain is Universal....So is HOPE!

A Grand Old Lady

I'm sitting on the wrap around porch of a "grand old lady". At least-that's what I call it. It's a house, but not just a house. This house has sat on this hill for at least 100 years (from what I could gather from my research). It overlooks Lake Memphremagog, and downtown Newport.

From where I am sitting on the porch I can see the south bay of Memphremagog through the fall leaves. It looks like something you would find on a postcard. Almost too beautiful to be real. The leaves are umber, orange, pink, green, gold, every hue you can think of. Intermixed within these are the evergreens. Through the tree's that are rapidly losing their leaves I can see the spires of downtown Newport. I can also see the beautiful "castle" church as my daughter calls it. It is actually called St. Mary's Star of the Sea and it is the only such church to be so far inland. It is beautiful.

From one of my daughter's window's on the second floor of this house you can see the church. I am sitting here on this porch that is bigger than some houses I have lived in, for probably one of the last times. We moved in here in August. It is a giant old house, and I believe there are spirits here. But that's for another blog. This one is dedicated to the house. The house sitting on the hill surrounded by hardwoods and softwoods, blackberry bushes (that we picked and ate all through August) and made our own jam and ice-cream topping from.

In a spirit of hope I planted bulbs for next spring, seeds for old fashioned flowers that I hoped would bloom around this beautiful Victorian home when the leaves are green again. My husband and children uncovered stone steps leading down to a flat place in our yard, there - they built a fire pit and we sat around the bonfire this summer while we roasted marshmallow's, told stories, laughed, and my husband taught the kids how to make "dough boy's" (biscuits molded around a thick stick roasted over the fire then filled with jelly).


I always wanted to live in a house like this. A giant house to me compared to what I have lived in with hardwood floors older than my grandfather, a beautiful banister, stairs, and elaborate spindle posts. A landing at the top of the stairs. There are 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, old light fixtures (some nautical porch lights with anchors that are like nothing I've ever seen) and sinks that can only be found in antique store's now. You can lose people in this house as I have found while I walked upstairs/downstairs and all around the porch and basement yelling the names of my husband, children, and dog.

The basement is huge and creepy (as you would expect~and it just wouldn't be the same if it wasn't as far as I'm concerned) there is an old root cellar that I assume was used to "put up" the summer's harvest as my grandmother did when I was a girl. It is built out of old lumber timber and I wonder if the timber came from when Newport was a bustling train stop. This house has character, beautiful large window's filled with light, and spirit to spare.

Unfortunately, it also has lead paint, a heating bill that probably wouldn't allow us to buy groceries in the winter in the current economic climate, and more renovation needed than we could ever financially afford. We leased it with the dream of someday buying it. Even though we knew the landlord's wife wanted to make it her retirement home. Now my husband (and I) although I loathe to admit it have found a more "sensible" home, and with the help of family hopefully we will be able to purchase it someday. We will be moving within a few weeks-back to suburbia to a house made in the late 80's, with a dishwasher and baseboard heat (our daughter has asthma and this old furnace with its many ducts of -who-knows-what-stuffed into the pipes is not good for her breathing (what did kids do back before nebulizers, asthma inhaler's?)...I wonder.


The neighborhood we are moving to is only about a mile away, but it may as well be a galaxy away from this hill, where other "grand old ladies" (as I love to call them sit). These huge houses that have been witness to generations of families, births, deaths, family stories played out among the years...silently watching from their places on the hill as the culture changed, the people changed, the town changed. In my research I noted that this house had once been in one family for 3 generations. To me this inspires the imagination. Three generations of the same family - living their lives out in the same home, this beautiful home where the paint is flaking (lead paint at that-probably falling on my head with the autumn leaves as I type-;), but the solid columns and beams supporting the porch that could house an entire living room set are still standing solid, though their paint may be flaking off, the porch boards may be rotting, and the wiring may need to be re-done. This house is still standing after over 100 years and that is more than can be said for newer structures built after this one.

I complained when I first moved in. I could smell mold, paint was flaking off everywhere, how could we afford to heat it? No dishwasher!? My husband laughed and said it had an "antique" dishwasher...I actually believed him.

But now...after 3 months~I have come to love this home, and much to my husbands chagrin, the kids and I are loathe to leave it. I wash dishes and I have watched the seasons change from the window from where I wash and dry. My grandmother always loved to watch out of the window while she washed and dried dishes, and only now, that I am older, more introspective-more patient-do I understand. I have watched my children play, my husband mow the yard, the leaves and bushes slowly change, the birds nest and fly, and our cat sleeping on a tree branch. You would never expect all of this drama to unfold in a backyard~and I never would have taken the time to watch~ had I not had to hand wash the dishes.

I guess there is something to be said for slowing down.

I have moved now, the the other side of the porch. The side that faces Mt. Vernon street. - and another beautiful old home that I believe may be older than this one. And it has been vacant since we moved here. A beautiful home -the bank owns it now. My children are playing in its yard, I don't think the bank nor the home will mind. In fact it probably enjoys children playing in it, the sounds of laughter long gone from its halls. Can you tell I'm a nostalgic? :)

After we have moved I will miss this house-although as my husband said when I can be safely heated in the harsh winter here - 5 miles from the Canadian border and our daughter is breathing better, and I am able to back my truck out of a garage with a garage door opener~these are things I will probably appreciate.

Next Spring when our children are able to ride their bikes and play basketball and find other neighborhood children to play with it will seem worth it. I know he is right, but a part of me will always miss this house. When I pass it on my way to work I will feel a tug at my heart. I hope whomever lives here next, or owns it will love it as much as I do. I just hope they will have the resources to restore her to her former glory without violating her past. I also hope they appreciate the flower's I planted for them and tend to them, as I did the ferns, perennials, and raspberry bushes that were left here for our enjoyment.

Peace for now.
b

ITS a MysTerY

Hi everyone-sorry its been so long since I posted and I swear to the gods of jelly (grape jelly) that I will throw up some more pics and stories-soon...speaking of throwing up. This is what I have been doing most of the day. If you live in or around the Derby/Newport VT area, I'm PRETTY sure I may have had some bad soup at the China Moon (the hot and sour soup tasted kinda funny) and since I ate it I have been pretty sick...may want to lay off the soups there for a few days.

Anyway, quick update on Vermont:

cool people (some)

cold weather (most of the time)


miss my friends and family in California and Oklahoma (all the time)

Have a new truck (actually a 96 tahoe) now because my 05 Nissan Xterra was totalled in a battle with Bullwinkle the 800lb moose. The moose lost, but so did my truck I guess. At least we walked away. So I'm grateful for that.

trying to adjust...all of the time.

I know I've only been here since August but what a culture shock. Is it because I haven't moved anywhere in 10 years? Before that I was used to moving every 3 years to a different part of the country. I guess after living in southern California for 10 years, then coming here...well...its different. I will be putting up some posts soon. I think I've collected more stories here in the short time I've been here than anywhere I've ever been in my life...which I guess DOES say Something about the place.

P.S. I started canning...I know - can you believe it? Me? the ANTI-BECKY-HOMECKY-CANNING? trust me, I'm still in shock. And I actually enjoy it. Next stop...knitting....guess i'm getting old.crap.
oh well
ttyl
hope all is well with everyone.
peace

Just an Update

Hey everyone,
We arrived in Vermont. It rains a lot, but its beautiful - lot's of green, I guess (hence all of the rain) but lot's of mold too and will be lot's of SNOW this winter - ugh. Everyone who knows me also knows I really don't like snow. I was stationed in Washington state for 3 years, then South Dakota for 4 years. I can do without snow and the hard winter's.

Other than that-miss California, my job, my friends, and my life. BUT - I'm trying to remain positive, I'll be posting some pictures soon and a post about my adventure getting stuck in the mud IN MY 4 WHEEL DRIVE (OF COURSE WITH CALIFORNIA PLATES) ON THE WAY TO BURLINGTON. This was quite an experience. Yeah.

More later....

More Pics

Just some more pics from our goodbye bbq w/our best friends in Cali...we'll miss you...so much...

Goodbye Mi Amiga

Today I said one of my hardest goodbye’s. Ver...I think you know your my soul sister. I lived in Tehachapi for 5 years before you moved in next door. You saved my life, more than once. As I get older I realize how precious and few and far between TRUE friends are. Your at the top of my list Ver...the sister I never had. When I found out we were moving I put off calling you for 2 weeks. Every time I tried I started to cry. I will miss you. I will miss our talks and how we understand each other. I will miss your kids. I already do. I hope you know...your my compadre, forever and always. At 2AM on Christmas Day or anytime at all, if you need to...call me, show up on my doorstep. You will always be welcome. I am so thankful for that day when you came into my life, and to day when we said goodbye it was probably the hardest goodbye I will make in California...that’s why I put it off. I know we promised to stay in touch, but we both know...as we get older...how fragile that thread is. Kids, husbands, jobs, LIFE...gets in the way....but don’t forget me. You will always be in my heart. And I will always make a place for you in my life or time if you need it. Your the sista I never had. I’ll miss you girl...remember...live in the moment, stay true to yourself and keep it real. Goodbye mi Amiga...take care of yourself.

A Year After

It's been over a year now since Grandma died and almost a year since my birth-mother died. I don't know what to tell people when they ask me about grief. I'm not going to lie and say it gets "better" or "easier" or whatever...because that's bullshit...and what does it really mean? You never stop missing the person you love, you miss them every day and some days you miss them every hour. I'm not going to lie about that. But you do go on with your life. Its amazing how life goes on, how the world moves on. Your children keep growing, you keep doing your chores, paying your bills, going to work...but sometimes, something so simple will set you back. The other night in one of my classes we were discussing genetics and eye color. We were supposed to "map" our genetic history of "eye color" from both sides of our parents. I could not remember what color my mother's eyes were. I could not remember the color. These were the first eyes I ever looked at when I was an infant. Hers was the first voice I heard when I was in her womb. How many times had I looked into her eyes. How many times had we laughed and cried together. Why couldn't I remember?

When you have these "setbacks" they are harsh. A lot of things come flooding back ~ some people say that we only remember the good about the dead loved ones we've lost. That's not true for me. I remember the good, the bad, and the regrets. The regrets are the hardest. This is the only chance we get with the people we love. Trust me on this one. Anyway, I called my Dad and he told me. Green. Just like mine. In fact he says I look a lot like her in a lot of ways. I know this because sometimes when I look in the mirror I am taken aback. I see my Mother. I wonder if she can see me. If she knows my feelings or thoughts. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I knew her eye color. Why I couldn't bring the information out, well ~ I don't know. Its another mystery of grief. I've come to think of grief as something we eventually learn to live with. It becomes a part of us. A part of who we are. I can finally talk about my grandmother and mother without crying now (most of the time). I have enjoyed simple pleasures again. I have laughed with my children, my friends. I have enjoyed watching a sunrise, weeding my flower garden, and going on night time jogs with my dog Abby. I know that I cannot live in my grief. But it lives inside of me. I read a book recently where a character mentioned...."that is what life is about...sometimes...missing the dead". And I had to put the book down because it was a revelation. Its true. But I don't think we realize this until we lose someone we really love and go through the trauma, then finally the acceptance. Like the old saying goes...I may accept it, but I don't have to like it.

Someone who had lost someone close to them asked me the other day how I had gotten through it. I didn't know what to say at first, so I didn't say anything. I know I didn't want to hear empty platitudes when I was grieving. But I did think about it. During the past year, I have done ALOT of thinking...and here's the god's honest truth. Here's a list...a "top 16" if you will of what has helped me to go on and not lose it completely:

1)My husband and children.
2)My family that is still here on this earth.
3)The good memories...and yes, even the bad.
4)good books
5)good food
6)good wine
7)I discovered "mojito's" and i like those too:)
8)I've learned to let A LOT of things go...life is too short for the bullshit...it just is
9)learning to laugh at myself ~ and laughing with my friends.
10)giving myself "permission" to grieve in the way I NEEDED and not listening to what other people TOLD me I should be doing.
11)Jogging at night or in the early morning with my dog Abby
12)My work, and my friends and students at work, who make me laugh every day I'm there and make me thankful for so much.
13)Dane Cook's comedy
14)Music
15)journaling - and i've had some really crazy journals....but that's okay
16)the ocean

That's it, and there's not an "order"...on any given day one may be better for me than the other. But I've definitely learned to live more in the moment, and do the things that I've been wanting to do instead of listening to other people so much or caring about what other people think. I am who I am....and if they can't take a joke...fuk em :).....I can almost hear my mom laughing and my grandma laughing and saying....."Brandie Lea"......"I swear"....in that Oklahoma twang.

I still haven't forgotten their voices, their faces (except for the brief relapse with the eye color thing) and they will always be a part of me. Their lives...and now their deaths. I do try to live my life in a way that would honor them, and I hope I am. But I'm also my own person. And that's okay. Yes, its a cliche, but life does go on. I guess its how we go on about it that shapes us. I'll be 35 in November. I know my life is probably half over. But I'm going to enjoy it while I'm here, and I hope everyone else does too - no matter what tragedies they face. Live your life like there's no tomorrow is also another cliche...but its true.
That's all for now everyone.
Take care of each other.
"the mom next door"


Anyway, I added the pic of Kat and Amy playing on the beach this past summer because it means a lot to me. It represents a lot. They are just beginning their lives, sitting in the ocean foam on a summer day. I hope they remember those days, those moments. Its what life is all about.

More Pics and Backstory's

Top: This is Grandpa Duane & Grandma Kathy On November 2, 1947 - their wedding day.
This is Grandma Kathy (still not a grandma yet-:)) making Christmas Dinner at Granny Beulah's house (her mom). I believe this was 1968
This picture was taken in 1972; from left Grandma, Granny Beulah, Great-Grandma Julia (Grandpa Duane's mom-she's still alive!) and Great Grandpa Willis (Grandpa's Dad). I didn't get to meet either of my great-grandfather's they both died shortly before I was born in 1972. Grandma Kathy died Sep 15, 2006, Granny died in 2004, and Great Grandma Julia is still alive.
These are pictures of Grandpa Duane and Grandma Kathy with Haden in 1993-much happier times.

This is me, Tristan,&Kat in 2002 at Grandpa & Grandma's House in Arkansas. Again, happier times.

Some pics of my grandma's life & my mom,family,etc.

Top left is me and my mom; circa 1974 or 75? Top Right is one of the happiest times in my life so far. From left is Tristan (in backpack), Jim, Haden, Me, and Grandma in front of the glass church in Bella Vista. It's a beautiful place. When I was a little girl I wanted to be married in that church. This picture was taken shortly after I was re-assigned to a special-duty assignment in Oklahoma City (with the Air Force) and I was close to family for the first time since I had left home to join the Air Force - 7 years previously. I was stationed there for two years and was able to spend a lot of time with Grandma and everyone else, and I'll always be grateful for those years (1997-1999). In this picture Haden is about 4 years old and Tristan is almost a year old. Jim and I were 29 and 25 respectively. Grandma would have been about 70. She was very healthy and active until she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002. Against her better judgement she allowed them to perform a masectomy and remove 11 lymph nodes. After that her health gradually deteriorated. The lump that was diagnosed as "cancerous" had been on her breast for several years. To this day I wonder if it should have been left alone. I guess there is no use in wondering about the past. It is something we can never change.

Top Left is Grandma (on Right) and friend at left. I'm not sure who the friend is but she (eerily) looks like one of my friends (heidi). Anyway, I think Grandma (not a grandma at this point) was about 17 in this picture. On the top right is a picture taken when she was about 15. Bottom right is a picture taken with her namesake, our daughter Katherine, named after Grandma. I think this picture was taken on a visit in 2002.

Dealing with Grief

Hi everyone in blog-land, I know its been a long time since I posted. But a LOT of things have changed in the past year. On September 15, 2006 the mother of my heart (my Grandmother Katherine i.e., Kathy) passed away. She really was my mother, in fact if not for her I probably wouldn't exist or even be alive right now. She was only in her 40's when I was born and I lived off and on with my grandparents through some very tumultuous years.

I was able to be with her at the end and I am grateful for that. But it was also the most horrible experience in my life. She had a brain aneurysm and it took her two days to die from it. She was 77 years old and just shy of her 59th wedding anniversary with my Grandfather (whom she met on a blind date).

I flew down to Arkansas and was by her bedside over night. To see her in that bed, to see the person I loved most in the world (along with my children and my husband) slowly dying while I sat by helplessly was more than I could bear. But I did bear it. To watch my Grandfather break down periodically, to listen to her labored breathing while her body filled up with fluids. I know what a "death rattle" is now. Pray that you never hear it from someone you love. I mean it..there are not any words that can describe the feelings it invokes in you...there just isn't any.

Then in the last hours she would stop breathing, and then start again. The nurses told me this was also common, but it was agonizing. I wanted to tear my hair out, to scream at them to DO SOMETHING! PLEASE! DO SOMETHING TO HELP HER! SHE DOESN'T DESERVE THIS! She is the Glue of our family! Help her! She is the BEST person I've ever known, everything that is good in me is from her! Help her please! JUST FUCCING HELP HER!

But I did not do this; to do this would have been to dishonor her. Instead I read her favorite psalms, the ones she had taught me. I talked to her. I don't know if she heard or understood me. I like to think that she did. I thanked her for everything she had done for me; I told her how much I loved her. I talked about old times. I talked about the kids and told her funny stories about them and about my work. I brushed her hair. I told her it was okay to "pass on" (the nurses kept encouraging us to do this). But then I would break down and lay across her, trying to absorb as much of her as I could. Trying to hold her forever, just hold her.

I would have given anything...at that point in time I would have even given my own life. Even now, now that it’s February 8th and it has been 5 months since the woman who was in all respects my mother was reduced to ashes, I still have a hard time writing this. This is the first time I have written about it, and it will probably be the last time. That is how painful this is-even now.

What else can I say? In the end the nurses encouraged me to go to my rental car (where my suitcase still was since I came straight from the airport) and get my brush and some hair ties and "fix" her hair. My Grandfather and Uncle had gone back to the house to shower and change clothes before returning. I remember thinking "Yes, I should braid her hair."

She had the most beautiful long black hair, all of her life.

I guess they were actually trying to get me out of the room, as it turns out the minute I walked out she gave her last breath and passed on. The nurses said that they had encouraged me to leave the room because as they have noticed on the floor they work on

(The floor where people go to die-how special does a person have to be to work on this floor? I could not bear it…anyway…)

The nurses indicated that often people will not "let go" until the ones they love are out of the room...almost as if we are holding them on earth with our grief and fear. In this case they said it was almost eerie. It was as if she was waiting for me to leave. One nurse said "She must have Loved you very much". She will never know how much those words will always mean to me - even until my last breath.

When I came back I knew immediately she was gone. How to describe the next few hours or days? I'm not even sure if I can. I lay across her and cried, I fixed her hair, I sang to her (songs she used to sing when I was a child). But I could feel it; I could feel that whatever had made up my Grandma Kathy was gone.

My Grandfather came back and I had to tell him and my Uncle that she had passed while they were gone. The emotional pain was unbelievable, unbearable. My Grandpa was left alone with her and even with the heavy hospital door closed you could hear him sobbing and talking and singing to her. I saw some of the nurses and even a doctor start to cry. At this point I'm pretty sure I was in shock and would remain this way for several days. Maybe this is our mind's way of "protecting" us from total breakdown. I don't know.

I helped my Grandpa put together a "memorial board" of her life for the Memorial Service. Pictures of her life and her family, the family that meant everything to her. She was so beautiful she could have easily been a model (seriously) but a career never crossed her mind. She wanted to be a mother, a wife. And she was definitely made for the job.

The first night after her death I knew her body was at the funeral home and I had this crazy vision of myself going there and breaking in to be by her side. So she would not be by herself in the cold and in the dark.

And I cried, I cried more than I thought a human could possibly cry. I'm talking about the laying on the floor in a fetal position groaning crying. The kind of crying that feels like you can actually die from it. I was angry, I was scared, most of all I felt different. Like I would never be the same. I realize now that this is true. The death of someone you love with your whole heart changes you in fundamental ways. I only realize this now.

It gets worse...

Our family had planned on visiting Grandma & Grandpa at Christmas. We decided to go anyway
to help my Grandpa through the first Christmas without Grandma. We were driving down and leaving on December 22 to drive from California to Arkansas. We were also going to stop in Oklahoma to visit family there.

On December 20th my Dad called and told me that my birth-mother had collapsed and died suddenly from an aortic aneurysm with complications of high blood pressure and undiagnosed diabetes. I didn't even get to say goodbye, nothing. That was it.

At this point I can't even describe how I felt. I felt like I was in a nightmare and couldn't wake up. I had so many unresolved issues with my birth mother, but I know she loved me. She was just so young when I was born and I know this made her life more difficult. But she had done many things for me over the years and I know she really loved me, I hope she knew how much I also loved her...despite our unresolved issue's. I just always thought there would be time. I thought I had more time. I am 34. She was 50 years old. She was also cremated. I will never see nor talk to either her or my grandmother again. Sometimes the finality of this is overwhelming...even now. It washes over me and I feel sick and disoriented. Like I have lost my foundation and I'm drifting.

When people talk about their family sometimes I become angry or think thoughts like "I will never do that again...I will never talk to my Grandmother on the phone, I'll never have lunch with my Mom, and I’ll never go shopping with my Mom or my Grandmother, never ever again. Death is Final. And it’s coming for us all.

I guess my point is that we REALLY don't know how much time we have. We just don't. Cherish your loved ones, I don't give a dam if it sounds corny or hokey, Cherish them. Appreciate them. Call up a Mom or Dad or Grandparent or Sibling that you've been arguing with or haven't talked to in a while. Because you may never get another chance. We take too much for granted.

Bottom Line: I'm a different person now. You can not go through what I have in the past 5 months and not change. I feel like a part of me is "gone". I listen more. I hug my husband and kids more and tell them how much I love them all the time.

I still cry a lot, sometimes it just hits me. It’s a pain that doesn’t go away or “fade over time” as some people like to say. It stays with you. It’s a pain that you learn to live with. I know it is true now…more than ever. What doesn’t kill you will only make you stronger. And in a strange way, even though I feel more vulnerable right now, I know I am stronger.

I raised my Life Insurance. I'm in the process of writing letter's "just in case" for my children, husband, and remaining family and friends-in case something should happen. There are things I want them to know. Things I want them to be able to hold on to if I'm suddenly gone.
I'm not taking ANYTHING for granted.

And finally, I wanted to share some quotes about grief. The one I found to be the most accurate was actually a surprise to me. I have been reading many books about grief, but on the side I am reading an auto-biography with my oldest son about Johnny Cash. It was in this book "Cash" that I found the most accurate quote that I could relate to about grieving for someone you love and how it changes you, in this excerpt he is talking about losing his 14 year old brother Jack:

"Losing Jack was terrible. It was awful at the time, and it’s still a big, cold, sad place in my heart and soul. There's no way around grief and loss: you can dodge all you want, but sooner or later you just have to go into it, through it, and, hopefully, come out the other side. The world you find there will never be the same as the world you left" (Johnny Cash with Patrick Carr).

I'd like to add to that. The person you are will never be the same as the person you were either. So these are some of the reasons I have been absent, I have been (and I am still) trying to figure out who I am now and maybe this is a life-long journey. I miss my Mom. I miss my Grandma. I have many regrets. I have many good memories too. I guess this is life. There is tragedy, sorrow, and pain. But there is also happiness, love, and hope. I am still a Mother, I am still a Wife. I know my husband and children love me. I hold on to this. I hold on to hope. I hold on to my faith and hope someday in some way I will be reunited with my loved ones. Maybe “heaven” as a kingdom is a “fairy tale” as many “”educated” people like to say, but it is one that I desperately want to believe in.
Peace to everybody.
The Mom Next Door

DE-MOTIVATORS

Okay, you know those ANNOYING motivational posters...these are an answer to those...some of my faves;)

Indifference

Indifference
Originally uploaded by Joe Taruga.

HILLSIDE BY OUR HOUSE

Sometimes you just want to relax and think about nothing at all....

Happy New Year From The House of Crazy aka "The Funny Farm"

Hey everyone - sorry for the long absence from blogland again, however I've been back to work full time so things have gotten crazy busy again. I just wanted to drop a few lines and wish everyone a happy 2006. We stayed home this year and ended up counting down the new year about 27 times because our 3 year old daughter thought it was hilarious. YES - I LET MY THREE YEAR OLD stay up and count down the new year...aren't I a TERRIBLE mommy?! LOL! Don't worry...I cut her off after 2 glasses of champagne...you know how toddlers get when they drink...but that's for another blog.

Anyway, as I was filling out Haden's birthday card (Haden is my first-born who happens to have the COOLEST birthday date of January 1st) I was getting pretty introspective because he turned 13 today. I was looking for a fitting quote for his card and I came across this one by Mark Twain:

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. "

And while I had SOME reservations about putting a quote in my 13 yr old son's card that pretty much told him to do whatever he wanted...I decided that this was very fitting. I'm 33 now and when I look back over the last 20 years I will testify that this is definitely THE gospel truth. So....as we enter the new year, remember this - we live our lives by moments-make every moment count.

Best Wishes for 2006.

Bran

Goodbye to a Great Lady

I logged on to the internet tonight to check my email, complete some school work, etc. And the first headline that greeted me was

"Civil Rights Pioneer Rosa Parks Dies at 92"

I felt like I was going to cry.



I have always been fascinated by Rosa Parks. I have always thought she was truly a wise and courageous lady ever since the first day that I read about her fateful day and her fateful bus ride that aided in changing the course of history.

Probably because I'm not really a "courageous" person. Oh, I talk a good game. But when it comes right down to it, more often than not - I'm afraid to "act" if I'm "put on the spot". Probably because I'm a "white" girl born and raised in the suburbs - who is 33 years old, born after the major work of the civil rights movement (1972) - including rights fought for and obtained for (and by) women.

After all - by the time I was sexually active it was legal for me to take the birth control pill, I was told from day one I could do anything I wanted to do - including go to college, work, AND raise a family (however - see my earlier rantings about this). I was never told I wasn't "good enough" to sit down on the bus, drink from a water fountain, or use a certain bathroom. When I turned 18 I immediately was granted the right to vote. Let's face it - I've led a pretty sheltered life - maybe that's why I'm not that courageous, brave, wise...and I'm not going to even touch the term "lady". Smile.

But not Rosa Parks - not this great lady. She was born and raised in the deep south during the era of the infamous "Jim Crow" laws. She grew up with signs telling her where she could and couldn't go to the bathroom, eat, and use the water fountain. She wasn't even able to finish high school until later in her life. Not because she didn't want to, but because she needed to go to work in order to support her family.

She was told from day one that she was "less" of a person than her "white" peers. She probably lived in fear more often than not because lynchings and the Klu Klux Klan were very active and very real during this period in history - and murdered many people - whether we choose to believe it or not. In the same year she was arrested and taken to jail for refusing to give up her seat for a white man there were two other women arrested for the same reason, so she probably had a good idea she was going to go to jail (if not something worse) when she decided to remain seated.

What was going through her mind?

She had just finished a working a long day. Her feet hurt and I'm sure her spirit and body were tired. What is that special spark in some people? That spark of courage where some people stand out and stand up for what they believe. They refuse to be trod upon any longer and actually DO something about it. They face their fears head on, face the enemy and say "bring it on - I know I'm right - I'm standing my ground - do your worst". What would have happened in history if this scene had played out differently? As I'm sure it had many times before. The black woman who has worked all day on her feet stands up (with her head down-facing the floor) and moves out of the white mans way. He sits in her seat...the bus keeps rolling...

But it didn't...

One woman - made one decision. She faced ahead knowing the possible consequences and said "no". She said no to this WRONG thing, no to this WRONG idea - no to a rule that treated her like nothing more than a dog - like less of a human being because of the color of the pigment in her skin. She refused. She was very polite, but she refused. She accepted the consequences. She had the courage and the grace to face her enemies and history took a different turn. Thank You Rosa. I always admired you, I always will. This white girl from Oklahoma who was born almost 20 years after that day on the bus. Born after you had lived most of your life through trial and tribulation. Rosa ended up moving to Detroit because she couldn't find a job in Alabama after what had happened. She and her family were threatened and harrassed. Two years after the fateful day on the bus she moved away from family and friends. The negative consequences still following her, and still...she never regretted her decision.

People use words like "hero, lady, and courageous" pretty loosely these days. That's too bad, because there are VERY few people who REALLY qualify. I'm SURE not one of them, but I'm thankful that there have been people who are. Thanks Rosa - You were a true hero, you were truly brave, and truly a lady. I would have loved to have met you, but even though I never did you have influenced my life anyway. My life and countless others. I hope you are reunited with your husband and finally at rest. Rest in peace great lady.

Hi everyone

Oct 23/2005

Hi everyone in blogland and sorry for the long absence. I've been busy with the usual, kids school stuff, my own school work, housework (although not a LOT of this, lol!) etc., etc., etc. Anyway, I just wanted to drop a line and a link to a blog that I recently read. It deals with racism and stupidity (which pretty much go hand in hand). It notes the movie "Crash" and if you haven't seen this movie yet...RUN don't walk to the nearest video store, rent it, watch it. Its one of the best movie's I've seen in a long time. Not just because it tackles difficult questions that deal with race. But also because it tackles every-day lives. It addresses the fact that there's always a story-behind-the-story. I often remind myself this when someone angers me for whatever reason, they cut me off in traffic, another mom in a PTO meeting makes an offhand cruel remark, I meet someone and for whatever reason...they rub me the wrong way. There's always a story-behind-the-story. Maybe the person in traffic just recieved a bad phone call - someone died. Maybe the alpha-PTO mom left behind a fulfilling career to make a home and hearth, raise the children, and just realized her husband is boffing his 22 year old co-worker. There's always a story, a picture-behind why someone "is" the way they "are". Just something to think about. Have a good week...
tmnd

FRIDGE MAGNETS FOR THE MODERN WOMAN

These are SO great. A friend sent them to me. I think THIS one is my favorite...lol!

LONG TIME NO SEE...

9-28-05
Good morning to all of my friends, family, and visitors. It has been about 10 days since my last post due to the usual 24hr chaos filled days + some other developments. Sometimes I wonder if life is just one big tragi-comedy and the creator is some weirded out LA-type movie director who likes to have a good laugh while his gerbils run around their wheels frantically and for no apparent purpose other than for his amusement...but I'm not bitter or anything...;)

Spare me the stories of true human goodness, beauty, and hope right now. Because if I see another Fox hope -filled -creative -hollywood spot...er I mean News segment, I'm pretty sure I'm going to hurl.

Fiction is fun...but now for some reality. This is an Op Ed posted in the Miami Herald. Yes foks its true. And I'm sure there were much worse stories to share-we just haven't heard them. Anyone who has ever been in a crisis situation (and usually for most americans this is the supermarket being out of their favorite brand of Snackwells) will tell you that life is definitely NOT like the movies.

Heroes are usually NOT revealed and in fact what we usually are privy to is the true nature of human beings. Which seems to be usually bordering on evil and depraved if nothing else. Read on...

Crises reveal character

leonard pitts JR.

The women were on the roof of the hotel, calling for help as floodwaters rose. Then a motorboat full of policemen came by.
“Can you help us?” the women cried.
The policemen replied, “Show us what you’ve got!” and motioned for them to lift their T-shirts.
The women said no. The policemen left them there.
I figured that story for an urban legend when one of my students wrote about it in a class I teach. Too crazy to be true, I thought.
But the tale turns out to be an eyewitness account from one Ged Scott, a bus driver from suburban Liverpool, England, who, with his wife and son, was on vacation in New Orleans when that city was swamped by Hurricane Katrina.

Scott’s story has received considerable play in British newspapers. As near as I can tell, it has not been picked up stateside.

Small wonder. Katrina has given us enough homegrown tales of People Behaving Badly without importing new ones.
Meaning the people whose first thought in a time of cataclysm was to smash windows and grab cell phones. And the ones who thought it a good idea to shoot at rescue helicopters. And the ones who used disaster as a cover under which to rob and rape without fear of retribution.
We find ourselves caught in one whopper of a storm season. Indeed, the National Hurricane Center is down to the last four storm names on its list for 2005. And yet, even among all the storms, and even among all the stories they have produced, are producing and will yet produce, this particular tale from Hurricane Katrina stands out.
Show us your breasts, and we’ll get you out of here?
You’ll have to go some distance to find a better illustration of the utter banality of evil.
I’m reminded of a piece of wisdom picked up somewhere along the way: Crises, it said, do not so much build character as reveal it.

Calamity, in other words, has this way of knocking down artifice and pretension, the devices people construct to keep other people from seeing who they really are. In a very real sense, you become yourself when things are disintegrating all around you.
And let’s face it, more than levees broke in New Orleans. Social order broke. Police authority broke. Chain of command broke. Communications broke. All the structures we build to restrain the floodwaters of human behavior broke.
Who would you be if there were no rules? What would you do if there were no accountability? What would you get away with if you could get away with anything?
Some people got away with being martyrs. Some did heroic things. Some became heroes.
But some, if we believe Scott’s account, could think no higher than their crotches.
You have to wonder how that request for a peep show fell on those stranded women. Doubtless hungry, doubtless tired, doubtless bug-bitten and sun-baked, and doubtless scared that they might die here, drowned in fetid water or pierced by bullets.
You have to wonder whether they were stunned, angry, appalled. You have to wonder whether they found it hard to believe what was being asked of them. You even have to wonder whether maybe they considered lifting their shirts, figuring indignity a small price to pay for salvation.
But in the end, they said no.
We don’t know what became of them. Scott’s account ends with the boat motoring on and leaving the women stranded.
It is an image of petty opportunism, yes, but also one of quiet integrity, and it’s that part I choose to take with me as a reminder for when floodwaters recede and structures of artifice are put back in place.
Even in a broken time, some things did not break.

©2005 The Miami Herald
Leonard Pitts Jr. is a columnist for the Miami Herald. To reach him, send e-mail to lpitts@herald.com.

Walking symbol of failure...

This was noted in a recent article in the NY Times about the 45 people found dead in a hospital after being left for more than four days with nothing but temperatures exceeding 100 degrees in the wake of Katrina.

"Repercussions from the storm continued to echo in Washington, where the director of the Federal Emergency Management Agency, Michael D. Brown, a walking symbol to many people here of government failure in the crisis, resigned. Mr. Brown was relieved of his role in the day-to-day disaster operations here on Friday. (Related Article)"

Well that's funny...because I guess I would say that the "walking symbol" of failure would probably be good ole dubbya...but then logic doesn't seem to come into play in our "democracy" anymore...