No Non-alcoholic beer over here!

 I’m going to talk about grief A LOT.  It comes and goes for me, maybe it’s always underlying, I don’t know.  We’ll go with some minutes it’s in my face and some days it’s not.  I want to talk though about you and how YOU, John Q. Public, react to people like me.

Listen.  Losing a spouse is like no other grief you have EVER experienced.  Short of losing a child - I cannot speak of that.  I have not been there - God hold onto those who have!

My best friend, my partner, the person I grew up with for the last 20 years is gone.  I don’t have a person anymore to call when I get there.  No “have a great day” texts.  No “I love you” texts.  My person, my husband is six feet under the most beautiful headstone in Oakwood Cemetery.  He doesn’t say anything when I visit.  

I. I don’t even know how old I am.  Well…except this year, I guess I do.  I can do the math.  But, he’s not here to give me a party I don’t want, or cook me a steak and bake me a potato.  I don’t cook anymore because it’s too hard to cook for just me and too sad to eat by myself.  I don’t grill.  That was Jeremy’s job.

I have little movies in my mind places we went, our wedding, conversations, telling him he was a daddy, arguments we had, him blowing me a kiss from the ambulance to him lying dead on a gurney in the hospital and me waiting for him jump up to scare me and it to all be a cruel joke.

It’s not.

He’s dead.

It’s been a year.

Sometimes, I catch myself, in the mornings, checking the clock, thinking - 6:35…he should be here anytime…

And…I remember.

So I ask you to remember.

My brains are not right right now.  We widows don’t think how we used to, process how we used to, react how we used to, remember like we used to.  If it involves memory - we do not have it.  I don’t know if it comes back.  I miss my brains so much. 

I had a stutter/stammer before, when I was nervous.  Or I’d repeat myself.  Some of you may remember how BAD is was right after Jeremy died.  I actually REALLY scared Jacob. I do revert to that still when I’m tired or scared.  

I forget words.  My vocabulary is well versed. I am a reader.  I forget words.  Often.  You get the closest one that comes to me.  You can help me but, please don’t correct me, or question my use of a word.  I might come back and correct myself - I might not.  There is no need to be a keyboard warrior and pick me apart.  I could pounce your their/there/they’re all day.  I don’t.  Know I’m giving you my best and let’s move on.  If you think I’m being a dick, ask me, have I ever not told you?

The filter is broken.  We are so into ‘say what you have to say because you might not have the chance again’ we often leave our tact at the door.  We don’t mean to be rude, we just have all of our emotions on our sleeves and we forget. (See above).  Also, me being rude and me being a dick are not the same.  If I’m rude, I’m probably pissed.  

We are emotional AF.  We don’t know what will bring the tears or the laughs or the laughs to the tears!  I was bawling in Culver’s the other night because - what if the new guy I haven’t even met yet doesn’t like my chili the way Jeremy liked it?  For real.  

We try so hard to be strong and we’re not. 

We don’t want help but, we do need it and most times we HATE to ask.  

Head space is strange.  The car is so hard sometimes and I don’t know when that’ll hit.  Being alone too long in the car is hit or miss for me. I can be ok or I can overthink myself down a rabbit hole.

I struggle with other people.  I’m ok with people who know me well, people who know my story or people who have experienced loss but, I don’t do well anymore with disingenuine people, entitled people, rude people.  Life is too short for that.  And you have not experienced enough life.

Life is too short, guys   Life is way too short.   I have no room in my life for petty disagreements, shitty friendships, fake people, and non-alcoholic beer. 

That’s all!  ❤️

The Grief Support Thing...

I posted on Facebook often in the days/months after Jeremy's death as I knew, even then that I'd want to remember the events and how I felt.  I wasn't sure at that time how I'd use them, I just knew I wanted to document them in some way.

The first few months were - I don't know a word harder than hard.  It hurt to breathe.  I'm pretty sure I was on autopilot.  Wake up, kid to school, work, get a kid from school, sleep and repeat.  I'm not sure what else was in there besides cry, cry, and cry some more.  My friends and my family tried so hard to help and they did but, until you have experienced the loss of a spouse, there is no measure.  I have lost siblings, I have lost parents and grandparents - I pray to not lose my child as that could be the only thing worse.   The grief is the same - it was the loss they weren't understanding. They didn't see what I now had to face all alone. Anyway, everyone tried hard but, when the day was done, it was still me, my hurt and God. 

I did what I knew.  I cried and I prayed.  I prayed as hard as I cried and I cried as hard as I prayed.  I fell asleep crying.  I fell asleep praying.  I prayed to heal.  I prayed for deals - just send him back and I'll go back to church...anything.  Yeah.  My eyes felt like sandpaper.  I cried more and I prayed more.

I knew I needed some help.  I didn't know where to look.  Talk therapy is a great and wonderful thing.  It truly is and I'm not above it.  Finding a good therapist is hard.  And...sometimes, talk therapy isn't it, isn't enough.  Especially when you're me...and you can hear or speak with those from the other side.  Finding a therapist adds another dimension - literally!  Here I am, I need help, my normal channels aren't working as I'm clogged with a dead husband, my last talk therapist was a $600 waste, and I don't have insurance!  

A local hospice was offering a grief support group on their website, and I was really excited to meet.  I called the office to confirm the meeting.  "Yep.  6:00PM.  Tonight."  I got there, with my little notebook and my favorite pen.  I was so ready to meet people who know what it was like to be a widow, like me!  I was early. I was the only car in the parking lot.  I waited.  I waited.  10 minutes after it was supposed to start and I was still the only car.  20 minutes...still just me.  Oh, the tears!  I couldn't believe no one showed.

I sobbed.  All the way home.  

That was one year ago, today.  Since then, the local funeral home where Jeremy's service was held has started a grief support group.  I went to the first meeting.  I am grateful to Pastor Ronnie for starting the group.  I hope the next widows passing through attend and find the support they need.  I think, for me, the time has passed when I needed the most support.  I find now, the best support is in the women who have survived widowhood past me - 2 years, 3 years...those who have given love another chance, those who have chased after a dream, those who have kept on without crying every spare moment that are enjoying life with a smile on their faces.  The ones who are involved in their families, their communities and are committed to making the best of their time.  I can't do the so sad grieving by so many all at once.  It's too much for me and my empathetic heart to take.

This week's group was partnered with a local pregnancy support group on infant/pregnancy loss.  I'm pretty well past all that.  Like 17 years past...

As for me, and the grief group? It's still too early to tell.  Depending on the topic, I'd go back.  I struggle with the folks that seem comfortable in their grief.  The ones that are a few years in and still can't seem to move forward.  Losing Jeremy hit me hard.  Knocked me down a few pegs.  I can't stay in my grief though.  I have to get back up.  I have to go at life again.  It might take me a few tries but, I can't stay down.

I have my family and friends that check up/check in and I am braver at calling someone when I need help.  I'm not shy anymore.  And all of them are great at answering.

I did find a wonderful talk therapist who helped through many issues with my in-laws, Jacob, work, addiction questions, - she was pre-cancer.  I also worked with an intuitive healer post-cancer who was AMAZING!  She helped clear up my momma issues and a bunch of childhood trauma I was carrying.  I still have both their numbers!  I also have an OUTSTANDING PCP that is primarily concerned about my mental health, as well as an oncology team who is well aware of my situation and keeps tabs with my PCP to make sure I'm getting the best care all around.  It takes a village, y'all!

And now?  I'm enjoying my year and a half with Jacob still in school.  I enjoy supporting him in the fire department.  I am enjoying working part time and spending as much time as I can with my family and friends.  I am still working through "widow brain" and trying to pick up old hobbies - I'd love to get back to making blankets for Project Linus again.  Every day I'm healing and moving forward.  I'm hoping the more time passes, the faster the healing.

And Hear The Angels Sing

 I don't remember the last time I went to church for Sunday service.  I had messaged with a friend about going but, I knew I wasn't strong enough to go at Christmas.  It was too hard already...before, when I just missed my dad.

I got up this morning and I decided to just go.  I was having my coffee, and a lady cardinal showed up at our feeder.  It's been awhile since they have been here, I figured the male would be along and sure enough, bright red as ever, he arrived.  I knew I was supposed to go today.  I got dressed and I went.

I wasn't nervous.  I wasn't afraid. I forgot my tissues.  I saw familiar faces right as I got inside the door, and with a few hugs, I knew it was good to be back.  I took a seat and waited for it the service to start.

Their Christmas service had been cancelled due to weather, they had a substitute pastor and all the Christmas hymns caught in my throat and I could only manage the prayers for a bit.  And I wasn't quite sure what I was doing there.

When the First Reading came up on the board, I had an idea.

The people walking in darkness

    have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of deep darkness

    a light has dawned.

You have enlarged the nation

    and increased their joy;

they rejoice before you

    as people rejoice at the harvest,

as warriors rejoice

    when dividing the plunder

For as in the day of Midian's defeat,

    you have shattered

the yoke that burdens them,

    the bar across their shoulders,

    the rod of their oppressor.

Every warrior's boot used in battle

    and every garment rolled in blood

will be destined for burning,

    will be fuel for the fire.

For to us a child is born,

    to us a son is given,

    and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called

    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace,

Or the greatness of his government and peace

    there will be no end.

He will reign on David's throne

    and over his kingdom,

establishing and upholding it

    with justice and righteousness

    from that time on and forever.

The zeal of the Lord Almighty

    will accomplish this.

Isaiah 9: 2-7

"People walking in darkness have seen a great light" WHAT??  "On those living in the land of darkness a light has dawned" WHAT???  WHAT???  That's me!  He's talking about me!  I have been living the last year in the land of darkness and here I am on the first day of a new year and you're telling me "light has finally dawned"?  WTF?  Really?  I have been waiting for light for so long.  And I feel it!

Okay.  1st clue.

It's going ok.  I check the time.  10:29.  I smile.  10:29 on the clock is my sign from my sister Valerie.  It's her sign for me that she is with me.  Of course, it drew a smile,

Thank you for the 2nd clue.

I'm not following the bulletin as I normally would, just following along, finding comfort in the familiarity of the prayers I learned as a child when I hear the beginning notes of my most dreaded Christmas hymn.  "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" - ugh.  And I had no tissues.  It was my Dad's favorite and the tears just roll every time BUT today!  I didn't cry.  The frog in my throat made sure I couldn't sing but, I read all the words in my head and we got to verse 3 and I got the message again!

All ye beneath life's crushing load

Whose forms are bending low

Who toil along the climbing way

With painful steps and slow

Look now for glad and golden hours

Come swiftly on the wing

O rest beside the weary road

And hear the angels sing

And hear the angels sing

In all my life, I have never heard these words.  All the times my Dad sung this, I have never heard these words.  It's time to rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.  It's time.

My angels all showed up today, Jeremy in my cardinal at the feeder, my sister at 10:29 - letting me know she was there like always.  God/Jesus telling me that my walk in darkness is done - the dawn is here and my dad, using that hymn that I HATE to bring me a new message.

Oh, and I talked to a few fellow widows today and I'm going to get together with them as well.

Finally, one year and one month after Jeremy died, I can hear my angels singing!

I wouldn’t have missed it either...

It’s been a big year - job changes, buying a house, selling a house, moving, navigating unemployment, and of course COVID-19.  Thankfully, thus far we are getting through it.  

We have been so busy, I haven’t taken as good care of my mental/spiritual self as I should.  I haven’t done readings, Reiki, or even meditated in some time.  I’m not good at being vulnerable - or showing that side of myself.  Though it’s been over 6 years now since my mom passed, I’m still terrified of facing her in the psychic/spiritual realm.  And sometimes, I’m afraid of my sibling’s reactions to my memories with our mother.  In some ways, I was lucky - I think by the time I came along, my mom was tired of being a mom and she was different.   Sometimes, I think she treated me more as a pal than a daughter.  Don’t get me wrong, she still got all over my ass but, as I got older and got my shit together, in some ways, she was easier on me - someways not and I never counted on her for anything.

Anyway, I did some mini readings last week and opened myself back up.   And as I knew it would happen...in came my mother. 

Friday night, we went to dinner as a family.  We’re having dinner, and this song - Ronnie Milsap “Wouldn’t have missed it for the World” was on the Muzak.   And oh, the tears fell!

“Our paths may never cross again

Maybe my heart will never mend

But I'm glad for all the good times
Cause you've brought me so much sunshine
And love was the best it's ever been

I wouldn't have missed it for the world
Wouldn't have missed loving you girl
You've made my whole life worth while, with your smile
I wouldn't trade one memory
Cause you mean too much to me
Even though I lost you girl
I wouldn't have missed it for the world

They say that all good things must end
Loves comes and goes just like the wind
You've got your dreams to follow
But if I had the chance tomorrow
You know I'd do it all again

Oh I wouldn't trade one memory
Cause you mean too much to me
Even though I lost you girl
I wouldn't have missed it for the world

I wouldn't have missed it for the world
Wouldn't have missed loving you girl
You've made my whole life worth while, with your smile
I wouldn't trade one memory
Cause you mean too much to me
Even though I lost you girl
I wouldn't have missed it for the world“

This song - 2 things about this song.  One of the last times I saw my mom dance, it was to this song.  2 of my favorite things about my mom, hearing her sing and watching her dance.

The night I saw her dance to this song - she smiled and pointed to me on the line “you brought me so much sunshine”.  My parents both sang to me “You are my Sunshine” when I was a little girl.  

I also remember riding in the car with her - mostly the big old Chevy but, a few times in the Buick - at night, I’d lay my head in her lap when she was driving.  She’d sing along to the radio.  This song was popular then, and at that line, she’d sing this to me and tuck my hair behind my ear.  Every time.  

I miss her. 

Today, I was peeling/slicing apples for apple crisp.  I was watching my hands, which are exactly her hands, remembering how nervous I was watching her do the same.  She sliced using her thumb as the stop and I was always so afraid she’d cut herself.   She laughed at me wincing while she cut/peeled.  

She’s showing me her gentleness, her softness, reminding me of her heart which is my heart and the good parts of us. I’ve tuned her out more often than not since she’s passed.  She’s reminding me that I was her sunshine, that she wouldn’t have missed her time with me for all the world.  And she’s telling me, in the way that I’ll listen.  She knows me  

Thanks mom.  I hear you.  I wouldn’t have missed it for the world either!

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=xCMB1gYLiIk

The 40 Day Prosperity Plan

I had posted on my social media account that I was on day 16 of this process.  It has been, shall we say 'enlightening'?

I worked in Corporate Automotive for a very long time, which means I made realllllly goooood money.  I had a lot of benefits - 3 weeks vacation, paid time off between Christmas and New Years, paid sick time, the ability to work from home - to come in early or to leave late.  All the perks.  One day, I was called into a conference room and it was all over.  "Sign here, here, and here".  I never thought it would happen to me as I watched my cumulative 23 years of car parts disintegrate before my eyes.

I wasn't happy in that job, and I don't think I truly had been for a very long time.  Most mornings, while driving my 30 minute commute, I was on the phone with my Mr., often in tears, about how much I hated all of the stress of this job.  I hated all of the emails - most from China.  I often started answering email at 4:30/5 AM.  Many mornings, I sat in my car in the parking lot for a good 10 minutes, willing myself to get out of the car and go in the door.  In fact, the end of September, he and I were discussing 'what if I just quit?'.  We went of vacation in October and I did some soul searching.  We decided I'd wait it out for at least some small severance should I be let go.

My brother was also taking an early retirement from the same company and I was struggling with the future of my employment there, without him.  He and I have always been close.  I have always been able to speak my mind, my frustrations, etc. and without him there - 4 digits away - I knew that relationship would never be the same.

All of these things we weighing on me when I was called into that conference room.  I wasn't surprised, shocked, scared...I was relieved.  I didn't cry.  My hand shook as I signed and I was done.

I made 2 calls as I left.  The first to my brother.  The next to my Financial Adviser.  And I drove home to tell my husband.

What happens after your life is rearranged for you?  You move on.

I didn't eat that first day.  I fielded the calls and texts of condolences.  I called my HR rep to thank her for her help and encouragement.  And get this - she pretended not to know me!  Lesson one in counting the people who count!

I tackled the hurdles of unemployment, continuing my life insurance, and applying for my 2 jobs a week with no idea of where to go or what to do, I only knew that whatever job I did take would pay half or 1/3 of what I was making!  Did you hear me?  I said HALF or 1/3 of my old pay!!   Fuck!

I have a lot of skills...however, none of them apparently transfer to any job I applied for as most of them I didn't even rate a "no, thank you".  And I began to wonder ' where am I going to land"  and counting the remaining weeks of unemployment.

I had always said when I left my CorpAm job I wanted to go do something to help people.  Truly help them.  Not in car parts where EVERYTHING is an emergency or I need this NOW.  I want to make someone smile, make their day a little easier, see the gratitude in their eyes - I want THAT job.

A friend reached out and said - why don't you come in here and apply? - So I did.  I was hired essentially on the spot - after 2 months of sending resumes and applications.  I was elated.  Cloud 9.  What a huge Ego boost!  And then reality jumped in and bit my ass.  I kept calculating over and over and over and over the difference in pay.  I was obsessed with the numbers.  I was FREAKING out.  The Mr. kept telling me - we're making it on unemployment!  He's not wrong.  We are.

I woke up at 4:30AM that next morning reviewing every mistake I had ever made at "that job" and well, every mistake I had made in life in general to bring me to getting fired (call it what ever you want -  you no longer have the job - you were fired).  I had started this 40 Day Prosperity Plan and as I sat there with my cup of coffee, my calculator, my favorite pen, my notebook and a raging panic attack brewing under the surface, I remembered that this....all of THIS...is not for me to worry about.  I'm supposed to be giving my burdens to my God.  God is my true provider.  8 days into this plan and I had already tried to take back the damn pen.  I was trying to make this work for me rather than letting God lead my way!  I know better.  I picked up my pen and my book, wrote out the 9th day's step and gave it all back over to God. 

Here I am on day 16 of the plan, God still has the pen, with a negative TB test, about to go take my pre-employment drug test and find out my start date.  I'm nervous but, I know this is where I am meant to be.  I know this is my path and I will be prosperous - maybe not financially right away but, I will be in my heart.

Hello? Are you in there?

Sorry, wrong number.  No one by that name here.  

Why is it so hard to do for for ourselves?  To believe in ourselves?  To have faith?

Why doesn’t the Lord just bellow from the sky “Go this way dumbass!”?

Why is it easier or clearer to see another’s path?

And like my mom always told me - why do always have to get in your own damned way? You always have to try all the wrongs before you get it right.  

5 years ago Jeremy took the biggest leap of his life, and I was so sure what he needed and where he should be. I had no doubts and he’s so different, so happy with where, what and who he is.

And then there’s me. I’m coming off from the absolute shittiest year in my entire career. I’ve been stabbed, run over, lied to, lied about, mislead, and misguided more times than I can count. I’ve cut so many shitty people from my life and I’m having trouble keeping up with the good ones. My soul, my spirit, my ego each have gaping wounds, I don’t think I have any self left. I’m not myself. I’ve changed. I’m broken and I don’t know how to find myself. I don’t know who I am. How do I even begin to find who is in here?

I can’t do the things I love as I am so misguided to who I really am. 

I can’t Reiki - I might ruin someone else.

I can’t do readings - “I have no empathy”.

I can’t read - I can’t focus on the pages.

I live in fear of when my husband is going to see in me all these things that were brought out last year when I all but lost my job.  I was on the chili pong block you see...I never heard anything...never suspected...not even a single word.  They reasssigned me to another job and I got the worst evaluation I have ever seen.   I have no empathy, I’m mean to people, I spread rumors - my new boss at the time even said “if I hear any of this against the new team - you’re gone”.  I was accused of faking my blood pressure issue last year.  Yeah.  It was that bad.  

How does one heal from that?  How do you trust again, have faith again?  Move on again?

What is your passion?

I was asked this question last weekend and there is nothing I hate more than a question I cannot answer - especially about myself.  

What is my passion?

I like to read.

Is that a passion?

I’d love to be able to write.  Maybe this will push me to write more...?

Truthfully?  This filled me with questions I can’t answer.  Things I have never thought about.  

What do I want to be?

Who do I want to be?

What do I want to do?

Where do I want to go?

Do I want to travel?

Does J want to travel?

Where does he want to go?

When can I retire?

Will I ever afford to retire?

Where will we live?

Can I even write?

How many books can I read if I don’t work?

How can I not work?

What do retired people do all day?

Do I like anything else but, books?

What else do I like to do?

How much Bourbon Cream can I bring back from Louisville?

We have a lot of booze here, and I stopped today for more?

What about Jacob?

Will he grow up ok?

Will he get in a fight one day?

Will he be a good adult?

Will this world suck then?

Would I ever move back to Manistee?

Why am I such a loner?

Why do people hate me?

Do I truly lack empathy?

Maybe I can just maintain this weight?

Will I get thinner as I get older like my mom did?

Are her feelings hurt that I missed the anniversary of her passing?

Will I lose my job?

Do I care?

Where would I go?

Where do I want to go?

What do I want to do?

What are my goals for the future?

What were we talking about?

What is passion anyway?

What is mine?

Do I even have one?

Pieces of Me

I’m in a parking spot downtown. Fremont Indiana, waiting for the funeral of a woman from my summer life...

Fremont, Indiana. Barely a blip in any map. The Corner Pocket Bar is still here - though the door is no longer in the corner. The little Spartan grocery store downtown where this woman bought the thick sliced bologna not in a package but, sliced by the butcher and wrapped in white paper, on her weekly grocery trips when my sister took her to town and we sat in the hot car.  The Bull Pen Cafe is still there, the high school where I got my first work permit, the old antique store, what was the ice cream parlor and before that, the hair salon where I got my summer hair cut.

These summers here, shaped much of my life. I was here every summer from age 8 to 16. My mom worked 7 on, 2 off swing shifts and it was hard to manage me when working so, I stayed with my sister, her husband worked a full time job, and he worked his parents farm when he wasn’t sleeping.  We were up early, to bed early and slept hard.  

Summers on the farm, my days were pretty carefree, chasing barn cats, picking mulberries, riding in the pickup with my long blonde hair whipping in the wind until I got a baseball cap to "get that shit under control". Not a tractor left the barnyard without my little butt perched on a fender. I rode along to bale hay, disc fields, take cattle to market and begged to go anywhere the guys went. My favorite job though was "gopher"! I did a lot of "gopher this", "gopher that".  I hated the trips to town with the women, to the bank, the grocery - ugh, no thanks!  But just to go to the mill with the guys - I couldn’t get in the truck fast enough!  

Much like now, my favorite part of the day was lunch. Audrey fed us well on the farm. The red wrapped, think-sliced bologna, bread stacked on a plate and everything you could imagine for sandwiches, complete with Brook’s ketchup and Gulden’s spicy brown mustard. The guys would come in, stomp their boots through the back porch, pass the dogs, to wash their hands in the utility sink and cross her squeaky kitchen floor to the table.  Then with their caps balanced on their knees, they’d talk about the morning. Which equipment needed fixing, which heifers were to be bred, what fields need prepped, and the plans for the afternoon. And then they were off again. We cleared the table, swept the dirt and then I was running out the door to catch up to my adventures again. 

I learned about tagging cattle, market prices for beef and the difference between beef to sell and beef to eat. I learned about mamma cows bawling for their babies on the truck while they were taken into the barn from the woods for shots. I learned about mean bulls, hornet stings, falling off horses and newborn calves that won’t breathe. I made friends with steers and cried as they were hauled to the market for beef.  

I learned about Laura Ingalls these summers on rainy days on the old green couch in the front entry - back when the living room was only for good - with my nose buried in Farmer Boy as it was my favorite.  The guys would come in the big porch wearing their yellow slickers with muddy rubber boots, shaking off the rain and I’d pause my reading  just waiting for someone to mention they were going anywhere.  Even a boring ride back to the woods to track cattle would do.   

How many times did we come home to a heifer eating grass on the front lawn or to the phone ringing that we had cattle loose in Hamman Road?  We’d hop in trucks, with barbed wire and fence posts to go round them back where they belonged!

As I got older, I made a fair wage baling hay, and I worked hard. I’ll never forget the feeling of salt from sweat in the cuts from the hay. Or the day my sister ran her husband over with a haywagon.

Driving past the old farm as we took Audrey to her final resting place, I opened my window to smell the humid air - the old house gone now, though the stair where we scraped manure off our boots before coming in the house is still there.  Memories flooded me.  The big barn where I met the hornet nest and the box for the electric fence ticked with the current.  Clothes snapping in the breeze on the clothesline behind the garage, John splitting his pants trying to fix the manure spreader for the 10th time that day.  Bill’s gold car rolling up after a day of working the railroad.  The hay field I drove circles for hours while 4H kids broke a steer to show in the county fair.  The two track back to the gravel pit, where the black calf born sickly was buried and they made me take a nap so I wouldn’t know.  I knew it was bad. 

Working a farm is a hard life, and I only saw three months for 8 summers.  The memories will be with me always through many of the people have passed on.  

Thank you Audrey Barkley for putting up with an annoying little city kid, and sharing this little piece of your life with me, for letting me invade your farm.  I’m always thankful you never had many chickens!

The First 45!

I’m loud.  I have opinions.  I say what I’m thinking and most times I forget to sugar coat it.  I work hard. I have goals.  I have dreams.  I have confidence in myself.  I ask questions, I seek to understand and I am teachable.

I don’t need anyone. I rarely ask for help.  I can do it by my own self.  I don’t need people. I’m comfortable alone.  Until I’m not.

I have planned parties for people who don’t like me.  I have fed mouths who speak badly of me.  I’ve given to those without and I’ve been taken advantage of by those with more.  I have friends who are family and family I have unfriended.  

The first 45, I spent navigating everyone else’s crazy.  Hearing so many words spoken behind my back.  Yanking knives out of my back.  Helping who emptied my bucket and never refilled.  And I’m done.  I’m walking away from what doesn’t serve me.  I didn’t talk to my mom for three years, she gave in first, she died.  I don’t give up easily.  

Forgiveness

Forgiveness.  It’s no coincidence that it is Easter weekend and I’m thinking/writing about forgiveness...maybe you need some too?

I have carried a heavy burden for a long time.  I was angry, I felt forgotten, maybe even unloved, and I felt a lot, a lot of guilt.  My mom has been gone almost 5 years, I didn’t talk to her for 3 years prior to that.  It’s been 8 years since I spoke to my mother.  

Now, some of you are getting bristly and ready to defend her - this is where your forgiveness comes in.  My mom was MY mom.  I SAW HER - not YOU - at most of her rawest moments.  I KNEW her at rest, in angst, in fear, in pain, in faith, in courage, in strength, in love, and in anger.   I was there with her when my sister was killed, when her parents died, when my dad was home, when my dad left, when each of my siblings moved out. YOU saw ONLY what SHE wanted you to see. I, I saw EVERYTHING. 

Now back to the story.   When we were ready to foster a child to adopt, they told us stories of children going to bed hugging loaves of bread or gallons of milk in fear of not having food to eat. They told stories of terrible abuse children have endured.  And regardless the story, the child always wanted to return to the mother.  I identified with that feeling and I held it a long time in hopes she would be better.  Hoping one day, I could have her be a real ‘’mom’ and not just a mother.  

I loved my mother.  I love my mother.  Fiercely.   As she got older, it got harder to see her, to talk to her, to relate to her - and I never really understood her!  As her mind deteriorated, which we figure got a real good start when Valerie was killed, it got worse as the years went on and then when the divorce hit, she tipped the scale.  

I lived through all of it.  In that house.  With her.  (Later, away from her, yet she was my mom and it was so hard to leave her.)  Every day of my life.  I saw things, endured things, that to this day are barely even a blip to my memory but, I know them.  I see them in only short movie clips, and some are terrifying, yet they don’t make sense.  I was so small when they happened my adult mind cannot grasp when my little eyes saw.  And I held them for a very long time. I kept them to myself.  I probably always will.  I was the only witness to most of it so it cannot be confirmed.  But if I were to tell you anything about it, you would hate her.  That hate, and any anger toward her is mine.  I can’t have you hate her.   It’s like siblings - I can say what I want about my siblings but, if you say it, you best pack a lunch and bring an army!

A few weeks ago, I took an intuition class led by a good friend. I have felt my mom nearby for a very long time and I took this class to open myself up again, to help me hear past her.   I knew I was ready to get back to my life and let hers go.

I see and hear spirits.  

I shut them off shortly after my mom died.  She has come to me 3 times.  The first, shortly after she passed.  She was cloudy black, angry, full of rage, screaming at me from my bedside.   The second time, she was yelling to me from my shower.  The third she was at the side of my bed again, much calmer telling me she was ready when I was and I knew how to reach her.

During this class - I knew.  I knew without a doubt it was time to put my past with her to rest,, to forgive her and let us both heal.  I did. I was supposed to be doing homework that night but, I felt her there with me.  Stronger than I had in so, so long!  Stronger than in life even.  I could feel her faith, I could feel the mercy and forgiveness she had been given and it was time to give her my peace.   I prepared myself, as I do with any spirit, and I opened myself to “hear” her.   Without any word or pictures, I “understood” all I needed to know from her.  I gave her my love, my forgiveness, my peace, and I let her go!  I let go 45 years of my anger and my hurt and felt her take it all on and leave me.

My mother, will be with me all the rest of my life.  She’ll be at the front of the line to greet me when I reach my heavenly home.   She’s with me in the sun, the moon, and every breeze.  I have her hands, her silly side, her wit, humor, her love of expensive things.  And her temper.  One day, when she’s ready, she’ll show herself to me again in her spirit animal, and I’ll know when I see her, that I am always her daughter and she’s still with me. 

Because I’m all growed up, dammit!

I’m almost 45.  I have never bought a cookware set other than one from Walmart.  Not that there is anything wrong with that but, let’s just say my best set was purchased on clearance after a popular Southern cooking celebrity cut ties.  To go with my clearance copper bottomed cookware, the majority of my kitchen utensils are from the dollar store, meaning if the pan temperature gets too hot, they uh...they melt.  Once a week or so, they get a trim with a sharp knife to remove the melted plastic.  Gross, huh?

We joined a meal delivery service this year (love it) and until we did, I hadn’t noticed that we really like to cook, I hadn’t noticed that our pans were higher in the middle than the edges and it was making it difficult to cook foods evenly.  I noticed that our cookware just wasn’t great.  It was just ok.  I was tired of ok.  It was time.  Time to grow up.  Time for real cookware.  The kind that lasts.  

I had already bought good knives a few years ago, my KitchenAid mixer when we redid the kitchen and now...hello Calphalon cookware (and utensils too)!

It’s just a basic set, I’m not that crazy (or loaded)!  Jeremy isn’t thrilled about the “hand wash only” part but, I’m excited to get away from non-stick spray, turners that don’t melt or bend!  I’m looking forward to even cooking, pans that can go into the oven without melting the handles and so many other options. 

Because I’m a grown up dammit, and I can cook!

The littlest sister isn’t so little...

The hands on the clock are spinning faster and faster every time I look, some days I swear they’ll fly off and stab me in the eye - such is my luck!

The clock is creeping right up on me from hot flashes to being the very same age as my father when I was born.  I always remember him being so fragile and here I am at 45, regrouping my life - eating better, exercising - in the best shape ever.  Yes, round is still a shape!

I had this realization today that I’m getting older, my brother is getting older and my sisters are getting older.   Oddly, I was worried about my brother...how he, if he was strong enough to bury another sister.  I realized that I’m 9 whole years younger than he is and it’s probably more likely for me to be the one to bury the 5 (I still think of us as in our original 6) of them...am I strong enough to do that?

I went to my workout tonight and all I could think about were these memories of my sisters, my brother, just these movie clips of them in my life with them and I wanted to record these things before they fade away.  The mind is an amazingly complicated, beautiful machine and what it keeps and the reasons why will always remain a mystery.  But the best is you never know what people remember about you or what memories they have kept!  Just a few:

Gloria, skipping down Fifth Avenue pier in Manistee singing “Feeling Groovy”.

Karen kneeling over the loveseat talking to our dad.

A very pregnant Cindy standing in a tractor  bucket up picking berries.

David stopping to see me at school - he’d come home for a funeral.

Playing cards with Valerie

Gloria and her guitar, her yellow pinto - Mr Bojangles, glass rocks, Petosky stones, cabbage rolls, and we could write novels!

Little sister weekend in Petosky, jamming my little hands into pop machines for can tabs to build Val a curtain for her closet!

Hours of Matchbox cars with David

Lunches at the Harvest Table with Karen every Saturday.

Cindy and I trying 9000 diets every summer.  The boiled potato and mustard one sticks out - I still hate mustard.  

David taking me to basketball games - oh my God - once I fell in the mud and he had to take me home, another time I fell down the bleachers, and once my mom was doing my hair and found the lice!

Kissing Karen goodbye from the kitchen. 

Horseback riding in the - was it pecan groves or hazelnut groves with Gloria

Left handed Cindy teaching right handed Gail to crochet.

Learning counted cross stitch from Karen 

Making my quilt with Cindy and Karen

Pizza at Armedo’s on Friday night with Karen

Stepping in David’s footprints in the snow.

Gloria playing cards while driving

And Val...

I have never felt so blessed as I did tonight having you 5 in my “movie”, my snapshots in time with you all.  The stories, the smiles my heart chooses to remember.  I’m sadly realizing that too quickly our family of 8 became 7 then 6, 5 and now just 4...

I remember one summer, 4th of July, I think before any of the kids or maybe just Matt, Cindy and Ron were up for the holiday.  You all were going for fireworks and I wasn’t old enough.  I was never old enough, I was always running behind trying to catch up, always wanting to do what you all were doing and go where you were going.  The typical tag along little sister.   Now, I’m not quite as eager!

Thank you all for taking me along - even when you didn’t want to, for answering my questions, my endless chatter, for taking time for me when I need help - to change a tire (thanks David) because I did something dumb (thank you, David) or I need some advice (usually  thanks again, David) and just when I get on your last nerve, remember...I may be the littlest sister, I may always need something or want something, be crying about something or have to ask you something but, one day I’m going to have to be the strongest sister because I’m the only one who will still be left behind here without all of you.

Afterall

I didn't grow up in some magical kingdom where everything was perfect.  We didn't have unlimited cash in hand.   My parents really weren't fancy people.  They met working in a B.F. Goodrich rubber factory where my mother's mother also worked.  Her father worked for an iron company.  My father's father was a mailman and his wife raised 9 children. My father eventually went on to be an Electrical Engineer for Consumer's Power, my mother a nurse's aid, a nurse and then she worked swing shifts in a salt factory.  She didn't work in the office, she worked on the factory floor, just like the men. 

My mom wanted nice, fancy things but, I guess she never wanted to spend the money to have them.  Because she never really bought much of any value. 

That said, my parents were pretty good people.  They raised us kids in the church, taught us to be clean, responsible, kind, considerate of others.  Now maybe that all happened by accident and maybe it was intentional, I'm not sure but regardless, here we are. 

My mother's daughters, all 5 of us, though very different, have always looked out for the little guy, helped the less fortunate, donate our time and our talents where needed.  We have always been quick to volunteer - most often without thinking!  We try very hard to help where we can, and do what we can.  

My mother's children are an extremely responsible, fiercely independent, strongly opinionated, overly determined, bunch.  We're an intelligent, well read, vastly experienced, loud bunch of givers!  

We're also a tough bunch to cross as we tend to hold our wrongs close, we have high expectations of ourselves and others.  When someone fails us, we're hard to forgive and harder to forget.   I truly pity the soul that dares try to take advantage of one of us or lies to us.  We generally sniff out a rat at 50 paces -and there is no turning back.  There is no saving yourself.   

But, when we love, we love with all that we have, all that we know and all that we can give.  We're unabashedly proud of our kids, and we are amazed by our spouses as they are often also our very best friends.  We also will not stand for anyone to take advantage of them in any way.

We're pretty quick to cut someone out when we have had enough.  But, please know by the time we have had enough, we have been stolen from, lied to, lied about, betrayed, talked about, and almost anything and everything in between and rather than hurt any more, we'll just leave you behind and go on with our lives.  You see, the pain of your betrayal is bigger than the pain of being without you. 

I'm not writing this as a threat.  I'm tired of being stabbed in the back, tired of sticking up for myself, really tired of being deceived and lied to.  You see, my momma taught me to be better than this, to not sit back and take this shit from anyone. I'm done.  I am my mother's daughter after all.

What A Fool Believes

"But what a fool believes he sees
No wise man has the power to reason away
What seems to be
Is always better than nothing" ~ The Doobie Brothers 1979

Please forgive my attraction to 1970's song lyrics.  It's my sister's fault.  All of them. 

Anyway, what a fool believes...is always better than nothing.
  

Is it?



I have a hard time when it comes to people who believe ignorance.  People who can't make an educated opinion.  I don't understand how you can spout off some stupid shit when you don't read, you don't research and you don't listen.



For instance, the transgender bathroom debate.
"I don't want my kids in a bathroom with them."



Let's clear up a few things shall we?



News Flash:  All transgenders are NOT perverts.  They're just not.  They're not child molesters either.  Sure, there are good and bad people everywhere, even in your church (gasp!) the majority of transgender folks were/are just issued the wrong parts!  There is good and bad in ever gender, in every race, in every society.  If you believe otherwise, you're a stone fool!



That said, take into consideration if you have a male identifying female, she will use a stall because women's restrooms don't have urinals.  Females identifying as males will also use the stall because well...have you ever seen a woman trying to pee in a urinal?   Think about that a minute!  If we're all in stalls, with our eyes on our own papers, who knows what parts a under whose pants?





Let's also look into this twist, shall we?  Not everyone you meet is going to rape you, assault you or make you touch them on any way.  Frankly speaking, whatever you are, you're probably not "their" type anyway!  Don't flatter yourself!





Also, there is nothing that stops men from entering the ladies rooms (or viceversa) except for the good old honor system.  Honestly, I'm more afraid to send my son into a public restroom than I am of him having to share with a former woman.  I promise you that!



What is the solution?  Unisex restrooms for all?  Maybe.  I can tell what is not the solution.  Bigotry is not.  Bullying is not.  Segregation is not.  Extermination is not.  Look how well those ideas worked in the past!


Look at our kids.  Our kids don't see color.  They don't see hate. They don't always see cruelty. They don't see gender quite like we do, we as adults give them labels, we teach them difference and we teach them hate.  Why? 


Because we're fools and it's what we believe.

To be a reader

I am reader.  I have always been a reader and I will always be a reader.  I will always have full bookshelves, a Kindle in my desk drawer and a wish list of books a mile long.  

I remember the summer it all began, I don't remember the year but I remember it was summer and my sister Cindy had a good friend of her family who was a teacher. Cindy took me to her house to borrow some books.  It was then I met Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House in the Big Woods and I was a goner. I couldn't read that series enough. I read every book over and over and over again. I probably had them memorized. I went home the end of that summer to have my mom get me the whole set for my very own. I read them so many times I wore them out. The spines were cracked, pages were dog eared, and some even falling out.  I loved those books. 

Some Sunday mornings my mom and I would stop at the local bookstore and I'd be allowed to pick out 2 or 3 or 5 books for my very own. I read everything by Judy Blume and a few Beverley Cleary to V.C. Andrews and Danielle Steele and now Karen White, Patti Callahan Henry, Elin Hilderbrand, Robyn Carr, and so many more.  

We had a subscription to Reader's Digest once, I loved the day the new issue came in the mail. I'd read that little magazine from cover to cover, All in a Days Work, Humor In Uniform, the featured stories, every last bit.  My mom also subscribed to Guideposts which was another fave.  His Mysterious Ways was the best feature! Even a Parents magazine or Grandma Nollf's National Enquirer rag would do!  It seemed there were never enough words to be read. 

Somewhere around high school my appetite for books took a lull and I didn't read much until my early 20's.   Now I read about slavery, Civil Rights, the Holocaust, World War II, Vietnam, Ellis Island, Henry Ford, women's rights, The White House, John F. Kennedy and his assassination, things I never thought I'd have an interest in. But, I do.

I asked my husband once how he would describe me.  His answer was "well read".  I like being a reader.  I like knowing a little about a lot of topics.  I like getting lost in a book for an hour or 3.  Books kept me out of trouble, kept my mind sharp, kept some of the demons at bay.  I'm thankful I grew to be reader.  I hate to think what I would have been without. 

Thank you Betty James for introducing me to Laura Ingalls Wilder, encouraging me to read, read more and read often.  To you, I will always be grateful. 

Marriage (again)

This topic is probably the biggest, broadest most frustrating topic in all the land, well, this and parenthood.

It's an odd tradition to think about. Marriage. Take a minute - boy meets girl and there is this spark.  That's all.  It doesn't matter where they're from, what their backgrounds are, their opinions are or who their family is, there is just this undeniable magnetism, this force that pulls you together no matter the circumstances - some move across the country, across oceans to follow this spark.  Some leave their whole families behind - be it in disagreement or distance.  Some leave jobs, homes, sadly some even leave their children.  It's really something how all these changes arise from one spark.You just know you'll work all these things out...somehow.

And you do...or you think you do.  

I have been with my husband for approximately 14 years.  14 years of working things out.  Sometimes the work is really simple.  We disagree, see each other's points, apologize if needed and we move on to the next disagreement.  But, some times, there are these fights where you scream, holler and yell at each other like a 6th grader on the playground duking it out over who's on first, knowing   neither of you will ever win, completely disregarding any sort of respect for each other, totally going for the throat and there is no teacher here to save your stupid ass.  This has more than once  involved one of us packing bags, threatening "I've had enough of you" and many other horrible things and yet somehow we talk our way off this precipice and manage to mop up the mess and move on.

Some think marriage is about control, funny those who think I can control what my husband says or does. (Or God forbid he can control me) I pray to tell you, he is a man of his own mind who acts or reacts of his own accord.  And if you must know, I honestly believe he is the most stubborn, hard headed of us both. Marriage isn't all him, and it isn't all me.  I think for myself, he thinks for himself, at times we have to think for each other and all the time, we have to do what we think best on the fly.  There are many times I wonder why he reacts his way and I know he can't figure out my reactions to save his soul but, I think true key here is to call them as you see them and do what you see fit.  

We don't pretend anything between us, or around us, we are very down to Earth, realistic people.  No smoke.  No mirrors.  He sees my worst and I see his.  I can't say I'm proud of those moments but, he knows me, what I am, who I am and he loves me anyway.   I'm very blessed. 

Every marriage is different and only one of them belongs to you.  We (or I) try to remember our marriage is simply ours.  It's our success or our failure. No one else knows what goes on between us behind closed doors.  No one knows the things we see or we talk about, things we do or don't do. It's easy to judge someone else's relationship (even easier when you're a parent) but the hardest thing to remember is these things oftentimes have to play out for the lessons to be learned.  

When it's my turn.

The saddest thing I can imagine is being at the end of a life and not having a true soulmate, a confidant, a best friend that knows you, your secrets, and your fears enough to finish your sentences for you.   

Sometimes, I'm sad to not have a best female friend at this point in my life but, I am blessed to have married a man that listens to me and hears me, who hugs me when I cry, laughs at me when I laugh at myself and is willing to go along with whatever shenanigans I can think of. 

I have had a few best friends along the way.  I wish I could go back and handle the hiccups differently than I did.  Maybe those friendships would have been stronger...maybe they just went the way of fate.  I don't know.

And well, there are a few goofballs around to keep me in laughs and I am ever so thankful for them too!   I know there are a few of you who can finish my sentences and I hope you'll be there for me one day to do just that.

I think a lot these days about when I die.  How I'll handle myself when it's my turn. If I die slowly, I'll do this.  And if I die suddenly, I want to be sure to have always done this or that.  

I think about my son, and all the things he needs to know to live without a mom. Every day, I make sure I tell him how much I love him. I think that is the biggest, most important thing he always needs to know no matter how I leave him.  

I think about my husband and our life together and honestly, I can't write everything here...well...because I only want him to hear what I have to say. 

And my siblings.  Siblings are the strangest of relationships aren't they?  I have 5 of them...each of us from the very same parents yet all so very different and yet some of the very same. I think of my sister, dying from Cancer, and how I'd handle that if it were me.  She's not me and I'm not her.

I'd like to think if I were dying, you'd all come forward, make me laugh, make me cry and help me remember all the dumb shit we did together as kids (or as adults).  I'd also like to think I would take my time to put out some apologies.  I have regrets at 42, I'll have more at 52, 62, 72 and God forbid 82!  I hope I'll have courage enough to make things right where I can.

It is sad to think about death.  I didn't want to bury my sister when I was 10, my dad at 26, my mom at 41 or another sister here at 42.  God didn't ask me what I wanted.  He didn't ask me if I wanted a best friend but, all in all, he gave me the best friends.  

Whelmed?

"I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?"  ~ Bianca Stratford - 10 Things I Hate About You

It's a good question, isn't it?

I had about a week and a half off over Christmas and it was wonderful.  We didn't make any plans or take any trips, it was so nice just to relax and home, together and really to just BE.

I don't remember a time in my life where I've felt so full, so much and yet not be able to write freely, without consequence as I do now.  The choices and the changes I'm going through now are not mine so I can't openly share all of them here and it's really hard for me...yet I know it's just not my story to tell. 

Christmas was unusual, perplexing and almost inexplicable (I had a little fun on Google finding these words) for me this year.  I wasn't into the spirit, the spending, the tradition or magic of it all this year.   Our tree was down and all evidence of Christmas removed by the Monday after.  Not at all like me!  We did our normal dinner/snacks but, there wasn't a special "really wanted" gift for Jacob this year and it seemed to be a 'going through the motions' type thing for me.  I think that contributed to the lack of lacking this year.

Is it just us or did last year end with this huge pile of upheaval?  For us, it was another new job and even less money for Jeremy (better benefits and advancement though), my sister being diagnosed with stage IV Adenocarcinoma (soft tissue cancer), my responsibilities at work shifting and...a...long term house guest - which, I'm not going to lie, it's extremely hard/heart wrenching for me to watch this one play out.  And then our every day normal on top of all that. Y'all, this girl is overwhelmed!

And then I look back at last year, And I was just as overwhelmed.  I had lost my mom, I was terribly, excruciatingly angry with her, Jeremy left his job, I was thinking about leaving my job and a huge spot of my damned hair fell out!

Oh, I almost forgot, my corporate credit card was compromised too!

When does it stop?  When does it get easier?  When does the success outweigh the challenges?  When do I get to be just whelmed?

It's complicated

There are plenty of things I don't understand.   Relationships being the trickiest of all.

My mom volunteered a little of her time in a domestic violence shelter back home.  I met a few of the women staying there, women with blackened eyes, bloodied lips and swollen cheeks from their significant others.  I was always so proud of the women who got out, who ran with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and their kids. I remember being angry with the women that went back to those men.  Choosing that life, knowing they may not ever be strong enough to leave again.  Some of these women were in and out of the shelter numerous times - enough to where I knew them personally.  Sadly, I remember one woman we never saw again.  Her husband had brutally murdered her after he'd finally convinced her to come back to him. I'll never understand. 

I've found that no relationship is ever easy, parents, children, siblings, in-laws - any of it or all of it = not easy.  In fact, down right, plain old complicated. 

I had hoped after my mom passed away, some of my relationships would uncomplicate themselves but, to no avail.  In fact, some got worse. People always think they have the answer to every one else's problems.  They especially think mothers and daughters automatically bake cookies together, shop together and enjoy mother daughter tea parties.  There are those of us that know better.    You don't need to fix us.   You don't need to say the right thing or be uncomfortable  with us.  Most of us are quite comfortable with who we are or even who we aren't.   Please, just be yourself.   It's not complicated. 

I try not to think too much, of myself or of others.  I try not to have an opinion of anyone but myself.  I try not to be envious or to covet.  I try to mind my own business and keep my nose on my own page.  I find it a bit less complicated this way. Less to discuss, less to explain. It's hard though, to try to be better when people around you bring their judgements to your door.  When others try to force their opinions on you, to make you agree with them.  Why do we all have to agree?  Why can't it just be complicated and we leave it at that?

Just a song in my head

"It's so funny how we don't talk anymore
It's so funny why we don't talk anymore
But I ain't losing sleep and I ain't counting sheep
It's so funny how we don't talk anymore"

-Cliff Richard

It's a song from like 1979 and it's stuck in my head this afternoon. 

I was thinking earlier, next Spring, Jeremy and I will have been together 15 years.  When he was in the restaurant, once in a while, one of the servers would talk to me about him, something he'd said or done and as she was talking, I'd think to myself - Yeah, I do know.  He's MY husband.  We talk, there is no way you know him better than I do.

I think back to my mom often, and someone had once told her how I was manipulative and spoiled (which I was in my teens and 20's) I was.  I remember my mom's response to her - She's my daughter, I know full well what she can be. 

When I think about Jacob, I think about my relationship with my own mom.   I think about the things I shared with her, the things I kept to myself, and...uh...the things she heard about second and maybe even third hand.

I think about how she knew me.  The things she knew about me and I realize that after a point, and to a point, she and I were quite close.  After a certain age, I didn't have anything to hide.  It didn't matter anymore.  I knew who I was, she knew who I was, we both knew what made me who I was.  We also knew there was no going back.

In a way, I'm thankful that my mom never tried to hold onto my childhood. Never tried to take care of me or keep me under her wings.  I'm thankful she taught me not to need her, that she wouldn't save me or that I had to depend on her.  In some ways, I'm glad to know I couldn't rely on her.  I did it. I grew up.  

When she died, I didn't need her.  I hadn't needed her for some time.  When I say I didn't need her, I don't mean I didn't love or want her. I mean I didn't need her.  That time had come and gone. 

As parents, it's our job to grow our kids to not need us.  To not depend on us, to not need our help.  I think so anyway.  

I'll remember things for Jacob - his favorite foods, a few funny stories but I hope I remember to care for and love him for the person he is, not the person someone else sees or as the person he once was but for the man who grew into, the husband and father he'll hopefully become one day.   I'll be sure to make him a box of macaroni one day but, only when he asks me to, and not force him to relive my memories of him. 

I know my son. I know him as his mother.  I don't know him as a friend or as a student. I don't know him as his father does.  I don't know him as a teammate. I will never know him as a husband, as a father to his own children.  I will certainly never know him better than his wife. It's up to him to build that and me to stay out of his way when the time comes. 

Like any mom, I hope my son will always love me but, I'm not going to fight for it.  Or make an asshole of myself chasing after him, begging for his attention.  I hope I do it better than my parents so he knows I love him.  I hope I never get to a point where he doesn't want to speak to me or feels he has to cut me out. I want him to know he's loved and not feel suffocated by his overbearing parents.  I hope I teach him not to need me.  To know he'll be fine without me.  I think that's one of the best things I can give him.