Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Letter to Mom #2


Dear Mom,

The Emmys were this past weekend, and watching them was bittersweet. I love awards shows (read: fashion at awards shows) as much as I ever have, but I missed talking about dresses with you during the show and watching Fashion Police together the next night. I don’t think these feelings will ever go away.

Zach has made a potentially life-changing decision. I’m behind him 100% on this one. He’s really starting to think about his future, and though he’s had a few missteps in the last couple of months, I’m so proud of him.

Dad ripped down the wallpaper in the hallways and stairwells at home this past week. I had no idea the walls were that pink color underneath. He woke up one day and just felt that it was time to start taking steps forward. I’m proud of him too.

I cried today while sitting at the doctor’s. As I sat on that table – waiting – I could feel you in the room. And I know you spent time in the room when you were alive too. Imagining you sitting on the same table, feeling scared and uncertain, was nearly too much for me to handle. Dr. K said my reaction was normal. I hope to someday have a happy reason to go to the doctor and to feel happy while I’m there… but today was not the day.

I had bangs cut into my hair last month, but I’m pretty sure I’m letting them grow out now.

I got a new job last week, and I think I’m starting there next week. I’d tell you all about it, except I don’t know much about it. What I do know is that this is exciting, career-altering work, and I haven’t been this excited to go to the office every day in awhile.

TJ is sitting on the couch next to me, watching Top Gear. Some people might say that our evenings of being bums on the couch, talking, watching TV and playing with Lu are boring, but I just don’t care. There’s nothing I look forward to more than being home with him, hearing about his day, and listening to him laugh.

I’m going to go fold laundry now. The laundry will inevitably smell like your favorite fresh cotton lotion, and so I’ll think of you.

Love,
Kate

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Déjà Vu

Yesterday, I found myself reliving an old, uncomfortable routine.

In the middle of the work day, I packed up my computer, grabbed my purse, and walked quickly out of my office with my head down.

I stopped by the café in my building for a quick snack.

I hurriedly walked to my car, threw my bags in the backseat, and left.

I headed north on Gilbert Avenue, immediately cursing myself for taking the same route as always, forgetting (as always) there are quicker ways to go.

I slowly made my way east to west across Clifton.

I pulled into the parking garage at Good Sam, cursing the crappy old structure where I once had to get snappy with an old man who almost killed me in his Cadillac.

I took the elevator down from the garage, entered the hospital, and took the north elevator to the sixth floor.

I made a left, then a right, then two lefts, and found myself in the surgical waiting room. And I sat and waited.


It was a different person in surgery today, a different time of year, a modified group of people waiting for an outcome. But even now, the routine itself opens old wounds.


In the middle of the work day, I packed up my computer, grabbed my purse, and walked quickly out of my office with my head down. Because it’s too hard to explain to the curious faces the reason for my rush.

I stopped by the café in my building for a quick snack. Because I have no idea how long I’ll be waiting, or when I’ll feel like eating again.

I hurriedly walked to my car, threw my bags in the backseat, and left. Because I’m needed more elsewhere.

I headed north on Gilbert Avenue, immediately cursing myself for taking the same route as always, forgetting (as always) there are quicker ways to go. Because time is of the essence.

I slowly made my way east to west across Clifton. Because it’s where all the hospitals are.

I pulled into the parking garage at Good Sam, cursing the crappy old structure where I once had to get snappy with an old man who almost killed me in his Cadillac. Because he was delaying me from getting to her.

I took the elevator down from the garage, entered the hospital, and took the north elevator to the sixth floor. Because I don’t need to be told where surgery happens in this building.. I remember.

I made a left, then a right, then two lefts, and found myself in the surgical waiting room. And I sat and waited. Because it’s all I can do.