We Have a Room Dedicated to Dining

That's right; you read it here first. We have a room specifically for dining. And because we inherited a full suite of furniture from my dad's house, it was the easiest room to finish next.

So this is the room we had to work with, viewed from the corner near the steps upstairs. It's a great size with beautiful parquet floors, lovely windows, and a very dated but useable chandelier.

Here's a better view from over near the windows. The colors were nice enough in theory, but not our taste. And the colors showed every scuff on the walls.

We painted the top half of the walls a deep red, and after three coats, managed to cover the sea green with a light ivory. Then my awesome father came over to teach TJ and me how to use the miter saw. (Ok, TJ learned. I took photos.)

With the miter saw, we made our chair rail. 

And by "we" I obviously mean those two.

And here's the end result for the walls.

And here's the total end result! All the furniture is, again, courtesy of my father who saw no need for a formal dining room. (In truth, I think we only used it three times when my mom was alive.) The bowl on the table is from Target, and the orbs inside it are from Target and Ikea. The drapes are also from Target, but my grandmother made the valances.

Here's another view from the steps upstairs/entrance to the kitchen. The pictures on the wall are also from my parents house.

And finally, this view. The closed door hides the steps and their dirty green carpet. (We'll get to that eventually!) But this view is special to me. I played the piano as a child, and my mom always told me I'd want this piano in my home someday. She was right. And the picture above it was painted by my dad in 1980. He's not only incredibly handy around the house, but a fantastic artist too.

Here's a better view of the art, and the knicknacks on top of the piano. The candle on the left is Febreze, as is the air freshener inside the backless shadowbox. The brown mosaic candleholder is from Michael's. The topiary is from Target.

Dinner is much more enjoyable in a completed room. Surrounded by such rich colors, I can almost forget that the rest of the house is still scattered with boxes from our move nine months ago!

What Not to Say

Over the 16 months my mom was sick, and in the 18 since she passed away, I’ve encountered many people who “want to help.” Some of these people were close friends; others were nearly strangers. All were appreciated.

But through those interactions, I identified two things people often resort to saying that are no help, and in my opinion, make it hurt a little more. I don’t believe anyone ever said these things to me with the intention of being hurtful. I think people just don’t know what to say.

Thing 1: “I know how you feel.”

Honest, direct thoughts on Thing 1: This sentence made me want to respond with, “Oh really? Your mom was diagnosed with stage IV cancer at age 51 and died at 52, leaving you confused, sometimes bitter, and scared out of your mind?” I never responded that way. I usually just let the moment pass. But unless you’ve been through an identical situation, there’s a good chance you don’t know how it feels.

I certainly appreciate someone’s attempt to empathize, but uttering these words to someone losing a parent can quickly put them on the defensive. Most of the time, I wasn’t looking for someone to tell me stories of how they know what it feels like because 12 years ago he lost his 90-year old great aunt to cancer. At the risk of sounding like a witch, I didn’t want to hear about anyone else’s stuff unless they truly needed someone to be there for them. A lot of times, the person wasn’t looking for that; they were looking for a way to show how they cared – “See, cancer affected me too!” Again, the intent was always kind, but it made me angry that people thought they understood when they clearly couldn’t.

Thing 2: “Everything happens for a reason.”

Honest, direct thoughts on Thing 2: This one makes my blood boil still. I don’t care if you believe this is true or not – don’t say it to someone whose parent is dying, or anyone going through a seemingly pointless tragedy. My response to this in my mind was typically along the lines of, “Ok, please, tell me what you think the reason for this would be?”

I get that death is a part of living, and that we all inevitably face it. But why was my mom made to face it at age 52? How come my family is trying to figure out how we keep living without her? The truth is that my mom was a genuinely good person. And the other truth is that my family never took her for granted. We really had it all – our home was full of love, respect, and all the things a family prays to have. So why her? Don’t tell me she’s sick for a reason. She did nothing to deserve that.

This is probably the whiniest post I’ve written, although my motivation wasn’t a need to whine or vent. These are things I genuinely want other people to know. Even though I’ve experienced some of the craptastic things other people have or will have to go through (cancer, death of a parent, learning to live after cancer causes the death of a parent), I still don’t always know what to say when others go through it. All I know is what did and didn’t help me. Those two sentences didn’t help me. And soon I’ll write about what did.

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

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.

Letter to Mom #1

Dear Mom,

Randy Jackson is no longer a judge on American Idol! It’s the end of an era.

Hoopz from season one of Flavor of Love is dating Shaq. I know, what?

Remember that shade of green that we decided looks awful on me based on my 8^th grade photo? I’m decorating my kitchen with it.

Zach told me I’m just like you, and it was probably the best compliment I’ve ever received. He’s still finding his way, but he has your gentle spirit and innate goodness so he’s going to be fine.

TJ has perfected his Larry King impersonation that you found so funny. Now he’s trying Christopher Walken. This one could take awhile, but we're laughing a lot together as he works on it.

I’m not sure I can handle the emotional stress of hosting another golf outing in your honor. I hope you understand if we decide it was just that once.

Dad made an asinine comment the other day and I told him that if you could, you’d spit on his head right now. He laughed, but then said he would thank God if you did. I know you knew how much he loved you, but rest assured – his love has only grown while you’ve been gone.

There are days when I have to put away the photos I keep on my desk of you and our family. Days like today, when glancing up from my work to see your sweet smile has pushed me to tears.

And finally, Lindsay Lohan is still a train wreck.  I kept thinking she was going to get it together, but I'm willing to admit now that you were probably right.

Love,

Your Daughter

The Best Things in Life are Free

So I’ve never been completely sold on this notion. I’ve been completely and utterly thrilled with Coach purses in the past, and although I feel immense pride in our cute little English Tudor every time I pull into the driveway, the mortgage renders it far from free. But this past weekend, a “freebie” made me so happy, I cried.

One time, many moons ago, I was snooping in my mom’s walk-in closet for Christmas gifts. I’m not big on delayed gratification and I don’t have much use for surprises, so this was a ritual. I scanned the shelves in the closet, wondering if any Baby-Sitters Club books could be hidden under the scarves and purses strewn about. None. Drats. And then I saw this.

It was an old book, covered in checkered fabric. No title or anything. And then I opened it.

Right before my first birthday, my mom started a journal for me, full of her feelings on finally becoming a mother. I rifled through the pages, but decided not to read it. It’s one thing to snoop on Christmas presents (or birthday gifts, St. Nicholas stocking stuffers, etc.) but this felt really wrong. This was special, and I wanted to wait to read it until my mom decided it was my turn. So I put it back.

I kept up my gift-snooping for years, and always glanced at that shelf to make sure the book was on it. When I was 18, I moved out for college, and though I was home every holiday, my snooping ritual fell by the wayside in favor of spending my home time in the kitchen baking with my mom or on the couch watching old movies together.

After she died, I remembered the journal and went straight to her closet to get it. And it was gone. I’m pretty sure I said “frick” really loudly and then proceeded to cry for awhile while sitting on the floor of the closet. Once the tears subsided I proceeded to tear the closet apart in search of the book. No dice – it was gone.

Slowly but surely, we started going through her belongings in the closet and bedroom. It was a pokey, arduous process because of the sheer volume of items and the emotions that overwhelmed us about 15 minutes into the process each time. My dad assured me over and over again that we’d find it eventually. He plans to move soon, and before he goes, we’ll have to sort through every last item in the house. (And let me tell you – I’m so looking forward to it. Organizing 30 years worth of stuff in a house inhabited by sentimental packrats sounds like tons of fun.)

Last weekend, we sold my mom’s bedroom set. I went over a few hours before the buyers arrived to help clean out drawers and dust the furniture. When I arrived, my dad had already pulled boxes out from under the bed. And there it was. I could see it through the side of the clear plastic container – the journal. And in typical fashion, I burst into tears.

It took all the restraint I could muster to wait until I was back at my house to read it. But what a special thing to have. She wrote inconsistently throughout my life, but it was one of the most reaffirming things I could own. I can’t lie: it did reinforce how much it *sucks* that one of the only people in the world who accepted me as I am – no complaints, no directives on how I should be better – is gone. But it was the best gift I could ever have received from her.

When I have children, I absolutely want to do this for them. I may even con TJ into participating too. Having been on the receiving end of this journal and knowing the impact it immediately had on me, I want to make sure my children can have the same experience someday. I’ll just have to hide it a little better when they’re at snooping age and a little less well when there’s a greater chance they might need it!

And It's Been Awhile

I haven’t felt like writing much lately. Although we just returned from a week at the beach, I struggled to relax fully for reasons I won’t delve into here. Sometimes it’s easier to ignore my feelings and devote an entire day to:

Season 1 of Community

Is there any ailment that can’t be cured by 13 hours of Joel McHale?

Graeter’s Double Chocolate Chip Ice Cream

It took all my willpower not to eat the entire pint in one sitting.

A mega-issue of Instyle

652 pages of clothes I can’t afford.

And these two :)