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 :)



Boy Intro #2

A long time ago, I wrote about one boy in my life, but there are two others always on my mind. Now presenting: Faather. (Brother intro at a later date.)

Yes, Faather. Also known as Big, Big Pig, Dad, Pops, Richard, Crabbio, Crabbio Le Faather, Jim, James, and suddenly Diego.

My dad is the guy I’ve loved longest. I’ve been a daddy’s girl my entire life. If I had a scanner hooked up in this joint, I’d scan a photo from my baptism where my mom is smiling like a model at the camera, my dad is looking at me, and I’m gazing back at him like he’s Superman. I was five weeks old.

My favorite memories of my early childhood take place in the backyard, and he’s in almost every one. We had a log back at the edge of our property that we’d sit on when I was about three or four. It was our thinking spot. We’d go back there after dinner and my dad would let me babble away about whatever was intriguing my never-sleeping kid brain. We’d check the hickory shells for nuts the squirrels had missed and pile them somewhere for a lucky squirrel (or whatever other animals wandered into our yard… usually deer but one time we found cows out there. Story for another day). I remember when my dad built his shed in the backyard to store the tractor, lawnmower and all his other woodworking and yard tools. There are pictures of me standing on the platform before it was walled in. I’m wearing a green floral-print shirt and shorts, and I’m definitely carrying a purse.

We hung out in my kiddie pool, my dad patiently tolerating me dumping buckets of water on his head. There are pictures of me sitting on his lap in a deck chair, with his beer bottle at my lips. Yes, I was probably about two when this was permitted and yes, it’s likely that there was still beer in the bottle. I like to think I turned out ok in spite of this.

He continued as a devoted father as I got older. I remember one birthday party where he sat in a chair in the middle of the yard and let me and my friends throw water balloons at him. If we hit him, good for us. If we missed, he sprayed water from the garden hose on us. Good times.

We hit a rough patch when I was 14. I’m using the term rough patch very loosely. He yelled at me like 12 times for talking on the phone too much and spending too much time with my first boyfriend. Typical things. By the time I was a mature 15 year-old, it had passed.

As the years passed, I began to appreciate my father more and more. He retired when I was 15 after nearly 40 years with the same company. He worked his way up from a maintenance man to a safety director position with a chemical company. He was a role model for working hard to provide for his family. He was very present for my brother and me. And he made efforts to be as present as he could for his four kids from his first marriage that moved 12 hours away with their mother.

I also learned to appreciate what it means to be a supportive spouse. My parents were utterly committed to one another. It eventually occurred to me that what they shared wasn’t guaranteed to anyone. I had friends with divorced parents, or parents who were married but could barely stand each other. I was fortunate to grow up in a house where affection was openly shown between Mom and Dad, and “I love you” was said daily. My mom had gone back to work a few years after he retired, but they were looking forward both being retired and spending those years together. I was looking forward to it too. They deserved it.

Mom and Dad :)

But, as anyone who reads this blog knows (and I do mean anyone… pretty sure it’s not anymultiplepersons), they didn’t get these years. My mom worked until she was diagnosed with cancer, and never returned. They had days together in the house, but not under the circumstances anyone wished for.

While caring for my mom, I gained a new respect for my father. A friend who went through the loss of his mother a year before me said it best – “…As I look back, my dad went from good guy to true hero.  It really shows what a true life partnership can bring.” The love I already felt for my dad grew exponentially each day as I witnessed the way he cared for my best friend – my mom.

He was at every doctor’s appointment, and every chemo and radiation session. When she was practically living at Good Sam, he spent almost every night there. (The only ones he missed are the ones I offered to take so he could get a decent night’s sleep, and I think two nights when the snow was too bad to get there.) He administered her pills, made her food, took on responsibilities to keep the house running, helped her to the bathroom, bathed her, and so much more. He treated her with the respect she deserved, working tirelessly to preserve her dignity. And while serving as her caretaker, he never forgot that he was her husband too. It was probably the most beautiful display of love you could possibly observe.

Her death left him broken. His life partner was gone. And because he’d given up everything in his life to care for her for sixteen months, I think he was left feeling a little bit like he didn’t have a purpose after she was gone. This improved, slowly but surely, and though I know he’s still lonely, time has helped. He busies himself with the house and garden, and my brother lives with him. When TJ and I lived in the house for a few months before we bought our own, I was pleased to see his progress. He was finding ways to go on with his life.

I know I’m lucky to have such a strong relationship with my dad. He worked most of his life, and I feel it’s unfair that he was robbed of the “reward” he deserved – a retirement with my mom as his companion. I know he feels that way too. I admire him for pushing forward.  I realize he’s not without faults, but to me, he really is the model of a real man. Kind, strong, honest, funny, humble – and committed to his family.

Dancing at my wedding reception.

Reeeeeeally dancing at my wedding reception... getting fancy!



Skin and Bones

My dear friend of 24 years, Christina, is going through a difficult situation right now. Her father is battling aphasia. I believe his specific situation has a more detailed name than aphasia, but that’s the overarching issue. As time goes on, he struggles more and more to find the right words to say what’s on his mind. Christina and her family are slowly losing him mentally, and it weighs on her.

As I think back to my mom’s final days, I realize that the mental decline can take a bigger toll on the family than the physical. It absolutely was miserable to see my mom’s body weakening. But the moment I remember my emotional collapse beginning was Monday morning, not quite 40 hours before she passed away, when my dad called to tell me the cancer may be in her brain. I was at my desk when I took the call. I pinged another bestie I work with (Annie of A Girl's Guide to Being Alone) to meet me near the elevators of our office. She sat with me while I choked out the words and calmed down. It wasn’t that we had lost her – she was still at Good Sam at that point. It was that she was gone. Not quite lucid anymore. It was me realizing that I would never have a full conversation with my mom again. The witty banter (yes, witty banter, we were hysterical together) was done. I’ve never been able to fully articulate what that feels like, and I’m not really doing it justice right now.

Sometimes, songs say it better. This isn’t a new song, but once I really paid attention to it, I realized how well it fits. The lyrics crept in my ears and as my brain was considering the weight of the simple words, the music was wrapping around me. This song makes me cry, makes me want to dance, makes me want to talk to my mom. This song takes me back to those days of begging her to hold on. Asking her to keep fighting. Praying desperately that God would spare our family from this pain. Crying to TJ and anyone who could handle me.

Skin & Bones - David J. Roch

This song almost makes grief feel pretty. I wish grieving felt like this song feels in my bones now. (I also wish I didn’t look like Kim Kardashian when I cry.) When I hear this song, I cry, without a doubt. But afterwards, I almost feel like I’ve been cleansed of grief, at least for a little while.