Tangled Grrl

I've spent this morning packing up my belongings and cleaning out my car. I'm driving home tomorrow. I'll step foot into my own home for the first time since April 27. I have to go back to work on Monday. And I know I will need time to acclimate myself to normal life. Normal life without my mom. So I will likely be an absolute disaster at times this weekend. And I'm ok with that. I left my dad for the first time last weekend. I went and worked at a trade show with my best friends. And they are a bunch of kind, unique and supportive women. They asked questions, but not too many. I received a ton of love, support, and hugs. And I managed to make it through the entire trip without sobbing. I teared up a few times, but knew I couldn't break down because I had responsibilities. I didn't want to be the crazy vendor crying in the booth and then having to explain why I was crying. I didn't want to have to look at strangers and tell them my mom was gone. And I was

I'm in a fog today. I spent last night writing up the story of Dad's progression through this nightmare. As usual, I couldn't manage it without some tears. But I got through it and emailed it to him. We posted it on Facebook and GoFundMe for anyone who wants all of the sordid details. In order to write such things, you're forced to relive them. And I wonder how long it will be before reliving them doesn't make me feel like the wounds are ripped open again. When the pain and loss won't feel so new, so fresh. Because you can't tell a story about Dad without telling one of Mom too. I know it will be worse when I go back home, to my "normal" life. Part of me is dreading it. As much as I miss my husband, girls, cat and my bed - I know that when funny things happen I can't call and tell Mom all about it anymore. I can't call her for advice or for the recipe of dishes I know how to make but can't remember. I can't call her to vent my fru

I got asked a few times why I write these blogs. Why do I then share them publicly? The answer is not a short one nor is it an easy one. It's not a cry for help as some may think. It's simply a way of saying I understand. I'm not the only person grieving. I'm not the only person who has lost a mom. I'm not the only person who has sat alone in public places crying over every day objects. But I have a platform and sometimes I have the words to share it. So I do. Because I learned a long time ago that the written word has the power to reach people. It has the power to bridge gaps and link people. So often we see the internet and social media vilified for the negativity. But there is power there for good too. If it weren't for the marvels of technology I wouldn't have the ability to reach out to my best friends right now. In my darkest of moments, technology helps me to reach out to those that can help me turn on a light. And sometimes reading the words of s

It can be a really hard thing to admit when you need help. For some, it's the hardest thing. When my siblings and I were growing up, our home was a safe haven. My parents allowed our friends to eat or sleep over when they had nowhere else to go. They were always welcome with us. Family dinners often meant feeding 12 people, not feeding just the 5 of us. Need a place to crash? Stay with us. Need a place to do homework? Come see us. Need school supplies? Come see us. Need a hot meal? Come see us. Just need something, but not sure how to ask for it? Come over. We will figure it out. That was our house growing up. Mom and Dad always joked that we were the Home of Wayward Strays. And they loved every moment of it. We were raised to open doors for strangers, say please and thank you and give to others. Find someone in need? Give to them first. That's what we saw done in our own home every day of our lives. I can't tell you how many times my parents put other people before the

Before Dad could speak at all, he was trying to communicate with his doctors and nurses by mouthing words to them. Some of the nurses and doctors were better than others at figuring out what he was trying to say. Some were abysmal. One day we had the head of Critical Care medicine in his room and his Cardiac Thoracic surgeon. They were trying to explain to him the next steps of recovery. They were telling him he was making good progress but the next steps were going to be difficult. They were going to suck. He was trying to tell them something, but they couldn't understand. He tried to tell me but I was struggling too. So the doctors said, "Screw this, let the man speak." And they deflated his tracheostomy cuff, and pulled his ventilator for a few moments to let him speak his first words. My dad said, "Embrace the Suck." I started laughing like crazy and the entire room of doctors and nurses just turned around and stared at me. If you've never worked in a