Tangled Grrl

 We've hit that time of year again. I survived the second anniversary of Mom's death. And now my Facebook memories are starting with the constant updates of Dad's progression through the hospital. From now until July I will be reminded on a continual basis of That Time. I could just not look at the reminders, but I won't. It's like poking a bruise. You know it will ache, that the poke will make the throbbing more intense, yet you can't seem to stop pestering it. Just to make sure it's still real. It isn't just discoloration - the hurt goes deeper than the surface. You have to be sure it causes pain. Looking back now will still bring me to tears. I still miss mom every day. The hole she left behind isn't so jagged any more. Maybe all of those tears smoothed away the worst of the sharpness and made it easier to bear. Or maybe just living each day one after another forces you to accept the changes.  I went back and read some of my writing from the early...

I've been dreading this day. I knew today would have a notification that would pop up telling me I had Facebook memories. I knew I wouldn't be able to resist looking. I knew I would cry. And I did exactly that. But I managed to wait until after 8pm to give in. I already knew what the memories would show me. It was one year ago today that I started living a life that was so much different. One without my mom physically present. Today marks the day that the Facebook memories will start changing. For the next three months I will see memories that will show me the journey that almost took my dad too. And for the last 2 weeks I've been antsy and emotional. Living through a quarantine doesn't help. I'm not a patient person. And I like to just push through hard things when I can. This is another First. And I want it to be over. I want the next few months to be over too. Mother's Day and Mom and Dad's anniversary and Mom's Birthday. And the Facebook memories...

I have been lost in a world of fantasy lately. In between work, household chores, sleeping and basic living I've been listening to a series of fantasy. And it has been glorious. I get lost in books. Lost in the characters, the worlds. Entranced by the stories and even after they are over, they linger with me for quite some time. My husband has been on second shift for months, so most evenings it is just me, home alone. Home alone with the words of other realms shifting around me as I cook or clean or eat or knit. Adventures, loss, heartache, love and magic as the telling of the tales are played. I'm on book five of my current series. Hours and hours of being captivated. And maybe that's why I dreamed of my mom last night. My mind has been open to the possibilities that only fiction ever leaves you open to. I don't remember how it began or how it ended exactly. But she spoke to me. I have no conscious memory of her words or her voice. But her very presence was so str...

I've been making a lot of new things lately. I made my first real honest garment this past weekend. A pair of flannel pajama pants. And I sewed another project bag from my scribbled notes, just to see if I could make sense of what I had done last time. And every time I manage to make something new, or create something, or navigate a new skill, I really want to call my mom and tell her about it. It's what I would have done every single time I finished any new project of any complexity. I would have spammed her phone with pictures or FaceTimed her. I would have bored her to tears with the technicalities and she would have let me just because she was proud of the joy it brought me. And if I'm being honest, most of my surge of creativity is my need for distraction. It's a need to be busy. To stay focused and pour my need to do something into something that has a tangibility to it. So I'm knitting, weaving, sewing and crocheting all of the time. I'm making things...

Saturdays are sometimes my hardest days. Those are the days that I used to call Mom for absolutely no reason other than to ask her what she was doing, or ask her how she was feeling. Mostly it was just a good day to reach out and catch up with her. It wasn't unusual for her and Dad to be off doing something with the Club or off to the casino, but she would typically still be around at some point to shoot me a text or to call me back at some point. Right now Saturdays are really hard. Because I have my big MRI coming up and I'm in the middle of another flare up and I really want to talk to my mom. In the middle of the day yesterday, after I finished up some household chores I felt capable of doing, I sat down to rest and I looked over and saw the bag of crochet work I had taken from Mom and Dad's house. It was a project my mom had swiped from my aunt to finish for her. And I took to finish when my mom no longer could. And the tears started. Because this was the kind of day...

I've been trying to think of how to do this for days, weeks maybe. How to express thanks. I've been touched by so many people over the last few months in so many different ways. Who ever thought that you could be so thoroughly heartbroken and yet so thoroughly soaked in a feeling of love that you feel as though your heart was overflowing with it all at the same time? It's possible and it's confusing. I would love to thank you all individually. Hug each of you and let you know in just the right way how much you've touched me. How much you've helped, how your acts of generosity, kindness, time, words, gifts, patience, phone calls, text messages, flowers, presence, hugs, food, conversation, shelter, rides, organization, ideas, etc have somehow impacted my family or I in a big way. But I don't even know who all contributed. And I don't know how to say it in the exact right way. But I sure as hell am going to try. The last three months are a bit of a haze...

There aren't a lot of stories about my mom and I shopping. Mostly because my mom was not a fan of shopping. She was not the type to be bored and then beeline for a mall. If she had to buy an outfit for an event, she was going to complain about it more than a little bit before actually leaving the house to go search for it. My cousin got married last October. Mom and I both needed to get something to wear. We decided we were going to go and get something for each of us that made us feel fabulous. I talked her into going to stores that were probably outside of her comfort zone because I promised her that if she was willing to try something new, I would too. We deserved to feel good in what we had on so that we could just be comfortable and enjoy the event. I may have bribed her with the promise of dinner, my treat. We went to a few stores and decided to try White House Black Market. I found several somethings for me and settled on an outfit that cost me entirely too much money, b...

I was going through my phone today updating the photos with some of my contacts. That led me to scroll through my All Photos album, where there are so many memories of Mom. Even the photos that don't have her anywhere in them. I remember the conversations we had about so many of them, because I used to call her every time something funny or annoying happened in my life. I'd send her pictures of the braids my youngest put into my hair. Or pictures of my kids playing outside in the rain and mud. I'd send her pictures of the ridiculousness that is my husband with our cat. I'd send her pictures of whatever crafting project I was working on, or had just finished. I sent her pictures of choir concerts, show choir performances and letters praising the girls on some accomplishment. She may have lived 3 hours away from me, but she was as integral to my every day life as my husband. And she appreciated my husband's Dad jokes and puns in a way few others do. When Mom made a ...

Today is the day before Independence Day. In the town we live in, they start out the celebration by having a small town parade. By a sheer miracle, my husband and I were kid-less and home together to sit out front and watch the parade this year. The route takes the parade down our street, so we just take a couple of chairs out front and watch. Mom loved parades. When we were little, she would take us to them, more full of excitement than we were. When we were teenagers, she embarrassed the living daylights out of us. She knew the local firemen and police and would be jumping up and down to get them to blare the sirens and horns. And they always would as soon as they saw her. As adults, her sheer enthusiasm was contagious. She was so excited it was hard not to be excited too. She loved the sirens and the horns. She loved the bands, the color guard, the noise. She loved watching kids march along, some bedraggled and obviously overheated. She loved seeing the girls in pretty dresses. Sh...

Everything has changed. Nothing has changed. That's how I feel about being home. When I drove up to my house, everything looked different. There was an abundance of green that had not been there when I left. I noticed that the speed limit on one of the local roads went up. The highway has been repaved. The annoying construction near work has moved from the left lane to the right lane. All of these seemingly inconsequential things force me to accept that I've been gone from this place for 2 months and the world kept moving. It changed in normal, everyday ways. And I still feel stuck in place. That's the thing about tragedy, loss and long hospital stays. You're so insulated from the outside. Yet the outside keeps moving along. Ready or not, it will slam you in the face with the differences when you emerge. Today was my first day back at work after a 60 day leave. And I was so nervous about going back. What if I forgot everything? What if I just started sobbing at my d...

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...

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...

Some days are harder than others. Some moments are harder than others. Sad moments and happy moments are the hardest. The times when you would naturally reach out for the person who knows you the best. When you would immediately call your mom to share your sorrows or your joy. She would just know what to say. She would have the right inflection, the right words. She would respond in every right way to make you feel like you deserved to be on cloud nine. Or that you could survive this setback. Because she made you. She already understands the flaws, the minutiae that makes up your thoughts. Yesterday one of the nurses told us that although Dad's chances after he was admitted were 50/50, in her experience only about 20% of patients in that shape actually make it to where he's at. And today he was actually cleared to have a liquid diet. That's such a major accomplishment. And all I want to do is call my mom and tell her. I want to hear the elation in her voice when I explain...

I chose to not go to the hospital early today. I did another 12.5 hours there yesterday and I'm exhausted. When you've been there through as many shift changes as I have, you start to understand why everyone keeps telling you to take care of yourself, even as you look at them in disbelief. How is that supposed to happen? How are you supposed to be there to see rounds? To question the medication changes, the plans if you're not there? And on the same hand how does your laundry get done, or bills paid or your hair washed if you don't take the time to stay away for a few hours? I'm not sure yet because I tend to do everything with a force of a tornado pushed by a hurricane. I'll figure it out eventually. Yesterday I knew I'd hit a wall so I told Dad I was coming in late today. I needed to do laundry, make calls and wash my hair. So today will, hopefully, be productive at home and not just a hospital day. I'll still worry all morning and feel this draw to le...

 There are days when grief is a bit like a frozen lake. Some days it's protected by a layer of ice that's thick enough to build roads over. Thick enough to travel across and live on. Other days the very air of an exhaled breath will shatter the delicate layers and the grief turns into waves that destroy every semblage of okayness you thought you had built. Suddenly you're back to Day 2. You feel as though you're back to surviving on coffee and Tylenol for crying induced headaches. You're not sure how to sleep or what to do next. Sometimes that feeling lasts for mere moments. Sometimes it's hours. Then just as suddenly your ice is intact again. You can still feel it but it's a little more distant. Those moments are always worse for me in the mornings or at night. It's always the calm moments, the alone moments. Especially the times I would normally reach out to her.  It's dangerous to let my mind wander; that's when I'm transported to the ...

Here's the TL:DR Dad had his reconstruction surgery, he survived, I dealt with crazy people and nice ones in the waiting room and I cried in a store. Dad went down for surgery this morning around 7:30am and they told me it would take approximately two hours. As we all know, surgery times are approximations and often don't mean much of anything. I had knitting so I wasn't concerned. I was also alone, so I knew I could get up and go for a walk or grab food when and if I felt like it. It was basically my ideal waiting situation. As I settled in, knitting my sock, a very kind gentleman asked me if I was knitting a sock. We ended up having a lovely conversation and we were shortly joined by the rest of his family. They were also lovely. Then the curse of my mother and I hit me. Maybe it was my mom just getting a laugh from the other side. Because the worst companion to ever descend upon me joined us in the waiting room. The woman who proceeds to tell you her entire life story,...

Yesterday would have been my Mom and Dad's 42nd wedding anniversary. And it was rough. I think it ended up being even tougher than Mother's Day. That may have been because it was so close to Mother's Day. It may have been because it was the first time I visited my mom's grave since the funeral. But it was a really, really rough day. I did my daily hospital visit to Dad. They had to do trach care while I was there, which can be hard to witness. While I was there, he told the respiratory guy I was the boss. And that he had just lost his other boss, which of course set off the faucet. Then he told me he needed me to do something for him. He asked me to please go buy flowers and put them on Mom's grave for him. They needed to be from him. This doesn't seem like much, unless you know my dad. He almost never bought my mom flowers. It was a running joke in our family. If dad bought my mom flowers, it was because he had done something massive. In fact, the one time th...