Thinking about the unthinkable...

A person's a person, no matter how small.

                          - Dr. Seuss

As someone who uses writing as therapy, the past few days have beckoned me to sit down at my computer and put my thoughts to paper.  I have repeatedly dismissed these promptings and busied myself with other things.  My mind (not to mention my heart) have been heavy since the events that took place last Friday in Connecticut and today I desperately needed to "empty" my thoughts onto paper.  I try to resist the urge of jumping on the bandwagon when everyone is shaking their fists and spewing opinions.  Events such as these give everyone a platform and frankly, I find it exhausting.  A dear friend of mine called me from out West last night and we spoke of the horrific events that had just transpired.  I snidely remarked that just like every other catastrophe, we too would forget this one.  Her reply to me was "I don't know.  This one feels different".

I think she was right.  This one does feel different.

At the risk of stating the obvious,  the shooting that took place at Sandy Hook Elementary was for lack of a better word....unnecessary.  The innocent lives that were taken and the manner in which they were taken is just inconceivable and try as we might, I don't think anyone can wrap their heads around it.  I have attempted to imagine what those parents felt when they were summoned to their children's rescue  just an hour after sending them off to school.  I watched the news and saw the panic stricken faces of those who frantically looked for their children.  Some cried tears of joy when they were reunited and for others, time stood still.  Feelings of despair began to sink in as their worst fears were confirmed.  

My husband does not like when any of us speak of the "accident" that occurred in our family just over two years ago.  He has often said that he does not want our family to be known as "THAT family" and reminds us often that it did not, nor should it define us.  I respect his opinion on this matter and yet I learned so much from that experience.  I am in no way, NO WAY,  comparing my boys accident to the slaughtering of these children.   I do, however, speak from experience when I say that I know what it feels like to think that one of your children might be dead. It is an out of body experience and one that paralyzes you. You actually feel a hole in your stomach that goes deeper than you could possibly fathom and your heart beats so loudly that you can't even hear yourself think.  People are talking to you but you have no idea what they are saying.  

You go numb.

My son survived that freak accident and I am forever grateful.  He was with my husband and I took comfort in the fact that he was with the only other person in the world who loved him as much as I did. In that painful hour of panic, the fact that Matt had my children (dead or alive),  I was calmer than I would have been had I known that they were alone.  In times of grief, you look for any comfort...small as it may be.  

My son had fallen victim to an accident.  He might have never be the same.  He might have been dead when I arrived at the hospital...these were all facts and possible scenarios.  But no one had hurt him.  No one had decided that it was their god given right to inflict harm upon my child, let alone take his life.  I think I speak for the masses when I say that we all react violently to the thought of someone hurting our flesh and blood.  The calmest of parents will go postal if anyone poses a threat to one of their own.  If you disagree, I challenge you to attend any Saturday morning little league event...people go out of their freaking minds.  

We want so desperately to protect our children and that is why the events that took place last week have left our nation stunned and feeling so helpless.   Our worst fears were played out in front of us and there wasn't a thing we could do about it.  Parents just like us lost children and they were left to sift through the aftermath feeling helpless.  Furthermore, they were at one of the few places where we consider them to be safe...school.   Elementary school at that.   As a parent, I would torture myself with burning questions.  "Were they calling for me"?  "Did they suffer"?  "Were they scared"?...if these burning questions have not yet come, I am sure that they will and will wake these parents for months if not years to come.  I don't know how you go on after something like this.

I know that this is depressing.  Bear with me, I am getting to my point.

Bad things happen to good people everyday and I think it's safe to say that for everyone who was affected by this, this was by far, their darkest day.  Throughout my life, I have heard the expression that we should be grateful for our trials.  I have had many heavy things heaped upon me in my young life.  Burying both parents before I was thirty.  A significant accident with one of my children that caused not only immediate but long term strain on my family.  Most recently,  a brain hemorrhage that had doctors telling my husband that it was very possible that I would not survive.  As I reflect on all of my trials, I recognize that these things have been mere upsets in my life and pale in comparison to what the families of these slain children are going through.  As I think of burying a child just one week before Christmas, I for the first time understand what it means to be grateful for my trials.

I will take mine thank you very much. 

I would consider myself passionate but not emotional.   I have more than sniffled this past week.  I have cried out from that deep place in my heart that makes it impossible to stifle my emotions and enormous tears have hit my cheeks.  I have turned the news off and yet the story has remained with me.  I have been in the middle of doing something totally ordinary and I am suddenly overcome by emotion.  I ache for all of those who have been affected...The children who were murdered.  The students who saw things they will never forget.   The parents of these little victims, not to mention their siblings.  The first responders who will forever be affected by the crime scene.  Finally, our nation as we swallow the enormous pill of just what it is we have become.

I am not a pessimist and I believe that for the most part, people are good.  It seems, however,  that our country has been on the fast track to disaster for quite some time.  We were just too arrogant to acknowledge that our own actions might be the vessel in which we were headed there.  The clues have been there all along but we were too busy supporting the cause to acknowledge what might be the solution.

While I believe that most people are good, I can't help but think that many, if not most, are incredibly unhappy.  What's worse is that we don't realize how un-fulfilled we are.  We race around in our self absorbed culture and sprint from one meaningless activity to the next.  In doing this, we leave little time for the things that actually matter.  We are so fearful of confronting who and what we are that we look to our cell phones and social media to boost us for a whopping 30 seconds until something else causes a distraction and stimulates us for another 30.  We start our day on the hamster wheel that is our life and run in circles, climbing off at the end of the day feeling tired and empty (not to mention dizzy).  Heaven forbid that we just sit still and enjoy the simple things around us.

It's retarded really and the fact that we think we are an advanced civilization is laughable at this point.

I don't claim to have all the answers and my soapbox is relatively small.  I am only one person but I feel strongly that many others feel the same way as I do.  I have to believe it anyways.  Their voices are not heard, however, because they aren't clogging up the airways with their empty solutions.  Somewhere along the way, they were taught (or in my case, painfully recognized) that they had to climb off the hamster wheel and take the necessary steps towards being happy.  They had that lightbulb moment where they took responsibility for their own happiness and stopped being angry that others weren't supplying it for them.  They realized that happiness wasn't merely a destination but rather a state of mind and something that you worked for each day.  They had to strive to contribute to society in a meaningful way, work hard to keep their families together and raise their children to be self reliant beings who would someday contribute to society in a positive way.  They accepted that it would be no easy feat...but the things that are of the utmost importance rarely are.  A principle we seem to have forgotten.

Our children have to work for nothing.  They never receive the satisfaction of striving towards and achieving something.  It used to be that children woke up and did chores until school started then came home and finished them up before dinner.  They were too busy to whine and bellyache about life being unfair.  I realize that that was a million years ago but the fact is, those children didn't have the time to plot the deaths of others or build resentment.    Our children waste hours and days and weekends in their rooms on their phones and computers and never actually DO a thing.   The end result is sad and empty kids who don't have the tools to understand that the fact they sit on their asses all day and hyper focus on themselves is the very reason they are miserable.  Professionals have said that these mass murders/suicides can take months or even up to years to plot and plan.  I mean who has the time for that?  Our children do and that is a problem.

Gone are the days of working hard for our reward.  We are a generation of  people who want what we want the minute we want it....and because we can afford it, we usually get it.  We have handicapped our children merely by our example.   I could hardly bear the mommy groups when my children were young.  I would go to the park and could not strike up a conversation with another adult before their child would walk in between us and start spatting out noise without so much as the recognition that their mothers were talking.  What bothered me more was that the mothers hardly seemed to notice that they were being incessantly interrupted and were catering to every event that transpired throughout their kids play date.  I could not bear it and found it to be absurd.  I stopped going.  I developed a system with my kids early on.  I would see them coming towards me and without breaking eye contact during conversation would hold up one finger.  They were not to say a word until I gave them the go ahead.  By the age of 3, my children understood this simple concept.  The first lesson being that interrupting is rude and the second that the world did not revolve around them.  Fundamentals that seem to have been lost.   I remember walking up to my mother and standing for sometimes 15 minutes before she even turned to address me.  At times, I would grow impatient and decide that what I wanted to tell her wasn't that important and go back to playing.  

Newsflash.  I survived.

I don't believe that the answer to these horrific attacks is gun control, video games, or violence.  While they may play a significant role, there is no one thing that can bear the blame for such barbaric actions.  These are simply scapegoats for a much bigger problem and it's easier to finger point than accept personal responsibility and possibly accept that as a society we are contributing to this problem.

From the beginning of time, there have been crazy people and mass murders.  Other countries experience events such as these on a daily basis.  We just don't like when it happens to us.  We are supposed to be more civilized and it pisses us off when we are faced with the reality that we aren't.

As parents we stand in line for hours to acquire the latest video games that make the villain the hero as he blows away people for points.  The more people you kill, the higher the score.  We pay to see movies where actors are exploited, raped, beaten, shot...we watch while shoveling popcorn into our mouths and hesitate to sneak out for a Dr. Pepper because we might miss the good part.  We call it quits on our marriages when things get complicated and start the cycle of weekend mom and dads.  Meanwhile,  our kids are going through tough times and we're not around them enough to even notice.  If we are fortunate enough to get every family member around the dinner table (with McDonald's rather than a home cooked meal), 4 out of 5 people will be on their cell phones.

I once heard the phrase "people do what they want to do".  I believe this to be true.  It's amazing how many things I can move around to do something I want to do and how quickly I can bail on something that sounds less than enticing.  We commit adultery because we are too weak to say no.  We cave in and let our kids off the hook when they've done wrong.  We jump aboard the gossip train and smear peoples names because we aren't capable of holding our tongue.  We do what we want to do because it's easier than doing what's right.  It seems to be that there are only a handful of us left who were taught that instant gratification is rarely gratifying...a lesson that is more times than not, learned the hard way. It has grown increasingly evident to me that these people are being extinguished and if we do not teach our children to think about others and encourage (force if we must) them to connect with others, then we as a society and as a country are doomed.

But how can we teach our children to connect with others when we too are disconnected?  Simple.
We have to change... 

I do not deny that mental illness is a very real thing.  So is evil.  There will always be isolated events and it's disheartening to accept that fact but it is what it is.  Regardless of mental illness or evil behavior, those who inflict harm upon another human being are acting from the selfish stand point of "I matter.  You don't".  Sound familiar?

While we shutter to think that we are being compared to a cold blooded killer, the fact is we all fire weapons every day.  We honk our horns, we cut in lines, we make snide remarks.  The list goes on and one. While we may not take the life of another, in our quest for self importance are we hurting others or breaking our children's spirits?  I'll be the first to admit that my tongue is a sharp weapon and in my weaker moments, I have used it to inflict harm on another.  More times than I care to admit, I will greet my children after an 8 hour school day with "you wore THAT to school today"? rather than a tender smile and question of "how was your day"?  

We ask how someone could possibly strap on a bullet proof vest and walk into an elementary school using 6 and 7 year olds as targets.  In the case of the Sandy Hook shooter,  I think it's safe to assume that he was insane.  I believe, however, that the answer on both past and future events is one word. 

Disconnect.

We speak of being connected to one another.  We have Twitter and facebook and 24 hour news channels that keep us so connected that we miss the water boiling over on the stove.  We are so connected to our best friend Bambi and what she ate for lunch that we miss when our child walks through the door with a look of sadness on his face.  We miss the moments to connect with our spouses, our children, our neighbors and miss the teaching opportunities that come from just talking (not texting), but talking with one another.  Asking meaningful questions and then sitting patiently while they answer.

When these mass shootings take place we try to climb inside the heads of these psychos and analyze the how and why's of their behavior.  My hell...does it even matter?  If I was the parent of one of those slain children, I wouldn't give a rats ass about the shooter and his story.  It's done.  What can we do?

We can stop stomping around bitching about guns and media coverage and address the elephant in the room...how could ANYONE (mentally ill or not) look into the eyes of a terrified six year old and shoot them not once but multiple times?   We do not have a gun problem people, we have a morality problem.

And we are ALL responsible.

We can no longer turn a blind eye to the lack of empathy that our society and our youth have for one another.  We can no longer accept that our children have tons of friends because they spend hours in their rooms chatting with strangers on their phones.  We have to ask the hard questions...If you have 523 friends on facebook then why are you sitting home both Friday and Saturday night?  It is not normal and it's time that we face it head on.  If you see your children disconnecting then it's time to reconnect with them.

I started out with good intentions and habits with my children and admit that I too got complacent.  I used to pose questions around the dinner table such as "what was the best part of your day"?  Even the most sour pussed teenager would perk up and tell me some silly story or event that had transpired that day.   I recently spent hours (yes hours) in the room of one of my children asking questions that would sometimes be answered after 15 minutes of silence.   I asked questions such as "what are the 2 hardest things in your life right now"?  "if you could change 1 thing about yourself, what would it be"?  "what are 3 things that get you really excited"?  I grew irritated at his hesitation to answer when it occurred to me that he didn't know the answers to these questions.  No one asks anyone about themselves anymore and he seemed surprised that I was even interested.  I purposely left my cell phone in the other room knowing that I too would be distracted if god forbid, it were my turn to go on Words With Friends.  I took the time to talk to my child and to be honest, there was more silence than talking.  At times it was painful.  In the end...it was worth it.

"If you want your children to turn out well, spend twice as much time with them and half the money".

                                                                                     -Abigail Van Buren

Over the past several days, I have adopted some of my old habits and reminded myself that the time I spend teaching my children to value others feelings or even their mere existence is never wasted.  Last night I encouraged my ever so shy 16 year old to put himself out there and pay a compliment to someone in each of his classes.  This morning while driving my 9 year old to school, I challenged her to learn 3 things about the girl she sits with on the bus.  For whatever reason, she does not enjoy this girls company and rather than make a fuss and request that the bus driver move her, I am encouraging my daughter to learn more about this girl and am confident that through the process, she will grow to like her.  This afternoon, my middle son introduced himself to our new neighbors (with NO prompting from me) and my children spent the evening playing with her small children in the backyard while she unpacked.  

No one is born a killer.  We all come into this world innocent and our life events shape who become.  Let us look outside of ourselves and into the eyes of those around us.  Let us be aware when someone is hurting or needs a friend.  Let us give compliments freely and offer words of encouragement.  The fact is that we have no idea what those around us are struggling with...let us give them the benefit of the doubt.  Let us bear one another's burdens and mourn with those who mourn.   Let's stop telling ourselves that we can't make a difference or that the little things don't matter.   

I believe that in the end, the little things are going to be what matter the most.


"Unless someone like you cares a whole lot, nothing is going to get better...it's not".

                        -The Lorax

Doubt...

"In life we do things.  Some we wish we had never done.  Some we wish we could replay a million times in our heads.  But they all make us who we are, and in the end they shape every detail about us.  If we were to reverse any of them we wouldn't be the person we are.  So just live.  Make mistakes.  Have wonderful memories.  But never second guess who you are, were you have been, and most importantly, where it is you're going".


Words to live by.

I haven't blogged in quite some time.  Over the past few weeks, several friends have asked me why I haven't been writing and I chose to believe them when they said that they missed it.

Optimism...it's kinda my new thing:)

The past several years have brought about mighty changes.  I feel whole for the first time in my life.  While I deviated from my original course,  it seems to have served me well.  That being said, I still second guess myself.  I tend to over think things ... always have.  I vividly remember  school shopping with my mother as a child and spending a half an hour mulling over which color shirt to buy.  It drove her crazy.  Years later when I find my daughter doing the same,  I want to stick a hot poker in my eye.  Doubt, even in the smallest of ways,  can consume us and make us feel insecure in our choices.

Doubt ... I hate it.

I bathed in a vat of negativity for a few years.  Looking back, I realize that I wasn't really negative but rather deeply sad and didn't know how to see the good in anything.  I prayed and stewed and stressed and finally learned to trust my gut (who knew my gut was good for anything)?  I climbed out of that vat and now seem to be the exact opposite ... overly happy.  Don't ask. Not even I get it, but I'm not fighting it.  Feeling happy is a good thing and after all I've gone through, I refuse to question joy. I'll take it thank you very much.

Matthew and I were driving to dinner the other night and somewhere in the conversation, I commented on how happy I was.  He blurted out "YOU ARE"???  Clearly, he didn't view me as happy.  The fact he choked on his drink when I said it may have been the deciding factor.  His reaction made me second guess my happiness (stupid doubt).  It occurred to me that if you are truly happy, you ought to share it with those around you.  Was I happiness hoarder?  Perhaps.  Oh well, live and learn I guess ...

Throughout my childhood and early adulthood, I lived for others approval.  I realized (later than I would have liked) that no one really cares about my happiness.  People are consumed by their own lives and really don't have the time to ponder my happiness.  Furthermore,  we are all going to be judged by others regardless of our actions.  We might as well as choose what makes us happy.  I am in no way suggesting that we do whatever we want, whenever we want but rather that we know what is good for us.  We must trust our guts and do what makes us feel good.   While many would consider this selfish ... I have come to consider it sane.  Overcoming my insecurities about what others think of me has been the single greatest thing I have ever, EVER, done.  Go on ... read that  again.  I don't feel like re-writing it but it is truth and has changed me for the better.

 I have concluded that I am going to be happy ... it's good for my health,  my state of mind, and those around me.

I have always been a straight shooter.  I have a horrible poker face and if you don't know how I feel about you ten minutes after meeting me ... you're an idiot.  I call it like I see it and perhaps that is why some might question my declaration of happiness.  I have always considered perpetually happy people to be phony.  No one has a good day every day.  If you do, than I would like the name of your doctor and the medication that he is prescribing you.    I mean,  SERIOUSLY.

As suspicious as  I am of overly happy people, negative people can suck the life right out of you.  I should know, I was one.    It has been my experience that those who have everything to whine about ... simply don't.  At the same time,  I have met people who have everything and manage to complain about the lumps in the cloud they are sitting on.  Everyone has something to be grateful for.  Most of us have MUCH to grateful for.    Happiness is a choice ...  through much struggle, I have learned this.

So I fall somewhere in the middle.  Happy but not delusional.  Realistic, but not negative.

I remember the second job I had when we moved to Las Vegas.  I worked at a shoe store.  Right up my alley you say?  Not quite.  This dump sold sensible shoes ... or as I like to call them "I've given up on life shoes".  It was a crappy job but I loved the girls I worked with so I stayed.  Vegas was the first place that I lived away from home.  It was my first experience using all the tools that I had been raised with.  My insane and annoying boss Jim spoke to me on numerous occasions about my "attitude".   I remember resenting these discussions and found him to be quite condescending.  I found him to be phony and his attempt to be happy all the time was an outward struggle.  It was visibly hard for him and at the ripe old age of 18 saw right through it.   Having had a great relationship with my co-workers and realizing that I was incapable of sitting through yet another lecture, I finally explained my "attitude".

 I would take day to day irritations that upset most and look for the funny in them ... in doing this, I avoided getting angry.   I would then come into work and tell a story (most of the time an exaggerated one) and turn my irritation into a comedy act.  It was my coping mechanism and more importantly made for a good time at work.  I also expressed that I would rather get minor annoyances out of my system and move on  than to be suspiciously happy and then excuse myself to chuck a shoe (a sensibly ugly shoe at that) at a wall in the stock room.

Crickets.  He never lectured me again.

I am pleased to report that having survived the past several years, my perspective has changed and yet my personality has not.  My humor (as offensive as it may be) is my weapon of choice and if you knock it...I'll cut you -

While I once feared sounding like a broken record, the fact is that we learn from our personal trials.   It is normal to speak of our experiences as we attempt to feel our way through.  I have known friends and family who exhausted topics of divorce, death, and financial issues as they muddled through their life lessons.  As newlyweds,  we became friends with a particular couple and the woman's alarming honesty made me both love her and at the same time,  question her abilities as a mother.  She spoke honestly about less enjoyable parts of motherhood that were draining and I clutched my newborn vowing that I would never say such things.  Years later, I recognize my ignorance and so value her straight forwardness.  Shortly after we met, she ended up adopting a young boy who had been born into a rather dysfunctional family.  Having had some minor issues,    she took him in and loved him like he was her own.  I believe firmly that her ability to let off steam is what gave her the strength to mother not only her own kids but someone else's as well.

I have come to realize that everyone I meet has something to teach me and as a young mother, I learned much from this friend.  Never mind that I haven't spoken to her in twelve years.  I think of her fondly now.  So here I go... It just wouldn't be me if I didn't let off a little steam of my own:)

   Kids.  The greatest blessing and biggest buzz kill of all times.  May I go there?  It's my blog so I'm going to go there.  Read on, run away, whatever you wish.  My blogs will someday be left to my children so they can get inside my head ... poor little things.

 Over the past few years, I have found myself standing in a circle of three types of people.
- Those who have no children.
- Those who have small children and are still smitten with the tiny miracles they are.
- Those who have two sets of fully functioning grandparents who live to come over and take the kids away every weekend so they can spoil them rotten ( all the while giving mom and dad a chance to catch their breath)

I am none of these people and I want to hate the people in my circle.  But I can't.  I like too many of them and can't resent what they have or don't yet know.  We are all here to lean on and learn from each other and how boring would life be if we were all the same?  No thank  you.

 I am standing in the middle of the circle in my bathrobe with kids chattering incessantly.  I am murmuring obscenities to myself like a crazy person  ...  I myself may even be wearing sensible shoes.  I was a rockstar for quite some time.  I coasted through the first decade of children without so much as a break.  Oh wait ... I didn't take them to my parent's funerals... does that count?  Well, my rockstar period is over and I feel like I finally understand the term bat shit crazy.  Is there a support group for women of children who want desperately to live normal lives?  I see middle aged women with bad roots sporting mom jeans and tennis shoes in the grocery store.  They push empty carts and appear to be jacked up on Prozac exchanging glances with one another as if to say "I hear you sister ... I used to wear make - up too".   Is this where they hold their meetings?

Up until this point I have maintained a rock solid marriage, gone out on dates with my husband and friends and stayed relatively up on fashion.  That being said...I walk in the door and am bombarded by the needs of my children.  Who I love.  Dearly.  More times than not, I want to turn around and walk right back out the door.  It is hard to be needed and yet I know that it must be even harder to NOT be needed.  Make no mistake about it, I recognize the blessing in being needed.

Don't go calling defax just yet.  I adore my children.  I love each one individually and relish their personalities.  They make me laugh and I feel a wicked sense of satisfaction when I see them do good or use sarcasm correctly.  I am in awe of how much they resemble both Matt and I and at the same time marvel at how they differ from us.  It astounds me.    If I had an ounce of free time, I might sit and ponder how incredible they are...but I haven't had free time in about fifteen years...so forget that.

When my children were babies, I dressed them up like show ponies and paraded their cute little butts around to show off.  They became school age and one by one, I sent them off to kindergarten and volunteered in their classrooms because I simply couldn't stay away.  I sang songs, read books, and wiped tears ... I was a good mom.  I recall a business dinner that Matt and I had with an associate years ago and Matt spoke of me as though I wasn't there.  He spoke of what an amazing mother I was and gushed over how lucky our children were to have me.  I sat back and inhaled the words.  To this day, it is the greatest compliment I have ever received.  Ever.  Perhaps it just meant the most.

Who knows...

Fast forward ten years and I am reminded (by doubt no less) that I am anything but a good mom.  The kids are older now  (16, 13, and 9) and the only thing they need from me is money, a ride somewhere, and someone to argue with.  My baby is like a second skin and follows me around like she fears she may lose me somewhere in the kitchen.  She talks about anything and everything and if I look remotely uninterested, her little face lets me know how hurt she is.  I remained in bed for an hour this morning knowing that if she heard me wake up, she'd be in my room in a millisecond.  My desire for peace and quiet outweighed my desire to get up and pee.  I am exhausted on a level that I couldn't have possibly understood had I not arrived here myself.  Mental and emotional exhaustion.  I get it now.   I am grateful for this lesson because when others once spoke of this, I had assumed that they were crazy.

They were.

There have been many seasons in my life and I have survived, not to mention, learned from them all.  To date, mothering adolescents has by far been the biggest challenge of my life.  It has also been the most rewarding.   In being true to who I am and remaining my brutally honest self, I am here to report that this is hard stuff.  I think of the hard times that I have experienced before.  This is different.  Not only are they annoying (did I mention that I love them? Dearly)?  I worry so intensely about whether or not I am doing right by them that it keeps me up at night.  I stress over their schools.  Their friends.  Their character traits and if I am equipping them for life.  Matt and I lie awake nights and discuss the kids until we fall asleep and I wonder if I'll ever have spontaneous sex on the kitchen island again.  Oh who I am kidding?  We've never had spontaneous sex on the kitchen island.  For starters, my entire kitchen has windows.

You get my point.  Where was I?

I was the baby of six kids and my mother appeared to have it all together.  I vividly remember one argument she had with my father and I saw her LOSE IT ... to the point that it scared me.  ONE TIME in 18 years (and he was a pain in the ass...a wonderfully funny talented pain in the ass).  My sister and I fought incessantly (worse than my boys do) and yet she never seemed to lose control in the midst of our hair pulling.  We are now quite good friends.  Go figure.

 I have to believe that my mother cried herself to sleep a time or two.  I have to believe that she gave serious consideration to sneaking off at night to travel the world and be anything other than a mother.   I have to believe that she looked at my father on occasion and pondered if she made the right choice.  I have to believe that it wasn't nearly as easy as she made it look.

 I will never know so I have to believe ...

A parents love.  Does it ever fade or am I emotionally bound for life?  I feel like I am suffocating by my desire for freedom and my inability to let go and take a few steps back from the human beings that call me mom.  When they were little, I had room for error.  The older they get, I am faced with how little time we actually have to mold them into who they are meant to be.  It consumes me ...
These not so little people make my head and heart hurt daily.   Would they survive if I let go just a little?  Would I?

Doubt....Freaking hate it.

Perspective.

september 11th....here we are 10 years later.  i would not consider myself to be one who focuses on politics or what is going on around the world.  it's not that i don't care, it's that it's out of my control and it overwhelms me to think of the sadness and despair that goes on daily in other parts of the world.

september 11th, 2001 we americans we were forced to stare pain and suffering and loss right in the face and well...just deal with it.  and deal with it we did.  we united as a country. as friends. as families. as neighbors.  we had no choice.  it's funny how the times where we have little choice, we are forced to choose. we must decide what matters the most to us.

my head and heart have been heavy the past several weeks and being the tough personality that i am, i have been irritated by my emotions getting the best of me.  i have prayed that god would take my hurt, my anger, and my confusion and just relieve me of it...he has yet to do so. clearly i have something to learn.

i wouldn't consider myself to be one that enjoys drama.  i am recognizing, however, that my life has always, ALWAYS, been filled with extreme highs and lows....and that's the way i like it.  as i review my marriage, we love passionately.  when we fight, we hurl insults and maybe even a candlestick or two.  when we love, it's the kind of love where i throw my legs around his waste and kiss him like we may never see each other again.  we fight hard, because we love even harder.  i am honest with my children and sometimes i fear that i may hurt their feelings in the process.  i am reminded at later times, as they lay across my bed and spill their guts that they know they can come to me and i will tell them the truth...in being honest about my own life, they have learned that they can trust me.

 we grow into adulthood and our lives are supposed to level off...we are meant to stop the drama and get comfortable.  i believe this is where the term mid life crisis comes in.  i look around me at others lives that seem good but oh so boring and i fear they know neither happiness or sadness because they just exist.

this has been my biggest fear in life.  i never want to just be.  i want to FEEL.  it is when we feel, that we learn.

each of my favorite movie's have that pivotal point where the main character has the "aha"! moment when everything comes together and they just get it.  they may stumble through the entire story but the moment that they run into their loves arms, unite a lost friendship, or find a child...the pain has made the moment so very worth it.  i want to live my life as john cusack holding the boom box over his head in the yard.  dramatic, yes. worth it...totally.

live passionately. look stupid. go for it...even if you're not sure you're going to get it.  it is our life experiences that shape us.

i remember finding out that my father had died and holding it together for days while i packed and made arrangements for my children.  i flew across the country, was picked up at the airport by my best friend and driven to my sister's house.  it wasn't until i got out of the car and saw my sister that i ran to her and pent up tears finally fell down my cheeks.  she understood.  many people in the days prior had tried to comfort me with words from when they had lost their own fathers.  it didn't matter.  they hadn't lost MY father.  how could they know how i felt?  

a year later, i boarded another plane, this time with a year old baby in tow. my instructions were to listen to my voicemail when i arrived.   if my mother was still alive when i landed, i was to come to hospice.  if she had passed away while i was flying, i was to go to my sisters house.  the same best friend a year later picked me up at the airport and dropped me off at hospice where my mother was clinging to life...barely.  she took my baby girl off my hands, hugged me tight and left me alone. the next two days we waited for my mother to die.  it was grueling and the longest 48 hours of my life.  my mother's room had a window that looked out at the beautiful lake and i vividly remember sitting in silence on a bench with my sister looking out at the water and smoking a cigarette together....something i hadn't done in years. it was comfortable. it was a distraction. it was what i needed in that moment.

shortly after midnight on a sunday morning, my mother took her last breathe. i was holding her hand when she did.

we drove back to my sister's house where my mother had been staying and like a child, i climbed into the hospital bed she had spent the last 4 months unable to get out of.  i buried my head in the pillow she had laid her head on and tried to smell her. i knew that i never would again. 

fast forward seven years and i was summoned again to the hospital.  this time to look over my 14 year old son laying in bed clinging to his own life.  i remember feeling anxious and confused and wondering to myself if the lord would really ask me to do this again.  i prayed fervently that he wouldn't, but i was prepared if that was what he wanted.

i never cried at the hospital.  i'm not proud of that...it just is what it is.  three weeks into our hospital stay, matt encouraged me to come home and sleep at our house for the sake of our other two children. it would be the first time i slept in my own bed since the incident.   i came home, allowed tucker and bella to fall asleep in my bed and then went into my closet and sobbed uncontrollably.  i finally had a moment to let it hit me...and hit me hard.

i have never been one to ask for help. or sympathy. or even understanding.  i don't always expect my friends to agree with me.  what i expect is for them to BE with me.  our life experiences make us who we are and you can't judge ones actions without knowing their reasons.  we act because of how we feel.  i have been told by many that the way i feel is wrong...how can one even say that to another?  i feel because of what i have experienced. 

i recently flew home to vegas to attend a funeral for a friend of mines son.  i had the privilege of working for her husband when i was a newlywed and knew her sweet kids when they were young and a few as they were adolescents.  years earlier, she had lost her husband in an accident and now years later, she was called upon to bury her son.  i didn't tell her i was coming into town for the funeral, i just came to show support.  when we saw each other for the first time she said "you got on a plane to come here"??  i replied simply "what else was i going to do"?  we spent a teary moment and chuckled about heavenly father having entirely too much confidence in us.  she had known my parents and was a source of comfort when i had lost them.  parents were one thing, but a husband and son...i couldn't even imagine.  

we play the hand we are dealt in life.  sometimes we do it gracefully.  other times not so much.  it is at these times we discover who our friends are. marilyn monroe once said "i am selfish. impatient. and little insecure. i am out of control and at times hard to handle. but if you can't handle me at my worst, you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best".  i have made a point to offer my friends a lot and it has made all the difference when it came time to call upon them. 

while my life has had some rather dark and heavy times, i lay in bed at night and my head spins with wonderful memories of friends, of vacations, and laughter.  not just giggling.  hard belly laughter that has you fearing that you could quite possibly pee your pants.  my life is a tapestry of events and as i review these events,  my mind and my heart focus on who was there with me in these times. i have been beyond blessed with a husband i am madly in love with.  i have been given both sons and a daughter to raise and teach and mold into the people they are meant to become.  i have lived an incredibly fun and full life...and i'm only 36 years old.  i think this is the part where i am supposed to get comfortable and just be.

i refuse.

i believe that the most important thing i have been called to do in this life is to be a friend.  i am a friend to my husband.  i am a friend to my children. i am a friend to my siblings (though i need to be a better one).  my close friends in high school are still close friends.  my west coast friends still call weekly to touch base. share a funny story. or tell me they miss me.  i abandoned the friends that sustained me during my hard times...they forgive me and love me nonetheless.  my head hits my pillow at night and my mind is flooded with memories that make me smile and provide me comfort when i am so many miles away. 

my friendships have been the foundation for what i have built my life upon.  i have sailed through the toughest of times unscathed with good friends by my side and yet tripped over life's little hiccups because no one was there for me.  the deciding factor in my sanity has always been who was standing with me.

i have lived my life with a faith that has sustained me for many, many years. it has filled me with peace and comfort and a sense that with it, i could do anything.  my beliefs seemed to mold me into the person i am today.  i have been fortunate enough to have my faith intertwined with my friendships and because of that, it was an unshakable part of who i was....i was unmovable.  when i struggled with my faith, my friends stepped in until i figured it out.  

several years ago, i began to feel a void where i once was full.  at first i tried to fix it. i quickly realized that i couldn't because it required changing others and that wasn't my place.  it was then that i became frustrated.  shortly after becoming frustrated, i got angry.... the anger stayed a bit longer than i had hoped but finally, i became sad. sadness is not an emotion that i have had much experience with.  even during sad times, i looked to what i was supposed to learn and moved on.  throughout my life, i have been many, many things. sad has never been one of them.

i held on to my faith because it was all i knew. i held on long after it wasn't working because the fear of the unknown was more than i could take in.  i held on all the while looking around me for something else to grab hold of....but how could i grab hold of something else while i was so hyper-focused on what was weighing me down? i couldn't.

ironically, my faith is what gave me the strength to finally let go.

i have had the chance to speak with several people over the past few weeks and the conversation always turns to me defending my current position in life.  my sweet husband asked me why i kept setting myself up...he pointed out, that it never makes me feel any better.  he was right. he is usually right (though i will deny ever saying that).

when we defend ourselves it is usually because of two reasons. 1) we know that what someone is saying is true...and it's hard to hear. OR  2) we completely disagree with what they are saying and we want desperately for them to agree with us, or at least validate one or more of our points.

i found myself defending because of the latter...and it did not serve me well.

recently, i have been told that friends and social aspects are not part of my faith. that if i am struggling spiritually, it is because of my own errors.  through my faith, i stand alone and it is between me and god...no one else.

i don't believe that.

i believe that god places people in our lives to lift us up. to give us support. to be there physically when he can't be.  god can't call me four mornings a week at 7:30 am to tell me to get my butt out of bed and  have a good day but my friend in utah can and does (when she is up 2 hours earlier than me).  god can't lay in bed at night and listen to me go on and on about the weeks stresses, but my husband can....and he does.  god couldn't sit on a bench with me and hold my hand while my mother was withering away a few yards away from me....but my sister could.  god couldn't help me change the sheets of my unconscious teenager when he was having accidents and my emotions were so raw,  I couldn't bring myself to do it...but my friends could, and they did.

at the same time, i have been placed in peoples lives and have been given opportunities to throw my arms around a friend while she cried (once in the middle of my front yard because that was when and where she needed me). i was able to get on a plane to show my face at a funeral for a friends child if for no other reason to show that i felt her son was worth it.  i have been able to sit in silence with friends. i have kept secrets.  at times, i was able to hold on to things i already knew until a friend was ready to tell me herself.  i received a text message the other day from a friend who informed me that a friend of ours was going through a divorce.  she asked me to call her for moral support.  she had done her part as a friend and was now handing it to me and encouraging me to do the same...cause she knew i would.

i am fiercely loyal.  if you are in my corner, i'll beat someone up for you. when your name is said and i fear that something negative is coming, i will put my hand up and demand that the person speaking shut up. i will keep my opinions to myself until you ask...or until i think you need to hear it and are too afraid to face the truth.  i pride myself on who i surround myself with...i always have.  it is because of who i surround myself, that i am who i am.

 i kind of like who i am.

i have been a good friend and because of it...i have good friends.  i was asked twice last week what i was angry about.  it occurred to me later, that anyone who has to ask that question...isn't worthy of the answer.  i can tell my friends that i'm fine and my true friends can say "i know that you're not".

life happens. things happen to us. we change. we are supposed to.  i believe firmly that we are meant to evolve in order for the plan to work. i have been questioning myself for a long time now thinking that something was incredibly wrong with me.  i have been questioning the things that i held at the utmost importance for so many years.  it has tormented me...literally.

it occurred to me yesterday that the reason god isn't taking these feelings away from me is because i'm not wrong. he values my feelings and he wants me to do something about them.  my anger has softened and i pitied those that told me friends weren't important...it only means that they have never been blessed with friends like mine.  i thought of those who told me i shouldn't question anything of a spiritual nature...it only means that they are small minded and can only see things one way.  they use faith as an excuse to avoid any type of action.  they use their faith as a cushion to sit on.  i use my faith as a skateboard:) i use it to get me through life and at a rate that allows me to experience as much as i possibly can in the short amount of time i'm given.

god gave me a brain...i believe he intended for me to use it.  god gave me heart ( a big one at that) and i believe he intended for it to get broken and stepped on and at the same time to feel joy and overwhelming happiness.  i am pleased to report that i am using both of these things he gave me...after all, i'm alive aren't i?

do i believe in god?....absolutely.  do i believe in the importance of family?...without a doubt.  i believe in saying sorry.  i believe in asking for forgiveness and extending forgiveness when necessary. i believe in being on one path for a certain amount of time and then turning around and heading in another direction if you think that there is something that you can learn from doing so.  i believe in falling. i believe in getting back up.

i have never wanted a "stale" life.  i don't like boring. i don't like normal.  i don't like settling.  i have a great marriage...because i won't settle for less.  i have good and kind kids...because that's what i expect them to be. i struggle with my church only when it comes up short.  i want better because i have had better. i expect much from my friends because i would never ask someone to do something for me that i myself wouldn't do for them.

i have been called judgmental. i call myself fair.

i have no use for those who tell me that my expectations are too high.  yes, i have high expectations of my life...i only get one and i want to make it worthwhile.  i ponder my life daily and when i achieve one thing, i ask "what's next"? I would rather look back on my life and say "oops". than "what if"?

i didn't intend to go off in the direction that i did...apparently i had a lot on my mind. shall we get back to september 11th and how i woke up today with a perspective that i so desperately needed?
 i watched several documentary's on 9/11 last night and dozens upon dozens of people recounted the events of that dreadful day.  the one thing i heard over and over was people's final moments and that each individual was thinking of their loved ones.  some called home from the twin towers to say goodbye.  some managed to phone from the airplanes and tearfully say their "i love you's" and "goodbyes".  i am certain that those jumping from the building's had their loved ones on their hearts and minds. a gentleman recounted making it out of the building, lying down in a grassy spot, and preparing to die.  he remembered a conversation he had had with his wife a week prior where she made him promise that he wouldn't leave her young.  he kept that promise and forced himself to stand up because of it.  people survived that inconceivable day because of the help from co-workers and even strangers.

was god there?...yes. but he was a mere spectator watching what we as human beings would do for one another.  at the end of our lives, the only, ONLY thing that will matter is those who have been a part of our lives.  it will be those who have touched our lives and those whose lives we have touched that will weigh on our minds when we take our last breath.  yes, we die alone...but if we have good friends, we don't have to.

are people an important part of this life?  i believe that at the end of the day, they're all we've got.
friendship...the most beautiful word in the human language. it matters to me and i'm done apologizing for it.

i have a vision of myself at the end of my life.  i am walking towards the light pulling a beat up suitcase with a bum wheel.  i am tired and i most likely look like shit.  my hair is a mess and i'm not wearing my best outfit....i may even be in tennis shoes, though i doubt it.   i look like someone who has lived....and lived fully.  i look like someone who has learned a lot of lessons and many of them the hard way.  i look like someone who didn't sit back but stood up for what she believed in, often times getting her hand bit in the process.

i look exactly the way i want to look.

 i make it to my heavenly father and look up at him with weary eyes. He looks at me and it is then that i realize he doesn't care that i yelled at my kids earlier in the week because he has watched me love them on so many occasions.  he doesn't care that i smoked a cigarette to pass the time when my mom was dying because he watched me exercise and eat healthy for years and years.   he doesn't care that i chewed out an insensitive nurse for leaving me alone to change a diaper on my fragile teenager because he saw me draw strength and do it alone just the night before.  he doesn't care if i made a obligatory casserole to take to a church function but rather more about the million peanut butter and jelly sandwiches i prepared for my children over the years and the sweet moments i shared with them at the kitchen table while they ate.

he knows me. he gave me my challenges because he knew i could handle them.  he will be the only judge of my actions...because he is the only one who knew my reasons.  I will repent of my love for costly apparel and he will forgive me.  he will hand me some frumpy smock and i will roll my eyes and ask for a belt. i will tell him i'm sorry that i didn't spend more time focusing on the little things and it is then that he will tell me that the little things didn't matter at all. he will tell me that the little things are satan's way of distracting us from the big picture.   it is then, that i will make the snide comment "you're going to have A LOT of pissed off people coming through these gates, you know that don't you?  there are people killing themselves for little things".

 and that will be that.

i will find my parents waiting patiently and my father will take my crappy suitcase from me like he has done a thousand times when he picked up from the airport and he will toss it aside, informing me that none of my baggage comes with me here...and i will breathe a sigh of relief.

and then, i will wait anxiously for my friends to arrive...for it is they, that i will miss the most.

One year later....we meet again.

 I walked through the double doors that took me into the emergency waiting room. I opened my mouth to inform the girl playing on her phone at admitting that my son was there. She pushed the button to let me back before I had even finished my sentence. I resented it.  Apparently, they'd been expecting me. 


I walked through the doors by myself and to this day don't know if my friend was giving me privacy or if she was instructed that she couldn't come with me. Regardless, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other and the large double doors closed quietly behind me. For the brief moment I was alone, I contemplated sliding down the wall and waiting for someone to find me.  The doorways were sprinkled with nurses and as I walked the wide hallway they seemed to part from me.  I actually believe by definition, the word scampered would be more appropriate. They avoided eye contact at all cost and I remember thinking for a minute that some poor bastard drew the short straw that night. Someone would have to sit me down and give me the bad news.  You know the whole car wreck analogy? The one where you don't want to look but just can't help your eyes from wandering?  Well this particular night, I was the car wreck and no one wanted to look.  They resisted as long as they could but the moment I passed by them, I felt their eyes on me... I resented this too.


I turned a corner and saw my husband... He'd aged ten years since I'd seen him last.  He was speaking with one of the EMT's who had brought Riggs in and frankly the guy looked bored.  I discovered over the next several days that when people are in shock they retell their story multiple times trying to make sense of what happened. It's as though they hyper focus on details when the reality is, the details don't really matter at this point. 


Matt turned and spotted me, stopping mid sentence and making a b-line for me. He threw his arms around me and I thought for a minute that he would crush me. We embraced in the middle of the ER with the eyes of EMT's, nurses, and less significant patients on us.  On this particular night, we were the trauma case that shook things up in the emergency room. Nurses would be going home at the end of their shift and discussing MY son at their dinner tables. 


Matt pulled away from me and to this day, I remember how terrible he looked. My fashion conscious husband stood covered in mud in the middle of the ER. He wore a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, dirt bike shorts, black socks, and sandals...I almost wanted to laugh. One look at his dirt covered face reminded me of the severity of our situation. It made the tear streaks on his cheeks that much more noticeable.  


I turned my head to the left and spotted my little Tucker sitting alone in a waiting room with the door propped open.   He was sitting with one boot off, clutching his hands together in prayer while at the same time holding a bed pan with his elbows should he need to vomit. Behind Matt was a room that had a curtain drawn and the incessant buzzing of doctor's and nurses made it clear that whatever was going on behind there was of the utmost importance.  
I knew without a doubt that it was Riggs. 
I looked into the eyes of my husband and they seemed to plead with me. They begged me to take over so he could just unravel. 


In that moment, I recognized that the burden was now mine and that falling apart wasn't an option. I had to go deep to find my strength or I'd never make it.  I never fell apart. To this day, I have yet to fall apart. 


I looked at my 3 equally needy boys and then turned to the medic next to me. I turned to this stranger and asked "where should I go first"?.  He nodded his head towards Tucker and I left Matt standing alone. I pushed the door open to find my 11 year old sitting in a room with 6 chairs, a bible, and a television with the sound turned down. I remember thinking did someone ACTUALLY put cartoons on for this kid?...He needed a whole lot more than Spongebob right then and I quietly reached up and turned the T.V. off.  I kneeled in front of him and let him tell me what I already knew.  He too was in shock and needed to re-tell the story over and over. I just listened.


I'm not sure what I was expecting but no one offered any words of encouragement or support. We were a soap opera that night and our lives were being played out for those in the emergency room. The behavior of those working that night was a bit stand offish. It was if they were giving our family space that we didn't yet know we needed.


I thought that perhaps God was giving us the gift of being together when we said goodbye to Riggs.  It was evident that we all thought we were still going to lose him.  It was just going to be a little "tidier" this way.  I felt relief for Matt that he wouldn't have been alone with him when it happened. Somehow in the insanity of all this, I felt grateful for that small blessing.


I stayed with Tucker purposely avoiding Riggs. If we are being honest, I really didn't want to see him.  I knew that he was in bad shape and I also knew that there wasn't a thing I could do about it. Tuckers and my moment was stolen when a doctor followed by Matt pushed the door open and I was asked to come with them. I was informed that we were waiting for the Children's hospital ambulance to arrive so that Riggs could be transported to a better hospital.  He was considered too critical for where we were and had the weather been better, would have been eligible to have been life flighted.  The lightning was still out of control and it would have been considered too risky.
  Matt started walking towards the curtain and I paused. What kind of mother would I be if I admitted I didn't want to see my child who was clinging to life?...I hung my head and followed.


The curtain was drawn back and there lay my barely 14 year old son. Respectfully, the EMT's parted. This time,however, they were stepping aside to grant me access to my child.  Even Matt stood back and allowed me to take it all in.  My hesitation to see him quickly subsided and I walked quietly towards him and took his IV'd hand in mine.  He looked small in comparison to the machines and the uniformed men that surrounded him. He was bare chested and dirty from the combination of riding and weathering the storm...literally. 
The only thing I could think of to say was "I'm here". I touched the tubes connected to his face and hands and took a deep breath when I noticed the large tube down his throat.  One of the nurses must have read my curious face and answered my unasked question. "That's to help him breath", she said. "He is under too much stress to do that on his own right now".  "Oh". was all I could think of to say.


Remembering that I had left my friend in the waiting room, I excused myself to bring her up to speed.  I pushed the button to open the double doors and was greeted by several somber faced neighbors and members from my church. We hadn't been at the hospital but 45 minutes.  I found it amazing how quickly bad news traveled.  At that moment, none had anything to offer but they had come out in a fierce storm to just be with us and that meant perhaps more than anything they could have done for us.


Our bishop and a friend came prepared to give Riggs a blessing (which is something in our faith that we draw strength from during times like these). I thought of all the times Matt had been called out to hospitals and homes to bless others throughout our marriage. This night was different. Others had left their own families for our benefit. We were grateful...and desperate.


It has been my experience that others not of our faith (especially in hospital settings) are always respectful of our beliefs and will in almost all cases, step outside of the room in an attempt to give privacy.  This particular night, our bishop and friend placed their hands on Riggs head to give him a blessing.  Matt quietly asked for privacy and the medics in the room didn't budge. Due to Riggs condition, they couldn't afford to leave him...and so they didn't.  The minute we said "amen", the EMT's began working and swiftly took him away.  I was told that I would be riding in the ambulance with him so as they were putting him in for transport, I stepped out to tell my friends goodbye. 


Being the control freak that I am, I tend to give orders. This night, I was overwhelmed to say the least.I relinquished my control and trusted others to take care of my family.  A friend took Tucker and another kept Bella (who at this point still didn't know what was going on).  I watched some of Matt's buddies take him home so he could clean up and pack me a bag. They walked with him, holding him up by the elbows.  He limped out of the emergency room with his own injuries untreated.  I have never seen him look so weak.  I knew that every ounce of strength he had went into keeping Riggs alive...he didn't have anything left for himself.


I climbed up into the ambulance. They had sent the stretch limo of all ambulances and I was again reminded of the severity of our situation. Two men were driving, three were in the back making sure that Riggs remained stable, and I sat on a bench seat alone.  I remember thinking for what this ride was going to cost me, I really should enjoy it.


The sirens wailed. And we were off.


On a side note...
I was trying to catch an hour of sleep this afternoon when my cell phone rang. When I didn't answer, it rang again. I grabbed it quick the second time around. It was Matt informing me that Tucker had been at a friends house, had fallen, and hurt his face skateboarding. Having just flown in on a red eye this morning, I was tired and irritated that upon having just dropping him off at a friends, I was now going to have to go and pick him up. I arrived at his friends house, accessed the situation and recognized that he needed stitches, even if just a few.  I phoned Matt to meet us at the hospital. We were already aware that we would be returning to the exact same hospital we had been exactly one year earlier but it wasn't until we were walking in together that Matt pointed out we were walking in at the exact same time as we were one year ago today...what are the odds?
As we were having him admitted, the sky turned grey. And then it turned black. Upon seeing the stress Bella was under, Matt ordered me to get her home. I buckled her in the car and tried to calm her as we pulled out of the hospital.  We were about halfway home when the lightning began followed by pouring rain.  She buried her little head in her hands and cried the whole way home.  


It occurred to me that yes, we are one year out from this mess. Riggs is still with us. I am grateful. I am blessed. However...
 The reality is that we often overcome one issue only to turn the corner and confront another. This is where we are at now. People often ask me how Riggs is doing. For the most part, he's fine.
For the most part, we're all fine.


For the most part.


 I drove home at 15 miles an hour squinting through the pounding rain and wondered if God really could be this cruel.
 Another thought followed...maybe, just maybe, he just has a really bad sense of humor.


Tonight, one year later, my family is all under one roof. They are sleeping soundly in their beds. I was able to kiss each child good night. I will curl up with my husband (who now sleeps with headphones on when it rains) and give thanks to God and his awful sense of humor that the worst is behind us.


We hope anyways.

one year later.

 what a difference a year makes. or a month. or a day. or in our case...an hour.

we are approaching the one year anniversary of the incident (that sounds polite enough right)? that's right, the incident that completely blindsided our family and by the grace of God (and matthew's superhero powers) allowed us to get up again...even if it was at a turtles pace.  you know the phrase "it seems like yesterday"?  yeah, well that isn't really the case for us.  quite the contrary really.  it seems like a lifetime since the so called incident and while we have healed physically, it has become evident that the emotional scars may be here to stay.

it was an ordinary summer day (june 15th to be exact) and i was basking in what appeared to be the perfect day.  i had accomplished grocery shopping for the week, spent the day deep cleaning my house, taken the kids to the pool and then come home to shower and wind down for the day.  matt had made good on his  promise to take tucker dirt bike riding despite the wicked heat and humidity.  riggs had decided midday to go along and being the good kid that he is, helped with the chore of loading up the trailer.   (it wasn't until several weeks after the accident that it occurred to me that riggs wasn't even supposed to have been there...go figure).   i had made a point to bathe my daughter early that evening in the hopes of her falling asleep shortly after the boys had left.  i was preparing for a kid free evening in my quite and oh so clean house. ironically, moments before receiving the phone call, i had updated my facebook status to that of having one of the best days i'd had in quite some time.  call me superstitious, but i haven't done that since.

now, i have had several "incidents" in my life and i'm always amazed that i can remember the smallest of details with each one.  for example, on the night of the incident,  i remember the dress i was wearing. i hate that dress now.  it's unfortunate really...because it was new. and cute. and expensive....and now i hate it.

i remember that because riggs had been helping load the trailer, he hadn't had a chance to eat.  he ran inside to grab some dinner  before leaving.  he ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich followed by an enormous piece of vegetable lasagna.  My biggest worry that evening was that he would get a stomach ache from the disgusting dinner he had just inhaled and be too sick to ride.  laughable when you consider what happened.

in typical sarah form, i was vacuuming my already clean kitchen floors and decided to clean out my vacuum in the process.  sadly, this is what i choose to do on a free night from the husband and kids -
  In what seemed like a millisecond the sky turned black and a typical southern storm let loose.  

i called matthew to give him the heads up that a storm was coming their way but he didn't answer.  i assumed they were either getting a few more laps in before it reached them  or that they were loading up the bikes....thinking nothing of it, i went back to my cleaning. they had been gone one hour.  yep, that's it...one hour.  

What a difference an hour makes.

i went back to cleaning when the phone rang. the caller id had shown  matt's phone and i casually answered "hey".  silence on the other end followed by a crying tucker stopped me in my tracks.  now mom's know their children's cries.  there are the cries of being hurt. of hurt feelings. of fear.  this was none of those...it was a cry  i had never heard and pray to God that i never hear again. it was pitiful.

"we had an accident. we got hit" was what i heard. 

"i'm on my way, where are you"? i ask, assuming it had been a car accident.

"we got struck by lightning", he said and frankly, i found the statement ridiculous.

"put dad on the phone tuck".  i'm shocked at how calm I am.  i may have even been a little annoyed.

"i can't.  he's working on riggs".....

ok, you know the part in the movies where the room disappears and the main character's head gets huge and they are just standing in the middle of the room spinning? ok, well that's me.  standing in my kitchen. in a pile of vacuum dirt. in the dress that i now hate.

for the next 5 minutes i listen to my middle child pray that God doesn't take his brother.  he actually begs for forgiveness for fighting with him earlier that morning.  he composes himself for a few minutes than wales through 11 year old tears "please don't take my brother. i'll do anything".  he is talking to God of course but is using me as his witness....as if i have ANY control over the situation. i don't...i am confused and helpless and all i want is to talk to my husband. but i can't...he's working on riggs...whatever that means.

 it is only later that i learn that while tucker had been on the phone with me, he was watching his dad give CPR to what he is sure is his dead brother through the truck window and being the stellar little man he is, spares me the details.

when my heart can't take anymore, i tell him that i need to call him back.   i am calm... eerily calm. i phone a girlfriend and flatly ask if she can come over.  she laughs and responds "you do realize there's like a hurricane going on, right"?  i have no idea what i said next but it was enough to get her there because she arrives moments later.  i open my screen door and thrust my little girl at her and order her to take her to the neighbors.  oblivious to what is going on, she follows my instructions in the middle of the pouring rain and leaves almost as quickly as she came.

when each of my children were born, there was that moment before i began to push that my body would go into full blown convulsions. regardless of the epidural which had taken  away any sort of pain, my body (and perhaps my mind) understood that something pretty major was about to happen and responded by shaking.  with each delivery matthew would cover me with a mountain of blankets.  while the thought was nice, it served no purpose because the convulsions were coming from the inside.

the moment my daughter was out of site, my calm demeanor subsided and convulsions followed.  i recall bracing myself on my outdoor patio furniture for fear of my legs giving out. the phone rang and it took me a moment before realizing it was in my hand.  i answer  to hear my husband sobbing on the other end.  "i did all i could", he said.  "they pulled me off of him and took him from me". he proceeded to tell me several other things but i had stopped listening after he told me he'd done all he could.   i was aware of how long it had been since receiving the first call and knew that no one, NO ONE could sustain being down as long as my child had been.  in this moment, we are are fifteen miles apart and we are both certain that our oldest child is dead. we hang up from one another  and i collapse at my kitchen table. i don't cry. i am numb.

there isn't a parent alive that hasn't had that moment where they can't find a child in the store for two minutes or watches the panicked face of an infant choking.  they will describe those two minutes as feeling as though it were ten.  well, let me tell you what 40 minutes feels like...it feels like a lifetime.  

my girlfriend arrives to find me out of my mind distraught and i bring her up to speed.  i can hardly form the words struck by lightning. it seems surreal. actually, it sounds stupid...but it is the truth and that's all i have right now.  i tell her it's not looking good.  she literally drags me to my kitchen floor and we kneel in the pile of vacuum dirt (another irrelevant detail I have yet to forget).  she pleads with God for a miracle. i remember for a second feeling guilty that i hadn't thought of it myself.  i had after all, listened to the prayers of my middle son...the least I could have done was echo his words. again, i was numb...

i would describe myself as being extremely level headed and at times almost TOO rational.  i would be lying if i said i never cracked, but the truth is... i don't crack in front of others.  we had barely said "amen" when I got to my feet and then completely lost my mind. the phone hadn't rung in several minutes and everything in my body told me that my husband was on his way home to tell me that riggs was gone.

i asked my friend to take me somewhere...anywhere.  i didn't want to be home to hear the news.
i realize now how ridiculous that was.  the news would have found me eventually, regardless of where I hid. in this moment, however, i was ready to run away.

my friend had enough sense to pretend she would take me somewhere but told me she wanted to first call matt for an update.  i begged her not to, however,  she was in her right mind and I wasn't.  she won.

she had gotten matt on the phone and i put my head on the kitchen table to brace myself for what i was about to hear. i almost pitied her for the position i had put her in. even in this horrific moment, i recall feeling  bad for her.  a moment later,  i heard the word stabilized. this brought me a small amount of comfort.  i had no idea what that meant...but it was better than the alternative.  they were transporting him to the hospital, and as far as I knew, they didn't take the deceased to the hospital. 

i think this was one of the five times in my life that i have left the house without make-up.  i left the dog out of his cage, candles burning, and every light on in my house. i grabbed my purse and mechanically climbed into the car.  my friend drove me to the hospital in what was apparently one of the worst storms we have ever had...i honestly don't remember.  if I recall, it was a rather quite ride to the hospital.  i remember getting off at our exit and turning my head towards heaven.  with the attitude of a teenager, i smugly said "I haven't asked you for anything.  If you are even remotely aware of us, prove it".

I was talking to my parents.

To be continued...

Here goes nothing...

I have always liked to write.  It wasn't until after high school that I discovered I had this secret talent and I have sworn for years that someday...someday I would do something with it.  Perhaps a smutty novel...maybe a self-help book (who am I kidding)?  A talent given should not be wasted and yet that is precisely what I have done....wasted it.   I take credit for a handful of witty facebook posts and maybe a couple of hundred funny emails but that has been the extent of my god given talent (perhaps my ONLY god given talent).  A therapist encouraged me many years ago to write letters and never give them to those who may have angered or hurt me.  This was to serve as therapy.  I have written and burned about a dozen letters in my adult years and sadly...delivered a few.

Today is my mothers birthday and I hate to admit that I think of her less and less with each passing year. While she is engraved in my every movement, I don't take time like I used to just ponder her or miss her for that matter.  It is because of that I am taking the opportunity to do something that she always encouraged me to do...write.   She was that kind of mother. The kind that told you that you could do whatever you wanted and made you believe not only could you do it, but that you'd succeeded before you even started. She would get you so riled up while you were talking to her that you'd want to leave mid conversation and get started on whatever it was you had wanted to do.

Our confidence gets tarnished as we get older. We start and quit jobs. We gain and lose friends.  We find ourselves in toxic situations where people tell us that we can't do something or that we are doing it  wrong. We find ourselves running the rat race called life and fall victim to those who are trying to swipe our legs out from under us...  this is where we run to our mothers and they comfort us and tell us that we really ARE all that and a bag of chips and suddenly we feel better about ourselves.

This is where I have been lacking.

Motherless daughters.  Ugh...I hate the way that sounds.  I have walked down the isle at the book store and glanced at books with that title.  I have yet to pick one up because it sounds pitiful and depressing and like it might strike a chord so deep that once I went there...I might never return.

I think it is fair to say that I have grown more in the 8 years since my mothers passing than perhaps in my 36 years combined.  I'd be lying if I said that the growth had been pretty.  Perhaps the fact I have muddled through without a mothers wisdom and insight is why it has been so brutal and ugly at times.  Moving across the country, teenagers, a child hanging on for dear life, marriage quarrels....I'd pay a thousand for her two cents right about now.

 Not a day passes that I don't thank my dad for my wicked sense of humor.  It has given me the ability to laugh at my situations, my surroundings, and most of all...myself.  My laughter is sometimes (ok, A LOT of the time) irreverent but it is my coping mechanism and it has served me well:)

My mother encouraged me to journal which has never appealed to me.  I did however thrive on her writings when she passed away.  I remember reading her journaling about the day she was diagnosed with cancer and how she sat outside in the pouring rain wishing it would wash her clean of cancer.  (storms seem to have an underlying theme in my family...) It is because my time was cut short with my family, I feel the need to heed her counsel and use my talent to leave something behind for my family....not that I'm going anywhere.  So today, in honor of her...I'm going to tackle my goal to start a blog (not journal) but blog.  That seems much more doable and much less like Little House on the Prairie.

My mom was sweet and gentle and at the same time was an old school badass.  I never once saw her feel sorry for herself (though she had ample reason too).  She seriously controlled her own destiny...up until the day she died.  I mean she had her own programs made up for the funeral if that tells you anything about the kind of woman she was...

Becoming a motherless daughter (gulp. there I said it) didn't send me into a depression but it sure had me stuck for awhile.  I am happy to report that I am feeling less and less stuck with each passing day and though I am still most likely covered in mud, the fact is I am here. I have learned that enduring the trial is usually more important than the trial itself. Even if it seems like it is taking an unusually long time to heal....or in my case, a ridiculously long time to heal.

I have begun trying new things and have spent more time laughing at myself than usual.  I have allowed people into my life that I wouldn't have even considered in the past and am enjoying what they have to teach me.  I am talking to strangers more (though my children would tell you this has never been a problem for me). I am learning peoples names and calling them by it. Why? Because everyone deserves to feel important.  I am quicker than ever to recognize when someone makes me feel bad and it is getting harder and harder to ignore those feelings.  I have zero tolerance for anger or bitterness or flaring tempers.  I worked too hard to shed these ugly behaviors and now... I don't want to be in the same room with them.

I still don't know who I am.  I hope I never know.  If I do, then that will mean I've stopped growing....the key is to constantly reinvent and whether that means learning to play the drums, or going dancing with a friend, laughing louder than normal or simply changing negative behaviors than bring it...

Life is too short to stay the same.