Monday, June 17, 2013
How 'bout a little kindness?
Holy moly! What a week. I am sitting here with my head spinning, partly due to insomnia, partly to an overexposure to cranky behavior. I feel like the world is caving in. On the one hand, my boy came to visit. That was fantastic, but tempered by too little time to spend just talking. In fact, virtually none. I miss him something fierce. My oldest daughter graduated. A great day but again touched by mediating hostile relatives and striving to please everyone. Now she is in short timer mode, no longer seemingly in need of parents. We are but a nuisance in her pre-adult existence. I am a person of simple needs. I like people to take care of each other, to respect one another and to put others ahead of themselves. I am at a crossroads when it comes to being treated with disrespect. I'm older so I can often blow it off, but I'm too old to be victim to it. Too old to think its okay. I hope that in time, I can compartmentalize my feelings more. Make some of what is said to me less personal and more reactionary. It would be healthier for all involved. I'll work on that.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Next
What the heck happened? A mere 17 years ago, Doug and I had our first baby together. It was a kewpie of a girl. Nearly bald and supremely beautiful. Tonight was her senior prom. A few nights ago, I sat looking at the screen of her college website. I cried. Not ready yet. Simply not ready for her to go. When each one leaves, it's painful and poignant. I don't like it. I get all stoic and try to tell myself there's not a damn thing I can do about it, but I lose it none the less.
In about two months, she will leave her nest. I'll have two babies left at home. Problem is, they are no longer babies. They are teenagers. Growing, changing, thriving young adults. What they are supposed to grow up to be, but what is sheer terror for a mother. They leave. They all leave.
Like I said, I don't like it. One little bit.
Oh well, like I get a say in it. Time to grow up Mom. It's life. They go. I went. My Mom cried. I remember hearing that from my Dad and feeling my heart sink because I hurt her but I was happy to start a new, adult life. I'm keeping that in mind as my next one leaves the nest for bigger and better things. It's not my life, it's hers. It's not my pain that's important, it's her joy. Joy in finding herself, joy in making mistakes, joy in forging a path. I'll get by but I don't have to like it. (.;
In about two months, she will leave her nest. I'll have two babies left at home. Problem is, they are no longer babies. They are teenagers. Growing, changing, thriving young adults. What they are supposed to grow up to be, but what is sheer terror for a mother. They leave. They all leave.
Like I said, I don't like it. One little bit.
Oh well, like I get a say in it. Time to grow up Mom. It's life. They go. I went. My Mom cried. I remember hearing that from my Dad and feeling my heart sink because I hurt her but I was happy to start a new, adult life. I'm keeping that in mind as my next one leaves the nest for bigger and better things. It's not my life, it's hers. It's not my pain that's important, it's her joy. Joy in finding herself, joy in making mistakes, joy in forging a path. I'll get by but I don't have to like it. (.;
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
A beautiful day in the neighborhood
Saturday was like hot cocoa in front of a fireplace. Warm, friendly, and satisfying. Sadly, it was also bittersweet. A bake sale for a deputy who was slain as he protected our community from evil. A man who fearlessly ran to the scene of a crazy man without any thought for his own safety. A hero.
There were many heroes that day. Another deputy was seriously injured. He works right here in Big Bear. Thankfully, he is healing physically, but the emotional anguish of that day stays in the hearts and heads of all those brave men and women who ran directly toward harm's way.
Those of us who were bystanders, waiting on edge for a conclusion, can never really understand the intensity of that day. Many of us were scared, but we kept on going to school, working, and living our lives. It is a testament to communities that in the midst of fear and heartache, they persevere.
While so many continue to suffer the aftermath of that horrible day, we are all healing at our own pace. For me, action is a tourniquet. It temporarily stops the emotional bleeding in my head. It gives me a purpose. A focus and a mission. I think, from what I saw, it did that for many.
People came bearing trays and baskets of homemade goods. Those who didn't have time, brought store bought goodies. Those that didn't want to bake, brought cash. Every person I came in contact with was loving and moved. They wanted to be there. It was one of the most tremendous outpourings of concern and caring I had been privileged to be a part of in a long time.
And then the customers came. Good folks from all parts of our community. Young and old, rich, poor and in between. People who gave a quarter and people who threw in a whopping check. It didn't matter, because it all mattered. Every person who gave of themselves, gave everything they could. Perhaps the most healing part of all was simply being there. Together. It is my hope that the family of Deputy MacKay, Deputy Collins, and all of the men and women in our law enforcement community will take the love we all felt that day and remember it in their dark times. They are appreciated, they are needed, and they give their all for us.
There were many heroes that day. Another deputy was seriously injured. He works right here in Big Bear. Thankfully, he is healing physically, but the emotional anguish of that day stays in the hearts and heads of all those brave men and women who ran directly toward harm's way.
Those of us who were bystanders, waiting on edge for a conclusion, can never really understand the intensity of that day. Many of us were scared, but we kept on going to school, working, and living our lives. It is a testament to communities that in the midst of fear and heartache, they persevere.
While so many continue to suffer the aftermath of that horrible day, we are all healing at our own pace. For me, action is a tourniquet. It temporarily stops the emotional bleeding in my head. It gives me a purpose. A focus and a mission. I think, from what I saw, it did that for many.
People came bearing trays and baskets of homemade goods. Those who didn't have time, brought store bought goodies. Those that didn't want to bake, brought cash. Every person I came in contact with was loving and moved. They wanted to be there. It was one of the most tremendous outpourings of concern and caring I had been privileged to be a part of in a long time.
And then the customers came. Good folks from all parts of our community. Young and old, rich, poor and in between. People who gave a quarter and people who threw in a whopping check. It didn't matter, because it all mattered. Every person who gave of themselves, gave everything they could. Perhaps the most healing part of all was simply being there. Together. It is my hope that the family of Deputy MacKay, Deputy Collins, and all of the men and women in our law enforcement community will take the love we all felt that day and remember it in their dark times. They are appreciated, they are needed, and they give their all for us.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
pain
Eight years since I lost my Gem. My baby girl. The last baby I'll ever have. Right now it feels like it happened yesterday. I remember the loss. The tiny life in a plastic bag. The trip to the hospital. The inevitable. The horror, the stillness, the acceptance. It came over time. It was the very worst day of my life.
I remember going out to eat with my husband. Eating a big fat burger, fries, and a coke. Comfort food that I didn't even taste. Simple numbness. Driving home. Coming into my house with a friend waiting who was watching the kids. A big hug. A knowing look.
Heartwrenching to lose a baby. No one can understand it unless they've lost a child. It's the very, very worst thing I can ever imagine. Your heart literally feels like it's dying. Your insides are crunched up into a little ball. You are sad beyond imagination. Your life feels like a movie you are watching, not participating in.
People are caring, but they don't know what to say. So often, they say nothing. A missing baby is not conceivable to them. It's like it was never there, but it was. To me. She was. She is.
Some say things like "well, you've already got plenty of kids." as if that makes it okay. It is like a knife to the gut. Someone told me "it was meant to happen." Okay. What is that supposed to mean? I just found that instantly cold.
But life has gone on. My children are growing up to be happy and healthy. I am lucky. My baby has gone on to spend an eternity with God. I am good with that. I just miss her terribly. I think of her always. I want to be with her. I keep the joy in my heart that I will someday. I will hold her, I will nuture her, and I will see her shining eyes look into mine. That is my peace. That is what keeps me going, that is how I cope.
I remember going out to eat with my husband. Eating a big fat burger, fries, and a coke. Comfort food that I didn't even taste. Simple numbness. Driving home. Coming into my house with a friend waiting who was watching the kids. A big hug. A knowing look.
Heartwrenching to lose a baby. No one can understand it unless they've lost a child. It's the very, very worst thing I can ever imagine. Your heart literally feels like it's dying. Your insides are crunched up into a little ball. You are sad beyond imagination. Your life feels like a movie you are watching, not participating in.
People are caring, but they don't know what to say. So often, they say nothing. A missing baby is not conceivable to them. It's like it was never there, but it was. To me. She was. She is.
Some say things like "well, you've already got plenty of kids." as if that makes it okay. It is like a knife to the gut. Someone told me "it was meant to happen." Okay. What is that supposed to mean? I just found that instantly cold.
But life has gone on. My children are growing up to be happy and healthy. I am lucky. My baby has gone on to spend an eternity with God. I am good with that. I just miss her terribly. I think of her always. I want to be with her. I keep the joy in my heart that I will someday. I will hold her, I will nuture her, and I will see her shining eyes look into mine. That is my peace. That is what keeps me going, that is how I cope.
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