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.

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.

anticipation

I have applied for a new job. A new job that is kind of an old job. I have been subbing in the same position for two months. I love this job. I want this job. A lot. It's fun to come to work everyday. I look forward to my day. I love the people I work with, I love the atmosphere, I love the karma. My kind side knows that whoever gets it, gets it. Everyone that is applying wants it, and in my rational mind, I know that. But, it's the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing at night. I review my interview answers over and over in my head. I torture myself with "what ifs", I occasionally fantasize that I'll get it. Reality check. God puts me where I need to be. Always. I don't always like it, but I always come to realize it's where I need to be at the time. So. Life marches on and I must be patient and grateful. Then I can grumble or rejoice. Move on and learn my lessons.

dreamland

Simply exhausted. I need sleep. I crave sleep, but it does not come easily. Sleeping pills, hot baths, boring t.v., anything is worth a try. Problem is, when you take a sleeping pill, your body may be asleep, but your mind is wide awake. Dreaming, always dreaming. Vivid, live it now, kind of dreaming. So when you wake up, you're not rested. You've just forgotten about some nighttime hours instead. I miss the kind of sleep where you are so beat that you can't keep your eyes open. You struggle to read in bed, but your eyes droop. You feel heavy and before you know it, you're out. You dream, but you don't live them. You forget them in the morning. You wake rested. You wake ready. I think I had that feeling last in about the eighth grade. Insomnia crept in like a snake wrapping around your throat. You feel it, but you can't shake it. It sucks, and that's all I have to say about that.

family

I have a new puppy. She's insane. She's wicked. She fits right in. Her name is Baxter, a homage to "Anchorman". No one calls her that, but so it is. I like Baxter, but raising a puppy is taxing. She whines....a lot. She wakes me up way too early on my days off. She's a baby in canine form. My dog, Donut, loves her. It's his new toy. He tosses her around the carpet for entertainment and she merrily joins in. She growls when you pick her up. Bad chihuahua attitude already. Working on that one. Apart from the growling, she is a peach. She's good on the leash, sweet in your lap, and tiny as a bug. She'll get used to this family life and we'll get used to her. She's growing on us, this little tornado of terror.

Exhaustion

I am frustrated. Frustrated as a parent. Parenting is on the worst days saddening. Sad because I don't like to see my kids hurt or frustrated or depressed. I don't like that I have to play a part in that sometimes. That I am the cause of that sometimes. I remember being a kid. I remember being so fed up with my parents and their rules. I remember thinking "I'll never do this to my kids." But you do. You have to. It's painful. It hurts me physically. It makes me sick to my stomach. There's no way around it if you want to set any kind of reasonable expectations. I hurt. I hurt for them. This is a tough time to parent. Kids grow up way too fast. I want to keep mine as safe as I can for as long as I can, but I've found that control is mostly in my head. Things happen, I don't like it, and I have to decide to parent the right way whether it's fun or not. I hope my kids get it someday. I guess they will, that's my hope anyway.

Testing,,1,2,3

This is a time of tests. Life tests, not scantron bubbles. My patience is tested. With my job, I must learn to pick out the seeds of okayness in a swarm of disrespect. Knocked through the halls like a pinball, it's hard to like your neighbor. Living check to check. No fun at all. Your mind spends all it's extra time, the time you used to enjoy just thinking, on worry. Worry about bills, worry about the now. One thing about worry is I don't seem to transfer it to the future. I harbor it here in the now. My brain is too taxed to fast forward. I will simply hope for betterment in all things. With most tests, I find a way to cope. I smile or I cry in my car. I sneak off to the lake, sit in my car, and eat Taco Bell. All while listening to talk radio. It's comforting in my steel cocoon. No one dare rattle my psyche when I'm in the zone. I need time to feel detached from doing, if just for a few minutes, then I miss my chaos and I return refreshed. Test me Lord, it keeps me on my toes. It makes me cherish what I have and disregard what I don't. Life is simpler now. The money tree has gone underground and all I can see are the leaves above.