Celebrate Good Times, C'mon!

I was talking to my daughter yesterday about how she and I are having a life moment together. We are both about to experience a once in a lifetime freedom at the same time. She is just starting out in her life and soon will be able to travel, live anywhere in the world she wants and discover new adventures for herself. I am about watch the graduation my last child and will have the exact same opportunity as my eldest child, to do and be anything I want.
When Danny died I was constantly reminded that the safety of my children hinged on my personal safety. I couldn't sky dive, swim in treacherous water, or do anything dangerous because I was the last remaining parent. I wouldn't want my kids to be orphans, would I? It has sat firmly on my shoulders for all of these years. I had thought, back when I first lost Danny, that when I turned forty seven I would be able to regain some of my freedom. My kids would be raised and I would have the opportunity to travel, see things, do things I had always wanted to do without the voice of doom ringing in my ears. Back then I wondered if we would all would survive the trek to the magical 47th birthday. This year on Mother's day I will turn 47 and a few weeks later Betty will graduate from high school. Michael and I will be letting out a collective sigh of relief.
I am excited at the prospect of being different. I tell my kids all the time if you want to be different, then be different. I was happy to see the janitor from Scrubs repeat the same thing on an episode and validate my hypothesis. Change is hard, I think we all know that, but it's hardly impossible. It will take some work on my part to start this chapter of my life and be a different version of me, hopefully a better version of my existing self. I am totally up for the challenge. I am currently conducting a little psychological and physical experiment for myself. I am allowing myself to morph into something I have never been before. I am allowing myself a little selfishness. I am putting my needs ahead of others for the first time in my life. As a nurse, I was a caretaker of the elderly, the terminally ill, the weakest and most feeble of mankind. I bathed them, fed them and looked after every aspect of their daily life and well being. As a mother, I did the same thing. I never questioned why I should, I only looked at each day as what was necessary for everyone's survival, except mine. My daughter, as the eldest child, has had much the same thought process as a care taker. Most eldest children take on the responsibility of their younger, less experienced siblings. She has taken care of her friends while she has been in college. I am trying to get her to see that we sent off to college to eliminate some of her responsibilities and she needs to be a little selfish now, before she gets married and has kids of her own. I want her to celebrate her independence and her ability to go anywhere she wants, be anything she wants, do anything she wants. She is going to blink and this will all be over and she will have to wait another twenty five years before the opportunity presents itself again. I mean no disrespect to motherhood, or being a wife. I wouldn't trade my life and all of it's chaos for anything, but I see very clearly how important it is to take advantage of any opportunity I have to celebrate just me. Having lived the other side of the coin, I have no regrets, but I do not want to miss out on spending time living exactly as I have always wanted to. I don't want her to miss that either.
While talking to my eldest child, my voice rose in excitement about what all we were going to be able to do. I spoke to her about traveling together to Europe and seeing incredible sights, drinking wine and appreciating great art, and dark haired, mysterious men. I spoke to her about all the things she could do on her own. I told her of my plan to do some things on my own , as well. I squealed and giggled with my child as we enjoyed my sometimes overly enthusiastic plans for our futures.
I am not privileged in any conventional sense. My privilege has always come from the friends I have made, the family I so dearly love and the pets who cuddle my feet. I have had to work long, hard hours for very little money, so creature comforts has not been my privilege. Do I wish the past different? I used to. I used to sigh and wish things had been easier for me. I sometimes regretted my decisions and wished I had been smarter, more open, less naive, and more savvy. Recently, part of my metamorphosis has been about letting go of any regret. Failure produces knowledge. Whether we are smart enough to learn the lessons are quite another thing, but the absolute byproduct of having tried something and failing miserably is knowledge. Surely, by now, I must be a genius.
This is a year to celebrate for me. It really should be a year to celebrate for everybody. If you got up this morning and drew breath, then trust me, you are having a good day. If your limbs still work and your mind can focus, mine starts right after the coffee hits my stomach, then you are having a great day. If you have people in your life that love and care about you, then your life is made!

I Have a Confession to Make...

I have this little confession to make. Easter is my least favorite holiday. I can't really tell you why. Maybe, it's because I am not a fan of pastel colors. Maybe, it's because where I come from this time of year was usually filled with melting black snow and mud. Maybe it's because it represents a time when my savior was treated worse than an animal and hung on a cross. Maybe, just maybe, it's all those reasons.
As a Christian I have a reverence for Easter, but the music isn't as good as Christmas and all the talk of of crucifixion makes me grossly uncomfortable. I find the last part funny, since as a Catholic we wear Jesus on the cross around our necks and have him front, center and very large in that position in the front of the church.
Christmas, for me is joyful and full of hope. Easter, on the other hand, represents man's inhumanity to man. I know we believe He rose from the dead. I know Easter is supposed to represent eternal hope for all mankind. Cognitively, I am aware of what I am supposed to feel, but viscerally, in my gut I feel great sadness of death of any kind, so this is a season that makes me shake my head in awe that Jesus had to suffer the the fate He did at the hands of the very people He was trying to save. And I thought my life is ironic.
Every year on Good Friday, the church bells ring at the exact time of Jesus death. I would sit in church and pray. I would fast, and spend my day thinking of having to give up my life or the life of my son for the greater good. Jesus asked God that if it not be His will that God take the cup from Him and spare His life. The answer He got was a solid "No!" I have gotten that answer myself a few times. I can't imagine carrying the cross that I knew would eventually kill me, but not until I was completely humiliated and tortured. Maybe, that's why Easter is my least favorite holiday.
I will tell you, that out of all the Christian holidays Easter holds the most meaning for me. It is the holiday I learned the greatest lesson of how to be a better human being. I learned by example from Jesus on what to do when things look as though they are hopeless.
I meditate in the morning. I pray and think of all the things I love. It is in this that I find solace, forgiveness and hope. I have several mantras. I learned about mantras from doing yoga. The mantra "Ohm" means God in ancient Sanskrit. Being a modern day Christian, some times I change things up. My most used mantra comes from Easter and the story of Jesus in the garden. It is very simply, "Your will not mine". It is my reminder that I am not here for just me. It is my reminder that I am a mere speck on earth and any time I am allowed should be spent doing good, thinking good, asking for help when I need it, giving help when I can give it and always being grateful that I was here at all.
Bunnies, chicks and pastel eggs really don't do it for me. Baskets full of chocolate don't either, even though I have addiction issues with chocolate. For me, Easter has a more somber tone. God bless those who put a million blow up bunnies in their yard and fill their rooms with pastel decorations and decorated egg shells. My kids used to love this. I wish I had been more open to all that. I provided Easter baskets for my kids, but I never really got in the spirit of all the other stuff. The one tradition we did have was watching The Ten Commandments on TV, hardly as much fun as all the cute bunnies, chicks and ducks.
I was praying this morning remembering that it is Holy Saturday. My mantra became "Your will not mine". My church is in the news again for child molestation. It is another horrific blow to the Catholic church. It is criminal. I think if the priests had less arrogance they would have prayed my mantra. Too much power on any level never seems to be a good idea. Power seemingly corrupts. I say that not with 100% certainty, since I have never wielded it, but it certainly paints that particular picture. I pray for the people of the Catholic church. The people are the church, not the institution in Vatican City. My heart goes out to the victims that have carried this burden far too long. My heart also goes out to the priests who have never done anything wrong and have spent their lives trying to good for others. Maybe now something will be done to protect our children in the Catholic church. Maybe now every head shall bow and knee shall bend in humility that we are only here to work, to help, to pray, to be kind to each other, and to honor the sacrifice that was made so many years ago.
Tomorrow there will be ham, deviled eggs, and lots and lots of chocolate. Tomorrow we will argue about what mass has the least amount of traffic and whether anybody wants to go at all. Tomorrow we will celebrate bunnies, chicks, ducks and pastel eggs.
But for today, I will celebrate sacrifice. I will celebrate giving of oneself to others in any way they can. Today I will try very hard to smile at each and every person I meet, remembering that one smile may very well be the only one they get today. Today I celebrate the privilege of being alive.

I Pray

Every morning I get up, make the coffee and sit at my kitchen table and pray. The first thing I ask is for forgiveness. My prayers are simple. Mostly I just ask for the strength to be a better wife, mother and human being. Mostly, I ask to be forgiven. Like a mantra, I say, "Lord, please forgive me, please forgive me, please, forgive me. For the rest of the day, I try very hard to forgive myself.
I sat down this morning and began my ritual and I realized that Sunday is Easter. "Holy sh*t!" I said in my head. I had not realized that another holiday, or Holy day had sneaked up on me. I have not been to the store. There are no signs of Easter having been drug down from the attic. There are no signs of anything but the remainder of our eight month renovation. As the idea of allowing another holiday to come and go with a half-assed effort on my part, I felt the guilt and shame of not being prepared for the family hit me square on my head. I laid my head down on the kitchen table and cried. The pressure of all that has happened to me and my family took all the room in my heart and left me feeling completely sad. I cried because I am re-doing a house I will not get to live in. I cried because I am positively exhausted. I cried for all the things that have happened to my kids in the last six months, that in order to protect their privacy, I will not write. I cried for all the weak, fearful moments when I am sure nothing will work out and I will have forced my family to live in a cardboard box, all because I wanted to try and live a dream that may not be "realistic" anymore. I cried until I had not one more drop of water in me.
I believe in signs from my God. I hear the cynics, who think I am naive and insipid for thinking that a greater being is listening to anything I say. But my faith is always bigger than my skepticism. I have seen miracles that came from dust. I have witnessed the grace on a persons face at the end of their life, when they have felt the hand of God lead them home. I believe, because I have seen things that science and logic could not produce. I believe because even when things are going horribly wrong, I am always given a single moment of grace that shows me my faith in God, although not an easy road, is a rich and fulfilling one that will lead me to being a better human in this world I live in.
There have been no Easter miracles this season for me. No magic eggs cooked and dyed themselves. The freezer didn't magically produce a ham for dinner. The calendar didn't jump off the wall and smack me in the face to remind me that, ready or not, Easter is two days away. My miracles have never come that way. The things that remind me that the world is not about me or my selfish want to be perfect, are of nature, beauty and heart.
Houston suffered from a harsh winter this year. Now, before you Northerners start to snicker at us and our unusually cold temperatures, please, be kind and remember we are not set up for any of this. Hot we do with ease, but cold and snow throws us into a complete tizzy. Our houses are set up for the dog days of summer. We have temperatures that would make you weep like a child. We all lost thousands of dollars in landscaping. Pipes burst, roads were damaged, but the plants suffered most of all. Most of us have zone 9 tropical plants. My hibiscus bushes are brown and brittle. My palms got singed and then there was the greatest loss of all for me.
I had gotten a coveted tree from Argentina from a dear friend of ours. It was an Argentinian silk floss tree. It's nickname is the drunk tree because it's branches stick straight out and go every which way. I got the tree because it was tropical and could with stand our Houston summers of 106 heat index with 90% humidity. I had been homesick for fall and fall colors. I wanted something in my yard to change with the seasons. My Argentinian tree was to bloom in the fall with big beautiful pink blossoms. It was young standing only at six feet tall, but it was statuesque and I could hardly wait for it to grow. The tree's entire trunk was an olive green with large spiky thorns that covered the base. I loved that tree. It was one more thing that my Michael had gotten for me to make me happy. And it did.
My tree died this winter. They are rare and I am not sure I will get the opportunity to own another one in my lifetime. We had planned to take it with us to the next house. I have not dug up the corpse of my dead tree yet. I was still hoping that something, anything would save my beloved tree. There are no signs of life and on the last day before we sign the contract I will dig up my deceased tree and let it go. In the mean time, I have watched most of our landscape struggle to survive. What we had spent years cultivating and tending is mostly shriveled and dead. It would take approximately two thousand dollars to recoup what we lost. We have neither the time nor the money to fix what has been broken.
One morning this past week I had gone outside in the morning to check on another young tree, our tangelo tree and see how it is doing. Much to my surprise it, standing only three feet tall, it was covered in blooms. It has three times as many blooms this year as last. I was shocked it was thriving. I walked to the front and viewed our flower beds that used to be lush, full, green beds with flowering bushes and vines. It is full of brown twigs and dead leaves. I brushed away the leaves and saw the wisteria vine on my trellis had tiny buds on it's twisted trunk and then I looked up. Above my head were beautiful lavender and purple blooms, tons of them coming out of the loquat tree, over the trellis and near the ground by the trunk. I was gobsmacked at the amount of blooms it produced this year. The smell is simple divine. I stood under the trellis for ten minutes just taking it all in. I felt giddy, even a little drunk, on the perfume from my surviving vine. That is the moment I felt my sign. Not everybody gets to survive the winters of life. Not every person, plant and animal has the strength to continue after they have been frozen out, but I do. I have survived lots of winters and ended up blooming twice as much as before. I have grown so much because of my personal winters and would not be the person I am today without them. Adversity builds character, strength and compassion. So even though I forgot it was Easter, I believe the miracle is that I get the chance to keep growing, keep reaching and keep praying that tomorrow I will have the chance to be better.

My Girl

Everything I seem to know about kids/children I learned from my children. Oh, I so love irony! They have been the ones to reel me in when my head and heart aren't making the connections they should. I raised them to be outspoken and opinionated. I was in fact, a success if that were my only parenting goal. I have been saying the same speeches for years. They interrupt me as I am about to lecture on whatever subject we are in the middle of and say word for word verbatim all the things they have heard me say in the past. It's unnerving, but it makes me laugh. They know me better than any other person on earth. Even Michael doesn't see me like they do. In some respects, my kids and I are war buddies. We were together during the very thin times when life ceased as we knew it. I think about all the things I was unable to provide and the guilt overwhelms me. It is in these seemingly insignificant moments that they stop me in my tracks and tell me to let it go. They tell me I have been a good mother and they never felt unloved. That is something isn't it? But as their mother I still suffer from the guilt that has existed since the dawn of time.
Right now, I have all my kids at home, minus one. My minus one has been gone now for about four years and isn't going to be coming home, at least for the next year or maybe ever again. She is my oldest. She has been my experimental child. I made all the big mistakes on her first. Not having a manual at my bedside to refer to as each new stage occurred, I was dependent on apologizing and her endless forgiveness. She has been very generous with me over the years.
I have a unique relationship with all my kids. It didn't take much work, all I had to do was let them be themselves. As individuals, I sat back and watched them form into very different people, who happened to have the same parents. You can see the likeness on their faces, but that is where it begins and ends. No two have the same political views. No two agree on everything together like some goofy double mint commercial. Each is very different from the next, except when it comes to their loyalty to each other. They are fierce when it comes to protecting each other from any outsider who dares to cross the line. I never worry about what will happen to them once I am gone. They collectively, are my voice and will take care of each other.
Christy, my oldest, has the loudest voice, the largest heart, the brain that remembers every fact she has ever read, meanest temper in the moment and the innate ability to get every body's attention. You know she is really angry, I mean totally pissed off when she sits back, folds her arms and says absolutely nothing. Inevitably we have all fallen victim to what comes next. As the person she is dealing with you think, quite mistakenly that she is giving you an opportunity to say what you want uninterrupted. MISTAKE!!!!!! What she is doing is slowly but very assuredly erasing you from her personal blackboard. When my beautiful girl gives you "the look", and trust me you will know when you get it, it means she is officially done and you will spend the next several weeks groveling your way back into her life. She wields her power with grace much of the time. She is not quick to anger, she waits to see if there is hope for the situation before she begins to tally the good and bad and execute her next move. She sounds so calculated, huh? Because she is. She gets that from her father. She is definitely her father's child. His DNA is all over beautiful face and her calm demeanor. Make no mistake she is one of the kindest, most forgiving people I know. That is IF one is smart enough to apologize. If someone makes the mistake in thinking she will forget or just get over it, they could not be more wrong. What I like about this attribute the most, even though I have suffered because of it, she is just. If she gets to the point where she is that angry, it is always because some grave injustice has occurred and she is unwilling to tolerate it.
She calls me out. She has the guts of a pro football player and looks like Scarlet Johanssen. It is unsettling at first meeting when someone mistakenly thinks her femininity is a replacement for raw moxy. I have watched her turn young men inside out before my very eyes. It isn't pretty, but they never forget that moment and learn instantly never to do that again. I, personally, think there are many high school and college boys who owe her a debt a gratitude. Had she not let them know in no uncertain terms that she and no woman was ever to be disrespected, they may have gone on to make that same mistake a hundred times. She belongs to a fraternity. That's right, I said fraternity, not sorority. Few women are ever asked to join, but she was and has been a brilliant "brother" ever since. We have a tape of her wrestling someone on a slip and slide in 45 degree weather while someone used a hose to spray them with. She beat a boy. She is tough, smart and as girlie as they come. She also has the strength of ten men when she needs it, thanks in part to her brothers, who tried to torture her as a child. As her family we are very aware that that girl has balls. Her brothers are the first to warn strangers.
I miss her so much. She is busy getting a dual degree in her senior year of college. She works, participates in her frat and is writing her senior thesis. She is getting ready to travel, around this country and abroad. She takes care of her own baby, a rabbit named Tuvia, who was taken from the wild to a pet store and she rescued and is now trained. Tuvia is so smart. She can ring a bell when she wants out of her cage. She is potty trained, leash trained and knows how to open cupboards to get any snacks that seem appealing. I watch Christy with her baby, our family Easter bunny. That bunny knows she is Mama. The bunny is loyal and guards her when she is sleeping. I walked upstairs and checked on my girl one morning when she was home and Tuvia was stretch out on the bed next to her guarding the door. Tuvia will charge at you if you go near the mama. It made me laugh so hard to see a bunny as a "guard dog" that I woke Christy up.
This Easter I will not get to see Christy because she will be busy working at her job, making money. Our own Easter bunny, Tuvia, will be with her at the apartment guarding the door, waiting for her to come home. Her empty seat at the dinner table will be sad for me, but I will try and not show it. I will try and get over myself, as she likes to say, and make it a nice Easter for the family. Christy would like nothing better than to come home for the holidays, but for her it a time when she can make the most money, so she stays for the greater good. It is just one more thing she has taught me over the years, to be patient.
For her I have nothing but time.

What Is In Your Backpack?

Michael and I just watched the movie "Up In the Air". The premise is about a guy who has chosen a path of taking ownership of nothing except himself. I really liked the movie and the main character. I liked the idea of choosing a life path of owning nothing. Having owned everything, it feels appealing to me at times, to be accountable to nothing but yourself and your job. In the movie he sees the world differently for the first time and questions whether or not he made the right choice. Michael and I are at our own cross roads now and have to take the time to figure out what exactly it is that we want.
Me, my kids and now Michael, too have had to move multiple times. I never pictured myself being in that position. I certainly never pictured us moving our family 1200 miles away from everything we have ever known, our friends, our family and our home towns. I say to them what I say to you now, it is what it is. The best laid plans, you know...
As a child I pictured myself with a big family living in the same house, me at home taking care of everyone living happily ever after in Ohio. But I had other dreams too. I also saw myself with only maybe one child, a large career and an apartment in New York City. That also was one of my dreams. Marriage in that one was strictly optional, but not mandatory. My other dream for myself was one of no kids, a career in musical theater and no pets, no husband, no anything. It was all very solitary, except for my very dear friends, whom I have always seemed to have.
Michael wanted to travel. He spent much of his adult life in a tiny house with no pets, no wife, no kids. His house was spotless, his life very manageable and dare I say, a little sterile at times. I came along an blew him out of the water. He is a brave man for making that kind of change. We were both brave, because at the point where we got married I was becoming more and more OK with the idea of being single. I wasn't completely convinced I could do marriage well. You would have to ask Michael if it turned out I could. I am just myself in our marriage, for better or worse, so I really don't know if I have gotten it right this time. I do know that it doesn't feel so hard, we don't fight much and I know I am loved and I love him. I guess, with all of that being said, we are a success. We have renovated a couple houses together and haven't killed each other, so that says something, too.
Michael and I are having big discussions now about what it is we want as a couple with grown kids. This is very unfamiliar territory for me. Most of my adult life has been about my children. The house had to be in a good neighborhood with excellent schools, sidewalks and nice neighbors. The town had to have soccer, baseball and a sense of community. It has been about the kids for so long, I haven't taken the time to figure out what it is I want for myself. Michael, having had a large chunk of freedom, doesn't feel sure about where to go from here. The one thing we both agree on is we want time together as a couple. Getting married after the family has shown up is tough. Our marriage has been based on the auto family plan which has meant putting the kids first and us second for the bulk of the time we have been married. We did our best to help the kids get used to us as a "blended" family. They have and we are all on the same page now, after many years, lots of work and compromise. It wasn't an easy transition, but it was definitely worth the effort. As newlyweds, Michael and I put our burning desires for each other, our lives, and our hopes and dreams on the back burner. The kids are grown now. The youngest graduates form high school in two months. They are all adults. They have their own lives, friends, wants and dreams and are currently not counting on being "at home" much longer.
When I was about 35 I would look toward the future and think about when my 47th birthday would roll around. Why 47? Because I had done the math and figured out that was the year the kids would be grown and graduated. It felt like the day would never come. It felt like it was a million years away, and now here it is staring me in the face.
Mike and I have spent the last year getting rid of "things". I have no idea how we accumulated so much stuff, but it felt as if we should start throwing things out, donating to charity and truly cleaning house. Our back pack is chock full of stuff. We have adult kids, 3 dogs, 2 bratty cats, 1 sugar glider and a house full of furniture. As much as we have gotten rid of, we still seem to have so much stuff. As we pack up and get ready to move I continue to toss things to the curb. We have no idea of where we will live or in what house, on what street, or who will be joining us. We have no idea what furniture will fit, or what stuff we actually want to take.

The only thing we can honestly say we know for now, is we want our backpack to be lighter. We will keep the kids and the pets, but the other stuff? I am not sure how much of that will survive the move. Our friends and family will go with us for the rest of our lives. Lucky them, they survive the cut. Our backpack got too heavy and needed to be purged. It's been tough getting rid of so much. But I, nor Michael, nor our kids are our stuff. We will keep pictures, but the truth is if the house caught fire and the pictures burned, we would still have each other and our memories. We will keep certain dishes we love to use, beds that have our indentations on them and practical items like Tupperware and dressers.
It's stressful not having a "plan" for the future. I have never lived that way. But for now, we have to go by the seat of our pants and see what happens. We have several ideas of where we might end up, but nothing certain is driving us to the finish. This has been one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, to let go and let God. Everyday we get closer to selling the house, I feel one more finger loosen it's grip. I am hopeful that I am not the person desperately hanging onto the front door as the moving van pulls away. Just as children, we have so many choices that we cannot decide. I call this sensory overload. So we will wait for things to transpire, time to march on and events to unfold and take another look at our options to see if anything specific has been revealed. The saying "It's always darkest before the dawn" applies here. For now we walk in the moonlight and remember that the our future is anything we want it to be. We just have to figure out what that is.

Irrational Can Be Necessary

Michael has been really sick with a cold/flu the past few days. He never gets this sick. At one point he went into our room and stayed in bed sound asleep for over ten hours. One would need to understand that he has the metabolism of a rabbit, and he sleeps for his eight hours then gets up and doesn't stop moving until it's time for bed again. I, personally cannot keep up with him. He is a machine when it comes to work or chores. I, on the other hand am more of a delicate flower and promptly wilt after dinner time.

While he was in bed sleeping for so long, I found myself doing what I used to do with my kids, checking to see if he was still breathing, feeling very freaked out by the idea that he was sick. I am paranoid. I have been paranoid since the day Danny told me he had cancer. I have good reason to be paranoid, since Danny died, I tend to have trust issues about illness and recuperation. It is not a rational thought for me, this I am sure. However, I forgive my inner skeptic. When Danny died things changed for me. I was forever altered and all I can do now is be respectful to the young heart inside myself, who gets scared and feels the need to put the mirror under the noses of my family every time they sleep longer than expected.

I worry more than I probably should that the other shoe will drop again. I have told God quite firmly, that I do not have it in me to bury another person from my immediate family under the age of 70. I still have nightmares, watching Danny suffer and die from the ravaging effects of cancer. I watched him go from being one the strongest people I ever knew to being weak, scared and feeble, unable to eat, his face grimaced in pain as he drifted further and further from life. He had not lived a full life. He had not done all he could do. There was then and continues to be now not one shred of justice in his demise. One only has to look at the faces of my children at the sound of his name, to witness that.

I cling to Michael as if he provides my air sometimes. He is kind to me, and allows for my weakness. He understand how I fear for the worst and let my imagination get the best of me. He doesn't mock me when I check to see if he is still breathing. he merely rolls over and and says,"I am still here, Baby. I am not going anywhere." He then holds my hand close to his heart so I can feel as safe as I am ever going to feel. Michael gets me. I never have to apologize for all the crazy thoughts I have, because I have seen the world crumble from underneath me. I never have to feel awkward about how I feel as if it were some big secret I have been hoarding. Michael and I have had thousands of conversations about why I get so jumpy and nervous. We have told each other about our insecurities and the buttons that never need to be pushed, ever. I made him promise me that I will get to die first. I tell him it's a contractual agreement and he cannot break it. I almost put it in our wedding vows, " Me first!"

It isn't rational. It doesn't have to be. I was watching the movie "P.S. I love you" with Betty yesterday. It's one of my favorite movies. In the movie the young widow finally breaks down at the realization that her beloved is NEVER coming back. I relate to this in every way. I cry every time I see it, remembering running to my own mom when I found out that Danny was deemed incurable, terminal. I was supposed to be on my way to school in Akron, driving an hour from our home in Cleveland. I got 3/4 the way there when I started crying uncontrollably. Water poured from eyes as if a faucet had been left on. I couldn't breathe, I could barely see and I drove like an utter maniac on a mission straight to my parent's house in a neighboring town. I ran in, running to my mother's arms practically knocking her down. She practically carried me to the couch and just sat holding me as I cried so hard, I drenching us both with my body wracking sobs. I repeated, "he is dying", over and over, as my mom held me tight. I felt bereft. I had not known what the feeling of that word was until Danny died. It was all so surreal for me. Danny has been gone now longer than I knew him in life. I find that unfathomable. Last year on September 27, the day he died, it hit me that he had been gone longer than we had known each other and I felt such grief again. Every once in a while I get hit by that bus and need my Michael to remind me that life is for the living.

Today Michael has a little color back in his face. He will spend his day eating healthy foods and trying to get his energy back , so he can go back to work tomorrow. He is sitting on the couch with his coffee, sipping slowly, drinking in the morning's news. Every now and then I hear him cough hard and my skin breaks into goosebumps. I then hear him burp and laugh at himself and I smile, amused at how he is able to keep himself so entertained.

I told him yesterday after his fever broke how scared I got because he was sick. I laid my head on his chest and felt his heartbeat next to my ear. Michael reaches for my hand and once again , like he has a million other times before, he promises to never leave me. Today we both feel a little better and tomorrow will show continued improvement. That's all one can hope for in the end anyway, isn't it?

I Finally Saw the Trees

In the past several months, I had felt a little lost. I knew I was on a definitive path, but was it the right one? I am not good at being unsure. I like to feel the certainty of knowing whether the outcome is good or bad, I am on the right path. I had been feeling that while I had been lost in the forest of indecision, I hadn't been able to see the trees. Until, recently...

There is a scripture many people use for their wedding, " I am my beloveds, and my beloved is mine". The priest or minister then rambles on about two becoming one, which by the way is physically, emotionally, mathematically and categorically impossible, and then they kiss, sealing their everlasting love, until death do they part or somebody better comes along. Let's face it, marriage hasn't exactly had the best reputation, as of late.

I was thinking about my beloved, Michael. We are facing a giant "Y" in the road and we look to each other to get us through all the big decisions that are coming straight at us. I have had to face some fairly unpleasant truths about myself in the past months and am being forced to once again, reinvent myself. I know I am not my job, but I have struggled with what and who I am with no "real" job to bolster my self esteem. My family tells me I am a writer. I feel that all the way to my bones, however, I am not making a salary that could support a pet let alone myself, so the idea that writing is my job is sightly strange to me. Besides, I love to write, so it doesn't feel like work, and I am used to jobs which are painful, time sucking, endless battles. If I am not a nurse, not a massage therapist, not a worker outside the confines of my own abode, then who am I?

My beloved, Michael, thinks of me as a writer. He speaks often to me in hushed tones about my "gift". He supports me emotionally and physically, just so I have the opportunity to do what I love. He is unique that way. He never gives up, regardless of how pessimistic I am or how fatalistic my view. Usually, I am the childlike hopeful one, unless it pertains to me. Then watch out! I am able to on a moments notice wipe out every good thing I have ever done and turn myself into a martyr, so misunderstood, so larger than life that it would make the Pope cry. It's all so ridiculous! My beloved sees me for exactly who I am and nothing more or less. I am a better person because of my Michael. I will do things, because he is in my life, that I would never attempt on my own. I work harder at being a better person, needing no other reason than to make him proud, or keep him from feeling humiliated, which ever seems the most necessary.

This all made me realize something that on a gut level I have always known. I may not be the person I used to be. I may have to start over in the middle of the game, and I may have to redefine who I am on a work level, but this I know to be true. I am my beloveds and my beloved is mine. Being Michael's wife is enough for me. Knowing how lucky I am to be married to my very best friend, my secret keeper, my lover, well, it's rare these days. What Michael and I have is as rare as any diamond, precious as any piece of gold, and as spectacular as any miracle. I have been married before. I know lots of married people. I know only a handful of truly happy married people. These people wake up every day, just like I do, amazed that they have been so blessed. That really is how I feel about Michael. It has been like winning the love lottery. I realize that the person I have become and am continuing to become would never exist without my beloved. He is my anchor in the storms, my pillow at the end of a long day and sometimes my conscience, when I have lost my way. I had never thought being any body's wife would be that important, more important than who I was as an individual, but being Michael's wife has made me a better person across the board.

Feel free and address me as Mrs. Michael Gregg, anytime you want. It's the best title I have ever had.