I was not writing, so I could live more so I could have something to write about, rather than just about my past. Don't get me wrong, I think my past is fascinating...but, I was feeling tied to it in the now. Sometimes I would rather live life, rather than just write about it.
I started to notice a few minor aches and pains in the last few months. Being a retired nurse and someone who was able to ignore even the most obvious symptoms, I did what I was good at and ignored all of the tiny, infinitesimal signs that I might be ill. I had a rather annoying pain in my chest. It was on the right side and I only felt it occasionally. "No big deal", I thought. It would hurt more if it were really something to worry about. I had a nagging cough, but it only happened at night and only woke me up a few times a week, so I didn't think too much about it. If it were truly important, it would wake me up all the time. I had noticed the taste of blood in my mouth. I became obsessive about my gums. I must be grinding my teeth, due to the increased stress of all that is happening in our household. I noticed I only tasted it at night, so it must be me grinding my teeth into dust.
I personally hate the sight of blood, especially my own. If I saw your blood, I would not get so nearly worked up over it, because I would look at you like a science experiment I needed to figure out. What color is the blood, what is the consistency, what are the predisposing conditions, are you on aspirin or blood thinner therapy. I would start doing the calculations of what the blood meant and where it was coming from. I tend to ignore me, my bleeding, little pains that seem temporary, so if I were to say bleed copious amounts, I would be more than a little concerned.
You see, I am an asshole about my health. I had major surgery where they ripped out my ovaries and a large tumor and I went back to work in 2 weeks. I don't get sick. If I do get sick, I don't stay sick. If I stay sick I sure as hell don't acknowledge it. I am an arrogant ass, when it comes to my body. I have no respect for the near death experiences I have had, when it comes to what it should mean to me. I am grateful for still being here, but I am human so I am by sheer nature arrogant, and I am forgetful. So here I was ignoring signs that something was wrong...until my body got sick and tired of waiting for me to take care of it and did something drastic.
My first blog back into my world of writing was going to be all about how I got a new job, got cast in a play and all the hearts flowers, rainbows and kittens I was feeling while continuing to prepare for my beloved's departure to the other side of the country. I was going to take this weekend and talk about being an American, 9/11 and the fact it has been 29 years since I met my beloved. 29 years this very day. I was going to write about what I did on my summer vacation so to speak. But then something terrible happened that freaked my sorry ass so bad, I lost all of my words.
Last Wednesday night, my nagging cough came back and decided to become stronger, show me who was boss so I might pay attention. I ignored it until I saw the spray of blood in my hands. I coughed again and this time blood gushed out of my throat and mouth. I ran to the kitchen sink and started spitting as fast as I could to rid my mouth of the vile tasting thick bright red liquid. I got water and rinsed my mouth out. The cough and the bleeding stopped. Being an asshole and a retired nurse, I didn't panic, I assumed I had broken a blood vessel from coughing so hard. I told Mike I was going into work in the morning and if it happened again I would seek medical attention. I coughed with white paper towels up to my mouth so I could see if any more blood was there. It was not, so I went back to work and tried to forget about how gross it was and how very much it reminded me of Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge.
Thursday came and went and I was sitting on the couch when I began to cough, this time I could not catch my breath, this time the blood just kept coming, I could not contain it in a towel or my hands and I bolted for the sink. I kept trying to clear my own airway as the blood just kept coming. I thought about how Mike would find me dead on the floor from aspirating my own blood if I didn't do something. I rinsed and gagged and spit. More blood gushed up after cough. I heard a hoarse wheeze escape from own mouth. I just kept thinking I would be so pissed if I died before I got to do some things I had waited for my kids to be grown to do. The coughing slowed and bleeding slowed as well. I told Mike I needed to go the hospital, and off we went to find out if I was dying or if I just had the most dramatic common cold ever seen by humans.
The hospital was full at 11:30 PM with the usual suspects, elderly people who fell, a few drug addicts, small children, coughing and whining and me, Shecky, the joking blood bath. I will cut to the chase since I found the hospital part boring I can assure you, you would too. The bottom line was a chest x-ray and some blood work. The doc told me if they saw anything I would have to do a contrast CAT scan. In walked the CAT scan guy so I assumed they saw something. I was less than thrilled and decided to ask the Big Guy one more time if He could see clear to giving me another shot. The diagnosis was bacterial pneumonia. I am on meds and bed rest sitting up, which is the most uncomfortable short of standing to sleep.
I have tried desperately not to cough. I don't want to see what I saw Thursday. It was like a bad "B" horror movie and I felt completely freaked out about it. I have coughed some, and yes the bad blood remains between me and my lungs, though it is considerably less and waning.
Here's the lesson, the symptoms prior to my hemorrhage were nothing to speak of. While I freely admit to being an asshole about most of my health, I take my lungs pretty seriously. Should I have gone to the doc the first time I coughed? Maybe, but I am sure I would have been encouraged to take over the counter meds first, which I had done anyway. I probably should have gone to see someone the first time I saw blood. That was not my best move, however, I did go the second time without hesitation just like I said I would, so I see that as real improvement.
I am not currently out of the woods, just yet. I still have to monitor what my body is doing and if it remotely looks like I am getting worse I have to go back in immediately. So far I am no worse. The weird thing was other than being tired, a little pale and irritable, I had remarkably few symptoms, so I didn't really feel sick to begin with. That is how pneumonia rolls, more often than not you have no idea you are sick.
I am exhausted and I promised my family and myself I would do better at resting and being more careful with me, so this is it for now. I will write about what I did on my summer vacation, that was actually a new job, and how I met some Steep Canyon Rangers, and a guy who went to jail for capital murder on the same night. I will tell you about the single mom who is bravely going back to college on a wing and prayer. I will write about getting cast in a play in an incredible fluke after having not auditioned for anything in 30 years. There has been a lot that has happened. I will tell you about how stunned I was that my body keeps me alive even when I may not deserve it, and even though I talk smack about it all the time, my body does amazing, scary shit to keep me going. For now I will rest...so I can have the strength to tell all the new stories I have gained since I have been gone.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Sunday, July 31, 2011
What If?
I was thinking, well, about a lot of things lately. The economy, the bone headed leaders in our nation’s capital, Mike’s job moving to Chicago, me starting over in a new job that is completely out of my comfort zone, you know all the scary stuff that stops one in their tracks and makes them think the world is coming to an end as they know it. I was sitting having long talks with Michael, going to Farewell parties for our friends who are moving into different jobs in different places, watching our own children face a very daunting future, when it occurred it to me, what if all this worrying, all this hand wringing is wrong?
Here in Texas we are very tied to our Latin history, those who came up from their original Mexican heritage, one of the six flags we flew under so long ago. There are many here who are terrified of 2012, due to the Mayan prediction that this, what we think we know to be true will end. I have heard many variations of the theory of what will transpire on that fated day when things cease to be as they are now. Many describe December 21, 2012 as a dooms day that will end the lives and loves of their heart.
"Both the Hopis and Mayans recognize that we are approaching the end of a World Age... In both cases, however, the Hopi and Mayan elders do not prophesy that everything will come to an end. Rather, this is a time of transition from one World Age into another. The message they give concerns our making a choice of how we enter the future ahead. Our moving through with either resistance or acceptance will determine whether the transition will happen with cataclysmic changes or gradual peace and tranquility. The same theme can be found reflected in the prophecies of many other Native American visionaries from Black Elk to Sun Bear." — Joseph Robert Jochmans
What if the future, the complete unknown is better than today? What if all the panic about change is wrong? What if John Lennon really was a prophet and got it right when he wrote “Imagine”? What if, and bare with me for a minute, all the current regimes that are toppling over, all the people of the world who are now more connected than ever start really seeing each other as humans rather than races, or religions, or adjectives, but rather with real faces, and beating hearts and souls with the capacity for love? What if just for a moment, the smallest increment of time we could consider the possibility that this scenario is our new world order?
I was pondering the incredible freedom I have acquired at times in my life when it seemed all hope was lost. But because I was no longer tethered to what I considered then to be right, I was actually allowed to be more, bigger in ways I never thought possible. Had my own heart not been shattered, I fear I would not recognize it, and empathize with it like I do in others. Had my life been easier, more affluent, I would not appreciate what I have, and I would not be able to let others know of my certainty that change is not only good, but sometimes it saves your life.
I’m human, so changes, big scary changes reduce me to a puddle sometimes, too. The very notion of living day to day without my beloved Michael makes me physically sick. My initial response to having my family ripped apart was that of anger, bordering on hatred. My gut wrenching anguish is what I began to fear more than the change. Here is what I know for sure: I know we don’t always get what we want when we want it, but that doesn’t mean we will never get it. Dreams don’t always come true in the form we think they should, but if we let the dust settle sometimes different dreams, bigger dreams show themselves when we stop trying to control everything about the future. Sometimes, letting go of all of our ties to the past can release us, so that we can do and be so much more than the piece of meat encased in our skull will allow for.
What if all the negative energy that seems so vast in the now, gets sucked into a vacuum that self destructs on 12/21/2012 and what we have left is compassion, decency, kindness, acceptance and love? Tomorrow, before you truly start your day, ask yourself, “What if?” Try, just try and think of what your world would be like if the world turned out to be so much more than we could have ever dreamed? It’s what I will be thinking as I drift off to sleep tonight. Those beautiful thoughts, prayers for my family and the love of my life sleeping next to me will ensure a peaceful sleep, and a full heart.
Here in Texas we are very tied to our Latin history, those who came up from their original Mexican heritage, one of the six flags we flew under so long ago. There are many here who are terrified of 2012, due to the Mayan prediction that this, what we think we know to be true will end. I have heard many variations of the theory of what will transpire on that fated day when things cease to be as they are now. Many describe December 21, 2012 as a dooms day that will end the lives and loves of their heart.
"Both the Hopis and Mayans recognize that we are approaching the end of a World Age... In both cases, however, the Hopi and Mayan elders do not prophesy that everything will come to an end. Rather, this is a time of transition from one World Age into another. The message they give concerns our making a choice of how we enter the future ahead. Our moving through with either resistance or acceptance will determine whether the transition will happen with cataclysmic changes or gradual peace and tranquility. The same theme can be found reflected in the prophecies of many other Native American visionaries from Black Elk to Sun Bear." — Joseph Robert Jochmans
What if the future, the complete unknown is better than today? What if all the panic about change is wrong? What if John Lennon really was a prophet and got it right when he wrote “Imagine”? What if, and bare with me for a minute, all the current regimes that are toppling over, all the people of the world who are now more connected than ever start really seeing each other as humans rather than races, or religions, or adjectives, but rather with real faces, and beating hearts and souls with the capacity for love? What if just for a moment, the smallest increment of time we could consider the possibility that this scenario is our new world order?
I was pondering the incredible freedom I have acquired at times in my life when it seemed all hope was lost. But because I was no longer tethered to what I considered then to be right, I was actually allowed to be more, bigger in ways I never thought possible. Had my own heart not been shattered, I fear I would not recognize it, and empathize with it like I do in others. Had my life been easier, more affluent, I would not appreciate what I have, and I would not be able to let others know of my certainty that change is not only good, but sometimes it saves your life.
I’m human, so changes, big scary changes reduce me to a puddle sometimes, too. The very notion of living day to day without my beloved Michael makes me physically sick. My initial response to having my family ripped apart was that of anger, bordering on hatred. My gut wrenching anguish is what I began to fear more than the change. Here is what I know for sure: I know we don’t always get what we want when we want it, but that doesn’t mean we will never get it. Dreams don’t always come true in the form we think they should, but if we let the dust settle sometimes different dreams, bigger dreams show themselves when we stop trying to control everything about the future. Sometimes, letting go of all of our ties to the past can release us, so that we can do and be so much more than the piece of meat encased in our skull will allow for.
What if all the negative energy that seems so vast in the now, gets sucked into a vacuum that self destructs on 12/21/2012 and what we have left is compassion, decency, kindness, acceptance and love? Tomorrow, before you truly start your day, ask yourself, “What if?” Try, just try and think of what your world would be like if the world turned out to be so much more than we could have ever dreamed? It’s what I will be thinking as I drift off to sleep tonight. Those beautiful thoughts, prayers for my family and the love of my life sleeping next to me will ensure a peaceful sleep, and a full heart.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Looking For a Gut Instinct
I was thinking of how intuition comes into play when life happens. There are small every day events that don’t require my full attention, but then there are others, that make my internal organs seize until I can see clear answers, to my usually ever mounting questions. I used to ignore the small sensations when the hairs on my neck would stand on end. I have been guilty of turning my back on my own mind when I felt something was amiss. I found myself listening and trusting people, who said things which if had been played out in any other course, would make me confront their untruth. I used to do that. But somewhere between gullible and paranoia lies the truth. Age has afforded me the gift of knowing where to start looking first.
Our lives, all six of us, in tandem, are going through difficult times, though each is separate and unique. It seems as though it were easier when we all worked toward a common goal, but realistically, I am not one hundred percent sure when that ever happened. I think looking back now, the biggest difference was the younger generation were minor children and had to do as I asked. They had no choice, no opinion to be respected; they were at the whim of what I determined as necessary.
My gut reaction to my new job was one of happiness. My gut reaction to our current situation with Michael’s job moving is, well, the opposite of that. I can’t help but feel as if a terrible mistake were happening. I have tried to ignore these feelings of mistrust, but to no avail. I find myself being very cynical towards those who follow blindly into what my gut tells me is a quagmire. Even so, I know I have to take care of us the only way I know how. My gut can talk all it wants, but it is my heart that has to remain open to my family. It’s a bizarre notion when my gut instincts and my heart are at odds, and an unusual happening, also. Very rarely do I feel myself being torn internally in two different directions, but I feel it now, and have absolutely no idea what to do about it, except get up, go to work and deal with whatever shows up.
As a nurse I had to triage events of the day, all day long. It was my job to prioritize the importance of what happened in what sequence, so it isn’t like this is unfamiliar territory. I will say, however, that at least in nursing there was some rationale to my actions and protocol was used in nearly every instance. This being more of an emotional thing, I find myself having difficulty determining what the protocol should be, or which path to follow. It’s easy to get caught up in the shear emotion of everything and be swept away into uncertainty than make an active decision and find out later that I was dead wrong. Being wrong isn’t unfamiliar either, but it is extremely uncomfortable and I don’t like it one bit.
My house was buzzing this morning, vibrating if you will, with what I can only describe as a negative vibration, like the one I get from hanging onto the lawn mower too long. Michael felt it too, giving me a look quizzical look, as if asking me if I knew why it felt like the sky were falling. I looked back at him, a question mark in my own right, answering him with my famous “I don’t know” face. I had no idea why the entire house felt like it had been infested with negative emotional stinging bees, but it did, as if all the current turmoil had frenzied itself into a swarming cloud heading right for us .
Sure enough, things began to unravel from within. Kids were fighting each other; hostility was heard and felt by anyone who dared peek their head out of their room, while verbal assaults plagued our usually quiet living areas. It was an onslaught of bad from every corner. Having been recovering from a nasty cold and a wicked cough, I felt vulnerable to all the hateful emotion flying around from room to room like a wicked witch. At one point I headed for our bathroom and holed up for a moment to catch my breath. Michael went outside to do yard work in order to find a patch of peace. I found myself trying to calm my aching head and wishing everyone recognize that we are I this together even though “this” is all encompassing. “This” is not the worst thing to happen to us. We are in transition with a very uncertain future, no real plan of attack, trying to ready ourselves for change at a moment’s notice. Our transition has been moving, new position in old company with a new name, change of status from relationship to single, employed to unemployed, in school to graduate, unemployed to new job out of comfort zone, more responsibilities for everybody. “This” is a lot for anyone to take, but it is contained in our small house, so “this” has built up to a fevered frenzy. The good news is we will live. The bad news, as far as some are concerned, is we will live together in this small house going through it. Michael and I at one point sighed in unison. Our shoulders hunched, looked at each other and smiled. I realize the time is coming when my best friend will be splitting his time between me and work, 1200 long miles away. But for now, we have each other. As if choreographed we shrugged and said, “This too shall pass.”
Everyone has since scattered, going to their preferred place of refuge or work. I was thinking how there were days when work was a reprieve for me, when the kids were still young enough to be in the house, but old enough to verbalize their unhappiness. Maybe today they will catch a glimpse of understanding, seeing that maybe all they needed was a moment to catch their own breath and wait for the smoke to clear, though my gut tells me it may take a few years for that to completely sink in.
Our lives, all six of us, in tandem, are going through difficult times, though each is separate and unique. It seems as though it were easier when we all worked toward a common goal, but realistically, I am not one hundred percent sure when that ever happened. I think looking back now, the biggest difference was the younger generation were minor children and had to do as I asked. They had no choice, no opinion to be respected; they were at the whim of what I determined as necessary.
My gut reaction to my new job was one of happiness. My gut reaction to our current situation with Michael’s job moving is, well, the opposite of that. I can’t help but feel as if a terrible mistake were happening. I have tried to ignore these feelings of mistrust, but to no avail. I find myself being very cynical towards those who follow blindly into what my gut tells me is a quagmire. Even so, I know I have to take care of us the only way I know how. My gut can talk all it wants, but it is my heart that has to remain open to my family. It’s a bizarre notion when my gut instincts and my heart are at odds, and an unusual happening, also. Very rarely do I feel myself being torn internally in two different directions, but I feel it now, and have absolutely no idea what to do about it, except get up, go to work and deal with whatever shows up.
As a nurse I had to triage events of the day, all day long. It was my job to prioritize the importance of what happened in what sequence, so it isn’t like this is unfamiliar territory. I will say, however, that at least in nursing there was some rationale to my actions and protocol was used in nearly every instance. This being more of an emotional thing, I find myself having difficulty determining what the protocol should be, or which path to follow. It’s easy to get caught up in the shear emotion of everything and be swept away into uncertainty than make an active decision and find out later that I was dead wrong. Being wrong isn’t unfamiliar either, but it is extremely uncomfortable and I don’t like it one bit.
My house was buzzing this morning, vibrating if you will, with what I can only describe as a negative vibration, like the one I get from hanging onto the lawn mower too long. Michael felt it too, giving me a look quizzical look, as if asking me if I knew why it felt like the sky were falling. I looked back at him, a question mark in my own right, answering him with my famous “I don’t know” face. I had no idea why the entire house felt like it had been infested with negative emotional stinging bees, but it did, as if all the current turmoil had frenzied itself into a swarming cloud heading right for us .
Sure enough, things began to unravel from within. Kids were fighting each other; hostility was heard and felt by anyone who dared peek their head out of their room, while verbal assaults plagued our usually quiet living areas. It was an onslaught of bad from every corner. Having been recovering from a nasty cold and a wicked cough, I felt vulnerable to all the hateful emotion flying around from room to room like a wicked witch. At one point I headed for our bathroom and holed up for a moment to catch my breath. Michael went outside to do yard work in order to find a patch of peace. I found myself trying to calm my aching head and wishing everyone recognize that we are I this together even though “this” is all encompassing. “This” is not the worst thing to happen to us. We are in transition with a very uncertain future, no real plan of attack, trying to ready ourselves for change at a moment’s notice. Our transition has been moving, new position in old company with a new name, change of status from relationship to single, employed to unemployed, in school to graduate, unemployed to new job out of comfort zone, more responsibilities for everybody. “This” is a lot for anyone to take, but it is contained in our small house, so “this” has built up to a fevered frenzy. The good news is we will live. The bad news, as far as some are concerned, is we will live together in this small house going through it. Michael and I at one point sighed in unison. Our shoulders hunched, looked at each other and smiled. I realize the time is coming when my best friend will be splitting his time between me and work, 1200 long miles away. But for now, we have each other. As if choreographed we shrugged and said, “This too shall pass.”
Everyone has since scattered, going to their preferred place of refuge or work. I was thinking how there were days when work was a reprieve for me, when the kids were still young enough to be in the house, but old enough to verbalize their unhappiness. Maybe today they will catch a glimpse of understanding, seeing that maybe all they needed was a moment to catch their own breath and wait for the smoke to clear, though my gut tells me it may take a few years for that to completely sink in.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
All Kinds of People
Yesterday, I had lunch at the U.N. Well, not really, but it kind of felt that way. I was sitting outside when I introduced myself to some students, who were hanging out between classes. One boy had moved here from Brazil on a student visa just for the opportunity to study in the U.S. He smiled broadly as he told me he wanted to teach and coach soccer. English being his second language, he was taking classes in that before he started his core classes. I told him how brave I thought he was. Humble, he bowed his head as he said, "All the other countries know that the United States has the most opportunities." I nodded, silenced by how passionate he was about my country, which I fear I too often take for granted. Another boy, born in the Midwest and having moved to Texas when he still very young was a ninth generation from India. He had an American accent and attitude, as smiled easily, with his laid back attitude. He had researched his own lineage to see just how far back his Indian roots were, to discover he is a pure bred. Again, I nodded, watching all of us sitting in a circle, lucky to have a peaceful, safe place to live. The third boy had a thick Texas draw and declared he liked to shoot stuff. I laughed at his enthusiasm for hunting, admiring his sharp shooting abilities and love of the rough and rugged Texas culture. He was studying to be a veterinarian, but loved jazz and was hoping to be a full time musician. I told them I was from Ohio, that I had lived most of my adult years in Cleveland. The one boy said, "Now that is a rough place." Smiling I agreed that it sometimes was indeed a rough place to be, but that I missed home often.
There they were the future of this country, the amalgamation of every skin color, language, race, and religion. The school I work at is the perfect example of how diverse this country is and why I am so glad to live here. I see faces of every possible generation, race and creed walk up to our counter looking for answers. I see nervous Freshman, savvied upperclassman to the fearful fifty year old who recently got downsized. Even in my own department, there is every type of female, although I will tell you quite honestly, I am without a doubt the oldest. The young girls insist that I am not old, laughing with me at my dorky view point on life, but I tell them quite sincerely, I am very happy to be forty-eight and feel I have earned my place in the world. Most of my co-workers, in their twenties, are in school, studying to be something other than what they are doing now. Most are doing Work-study balancing their lives with school, trying to insure their future with education. I sit watching how smart, how funny these young women are and how they show grace under fire. I aspire to be as good at my job one day as they are.
I came home from work yesterday, feeling very happy, but tired. Since coming down with a cold, I have been slow to learn much of anything, my brain foggy, my head congested with my ears blocked. I am excited about the coming year as I grow into my position of attempting to be of some help to those students who need it. It is what I feel most grateful for lately, is that I have advocated higher learning all my life and now I am walking the walk in my professional life, too.
I can't help but feel that is this has been a divine intervention, of sorts, giving me a chance to work with the younger generation, seeing how they think, hearing their opinions, feeling very much like we as a nation will be in good hands when it is their turn to take over the world and set it on fire. The days of training are difficult, but fascinating as I get to continue learning new things in my own right. My only real hope is I have enough energy and brain cells to try and keep up.
There they were the future of this country, the amalgamation of every skin color, language, race, and religion. The school I work at is the perfect example of how diverse this country is and why I am so glad to live here. I see faces of every possible generation, race and creed walk up to our counter looking for answers. I see nervous Freshman, savvied upperclassman to the fearful fifty year old who recently got downsized. Even in my own department, there is every type of female, although I will tell you quite honestly, I am without a doubt the oldest. The young girls insist that I am not old, laughing with me at my dorky view point on life, but I tell them quite sincerely, I am very happy to be forty-eight and feel I have earned my place in the world. Most of my co-workers, in their twenties, are in school, studying to be something other than what they are doing now. Most are doing Work-study balancing their lives with school, trying to insure their future with education. I sit watching how smart, how funny these young women are and how they show grace under fire. I aspire to be as good at my job one day as they are.
I came home from work yesterday, feeling very happy, but tired. Since coming down with a cold, I have been slow to learn much of anything, my brain foggy, my head congested with my ears blocked. I am excited about the coming year as I grow into my position of attempting to be of some help to those students who need it. It is what I feel most grateful for lately, is that I have advocated higher learning all my life and now I am walking the walk in my professional life, too.
I can't help but feel that is this has been a divine intervention, of sorts, giving me a chance to work with the younger generation, seeing how they think, hearing their opinions, feeling very much like we as a nation will be in good hands when it is their turn to take over the world and set it on fire. The days of training are difficult, but fascinating as I get to continue learning new things in my own right. My only real hope is I have enough energy and brain cells to try and keep up.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Those He Left Behind
It's July 16, a prominent day for my family, Danny's birthday. He would have been 52 years old had he lived. It's been almost fourteen years since he died. That anniversary will come up on September 27. I can't help but feel like he has missed a lifetime of events, accomplishments and failures. I have no idea what the impact of him would have continued to be on our lives. I know that had he still been around, my life would have turned out very different, not necessarily better, but absolutely different. I am not sure if I would have remarried or to whom, I know we would not have moved to Texas, maybe I would still live in the Cleveland area, right where I was when he died. It is the butterfly effect on steroids. The kids lives would have been so different, too. One hand they would never known the pain of losing their father so young, but they would not have the same empathy for others, either. They would have felt more secure about their lives, but maybe they would have missed out knowing the strength of their resolve. The best quote I have ever heard was told to Larry King by Anderson Cooper, both of whom had lost their fathers at a young age. Anderson admitted to not knowing the source, but the quote is, "Fatherless children think all things are possible and nothing is safe."
I have never heard of a better quote to describe the inner feelings of my children. Today marks one of the two anniversaries of the time they discovered that feeling and how much they were changed by it.
Once only a few years after their father died, a person considerably older, who should have known better said in front them, "Why can't they just get over it already?" That person had lost their father as an adult and didn't even realize how much they talked about their own father, showing their own continuing grief. All I could say then and all I can say now is, "Because you never get over the death of one of the only two parents you will ever have."
It's true that they will never "get over it", but it will be what they choose to do with their lives in honor of his memory that will determine if they survived it or not.
Michael is a great step-dad, there is no debate in my house about that. Them missing their father, with all of his unconditional love and living DNA, proof of their existence, will not diminish the effect Michael has had on their lives. But even Michael knows that a blended family can never replace the original one. It's why I love Michael so much, he never tries to diminish anyone's role in our family. Where some might try and control or claim ownership of their family, he allows room enough for everyone. He is extraordinary that way, the way he opens his heart, the way he includes Danny without insecurity or competition. Everyone in our family has a role to play.
I never know from year to year how this day will go. The kids, gown and scattered, will decide for themselves or maybe just get hit with whatever emotion bubbles up. They will see the date, bow their head for a moment and keep walking forward regardless of how they feel, just like they have done all of their lives. Some years the tears sit just inside the brims of their lower lids, quivering, readying to fall, and some years they do not mention it once, wanting the pain to subside on it's own. Some years we sit ad talk about their father, his wicked smart wit, his ability to build everything, his strong back and legs able to carry the heaviest load and the smallest child, and his endless love for them. The latter is what gets me through, his never ending love for his children, the way he looked at and after them.
Today, it is what it is. Whatever comes up today, I will think back on the love that he had for our children, the way he smiled at them, the way he carried them to bed at night, the way he laughed loud and hard when they were silly, the way he cried when they were born because he could not believe his own eyes. I believe he sees them still, that his love so deep, so profound cannot be changed by death or distance. I believe he smiles knowing they are growing, changing, becoming incredible people in part because they are his children.
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