Mother's Day Guilt

I think there’s a reason why I finally developed those videos sitting in a dusty box labeled “To Do” in my linen closet. I think there’s a reason Parker asked where the videos were, of him as a baby. I believe greater forces are pulling us in directions in which we are unaware. I know my mom and grandmother are directing my life from somewhere above the clouds… directing events to occur at just the right time. I clicked the envelope on the screen from the online memory company, which developed my memories. They say you can never go back, so enjoy the times while you live them. Bullshit, I pressed the cursor and immediately was sitting in a living room at 29 years old, in a home somewhere in Plano, Texas, surrounded by the theme of motherhood. They say when people die they get a birds eye view of their body from above and can watch their loved ones surrounding them in their final moments. I felt the bird’s eye view as I inspected every inch of my surroundings in the video on the screen. What was I wearing? What are the kids doing? How did I decorate? Was the house clean? Who was I? What was I thinking? Was I overwhelmed or tired? Was dinner on the stove? I spent hours watching my life. I spent hours watching what I forgot for the last 20 years. Did the girl on the screen know the adventure she was about to embark on? Was she even worried about that at all? I have read many ‘Letters To Self’ that people create in their blogs. I have read stories from older women and what they would tell their younger self if they could. I was overwhelmed with thoughts as I watched our long lost home videos. I wanted to tell the young mom in the video so many things that she had no idea were occurring or going to occur at the time of filming. Was my younger self just being a new mom and focused on the present or was she too tired to think past each day? I can only imagine how I felt when I hear myself say on the video to the kids, “Grandma left today” following her helping me with my new baby. There I was on a couch somewhere in Plano, Texas with a 4 year old, a one year old, and a three-day-old baby.  Now what? I watch with anxiety but I didn’t appear anxious at the time. I watch with worry although there was no worry in sight on the video. As I view the tape I am filled with more anxiety and worry than I had at the time. Was she going to do it the right way? Would everyone feel loved? Will she not fuck this up? “Why isn’t she worried”, I say to the screen. “Why isn’t she hugging them harder or picking up her two year old when she asks”. Goddamnit Amy! They want things from you and you didn’t hear the request…. It’s hard to watch your younger self maneuver an ordinary day. My father used to say, “If I knew then, what I know now…”. True! If she only knew what I know now! If she only knew then she would know that there would be a day some 20 years later when she is watching herself on a screen in a kitchen that she will cry. If she only knew that she would be alone with three dogs and children either at work, on vacation, or in college while she watches her younger life. If she only knew that the laundry would be done because the loads are practically nonexistent since she became an empty nester. She would know that her older self would gladly trade places with her younger self, sitting on the floor with a newborn, a one year old, and a 4 year old, while still with a hospital bracelet on her wrist. She would know that she should have listened more intently to the stories her 4 year old was telling her about the days her mother was in the hospital for the delivery, and what she missed at home. She would know that she should hold onto that 1 year old that climbed into her lap a little tighter, because those days are short lived. She would have known that she should have stopped time. I want another chance. I want another chance at it. I want it all, again. I want to say to her that ‘You got this’. I want to tell her how beautiful her babies were going to grow up to be. I want to tell her about the soccer games and the football games, and the dance lessons, and the horse back riding. I want her to know that the children loved the proms she chaperoned. I want to tell her that the girls will someday call you their best friend. I want to tell her that she got her wish for some peace and quiet, or even a ‘break’, and that she would hate it. I want to feel the feeling of being a human jungle gym again. I want to tell her to smell the babies and feel the babies and kiss their little foreheads. Again and again and again. I want her to know that she will be turning the big 50 this year and let her know not to worry about aging because it only means that she lived. I see her gently hold her babies. I see her wipe their tears and change their diapers and strategically maneuver herself through her new little world with so much grace. I want to tell her that she looked beautiful even though I know she didn’t feel it at the time. I want to tell her that she is doing a great job. I want to tell her that when the children are older they will tell their friends stories about their childhood, and that she will hear them say it and smile. I want to tell her that the next 20 some years were successful because of what was happening in that little home in Plano, Texas; the one I was watching on the videos. I want to tell her that we are all who we are today because of all those sleepless nights she had…all those days when she thought it would never end…all those days that she wished she could get a minute to herself. I want to tell her that, well, you will get a minute to yourself…actually you will have minutes that turn into hours that turn into days by yourself. I want to tell her that she will spend those hours wishing she was on a floor somewhere in Plano, Texas, with a diaper in her hand and a toddler on her waist. You see, 20 something year old Amy, all your hard work got us to where we are today as we embark on this next chapter of your life. So if I have to tell my 20-year-old self anything it would simply be, “Thank You, we got this”.

Up In Smoke

I wrote this post when visiting Paris and the beautiful cathedral known as Notre Dame...

My Last Day as a Parisian:
I debated about going to the Notre Dame cathedral because I could see it from afar the entire trip, and quite frankly, I was getting a little 'churched out'. But Ranco (my driver who became my friend and historian) picked me up and so my history lesson began. Did you know that little gypsy boys will spit on your ATM so that you get grossed out and they can steal your money... Notre Dame took 110 years to build! It started in 1293! When someone is being a 'slow poke' the French say, "what is it gonna take you 110 years to finish?" because of the church. The first thing you notice are the gargoyles perched on every corner. To the French, everything has meaning to it, even architecture. The gargoyles are perched above all the carved stone sculptures on the building to "protect" them, in more than one way. The top of the gargoyles are actually gutters that carry water away from the sculptures. There's a little coin in the front entrance from which all points in Paris are measured. The cathedral is gothic and huge and feels slightly cold inside. The church was built soooo massive so that the pope could see how good and Catholic Paris was. He agreed, so they decided to move the capital from Lyon to Paris. And it is the center of the city. Mass was going on and it said 'No Cameras Please' (see attached photos). And there was a huge smoking incense tub that filled the church with smoke. I told Ranco that the gargoyles look like crap and need to be fixed and he said that they can NEVER fix them because they are historic and someday they will just disappear. A man was playing an accordion outside. Across from the church is the island of Saint Louis (ill St. Louis). He was a King but they called him Saint because he ripped his jacket in half and gave it to a poor, cold guy. Now the island is tres tres expensive. The King of Qatar just bought a house there and it cost $20 million and he's remodeling it for $100 million. Anyways, the island used to be called Vache Island, or Cow Island cause they used to keep cows on it. Speaking of cows, when u order a steak they say "blood or no blood." Ummm ewww! I also went into the worlds oldest bar from 1526. I bet they didn't serve mojitos back then. Who knew mojitos were such a popular drink in Paris. A week in Paris goes by quickly. With every step I took in the city I thought about things my children would have loved about the trip. Hannah would have loved the desserts. Ashley would have definitely Instagrammed the Eiffel Tower. Parker would have loved the boats. Beau would have liked the skyline. They all would have tried to speak the language. And we all would have been together making memories. That's how you know you love someone, I guess, when you can't experience anything without wishing the other person were there to see it, too. I watched my last sunset from this side of the world. The most beautiful things in the world are waiting for me on a little street, in a different country, and they call me 'Mom'!

Superwoman

Sometimes you have to take the words of someone else and let them be your guide... your thought process for the day... Words hold such an important place in my life...with quotes...cards...journals...books... and yes, sometimes Youtube poetry readings...such as this....Enjoy, and Happy Sunday to you all !!!!

Chili Fritos

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One year ago today (12/27) my husband died.

For 3 minutes and 27 seconds.

Who knew that 3 minutes and 27 seconds could last so long…

In 3 minutes and 27 seconds I learned everything I needed to know about life.

In 3 minutes and 27 seconds I saw lives unravel. I saw hearts break. I saw families collapse. I saw chaos. I saw pain. I saw devastation. I felt loss. I felt loneliness. I felt tears of pain. I felt anger. I was confused. We were scared. We were devastated.

For 3 minutes and 27 seconds we were changed.

…and then he lived.

I knew something wasn’t right. When you live with someone for years upon years you just know when something feels different. So I called 911… and we took him in to the ER for some tests. My Ashley dropped everything and met me there.

Things you notice in the emergency room:

Very young doctor; nurse is a big burly guy that probably rides a motorcycle; lady next door won’t stop hacking up a lung; and a strange excitement for the lobby vending machine.

Ash and I shared chili flavored Fritos and watched a Navajo family check in their grandma. She clearly had some diabetes issue. The family was not the epitome of health. Funny how events become tattooed in your mind; otherwise worthless points of reference. Enough time had passed, and I had diagnosed the entire lobby at this point, so we returned to the ‘patient’.

You know when you are a kid and you think that there are monsters under your bed and even though you check every single night you know there aren’t any under there….. well, imagine if just one time you checked and there were googly eyes staring back at you….that feeling in your chest….the shock of it all…..ok, now imagine that feeling but walking down the hall to your husband’s bed in an emergency room.

Time stands still at this point… I remember every single second… I remember facial expressions… I remember faces… words… thoughts… papers….needles. She met me in the hall and said, “Are you Amy? Your husband went into cardiac arrest and we are trying to revive him. It’s been 3 minutes”…..

3 minutes!!!!!

Three minutes ago I was eating chili Fritos in the lobby commenting on a Navajo family and their diabetes issues. 3 minutes ago I was sitting with Ashley in a way too cold lobby in a hospital down the street. 3 minutes ago I was a wife with 4 kids barely middle aged. I was texting and looking at Instagram and checking Facebook. I was normal and normal was good.

One thing you will never be able to explain (and I hope you neverrrrrr can) is the feeling when they have you come in the room where a minimum of 9 doctors and nurses are working on a ‘coded’ patient. You may not know this but when a patient ‘codes’ it is all hands on deck…every single doctor and nurse have to present themselves… it’s utter chaos. As Jodi Picoult stated, “Did you ever walk through a room that's packed with people, and feel so lonely you can hardly take the next step?”. I remember a very young security guard was standing outside my husband’s room and I remember him saying, very nonchalantly, “I’ve never seen a patient ‘code’ ”. Well join the club, Mister…. And as I stood over the man that was my husband… the man that was about to make me a widow…and a brain rapid firing a gazillion things that need to happen…I stopped and looked at the doctor and said, “You had me come in here to say goodbye, didn’t you?”. I have never been surer of something in my entire life. I KNEW my purpose. I understood with 1000% clarity why I was called in there. I could see my daughter collapsed on the floor outside. I could see a central line in my husband’s groin. I saw his head hanging off the table. I could see his eyes wide open and, as they say, “no one was home”. I saw a heart monitor with a flat line. I saw the end. And I stood there and I folded my hands and for some reason made eye contact with that security guard and said, “Pray hard!”.

I remember repeating, “please please please please please please please” over and over and over and over. Eyes closed. Hands clasped. Complete surrender…. And then 27 seconds passed and a man said, “We have a pulse but it’s a faint one”. I grabbed my husband’s head in my hands and shut his eyes for him. The nurse told me “Ma’am we aren’t concerned with his head right now”, but I was…I was… I was concerned with his head and his heart and his body and his family that was collapsed on the floor outside room 27 in the emergency room in a hospital down the street.

Funny how life sucker punches you from time to time. Little pieces of reality pie. Death never really comes at the right time, does it? So you make yourself strong because it's expected of you. You turn into the person others need you to be. And you roll up your sleeves and say “Let’s get dirty”. And you throw yourself into the moment. I like to think that December 27, 2017 was ‘so last year’, but when death knocks at your door it doesn’t matter if you answer it or not, because hellooooo tag you’re it!

It isn’t anything I have talked about. I didn’t Facebook it. I closed my circle. I let a few in. Some came in regardless and without abandon for their dear friends. I slept on a waiting room couch in a fetal position as 2018 rang in. I learned about blood. And hearts. And visiting hours. And coffee….lots of coffee. By the way, hospital cafeteria hours suck…..

But he lived. We lived. We love… and continue to love. You never really know the strength of a family until you see it break down. It is a beautiful sight to see although that sounds like the worst kind of sight there could be. Ohhhh you want to know how you did as a parent, well, throw in the death of a loved one and the pain associated with it and BINGO you get to see the fruits of your labor. UGHHHHH why does it have to be like that? Why does pain bring out the best in people? When the world falls apart, and it will from time to time, look no farther than left and right….those are your people…your family. Your pain is their pain. Like the saying goes, “We bleed together”. We're all pieces of the same ever-changing puzzle. You see, within 3 minutes and 27 seconds my ‘circle’ dropped everything, and I mean EVERYTHING and came to a hospital down the street to Room 27 on December 27^th  to watch and pray over a heart line on a monitor that held all the answers to the past, present, and future of a family collapsed on a hospital floor.

Why do I tell my story, now that a year has passed? Because life, it turns out, goes on… And the mundane activities become your focus and bills are paid and dentist appointments are missed and kids go to collage and dishes pile in the sink and you forget. You forget what happened in Room 27 on the 27^th. Then you get a call from you husband and he says, “Honey, let’s go to the casino today to celebrate my one year death anniversary”. And you realize those are words that at one point in time, when 3 minutes and 27 seconds lasted an eternity, that you never thought you would hear again. And I clasp my hands and close my eyes and quietly say to myself, “But I already won”…..

A Griswold Moment

Looking through my window one would believe that our family tree was decorated with the help of the Griswolds. The mismatched patterns would send Martha Stewart back to a jail cell. You see, I inherited 'Fancy Tree Syndrome' from my father. My mother did not have this trait. She allowed my father to have his tree and decorate it any way that he wanted. Fancy tree syndrome carries several characteristics; usually they have ornaments (usually glass) that all have a similar color structure (usually gold or silver). These trees usually are in the 'fancy room' (living room). On a side note, I used to have a friend when we lived in New Jersey, whose parents would block off their fancy room with string so no one could ever enter the fancy room unless they were allowed (usually holidays). Anyways, these fancy trees were perfection. They would also be the place that the special gifts would be placed. I remember waking up one morning to a moped underneath the tree when I was 12 or 13 years old (insert hospital visit notes here). My mother didn't help in decorating the fancy tree. It wasn't really her thing. My dad always does everything gracefully. Fancy tree in fancy room peering through a front window and BAM Christmas has arrived. Then there was the 'kid tree'. Ya, that was the name of it. The kid tree was the ugly stepsister of the Christmas holiday. Glitter felt snowflakes made at Girl Scouts night...hang it on the kid tree. Oh, a framed picture covered in glue and beads from preschool...hang it. A souvenir from your trip to the Rockettes one winter...here's a hook. A gourd shaped like Santa...move over Rockettes. Baby's first Christmas...First Christmas together...new home ornament...new dog ornament.... you got something for me to hang then just provide the hook and it makes it to the kid tree...otherwise known as the the 'kid junk tree'. I usually do a fancy tree and a junk tree. This year I decided to do a kid junk tree. Ok ok maybe because that was the box that made it from storage...maybe because this has been a tough year and we all need to be reminded about what really matters (you decide). If you come into my home I might give you the 'tree tour'. This tour consists of a detailed description of each and every ornament on the junk tree. As I was unraveling the ornaments yesterday I was taken back in time. Each ornament has a story. As Parker was laying on the couch I would constantly bring him each discovery and tell him a quick summary of the ornaments history. He didn't care much for the details. The junk tree is much like a Dickens' novel of Christmas' past. There are ornaments for Baby's First Christmas. There are ornaments from when I would take the kids to the store and let them pick their own ornament for that year. There is a Sponge Bob dangling from a rope. There is a Minnie Mouse wearing a nurse outfit. There's a rustic star that was used as a place setting at Parker's first birthday party. There are frosted ice cream cones that remind me of what was on our tree when I was growing up. There's a fragile silk silver and gold ball that was on my tree when I was little. The tree consists of glue and beads and framed pictures of days gone by. This tree will never make it into any Chip and Joanna Gaines segments. I don't need it to. I do not care if anyone walks into my home and gasps at the sight of the tree that looks like an episode of Hoarders. What the tree means to me is that we lived. We loved. We shared a life together. We created memories. Each ornament takes me back to a place where time can stand still for a moment.... where Hannah is 7 years old and making a glass ornament with her picture inside, adorned with some gold ribbon... or Ashley writing 'Love you Mommy' in red beads on a piece of wood. And Parker's face glued (so much glue) to a piece of fabric and a tree hook from preschool. These ornaments have been lost in our storage unit for the last several years. This year, when I went to retrieve our Christmas crap, they were front and center with the decorations. How this happened is not quite sure. Maybe we can call it Christmas magic. So this year our Christmas theme is centered around our junk tree. I have filled my home with treasures that were made with tiny hands and big hearts in a time where mommy and daddy were the center of their universe. A time when Christmas was magical. A time when Santa was Superman. I know that everyone has different visions of what Christmas looks like to them. Believe me, I like your fancy trees. Perfectly spaced balls of similar color and ribbon that looks like the wind swept it haphazardly across the tree. Perhaps an occasional glass ornament. Yes! Love it. But that won't be OUR tree this year. This year we are doing the hoarder/junk/kid tree. Just to remind us all of where we have come from and who we are as a family and how much love is in our home. So if you come visit our home this Christmas, grab a cup of coffee or hot chocolate and prepare to sit for a while as I explain the story of the glitter stork at the top of my tree....