This is a "relationship blog", a "parenting blog"... A "2 mommy family" blog. These are some of our stories. We invite you to come laugh, smile, and enjoy the insanity!
Six days until Christmas... I am gifting
you with this "anti-gun" rant (though no where in here does it say we
should ban all guns) that I crafted to post on someone else's FB page. I am heartbroken and I am mad as hell.
I will concede that "people kill people" if the other side concedes that the singular purpose of guns is to extinguish life or
create a credible threat that you are willing to extinguish life (Not
true about cars, or alcohol, or knives or rocks or fists or even
explosives). I will NOT apologize for wanting to lock up guns before
wanting to lock up every person that is or could become mentally
unstable. The youngest and most vulnerable members of our society
are unable to protect themselves and/or resist the allure of the gun
culture that has been allowed to flourish.
People are addicted to guns.
People have fallen in love with guns. People think
guns, even MORE guns can fix everything. We are not learning our
lesson, and we are living through the history that we will repeat
until we learn that lesson: An unchecked gun-culture results in the
unacceptable slaughter of innocents - sometimes en mass, sometimes one
or two at a time.
I disagree that this is impossible... "Stopping gun violence is impossible". I completely disagree.
Nothing is impossible...
Seriously. "Impossible" is just what people say
when they don't want to do the work to figure out a tough problem... "Impossible" is the message that gun manufacturers have spent untold dollars to imprint on our collective psyche. Whispering into the wind, while shouting from the mountain until a made-up deterrent becomes fact. Just sit there, No need to stir... This is impossible.
This country undid slavery. This country reversed the prohibition of a
women's right to vote. This country invented child labor laws, and airplanes, and landed a man on the moon.
Do you think those things seemed possible or
even plausible before they happened? Do you think that was easy? No,
but there was a moral imperative, a call to action, people brave enough
to look like fools for a cause they believed in.
In our
lifetimes, drunk driving and smoking in public has become both legally
and socially unacceptable. Ask someone in the 50s or 60s or 70s if they
thought there would be a socially supported, legal mandate to forbid
smoking in bars?!? [And imagine... Second hand smoke only kills people gradually
over a long period of time.]
There is no rational reason for
military style semi-automatic weapons to be circulating among the
general population. A woman on FB yesterday was writing about how every
citizen has the constitutionally protected right to possess enough
firepower to overthrow the government. (Ignoring for a moment the
counter-argument that starts by pointing out that every white landowner
also had the constitutionally protected right to own people of a
different race as pets) That is an insane postulation based on the
outdated ideology of a group of rebels (our forefathers) that unyoked
themselves from the largest EMPIRE of the time.
Currently, WE
OVERTHROW THE GOVERNMENT EVERY FEW YEARS by VOTING and the fact that not
a shot gets fired and no one gets murdered is one of the true reasons
to get choked up with pride about being an American.
Police
officers and soldiers are professionals and they get to keep and use any
guns they are provided with to do their jobs. But the argument that the
average citizen is safer and can protect his/her family with a gun does
not hold true. People who live in homes with guns are more than 4 times
more likely to be injured or killed by a gun. And it's not usually the
"gun-owner" that gets hurt. But there are countless accidents.
And then
there are the incidents of domestic violence that would have been bad
but because there was a gun available, turned tragic. People DO die in
knife fights and are killed by fists and boots and plates being thrown
across the room but it is easier to limp away and survive when guns are
not involved.
Also, 30 bullets in a clip??? Nope. I don't care
who is holding a gun with 30 bullets. Even a "good guy" is dangerous
with that kind of fire power. 30 bullets in clip that can be fired at a
rate of 6 shots per second, why should any private citizen have access
to that? Why do we think that is a right?!?
I have loaded and fired a single
shot musket, it's like 3 shots a minute at most. And the entire time you
are reloading that fast, you have to focus a bit and are vulnerable to
counter attack. I think it was Thomas Jefferson who said about the
Bushmaster AR-15, "Are you people fucking crazy?!?"
We are a
nation of 310,000,000 guns. But this is not irreversible or impossible
to fix. I am shocked to see people say, "it can't be fixed"... It CAN be
fixed. Australia was an island of convicted criminals; a nation
overwrought with guns. The govt changed laws, instituted a buy-back and
the results included a 40% decline in the murder rate.
We need
to decide to do something and we need to FIX this. We can either make
our babies bulletproof, or we can fix this.
We can either lock up anyone that is mentally ill or
has the potential to crack up (And by the way... You know who I'm most
worried about losing their minds right now??? Those surviving teachers,
and kids and parents, and first responders from Newtown, CT... please
someone make sure they don't have access to guns on some of the cold,
lonely nights coming up ahead for them)
or we can FIX this...
Let hunters have their rifles for hunting. And most Americans support
handgun ownership with guns that hold 6-10 bullets, but if gun advocates
continue to defend ownership of indefensible amounts of firepower: assault riffles endless ammo one person owning dozens of guns that can be bought through the internet with no regulation gun shows that do not follow the regulatory rules- I think there will really be a public outcry and backlash... I hope there will be.
People do not have a right to have whatever they want at the expense of
the safety of the general public. At the expense of the health and
safety of children. You can't smoke in a TIGFridays, but you can pack
heat and carry enough bullets to instantly erase 2 or 3 tables of
families if you feel physically threatened?!?
We can fix this. We need to fix this... We should have fixed this already.
My dad's Uncle George died the day before Thanksgiving (last week). As I prepared to go to the wake on Sunday, Jake asked where I was going.
Me: Papa's uncle died and TT and I are going with Gram'ma Bella to the wake. Jake: What's a wake? Me: Well, when someone dies, there is usually a wake and a funeral... Or some kind of ceremony where you can go say goodbye, and go hug the family and tell them that you are sorry about losing the person they loved. Jake: Who did they lose? Me: Well, Papa's uncle George died. So Papa's cousins lost their dad, and Papa's aunt lost her husband. When someone dies, we say we "lost" them. Jake: Oh.
I absentmindedly asked Jake if he wanted to go. It wasn't an accident exactly. He seemed interested and there is something I want to try to teach these boys early on about life being special and about death being a part of life. And about what it means to belong to a clan of people- that you have respect and are generous with your time, and sometimes you stop what you are doing to show up and bare witness at these events.
Jake: Maybe... I have to think about it. Me: okay (In my head: "ut oh")
(I never thought he'd agree...
After a few minutes, I thought of a way to deter my 'soft pants' loving boy...)
Me: You know, if you go, you have to put some dress clothes on. Jake: What do you mean? Me: I mean, I am going to put work clothes on and you will have to dress up. J: Like, in what? Me: Like a sweater, or a shirt and tie, and church pants and shoes. J: What sweater? Me: I don't know... like the new one that TT bought you...
(After a few more minutes...)
Jake: I'll wear a tie.
Me: Oh... Okay. (pause) So, we should talk about what it will be like... At a wake, there is usually a box called a coffin that the person who has died will be laying in. And there will be flowers and pictures and his family will be there and we will go through and hug all of his family- Papa's aunts and uncles and cousins. Jake: Okay. Me: And at some wakes the coffin is closed and you can't see the person inside but sometimes the coffin is open and you will see the person. Jake: LIKE A SKELETON?!? Me: Oh, no... He will look like he's sleeping. He will have his clothes on and of course all his hair and his skin... Maybe his eyeglasses... Jake: (interrupting) HE HAS EYEGLASSES?!? (The idea that he might see eye glasses seemed as shocking to him as the idea that me might see a skeleton.) Me: (giggling) I don't know... maybe he does or maybe he doesn't... The coffin might be closed, but it might be open. And he will look like he is sleeping, but he won't be sleeping because he isn't alive anymore; remember how we talked about what happens when a person dies? Jake: Yes. Me: Their heart doesn't beat anymore, and they don't breathe, and their body is still there, but their spirit isn't inside their body... ? Jake: Yes. Me: Do you still want to go?
Jake: Yeah, but I want to wear the red tie...
Katy likes to tell people that before she met me, she had never been to a wake or funeral. And now she never stops going to them. She is gracious about this and says that if it weren't for me, she would have had no idea how to conduct herself at her grandmother's funeral. I almost skipped Uncle George's wake, but it was at her "it's the right thing to do" urging that I was getting dressed to go. As a former ICU nurse, I'm more confortable than the average bear with corpses. I sometimes have to stop and remind myself that these things can upset "lay people". There are some funerals that children should NOT attend. Very tragic, unexpected deaths... funerals where the adults are generally falling apart and so grief stricken that they are not able to look out for the emotional well being of kids in the room...
When our friend Liz's husband died leaving her widowed with 4 children (3 of the 4 were grade school age and younger), of all of the things she did that impressed me, none impressed me more than her plan for the kids. After a brief appearance at the wake, she had them brought back to the house where Katy and I played with them and fed them dinner and got them to bed. Of course they had to go to their dad's wake, but the emotions were too intense and the line at the funeral home too long to subject them to the entire event.
When my friend John died, I have this stark memory of his nieces a few feet from the coffin only 6 or 7 or 8 years old and my brain was forming the judgemental thought, "What are these parents doing letting their kids just hang around here near the casket all night?!?" when their kiddie conversation came into auditory focus:
Munchkin 1: Do you know why he doesn't look like himself?
Munchkin 2: No? Do you?
Munchkin 1: I think it's because his soul has left his body
Munchkin 2: Yeah, so it isn't really him anymore... just his body.
I had the urge to stoop down to eye level and grip their shoulders gently and tell them that he didn't look like himself because the mortician in this joint isn't worth shit and has clearly never heard of blush or hair gel... but as I exhaled, the psycho urge passed and I realized that (of course) these children were wiser and more balanced than I. Truthfully, kids just don't have the baggage that we do. They don't usually bring their accumulated insecurities and fears into the room; or if they do, their accumulation is miniscule as not to even register.
When my mom saw Jake at the funeral home, she tried to hide from me that she was a little freaked out, asking several times, "Aren't you worried that he will have nightmares?"
And here's the thing. Jake already has nightmares. He's just like his freakin' moms. A few weeks ago he crawled into our bed and told us he dreampt that there was a fire and he was trying to save Milo. [A FIRE?!?! Seriously? Where did that fear come from, Disney?!? I promise, we've never talked about fires around the dinner table...] And last week, he was crying because he dreamed that his grandparents left without saying goodbye. Some kids have more bad dreams than others. I've got to try to find some books to see if there's a way to teach or talk your kids out of bad dreams, because I was one of those kids. At a very early age, I dreamed scary, stressful things. I still think that is part of the reason I stay up so late- Some of those dreams are sad and exhausting- maybe it's better just to stay awake.
Anyway, I've come to believe that 1) My dreams are not necessarily premonitions. 2) Bad dreams are not something that always happens because of unrest in your conscious life. It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with your perception of safety or security. I know this because I was a very safe, protected, nurtured, sheltered child. And so are our boys.
Jake is a thinker and he reasons things out. He likes to be prepared. And even though Milo is comparitively our "spontaneous frat boy"... He also is a thinker, and a dreamer.
"You are not quite right" is what I've heard in response to the explanation that this first wake was a "dry run" for Jake. He will have to see some people he loves in coffins in the coming years and decades and this was his first. I'm sure we will have follow up conversations and clarifications, but he came through the event without a flinch or twitch or question. This was just an experience to him. Not positive. Not negative. Not even that big of a deal. Just something to stash away in his mental filing cabinet.
My working theory is sometimes (maybe) the sheltering and protecting that we do for kids is unnecessary. Sometimes (maybe) that "protecting" contributes to anxiety and unsettled emotions. (Emotions like, "What if I am not good enough? What if I can't handle all that I am asked to handle?") Trying to pad the sharp corners of the world isn't what I want to accomplish as a parent. Life is full of struggle and sadness, disappointment and grief. Our job is to teach them how to deal with downsides, show them that they can handle uncomfortable situations. Create a time and space where they can safely learn to be vulnerable and successful in struggle. I kind of believe that is the only way to fully appreciate joy and love.
Uncle George's wake was the perfect opportunity for Jake to see death. To see a body that was without it's spirit. Someone that he didn't know. An event that had no personal sadness or confusion attached to it. He observed a portion of the ritual without experiencing the associated loss/discomfort.
And when a kid that cries in the morning trying to decide what pants to wear (because he sometimes has trouble making decisions). When that kid tells me he wants to put on a tie and come with me to a wake, I'll go ahead and take him at his word. I won't tell him he can't handle it. I will stand next to him and let him see one way death can look. Because I trust Jake. Even at this young age, he is so trustworthy.
And I trust myself. I know if we stumble into a room or situation that upsets him, I will be able to talk him through that discomfort. I know Katy will always help me with that. I know she and I will resist the urge to remove painful obstacles so that our boys can learn to overcome difficulties (at least a bit) on their own. It won't always be easy. Sometimes we will fail by doing too much for them and protecting them too vigilantly and either forgetting to let them struggle or losing our steel when confronted by the reality of their discomfort. But we're lucky...
These boys already have the minds and hearts of strong, wise men. I'm so proud of them.
I've been following this blog. WARNING! DO NOT CLICK LINK if you are not in the right frame of mind to read about a five year old with Cancer. Ty Louis Campbell was born 6 days after our Jake was born. He lived in another state. We've never met him, and I've only been reading his family's blog for less than 2 weeks. He's been sick with a brain tumor for 2 years. His family nicknamed him "Super Ty". And today, he died.
October 17th...
Fifteen years ago today, one of my kindred spirits died. We were 24 years old when John died. I've known and loved him since my senior year in HS; and we spent some intense "coming of age" time in those tender "late teenage/ early 20's" years together... He's been dead more than twice as long as I knew him as a living soul, but I'd be a liar if I told you I wasn't all messed up about it today. I think about John every day, but I spent a lot of today beating myself up, and just being sad. It's just fucking sad that he had to STOP while the rest of us had to keep going and fill the place in the garden where he was growing up near us.
Today, I'm 39 and 1/3 years old and the promise of FORTY looms over me like a laughing ogre. I really buy into that stuff about people are only as old as we feel or act; but truth be told-
I'm feeling old.
October 17th usually does that to me. And Stories of kids dying has a similar effect. But it's not just psychological:
My body is creaking... My gray hair is growing in, my abdomen is full and flabby. My memory is showing signs of fragility. I've spent a lot of exhausting effort- keeping survivor's guilt at bay, trying to be sure I did a little more than I might have otherwise in the name of he-who-is-no-longer-with-us. (I'm not sure I've succeeded.)
I spent the early years after John's accident working hard to be sure I did not seal off my heart. And I still do a lot of meditating on settling into and celebrating the hardships and sometimes disappointments associated with "growing up" and aging.
Feeling the weight and simultaneous levity of every birthday is intentional. I will not lie about my age. I will not regret this ticking off of the years. "I've earned these gray hairs," I like to quip. And "Not everyone gets to be this age," I repeat at least annually.
John B. Klimaszewski was about as brimming with life as a body could be. He was about as energetic and full of possibility as any of us has a chance of being. He was completely human, prone to making mistakes of all sizes. But with a smile and compassion and generous spirit that makes you want to whimper about only the good dying young. To be fair, alcohol seems to also play a role in many pre-mature deaths. But I digress... I use his full name here because he died in 1997, before Facebook, before Google, before the internet was useful or organized.
If you die when you're a child, or even a young man- how can all that potential be lost??? What happens to it? What happens to all that people wished for you?!?
If you die before Facebook or Twitter, or even Google existed, did you exist at all? Where is the public record. Newspapers and stacks of town hall documents are not being transferred to the internet, they are crumbling apart in soon to be extinct metal filing cabinets.
There is the philosophical and there is the emotional.
My heart has broken right open for Super Ty, for his parents and brother... Their story has effected me profoundly. What will they do now? How will they handle their grief? Will they be okay? My heart still aches for John. All these years later- what I wouldn't give to be retweeting his hilarious tweets and harassing him via text right now... Comparing notes and stories about our children.
I've been shy about putting posts up about John on this blog- not because there's a huge volume of things I want to write about him, necessarily, but because it somehow doesn't seem to be "MY" story to tell anymore. My story contains a different cast of characters. And I'm not sure whose permission to ask to keep telling John's story (or at least the part of his story that I am privy to).
But I guess at this late stage in the game, I'm happy to have that conversation/debate if someone comes out of the woodwork and says I can't talk about him. I am desperate for stories about him to be told. No matter what you believe related to an after life, it seems to me that you can only exist here- in the world- if there is a shared understanding of you- If you stay alive in the memories of others. If the stories about you are told.
I went into my basement... to look for pictures... of him... And found the most amazing thing- a love letter from my wife. It was written just after we had first fallen for each other. Her love: sweet and exuberant and described to me in generous, flowery, metaphorical detail; in her own lovely handwriting.
- Way before we imagined how children would enrich our life and exhaust us and deepen our love for each other.
- Way before we could comprehend the hard work required of us by marriage.
- Way before we learned to rely on each other's strengths and encouragement.
I think it's okay to spend a bit of time wallowing in grief as long as you try not to get lost in it. I think the most important thing we can do for our dead is to acknowledge them, bring them with us, (sometimes slap their pictures up on the internet and tell a few stories about them) while we carrythefuckon...
During orientation today, the principal at Jake's school encouraged us to "get to know" her and share with her our "hopes and dreams for his kindergarten year." Kate and I sat side by side in a humid basement that they call the "gym/auditorium" and even though I was closer to bursting into a puddle of sweat vs. tears, that line did make me shrug away an emotional shudder. Maybe I hadn't realized I did have hopes and dreams for him at this early stage in the game, maybe i was shocked in these first few seconds of contemplation how basic they were.
Perhaps to a fault, I don't give a shit where he is with his reading or math. The kid is smart and a "pleaser" with two academic-minded moms, he will excel in school and be reading like a champ in no time...
I hope he has fun and learns to love those put in charge of his learning. I dream that what happens this year sets him up to trust the people we call "teachers" and to feel safe in the buildings we call "schools".
I hope he makes friends and learns how to be good and generous to other kids. I dream he has the experience of acceptance and friendship without learning to crave and chase the "high" of feeling popular.
I hope he somehow learns to appreciate the special qualities of others without feeling jealous. I dream he learns to appreciate the special qualities in himself without feeling superior.
***************
In the middle of the first 1/2 hour in his class room, Jake pulled at my pocket and said, "I have to go potty." His teacher showed him the room and he was in there for several minutes before the motion sensor light went out. Over the din of the classroom, I heard quiet yelling, "Anyone... Hey, Anyone... Anyone out there..." it was soft at first and grew louder. I realized what must have happened and the lights flew on as I opened the door and rushed in.
He shrugged at me, "Hey," he said, not quite embarrassed.
"Hey, buddy!" I said laughing in a way that I'd hoped would reassure him. "If that ever happens again, you just have to wave your arms around to get the lights back on again." I offered several more sentences in the way of explanation. And then I noticed his red face and watering eyes...
He was about to cry, and I didn't want that to happen... All these emotions rushed to me: he is way more nervous than we realized... He's afraid. And he was literally left in the dark, oh no...
And then I heard the splash as he dropped (what I later realized was the third) rather large turd in the tiny "to scale" toilet. Misty eyes, cleared and the normal color replaced the red in his cheeks.
Here's my kid! First thing he does at kindergarten is take a huge dump!! When I told the story to Katy later, she mocked me with her mind-reading skills: "Oh MY GOD... it's like when you go into a book store and the info overload sends you running to the public restroom!!!"
It's funny because it's true.
I couldn't help it. I reached down and planted a kiss on the top of that kid's head. "I love you so much, Jakey."
"Yeah," he said absentmindedly contemplating the status of his bowels. The absurdity of the situation hit a peak as he obviously bared down one last time. He relaxed his abdomen, shifted on the seat, took a short breath in and out, and I easily identified the cues- he had completed his business.
Looking up at me, he shrugged: "Can you believe I'm in kindergarten?!?" He asked excitedly.
Brief, awkward silence.
"Yes, baby. I'm so proud of you," was the only thing I could think to say.
I've admitted it before, and I'll say it again, this kid is weird. His moms are fine with it. In fact his brand of quirky, honest sweetness is probably less weird than we are. I'll sometimes tell him he's weird so he recognizes that word doesn't have to hurt: everybody is weird in some way(s). I dread the day when someone makes him feel bad or insecure about the amazing things inside of him.
I hope that doesn't happen to him in Kindergarten. I dream for him that when that does happen he has a good friend near him to reassure him that he doesn't need to make apologies for who he is.
Jake has a bunch of friends that he's gone to day care with for several years. Today, KK shouted to him in the parking lot, "Thank you, Jacob!"
"You're welcome," he spouted over his shoulder as we all walked away from the bus. When I asked him what he did that she was thanking him for he looked at me as if to say, "What the fuck are you talking about?" It became crystal clear in that moment that this is just the beginning of me asking what I think is a perfectly legitimate question and him acting like I'm blind, deaf, and dumb.
Colin is Jake's BFF since he was 6 months old. It's because of Jake and Colin that we are friends with Col's parents. Now those kids are stuck with each other at least through high school, because Katy and I have really grown to love those dirtbags (Private joke). When Jake asked us what a "kindred spirit" was recently (after the term came up in Puss in Boots) hearing the definition prompted him to report to us that Colin was his kindred spirit. Sometimes the two boys greet each other with this term of endearment (sigh).
Life can be hard, even for kindergarteners. I hope that he hits some bumps (even at this tender age) so he can start to grow confident in his ability to overcome challenges and obstables I dreamhe'll have some good little peeps by his side reassuring him and giving him sound toddler advice.
***************
A few weeks ago, katy and I both picked Jake up from day care. When the kids saw us come in together, it set off a sewing circle of banter among 4 four-year old girls. They were working on some craft at a low-to-the-ground, circular table and the image in my peripheral vision was oddly similar to a group of old ladies gossiping while shucking peas- heads bent together, hands busy, absentminded familiarity with one another. While I tried to get Jake to gather his things, I started to catch the content of their conversation:
Girl 1: Yeah, that's how it is.
Girl 2: He has two moms...
Girl 3: No dads...
Girl 1: No, he didn't come with one.
Girl 4: Not a dad in sight.
Girl 2: Nope, just only moms
Jake was oblivious and I realized that the arrival of the two moms simultaneously (when we usually took turns picking up our boys) likely prompted some solidification of the concepts that these little girls have been well aware of for a long time.
They weren't questioning the legitimacy of our family structure. They weren't trash-talking. Just hammering the points home to each other in a way that old friends might discuss the inevitability of an impending summer shower:
"Looks like rain"
"yessir, there's no way we're getting out of this one..."
"I guess we better bring the laundry in"
"These rains come and go"
"The sky is sure dark"
"It's been dry- we could really use the rain." I hope that it will be sometime before Jake is exposed to a conversation where he realizes there are people in the world that have a problem with his family. I hope if someone indicates there is something wrong with his family structure, there is a teacher (or one of those pea shuckers) right there on hand to immediately correct that lie I dream we have a few years of solidifying his confidence before he gets a wiff of this part of the world from anywhere.
I didn't cry today. If it hasn't happened yet, I've probably avoided it. But I wouldn't be surprised if it hit me later in the week or month. Putting this kid out into the world, further out of the sphere of our protective capabilities is humbling. It makes me feel the intense weight of human vulnerability. It makes me want to grab the break and slow down time a bit. It makes me want to pray more.
Okay... there. A few tears dripped down...
Is everyone happy now?
[Author's note: This post is a little more raw (and long) than most that I put up... I've just had a lot on my mind and I'm trying to "Shake some things out". To all our peeps out there who are going through crazy shit. We love you. The greatest gifts include friends that will not only support you, but turn to you and lean, rely, and/or involve you in their sorrow. The friends that wade around in the muck with you are treasures, but the ones that ask you to be in the muck with them are truly a gift. To all of you who are willing (and even eager) to read the multitude of words below- and read this blog on a regular basis, I hope you know that supporting my writing this way is a gift that I can't really repay except to say, "Thank you for hanging out with me in the muck that my mind creates. I really appreciate it." This post has taken me about 2 weeks to write and another week to "clean up". It's still a disaster and probably not fit for public consumption. HAHA! Enter the Blogosphere... especially after that really sweet thank you that I wrote up there, you're practically emotionally blackmailed into reading the snivel below :)!!!] ---------------------
I'm in one of those "things" right now. It's a warm, sunny 65 degrees out. The mild winter has given over to an early Spring. Our bellies are full. Our money is sufficient. Our careers are fulfilling and still full of promise. Our children are healthy and beautiful, talented and delightful. Our family and friends abundantly generous and loving. But...
Regrets collect like old friends Here to relive your darkest moments I can see no way, I can see no way And all of the ghouls come out to play
And every demon wants his pound of flesh But I like to keep some things to myself I like to keep my issues drawn It's always darkest before the dawn
I'm in a tender spot. When I just carried a sleeping Milo from the car to his bed to finish his mid-day nap, I nearly broke apart into tears- tears of happiness, tears of sorrow, tears of worry, tears of heaven only knows what. Carrying him, I couldn't help note the weight of him- symbolic of so much contradiction: He's so big and so tiny at the same time. He's everything we needed to complete our little family, everything we wanted and dreamed of... he's so needy and so independent. At 2 1/2 years, he has already changed me, taught me things I didn't know I didn't know. I went to put him in his bed and stopped and held on. I cradled him close for a few more moments. I thought of our friends and family members who have lost children and pushed that terrible terror back down into my gut and summonsed the happiness and clarity of this perfect moment. His weight and beauty so tangible. This is parenthood, the weight of holding on, the weight of letting go. The joy and grief of holding on to something that you are simultaneously preparing to let go of... Like the very breath in your lungs.
"Waiting for the other shoe to drop" used to be something I did with intense vigilance. But for most of the last 10 years, I've gotten better about it. Be present, be zen, consider the lilies in the field... yada, yada.
I think I've mentioned it here before, I come from people that tend NOT to be superstitious; but sometimes one or two living ancestors will admit that within the core values subtly passed down (especially to and from the women) is embedded a belief that you can somehow ward off tragedy if you put enough effort into preventative forms of worry.
And I've been a fool and I've been blind I can never leave the past behind I can see no way, I can see no way I'm always dragging that horse around
All of these questions, such a mournful sound Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground So I like to keep my issues drawn But it's always darkest before the dawn
The last several months, life for me personally has changed considerably- almost entirely related to changing jobs. I had to say "I'll see you around" to some very fun, lovable, trustworthy friends that I worked with every day. And then I started to spend my days as a stranger on foreign turf with people I don't know well, if at all. I left a position where a lot of decision making authority was in my hands, to take a position where there are several more layers of managers above me, weighing in on decisions that would have been mine at the other shop.
Due to the size of the institution that I currently work at, earning trust, making a good first impression, and doing lot of homework to understand history and context has become the most important aspect of my daily professional life for the past 3 1/2 months. Learning a bunch of new names, systems, and the rules of an odd new game is the kind of roller-coaster excitement my brain thrives on, but the kind of "why am I stuck to the side of this centrifuge?!?" nausea that my intestines just can't wait to be over.
Concurrently, longer work hours mean that the family dynamic has shifted slightly. The boys (who were theoretically equally reliant on both Mommy and Mama) have grown to expect more time with Mama during the work week. The job is going well, Katy has been amazing, but I have to admit all of this has left me to feel a bit vulnerable and somewhat insecure in my roles both at home and in the office.
Frankly this is an unsettling side-effect of what should be a win-win scenario. By all accounts, I am doing well in the new job- getting great feedback about my performance and feeling at least an intermittent sense of accomplishment. Additionally, our family structure is a might bit stronger now owing to the increased money and stability, that accompanies the new job.
It's confusing to just not feel "happy-happy-happy" when all indicators (seasonal, economic, social, professional) indicate that conditions are more than ripe for contentment and bliss...
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back So shake him off, oh whoa
For whatever reason, my reaction to the stress of these "life-changes" includes a heightened awareness of all that can (and does) go wrong in life. And an empathetic desire to run to people that I love who are in heavy-hearted times and wrap them in some magic blanket... Maybe as a way to deflect my own fears and insecurities.
At this very moment in time, we have friends that are sick, dying, have cancer, have children with cancer, are on the brink of divorce, trying to forgive a spouse for cheating, are losing their parents, are losing their jobs, are reeling from the suicide of a friend, are trying to recover from depression, illness, injury, addiction, are picking up their lives and moving across the country to follow their dreams... I'm not generalizing here, like, "We mostly likely know people who are going through these types of things..." I mean there are individuals that we care about very much that all of those things are happening to.
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back And given half the chance would I take any of it back It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone It's always darkest before the dawn
Oh whoa, oh whoa...
One of the mornings in the last several weeks, both boys were in bed with us- a surprisingly rare occurrence- and Jake, recovering from his 2nd bout of pneumonia in as many months, hacked a junky hack without waking; and Milo put his hand on my face and sighed a sleep-drenched sigh. I reached over and touched Katy with my palm, the underside of my arm resting on the two small heads in the middle. In that moment, I felt so light. Yes, our days were slightly too filled with mucus, yes we are a bit over-tired, and yes, I was awake at the unGodly 3:44 AM... but this was the exact type of moment I yearned for all those years ago when we were ready to have a child, and it wasn't working.
I had this private moment of pure contentment and gratitude and then a few days later, C texted me from CA.
"How's it going?" I inquired which has recently become shorthand for "How's life in the strange, stressful land of baby-making?" (Or Turkey-baster-ville as we're inclined to refer to it with our lesbian friends). She texted that they had decided to take a break from "trying". "oh..." I replied. "It was just a little too sad."
Yup. That wasn't just a text to me. Ugh. The memory of that place is not so far away. It came flushing back like a big wave. Reading that message on my iPhone, I FELT that sadness. It brought all my (current, unfocused, and practically unexplainable) sadness to a sharp point and in solidarity, I wanted to jab that point into my forearm.
Oh, that place of ache- Where you finally put out into the universe what you really WANT and it is not something small or material, but something tremendous and life altering. And you do it in humility with an understanding that you don't always get what you want; but you do it intentionally and you try to be patient in that place of uncertainty and vulnerability... And when it doesn't work, when the pee stick comes up negative month after month, at first it catches like a hangnail on your psyche, and then it starts to feel like something life-threatening. And you don't know why it hurts that much because you look around and your life is pretty damn good. It's confusing to feel such gratitude and such grief at the same time.
The very same hour I received the text from C, I heard this story on NPR. And I just couldn't believe the timing. I had a little epiphany, and got a little closer to understanding it.
I think the reason it hurts so much is because your kids are out there, and you're worried about them even if you haven't met them yet... You can feel these little spirits out there- the ones that are to be your children. You feel their breath on your neck sometimes, even before they exist. You feel it so real it cannot be mere imagination. And you want to trust what you've been told (what you generally believe) that everything happens for a reason... all in good time, etc... but still, ask any parent... being away from your kids is really quite devastating.
And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me Looking for heaven, found the devil in me Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me
One of my best friends from childhood, A, is in the last heat of the parenting Olympic trials. The event is a new one called: "You think you've had a bad year? You should see the shit I've been dealing with for the last 12 months!!!" If you turn on the news on any particular day you realize that she's probably not even in medal contention, because there is no limit to the amount of heartbreak in the world. But last May, her oldest son was convicted of a serious crime. After sitting through a trial during which the police involved contradicted their own testimony and perjured themselves, and the "victim" denied the original accusation on the witness stand, she started to believe that everything was going to be okay. And then had to listen to the jury return a guilty verdict that was beyond the understanding of most of the legal experts in the room. Her son has been in a maximum security state prison since he was sentenced and though it's been nearly a year, there is no word on when the appeal will be scheduled.
The physical, psychological, and societal separation from her full-grown (but-still-her-baby) son has been shocking. Yet, as she walks around, people can't even perceive the sadness she has endured. She's one of the strongest, most loving, generous, resourceful, lacking in self-pity, and rational people I've ever known. In the mean time, her 18 year old (second) son has told her she will become a grandmother in a few months. Not a tragedy by any stretch- but still- could we just possibly have dealt with one thing at a time. Speaking to her on the phone, I'm all like, "Don't buy one, single baby thing without checking with me first b/c we are about to unload everything you need from crib to boppy and I even have a whole bunch of stuff you'll probably wish you never heard of..."
I try to talk to her about what she needs, if there is anything I can do. But mostly what I want to ask her is, "How is your heart? Is there anything I can do "mother-to-mother" to help plug up any of the holes in your armor that might leave you exposed and vulnerable?" She tells me nonchalantly that this has taken it's toll on her relationship with her husband. And more pressing, he is finally working on treating his addictions. My heart sinks. Not really surprised at this news, that this has been happening in the background too. I just want to shake a fist at the furies and say, "GIVE HER A BREAK"!!!
"I don't know how you're holding it all together," I tell her.
"As if I have a choice" she says. And then she puts it out there and wraps the truth around both of us: There is nothing that matters as much as these things. This year of razor sharp heartbreak somehow brings with it validity and redemption. Sorrow to better enjoy the sweetness of life. There is no choice but to experience sorrow in life, but if there were, it might not be the best idea to opt out of it.
I do understands what she means. If you've never spent a day clawing out of a cave, or stroking a hand in a hospital room, or anxiously waiting outside of an ICU or a courtroom, it's hard not to pity your innocence. Blessedly rare are those individuals that are able to look upon and recognize actual happiness without the focusing lens of sorrow and heartbreak.
All I can say, to our friends C and L (struggling in Turkey-baster-ville) is, "I know. I'm sorry. Hang in there." I want to leave it at that because in my experience, when you are trying to get pregnant, people offer way too-fucking-much in the way of opinions and advice. But since no one has ever accused me of talking too little (why use 5 words when you can write 2500?) I'll add an encouraging, empathetic, tender-hearted:
"Get used to it".
Barely relying on metaphor, this is the start of parenthood. That negative pee stick, and all the things that will happen before and after you and your children are reunited it's like boot camp for your hearts; for the endurance marathon that follows. Stretch and pull and run, and use ice and heat intermittently to soothe your aches, and start to believe that you can do it, because you can... (but believing that you can is really half the battle).
It's already started, you don't even really have a choice in the matter. It's both a long wait and a heavy weight.
But you can do it.
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back So shake him off, oh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back So shake him off, oh whoa
There are so many things that I never really thought much about until I had kids. It's important to note, I'm one of those people that thought a lot about having kids... I thought about how I would teach them, how I would treat them, what I would need in a co-parent to supplement my particular hangups, talents, shortcomings, and anxieties. I considered how I would handle raising different personalities and how I would balance the different needs of boys vs girls or boys AND girls. I even thought a bit about what I would do if I had a kid that had ambiguous genitalia or one that looked like a boy but felt like a girl (Thank you, Middlesex).
I thought about how I would teach them to pee standing up (having never done that myself) and how I would teach them to stand up for their beliefs without disrespecting others. I thought about how I would handle the rage inside myself the first time they were bullied or teased.
I mean, you get my point, right?
The "parenting" as a verb catches me so off guard sometimes. Watching and letting them struggle for their own good- even if right now it is only with language and putting on socks and shoes- requires attentive restraint. (Jake's particular nemesis right now: Button-fly jeans. Who at gap thought that was a good idea?!?) But sometimes, I am completely disarmed by how they flip the world around on me, they completely scramble the compass.
Can we talk about Santa?!? An uncomplicated concept to get behind in theory. He's jolly, he's fun, he's generous, he's magical - "Kid-less Tracy" didn't give it much thought. What was there to protest?
I just didn't anticipate how hard it would be to make up the little white lies required to make that myth work. It's not that I have a problem lying to my kids, per se... I mean our relationship is based on honesty (of course)... but a lot of the stuff I say to them is not so much TRUTHFUL as it is AGE APPROPRIATE: "Soda is an 'adult beverage'," "Everyone loves vegetables!", "Mufasa's brother, Scar, is so silly". Still, the pseudo-creepy, heavy-set man in the Santa suit in the mall?!? Not that interested in plopping my toddler on his lap.
When my kids have the uncontrollable urge and desire to run up and hug Santa, I'll stand 2 feet away and allow it. But trying to convince them to partake in the pre-kids-it-didn't-seem-so-bizarre ritual ("Stop crying, there's nothing to be afraid of... Go sit on that strange man's lap so we can take a picture")?!? Sorry, I'm not playing.
I'm okay lying about the reindeer flying and speaking of magic like it's a real thing (that's called imagination). Leaving the notes to and from the big guy and the treats and cookie crumbs... I start to have some ethical dilemmas, but I see the value.
Then I have to partake in the back-story, and I start to loose interest: Mrs. Clause sitting home doing nothing but keeping his suit clean? The army of enslaved elves making millions of toys? Landing on the roof? Breaking and entering- a man sneaks into our house on the promise to leave us some goods? Wait.. WHAT?!? So this guy just wanders around our home while we sleep? How is that congruent with everything else we are trying to teach about normal social behavior?
Why can't we just update the tale? Example: Kids and parents correspond with Santa's family by email to coordinate requests from the children and advice on good behavior from Santa. The elves have been set free except the ones that were hired (union bennies and wages) by the Clauses to help coordinate money exchanges and purchases from corporate entities (toy making and product packaging has obviously been outsourced from the north pole due to increased transportation costs and an effort to be more Green.) This is such a corporate holiday, but as a parent tied to the increasingly outmoded and ridiculous Santa myth, I can't even bring in a tame lesson on the dangers of commercialization or find easy ways to explain how much harder a lot of our neighbors have to work around the holidays, b/c Santa is the only one getting street cred for upping personal productivity...
All kidding aside, it was a creative struggle in December to find pieces of the holiday story that are not complicated by half-truths and increasingly inane postulations (a deer-drawn winter sleigh when we haven't had snow since that one storm in October???). So we tried to minimize it and focus on the story of the nativity, and teach them to notice the smell of the tree and the enjoy the beauty of Christmas lights.
And then, not all of our friends celebrate and believe in Christmas or Santa. And the ones that do? Their not-so-little white lies to their kids are slightly different than ours. Our kids are like, "that's not what so-and-so said about Christmas..."
Holidays with kids can get complicated.
Last night, Jake and I are sitting on the couch:
J: Tomorrow's Ground Hog day. Me: (not having thought about this at all) yes. J: what is that? Me: (stretching my mind) Um... that is a holiday where the ground hog comes out of his hole to determine if the winter will end soon or not. J: What? Me: um... the ground hog comes out and if he sees his shadow, he goes back in and if he doesn't, he will stay out of his hole? J: Why? Me: I guess he will get scared if he sees his shadow J: no. why does he do it? Me: um... (remembering) it's like 6 more weeks of winter if he goes back in his hole but... (I trail off knowing this is absurd) J: why Me: I'm not sure, baby J: why? Me: (i knowing I'm beat) yeah... I don't know, really... it's a very silly holiday
Parenting (more often than I would have previously believed) involves mini existential crises, sometimes 2 and 3 times a day.
As I try to explain the world to our kids, I'm forced to decide- often in a moments notice: Am I going to pass on some bullshit that no one believes but everyone repeats over and over again? Am I going to overwhelm them with a depressing amount of realism?
But cutting even deeper, once a previously unnoticed absurdity comes to my attention, how will I handle if from there??? Inside MYSELF???
Sometimes I feel like I'm just noticing things for the first time and when Jake or Milo ask "Why?" I have to shake my head like a visitor to this country or planet and say with true helpless confusion, "I really have no idea, guys... I'm sorry. I have no idea..."
"It's totally fucked up." I want to admit to them, "And I'm sorry to report I never noticed how totally fucked up it is until right this moment..."
(Head in hands) When they are older, we can just watch the Bill Murray movie together, right?
I have become increasingly amazed at the introspective power of children in general, but also toddlers in particular.
It's more than that thing that will make a child look at someone with bad acne and say, "why do you have all those red dots on your face?"
Or size up a person of small stature and inquire, "So, are you a midget or something?"
I'm talking about when a kid is trying to label and understand the world and they come up with an explanation that is at once S-I-M-P-L-E and COMPLETELY profound. Jake does this over and over again, with such frequency and such little fanfare that I can never even remember the examples or conversations. But I have witnessed him capture the essence of "human fears" and "economics" and "relationships" with dialogue that was not parroting of adult explanations but instead an application of some previously internalized concept to a different or more abstract situation...
Boy: We take good care of our friends right? Mom: yes! Boy: And we share with them... Mom: yes... Boy: But people we don't know might be our friends? Mom: yes... Boy: And we should be nice even if they aren't our friends... Mom: Yes! Boy: I would share my snack with anyone that needed it. But if my friends needed more snack, I would have to save some for them and me- and not just strangers... Mom: well... Boy: What if people take our stuff and then we can't share with friends Mom: Um... Boy: Sometimes people that are mean are just sad... Mom: huh? (wondering if I ever told him this or if he is coming up with this on his own) Boy: Like Doc Hudson was in Cars... about his accident... Mom: (sigh) yes Boy: He wasn't Lightning's friend, but then he was after... Mom: Yup. Boy: Sometimes, it's like everybody is our friend, but also, everybody is not our friend. Mom: (holy shit!) yes... essentially.
That is a compilation and not an actual conversation, but people wonder why I say things like, "yes... essentially" to my kids. It's because if you are going to give me some Gandhi-esque sound bite, I'm not going to reply, "You're so silly, boo-boo-bear!"
This morning it was a slightly different twist...
First of all, Milo AVOIDED ALL THE PUDDLES IN THE DRIVEWAY!!! Katy and I have been working on this, with (occasionally) painstaking patience. We've tried to teach and show him that there is a time for PUDDLE JUMPING and a time for NOT puddle jumping. This morning, we implored, "Please AVOID the puddles, Milo!" and he did a soft shoe around them walking carefully as if solving a puzzle.
Both moms were thrilled and tripping over ourselves to take credit for teaching him to be this amazing and then we quickly swapped saying, "No, it was you honey... You are the reason he is so wonderful!!!"
At that point while we were giggling with each other near the front of the car, we overheard some absent-minded muttering in the back seat: Moms: What, Jakey? J: You know what Syndrome says on the Incredibles? Moms: No, what? J: "When everyone is super... no one will be." Moms: huh? J: Syndrome says, (with more emphasis on each word) "When everyone is super, noonewillbe" Moms: (blinking at each other silently) T: (to katy) Of 115 minutes of movie, THAT's the line that sticks with him on an average morning on his way to school?!? (laughter) K: (to me) You're the one that planted your creepy "dark" poignancy in him...
The truth is, it is just too hard to write about them now using the sterile initials. In real life, they are so 3D and vibrant and textured... AND so much of who they are starts with what we call them.
At least Jake, on occasion, gets called "JB" by me, outside of the sphere of the GSO. But Milo is Milo and writing "ML" instead of "Milo" feels like a big lie. It feels a little too much like creating a clumsy alias "He-who-must-not-be-named"... It feels like having to watch the entire Wizard of Oz in black and white... At this point in time, using only their initials feels like I'm putting a veil or blanket over the heads of 2 of my most favorite people in the whole world.
When they were first born, using initials for the boys seemed like the right way to "protect" them and give them some anonymity. But that does not seem necessary now. These boys are so far from anonymous (especially to the readers of this blog). Continuing to use their initials in place of their names is like trying to explain their personalities without words. Katy and I love the boys' names so much and we think each has grown into their name, enriched the name we gave them beyond even what we hoped it might mean. Each has filled his name with depth and definition and also bent like a moon into the pull of his name. I agree with Shakespeare, that a being would likely be unchanged if it had been given another name. Yet, our boys cannot be separated from their names in my mind. The essence of who they are is entirely intertwined with their names.
We call Jacob- "Jacob", "Jake", "Jakey", "J", "JB", "Jacob Brian". He answers to all of those, but ALWAYS introduces himself as "Jacob". One time, I asked him if he wanted me to call him "Jacob", if he minded that we called him Jake (I held my breath, knowing that this would break my heart a little, if he asked me not to call him Jake. But the first rule of caring for someone in nursing is you ask what s/he wants to be called. If you respect someone, you let him define himself and not impose or omit his name or title... Even if you are the people that named him.) Jake replied, "no, you can call me Jake... or Jacob". He was nonchalant and steadfast. And I felt so relieved that he seemed to really be comfortable with the options we offered him when we named him.
Milo is Michael Logan (yes... like J-Lo). When we named him, we figured, he wouldn't be tied to a "trendy" name if he didn't like or "fit into" Milo. But I would be shocked if he grew to be called anything else. He is "Milo" as much as tree is "tree". "ML" is just off-putting and lame compared to this dynamic little force of light and life and willful opinions and giggles and sweet kisses and musical prowess and hypnotizing stares that we call "Milo".
I love these boys! I love who they are more than what we call them. But I do also really love their names.
Today, the world lost an amazing woman, and extraordinary nurse. I lost a friend, a mentor, and an occasional surrogate mom.
I was 23 years old when I met Deirdre. I was a new nurse, starting a new job in the MICU and everything I needed to know about her, I learned in that first shift: She was all business, no nonsense when it came to the job. At first blush, she scared the shit out of me. But you only needed to hear her laugh to know there was nothing to actually fear - she was full of life, heart, humor, mischief, giggles, and truth. Dee would tell you what was what without batting an eye. She could say to you "Why are you wearing that? You look ridiculous!" but make it sound like, "I've been thinking, and I have a great idea for a make over!" She was what my gram would have called a "rascal". To qualify for the label the way my gram intended it, you'd have to be someone smart, someone that intuitively knows exactly what is going on, someone that pays attention and "doesn't miss a trick", someone that speaks truth in a good-natured way, that can knock an arrogant fool down a few pegs without seeming mean or threatened, someone soulful but who truly enjoys a good joke.
Deirdre was all of this. And a real class act.
She taught me so much about what it means to be a nurse. Being a nurse means doing things the right way. Working fast but not taking shortcuts. Taking care of what you can, fixing and organizing what you can; and creating comfort and respectful solutions when things can't be fixed. Washing and rubbing a back, lotioningsomeone's feet, helping a person eat or go to the bathroom, listening as people talk about their lives- these are not small, insignificant things... They are usually the most important things.
I stopped working in the ICU almost 10 years ago... And Deirdre left before then. We hadn't spoken in a long time, until last year when I learned that she had been diagnosed with Cancer - stage 4. We emailed a few times, and in November, we had a big party in her honor.
She looked fantastic! The last time she wrote me, she told me that her prognosis had improved... Today, I was caught completely off guard by the news. I hadn't realized that she had recently gotten much worse, that she was hospitalized last week and transferred to hospice. She died last night, surrounded by her family. She was only 65 years old.
There are too many stories to tell about Dee and all that she taught younger nurses and all that she did for (hundreds and hundreds of) patients, and all of the laughter she encouraged, but these are two of my most vivid and treasured memories.
Grief Stricken Nubbie: I worked in MICU right out of college. I had recently broken up with my high school sweet heart, my first love of 6 plus years, by BFF all through school. I spent that first year as a nurse, trying to learn how to be a competent professional, trying to recover from the break up, trying to figure out who I was, trying to make sense of it all.
I was happy though, making money, finding satisfaction in my work, developing really amazing friendships. All the people I met that first year, never knew me as John's girlfriend. Never knew me as any one's girlfriend. I didn't have a significant other, wasn't really looking, and maybe some guessed it, but I don't remember telling anyone that I was searching for a way out of the closet. It was complicated inside of me, trying to figure out a way to break the news to lots of people that I wasn't straight.
It must have been really confusing to my colleagues how devastated I was when John died in October of 1997. When people asked what was going on, I first had to explain about John and then had to try to convey the terrible grief I felt. Words were inadequate and so I used few of them. After trying on a couple detailed explanations, I shortened the tale to "He was my best friend" and now he was dead.
Those first few weeks, going to work was awful. You don't realize you work in a place that is all about death until grief settles in you like a magnetic field and the tiny, metal shavings of death (that lay like fine dust in a modern ICU) fly from their resting spots to coat your skin. I was a wreck. And it took several weeks before I realized that people there were watching me. People like Deirdre, looking out for me, moving obstacles before I bumped into them, intervening on my behalf- "You go help with this admission, and I'll do that" I'd be told when it was time for me to prepare and "bag" the corpse of one of my patients that passed away.
One night, I caught the Jay Leno show, and he had a clip from this new comedy called "South Park". Watching it, I laughed and laughed and laughed. It was one of the funniest things I had ever seen. I taped it and watched it over and over and realized, it was the first time I had laughed- really laughed- in almost a month. I brought the tape to work and showed several people (trying to figure out if everyone thought this was funny or if I was cracking up.) Dee was in that first crowd of people and she laughed even harder than I did. Hearing her laugh made me laugh even harder. The laughing felt good. She and I watched that clip a dozen more times that night. We set the TV and VCR in an empty patient room and every so often, we would go in there and watch it a few more times... getting more silly each time. After that night, I would have done anything for that woman- that experience really helped me start to heal.
What would your mother say: The second story: I had started dating a woman that we worked with. She was a travel nurse and started on our unit a few months before, expecting to stay 3-6 months longer. She was colorful and funny and a good nurse. She was popular, but not quite comfortable in her own skin and had a tendency to be erratic- not at work, but when she wasn't working. Again, I was not really "out", but I wasn't NOT out. Anyone that asked a question, I told the truth to, but this was like 12 years ago, Will and Grace wasn't yet on TV, not a lot of people brought it up.
Still, even though people weren't asking me about it the way they would have if Dana had been a man, we had told several of our friends and there is no doubt it was probably the worst kept secret on the floor (maybe in the hospital). One night, Deirdre pulls me aside...
D: What's going on with this Dana girl? Me: what do you mean, what's going on? What do you want to know? D: She's no good for you. Me: (laughing, slightly embarrassed) what?!? D: I'm not trying to get into your business, but you are going places and she is not going anywhere you want to be- this isn't about her being a girl... you want to be with a girl, that's fine, this isn't the girl for you...
Thing is, she was right. Not that the girl wasn't good for me, necessarily, but she was right to bring it up. She was right there for me... not letting her possible discomfort or fear of not being politically correct distract her from attempting to care for me. She was there to treat me and this relationship with the respect that comes from someone who tells you to "Pay attention!!!"... who reminds you not to shit where you eat... I wasn't even considering if Dana was "the girl for me" or not, but hearing that said out loud made an impression on me. I wasn't estranged from my family or anything, but there were no "parent-type" members that knew about this relationship (or if they knew, they didn't bring it up to me; and I didn't bring it up to them). Unless you count my MICU family (which I do...).
When you needed a mom or mother figure (whether you knew it or not) Deirdre was there. When you needed a mentor or a friend, same story.
The thing I'm having trouble describing in these memories of her is the love and vitality that Deirdre brought to every interaction. The perfect balance of salt and sweet. She would bust your balls, but it wouldn't be to break you down, it would be to build you up. She was a hard ass, with a heart of gold. She could be serious, but her laugh was seriously infectious.
When I got the news today, I felt sick and I felt sadness wash over me. For a few minutes, I thought I might start shaking with sobs at the loss of someone I haven't spent more than an hour talking to in the last 10 years. It's just this: As is true of most of the people who are our teachers, she is so much a part of special and important things inside of me, that she is kind of with me all the time. And intellectually, that's reassuring because that means (if she is living inside of me) I can never really lose her to death; those parts of her that she planted in me will still always be with me...
But...
That doesn't dampen the ache I feel knowing I will never hear her laugh or see her smile or her wise gaze again. Sleep well, sweet-tough-nurse, funny-soulful friend. You are loved more than you know and I miss you already.
At least 5 times in the last 2 months, there have been national stories of teenagers committing suicide. They have become national stories because the kids were bullied, targeted, and harassed because they were gay or perceived as gay, and because for the most part, the parents, friends and communities of those children have spoken out after their deaths to say, "We complained about the bullying but no one did anything to stop it." Not that one should be picked out as worse than the others, but the most recent was a Freshman at Rutgers University who was secretly recorded by his roommate and another classmate having an intimate encounter with another man boy. Tyler Clementi was 18 years old when he changed his status on Facebook to read: "Jumping off the George Washington Bridge. Sorry." His body was fished out of the water a few days later. Justin Aaberg, 15, of Anoka, Minnasota, hung himself July 9th
Billy Lucas, 15, of Greensburg, Indiana hung himself in his parents' barn on Sept 9th.
Seth Walsh, 13, from Tehachapi, California, hanged himself from a tree on September 19th and died 8 days later.
Asher Brown, 13, of Cypress, Texas, shot himself in the head on September 23.It is hard to look at these faces and hear these stories and not get sick with regret and dark with rage that we live in a society that tells (especially boy) gay kids that they are not worthy of love and life. In fact, the message in a lot of anti-gay rhetoric is "you don't exist... God did not create you, you are deciding to be immoral- you can be fixed".
To tell someone they can be fixed is to tell them they are broken.
Ask nearly any adult gay man (many to most of the women too) and they will tell you the harassment they faced, the physical danger they were in growing up in school systems across this country was almost too much to manage. Now even though there is more support for gay equality and more awareness and "tolerance" there is this overt backlash and religious movement to proclaim that civil rights for gay citizens are somehow in opposition to the religious rights of zealots. That gay civil rights somehow means the end of religious freedom.
While the LDS and the RCC are pouring millions of dollars into trying to prevent civil marriage in the US and around the world, they are not only perpetuating the bullshit very-fucking-scientifically-negated notion that being gay is a choice, they are seriously over-reaching by extrapolating out that this (determined by conservative clergy, who very often are closeted and sexually repressed) "lifestyle choice" should not get legal "validation" or protection...
'Cause like, yeah... if I choose to eat shellfish, or get a divorce, or not marry the brother of my dead husband, or eat meat on fridays, or have sex during my period (all lifestyle choices that are frowned on by g-o-d in the bible) then I should expect it's okay for my neighbors to beat me to death when they get too upset about my immorality. Oh, and I should expect there to be a referendum on election day where everyone gets to vote on whether or not I am immoral and have a right to exist in my actual form.
Here is how "religious" people are getting led down a dark ally by their leaders that will some day be appropriately equated with the cross-burnings and terrorist activities of the KKK: A cycle of proselytizing against gay identity requires suicide of gay individuals to 1) continue to demonstrate (in the face of practically eroded evidence) that to be gay means to be mentally and spiritually unstable; and 2) since most religions see suicide as the final sin- there is no way a person that killed her/his self could have been spiritually worthy...
See how that works? Chicken, egg, chicken, egg... got it? Let me try one more time:
God hates it/you (as determined by me)
If God hates it/you, we can't exactly expect others to be okay with it/you
If those others beat you up or harass you... well, see what I mean about you/it being messed up? millions of God-loving people can't be wrong...
No one who thinks that "being gay is okay" should teach you, or talk to you, or be alone with you, or be in a position to influence you because 1) God would not want that, 2) Those people are immoral, unstable, and dangerous 3) They are out to recruit you (since you were NOT created gay, the only way into "gay" is through RECRUITMENT!)
So HERE's the letter that I'm writing to my kids, and the advice that I'm giving to all parents within my reach...
If you enjoyed this rant, you might also enjoy something similar from Dan Savage. If you have never heard of Dan Savage, he is a potty-mouthed gay, sex advice columnist that came up with the greatest idea I have heard in a long time. A YouTube channel called: IT GETS BETTER. This is a way to try to stop kids from killing themselves... a way that any kid with the internet has access to a bunch of videos from LGBTQ adults that can tell them from experience that the best years of your life happen after high school.
The videos are amazing. Here is the video that Dan and his husband started it all with (it is worth 8 minutes of your life- pass it on):
Tomorrow, we will try to spend the day demonstrating pleasantness in the midst of our anxiety and discomfort.
Tomorrow, we will try to remember the spirit of women who were pretty damn good role models even before the mantle of sainthood was placed on their memories.
Tomorrow, we will let our bodies and minds fight it out... Our minds want to be in charge of our emotions, but grief and anger have a way of marking you physically. And "the body" sometimes has a more accurate memory than even "the memory".
Tomorrow, we will cherish our children. (A little more than we do every other day.) Tomorrow, we will try to be gentle with each other. Tomorrow, we will try to be generous and a little more patient than we usually need to be in our interactions with others...
But TONIGHT, before I go to bed, I'm going to check every window and every door (like Katy made me promise to do) to be sure they are locked. And I'm going to say a silent, but heartfelt "fuck you" to the psychotic criminals who killed our friends 3 years ago...
Then I'm going to wash the destructive anger off my face, and brush the bile off of my teeth, and try to shake the gnawing anxiety from my core. And THEN, I'm going to hold my wife close- hoping that my love and concern can keep bad dreams at bay- and trying to convey to her through my actions that no matter what, I'm here with her and I love her... and I'm sorry for the losses she has endured.
------------ Our church benediction:
Go out into the world in peace Have courage Hold onto what is good Return to no person evil for evil Strengthen the fainthearted Support the weak Help the suffering Honor all beings Amen.
Since I posted last about the snotty noses, I took the ruggies to the doctor. We just didn't feel comfortable with how long the kids have been coughing and the low grade fever that JB seemed to have (even in 80 degree pre-summer weather).
Long story short: JB's left ear tube (that was just placed in jan) is definitely OUT of the ear drum, resting uselessly in the Eustachian tube. And that ear is infected. Furthermore, ML's ears (BOTH OF THEM) are infected... didn't really see that coming.
Just to put it in perspective for you, ML had a double ear infection brewing the week he learned to crawl, pull himself to standing, wave, clap, and eat egg yolk for the first time. This kid is the happiest baby on the planet. His smile just lights up the joint. And man is he on the move. We don't ever remember JB going this fast at things...
For JB's part, he has been exceedingly whiny, crying at the drop of a hat and a little on the pissed off side. He yelled at the chair yesterday because he ran into it:
JB: NO, CHAIR! BAD! YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!
KT: We do not yell at things. And when we make a mistake, we do not blame or take it out on someone or something else. And we do not call anyone 'Bad'.
JB: (throws himself on the floor in a sweaty, snotty puddle)
The thing is, he is so transparent. They rave about him at the new school. How good he is, how polite he is; how well-mannered and helpful... I ask them about the amount of whining, they look at me like I am crazy. I get that he does this at home with us b/c he is safe here and because he needs to try to feel in control of something, but it is amazing how different he is with us compared to other people. It is likely that this is just what we need to put up with for right now (and don't forget, he is on antibiotics AND has an ear infection) but it does make me wonder if we are doing something wrong- are being too hard on him somehow, or too lenient...
But when the little animal inside him settles, he is just so wonderful in his questioning of the world, his sensitivity, his intellect.
He has a teddy bear that he traded in "Teddybear" for... Remember? "Teddybear" was a soft brown bear that he was addicted to... then he found the soft white bear that was given to ML by the same friends that gave JB Teddybear. Since ML can't have a sleeping partner for a while, we let JB adopt the white bear. "What do you want to call him, JB?" I asked
"Bear-y." He replied. "White... Bear-y White."
(You can see the imagination this kid has for names)
Katy and I laughed. So now, we have Teddybear and Barry White. And it's true, JB cannot get enough of this bear's love. He falls asleep dragging these soft paws all over his face and belly and arms. If he's feeling particularly cuddly with you, he will turn your hand over and rub Barry's paw on yours. It is as generous an offering as the last spoonful of an ice cream cake. This week he told me, "i have a secret i wanna tell you." and when I lent him my ear he whispered,
"I love my Barry White."
This is just one example of his sweet, quirky ways. Some others:
If I seem a little quiet, he might look over at me and say, "Mommy, wanna tic tac?"
He'll remind us on the way out of the house not to forget our sunglasses or to put on sunscreen.
When ML is crying he touches brother's head and says, "It's okay, ML" or the other day he told us, "I'll get my guitar and my pick and play him a song."
He likes to collect little things. I keep finding piles of tiny rocks around: There's one in the garage, one on the front porch, one in the cup holder of his new car seat- 5 or 6 rocks in a line or in an imperfect circle. I just went to wash his coat and found these in one of the pockets:
God help me if throwing shit you think is interesting or cute into your pockets is hereditary.
I am home today, getting ready for our trip, and when I went to put this load of laundry in, I was picking up towels- lots of towels... Before we had kids, katy and I would use like 2 or 3 towels a week, total. But now, I use a new one more frequently instead of reusing- either because one of the boys has needed mine that was hanging up OR b/c they are showering with me or because we had to wipe snot with one and don't want to cross-contaminate us or them... or whatever the reason...
As I'm picking up all these barely used towels to launder, I'm struck by how clean and lotioned and towel dried and buffed and fluffed our kids are. They get cream and sunscreen in the morning. They get a bath every night. They get liquid soap and shampoo and conditioner and a combination of 4 different types of moisturizing ointments. They get their noses wiped with puffs plus and diaper wipes and soft cloths. They get toothpaste and lip balm and they stay soft and gorgeous. Sometimes I want to be all like,
These beautiful children are brought to you by the makers of:
and
and
and
With all the whining and crying and griping, sometimes it is hard not to stare straight ahead from 5-9 pm in an exhausted state and wait for this "period of our lives" to be over... But I don't want to forget what is going on right now. We are pouring all the love we have out onto these little ones.
Even when they kick us and cry and scream, and take their frustrations out on us (and the furniture); even when as mommies, we aren't always evolved enough to avoid taking our frustrations out on each other, I don't want to forget the way we are rubbing our love and intentions onto them. And the way we are washing tears away with soft cotton and kisses and hugs. When you use your hands to do this, it soaks into your flesh too.
Katy and I do it instinctively, but purposefully- we care for them in this very physical way every day (wipe and clean their faces and bodies and work to keep their skin healthy and intact). We do this sometimes in a sleepwalking state, sometimes out of habit, but often as if it is the most important thing we will ever do.
Because it kind of is.
And it comes back to us in totally random ways- like piles of rocks carefully selected and left as if a work of art. In the report from the teachers that every day at school, JB asks for a napkin at lunch time and then other kids follow in his footsteps and do the same. In the way ML spends his first double ear infection jungle-gym climbing the furniture and laughing at his brother...
