I Believe The Children Are The Future

According to Facebook today is the day that my publishing job was "eliminated."

That was four years ago.

Since then I have done contract work. I have done freelance work. I have become a tutor. I have spent valuable time with my beautiful daughter.

While I no longer have any anger towards my former boss, I do have a bit towards the changes at the company that eliminated my job. I'm working on it.

Without it though I wouldn't be hopeful for the future. You see, I tutor.

I have a bunch of students ranging in age from 9 through 17. There's not one I dislike. They are all very different. Except this past week.

They all wanted to talk about the shooting in Florida.

The 9 year old had been shielded from the news, until that morning when her teacher talked about it with the class.

"Why would you allow someone who wants to shoot people to buy a gun?" she asked.
"Protection."
"You can protect yourself with a revolver." She said--using one of her vocabulary words. "You don't need an assault rifle."

One of the 16 year olds said, "I'm scared. I mean I'm seriously scared. I'm supposed to take the SATs in a month. What if someone comes in with a gun there? I mean seriously what if someone comes in to the SATs with an assault rifle? Fuck the NRA, I shouldn't have to worry about this when I'm studying all night for the SATs!" If she expected me to scold her use of the "F" word, she was wrong.

Three of the kids are, at their respective schools, organizing the walkouts and marches on Washington. (March for Our Lives, National School Walkout, and there's another one on April 20)  They are asking me if the colleges I've heard about will have issues with them walking out. I checked with my alma mater and they said absolutely not--as long as they will be peaceful.

We've been talking about the constitution. We've been talking about the amendments--all of them.

I'm so stinking proud of these kids. I'm so honored that they talk to me and ask me questions. They like it when I don't pull my punches. One of them said, "You know, I thought when you grew up and became an adult you had all the answers." I shrugged and said that wasn't the way it is.  My student grinned widely, "It's kind of nice to know that you guys can really screw stuff up too. I mean I figured it out since Trump was elected, but still--damn you know!" I couldn't have said it better myself

Were going through a dark time right now politically. Our leaders have lost their souls. Our leaders like the money they get from the NRA more than they like children's lives. Our leaders respect the right of people to own things that can kill them, rather than our right to exist.  I think that these kids will be voting differently in November.

I watch these kids and I have hope.

Who shall attain the measure of mans days and who shall not attain it -- Microblog Monday

Today, once more, The United States is reeling from another mass shooting.
Only the places change.

I'm sick about it.

But I was reeling for long before I heard of it.

Social Media, you see. It got me back in touch with people I thought passed out of my life long ago. Years ago I got back in touch with my very first crush. I'll call him E.  I still remember the day we held hands and climbed the monkey bars together. He was always good to me. In second grade I decided I wanted to marry him. I didn't, but we became kind of friends. He never bullied me and often put a stop to bullying when he saw it happening to me. When I finally got onto Facebook he welcomed me and we corresponded when we saw each other.

He was a good, kind, funny, fun, man.

He was.

Yesterday I saw people leaving memorials for E on social media. This must be a joke. I thought.  He's my age. He wasn't sick. He can't be dead.

Of course it was true. That smiling boy who took my hand in second grade,  went to sleep last night and never woke up. He had (that we know at this time) no underlying health problems. He had no drug problems. He did not die of pancreatic cancer like the valedictorian of my high school class. No one knows why or what happened. We only know that the people who knew him have a darkness in their lives where his light was.

I'm now asking the same questions the family and friends of those killed in Las Vegas are asking. I'm grieving. I always meant to send a text to him that maybe we could meet and hang out. I always thought that there was time. I always thought that there would still be time. Why wasn't there time?

On one of the memorials someone quoted the title quote. It is from the Yom Kippur liturgy. I wondered if E sat in a synagogue on Yom Kippur and listened to it on his last day.

There are times where this whole life thing doesn't make sense. It is up to us to try to make some degree of sense. The week before I went out to see my high school crush/best friend for the first time in years. Both our families had a great time and I plan to see more of each other. I don't know how much time we have.

What would you do if you knew that you didn't have much time? What is stopping you?

I can't forget this day-Microblog Monday

Billy Joel may have said it best.

"And it's hard to believe after all these years, it still gives you pain and it still brings tears."

I can't forget how beautiful the day was.

I can't forget the frantic calls. "Did you go into the city today?" "Pick up the phone, damn it, "

I can't forget my friend who was in lower Manhattan. She and her husband (then he was her fiancé) live with this day as a day of dust and blood and a miracle of finding each other.

I can't forget my mentor's partner. She kissed her partner goodbye to get on a plane. That plane would be flown into Tower one.

I can't forget how the country came together.
I can't forget how the people who didn't vote for George W. Bush and the people who did all came behind him to hope that he would do good.


And now we hate each other.
We do.
We hate each other with the same virulence that the people who rammed the planes into the towers hated us.

How they must laugh.
They got what they wanted.

They laugh at you.

Whenever you look at someone and think of that person as someone other. Be it LGBTQ, black, asian, hispanic, Trump voter, libertarian, conservative, liberal democrat republican.  If you look at a fellow American and think how they are not like you and not to be trusted you are making the terrorists laugh.  They rub their hands together in glee because we gave them exactly what they wanted.

We divided America.
They didn't.

You think "oh that's other people, I love and respect always." Really? Maybe so. Maybe you're that much better than I am.
I have problems thinking of some as fellow humans.

And I'm trying to stop.

Let this be the day that we reach our hands across the chasm. Maybe we'll shake hands like Sirus Black and Severus Snape, but we can shake each other's hand because we are all Americans. We can be better. We've got to try.

Here is my hand. Outstretched. How can I help you?

Comforting After Loss - Microblog Monday

I'm in California. Visiting my Aunt. It's so weird not to say "my aunt and uncle," but I lost my Uncle a few weeks ago.

It was a hard visit. The look in her eye was lost. They were married for 73 years and now he's not there. They had no children. If they were bitter--they never ever showed it. During the times of IF hell, they were my rocks. They refused to accept that life without children had no meaning. They also said that their nieces and nephews were more devoted to them than some of their friends children--and we were. We are. All of us offered to have Aunt Vivian come and stay with us, but since we are east coasters and my Aunt thinks of 85 degrees as comfortably cool she said no.

It is the third time I have had to comfort after such a loss. The first was my grandfather, when I was 15. My grandparents missed their 65th anniversary by 8 months.

The second was my father, after my mom passed. They missed their 65th anniversary by 1 month and 19 days.

People don't know what to do or say.
They don't.

People kept calling the loss "a blessing." My aunt, who never swears--I mean she thinks "hell" is bad language told someone that calling this a blessing was "bullshit." I stared at her for about two minutes totally speechless. I was stunned to learn she knew the word--much less could use it in a sentence.

I took Lotus to see her and help comfort. It was disquieting for everyone, but eventually I think this will be good for Lotus. She's going to need to do this--and she rose to the challenge. She drew a picture of her self with a heart and her name. My aunt said it was beautiful.

None of us get through life untouched by loss. Lotus had one early on. It helps to help others.

Now to address my own grief at some point. Probably I'll do what I normally do. Hold it in for a while and then totally lose it. Ah, something to look forward to.

Thursday Thirteen --Lessons Learned from My Uncle, The teacher.

On Monday my Uncle passed away.

He was 96 years old.

He had been married to my aunt for 73 of those years.

No one needs to tell me that he lived a good life. No one needs to tell me that it was time for him to go. But hearing the loss in my aunt's voice is horrible. Feeling the loss of knowing I won't be able to pick up the phone and hear his voice is also horrible. I'm trying to concentrate on the years I had him. On what he taught me. So here is my Thursday 13.

1) Laugh when you get annoyed.
Watching my aunt and uncle pack was funny as hell. She'd pack everything and he'd stand at the door of their bedroom and laugh at her. Then she'd yell at him in french. Then they would laugh and laugh.

2) There's no cure like travel.
Go away from your base for a while. A Staycation means work--it really does.

3) Music can solve any problem

4) If your emotional state is still bad, you need to listen to more music.

5) Education can solve the world's problems. We should have continuing education for adults--especially civil education.

6) Listening is better with everything. Music, people, problems

7) Don't ask, how can you help--find something and do it.

8) Hand written cards are in fashion. They will always be in fashion.

9) If you dress up for dinner you are honoring your dinner companions

10) Love takes time and work.

11) Once you've reached your 70th anniversary, you can sit silently and hold hands and everyone will just think you are cute.

12) You're not smarter at 95 than you were at 45--you've just seen a lot more and know to keep your mouth shut until asked.

13) Slip from one world into the next holding your beloved's hand.

On Monday night, my uncle passed away. My Aunt was holding his hand.

Microblog Mondays - F**k Cancer.

Today I walked my daughter into daycare. Her favorite teacher (Miss S) was sitting with her head wrapped in a kerchief. It was a new look for her and I thought it might be religiously based.

No, she has cancer.

She started at the daycare a few weeks after Lotus did. At 18 Months, Lotus would see her and roll over to her as fast as she could. (She didn't crawl well until after she learned to walk--whatever.) Lately Lotus has wondered if Miss S. had been mad at her. I told her no she probably had other stuff on her mind.

Did she ever.

Cancer took my mom from me. Not the lung cancer that I feared as a child since my mom smoked two packs a day until I was around 10. Not the breast cancer that I thought would claim her when they found a malignant lump due to her due diligence with self-exams. Cervical/Uterine cancer. I put the slash in since by the time they discovered it it was stage 4 and no one was sure where it started.

I told Miss S. about an organization that was so helpful to me and to my mom.  They are called Imerman's Angels You contact them and they will provide you with a mentor. They will provide your caregiver with a mentor so you can talk to people who have been where you are. My mom's mentor was Carrie and she had been through what mom had and mom talked to her for hours. When mom passed, Carrie sent us a card that was so lovely.

For those in your life who might be dealing with this hellish disease, point them here. And if you need a place to donate money--same goes.

Microblog Mondays - Dear Mom Year 3

Dear Mom,

Tomorrow will be three years
since I picked up the phone
to Dad's voice
saying only
"Honey, she's gone."

I had seen you
two days earlier.
I can still feel
your hand in mine.

You were beyond speech but
when you squeezed my hand
I knew that you knew
I was there.

I promised to take care of dad.
And I have, as much as he will let me.

I told you it was okay for you to go.
It was.
You were in so much pain.
You weren't you anymore.
Dad said, "If there was anything to pull we would have pulled it."
Not for him,
For you,
Because you hated being that way.

I told you you had been a great mom.
I forgave all the teenage crap.
I forgave the adult crap.
I forgave.

I said that I would be okay.
I lied.

I need you.
I never planned on motherhood
without my mother to guide me.

I miss you.
The good and the bad.
I never knew I'd watch Gilmore Girls
To remember how much of a pain you could be.

I know I am not the only one suffering.
Dad still reaches for you in the morning.
Aunt V, your older sister, often time travels in her head
to when you were alive.
My sister and brother live with their regrets.

I have few with regard to you.
I am proud of how I was able to care for you
like you cared for me.

I only wish I could have done so longer.

Microblog Monday - My Real Grandmother

Lotus is named after my grandmother.  My father's mother.

I adored her. I looked up to her--even though by the time I was 14 I was taller than her.  When I spoke of my grandmother, I meant her.

But I met both of my grandmothers. I met my mother's mother. She taught me how to bless the candles on Friday nights. She put dots of honey on my fingers and after I said some of the words right I would lick my fingers. She would read Torah stories to me. I remember her scent.

Grandma G. passed when I was around 7. I remember the funeral vividly. I remember my mother ripping a black ribbon as it was pinned to her suit. I remember that so well that when I was at my own mother's funeral, I flashed back to that day and broke down. It became real then.

But this isn't about my mom--or not really.

I came across a cache of pictures of my mother's parents.  I never met my maternal grandfather, he died before I was born. My then 42 year old mother thought that her missed periods and nausea was extended mourning. She went to the doctor and was declared 4 months pregnant.

There are several pictures of me with my grandmother. But the picture that stopped me cold was a picture of both of my maternal grandparents--taken not long before my grandfather's death.  In it my grandfather is smiling adoringly at my grandmother and she has--an almost shy smile on. It's the smile of a woman who loves the man she is with. It is a beautiful picture of two people very much in love.

I realized that while I had met my maternal grandmother--I didn't know her. Not because I was a child, but because so much of her died with my grandfather. This woman, with the shy, loving smile, this was my grandmother. The one my mother wept for. The one my mother knew.

Lotus met my mother but knew her less than a year. Afterwards my father had a lady friend who slipped effortlessly into the role and Lotus loves her. She knows and loves my father. He is Papa. He can't count. Every time he asks Lotus to give him three kisses he counts "one, one, one, one" He makes her giggle.

Today, I was looking through more pictures and I saw a picture of my father smiling so broadly with my mother in his arms smiling back. This is a lovely picture. I sucked in my breath as I realized I was staring at my real father. The complete one, the one with my mom at his side. No matter how long my father lives, Lotus will never know this man. My father, when he was complete.

Microblog Monday - The sins of the mother

When I think of being Jewish, of the High Holidays, I always think about the Al-Chet. I allude to it, I think about it.

For the sins which we have committed.

Most of the time I go to synagogue alone. D isn't Jewish and Lotus isn't old enough to get much out of it. It is easier to let her stay home with D.

So I'm standing on Yom Kippur thinking about my own sins.

I think about Lotus.  She is wonderful. She fills my arms with hugs and lets me show her the world. She listens when I talk, and I try to explain the world to it as I see it.

I wish for the current year that I can be the mother that my little girl deserves.

There are sometimes I don't want to watch Elena of Avelor for the ntheenth time. I want to watch something adult.

There are times I don't want to cuddle, or play. I want to sleep.

There are times that as much as I love her little voice I just want quiet.

There are times I think I am totally fucking up this motherhood deal and maybe that's why I don't have a biological child.

There are times I think, What right do I have to be annoyed or discontented when I prayed and wished and waited every single day for nearly a dozen years for this? How dare I not be smiling and happy every single day.

I want so badly to talk to my mother to see if she felt this too. While I could, and I'd be fairly sure she'd hear me, I won't get an answer. i miss her when I think I'm fucking up this motherhood thing.

For all these sins, God of atonement, forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.

Microblog Monday - Mourning needs more than a hug

Lotus has been talking about China Mommy lately.

We all talk about her. She's the reason we have Lotus. She's the reason Lotus has these amazing brown eyes while D and I have blue. We talk about her like we talk about my Aunt Vivian. She is a treasured relative who we don't see much.

Yesterday Lotus said "I miss China Mommy." I gave her a hug and said that it was okay and natural and right to miss her. I suggested that we hug each other real tight and we'll send all that love over an ocean an right to China Mommy's heart. We hugged and hugged and I don't mind saying that I felt pretty good about this. I felt like I did something right.

Then last night she had a meltdown. She started screaming, crying, and I just held her and rocked her.  She didn't repeat that she missed China Mommy--she didn't have to. I've been mourning my mother for two years, I know what mourning looks like. She cried and I rocked her and held her. She let me--even though I was concerned that she would push me away. We rocked and straightened out what she didn't want to do--even though a blind man could see that wasn't what the tantrum was about.

Today on the way to school she said "I miss China Mommy." and I (behind the wheel of the car) struggled for wisdom. I said maybe when we were older we could go to China and try to find China Mommy. Then she got upset and practically broke down until I told her we could return to New Jersey.

When I dropped her off at school I sang our song "Mommy comes back." and she hugged me and kissed me. Had she broke down again I might have said fine, let's take the day off, but she was okay.

It just left me thinking that she's mourning China Mommy and will most of her life. It takes more than a hug to get through it.

Emily Gilmore and My Mom

So I've been binge-watching Gilmore Girls.  I'd never seen it, a bunch of people said it was good and I've been enjoying it. I'm only in the first season so no spoilers please.

I thought I'd like Rory and Lorelei and I do.

But I love Emily. It's like having some time back with my mother.

My mother and Emily Gilmore had a lot in common. A rigid look at the world, a fierce love of their daughters, and a way to make sure her disappointment was known without saying a word. No way did we grow up that rich, but we were comfortable and the similarities are there.

There are sometimes when Emily Gilmore is on screen that I have my mom back for a little while--even the parts of her that I didn't like. Maybe especially the parts of her that I didn't like. I haven't been remembering the parts that drove me crazy--I miss them too. But there were times I could have killed her and saved the cancer the trouble. She had her bad points too, and watching Emily Gilmore helps me to remember the whole person.

Somehow this seems healthier than remembering only the good things. The bad things were there too. They had parts of our relationship and there are things I do now that I know she wouldn't have liked. She was not ever perfect. And neither is Emily Gilmore.

But she was mine, and I miss her, and for a little while when I am watching Gilmore Girls I have some time back with my mom.

Microblog Monday--Happy Anniversary Mom

Dear Mom,

I have my first byline.  My first paid byline, mom!  It's in the online magazine Kveller. I think it is right--the name. That's what you would have been doing--you'd be kvelling.

Dad had his birthday and then, six days later was your anniversary.

It's a hard day.

For sixty-four years June nineteenth was a celebration of love. The kind of love that you had. The yell at each other, make up, hold hands for a while kind of love. The sleep in a chair by your love's hospital bed kind of love. That's what we celebrated every June Nineteenth. That's what my sister celebrated when she chose it as her wedding day.

Now, now it's a day where we try to act like we don't remember how you would do stuff. We made no mention of the fact that it was your anniversary when we celebrated father's day, and my sister's anniversary. No mention at all.

I didn't handle that part so well. Even though dad was with his new girlfriend, I had to talk about you. I had to remember you. We talked about you and baseball. How a client took you to the famous Don Larson Perfect Game. You came home sad and down because "No one hit anything. No one got a run. " We laughed. We missed you. I needed to remember.

I need to remember that your blood is still in my veins. Your heart still beats with my heart.  I am here. I am here and since I am, you are still here.

When I am gone. When I am where you are, my blood does not flow through Lotus' veins.  But my heart will still beat. I have given her my heart and yours too.

I miss you mom. Happy what would have been your 67th anniversary.

Breaking the Fast

Work-wise and getting things done - wise, last week pretty much sucked.

However, as I plod along trying to take steps forward in my grief I believe I have turned a corner.

Last week, I read.

I don't mean read news sites and blog posts I mean books.
I don't mean I listened to books--though I am in the middle of a long audiobook and I listened to it.

I mean I read.

Five books in seven days.

Five new books that I have never read before.
Five books that are not written by Nora Roberts.

When my cousin, who lost both of her parents, told me that I would have problems reading, I didn't believe her.  Reading and books are what got me through bad times. To a point it still did. I was reading and rereading the work of Nora Roberts.  When I tried to read new books--I put them down.

Something happened. The dam of my TBR (to be read) pile crashed down and I picked up a new book and finished it. I grabbed another new book and did the same.  If I wasn't with my husband or daughter I was reading, getting lost in words and worlds. I was staying up late reading to find out what happens next. I plan to be reviewing some of the books in later posts, but I can say that the biggest surprise of the books was Trade Me by Courtney Milan.  Mainly because I don't like "New Adult" fiction usually--but this was a massive exception.

Anyone read any really good books lately? Because it seems that now I'm ready to.

Blood ties

I tend to belittle blood ties.
Hmmm, maybe belittle is not the word.

I understand and appreciate blood ties, but when people say to me, "You can't possibly love your adopted daughter like I love my daughter because she isn't your blood." I roll my eyes and take a step back from the speaker, often both metaphorically and physically.

I have a biological sister. I love her.

I have a sister that I chose for myself in my first week of college.  I love her too.

In my heart there is truly no difference. I often introduce the latter as my sister--something that kinda gets my bio sister upset. That being said, I often don't understand it, I don't love my b-sister less, I couldn't possibly. Somewhere along the line, with my non-bio sister, the word "friend" just didn't seem to cut it.

Anyway, blood ties--not a thing.

Then there was yesterday.

We are in California visiting my Aunt and Uncle. They are celebrating their 72nd wedding anniversary--and that wasn't a typo.

My Aunt is my mom's older sister. Though over 90 she traveled from CA to NY when mom passed. She said that she was there when mom came into the world and she would perform the mitzvah of burying her. She did--bent over with her own grief she did.

Yesterday after a incredibly long and traffic filled drive we arrived to meet them and I took my Aunt's hand.

More often than not I don't think about her being my mom's sister--seriously if you met my aunt you'd understand, she's in a class by herself. Yesterday I held her hand and it felt like I was holding Mom's hand. Her touch was the same.  We sat while eating dinner, holding each other's hands. I wasn't about to let go, neither was she. We were both looking for a link to mom and found it in each other.

I love my Aunt, and she loves me. Yesterday when I held my aunt's hand I also held my mom's. Yesterday when she held my hand she held a link to her sister.  The blood is there and so is the love. Maybe it's when they aren't together, that's when people say don't forget blood.

That mothers day when I sucked - Microblog Monday

So yesterday was Mother's day.  And after years of waiting and dreading this holiday I had a holiday with my beautiful Lotus.

My father and inlaws were here too.

And I did not have a good day. I like to make this blog about Hallmark moments, good moments, sad moments, but seriously this wasn't a good time, a good day, and I don't look good when I talk about it.

First we went to get our pictures done--and that went fine.  My dad left for his Mother's day with his girlfriend. (Is it really weird to talk about a 88 year old man's companion as a girlfriend or is it just me?) Nevertheless, that is probably when I started cooking.

I kinda wanted him with me.
Did I say that? No. Did I even register it consciously until I started to write this blog post? Also no.

So I started cooking in my mind.

Prior to this D and I had a tiff because I was annoyed that the place where I wanted to have Mothers Day Brunch A) wasn't doing it this year  (was closed for the day) and B) Why in all hell was I the one to make Mother's Day Reservations since I was the mother.

So poor D, went nuts trying to find a good mothers day brunch the day before mother's day.  He found a mother's day brunch but it wasn't good and the lack of care they took with cross contamination of my allergies meant I couldn't eat. At first they wouldn't let me order off the usual menu. Then they saw me sitting there like a bad Yelp review ready to happen and they let me order off the usual menu but it wasn't very good.

My Mother In Law was angry because I was not grinning and bearing it. To tell the truth I was angry at myself that I wasn't just grinning and bearing it. Well we left and got ice cream and it was marginally better. Then we went home because my in-laws were going to watch Lotus while D and I were going to watch Superheroes save the world. We left Lotus wondering why we had to go out and of course the time we wanted to see was sold out.

And I lost it.

I was crying, yelling at D, blaming him, blaming me. This day sucked sucked sucked! I had waited and waited and I wanted this perfect day! Why couldn't anyone understand that! My mom would have understood it!

And there it was.

I wanted my mother.  Somehow she'd have made it all right. D and I hugged and then we got the uber expensive Imax tickets.  The movie made me sane again.

Today I cringe at how I was yesterday--but it's real. Sometimes I am not a nice person, and well, today I'm owning it. I remember some of the Mothers' days with my mother. How sometimes she'd be sad, or in a bad mood, and I didn't understand. Now, in the light after that day, I realize that my grandmother, my mother's mother, died when I was seven years old. I don't have many memories of her. It occurs to me how mom must have been missing my grandmother on Mother's day. She must have ached for her, and hated hearing how the whole family was together--as sometimes it was--on mother's day.

So, I'm my mother's daughter.
And I can only hope that next year will be better.

Dear new owners of the house where I grew up

It's happened.

An offer has come on the house where I grew up. It has been accepted an a closing date has been set.

I want to beg Dad not to sell it.
I want to have it sold already.

But it is the house where I grew up.  I want to write a letter to the new owners and this is what I think it will say.

Dear new owners.

I grew up in this house. My earliest memories were of sliding down the stairs on my butt. Allow me to let you know some things about it.

The rungs on the bannister look wider than they are. Ask my brother. He got his head stuck between them. Mom called the fire department and expected them to cut through the bars, instead they poured a massive amount of cooking oil on his head. To the kids growing up--don't try it, it really sucks.

When you are in the basement, the house creaks. You will swear on a stack of bibles that there is someone else in the house. Nope. That's just the way it is.

My bedroom, the one that's pink now, is the warmest room in the winter and the coolest room in the summer. Yeah, you might like to have the big bedroom with the bathroom attached as the master bedroom--but if you are as sensitive to temperature as I am, take my room. It's good.

This house knew love. The kind that lasts lifetimes. My parents were the only owners of the house and they were married nearly 65 years. 54 of them were spent in this house. My oldest sister grew from toddler to adult in this house. My brother and I grew from newborns to adult in this house. This is the house where we hung out as teenagers, we held parties, and kissed our boyfriends (okay my boyfriends) at the front door. Grandchildren came to play in this house. The step that leads to the den from the stairs is called the evil step because every one of the grandchildren took a header on it. But afterwards they learned. This house rang with the laughter of a family with a good sense of humor. Yes this house knew tears, but when we wept, we didn't weep alone as the spirits of love remembered kept us company.

This is also the house where my mother died. I'm not telling you that to scare you or make this morbid. That is why my father is selling it, because when I come to the house I expect to see my mother in the kitchen, or coming up from the office in the basement, and it still hurts that she won't. We had a wonderful time in this house, and now it is your turn.

I have wishes for you.
May you make the house ring with laughter. The acoustics are such that if someone is laughing in the den, you can hear them upstairs.
May your children discover that if you talk about them in the basement office they can hear you in my room (the pink one).
May you have many meals where both ovens are used.
May there be a blackout--just cold enough that you sleep in front of the fireplace. I remember those nights of my childhood very well.
Fill this house with as much kindness, arguments, laughter, shouting, and love that we did.  It's a tall order but we are wishing that a family enjoys this house as much as we did.

Gd bless.

(and, if you find a wedding ring in the corners of the house, please return it to me. It was my mother's.)

Dear Mom - 2 years out.

Dear Mom,

It's been two years since Dad called--his voice nearly unrecognizable--and said, "Honey, she's gone." It wasn't a surprise. You said, often, you wanted to go "fast and first" and you did.  First being that you didn't have to wake a single day in a world where Dad wasn't.  Fast--well that is a relative term. You meant to have a heart attack. But the cancer that was discovered in October, left you bedridden in  late February and took you in April was plenty damn quick.

I remember clearly how at 5:30 in the morning I woke up. I glanced at the clock, I got up and waited for the phone to ring. I was so sure you were gone. I called dad at 8:00, but he told me no, you were still alive, only to call back three hours later with the news. I told this to my sister and brother and father and all of us woke up at 5:30 or within 10 minutes of the time.  No idea what that was.

It was monumentally unfair that after years of trying to have a child, waiting for the adoption that I never had a mother's day when I was both mother and child. You got to meet our Lotus and hold her, but she won't remember you--and I hate that.

You would have loved that I've been working the past year with audiobooks.

I remember your likes and dislikes sharper than when you were alive. I remember your scent and the strong way your hands moved. I remember how you would cut an onion, potato, or apple in the palm of your hand and never use a cutting board. I kept buying you cutting boards for Mother's day, your birthday, Chanukah.  Two of them I found after--unused.

Listing the things I don't miss about you would take a shorter time.

I miss your voice and your assertion that "everything happens for the best." I don't believe it now, anymore than I did then. But I miss you saying it.  

I think what I miss most about missing you is Dad. He's not with you--not yet, and I have some idea on how much work he has had to do not to just will himself to your side. But my strong Papa is gone. He's far more indecisive than I have ever seen him. He's more fearful too-- fearful of driving, fearful of stuff.  By your side he could do anything. The two of you could do anything. I miss that.  

I'm getting along--like you told me to, but you never taught me how to get along without you so I'm winging it most of the time.

The last show

I like the new Facebook feature.  The one where you can click on something and then you can see all of your posts on this day for the past year.

I've been enjoying it.

For the most part.

Today though, three years ago today, D and I saw Fiorello with my parents.
Bad memory? No. Not at all. We had a wonderful time at the show. Went to dinner at La Bonne Soupe, discussed politics and had a wonderful time.

I just didn't know it would be the last one. I didn't know that wonderful time wouldn't happen again. The next day is one of the best of our lives--we got our referral.  Then we got Lotus. And then we lost mom. Dad hasn't been back to Broadway since--though we are hoping to change that.

I just thought there would be more shows. My sister did too. She was invited and she didn't want to go--she missed the last one. Her thoughts of this--I don't know. I know she has so many regrets.  A difference between she and I is that I have no regrets when it comes to mom--sometimes that helps.

Sometimes no.

But I wish we had had more.

Microblog Monday--Christmas, Chanukah, and the light at our table

Today is the winter solstice.

It is no accident that Christmas is around this time. It is the darkest part of the year and the light comes back.

I like that Chanukah is the same time--and the light gets greater as the days go on.

I've been absent.

The grief you see. The grief is also a part of the darkness.

Thanksgiving is--was--mom's favorite holiday. She loved having us all around her table, feeding us and talking and stuff.
Last year we tried so hard to be good to each other.
This year not so much. This year we also had mom's unveiling.  That was hard. Seeing the gravestone with mom's name. Seeing the dual gravestone waiting for my dad. That was awful. At the ceremony the rabbi had dad take the "veil" off the gravestone. I could see on his face that he was thinking of the moment when the took the veil off my mother at their wedding. Over 65 years later he was taking the veil off her grave--not where he thought it was headed at the time.

Grief comes in waves, I've been told. The wave this year started around the unveiling and didn't recede until after mom's birthday. What would have been mom's birthday.

Now though the light is starting to come back.

My darling Lotus loved Chanukah. She's leary of Santa Clause but I'm hopeful that Christmas will be a hit. I'm having people over who are Jewish on Christmas day.

Hoping the light of friendship and love fills your face, your heart, and your life at this time of year and always.

Walking in the shoes

Mel had a great post about how when you are dealing with Infertility you are more empathetic to someone else who is going through it.

And I kind of agree.
Kind of.

Because there comes a point where it isn't true. When one leaves IF island on a boat (pregnancy) or a plane (adoption). Someone is now calling you Mommy. You are now dealing with all the stuff with parenting and they aren't. It can't help but cause something to happen, a distance if you will. If you're still on that island, it hurts to see someone off of it. If you're leaving that island...sometimes you don't want to look back.

I can speak of this from both sides now.

In the middle of my IF, one of my friends was going through it too. Together we mourned with every appearance of AF. Then, on my birthday, she called me. I had been having a nice birthday too. I had had a massage and was watching a marathon of crappy reality tv.  We seldom talk on the phone--doing most of our friendship online. When she called I thought something was wrong. She was over the moon as she was finally pregnant. She was doing her happy dance--and she should. I just thought she might have waited a day to tell me. I hung up the phone and cried. It was one of the worst birthdays because I  couldn't stop crying. She had other friends call me and they all wanted to share the news with me and wasn't I happy for her?

She had no empathy for me whatsoever. A few days later she emailed and said she hoped she hadn't ruined my birthday. I told her she did and she apologized. We're still friends, but I don't trust her as I did. I never will trust her to that extent again.


Fast forward a few years.
We had come back from China with our beautiful Lotus. My older sister is in agony. She and her husband had decided not to adopt from China even though they had come to realize that adoption was the only way they would grow their family.While we waited, and waited, and waited this might have felt like it was the right call. Then, after all this time I have this little adorable child and she's calling me mom. We went to a family thing and I was packing up to leave. I made a joke about the traffic going home, something like "I'm relying on a merciful Gd. We'll see how that works." I looked up and wanted to swallow my tongue. I gave my sister a hug and she turned away. I followed up, apologized again and she said that she knew it would be hard, but not this hard.

I try so hard to make my sister feel welcome. It is helping. Lotus adores her and in spite of everything I would imagine that Lotus considers my sister one of her favorite people--and her second favorite aunt. Lotus' godmother being in that first place berth. I still have to walk that line though. It was easier to be  empathetic when I was still there--but that is no excuse for me not to be once I'm not.

And then there is the dead parents club..... More on that later.