And So It Goes...

I made it exactly (well, maybe not exactly)4 days without feeling any physical pain. No belly infection; no PMS; no headache; and no sunburn. And now?

I threw my back out again.

I am walking like a 75 year old at an amusement park with the kids... trying so hard to keep a game face, but hurting like somebody is taking a sledgehammer to my kidneys. And it's funny, because at 37 years old, I sound like my Grandpa Fuzzy eating his breakfast...."Mmm, hhh, mmmm, owww, hmmm..." and this is just me sitting on the sofa. When I try to walk to the bathroom (bladder infection), it is much, much worse.

Okay, fine, that doesn't matter. The highlight of my night was playing multiple choice questions with the kids. I started it: "I love you as much as: a) the trees growing in the backyard, b) the height of the house or c) the universe?"

"The universe!" Both of my geniuses answered correctly.

"Okay, this one is a little harder. I love you as much as: a) my pinky finger nail, b) a nose hair and c) my big, brilliant, manicured toe nail."

They giggled hard at the nose hair comment, but in the end, answered correctly: My big, brilliant, manicured toe nail.

Once they got the gist of the game (my version of getting them ready for the LSATS), they wanted to create their own multiple choice questions.

Paige: a) My homework, b) the truck or c) My heart. You know the answer.

Tony: a) My butthole, b) Your butthole or c) GRRRRRR.....

Not sure how to answer, but it didn't matter because Paige began crying and ruined the whole thing. She was very, very frustrated.

"Why are you frustrated?" I asked.

"Because Tony's comic words are annoying." She answered.

I laughed so hard, my back hurt.

And guess where I'm going?

a) Bed
b) A Bonfire Party
c) To Mexico to meet up with a pig

Wasted

For the past couple weeks, I've worked twelve hour days. Doing that, and raising two kids on my own for those two weeks, with little less than a three hour break took its toll. There wasn't time for worrying, there wasn't time for wanting. The only thing I could do was go from one thing to the next, to the next, and try to keep a smile on my face the entire time. And I did, for the most part. I realized, in this week of busy-ness, how much time I had previously wasted. I spent months - MONTHS - trying to figure out why the divorce was happening. I spent energy - so much energy - on the tears, the anger, the fear and the sorrow. And you know, the "why" answer is no clearer to me than on the day he walked out. I wasted so many days wondering about that why. Gone. Wasted, wondering why.

The why doesn't matter. The why will never be answered because I am not him, and he is not me. The "why did Jeff die?" question sits in the same wasted time box. I don't know. I will never know - at least not on this earth. So why ask why?

During the separation and into the upcoming divorce, I spent many days learning about myself; my priorities; my wants; my needs and my hopes for the future. NOT wasted. I am very grateful for that, and the tears I cried in figuring that out - NOT wasted.

I've learned. In all of this, I have learned so much. And this morning, in the midst of hammering out contracts, with sips of coffee in between, while my i-pod blared music, I had to stop. The song Life Itself came on, and I glanced up at Jeff's picture, and that was it. I was done for. I shook my head hard back and forth, and said, "No, no, no..." and I hit forward on the radio. After several seconds of a different song, with the wave of sadness rippling throughout my body, I hit the back button and turned the song as loud as Gracie could bear. And I cried. I cried for my sorrow over having lost a beautiful person in my life. I cried with every memory I had of his smile - from the age of four through the age of 38. I cried because I know that I will not see him - physically - again for a very long time. I sang the words to the song with tears streaming down my face and I wailed with the chorus. When the song ended, I turned off the stereo, sat back in my desk chair, took a deep breath, closed my eyes and thanked God for that moment. It wasn't wasted. It had to be done. Soon after, I blew a kiss to his picture and got back to work.

As sad as it seems, it was a moment in my life that I lived. Yes, my grief over having lost my brother is part of my life now - it is a grief that I will live with forever, and live with it, I must. Trying to ignore it by shaking my head and begging "no" is simply a waste of my time because it will have affected my work, my responsibilities toward the kids and my interaction with the kids and everyone else around me.

I have decided to feel the pain when it comes - allow it to be a blessing that reminds me of how much I have loved, of how much I love, of how much I will continue to love.

And I will not waste any more of this precious time I have in my life, worrying about non-essential things. I cannot afford to do that. Every moment is my moment to live. Every moment wasted is a moment that I owned and threw away - gone forever from my life.

Love. Show love. Live love. Be love. There is never a wasted moment in loving, even if it's surfing on a huge wave of sorrow.

Tracy Chapman Does it Again...

THE ONLY ONE (excerpt of the lyrics)

... I've mostly lost the voice to speak
And any words to say except
Does heaven have enough angels yet?

I've gone hard
And I've gone cold
I can't make the piece of this cracked life fit
Please forgive me for wanting to know
Does heaven have enough angels yet?

He was the only one
Of my own flesh and blood (besides Cor, John, Cliff, Jim, Mom & Dad)
Sometimes I hear him calling
Straight from the house of God

Steve Austin and Jamie Summers

Yes. You know who they are. By the time I am done with this post, you will have remembered. Ah... you already know, don't you?

They were the heroes of my childhood. And they shall be the heroes of my childrens' childhood.

It was late 1995, autumn, a Saturday morning during my first semester of law school, around 10:00 in the morning:

"Hey, watcha doin'?"

"Reading. It sucks."

"Well, TBS has a marathon of the six million dollar man and the bionic woman running until midnight. Turn it on."

I turned it on, while I studied, and I got a phone call or two, or three throughout the day from my brother Jeff. We loved that show.

For some reason, I thought about Steve Austin and Jamie Summers this evening, and so I googled the names, and with tears streaming down my face, I had the kids watch the You Tube videos with me.

"Can she lift a car?"

"Yep, and she can tear a phone book in half!" I answered.

"Can he run as fast as a Cheetah?"

"Yep."

"Can she?"

"Yep."

"Can we get the movie?"

"Absolutely."

"Do you think John and Farrah would like it?"

"Absolutely. If there is nothing else in my life that I ever do, I will introduce the six million dollar man and the bionic woman to you guys and your cousins."

And so, $99 later, 105 episodes, five seasons of the six million dollar man... they are on their way. The bionic woman is soon to follow as soon as I find a good deal.

My life. Their life. My parents did good with letting me and Jeff watch, so why change things?

Can't wait to watch them!

Fricago, Here I Come!

It's been a hell of a ride since I got home from my two days in Florida. First, the stomach pain - unbelievable - and two very energetic kids. Did you know they like to draw, paint, watch DVDs, play the guitar, play video games, have tea parties with ALL their stuffed animals, eat candy or ice cream, play trucks, and make a big meal with their kitchen set? They do. And they do all of it in a span of about twenty minutes, every half hour or so. You can imagine what my house looks/looked/looks like from that twenty minute frenzy. I pick up, they play. I pick up, scream, and they give me hugs and kisses, and then they play. I kick them outside, pick up the house, and look to see that my backyard is strewn with balls, bicycles, kites, tree limbs and rocks. Okay. I'm done. Time to lay on the hammock and let it all go. And they snuggle up and we're done worrying about the mess because our love is all that really matters. Phase in, phase out.

Yesterday, I got home from work at 7pm. Before driving up my street, I lifted two garbage cans and a recycle bin into the back of my truck. When I hit the brakes to go over the speed bump on my road, all the water that was in the bottom garbage can came rolling out and all over the truck floor. I smelled it first, then I saw it soaking the carpets. I looked up to the heavens and said, "The devil's an asshole." And I looked down to the ground and gave him the finger.

I had begun my day at the office at around 9:15am, worked hard all day, came home exhausted and the kids were already here from their dinner date with their daddy. I walked into the house - toys, shoes, lunch pals, backpacks, paper all over the living area. I gave them kisses and hugs and Paige greeted me with a present she bought at the school store - Sylvester the cat saying, "Sufferin' Succotash!" She bought it just for me because she knew I'd love it. The mess? The water in the back of my truck? Who cares? Phase in, phase out.

I sat down for a quick dinner - sandwich on wheat = delicious. The kids saw me sitting there and begged for me to get the guitars down, to do crafts, to read a book. I took huge bites of my sandwich, and said, "Let Mommy finish this sangwich and I'll be right there." And they said, "Okay. We're going to get our luggage ready for our trip to Fricago then!"

Their imaginations took them from packing all the essentials, to getting their bus tickets, their plane tickets and their "house" reservations for their trip to Fricago. I listened to their conversations as I ate, and thought of how inspiring their enthusiasm to go to Fricago was. An unknown destination.

My thoughts then went from the ache in my kidneys (infection got them), to thoughts of Jeff, as they do every twenty minutes or so, and I was thrilled with the idea that he now knows the great unknown. The thought filled me with comfort, and I realized that my kids' imaginary Fricago gave me the thought.

I get so frustrated with the mess of my house sometimes, and frustrated with feeling like crap and not having the energy to keep it as clean as I'd like, but then I realize that I wouldn't want my children to be any other way. And when I ask, usually accompanied by a guilt trip or a bribe, they'll help me clean up - as soon as they're done saving the world with their laser-pointing fingers and incredibly muscular arms. When they're working together to get ready for Fricago, when we're all singing and dancing, and laughing together - even if it's only for ten minutes - I realize I too, am getting a piece of the unknown that Jeff is now experiencing. And that is why my faith will not be moved - regardless of the stomach pain, the stinky garbage water, the long day of work and the messy house. That ten minute light extinguishes all the darkness thrown my way.

And I hope Jeff works with the Big Guy to send me a piece of heaven every day, even if I have to go through the mess of getting ready to go to Fricago to see it.

Been Good to Me So Far

Despite the rolling pains in my belly, it was a beautiful weekend. Tony has more energy than any one child should have. He keeps me on my toes, between running out the front door with no shoes and returning with a flower for me, to pulling his pants down to his ankles so that he can pee off the back deck, to wrapping his arms around me and saying "I love you. Baby." Yesterday, I sat on my neighbors porch and sipped a Bud Light, and watched Tony drive his hand-me-down motorcycle. When the battery was depleted, he got his Lightning McQueen car. When that battery was depleted, he pulled out the John Deere tractor he used to drive around when he was two. His knees were over the steering wheel and he moved about as fast as a turtle, chugging his way to the neighbors' house. After that, he got in Paige's cute little Ford F-150 and drove around. My driveway was filled with these toy trucks, and not one of them had any juice in the batteries left. This lasted about two hours. Paige, in the meantime, was making experiments with her friend MacKenzie, who happens to be just two months older, and lives right next door. How awesome is that?

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and my lawn mower is trashed. Flat tires, no battery... so, I didn't have to mow. I told my neighbors that I was going to see if I could be the hick neighbor and have a field. Without missing a beat, my neighbor said, "Let's have a competition. I'll let my lawn grow too." Nah, I can't do that. I truly look forward to mowing the lawn this summer. I know it will be sunshine, Springsteen in my ear and a whole lot of good thoughts. It is simply impossible to stay down when the sun is shining like it has been.

"Let the beauty of what you love, be what you do." I watched Tony doing what he loved. I watched Paige doing what she loved. And it was beautiful. And that is why sitting on the porch, drinking a beer with my friends and watching them is what I did.

Life really is good when you open your eyes to see it.

I Got Nothin'

It's been awhile. I've wanted to write so badly, but I've got nothing. The creative muse has vanished into the turbulent waters of this life, and although struggling, has yet to emerge for air. No worries right now, because I have more pressing problems to deal with as of late.

My small and large intestines have decided to work together against me. The abdominal pain has been severe for the past several days, and although my appetite hasn't gone away, my intestines are packed to the outermost boundaries, like pork in a sausage casing, and my poor little release valve is suffering. I went to the doctor yesterday and after the doctor pushed and prodded on my stomach (it hurt like a son-of-bitch), he concluded that I have an infection that is causing a blockage. What an asshole! (Not my doctor, my colon). So, that's been fun.

Other than that, I've been hearing echoes of the conversation I had with my brother Cliff about the meaning of life as we sipped (sipped??) Bloody Mary's on the Florida beach, and enjoyed the sun as it burned into our skin, causing blisters and tenderness that is just now starting to peel off in clumps. I think at one point, we had figured out the meaning of life, but the alcohol made our memories a little foggy. At some point, we'll get together again and try to reconnect the dots, with a little less Grey Goose and a little more sunscreen.

What reverberates is the truth that was concluded: death does not separate us from our brother. He's beside us all the time, and in every situation we are aware of what he would say and how he would react. I miss him terribly, but time goes by so quickly anyway and he lived a full life. So, burrowing in the sadness and regret is the only source of my conflict, and it is a blockage to my fulfillment in my life. In essence, that sadness and regret is like my small and large intestines, infecting my passage into living my life. I intend to push it out as soon as the antibiotics start kicking in. The antibiotics being: laughter, compassion, meaning-of-life conversations, and of course, Grey Goose.

I told you. I got nothing. I can't think beyond pooping right now.

Sexy, eh?

Update

I am four days into a week of both kids having the flu - late nights of throw up, gas bubbles, hot foreheads and sleepy smiles...

I am four months into the most sorrowful year of my life...

I am six Bruce songs into memories that are swiftly mounting into a pile of tenderness...

I am two kids into my life - cherishing every single second, even the throw up, gas bubbles, whining and tantrums...

I am very, very much into debt - for now...

I am three chapters away from a completely revised first novel...

I am six chapters into "7 Habits of Highly Effective People"...

I am four chapters into "The Witch of Portobella" by Paulo Coehlo...

I am four chapters into "The Wednesday Letters" by ?...

I am three months into a brand new project at work, that has hardly seen my input... not this past week, not last week, not last month, not since January 27th...

I am three weeks into needing another dye job for the 15 grays that show up overnight...

I am six days away from the birthday of Paige, who will be six (!)...

I am halfway done with an Excel spreadsheet that turns my stomach, churns my emotions, scares the crap out of me, and relays my financial future...

I am about 18 months into disillusionment, but keeping my head above water, and growing very, very strong...

I am eight days away from a three day vacation in Florida without the kids...

I am 8 pounds away from fitting comfortably into a six four...

I am 8 pounds away from fitting comfortably into a size eight...

I am 37 years into a life that, up until this week, was passing without much of my input...

I am two hours away from tucking the kids into bed after prayers and a book...

I am two hours and four minutes away from pouring three or four glasses of wine in a row...

That's about it.

I Dunno

There isn't much I can do about the death of my brother. I mean, I can't bring him back (in the physical sense) - it is what it is.

There isn't much that I can do about my current financial situation - it is what it is, and working on my dream is going to have to happen during the hours when I'm sleeping because from 7 in the morning until 10 at night, I'm working on simply living my life. I accept that. I don't like it, but for now, it is what it is.

There isn't much I can do about my status as a single mother of two - it is what it is. I'm too busy doing what needs to be done. (See paragraph two). If God wants me to be happy with a loving husband, who is a role model for my kids, a gorgeous hunk of man, smart, humorous, kind, compassionate and adoring of me... he's going to have to plop him on my lap as I sit here and type because otherwise, it ain't happenin'!

Ain't much to be done about the economy on my front.
Ain't much I can do about AIDS, or global warming, or illiteracy, or immorality or cancer...

Is there?

Wanting to do something about these things is much different than having the ability to do something about these things.

I'm struggling right now with the purpose of my life. Perhaps it is due to the divorce, which is obligating me to think about starting a new dream, and perhaps it is because I saw a man who purchased the Springsteen CD in the morning, and suffered a stroke in the afternoon, and died shortly after - not even able to hear the entire CD.

Perspective? Desperation?

What, in God's name, am I feeling? Because I'm not satisfied with my life. I am so amazingly satisfied in the moment - when I'm in the moment with my children - but other than that, when they're at school or at their dad's house - I'm lost. What is my purpose? What? Is it even an issue? Should it be?

Perhaps I am writing this as a letter to God - a plea for some answer. Yes, I love. I love with my heart. I have compassion, I have generosity, I give with my soul. How can I do that, and still exist in this world - because, I'm stuck here right now? I'm stuck and I don't know how to exist right now.

And the thing is, I'm not depressed or sad, I'm not anxious, I'm not excited, I'm feeling nothing right now except confusion. What is this?

Suck it up, tough it out, do the best you can? Oh, I wish I could do that. There is more to it than that.

I have a restless heart. I'm working on it though. This blog post seems to be the first step: recognition.

Ah, let's see where this takes us. Is it common for the grieving sister, the grieving spouse? Where are the experts on this one?

Hungry heart?

Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuce!?!

What's the Point, You Ask?

I had a pretty powerful moment yesterday, and I am not sure if I can do it any justice, but I feel compelled to share it for some reason. The moment played over and over in my mind for a few hours last night, as I tried, unsuccessfully to get to sleep. When I finally resigned myself to trying to describe it on this blog, I was able to fall asleep. So, share it, I must.

It occurred after I gleefully ate my dandelion salad. Paige, who nibbled on a little bit of rice, had crawled over to the sofa and curled up. Her thumb was in her mouth and she fell asleep. Tony, on the other hand, was running around like Marley, tearing up paper, throwing pillows, jumping up and down - the boy had the energy of a meteorite. I told him to go exploring outside with Gracie. He said, "Okay."

I sat on the porch with a C.S. Lewis book in hand, and tried to read, glancing around the yard every few seconds to see that Tony was okay. After a few minutes, I closed the book, set it down and looked up at the sky. I said, "I don't get it God. I don't get it, and I know I shouldn't be angry with you, but I am. I am so angry that this happened. And I am so angry that I wake up every morning and have no idea what to do with my life. I have this great job in this terrible economy and I hate it. I have this ability to write, and I don't do it for some reason. I have this heart, full of love, and I don't have anyone to share it with. I need your help. Not a whisper on the breeze, not a veiled communication - I need You to tell me what the point is of all of this. What is the point? And what am I supposed to do with my life?" Of course, I was crying... missing my brother, and missing my confidence in making a decision about my career path, or a decision about my ultimate purpose for this life. I talked for a long time, watching Tony as he moved around the yard.

When I ran out of things to say, I took a deep breath and listened. Birds, breezes, cars passing, Gracie running, my own breaths; and then I felt: the grain of wood under my hands, the tears as they dried on my cheeks, the breeze across the bangs on my forehead; and silently, I said, "Open my heart, my eyes and my mind to see what You want from me." At that moment, Tony came from around the barn with a stick in his hand, leading Gracie with it. He said something to her, threw the stick and watched her for a few seconds. Then he put his hands on his hips and looked around. He looked up at the sky, followed a bird with his eyes, scanned the horizon, the dilapidated garden, and then the play yard. He walked over to it, and I thought for sure he would get on the swing and start swinging. Instead, he sat on the wood that contains it. He sat like an old man on a bench. He cupped his face in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees and continued looking around.

I stood on the deck and watched him, stared at him really with no thoughts except that he was just beautiful. I watched as he looked down at his feet, and the grass surrounding his feet. Amongst the clovers and grass was a flowering weed - just a tiny, white blossom among the green. He picked it. And I thought, "I know he picked that for me, he'll look up now and smile." So, I made sure to keep my eyes on him so that our eyes would meet. But he didn't look up. He twirled the flower between his thumb and pointer and then continued to look around. For five minutes, I watched him twirl that flower in his fingers. And my heart filled with thoughts of only love - my love for him, my love for Paige, my love for my family, for myself and for God. At that point, Tony looked up and caught my eyes. And he smiled and began walking toward the steps of the deck. He said, "This is for you Mommy, but after I give it to you, I am going to sit back down and rest." I met him in the middle of the stairs, took the flower and kissed him, and said, "Thank you my dear boy." And he said, "I love you Mommy." He turned, walked back down the stairs and sat back on the wood, observing nature.

I sniffed the tiny bud, and actually caught the scent of a flower on that weed. And it smelled like love. I had learned my purpose.