My Default

 I wish I knew how to make the font Times New Roman the default font on Word. I’m sure there is a way to do it, I just haven’t figured it out; and it’s weird, but I dislike Calibri (body) because it’s the “go-to” font for everything.

I guess the morning hours are supposed to be about writing what comes to mind. If the font in Word is the first sentence then either I’m problem-free, not very intelligent, or avoiding something. I’ll go with the latter, but who knows?

I spent the better part of three hours trying to get to sleep last night. It could be because I play silly games in my bed, sitting askew on my pillows until my shoulder starts to hurt, and then try to fall asleep. I can’t seem to get anything to pull me away from the game. It’s another way to avoid things, I suppose. My heart starts to pound so fast in some moments that I think something is wrong and random pictures come to mind and I start to panic.  Then I inhale through my nose, long exhale out of my mouth a few times and my heart calms. Then I get scared that it calmed too quickly and oh no, what if it stops?

What is that? I mean, I know it’s anxiety but why?  Is it because I’ve failed to write every day – essentially gave it up for a few years in the early morning hours and because of that, my brain rewired itself to have panic be the default emotion?

I recall my early mornings before the kids got up, before the sun stretched it’s arms and yawned, before the birds peeped. Of course, my early morning consisted of a couple cigarettes and some big cups of coffee. It also included many words on paper, mostly about love and sharing kindness. It was my way of finding gratitude without mentioning gratitude or the need to find it.

I love that the Buffalo Bills players have the phrase Be Love on their helmets. I recall saying something similar. Show love, give love, be love. I remember using my label maker to write out the phrase and paste it to my refrigerator so I would repeat it a few times a day. It was so the kids read it too.

It seems a bit naïve now – 10 or 12 years later, but I don’t think it is. I think I was at a place in my life all those years ago where I needed to grow and from all the ignorance I had as a young(er) adult came the knowledge that I was imperfect, vincible (is that the opposite of invincible?), mortal and in need of a shit ton of love.

All those years ago. All those lessons I learned. That faith. It was so strong, so real, so necessary. I fell back on faith and landed softly.

Was I still a nervous fool? I think I was, but I don’t recall fretting over a lack of sleep. But I probably did.

I miss cigarettes right now. But at 51, it’s a habit I can’t have, especially since I’m so out of shape.

Yeah, I’d write, smoke, sip coffee, find faith, spout love and kindness and then I’d greet the children with joy, get them off to school, and start my day. I’d work out, get ready for work and be in the office vibrant and happy – even if I was broken inside, I always showed nicer. 

Kind of like Calibri and Times New Roman. 

For the past few years, Calibri has been my default. It’s fine. It’s convenient, it shows up regularly, it’s a bit rounder, and it’s what the majority of people use because it’s conveniently the default. But I don’t really like it. I tolerate it, sure. I use it conveniently, lazily. But Times New Roman is where it’s at. It’s slender, tighter, and reminiscent of my “finding Carrie” days. 

I’m going to switch it to be my default, minus the cigarettes.

Forever Here

 Fifteen years ago. Everything changed.

The morning was pleasant. Working on a Dream was released. Bruce was going to sing at the Superbowl halftime show. The kids were at pre-school. I was at the Verizon office, and then out to lunch Jessica for her birthday.

Then Kathy called.

Jeff had a stroke.

My flight was booked. The kids would go with the ex.

Buffalo was in the midst of a snowstorm. Chuck picked me up at the airport. We went straight to the hospital. I lugged my suitcase in, up the elevator to the ICU. Everyone was in the waiting room – Cor, Cliff, Jim, Mom, Dad, John, Dana, Lynn…

Jeff. On life support with a breathing tube, swelling in his brain, bleeding.

Everything changed.

It’s okay that I’m sobbing. It’s okay. It means that I loved. That I love. That love exists in this world. It still exists because I feel the pain of my siblings, my mom. I hurt and love all who love Jeff, who remember him as a solid, vibrant, laughing, generous, broken soul.

Forever changed. Forever carrying grief in my heart like a tattoo. A tattoo that spreads to my head, swirling in the madness of loving and losing, wanting, and needing, disguised by time, cracked open in moments like this when I allow myself to remember, to feel and taste the pain again, to grieve.

It will linger through the day, through the rest of this month and next month. The memories of those six weeks when he was in the hospital, fighting for his life, offering hope and dismay, and hope again.

The smell of the hospital room, the tension in the waiting room. The notebook where we shared our thoughts. The doctor whistling in the elevator, the tune: “If I only had a brain”.

The kids greeting me at the hospital, their little suitcases trailing behind them. Their faces as they tried to understand why mommy was so scared, and sad, and hopeful, all at the same time.

My headphones playing Queen of the Supermarket, marveling at the line where her smile blows the whole fucking place apart.

The waiting room sofa where I attempted to sleep; across the room from Cliff.  When we gave up trying to sleep and getting a cup of black coffee in the early morning hours. Scared. Aware that something big had shifted, that maybe we’d never go back to how it was. How the family was whole. Intact.

The days that followed and then the weeks, and then plans for my birthday weekend. I would spend it with my brother in the rehab facility. I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

That Tuesday morning. The phone call from Mom. Falling to my knees and screaming “No.”

Maybe it’s not healthy to dwell. Maybe it’s not healthy to recall all these painful memories. Maybe it’s not right to know that even fifteen years later the pain is just as piercing, just as present, just as new as it was then. The pain of loving and losing and knowing love. Always secure in knowing that I hurt because I love. And because I love, I’m living. And because I love fully, he’s still living. In my heart, in my head, in the pain that grips me now.

He’s here and he’s still alive.

                                       

The Wolf Man

I was able to spend some time with work acquaintances last night. The Virginia Wireless Association held an event, and my coworker invited me to join. It was fun. I got to see some people I haven’t seen in a while, and more importantly, I got out of my pajamas and socialized.

As usual, when I think of my career in the wireless industry, I think back on my first couple years at Insite where I met Bryan Wolf. I got to know him as a boss when he would score my lease drafts with a red check or if I did a great job, a check plus.  There weren’t many checks without the plus after the first one.  During that time, we became great friends.  Then I got married and had a couple kids.  We still hung out, but not as often.

When the marriage was falling apart, Bryan called me out of the blue and asked if I needed some part time work. He didn’t know I was heading into divorce and the job I had at the ex’s company would soon be over. (Side note: I remember my resignation letter from that job. “I quit. The owner, my husband, is cheating on me and I feel it is a hostile work environment.”)  Bryan hooked me up doing Title reviews and offering reports on how to cure Title. He took 10% off the top and gave me the remainder. I made a lot of money for about six months while the contract lasted.

After that, we saw each other more often. We’d grab a beer on a random Tuesday evening (the one night during the week I didn’t have the kids) or we’d meet up with my neighbors on a weekend night I didn’t have the kids. We laughed. A lot. When you meet a decent human being who is fundamentally good and kind, you tend to gravitate toward them.  That was Bryan.

He died last August. It was a complete shock to all of us, and my heart broke in another place. I spent three sleepless nights crying and asking why.

Last night I met with my coworker, and she said she had run into another friend of mine who was very close with Bryan. He told her to say hello to me. I told her he was also a great human being and that we had a mutual friend who had passed recently.  Of course, I got somewhat emotional – swallowing back the tears that threatened to escape.  She nodded and said, yes, he mentioned it. He had to swallow back the tears as well.

I thought of a title for a story: The Wolf Man. I’m not sure where I’ll go with it or if I’ll even write it, but the protagonist is going to be this very tall, very kind, always smiling man. A man who loved his children beyond measure. A man who helped everyone and formed a social group that met once a week for years on Fridays for Happy Hour. I wasn’t part of the group, but I was always invited.

The last time I saw Bryan was in late June. We met up for a beer and made plans to see each other more regularly. He had invited me to his yearly summer fest and I regularly attended but had to miss this year – I was in Boone with Paige for college.

If I had known…

The Wolf Man.

I miss you, Bryan.