The One About My Parents.

Day 3: Your Parents

“Your folks are like God because you want to know they're out there and you want them to approve of your life, still you only call them when you're in a crisis and need something.”

When I think about my parents the first thing that comes to mind is being surrounded. Surrounded by parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, I think they took the philosophy that it “takes a village to raise a child” to heart. From my earliest memories; laying on the roof of my Memaw’s car looking at the stars and singing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, vaguely remembering when my tubes fell out of my ears and being at the doctors, Christmas trees, family cookouts and me and my cousins having chicken pox all at once til about fifth-grade. That was when my world changed drastically, before that I always remember having family around, everyone being happy…for the most part.

I remember when my parents started having problems, but I don’t ever remember them yelling. I just remember them spending a lot of time alone in their bedroom and I remember my mom taking vacations alone. I kept wondering why she didn’t want us to go with her, but I never imagined it was because they were going to get a divorce. I remember the night I found this letter my Dad had wrote to God…saying that he didn’t know what to do because his wife didn’t love him anymore. I think that was when I experienced my first real heartbreak. I never thought my family would be like my cousins. That I’d be the one splitting weekends here and there. I thought I was in this bubble and that it bursting was this impossibility. I remember my mom telling me she was leaving and I remember not really believing her. It wasn’t until I came home from school and for some reason I went to look in her closet and her stuff was gone that it finally hit that she’d moved out. Most everything after that was a blur. I remember Memaw moving out and Uncle moving in. I remember my little brother crying a lot, never wanting my Mom to leave him. It took me awhile to deal with my anger, to forgive but I think after all this time I do.

I was my Mother’s shadow as a little girl so her leaving was a shock for me. It was hard for me to learn to be myself, but my Dad was there every day to help. Soon my life settled back down and I saw that parents were very different people and they were living their own lives and especially in my Dad’s case he was doing things he enjoyed. I remember thinking how crazy he was for getting tattoos and going sky diving. I remember meeting my Step-dad, Mark at King’s Dominion and him basically saving me from choking to death. I remember silly nights with my stepbrother Chris and my little brother watching crazy movies. I remember everyone slowly coming back together again in a new way that made sense. This picture-perfect-puzzle that had been broken was coming together again to form something new, possibility even something better.

Everyone always loves my Mom. She was the first one to say “Let’s go do something fun” and was always up for the beach or amusement parks. She has such a big heart and won’t hesitate to do anything she can to help you in anyway.

People adore my Dad. He works hard for his family, not just outside the house but inside too. He has this quiet calm about him and you know that you can just sit and talk to him and he’ll listen. I think he’s still really just a big kid at heart.

Despite all the pain they went through, my parents were always there for me and I always knew they loved me and supported me. And I think that’s what really matters.

The One About Loss.

 

"When it happens to other people, 

you say how sad, you say poor thing.
When it happens to you, it means everything."

Grief is a funny thing. It takes on a life of it’s own so quickly. One moment your fine, going about your day as normal, and then you get that phone call. That one call that spins your otherwise average day into one of the worse you’ll ever have. I got the first of these calls in August. I was in the process of finding a new place to live and moving again. My husband had just gotten a promotion, I was excited for all the possibilities ahead. Then like a lightning bolt my mom sends the message that changes our family forever. My step dad has a brain tumor. An inoperable, stage four brain tumor. When you hear news like this, your first reaction is “Why?” and then you stare the sky for awhile, expecting it open up and rain down answers for you. No matter how long you stare, or how long you pray, this never occurs.
Then comes all the doctors, medications and treatments. You have this unfailing hope that this will be over soon, just a painful memory. Everyone stays strong, stays positive. You don’t stop fighting, you don’t stop planning. Because the idea that this won’t be over and he won’t beat this is just an absurdity. He has good days and bad days, better days and worse days. But you never give up that hope that just one more day, week, month, year. It’ll all be okay.

Behind that hope, is the rational part of you, the part that says people die from Cancer every day. This tumor can’t be removed. It’s in such a late stage. But you suppress that so deep, cover  it up in that blanket of hope so thick it’s impossible to find when you need it. When he’s admitted to the hospital again and again. When he’s put on ventilators and feeding tubes. This is the time to be hopeful, of course. But this also a time to be rational. To prepare yourself for that absurd possibility. 

Then Grief is there again. He’d been laying in wait, waiting to see which side the coin would land on. Then he’s there full force, and you can’t stop crying and nothing makes sense. Doctors are saying days, maybe weeks. He’s just a shell of his former self. That person you loved is gone. That man with bright blue eyes and a contagious laugh. The one with the funny voices and love of all things Flintstones. The one always searching for the best deal, the one with hands calloused from so many years of hard work. The one that helped you learn to drive, that drove you to three different grocery stores to find that specific flavor of Ben and Jerry’s. The one that have you Heimlich maneuver just hours after meeting you, quite possibility saving your life. That one that built a pool in your backyard. The one who introduced you to the wonders of snowcaps and popcorn. Who banged the table when he ate, the harder he banged, the better you knew it tasted. The one who brought specialty and no-bakes into your life. The one who at one point you thought broke your family, but actually made it bigger; giving you a brother and a sister and now a nephew.

Suddenly, the coin drops. Only, it doesn’t land on one side or the other, it’s standing on edge, teetering, waiting for you to make a choice. A choice no one should ever have to make. A seemingly impossible choice. They tell you he’s brain dead. They tell you there is no real chance of him coming back. Now Grief makes you choose which side of the coin you want. Do you want to keep him hooked up, machines keeping his body alive for days with no way of knowing how much he’s suffering? Or, do you want to let him go, to know for sure he’s no longer in any pain? You search deep within yourself, and you know he wouldn’t want to be this way. To be this weak, this helpless. So you decide. You decide to let him go, to know he’s in a better place. A place with no more pain or suffering.

I was in the middle of writing this post when I got the call that my Step-father had passed away. The last paragraph was written after he died. Rest in peace, Mark.

The One About My First Love.

Day 2: Your First Love

“He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.”

I suppose that because I’m married and I love my husband beyond comprehension that this is the day where everyone would expect me to write about him. But I’m not. Because this entry is called “Your first love” and while he is most definitely my first romantic and most significant love, he wasn’t my first.

I didn’t find my first love until I was about twelve years old. I know a lot of girls grow up knowing how much they love their Daddy’s, but for me it took awhile longer. Growing up I was a Mommy’s girl. Whatever she did, wherever she went I wanted to be there. I used to throw a fit if I didn’t get see her off to work or if she did something that didn’t include me. It wasn’t until she left and I couldn’t always be there with her that I realized how much my Dad had always been there. Patiently waiting, standing in the background for me to notice him.

I’m sorry that it took my parents’ divorce for me to realize how much he really loved me. He became my rock, and I remember standing in the kitchen one day with him and he looked at me said “I’m never going to leave you.” And I believed him with all my heart and he never has. Unconditional love is something every parent has for their child, but I don’t think all children realize how rare it is to have someone that loves you no matter what you say or do. I’m not writing this as a slap in the face to my mother, because I’ve long forgiven her for leaving and doing what she had to do. And in a way, her leaving gave me a gift, it gave me my Dad.

He was the one who got up with me every morning and saw me off on the bus, no matter how tired he was. He was the one home with me on the weekend, riding bikes and walking in the woods. He was the one who listened when I came home from my first dance upset because the boy I liked danced with another girl. He was the one that left me a note on my bed the day of my fifth-grade graduation telling me how proud he was and how sorry he was that he couldn’t be there…but just a few minutes before we were ready to go he showed up and was in the crowd. He’s the one who calls me and sends me emails asking how I am. Who always listens when I need to vent. Who offers advice and encouragement but never judges me if I make a decision he may have done differently. He did everything he could to keep my life normal and happy. He let me grow, he let me move away, and he never made me feel guilty about any of it. On my wedding day he was the first one to make me cry, I was doing such a good job of holding it in and when Pastor asked who gives this woman away he choked up and I lost it. And afterward he told me how beautiful I was.  

When I think of the person I loved I think about him. I think about him making me feel safe and secure. I think about all the times I cried and screamed at him and he still hugged me and told me he loved me. He may not be the perfect father, but he is perfect for me. And he was my first love.

The First One.

Day 1: Introduce Yourself

 “I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.”

I’m the girl that’s full of contradictions. I hate running but I’d love to do it. I hate being hot and sweaty but I love the ocean and the beach. I hate my body but I love my curves. I hate my frizzy hair but I love how it looks when it cooperates. I hate my freckles but love the way they come out in the summer.

I hate people who are passionate about something but wish I had something I was equally passionate about. I hate people who are ignorant; who judge you on how you look but when certain people cross my path I look away. I hate people who volunteer but wish I had the strength to do it. I hate people who do things better than me but I rarely put forth an honest effort to really be good at anything. 

I’m the girl who had big dreams but let reality get in the way. I’m the girl who stops when she’s done just enough. I’m the girl that never goes that extra mile. I’m the girl who gets walked on. I’m the quiet girl. I’m the girl that gets forgotten. I’m the girl that’s always nice. I’m the girl who’s always smiling. I’m the girl who always listens. I’m the girl who’s shy until she’s not. I’m the girl who hides behind sarcasm. I'm the girl who envies people who have such strong faith in God.

I’m the girl who loves life. I’m the girl that loves traveling and adventure and a good story. I’m the girl who gets excited about the little things. I’m the girl that loves the snow. I’m the girl that watches cartoons. I’m the girl who reads too much. I’m the girl who’d rather spend a night in a bookstore than out at a bar. I’m the girl who wishes she was really good at something, anything. I’m the girl who procrastinates. I’m the girl who when she is motivated will blow you away with what she can do. I’m the girl with the big ideas but no fire in her belly. I’m the girl that’s scared to go back to school. I’m the girl that’s nervous around new people. I’m the girl who wishes she was athletic, musical, artistic…something more than what she is. 

I’m the girl who’s hopelessly in love with being in love. I’m the girl who loves her husband beyond words. I’m the girl who’s scared of ever being a mother, because it’s the most important thing she’ll ever do with her life. I’m the girl who wishes she’d gone to college already. I’m the girl who wishes she had a family like the ones on TV. I’m the girl who wishes she had friends like the one she’s about in books. 

I’m the girl who wishes she could make a difference. I’m the girl that’s full of fears, afraid to take that leap. I’m the girl who wants to write but is scared that first criticism would turn me from it forever. I’m the girl who wishes she was a better sister, daughter, granddaughter, cousin, friend, wife. I’m the girl who wishes on shooting stars and won’t pick up a penny unless it’s on heads. I’m the girl who’s fascinated by people. I’m the girl who wants to do something extraordinary but is actually pretty happy being ordinary. I’m the girl that wants to be defined by who she is, not what she does…whoever that might be. 

I’m the girl who’s twenty-three, has traveled more than anyone else in my family and most of my friends, who has a husband that little girls dream about having when they grow up and is still wondering…what do I have to show for my life?