For Sammy...

I'm not ready to sleep. To close my eyes and open them on the day we lost you. I don't want to write that it's been a year. You've been gone a year. Every memory after today is including a time you weren't there.

I'm told I should be handling this better. My grief should be lessing. Some are losing patience with me. But, the truth is, some days it is better. And then a memory eases in and I'm a Hot Mess in zero to 60...

I miss you every day. Most days I breath. Some days I struggle with just that. Breathing.

If only saving you had been as simple as ensuring you were wearing proper safety equipment for whatever adventure we were embarking on when you were a year old...

But Life. And we failed you. I failed you. And we've lived a whole year without you. And I never got to say goodbye...

The one about the mantra...

I'm good. We're good. I'm good...

For the past year people have been asking how we're doing. For various reasons. Because it's been a shitty, trying year. They've asked how my sister's doing. How my husband is doing. How my daughter is doing.

We're good. They're ok. He's good. I'm good. I'm good...

In all of the moments I had to remind myself to breathe. I'm good. I'm good...

I haven't written about our sweet Sammy because it's still too raw. Too open. One day I will. But not now. So, when asked? I'm okay. I'm good...

Our baby girl's arthritis has flared up with such a vengeance her one medication is no longer keeping it under control. She was prescribed another, and it was useless. So now she's on another. The one we never wanted to see because we know it. We know the effects it has on her dad. The life it takes away. But it also shuts down the disease. Giving her back use of her wrists. Allowing my precious 9-year-old daughter to write, and scamper across the monkey bars. So our plan has been that she takes the medication on a Friday night. Time for her to sleep through the worse of the side effects, and a weekend to get over the rest. She's good. We're good. I'm good...

She's in therapy once a week...switching off between counseling and occupational. Head, sensory, and body. She's good...

Winter arrived in full force a few days ago. I was raised in the tropics. I'm miserable in the cold, and this morning we were at 0 degrees F. Old house. Old windows. Old heat system. All I want to do is drink hot tea and hibernate. But I remember a few years ago when that heat system broke. So even bundled up, knowing there is actually heat coming from the vents...I'm good.

It's been a year of talking myself into getting out of bed each morning. Checklists throughout the day, the week. Get outta bed. Check. Get the kids to school. Check. Make it to work--on time. Check. Get the girl from school. Check. Go over homework with the boy. Check. Get everyone to bed. Check. Sit. Breathe. Get myself to bed. Check.

And wake up knowing we made it through the day before. We'll make it through today. And we're good. We'll be okay.

The one about making beautiful things...

It's been a hard week. We had a bit of dust-up, election wise. Can't honestly say that anyone Won, really.  Our little city has managed to not-so-peacefully assemble and protest.   

I'm supposed to be on my way back from Turkey right now. Actually, I should have arrived home this morning. But our trip was canceled just over two weeks before departure. Because reasons. 

But, because of the change, when a friend asked if I could create a cake to celebrate her mom's 70th birthday, I was able to oblige. Her mother just so happens to be obsessed with all things British royalty

 

I'm a firm believer in Be The Change You Want To See. Today? I made art. Not that anyone will hang these up for admiration...sugar doesn't keep that well. But, my gift is in creating. And I'll continue to create beautiful things and sharing them with others. 

I can't recall the names of politicians and rulers throughout history. Or all whys and reasons for the countless wars. But I remember the names of artists. And I vividly recall their greatest, and not so greatest, works. Art has always had healing powers for me. Today was no exception. 

The one about being firmly planted in grace…

Life is messy. And Hard. And beautiful. And, most days, all at the same time.

This week was particularly messy. And hard. 

I sat in the room with the wee girl as she talked to her therapist for the first time. I sat. And I listened. I watched. I watched as she started to fidget. Started to pace. Started to do her silly faces and hand motions she does when the situation gets too Big. Too awkward. I watched. For the first time in nine years, I didn’t reach out and touch her, ground her. Calm her. I plant my feet, and watch. Because the councilor needed to see. Needed to witness. 

I’ve dealt with parents all week who believe that, somehow, their child’s feelings are not being taken seriously, validated. Their child is 2. Everything single feeling is Huge. I’ve had to reassure them that, yes, we listen. We engage. We keep her safe. And she is happy. And still, they sit there wanting me to do More. Be more. They are upset because I don’t answer work emails at home. Because they don’t have my phone number. I plant my feet, and I stand my ground. Because my time is sacred. My home is sacred. 

A text from my nephew earlier in the week, simply asking if he could leave his car at our house over the weekend, brought up all of the times his brother would text to ask if we were home and could he stop by. I’ve stopped expecting it to get easier. Better. I think I’m prepared for the pain, but I never am. Grief is messy. So very messy. It seeps into everything and anything. I love that he’s close, and comfortable with just dropping in. But I miss his brother. So much. And one reminds me of the other. But I’m not going to withdraw from the one just because it hurts and it’s messy. So I plant my feet, and I welcome him and I hold him. So tight. He knows I don’t want to let go. And he lets me hug him. 

Yesterday I came home from work Done. The girl came home from school weary. She wanted to bake. I wanted Rest. So she waited. And then she baked. But we all forgot we needed the oven for an early supper because the boy and I had a Thing. Fridays here aren’t celebrated by everyone. Because it’s also chemo day. Messy, ugly, painful chemo day. But he was still going to insure the boy and I had supper before we left. It ended up not being ready. The boy ate in the car. I ate when we got home—much later. And he was stressed, and frustrated, and in loads of pain. But he was doing his best to control the situation. And I was only making it worse. In my own frustration and messiness, I wasn’t able to get the right words out. The ones that told him how much I appreciated him trying to take care of us, and to fix this thing that didn’t need to be fixed. I needed to tell him I saw him. I see him. I see the things he does. All of what he does for this family. For me. I see him. But it was messy and it all came out wrong. And so I plant my feet, and I stand. I stand in his storm. His body and brain are hijacked by forces he cannot always control. It’s not an excuse. But the knowledge enables me to stand in that storm. And to walk out on the other side. 

Today, I sat down to work on a cake order. I have a couple of weeks, but there are components that need to be completed early so they can dry, be painted, and dry some more. I sat at the kitchen island, my own music softly playing, and I created. I let my hands do what they know to do. Delicate yellow roses sculpted out of sugar. And I let it all go. 

Because, sometimes? We need to create our own peace. 

The one about anxiety and a toy purge...

The girl child's current method of separating the Rational from the Irrational is to remove the physical source of her anxiety, if applicable.  For example...she brought one of her American Girl dolls (hand-me-down, not purchased) down to us late one night because it was scaring her. A few nights later, Curious George joined the doll. Huge steps from the screaming and hours of talking her down!

Tomorrow? We will be conducting a full purge of dolls, including Barbies.

But not the stuffed animals, because those only fart and snore.

I should probably sum up...

Almost an entire year of dead air...at least blog wise. Certainly not dead air in real life. Far from it!

It was a year filled with adventure, new things, old things, comfort stretching things, lovely things, and hard things.

Both kiddos finished up challenging school years on high notes. Summer shenanigans were well deserved!

The summer was spent teaching our children how to cook, how to work the washing machine...

The girl's room underwent a complete make-over. I only teared up for the first bit--painting over the mural I had previously painted...

There was a week spent between a massive water park and an even more massive amusement park. Both kiddos rode their first roller coasters! The boy hit the height limit on every single one--so he rode every single one. Multiple times. Never have I been more grateful for friends who love roller coasters so he never rode alone!

Comic Con came to our city once again...this time we attended as Time Lords and their TARDIS. I had an epic run-in (my face colliding with his chest epicness) with John Schneider. Twice. My inner 15-year-old was all a twitter.

I was able to accompany himself to the annual Scary Guy convention in Colorado Springs. I fell in love with the mountains. I didn't think I could love any mountain as much as my Kilimanjaro, but I did truly fall in love...

Quiet moments...

New ocean adventures...

Someone turned double digits...

Someone else blew out eight candles...

The boy was suspended for two days due to a knee-jerk reaction from school administrators. Once the whole, un-edited story was in, the suspension was overturned. But not without eggy faces and lost trust.  And a renewed knowledge that We are our children's greatest advocates.

Epic costumes were created. Lights on the helmet provided by our very own wiring expert...

Kiddos got to meet one of their favorite internet people.  And they baked her cookies...

The girl spent six months as the face of juvenile arthritis, rounding out her year as the National Arthritis Foundation's 2015 Jingle Bell Run's youth honoree...

Helix T. Bombdog retired. And is enjoying his brand new life as a family doggie.  As are we all!

17 years of weddedness was celebrated. Quietly, and not in the hospital! Because, for while there, it looked like we might be doing just that.

I soaked in our unseasonably warm Christmas. Ahhh....

44 years of my own life on this planet was celebrated by three generations watching The Force Awakens. And a gluten free brownie cake created by my mom and my daughter...

And, for the first time in 13 years, New Year's Eve with my love. At home, with our children, but still together.

Then we survived the 100 year storm...Jonas 2016!

So now, my lovelies...onwards.

Waiting. Breathing.

Kyleigh has a new favorite movie--Mr. Magorium's Magic Emporium. We were watching it again tonight and there's a part in it where Mr. Magorium and Molly (his assistant) change all of the clocks in a clock shop to just before 12...

Mr. Magorium: 37 seconds.
Molly: Great. Well done. Now we wait.
Mr. Magorium: No. We breathe. We pulse. We regenerate. Our hearts beat. Our minds create. Our souls ingest. 37 seconds, well used, is a lifetime.

Decisions have been made. Forward steps put into motion. But now there's Waiting.  And what do we do in the Waiting? We can wait. Or we can breath. Pulse. Regenerate. Create. I'm choosing to breath.