Phobiously Phorty Phour

I have a sincere fear of getting old. (I know it's shocking right, I've never been a fearful or anxious person at all 😂🤣😂) SARCASM. Sarcasm, poor jokes, laughing, self deprecation, they are all ways I have coped with sadness, anger, hurt, resentment, really the whole gamut. I have always joked (while internally battling these horrible fears) about getting old, but now that I actually am, "middle aged...or more" it's not funny. I can't actually explain my fear, accept that it has always been there. It has however, taken me 44 years to look up if it's actually a "thing" or just one of my many known weirdnesses. What other weirdness, you may ask? Well, I suffer from musical ear syndrome, icepick migraines, IBS, and when I travel, my eyes water so much they almost swell shut, to name a few. But I digress. 

Turns out, I am not alone in my gerascophobia, that's right, it has a name. Gerascophobia is the "abnormal and persistent fear of growing old." Some reader may be thinking, "what a vain fear", but even though I am no stranger to anti-aging skincare, Botox, hair coloring, or makeup, my fear stems simply from trauma, from loss. 

The other early morning, Levi woke with a stomach bug. When he was cleaned up and feeling better, he came and slept next to me in bed. I watched him breathing and dreaming and thought of all the fears I have each day for my kids. I thought about what I wouldn't do to make sure both Lawson and Levi were healthy and happy. And then I thought about what is out of my control: heart attacks, cancer, being old. 

Am I actually scared that I am going to get old and frail, or am I scared that I'm not? Am I scared that if I do live to a ripe age that I will then have to suffer more loss? More pieces of my heart to be buried away forever in the cold hard earth? Am I scared that with more years under my belt come the higher chances of my kids going through the heartache I still have daily when I think about how much I miss my mom and how much I need her. How unbelievably depressing. 

The thing is, I don't like being depressed. So I will continue to have these suffering thoughts, but silver line them with humor. I will continue to like the look of my face upside down more than right side up. I will joke about having osteoporosis, but take extra vitamins with calcium. And honestly, I am probably going to shy away from any kind plastic surgery because chances are, with my luck, I would spend a fortune on a younger face and get hit by a bus the next day. Seriously though, it tracks. 

Although I haven't posted in a while and this one is a bit of rambler instead of being an "entertaining read" or a "tear-jerker" kind of libretto, this post is more a commitment to myself. The second half of my 40's is going to be spent not fearing what each year will bring to my bones, skin, hair (Lord knows my boobs are lost cause) but what I'll cherish, what I'll forgive (myself included), what I will share, what memory I will have etched in my brain along with the smile lines by my mouth. Smile lines are so much more "in" than frowny ones anyway.

The affect Trauma(s) has on your life is beyond comparison. The amount of "phobias" I actually have whilst looking into my geriatric fear was actually disturbing, yet all rooted the same. 

So go watch your stories, gerascophobia, leave me and my sore knees alone. And while we're at it, my severe Thanatophobia: (the fear of the ones I love dying...I had to look that one up too) can kick rocks without shoes as well. 

I think the only fear I'll tolerate is FOMO, so bring on the fun!! 

Not My Anniversary

 Fifteen years ago (tomorrow) we got married. Fifteen years is the blink of an eye. Fifteen years is a lifetime. A million different events and "winding roads" can materialize in front of you. Would this really be our fifteen year anniversary? Would we be happily divorced and I refer to him as my Was-band? Would we be tumultuously divorced with hurt feelings, lacking closure? Kids? No Kids? A million different things. We will NEVER know. 

Here's what I do know. When someone leaves us in the physical form, pieces of them continue to remain in the fabric of our being. I carry Dan with me in so many aspects of my life, especially laughter. He loved to joke, he loved even more than that to tease me, and because of that, I have learned to be pretty good at being the brunt of jokes. 

I also know that marriage is hard. Nick and I now have 10 years under our belt and never once would I say it's been a cake-walk. We have however, fought hard and created a beautiful family. 

I know that since 12/31/09, I have never once planned anything in advance without the slightest (or biggest) feeling of anxiety knowing that plans are never really up to us. I have tried to never leave the house or let Nick or the kids leave without saying, I love you. Lawson has picked up on this and doesn't even leave a room without saying, "I love you." It is precious and I hope she never stops. 

I have also never once given up completely because my faith, my family, my friends, and the spirit of the ones that have left me, push me to keep my head up. (Side note-Tupac did that for me too when I was teenager.)

 Carrying Dan with me doesn't mean I live in the past, or love Nick less, or anything that some people conjure because they've never been in my shoes. It means that with his memory and my moms, and the memories of all the other people that I have loved, I create a framework of fibers that begin to mend the hole grief leaves behind. 

The hole is never repaired, but it can be patchworked with new love and new hope. 

06/07/08 is not my anniversary. It is a day of remembrance and gratitude for those traits and fibers given to me by a great man. 

Many of you reading this have been on this journey with me since the beginning (and for some reason continue to see it through!! LOL)  Thank you. Now... go jump in a pool with your clothes on, take a shot of Patron, squeeze a lemon in your drink, dance like no one is watching, dance like everyone is watching, and keep loving the ones you have as hard as you can. 

It ALL Matters

     I never stop writing as it is my paired therapy to running, but I've neglected to post the thoughts due to shame. As I've read over my own words, images of my friends' trials and tribulations flood my vision, and I feel too blessed to post any sort of self-sadness, emotionally-charged sentiments. I have friends who have had their children ripped away from them by the evils of cancer as well as mental illness. Friends that have children with severe disabilities and/or disadvantages that will add obstacles to their lives that no parent can ever be prepared for. Friends that want babies more than anything in the world, and have been denied. Friends that have grown babies that are now lost to addiction or other evils presented by our broken world. 

    I feel as though if I post a "hardship" or concern, the public opinion would be of me as an attention-seeker. Someone who needs those care-hugs, hearts and thumbs to feel important. That's far from it. My "it" is that I feel compelled to be an open book. I am compelled to share openly about hurt, sorrow, illness, joy, and health...anything that may in some way help someone else that identifies with similar struggles.

    I started this blog to have another outlet to bleed my thoughts after losing my husband. It was the start of a silent-strong-type friend that walked with me while losing my mother. Words on a page carried me during the loss of Levi's twin sister. Pleading with the keys on a Surface Pro at 2:00 in the morning kept me from following through on some of the darkest thoughts I've ever had. On the celebratory side, I've gotten married, had children, moved twice, gained best friends, been on epic trips, just to name a few throughout this winding road I've shared with you. All of life's adventures matter. All of us matter, no more than the other. Together if done right, we have the opportunity to change someone's mind, to turn an attitude around, to right an injustice, to lift each other up. 

    I believe very strongly in one word. POSITIVITY. The remainder of this post is not to illicit attention in any shape or form. My family's struggles are far from what others have gone or are currently going through. My purpose is to share how positivity, when spread into the world, really matters. How you treat others matters. It ALL matters. 

Recently Lawson has been diagnosed with Obstructive Sleep Apnea. This is not rare in children and is normally treated by the removal of tonsils and adenoids. What makes it a little more rare for Lawson, is that she has already had that procedure. After receiving her sleep study results, we were referred back to her ENT to have the "sleep study for dummies" version explained to us since everything we read was a foreign language, as well as scary as shit. Lawson and I saw a doctor at that practice that was not her former surgeon, and she treated me like I was the biggest idiot she'd ever had to come in contact with. Her first words to us were, "I see here that Lawson has sleep apnea. We treat pediatric sleep apnea with the removal of tonsils and adenoids, and we have already done that, so I am not quite sure why you are here?" 

Can you all just take a minute and picture my what the actual fuck face right now? 

When I very nicely asked her to explain a little bit about the apnea and what our next steps might be (since yes, she had the surgery, but also yes, she still have apnea AND I had already Dr. Googled other reasons this could be happening). She said, "So you want me to look in her nose?" YES YOU MEAN UGLY-SPIRITED, SORRY EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN, DO SOMETHING! THIS IS MY CHILD!! (That was my inner voice.) I replied, "Yes, please". When all was said and done, she said, "I don't see anything significant" whatever the hell that means, and got up to send us on our way. My head was spinning my woogy spots were creeping up the side of my face. I took some belly breaths (thanks Second Step) and asked if she wouldn't mind taking a minute to explain the results of the study for me. She crinkled up her face like I just asked her to give me one of her kidneys, and said, "I am not sure what you don't understand. You either take her to a dentist/orthodontist or back to a sleep study to be fitted for a CPAP machine. Whatever you choose, do it fast because she is not breathing 10+ times an hour, a night." 

    I held it together until I got home and had a minute away from Lawson so I could angry cry. After the cry, Nick and I made a plan. I was also able to talk to my sister who always puts things in perspective. We made multiple appointments with multiple specialists to get answers for our girl. J was able to help me see that because of the lack of care this ENT gave us, we were more determined than ever to advocate for Lawson's health. 

    Her next appointment was to the Orthodontist. The doctor here took XRays and scans of little miss's face and mouth. She explained that Lawson has a very narrow air passage and her small arches and jaw could possibly be narrowing this air passage even more at night. She then pointed to the sinus cavity in the XRay and said, "I want to also show you this mass/lesion here." If you know me, you know that I immediately had to go to the bathroom unsure of which end it was going to come out of first. Upon my mind's reentry to reality after mentally (and literally) losing my shit, she explained that she believes it to be a mucus retention cyst. She was sending the scans to an oral/facial surgeon to take look. She was calm, and thorough, and gentle when explaining it all to Lawson. She stayed with us until she was sure we understood (and possibly certain that I wasn't going to pass out as the color was returning to my face). I thanked her for all of her time, her care, her perspective. I left feeling scared, but also knowing there was a plan. 

    About an hour later the oral surgeon called me and said that he would like for Lawson to come in for a CT scan. My insides were shaking like I was 6 Mountain Dews and an expresso deep. I told him that I am a giant spaz and that I would lose sleep until her scan if he didn't give me his opinion on what he thought it was. His voice was so kind as he told me he believes that it is, like the ortho suspected, a mucus retention cyst. Phew. Not a certainty, but better. April 5th she will have her scan and we will know for sure. I thanked him so much for calling personally and taking the time to talk with me. I thanked him for never making me feel like he had somewhere else to be or that he was on a time crunch. His response warmed (and calmed) my heart. He replied, "Dr. St. Bernard (the ortho) called me personally this morning. She told me how kind and appreciative you and Lawson were. She asked that I take great care of you." 

And....there it is. POSITIVITY matters. What you put in the world can and will come back to you. 

    Lawson's next steps are the CT scan and then a John's Hopkins Pediatric Sleep Center and Pulmonary Medicine appointment. Moving forward for any of my family's health care needs, we will just Ariana Grande that shit if it isn't the vibe we seek, "Thank U, Next". 

    This is me sending positivity and prayers to all of my aforementioned friends trudging through their own obstacles that life has put in the way. Send some our way if you're up for it, and may your positivity come round in special ways back to you. May He also hear you and comfort you. In the meantime, I see you, and I am on your side...this side of the negative. 

The Phone Call

 The first time I almost ran right by the black phone, tucked way into the verdant landscape of "green trail". Ten more steps and a bit of a left turn take you to a cliff overlooking the river. I ran to that cliff, and stopped thinking about what I just read under the phone. 

I was hot, sweat was pouring in my eyes, and so much was springing up in my mind during this already much-needed therapeutic run. I made my way back to the phone, picked up the receiver, and spoke quickly. First to Dan, and then my mom, not hanging up between or even pausing much for breaths. I kept looking around wondering if someone was going to turn the corner. I felt foolish. 

For the rest of the day, the remainder of the evening and the entire next day, I could not stop thinking about the phone. Scratch that, I could not stop thinking about the messages I sent "through" the phone. I didn't speak realness. The element of surprise, fear, and the chance of maybe being a little embarrassed, got in the way of all the words I wanted to say. I decided I needed to go back. Look, I understand that I could speak into the universe any words I want to say to any of my departed loves, at any time. I get it. But there is something special about this phone. Not to mention it's perched on the trails Dan and I ran so many times together. I still hear Marlo and Gunner's collars jingling beside me as I run, so many years later. 

The day I went back, it was with purpose. I ran the green trail first, I ran to the phone. Even heading directly there, it is still about 2 miles in. I was once again, hot, sweaty, eyes stinging, and out of breath. I paused my watch and collected myself. This time I had no fear. I did not care if someone were to come around the corner. I kept my back to the trail and dialed a number. The number that popped in my head was 757-8621. This was our home number when we lived on St. Charles St. in Cape. I have NO IDEA why this is the number that came out of the file, but there it was. In a fleeting thought, I remembered the "rule" for that phone when we got home from school. We were to never answer the phone, unless it was the secret ring. My mom would call and let it ring once and then hang up. She would call back and let it ring 3 times and hang up. Then, on the next first ring, we were allowed to pick it up and quickly tell her about our days, while she was at work. Anywho... I called the number. I immediately began to cry adding to the damp saltiness of my face. 

Mom? Hi. I need you. I need your guidance. There have been so many times lately that I feel I am failing. Why is being a mom so hard? You radiated love, and I worry sometimes that I am nothing like you. I have questions about Lawson. I have worries about Levi. I need your advice. I sing to them every night upon their request, but as I do, I hear your beautiful voice. I see you kneeling by my bed, as I am at theirs, and singing "In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore..." My voice sucks. I didn't even get that trait!! Anyways, I want to meet you on that shore. Can you tell Him that it's been long enough and it is time to let you come back? He has plenty of angels, just tell Him to roll the stone away. Your absence hurts viscerally. So, any signs, any heavenly peeks, I could use them. When I see the cardinals, I see you. It's never enough. I love you. I miss you. Bye Mom. 

I was out of breath, out of snot, and out of tears, when I hung up. I needed another minute to collect myself prior to running again. I wiped my face on my shirt, restarted my watch and began to put one foot in front of the other, just like I do.  

This time, I didn't restart my audio book. I chose to listen. At first I felt heavy and sad. I didn't really feel like running any more. Then, I heard it. I heard her voice. She was answering me in the form of me positive self-talking myself. I gave myself grace. I gave myself accolades. And above all else, I granted myself some forgiveness. 

Although it felt amazing and freeing to stop for one moment criticizing myself and allow a compliment, a tiny, "thatta girl", it would be so much better to hear the words from her smiling face. 

The emotional strain of that run by far superseded the physical, but after a shower and a nap, I felt ready to dive right back into the trenches of this crazy, always changing, always winding, mostly beautiful journey. As always, thanks for coming along. 

Smiled Again

 "At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can." ~ Frida Kahlo

I can name multiple times in my life in which a smile seemed such an impossible feat that even imagining my mouth making the shape previously, was a foreign concept. Specifically signing the paperwork confirming the text on Dan's granite headstone, I will never smile again. Sitting shotgun next to Nick on our way home from Baltimore after losing Levi's sister, I will never smile again. 

And exactly 10 years ago tomorrow, when the hospice nurse said, "It's time". I knelt on the cold tile, holding her hand, listening to my mother, my world, take her last breath here on Earth. I will never smile again. 

As with every painful anniversary date, Mom's angel date has wreaked havoc on my emotions lately. I am on the verge of tears. When I walk by the fridge, I open it, grab the Pepto out of the door, and swig it straight from the bottle. My stomach is in an uproar. And I am sticking to Netflix and audio books to avoid the tv and radio commercials about Mother's day. It never ceases to amaze me how smells, sounds, and even the way the wind blows petals on a sunny spring day, take me right back to 2012. I drove every day up route 2. Over the bridge, past the busy strip malls, past the Mc-Mansions, and eventually a left down a small hill to Chesapeake Hospice. The weather that April and May were gorgeous. Why was the world not acting like it would never be the same? 

The sun shone brightly still at mom's funeral even through the guttural noises emerging from my soul. We laid her earthly body to rest that day, and I have never been back. The grave is not where I talk to her, like I do Dan. When I visit Dan we have full blown, albeit one-sided, conversations. I talk to my mom in my heart. I talk to my mom in the way I speak to my children. I talk to my mom with every Bud-visit and phone call. I hear my mom, when I talk to my sister. 

Driving yesterday, I had Amazon Music mixing it up for my driving pleasure. Locash popped on with , "I Love This Life." and I couldn't help but sing along. All of a sudden it took me back to being on Blonde John's boat with Jackie, James, Bobby, Travis, and Olivia, smiling and laughing the words, "I LOVE MY LIFE!" over and over again. I thought about those Monday-Funday times and how I had no idea that I would ever endure such tragedy. 

Tragedy, however, did come, but to my surprise....No, not to my surprise, to my grit. To my want. To my hard work. To my faith. To my AMAZING support system...I smiled again. 

I do love this life. Do I miss? OF COURSE. Do I wonder, what if? DUH. But am I grateful? Am I blessed? Am I strong? HELL YES. 

Mom, Even though it feels as though you have missed out on a decade of "this life", I know you haven't. You've been here. Not in the capacity that I crave, but here none the less. I can only imagine what 10 years as an angel looks like on you, I am sure it is magnificent. You will always be here, and you will always live on. I miss you. I love you. ~ Bayba 

 

These few days after Christmas have been all about getting organized in the Smith household. Cleaning and organizing have always been my go-to relief for calming the chaos I create for myself. Maybe it's COVID or maybe that I haven't seen my therapist in a while, but this December has been particularly difficult in the anxiety department with thoughts of death and illness dancing around every corner. So we've done what I do best and basically sheltered in place because living in fear seems more comfortable for some insane reason than living in faith. 

Yesterday Levi and I were in my closet going through my jewelry. I would decide if something was going to stay or go and the things I never wear were handed to my little helper in which he turned them into creations and inventions that only a imaginative little mind could come up with. I pulled open one drawer of my standing jewelry chest and found this 2009-2010 planner. I don't remember ever having this planner and as I flipped through it, it was completely void of any notes or circled dates. I have no idea if keeping this planner is a coincidence or if I kept it in this drawer because of the years on the cover. 

Of course I had to flip to the fateful day, like somehow, even after all these years, I may find an answer in there to any of my unanswerable questions. No answers, just facts. December 31, 2009 was on a Thursday. It was a full moon. The end. 

As the constriction in my chest began without warning, I began to get frustrated. Why does my body remember such pain when my life today consists of such joy and so many blessings? 

I look over at Levi as he is taping a bracelet to an old charger and poking earrings through the cord, and wonder what differences my kids would notice if I didn't project my anxieties upon them at times. It's just that in 2009 I came to know total devastation of the strongest love I had come to know in my 29 years of life. Lawson and Levi brought a next-world level of love into my life, and with it, a completely new level of fear. There would be no recovery.

Levi looks up, and sees me staring at him, "What mommy?"  he says as his sweet bluegreen eyes search my face. "Nothing, baby, I just love you." Then he takes the little planner out of my hands and says, "Can I have this?" At first, I wanted to be protective over it, like I have with so many trivial things from my old life. Instead, I snapped these pictures for my writing therapy, and let him run off with a pencil and his newest, "treasure". 

For years I've spent every NYE reminiscing about the last day Dan and I ever spent together, but it always ends the same way. He dies at the end of that day.

Today is December 30, 2021, 12 years since the last time Dan was alive for a full 24 hour day. I want to celebrate that.  I am going to switch it up a bit this year. I have no idea how we spent that Wednesday 12/30/09, but I am sure we smiled and joked and laughed as everyone should each day God allows breath in our lungs. Today is the day I will visit the cemetery. I will drink a beer and share my secrets, fears, thoughts, and laughs out loud toward the cold stone in the ground and the spirit in the air. I'll leave him with Patron seeping into the ground along with the remainder of the day's rain and hopefully my December chaos too. 

Tomorrow will be spent with my full and whole heart loving my family, making new memories, and with the help and grace of our Savior, beginning the new year with less fear. 

Love Letters

 Yesterday, I was in the gym doing the 2,000th of what felt like a million birdies and I got a little dizzy. There was no transition of thought, or seconds between immediately thinking of dying. What if my heart stopped right here, right now? What if I had a heart attack right now? Would they be able to get to the defibrillator in time? Would it even work? Or would I leave this life from a gym, just like him? Just as the thoughts come, they are gone as fast as the drip rolling off my nose. I’m onto jump squats and other thoughts…until the drive home. 

2 days prior:

It happens randomly, but I will search for an email I thought I deleted and one from Dan will pop up. Usually they are one of the inconsequential, what’s for dinner? Should I stop at the store? Do we need dog food type, but not this one. This past Saturday morning, I searched, “Classic” in my email (thinking that I deleted the email from Classic Photography with the proofs of school photos.) But somehow, this love letter popped up. I’ve gone back and forth to share some, share in its entirety, or to not share at all. 

Before you know my decision, know my train of thought. Back to the drive home...

I'd had a shit day. The workout (and my team who makes me laugh even on the hardest days) were the highlights. I HADN'T REALIZED  IT UNTIL JUST THEN! It’s that time of year. That stupid chest constricts for no reason,  check the expiration on my Zoloft-just to make sure I didn’t get a bum batch, time of year! I think back to the gym and how in a flutter of heartbeats, sweat, and seconds, I’m creating my own chaos. I am thinking about the trauma me falling out would cause the 10+ ladies working out next to me,  I think briefly about how dying in a gym might be poetic in a sick kind of way. Then, I think about the love letter email. Although I don't remember getting that email, and it wasn't one that stuck with me, I thought about how amazing it must have made my early 20-something self feel. I thought about how typing it must have only taken him second, but it was flooded with emotion. Things are so different now, I am different now, but love isn't different. In many ways, it's better because of my past.  

I began to float into thoughts about MY love letters. The ones I write in my heart every day, but don’t say/send nearly as often I as I should. 

I haven’t written a love letter to Nick in ages. A real , thought out, from the heart love letter. One that expresses my gratitude, my appreciation, my promises, my whole heart. My sister. We say, I love you, in every text, But the love letter isn’t recent enough. My Dads (plural), time is racing by and I need them to know my heart. Lawson and Levi, my love letter to them is just beginning. I want them to LIVE my love letter. It may take us all of 30 seconds, but lets make someone feel amazing by letting them know that they take up special space in our hearts. SO,

To My Nearest and Dearest,

May you always feel from me the importance of your, “peachy teas” (Bud Light, Miller Light, wine, High Noon, Seltzer, Mich Ultra, IPAs, etc. 😂) in my refrigerator, and your left behind dirt piles in my car. I cherish them, because I cherish you. Cheers to the carefree(ness) of 20-something love, and the strength and durability of the adult love we work hard for.  ❤️ Enjoy:

T, 

I hope you had fun this weekend. I cannot wait to see you tonight.  Just to hug you will feel so good.  Last night I was smoking a cigarette on the porch and was so disappointed to not turn and see you sucking on a Marb light.  While I was lying in bed I just smelled the comforter and your pillow forever. Just the smell of you makes me feel good. Then this morning while I was making lunch I opened the fridge and saw your peachy iced tea in there.  I couldn't help but smile thinking of your pretty lips taking sips. In the car I looked down and saw where you stepped in the dirt and brought it in on my newly vacuumed car mats.  I thought about how they were the most precious dirt piles ever because they had come from the bottom of your feet. 

In short, every part of my life has been touched by you.  And I love it.  I could never live without your

porch smoking or smells or iced teas or dirt piles. My life has come to one defining point.  And everything else that I do is only a peripheral non-issue surrounding my all important you. 

I love you and can't wait to see you tonight.  Have an awesome day.

Love, Dan

(Circa 2004)