Farewell Reflections

 I had my MapQuest printout sitting on my lap and two sweaty palms gripping the wheel. I drove 170 having no clue just how familiar I would become with the area. I saw the sign, "Piney Orchard" and continued to follow my directions past Waugh Chapel, past the shopping center and the roundabout, and made a left on Strawberry Lake Way. It was about 2 months into the 2002 school year and I had been an intern. That was all about to change, and so was my life. 

My supervisor at Salisbury had been in to observe me teaching lessons at Shipley's Choice Elementary since the start of the school year. On my last observation with him, he told me that my second mentor teacher at Piney was pregnant with twins and needed to get off her feet for the health of the babies and would not be able to oversee that placement. He paused for a bit after he told me this and then gave me one of my first and most memorable professional compliments. He said, "Tiffin, you were born to do this. I have gotten the principal at Piney Orchard to agree to meet you and possibly have you take over Mrs. Lombel's third grade class. You wouldn't be an intern, but a long-term sub and the teacher that shares a door with you, Barry, will check in on you every now and then to make sure things are going well." 

Fast forward to the next Monday, past the sweaty palms on the steering wheel, past the booger check in the rearview, and commence the walk up the front doors of the prettiest elementary school in the prettiest neighborhood I had ever seen.  I caught a glimpse of myself in the door windows thinking how ridiculous I looked in the blazer my mom had me wear with shoulder pads, that was too long in all the wrong places. How did I let her talk me into that? I looked like a toddler playing dress-up, and frankly, felt a little like that too. What do I know about interviewing and having my own class?! What am I doing here? I haven't even graduated yet, I haven't even had a full internship! Ready or not, I opened those doors and walked into the office, all eyes on me. Carole looked up from her desk, adjusted her glasses with the longest finger nails I had seen to date, and growled, "Can I help you." Feeling like I should have taken another Imodium, I "ummmed" my way through an introduction and she waved me into the principal's office. There sat, my supervisor Lou, the principal Dr. Bokee, and a super-stylish heals-wearing, raspy-voiced assistant principal Janine Robinson. I was so out of my league here. They all asked me a few questions and were extremely welcoming and kind. I was escorted to Debbie Lombel's room and introduced to the rest of the team: Barry, Marcie, Lynn, and Debbie. Holy cow, I knew Lynn!! Her and my mom were friends from church and she hugged me and smiled and told me everything was going to be great. I believed it! Barry made me laugh at least a dozen times while I was there, Marcie had a beautiful white-toothed warm smile, and Debbie showed me the ropes of her room. Dr. Bokee asked me if I would be interested and I gave him my best smile and said, "absolutely." 

I struggled that first year. My class missed their old teacher, there were some behaviors that I had never seen before, and parents that were less than thrilled that this 22 year old with zero experience was now their kid's full time teacher. I made it through with prayers from Lynn, smoke breaks with Barry, a million laughs in the lounge with my team, a couple parent-encounter-saves by Janine, and a whole lot of happy hours. After having to get my own substitute, so I could graduate, I finished out the year and was already becoming a stronger teacher. I was arranging supplies and cleaning out Debbie's room when Dr. Bokee came in, hands in his pants pockets, looking down a bit and making me seriously nervous. He said, "Tiffin, Debbie isn't going to come back next year. She is going to stay home with her kids and I was wondering if you would like to fill the position as 3rd grade teacher?" I jumped up and down, I hugged him (boy, he was NOT a hugger!!) and said yes, yes, YES! He gave me a list of things I needed to get in order for HR and a timeline to do it. The next school year, the outside of that room said, "Miss Lilly" and I couldn't have been more proud. 

The following 2+ decades I built a home at Piney. I have moved my classroom 10 times, taught 3 different grades,  have had 5 principals, a dozen interns of my own, and have cultivated incredibly deep connections. Having friends who truly know you, your dreams, fears, and secrets, is a profound gift. Those unbreakable bonds have been sources of immense support, understanding, and joy throughout my life's journey. And as you all know, my life's journey hasn't been the average trip. 

There are memories that live in my heart and in the concrete walls of Piney. I see Dan standing in my classroom door, his eyes full of hope and pleading. We had broken up, but just like with any favorite rom-com, I knew I was getting back together with him the moment I looked up and saw him there. I remember crying when Barry told me he accepted another position and we wouldn't be the side-by-side dynamic duo anymore. Then cracking up when I found the matchbox in my desk with the note that said, "Not cry, I give you cookie." Our inside jokes still make me chuckle. I remember listening to Jill telling me about navigating toddlers, marriage, and life and thinking how awful that sounded. LOL I remember Allyson walking into my classroom one day, sitting down, and never leaving my heart. We didn't get enough time together during the day so we would talk on our drive to work every morning. I remember Michelle plucking the lemons off my topiaries at mine and Dan's wedding and squeezing them into her drink. I remember Michelle, Jill, Karen, and Sharon walking through the door of Aspenwood on January 1st 2010, eyes wet, mouths frowned, words unspoken. They just sat with me. They were there. The community and work family sent prayer shawls, and food, and letters from students and family pouring condolences into my shattered heart. I remember Nancy starting as a 5th grade teacher and thinking she looked just like Tara from Sons of Anarchy. She came to the 3rd grade team and I caught her on the phone one day making cat noises like a weirdo in the planning room while on the phone. I knew I was going to love her. A few years later, these were the people I flashed my hand to in the main hallway of the school the morning Nick proposed, on my mom's birthday 2012. My People. 

My Piney family grieved with me again when I lost my mom that very next month. Everyone also celebrated my joys, the highest being Lawson entering the world in 2014. A few years later, Michelle is the one who held my hand in her car, driving back from Newks to Piney on Kindergarten conference day, when I got the call that one of my twins had a syndrome called Trisomy 18. She checked in on me between every one of the conferences I had to trudge through that day. Again, my Piney family held me up. They cried tears of joy with me when Levi came raging into world in 2016. There are countless memories that will live forever in my heart and they all happened during my time at POES. Piney Orchard Elementary School and the relationships I have built in that building, have actually built me. 

The first few classes of my career are now young moms and dads with families and careers and winding roads of their own. I hope that each and every one of my students past and present know that I was always learning from them too. The teacher-student relationship is often portrayed as one-sided, with the teacher imparting knowledge to the student. But in reality, it's a dynamic exchange where both sides contribute to the other's growth. I do and will continue to value the influence my students had and will have on shaping me.

As I say goodbye to these cherished miles of my winding road, one paved with decades of shared experiences, laughter, and growth, I am filled with gratitude. This place has been more than just a workplace; it has been a sanctuary of learning, a crucible of friendships, and a canvas where dreams were nurtured and realized.

As I begin to make tracks on a new journey, embracing the promise of budding opportunities, I carry with me the imprints of every moment spent here, the lessons learned, and the bonds forged. Each interaction, each challenge overcome, has shaped me into the person I am today.

Though I may be leaving the physical confines of this place, the memories have formed a mandala around my heart. I am so very grateful dear Piney colleagues, mentors, and friends, thank you. 

Beginning this upcoming school year, I will be begin a new teaching path at Two River Elementary. I am filled with excitement as I know that the foundation laid here will serve as a beacon, illuminating any curves and turns ahead. Goodbye, Piney. 

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.