I'll Work Hard 'Til The End Of My Shift

I was convinced. I actually had no idea just how convinced I was. The thoughts and feelings festering before my colonoscopy were like the roots growing in a too-small potted plant. They had no outlet, nowhere to go and if they weren't repotted, they were going to shatter everything around them. 

Since my mom's passing in 2012, I have been conceited to the idea that I was going to die young of cancer. I have convinced myself that cancer skips a generation based on my family's history and that I won't live long enough to be a grandmother to my future grand babies. I joke about it, because that's my modus operandi, but I've believed it, I guess if I'm being honest, I still do. 

While at the doctor recently, she mentioned that since I am 45, it is time to get a colonoscopy. I called to schedule and the receptionist said that I needed to speak to the doctor because I had one in 2016 and it hasn't been 10 years. When the doc and I met virtually, we reviewed my IBS history and family history and decided to schedule. Doomsday thoughts commence. 

To be clear, I wasn't experiencing any outside of the norm symptoms, have been perfectly healthy (physically at least, lol), and have felt great. However, my chaos-creating mind was working out all my loose-ends before sickness set in. Nick and I STILL don't have a will, even with hell I went through involving the lack of Dan's will. We are idiots and need to get on that. How do I actually plan a (legal) Viking style funeral for myself? Kidding, not kidding. I need to start recording my voice, because my own mother's is fading. A tear trails down my cheek as I write that. I can hear her, but it's a whisper in the realm right between sleep and consciousness. What experiences are we going to have as a family to make sure they remember how happy they make me and how proud I am, the immeasurable amount that I love them?

Amongst these thoughts interconnecting and expanding, every day life goes on. Within the week leading up to the colonoscopy, I was privileged to attend Lauren and Michael's wedding. Perfection doesn't even begin to describe the day and the vibe of this event. Not only was I with my long lost work-wife, Jill, we got to witness the beauty of a bright beginning. I couldn't help but cry as Lauren danced with her dad, and Michael danced with his mom. In those very moments as tears brimmed above the lump in my throat, I prayed for the long lives of L & M's parents. This is the time in their lives in which they get to see the ripe and wonderful fruits of their love-infused labors. I want to dance with both of my children at their weddings. Although getting old terrifies me, it is a gift that I pray each night is bestowed upon me. 

This past Wednesday I woke up, hungry, grumpy, and with a headache. I wanted food and even more than that, coffee! I did laundry to keep my mind off of the fact that in a few hours, I would be telling my family and friends that something was wrong. I am slow waking up any time I have been through anesthesia, so I asked Nick to be there in the recovery room when I woke. I told him I needed him to hear to what they say, because I will be loopy. Really I needed him to pick me up off of the floor as the news was relayed. Off we went, Off I go. 

"Enjoy your nap". Blackness. "Hey, Tiffin", "You did great". "We didn't find anything, not a polyp, not a thing". "We'll see you in 5 years." 

I cried. With each tear the embarrassing release of air they pump you with during the procedure. But what a small price to pay for health. Hilly, I actually pictured you working in the recovery room of a gastro-center. It made me giggle thinking about the facial expressions you'd have at the flatulence. With all the people in recovery rooms, it sounds like a fart-symphony! 

So, there it is. I'm good...I mean, at least in my colon. My brain and mental health are a different issue all together, and are daily struggles. I don't share that as much because I like to keep a positive aura. But, I am beyond grateful to those that I do trust to share my darkest thoughts and how they always lift me up. Nancy said the other day, "Don't talk about my Tiffin that way." and it hit. Thank you.  

Is is mayyyyyyyybe time to go back to therapy? Possibly. I gotta get my "faith over fear" back. That is easier said than done as December threatens to tread on dangerous ground. 

In the meantime, here I am. A book that is a bit of a mystery, thriller, drama, comedy, self-help, self-deprecating cliff-hanger, but wide open. 

Special thanks to my sister who still has the ability to call me when sissy-senses are tingling. Standing next to you at Bud's mom's celebration of life and being told that we are spitting images of our mother, in looks, mannerisms, and personality is the greatest compliment ever received. Special thanks to my people. You absolutely know who are. My Family. The Friend. Bramble. The Teacher OGs. This life would not be a life without you. 

And as always, thank you for walking, jogging, running, scooting, barreling, skipping, or crawling down this winding road with me. 

"If we were vampires and death was a joke; We'd go out on the sidewalk and smoke

And laugh at all the lovers and their plans, I wouldn't feel the need to hold your hand

Maybe time running out is a gift, I'll work hard 'til the end of my shift

And give you every second I can find, And hope it isn't me who's left behind." ~Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

A bit of an epilogue: 

I write for catharsis, and choose to share these thoughts in hopes that maybe my words speak to someone in a way they aren't comfortable sharing openly. I NEVER want to dimmish the ones who read this and their experiences with death, cancer, etc. Please know that I am not comparing my self-made chaos to the loss of a child to cancer, or to someone who is currently battling cancer/other illnesses known or not. This is my personal journal with my lived trauma, mental struggles, in addition to the endless ways life has favored me.  

Turtling

 We all have coping mechanisms. My first line of defense is always humor with a sprinkle of self deprecation. When I can't laugh away the stress, or finding a release of emotions seems too daunting, I turtle. It feels like I have two heads with two faces to show the world. I know how to power through, smile through pain, and get the job done. What doesn't show is the overwhelmed, overstimulated face hiding in a shell. That face has eyes closed, ears plugged, lips sealed. I'd rather set myself on fire than burden anyone else or ask for help. I am laughing as I write this recalling a text from Sputty saying, "T, you ok? Trying not invade your shell." The Friend lumbers along beside me waiting to check in when I pop my real head out for air. My sister on the other hand has never been patient and just barges her way right into my shell with me. At this point, she has her own living quarters in there. I wouldn't have it any other way. 

When shoes start dropping, it is hard for me to compartmentalize one problem from another and built up stress brings out anxiety. When my anxiety rears it's forked tongue, everything bubbles on the top like a boiling witch's cauldron. My body remembers past anxiety and then I am not only stressed about what is happening in my life currently, but I start feeling depression symptoms of past hurts. Timelines don't exist when it comes to grief. 

The worst part of my turtling happens when the shell finally cracks and I see the world around me. It feels like when you first wake up from a beach nap. Everything is a little too bright, you're a bit sweaty, you are alone on the towel and strangers are staring at you, most likely happy that the snoring has stopped! Then, you see your friends and family on the shore line and they sparkle. They are smiling and laughing, and all of a sudden they are waving you down to join them. As you slowly get up to stretch and shake some sand out of your hair, you wonder how long you've been out. You begin the uncomfortable, hot, long walk to the water, all the while knowing that when you make it there, it's all going to be ok. 

This is me at the water. 

My shell is put away for another time. I am here to apologize to my friends whom I haven't been a friend to in a while because of my turtling. I love you, I miss you, I'll be better. 

The next time this happens, Dolly has threatened to chew me out the shell. Lawson has coined the phrase, "Dolly is out to Murdle a Turtle again." *No turtles have actually been killed in the making of these videos. 😉🐢🐢

Why did the memory go to therapy......it had too many issues to recall!

Somehow, I've come to a point in my life where the previous road has a bend so angled that that "other" life of mine is just out of view, out of touch. Memories are melting together, shared experiences are cloudy, voices are muffled tones in the wind. There are definitely core memories that have been branded onto my heart, but as I travel further from the past, the haze is falling like a curtain. This is a core memory and not only do I not want to forget it, I want to share how it's also bled into the pavement of the always winding road. 

Dan always had ideas. "Let's go hike, let's take a road trip, I want to brew beer, I think I'll buy a new car today, and my favorite (insert eye-roll) let's go buy a pair of mountain bikes..." He knew that I had a bad bike accident as a kid and had never gotten on the bike again. He also knew that I'd do just about anything to spend time with him, so he played into that. We bought matching bikes, his in dark green and mine a shiny blue. We bought Camelbacks, and too many other completely unnecessary accessories to name. I had my helmet, these dumb ass biking sunglasses, my camelback (which matched by bike...what a dweeb!!), the seat cushion for my then skinny behind, and we were hitting the dusty trail!! I was so happy! I was back on a bike and riding down the trails towards Lake Elkhorn in Savage. I was glancing to my left, my right, the breeze was to my back, and I was as proud as a peacock. Ahead was a bridge and Dan was stopped, off his bike, and his face was not pleasant. I was worried that a chain came off his bike or that something had gone wrong, so I got off my bike too and said, "What's going on?" He looked at me with raised brow and said, "What's going on is that I have no idea how you are actually keeping that bike upright with the snail speed in which you are riding!!" I was enjoying myself so much that I hadn't noticed that he had been so far ahead. We got back on the bikes and rode to another bridge where I had to turn right. I don't know how it happened, but I got wobbly and turned right...right into a group of runners who had to scram out of my way before I fell over. There were a lot of "What the hells?!" and "Learn how to ride a bike, lady!" ringing in my embarrassed ears. Dan was so mad at me. I am laughing all over again as I write this just thinking about how utterly disgusted he was at my performance. We laughed about it after, but my riding days were over and about 2 years later, his riding days were over too, all of his days were over. 

So, the combined $3000 worth of bike shit went unused and untouched. Fast forward to Nick and children and fearing the day my kids would want to ride bikes! They weren't all that interested until the neighborhood bestie crew were zipping around and leaving my kids in the dust. They learned very quickly, and I learned again, that I would do just about anything to spend quality time together as a family. I hopped back on a bike for the first time in 20 some years this past October. Nick, Lawson, Levi, and I rode 6 miles and I only had a bit of "trouble" once. I looked over at Nick at one point during our first ride on that green 20 year old, barely used bike, and for a brief second Nick's face was the one I saw at Dick's trying the gears and checking the chains, not Dan. It was such a shock to have a memory that has been with me so long, overlap with the love I have now. I never thought things would blur, begin to evaporate, even shape-shift into something else, but it does, and that's ok. I can smile about the bikes, I love that Nick and I now ride them, I love the life Nick and I have created and I am so excited for future family rides on those damn bikes! Who would have thought!?! 

As the days, months, and years continue to pass, old memories fade to black as new ones glow golden in the light. Rocky roads get paved as new trails are blazed. So, kick up the stand, hang on to those handles and enjoy the ride if you're going 5 or 50. Life has a way of compassing you in the direction of your next happy memory...if you let it. 

 

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. 

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) 

 Recently while watching, "The Chi", Jada shaved her head alone in her bathroom after inevitably losing chunks of hair due to treatment. She cried and although this was acting, it sparked a revelation and spirals of thought. 

My sister and I went with my mom when she shaved her head. She smiled the entire time. Her smile was like nothing I've seen since. Strong, graceful, brilliant, and filling the room with light. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I've never fully understood the strength (and love for that matter) of my mother, any mother.  Jada was able to cry and fall apart because she was alone at that moment. Alone with her reflection, alone with her thoughts, alone with her fears/anger, and she allowed herself to do it. I know now that my mom felt she couldn't break down, she was the epitome of strength. And I also know now that she felt the need...for us, her children. 

As my children get older, I find that I go through even more stages of grief. I think about my mom every day and from my earliest memories, I remember that connection. Now, I see the concerned look on my kids' faces when I bleed from nicking my knee in the shower, or stubbing my toe. Even if the pain is making my eyes water and my ears ring, I hug them and tell them, "Mommy is fine", "Everything is ok". Imagine that a million-fold. You aren't going to see either of your children's next birthday, but you smile and praise the Lord and glow like always, to maintain the stability even grown kids need to function. It makes me cry just writing it. 

Us moms hold onto a lot of shit for our kids and 90% of the time we are going through our own shit, silently dying inside for one reason or another, but grinning on the outside making sure their lives are as stress free as we can possibly make them. 

I am not sure if it is right or wrong, but I say cry! Break down sometimes!! I was raised in a sort of, "fix your makeup, hide your crazy, line your lips and keep them closed" kinda way. Sometimes, I agree, but there have been times that I was at my most, "human" in front of my kids and discussing it afterward made a bigger impact. Jaime and I often chuckle on the phone with other about how we, "dropped our basket" with our kids...and it's OK!! 

I wish my mom would have broken down. I wish I could have been her rock to lean on. I wish I wasn't the cause of her holding in emotion. But then again, that woman is where my strength and ability to, "press on" came from. She taught many lessons, most of which I am tying my hardest to pass along as well. Some of which, I am rewriting the script.  

To all of my friends and loved ones that are fighting a terrifying battle right now, that have won that battle, or that have had their lives changed forever because the battle ended...leaving you here to grieve, I see you. I pray for you. And even though I posses zero power, permission granted to go a little bat-shit sometimes too. 

Showing love and grace to others while you are healthy and well is a choice. Showing love and grace while suffering is a calling. Receiving the love grace is a blessing. Be somebody's blessing today...even if it means you let them yell and scream and cry. :-) 

11 New Year's Eves

11 years. 11 years since I stood at the top of the stairs holding up two prospective tops for our night out that evening with the Meredith's. 11 years since you smiled at me and said I would look great in anything. 11 years since my last words were, "I hate you" with a smile and an eye roll. That still stings. 

It took a long time before I could go to Target. With that day's timeline, it is most likely where I was when you took your last breath. I was right across the street from the gym, right across the street from you. I got a chai latte at the Starbucks there and it took a long time before I could drink those again too. 11 years since Marlo's howls, 11 years since Eileen's passenger seat. 11 years since the nurse who held my hand, and the doctor with tears in his eyes. 11 years since the police officer who handed me your wedding ring with heartfelt condolences in his eyes. 11 years since I said, "no" when they asked if I wanted to go back and see you. I was terrified to see you, knowing that if I went, it would be real. 11 years since my body eventually shut down and I fell into a shock-slumber, waking to your arms tight around my shoulders and saying, "Tiffin, I am so so sorry."

It was real. I know Dan visited me those wee hours of January 1, 2010. It's been 11 years since my life was divided into before being a widow, and after. I have grown, I have fallen, I have flourished, I have sank. But with every rise and fall, each twist and turn, I have always been moving forward on this road. Dan's spirit, his fire, his sense of humor....and that smile, it is always with me.

 

I have so many blessings: I have a husband who hold my hand every step of every journey and

is my biggest cheering section. We have the two weirdest, funny, and amazing children. My
family, my friends, my people!! They are beyond words incredible. I am grateful beyond any 
words.

 
 

I've never been a fan of the phrase, "Everything happens for a reason." I mean,  sure, it may (or may not) be true, but either way, it isn't helpful when your heart is in the depths of despair. Knowing the, "reason" will not be revealed until we 

look into the eyes of our Savior. It will be then when our lives will be laid out like 

road maps of paths that led us to Him. 

I do, however, know that His mysterious ways have steered me to a very strong, safe, and happy place. Never to forget the past, always to say I love you in the present, and never to take the future for granted.

Roots

 If you have walked with or followed this journey of mine in any way, you know that anxiety is a family member and you are inevitably aware that it is, once again, December...

My therapist, Jay, asked me last session how I was handling my December extra-anxiety. I told her that I actually felt much better than past yule-times and that I was proud of myself. I then went on telling her about scheduling physicals, how I was worried about Nick getting diabetes in the future, and that I check my kids' temperature and breathing on a regular basis. Ok, so maybe not, "much better". Thank God I can have a chuckle about it, because living with it is honestly exhausting. 

Jay gave me some homework and asked me to dig really deep to try and identify the first time I had the dreaded feeling. The racing heart, the pitted stomach, the feeling of being startled without provocation. I immediately went to the room. That cold hospital conference room where the doctor said, "There was nothing else I could do." Even as that memory gut-punches me to this day, that was not the first time. I went back a little further. High school? Even though every thought about decisions and choices I made in high school currently give me anxiety (because I have a children), that's not it either. I keep digging. I was 12, we were on a family vacation in Emerald Isle North Carolina. Something terrible happened to me there, and though that event indefinitely had a hand in shaping who I am today, it still was not the root of my anxiety. 

There are many inspirational quotes about roots and trees with one common denominator: roots are deep and steadfast and taproots are almost impossible to remove. When a root so deep is damaged, it endangers the life of the tree. I went far enough down to find where my root was harmed. And it was a place I haven't visited for a long time. 

The garage door on St. Charles- this is my root.  It was slow, loud, and horribly foreshadowing every time it opened. It meant our step-dad was home. The husband my mom was blindsided into marrying. Have you seen, "Dirty John"? Well that doesn't even come close. Jaim and I would come home from school and do everything humanly possible in the, "main" part of the house so that when that sound took our breath away like a belly-flop gone wrong, we knew we could spend the rest of the night in our rooms, if need be. We gorged food, she helped me with homework, we watched Guiding Light, we talked, and then....we waited.

Some days he would come home and go right to the basement to his computer. We could smell the cigarette smoke wafting up the stairs and we knew that if we were silent and tip-toed, we could mill about the kitchen or even sit on the porch and wait for mom when the weather permitted. Other days he came home mad. The cigarette would already be burning, hanging from his lower lip and stuck there like the tiniest bit of super glue was holding in place. He stomped and slammed cabinets to give us our warning. If we stayed in our rooms, we could be ok, but if we didn't shut and lock it fast enough, one of us was going to pay for his bad day. 

I asked my sister before writing this if she minded that I now release this pain into the atmosphere. We have buried this truth for decades. And just like a quote in the book I am reading now, "Bygones can be like collard greens, they become bitter if you keep them in your mouth too long", my fear is that I continue to vandalize the root instead of nursing it to health. 

For the sake of repairing the root that my mother invested her life in fostering, Jaim's root, and my root, I share. On behalf of healing and one day maybe, just maybe saying goodbye to anxiety once and for all, I share. For someone who is struggling with their own damaged root, and for those whose roots are being damaged in real time, I share. You are not alone. 

Although it is, in my case, the emotional abuse that resonates with me more, the pictures I conjure of my sister throwing herself over me to protect me from any blows intended for me, start my heart racing all over again. The invasion of privacies and the gross overbearing misuse of power are all right there at the root. The little details of his abuse are not as pertinent as what the abuse turned us into. Hungry. Hungry for love, hungry for attention, missing our mom who would stay locked in the basement or bedroom with him, while he told her how horrible she was and what terrible children she had. She stayed in those rooms, because when he was at his worst with her....she knew she was protecting us from him. 

One day my mom stayed home from work. She NEVER missed work. When J and I got home, he wasn't home yet. She told us that we were leaving. She had bought a townhouse and that we were not going to school tomorrow. There was no shock on our faces, we grabbed hands and jumped for joy. I was 15, my sister almost 18. My mom said, "We need to be fast, and we need to be quiet. We are the Three Musketeers and nothing will ever break us again." The nexts day, as the man whom we would never mention in our house again was at a golf tournament, we moved our entire lives into that new home. We had no furniture. We shared a makeshift bed of comforters on the living room floor those first few nights. But we had it all. We had each other. We had everything. 

I guess this is just about as good an ending as you can have in a story like this, however the, "everything"in that last sentence, included anxiety as our new family member. And though we never said we were now the "4 Musketeers", we were never quite the same either. 

So there it is. That's my root. The day my evil twin Anxiety was born. And though my, December Anxiety is strong with me, like the force... I also carry pride, joy, hope, faith, and love. I am proud of my mom. I am proud of my sister and I and our resilience (with some hiccups along the way ;-) ). I have so much joy and love in my family and with my friends that I often feel unworthy of such abundance. Even at the darkest moments of my life, I had faith. I knew God was with me, he has never left me, and continues to carry me this very day. 

I will sign off tonight with hope. Hope that my story may begin the healing process for whatever part of your, "root" that is damaged. Hope that you know things that happen to you, do not define you. 

ps. I love you, J. You have, "saved" me so many times and in so many ways. I was not your gift, you are mine. XO 

Moving

As a young widow of 29, HATED the word, moving. Moving through, moving ahead, moving...on. I have also despised every time I had to physically move, and it's been a-lot!!

I remember each time vividly. From Ramblewood to St. Charles. St. Charles to Falcon Crest. Falcon Crest to Tolstoy, Tolstoy to Newton, Newton to...darn, what street was that off Nanticoke in Salisbury? Help me out, Friend. From that street back to Tolstoy. Leaving Salisbury, I cried for the entire two hours to Redeyes, where I had to work that night. My eyes were so puffy and swollen, a regular customer ran out and bought me some Preparation H to help me out!

Then began the journey of my, "adult" moves. I moved back to Falcon Crest, renting that town house from my parents for a while. I moved in with Dan, I moved out for a while and into a condo with Wendy. Dan and I decided together was better than apart, and I moved BACK in. We bought the Aspenwood townhouse, made the best friends, had the biggest laughs, and adopted the dogs that became the reason I got out of bed in the mornings after he died.

When Nick eventually moved into Aspenwood with me, new beautiful memories began, and when we got married, and became a family of 3 and two enormous dogs, we knew we needed some more space. We found the split level on Mt. Hope Court and fell in love. The backyard was enormous and we knew that Lawson and any brothers or sisters she would come to have, would love it. We spent 5 years at Mt. Hope Court. When talking to my therapist about my feelings on leaving Mt. Hope, I dove into the beautiful memories that I am taking with me to the new house. The harder part was when she asked me if I would be able to leave the hurt that ensued in that house, behind. Losing Levi's twin, the loss of Marlo and Gunner, and one other painful curve-ball to our family that I wasn't sure we would get through. We did, however, get through it, and became stronger because of it. As for the loss of Levi's sister, I will always tear up when I talk about it. I will always look at him on birthdays and think, this party would have been super heroes AND princesses, I will always wonder, "what if". But, on the other side of that, I am SO happy. I am SO blessed. I am the mom of the two silliest, weirdest, best laughs, best smiles kids.

As the kiddos grew, the itch to move into a community with other kids became great. Our street on Mt. Hope was quiet, and wonderful, but there were no other kids for L & L. We began the search. We wanted to be close to Piney so that L & L would be close to their school friends for play-dates, playing sports together, etc. We looked at a few houses, but nothing checked all of our major boxes.

As Nancy's stories of her neighborhood, the friends she has made, the fun her kids were having...visiting her pool with her last summer, etc, we decided to check out Two Rivers. All we were going to do was look at the model. Fast forward, we have been on Waxwing Ct. in The Woodland at Two Rivers for exactly 1 month tomorrow!! I think it is safe to say that this is the best decision we have made for our family ever. The kids are the happiest they have ever been. The house is gorgeous, but more than that, the true sense of community, and that "it takes a villiage" attitude is so evident. We have made instant friends, and L &L mix in with all the other kids like they have been here for years. It is beautiful, it is heart warming, soul filling, laugh-having, ALL THE FEELS.

It wouldn't be reality to think that we aren't going to have some heartaches in this house too, but I can say with a pretty strong sense of certainty, the years to come in this home, are going to be full of love, smiles, and joy.

Moving is no longer a loaded word. We are moving forward, and it is beautiful.

Hello Forever Home.

A New Shade

I could't quite put my finger on it. Why I ended up crying so hard. The song isn't even that catchy, or good (in my opinion) and yet, there I was, short of breath and dying inside. Tim McGraw was singing about calling his mom, and that was all it took. It took a while to sort through the obvious, and get to the real root of the meltdown. Of course I miss my mom. Our bodies remember trauma, and not only is Mother's day coming up, her angel date just passed. But that wasn't it. It was the realization that I never had the opportunity to fully appreciate my mom while she was alive.

As a little girl, I thought my mom was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was cool, kind,  and even though I didn't quite understand it then, she was never left alone in a parking lot, or a mall, or the grocery store line for long without someone (usually a man) being drawn to her like a magnet. Men fell over themselves to load that black Mustang 5.0 with our groceries and buckets (literally buckets) of flowers appeared on our porch for years. She worked hard and prayed harder and I wanted to be just like her.

As a teenager, I thought I knew MUCH better than mother and we butted heads. I made some really bad choices and am sure told her I hated her once or twice. She never followed through with sending me to boarding school (although she probably would have if we had any money). But the local AAPD officer was part of her fan club and picked me up from school my junior year upon her request and my detest. As you can imagine appreciation ran very low these years. When I think about it now, and Lawson treating me like that in the future, or acting IN ANY WAY like I did, I want to cry and go back in time to throat punch my past self.

She never really approved of my bar-tending years and then Dan and I decided we were going to move in together pre-marriage, well, you can only imagine. I remember her coming to our house in Aspenwood, after we purchased it and not looking directly at the bed in the master bedroom. It made me eye roll, but still not appreciating the reasons behind her concerns. Then I think about that photo of her and Dan on our wedding day, as she is gently touching his smiling face. She had to be so pleased he made an "honest" woman out of me.

When Dan was tragically taken from us, my mom had a new role. She worked all day and then would come over just to lay eyes on me before going home. Or she would pray the prayers I couldn't pray and hug me until I fell asleep, head in her lap. Of course I appreciated her and she was mom, she was what I needed, but I was so far in the deep end of my grief, that I didn't realize the appreciation I had back then.

Then a short year and 5 months later, she was gone.

I remarried, had Lawson, got pregnant with twins, lost a twin, had Levi, settled into motherhood, it happens so fast. But the worst of the pain didn't begin until then. As I grew as a mother, the need for my own mother was ten-fold.

Yesterday, as that song played, and I snotted down my face in my car, fumbling for a brown crinkly glove compartment napkin, I looked upon a new shade of grief. Grieving the ability to properly appreciate my mom before I didn't have the chance to anymore. Appreciate her in a way that would make her realize what an impact she has had on me as a mother and as a person. I am different now than I was even 8 years ago when she was taken from us. I want her to see that in person. She really never had a chance to see the fruits of her effort in full bloom. There is no doubt in my mind that our relationship would have been closer than we ever were, right now. Right now as I am in the thick of little kids, behavior management, and elbow deep in glitter crafts and spider man string. Right now.  The "Three Muskateers" (J, mom, and I) I'm sure would still do our annual Christmas shopping, spoiling all children to the max. And my amazing sister would have less of a burden worrying about my anxiety and filtering all of my child-rearing questions. Bud would have to share the live video chats and grand-kid, "I love yous". I would have less of this emptiness.

Side note: A global pandemic and the results of such only add to my fifty shades of grief. Pretty sure all of you that made it to this point, could have read a million other things that made you smile instead of  turning you into captains of sadness, but I appreciate you sharing my road.

Happy Mother's Day to all of the wonderful mothers in my life. I will never waste a second letting you ALL know how much I appreciate you! 

Title-less

I am screaming on the inside. A deep, creeping up from the toes, and exploding like the outer casing of a Jiffy-Pop, kind of scream. We have all had our share of grief, some more than others. But now, this grief is one that we are all sharing together...yet so far apart.

Personally, I am grieving my job. I never wanted to sit behind a computer or be any kind of tech support. I knew that my animated face and silly/juvenile sense of humor was better suited on stage. Not that stage, but the one in front of sweet faces with their futures, a vast blue ocean in front of them, and I am one of their lighthouses along the way. Never again will I take for granted the opportunity to pull a student to the back table to work one on one with a difficult subject. I will never underestimate the power of a reassuring hand on a shoulder and eyes that say, "It's ok, let's try again." I will from here on out, when I am with my students again, take a mental snapshot of every smile, every lightbulb that suddenly goes bright, all of the big and all of little...all of the things.

I am grieving self care. My hair, I don't even know what to say about it. My makeupless face, because, well, what's the point? All those pretty clothes in my closet and I wear workout gear 24/7.

I grieve alone-time. The only time I am alone is when I am on a run (and getting little pep-talks from Jill encouraging me to make sure I do eventually run home 🤣). When Nick offers me some time to be alone, I either run, shower, or sleep. Not because my body needs it, not because I am not getting enough at night, but because my mind needs it. If I am left to think, my mind creates more chaos than what I am already living, and that is too much to handle.

My children. Oh Lord, my children. The little centers of my universe, the suns of my sun, and the moons of my moon. Every little sarcastic smirk, nonstop machine gun talking, WE did that. They are little NickTiffins and IT'S AWFUL!!!! Zero degrees of separation from L&L. I tuck those little cheeks in bed every night and then in the millisecond of a blink, they are right there, with the early peekaboo of the sun, in my face, ready to start the day. And what day? The SAME day. THE SAME DAMN DAY AS YESTERDAY!!!

Every day as my anxiety fills, the me that I love, empties. The carbs ain't cuttin' it, and I feel my turtle shell growing larger and more obtrusive around me.

I know that even though I am, in most ways alone, besides immediate family, I am far from alone in these feelings. We can love our children and still want them to GO AWAY with every fiber of our being. We can connect with our students online, but still feel so far removed from the art of teaching, that we wonder, does this matter?, multiple times a day. We can put on the face mask and deep conditioner at night, but wake up in the morning and forget to brush teeth until 5.

I guess the the new title of my blog should be:  The woman, who is now 40 and not so young,  who used to be a widow, then had a mess of other really bad shit happen, and a ton of fantastic things too, and is now navigating a very narrow road of teaching from home, teaching her own kids, trying to still be a wife Nick wants to be married to, and a worldwide pandemic. Too much? Maybe just a little.

If there is ever a point to any of my writings, besides making me feel better, I hope that this touches another person that is struggling like a mofo right now too. Hugs. 

A Decade

This post is kind of piggy-back on my last.

There is something so connected about depression/anxiety and trauma. I am jittery and want to run or keep moving, yet I don't have the energy and just lay around in sweats, pretending to be, "present" while playing blocks or Barbies with my kids; mind constantly in motion, yet zombie status at the same time. It is all so weird, yet so very real. 

 

Besides the trauma-ghost living in my body, I have come across a few things these past 2 days that sent my mind spinning. I was cleaning out a table/desk that we have kept a Peace Lily on since Dan's funeral (Only plant I have ever kept alive, and thriving, I might add). Shoved in this little table were, 2 bathing suits, a Lilly Sport Boats sweatshirt (I'd been missing that), a candle, 2 Christmas cards from the early 2000s, and then, there they were:

A stack of square manila cards rubber-banded together. I took the band off, and immediately it all came flooding back. I sat for a good 30 minutes reading these cards from the 3rd grade class of 2009/2010. I remember receiving these cards a few weeks after Dan died. I read each one of them, and dropped alligator tears on most. Reading them for a second time, the other day, brought such a different wave of emotion. I laughed at, "My rat died when I was 3, so I know how you feel" and one that made me think, no truer words, She wrote: "I am so sorry you are lost". I know she meant, I am sorry for your loss, but boy was she ever right as rain. I was so very lost. 

Then today rolls around. I am tired as soon as I wake up. Carbs and kid overload have me needing a juice cleanse and a momcation. The kids are eating a morning snack and watching The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl for the catrillionth time. I take a sip from my 20 oz, full to the brim, second of the day, coffee. I use this two minutes of time when the kids have food in their mouths to scroll FB. "Your Memories on Facebook" is at the top of the feed. This is the post that pops up:

Besides the fact that was a ridiculous, "status" that I am not sure why I thought anyone would give a shit about (Thanks Doreen and Michelle for showing me some love), the sheer fact that in just about 24 hours post-post, my entire life would be on a different path. I would be a 29 year old widow with 2 fur babies, kept alive for the next several months by Ensure and my sister. I hope I enjoyed that lovely and relaxing day. 

Did I read this "memory" this morning and think (like a normal person), wow, that is so wild, what a crazy, winding road...? NO. It gave me full on permission to become an anxiety psycho. I immediately began creating my own chaos. When this happens, I think of all of the horrible things that could possibly happen to my family. I start staring like a crazy person at my children thinking about what things about this exact moment I will remember when they are gone OR what will they remember about me? Nick was Levi's age when his mom died. Will Levi have memories of me when he gets older? Will he remember how much we laughed or will he remember me today in my sweatpants, frantically scrubbing things around the house, because cleaning and organizing is the only thing I feel that I can control right now? Would Nick sing Twinkle Twinkle to Lawson every night? 

STOP IT!!!! NONE OF THIS IS GOING TO HAPPEN!! THIS IS NOT HOW THE WORLD WORKS! THIS IS NOT HOW GOD WORKS!!  (That is my sane self yelling at my psycho self at this point in my created state of crazy.) 

Then the migraine kicked in and I needed to lay down. Emotional activity is harder on me than physical activity! Thank goodness for Nick, coming home from work, seeing the need to be alone in my eyes and taking over on daddy-duty. After some Motrin, a rest, a hot shower, and prayer, I headed to CVS (aka my happy place), the grocery store (without children this can also be a very happy place), and the liquor store. I asked the woman behind the counter for her smallest bottle of Patron for my date with Dan tomorrow. She only had a medium size and said, "come on, go big or go home." I smiled and said, "That's fine, he'll be happy". She smiled back, and said, "Of course he will, a pretty lady buying him a drink, who wouldn't?"  If she only knew that we were talking about someone who is dead. Dead for 10 years. Gone in the blink of an eye, forever 30 yrs old, for 10 whole years. 

The night has come and my chaos is subsiding, although there is some melancholy under the remaining tightness in my chest. 

The Patron is chilling in the fridge, my kids are tucked in safe and tight, and now I have spilled my truth onto this keyboard and into your hearts. I won't fully be able to rest until Nick makes it home safely from his football draft tonight, but I am starting to already feel a bit better. 

I know in my sane mind that tomorrow is not "doomsday". It is not the end of the world, and I will  not be sitting around holding my breath waiting for something terrible to happen.  I will wake up positive, I will go for a run to round out my running miles for the year at 530!!!! Then I will pack up Patron and meet Dan for our annual drink. After our drink, my family and I will go to a party to welcome 2020 with open arms and big smiles. Thankful for each other and all that we have. 

As always, I am thankful to you, whom allow me to share this journey. Happy New Year.