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