August Recap!

Well this has certainly been a month. Not the month I was expecting and definitely the worst Birthday Month since I starting celebrating them. But it was a month and so here I am to recap how it went. Goal wise. Not in general. In general you already know. But how did the goals fare?

Fitness/Weight! Still going to touch on it because it was part of the overall year of goals but as of last month it's not a thing I'm expecting to change, really. Still hitting the gym 5-6 days a week. Eating went to shit this month, cake and compliments month turned into cake for emotional support and the compliment being I have never seen anyone blend that particular amount of junk food into a meal before..So end of the month up a half pound from where I started, basically same for the overall year. I'll get back to healthy eating next month. Emotional eating might not be the best idea, but it works so I will take it.

Reading! Thanks to the release of a few graphic novels I read and some days where I really didn't want to do anything but sit quietly I am actually FINALLY ahead for the year. Started four books behind ended up three ahead. Got the next two Discworld books in the series done and now only need one a month for the rest of the year to hit that subgoal. The funny thing for me is that The Last Continent was the one I just finished and when it came available and I opened it to start reading my thought was..."Well pooh...it's a Rincewind one." Those have been my least favorite. I don't know why, but they haven't amused me as much as the others. But I'm going to read them all, dammit, so I settled in and...It was great! I finally found a Rincewind story that amused the heck out of me! Never judge a book by its characters...or something like that...

Writing! I'm ahead for the year. It hasn't been the most light hearted of all of my writing, but it's helped me keep from completely shutting down so therapeutic writing has been good writing for me. Fiction I need to write two pieces a month to hit that goal. Submissions, I was going to work on that this month but...well...next month. I still need one more for the year there. I'll find something.

MasterClass! I decided on the Penn and Teller one thinking it might be a fun diversion for birthday month. And it was a really great class. They teach a couple of tricks, which I'm lousy at, but they also talk about magical theory, and what makes a good trick. And I'm really good at that. How can that be? Good at that but not the trick? Because a lot of what makes for a good magic trick and magic show is the same as what makes for a good short story. Especially the kind I like to write. The look over here while I misdirect you types. I was actually really amused by how much fiction and magic were the same. Really good class. Next month I will probably do Krugman's economics class and save Joyce Carol Oates for October. We will be traveling a bit in October and she has fewer lessons so that's why I'm saving her again.

Monthly Museum/Attraction! We went to the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum this month. It's a big deal here, the Spruce Goose is there, in fact it was built to hold it. But there are a lot of planes and rockets there as well. It was really interesting. A bit far out of town, but if you like that sort of thing I would really recommend it. There is also a giant water park, which we didn't do, but that could make it even more fun.

Long Term! Painted the landing upstairs. In fact I'm finishing it today, just under the gun. I almost skipped it, but leaving that space blank bugged me so gold star it is. Of course, now that it has fresh paint I can see that all of the trim work around it needs fresh paint as well so that's a bigger project for the rest of the year. Also made our dinner reservations for our Disney trip in February. Yes, you have to do that stuff WAY far in advance. It's a bit crazy.

Next month I think the long term is going to be sorting the kitchen and kitchen gadgets but Brent is trying to talk me out of it. He's afraid I am not completely in my right state of mind for such an undertaking. He could be right. We will see how I feel next week. But for now, that's the goal. That and figuring out my last submission piece.

Oh, and for the very astute of you reading you're thinking...wait...August isn't over yet, why is she posting her recap? We're headed back to Michigan tomorrow so I won't be hitting any more goals this month, and I won't be at my computer on Saturday to sum it all up. Today is the "last" day of the month. The next two are Go Blue! days. Thank goodness for distractions.

September on tap:
Continue with the yearly goals
Find a submission
Possible kitchen sort

Poetic...

When Dad died on Mom's birthday I said it would take me awhile to figure out the poetic part of it. It took until Mom died to do it, but I think I have.

The start of it came to me this year on her birthday. And this is where I tell you again that I knew it was going to be this year for Mom. I kept couching it by saying, "I could be wrong. Women in her family live really long lives." But that voice in my head kept saying, "It's this year. This is the last year." And on her birthday I thought to myself, "At least this will be the last year she has to be reminded of Dad's death every time someone tells her "happy" birthday." And when I thought of that for some reason I pictured Dad just sitting there, waiting. 

Then Mom died.

On Kelsey's birthday.

The day I really didn't want it to happen.

But almost immediately I was filled with an "of course" feeling.  The circle just closed.

And I found my poetic reason.

Mom was Dad's life. She just was. She was the center of his universe. You see families sometimes that are clearly about the kids. The kids are the center and everything else revolves around them. That was not my life growing up. We all knew that the primary relationship was theirs and we all came second.

In the Jewish faith life begins at the first breath. A pregnancy is a life under construction. A vessel for the soul is being made. But life? That starts at birth. The first breath is taken and the soul enters the body. Life. Now, my mother was an Evangelical so her definition was a little different but as Evangelicals my parents thought of the Jewish people as God's Chosen People. So...

My father's life really began with Mom's first breath. He lived for two years on his own, but once she was born he was set on the path to her. That's what I've decided. And once they were together and they took that breath together for the first time? His real life started. His whole life. She was his life. And so on her birthday, when you mark the time the soul enters the body and you begin, he left his body behind and waited with her. My imagination says that maybe on your birthday you are a little more permeable, you are primed to let in a soul, the echo of that first time is there. And so Dad left the vessel that had carried him and found a cozy corner in Mom to hang out and wait.

It's why she could see him places, could hear him, could talk to him. He was there, with her, waiting.

And then when it came time for her to leave this world she closed the circle. The oldest of our family passing on the birthday of the youngest. I like to think that she took Dad and they went to see Kelsey, to introduce Dad to her, maybe in a dream. Because you are more open on your birthday. That way Kelsey was with them both for a minute in her life as well. I can see my mother introducing my father to her and then them holding hands and walking away. The circle closed.

I like my poetic version of the why. It's so much better than sometimes life is shitty and shitty things happen at the shittiest of times. So I'm going to hold on to this version. Dad died on Mom's birthday so he could continue to be part of her life until she was ready to move on. Mom died on Kelsey's birthday so she could show her off to Dad. And now the circle is closed and Mom and Dad have moved on to whatever is next.

Together.

Because they were each other's lives.

Poetic.

A New Chapter...

I'm an orphan.

I knew it was coming so I've been trying it out for awhile. Orphan.

We don't refer to adults as orphans. We think of children without parents as orphans. But not adults. But eventually, if the normal patterns we think of hold out, we all become orphans. And when our parents die we are reminded that we are still, somewhere, somehow, children. So now I am an orphan.

Last night I informed Brent that I get to win every argument for the foreseeable future because I can just announce, "I'm an orphan" and he has to let me win based on the "don't be mean to orphans" rules. I told him I had run it by Dana last week and she agreed so that was that. He was a little concerned that Dana and I started plotting against him but has basically agreed that for now I win.

I also got the best night's sleep last night that I've gotten in two weeks. I knew the odds were that Mom would go in her sleep and even though she was sleeping most of the hours of the day it seemed to make sense in some part of my head that it would be the overnight sleeping time. So I think my subconscious was keeping me awake to listen for my phone. Last night there was no reason to listen anymore so I slept like a rock.

I know that I should feel like I'd rather lose the arguments and have rough sleep, but I don't.

Things would be different if she had been healthy and happy and loving her life. But she wasn't. She was tired. She was done. She was ready to go. She never completely rebounded from Dad's death. She got better, she dealt with it, she did her best, but she also missed him every single day of her life. I talked about our visit home this spring and how she spent most of her time talking about Dad. And how she said she could see him a lot of the time. Like out of the corner of her eye. Just waiting.

She was ready.  More than ready.

And she was still fighting the cancer. She was coming to the end of yet another cycle of chemo. And though it wasn't the devastating chemo treatment that she had the first time that almost killed her, it was still chemo. And it was never going to cure the cancer. Cancers. She ....

....

Sorry about that. My phone just rang and it was my brother. I need to sign some paperwork so Mom can be cremated. And just like that whatever thought was going in that last paragraph is stopped. Because I am signing paperwork to have Mom cremated. Because I'm an orphan.

And I have the easy job of it. I just have to sign this paperwork. Jeff and Susan have to sit at the funeral home and talk to the people about cremating Mom. We all were there when Dad died. It was actually the first time I saw everyone after he died. I flew in and went directly to the funeral home. John and Ann were still living in town so all of us were there. I wrote about being shocked at how bad they all looked and then realizing that I must look just as horrible. Not natural colors for skin. Grief is a bitch.

But this time I'm not flying in right away. We aren't holding the memorial service until October. And John and Ann are living in Florida now. It's all on Jeff and Susan to handle with the direct and leaving the indirect to me and John.

Which honestly has been how it's been for me since I left home at 18. I lived back in New Mexico for a few years after Brent got out of the Navy, but it was just a couple. So the majority of my life I have been an indirect participant in their lives. The Aunt that flies in shows up to dinner and flies back out. The could be an insult could be a compliment just depends on how you take it, "You are just like your Aunt Denise!" The oh we should let her know thought when Dad would get sick, or Mom would get sick or when one of the next generation did something. It's new to John and Ann, they just moved a couple of years ago, but for me it's normal.

But as I learned when Dad died, even if it's normal that I am not there day to day, the grief still comes. It still leaves a hole in you when your parent dies.

So expect more of the grief chronicles. Just now we have moved on to the next part. The actual mourning instead of the pre-mourning. For some reason I was thinking two weeks of pre-mourning would make this part easier. Like I would have had a head start. It didn't. Because even when you expect it, you can't prepare for it. Not really.

I'm an orphan.

It just doesn't seem real.

The New Normal...

I told Brent yesterday that I was doing fine. Except for the not sleeping, the only wanting to eat white flour and sugar, which is exacerbated by the lack of sleep, the lack of patience with everyone, which is exacerbated by the lack of sleep and good nutrition, and the fact that I can't hold a thought in my head for longer than a few minutes. But other than that I was fine.

He said I was doing a good job holding it all together. But that holding it all together is not the same as fine.

Fine.

So maybe I'm not fine.

But I've sort of gotten used to it.

Which is really bothering me.

Even though it's totally necessary. I mean, that's the way it is with any loss, you have to keep going, you have to keep moving forward because you have to keep going. So even with half of my head waiting for that message, the rest of me is still cleaning house, reading books, planning Disney vacations, talking to friends, laughing at jokes...

But it feels weird to know that this is, for now, normal. Like it never should be normal.

Brent's mother called me for my birthday and we chatted for a little bit then she asked if there was anything new with us. And I told her that Mom's health was failing fast. But I told her after we had chatted for awhile about books and movies and...it wasn't like it was the first thing we talked about. And I'm not sure I would have said anything if she hadn't asked. Because it's not something you just start a conversation with right?

But it sort of feels like I should.

Like I should tell people, Hey, this is the most important thing in my head right now so...

But I'm still doing everything else. Just like it's not.

Because this is the new normal right now.

Live, move, check in with my sister every few days, try to sleep, mainline sugar, ignore what that's doing to my own health, don't cry, bargain with the Universe on when it will happen. Rinse and repeat.

This is the new normal. And as awful as it is, I'm getting used to it.


.....


Well, I guess I shouldn't be too terribly surprised. After all we've all acclimated to Trump being president so you can really get used to anything. Well maybe not acclimated, maybe more of just getting used to living with that feeling of dread constantly in your head. Okay, so yeah, it's completely the same.

Happy (?) Birthday!

I'm FIFTY-ONE!

Okay, so it's not as big of a deal as 50 was. Nobody dreads 51. Nobody really thinks much about 51. Once you hit 50 you just keep going until you freak out about 55 or 60, I guess.

I mean, not me. You all know how I feel about it all. If you somehow just stumbled upon me then here's your refresher...

Fifty was nifty. It really was. I had so many of my fellow new to 50s join in on the fun. The Fifty is Nifty bandwagon, the age is a gift not a curse movement. It was really great. A really solid good year.

Until the past few weeks, they've been a little rough. Or more than a little. Only a little in comparison to what I know is ahead.

But it's been a good year. And I expect the next year to be rough and hard and sad, but then good again. Or good overall. Or even good while the bad is happening. Because that is the truth of it all, life is a mixed bag. And even in the midst of the worst of it all, there is true beauty and goodness and laughter.

And things that take your legs out from under you.

So, a few weeks ago I stumbled across this picture and as I do I did the math on how old everyone was. And I know how old we all are because of the fight.

Yes, the fight. I was wearing my boyfriend's necklace. And my mother was not happy about it. See, it was a crucifix. In our religion we only show the cross as empty. Resurrection, not death see? The Catholics show the crucifix. And my mother was not pleased that I would wear a crucifix. And I was not going to not wear it so we fought about it. The compromise was that it's tucked under my dress so you can't see it.

But anyway...because I know how old I was I know how old everyone else is. And in this picture my mother is...yep...51. This is a big part of why I've never had an issue with aging. I'm 14 here, still pretty young, and my mother is 51. It's not that old. And she looks great. But want to see something amazing?

This is her 11 years later. Wearing no makeup. And she looks even better! And, just for another comparison, C is just about the same age in this picture as Brian was in the first one.

But basically my mother has been my blueprint on aging. She didn't view it as a bad thing. She also always looked much younger than she was. Which maybe is why she was never bothered by it?

Up until the cancer came she was also very healthy. I've talked before about how she kept Dad healthy as well. He was the oldest living male in his family by a long shot.

They were also the happiest couple I've ever seen. They truly enjoyed each other.

Which is why I think she's so ready to go now. Dad's been gone for awhile. The cancer has never completely gone away. The constant low dose chemo, the side effects, the tiredness. And just the loneliness. I think she's just tired.

So we are waiting. And it gets closer everyday. She lets go more and more everyday.

So yes, 51 is a little less joyful than I had hoped.

But I've had a good role model in life for finding the joy in the everyday. For smiling and forging onward. It's going to be a rough start to the year. And right now I look every inch of my 51 years, you can see them all in my eyes. And in the lines around my eyes. And in the hollows under my eyes...

But if things hold true, in another decade I'm going to be better...

okay, yes, this is actually 50 and 363 days, but it's close enough

So 51...

We're going with #FiftyOnederful even though at times it is most definitely not going to be that.
I'm sticking with the Daily Gratitude posts because I think over the next few months I'm going to really need them.

And we still have 11 days left of Cake and Compliments for Birthday Month so let's keep it going, shall we?

You are all amazing and have been so incredibly supportive of all my wacky ideas and in holding me up while I pre-grieve. If nobody has ever said it, and even if they have, you are rocks. Solid, dependable and incredibly sexy rocks.

Thank you!

Chilly...

This is the story I was working on last week before I got the message from my sister. I had had a dream the night before about graverobbers selling the things they had taken. As the dream faded I thought, "there's a story in there." This was my start. I think there is something here, I'm just not sure what it will be. But at least this way I won't forget it while I wait.




She could feel the breeze even though there was no air movement. No curtains blowing. No gently moving leaves on the palm tree in the living room. But she could still feel the cool breeze. There would be a thin spot here letting in the air she just needed to find it.

She walked toward the big bay window and right out of the breeze. Okay, that wasn't it. She retraced her steps to feel where the breeze picked back up. She took three steps backwards and the gooseflesh on her arms let her know she was there. She reached out to see if she could feel the edges of the cold air while looking around the room to see where else it might be coming from. Was there a vent that she wasn't seeing at first? Maybe the A/C was running and it was just very quiet. Or one of those bladeless fans tucked in a corner someplace. Nothing.

So now she knew.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Blocking out what she could see so she could focus on what she felt. She took a step forward into the chilly air, stretching her fingertips out and feeling the edges of...a stream? It felt like a stream. A stream of air, not of water, but flowing air, in a channel, there were definite boundaries. It was flowing towards something. Away from where she stood flowing toward... She opened her eyes and looked. A painting. There was a painting on the wall.

"Have you always had this piece?"

"We actually just bought this. Isn't it wonderful? I was..." the homeowner trailed off realizing that she would not have asked if it weren't significant. "Is this where it's coming from? I mean, it's just a painting?"

She smiled. "Nothing is just anything. Everything you own you own for a reason. Everything means something to you. Some things mean more than others. Art often means quite a lot."

The homeowner sighed. He didn't want to get rid of the piece. He had paid a lot for it and it was an important work. Or at least that's what the art dealer had told him. He actually didn't know much about art, just that expensive was better. Or at least that was his theory.

"So can you fix it?"

She turned and gave him a puzzled look, "Fix it?"

"Yes, can you make it stop...well...stop being so off putting."

She smiled now. "Is that what you feel? That's it's off putting?"

"Isn't that what you feel? It's cold here, when the rest of the room is warm. If you stay too long you start to feel, well, you start to feel..." The homeowner trailed off again.

She understood. He didn't understand what he felt when he was standing in that stream of cold. He just knew he felt something. And most people didn't like to feel much of anything. Especially someone who thought she could fix his painting.

"No, I can't fix it, because it's not broken."

"Well I don't mean it's broken, necessarily, but can you stop it from doing whatever it is that it's doing? That's why I hired you, afterall."

She shook her head. "No, you hired me to find out where the chill was coming from. I've let you know. That was our transaction."

"You were highly recommended!"

"I have no doubt of that. And I did my job. The painting is the source of the chill."

"Will you tell me how I can fix it myself then?"

"Give it back?"

"Give it back? You mean try to get a refund from the art dealer?"

"Oh no. They didn't own it any more than you do. This piece, this doesn't belong here at all. It's supposed to be on the other side."

"The other side?"

"Yes."

"Of what?"

"Of this." She waved her hand around his living room.

"Of my house?"

"No. Of all of this. You bought an artifact. Like the gold from a Pharaoh's tomb. This was supposed to travel with its original owner. That's what it was painted for. That's what it was imbued with. Someone stole it from the dead. You can either give it back to them, or one day discover what is on the other side of that stream."

"Stream?"

"The chill. The cold breeze. It's a stream. And eventually it will flow strong enough that you won't be able to resist it. The painting was designed for a tomb. And it's not broken. It will be in a tomb. One way or the other."

One Week Later...

So it's been a week since I got the message from my sister that Mom was failing and we were nearing the end.

It's been a hard week. Waiting. Bracing myself every time my phone buzzes. Debating with myself what is or isn't the right thing to do. Trying to figure out October plans but again not wanting to figure out October plans because she's not even gone yet. Talking to her. Talking to my sister.

Yesterday I decided that it was ridiculous to be so mopey. I mean, honestly nothing has changed. She was ill for a week before I even knew she was ill. Pre-grieving was ridiculous. Yes, she is really weak. Yes she is deep in her own mind. But she isn't gone yet. She is still here. Nothing has changed. And her doctor said it could be as long as a month. There is no way I can pre-grieve for a month. It won't change anything. It sure as hell won't make it better. Time to pull up the big girl panties and stop being such a baby about it all.

I decided.

And then this morning while I was making breakfast the sob came up unbidden and I had to choke it back down. Knowing that if I let that one out there was a flood waiting behind it.

So much for what I decided.

It's also really difficult right now because it's been a week. A week seems like a significant amount of time while you are living it. I mean last Friday when I got the message from Susan I was prepared for soon to be that day. Or that weekend. But now that it's been a week? Well hope starts to set in. Maybe they are wrong. Mom is ill, sure, but she'll get better. A week starts to let in hope.

Which is worse in a way. I mean, I spoke with her this week. She's not well. I spoke with my sister. She's much more aware of the day to day than I am and she is preparing for Mom's death. So I need to keep reminding myself that Mom is not getting better. That's not going to happen.

But it's been a week.

And doctors are sometimes wrong. You hear it all the time.

I mean, mostly they aren't. And the only reason you hear about the miracle recoveries is because they are rare and the human brain loves novelty. And honestly a week isn't that long. If I was telling you this story in five years and I said, "Mom took a sudden turn, her health failed, and she was gone within a month." You'd think, "That's so fast."

But during?

It's been a week.

A really long week.