True Love

I believe in ghosts. I believe in spirits. I believe in soul mates - our companions in this life and beyond it. You can call it hokey or hippie dippy or whatever you want to throw at me. I still believe it. I believe there are people in this life that we know from another. And I believe that when these people pass from this life to the next, they sometimes come back to us to offer guidance or support or a shoulder to cry on. And anyone who was with me in my grandmother's hospital room the other day would believe it, too. I would bet my life that my grandfather was in that room.


When my grandfather was alive, he and my grandmother enjoyed the rarest of gifts - a truly happy marriage. They were madly in love until the day he died, and if you ask my grandmother, they remain so now, eight plus years later. From their marriage, I learned many of the important lessons about love - never to go to bed angry, to tell each other you love each other every day, always to present a united front, to relish your differences as well as your similarities.

Soon after he died, I went to visit my grandmother. We enjoyed their nightly ritual of cocktail hour. I drank a manhattan - my grandfather's "winter" drink, and I sat in his chair in the corner of their living room. Soon after I sat down, the lamp next to the chair flickered off, then back on. My grandmother giggled lightly. "That's Bucky. He does that every night during cocktail hour." That's only one example among many of the times he's found ways to communicate to us over the years.

On Thanksgiving last year, when my son was a month old, my grandmother told me that she'd been talking to my grandfather about my son, and that he thought he was beautiful and special and that he loved him. I didn't question that for a moment. I knew she was right. He'd told me the same thing, in his way.

Last week, my grandmother had a stroke-like episode (we're still not entirely sure what exactly happened or when), and was in the hospital. For the first couple days she was there, she was very out of it. In the middle of a sentence, she would just zone out. Her doctors think she was having mini-strokes. But the strange thing is that, often, during these zone outs, she would gaze up toward the corner of her room and speak quietly or nod. And then when she came back, she would have a question, usually about one of her children. Over the course of the day I was there, I got the distinct feeling that she was talking to my grandfather. I knew he was in the room as soon as I walked in, just as I'd suspected he would be - he would never want her to go through something like that alone. It was as if he were guiding her through the whole thing, telling her to hang in there, telling her that the kids would be there soon.

Because of my grandparents' relationship, I always had very high expectations for the love and romance that lay ahead for me. I credit that, above all, with having led me to my husband. Their love for each other taught me what true love is, and that it transcends "till death do us part." My grandmother is 92 years old and has two degenerative conditions. At some point, she will go to join my grandfather. As sad as this makes me, and it does make me very sad, I know that there is a part of her that just misses him, and is looking forward to their being together again, and I can hardly begrudge her that, after all she's done for me. Plus, I miss him terribly too, so I can only imagine how much more she does.

Peekaboo, Mommy!

Flyin' High

We had a wedding this weekend in Richmond, VA. It was a beautiful wedding and an absolute blast. It was also our first big trip as a family. It was my son's first time on a plane. We did very well. My son loved the airplane. He was looking around and checking things out. He also loved snuggling with Mommy and Daddy in the seats. It was encouraging because I love to travel, and I'm hoping to do more of it, so I'm glad he seems to like it. I'm not all that surprised though. The kid amazes me with his ability to take things in stride. I could learn from him.

Insomnia

Not being able to sleep sucks. I know of what I speak here, because I've had insomnia in varying degrees for most of my life. Actually, probably all of my life, since some of my earliest memories are of not being able to sleep. I've read that insomnia is fairly common among writers. I can't help but wonder if it's partly the insomnia that fuels the being a writer. I mean, there's not much to do at 3:30 in the morning, so...why not write? Plus, for most insomniacs, the whole problem is that there are so many thoughts swirling around in there that our minds can't calm down enough to fall asleep. So, maybe getting some of those thoughts out in the form of words helps us get to sleep? I don't know. What I do know is that it's completely maddening to be exhausted and not be able to get to sleep. Tonight, I was absolutely toast when I finished work. I came home, had dinner, packed for our trip this weekend and went to bed. I was so relieved to get into bed. I slept three hours, my son woke me, and I haven't been able to get back to sleep since. And now, I have to be up in a half hour for our crazy early flight, so it's not even worth going back to sleep. An ongoing conundrum in these parts.

BTW - I guess it was yesterday now, but it was my husband's birthday Thursday. Happy Birthday, Bub! :)

One Year Ago Tonight

One year ago tonight, I peed on a stick and it changed my whole life. One year ago, almost to the minute, I was staring at two pink stripes on a First Response test, in giddy shock over what I was seeing. I was a different person then. It's strange to think of it now, but I was. Almost everything about my life was different. And now, just one short year later, I can't imagine going back.

Bad Day

Today wasn't a good day. I wasn't feeling well and neither was the kid. I was out sick from work yesterday, so I was behind and trying to catch up and my son wasn't really interested in that. I had a meltdown at one point and my poor husband had to listen to me sobbing and hyperventilating on the phone. And so then I felt so guilty for unloading on him. Again. Some more. I know these sorts of days happen. My friends who are working mothers tell me they do. My friends who are stay at home mothers tell me they do. But it still makes me feel weak when I drop the balls I'm juggling, when I lose my cool, when I can't handle it. But the truth is, today, I couldn't handle it. I guess that's just part of the journey. Sometimes, I won't be able to keep all the balls in the air. Sometimes, one will hit the floor. I need to cut myself some slack, which isn't something I've ever been very good at. But life is a work in progress, right?

Blagh...

I've got a cold. I feel like shit. But the worst part is that I'm trying to keep my son from getting the cold, and in order to do that, I have to stay away from him. I haven't touched him all day and it sucks. I just want to cuddle him and smooch his cheeks, but I don't want him to get my cold, so I can't. Even worse? He has been shooting me daggers all day. I mean, in all honesty, I may be exaggerating this in my mind, but he has been looking at me rather unhappily all day. I know he doesn't understand why I'm not holding him and feeding him and that's really the worst part. I need to feel better ASAP.