Christmas

Once again, I've struggled to get this post out. I've started and drafted numerous times, and I'm going to try again.

How do you approach the holiday season when you've just lost a parent? More to my specific struggle, how do you approach Christmas when your Dad was Santa (see: previous holiday posts) and he's gone?

There is a not insignificant part of me that would love to just skip the whole thing this year. Every song, every decoration, everything, just tears me up inside, and it would be really nice to just put it away for a while.

But I have two young children. Children who've already been taught from birth that Christmas is magical and amazing. Children who deserve to enjoy the legacy that their grandfather left them - that Christmas should be relished, spent with family and friends, celebrated, well and truly.

And beyond that, I married a man who loves Christmas as much as my Dad did. Our wedding was a giant Christmas party. He took over playing Santa for the kids this year, so that they wouldn't have to do without. It wouldn't be any more fair to him than to our kids to neglect our favorite holiday.

So, I muddle through. I cry my way through carols and specials and stores. I'm more absentminded even than normal, which is REALLY saying something.

Maybe there will be a day, in the future, when I won't feel this constant ache. I don't know. Maybe? But I can say with certainty that it will never, ever be the case on Christmas. I will miss my one true Santa forever and ever.

Memories

I never really went through that phase of being embarrassed by my parents. It probably helps that my Mom is other-wordly beautiful and my Dad was ungodly cool. I mean, sure, I would have them drop me off like a block away from the movie theater, but that was way more because that was what I was "expected" to have them do than because I was actually embarrassed of them.

I remember going to Kennebunkport when I was 14, and thinking how great it was to be away, where I could unabashedly hold my Dad's hand as we walked around, not having to worry that my friends would think I was a dork for adoring him so much. Thinking how great it was that I could acknowledge how cool my Mom's fashion sense was as we shopped, without that same worry.

I remember when my Dad was running for school committee, and my parents and aunt and uncle were out in front of my school, campaigning. My boyfriend at the time drove me to school one morning, and as we got out of the car, my Dad and my uncle began predictably teasing us. We, particularly I, pretended to be absolutely mortified, of course. But secretly, we, particularly I, found it pretty hilarious. And my Dad clocked that instantly, of course. I still remember the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

I remember going to my Dad's office 12 years ago today, when we'd been sent home from work. I know I've talked about this before. He was still my ride in those days, since I moved into Boston the following week. I remember feeling exponentially safer, just being with him. I remember him talking on the phone with my brother, comforting him, keeping him calm, as he was able to do in a way no one else ever could.

Overall, I think I'm adjusting to my sucky new normal. I'll be relatively fine for stretches of time - even days, and then, WHAM! It's like, "HOLY SHIT. MY DAD DIED." It's like a foot to the gut. Or some little, seemingly insignificant thing will slam me, and I'll miss him so much I can't breathe around the enormous lump that instantly lodges in my throat.

He was just so rockingly awesome. He was self possessed, and so much cooler than I ever was or will be. He had this natural understanding of humanity that even his later crotchetiness couldn't entirely erase. It was why not one of the five of us EVER put anything over on him, EVER. But it was also why he sometimes didn't call us out on our shenanigans, but rather winkingly accepted them.

There is just a giant awesomeness vacuum in my life now. And I'm really grateful that I was never embarrassed by my parents, because I feel like it would've cost me precious moments that I now treasure.

Three Weeks

I wrote the below on Friday, but technical difficulties prevented my posting until today. 

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As anyone who has lost someone very close to them knows, the immediate aftermath tends to be somewhat surreal. I don’t know for a fact that an unexpected death makes this even more the case, but I have to imagine it does, to some extent (not worse, mind you, but surreal). You’re surrounded by people, a lot of the time. And there’s the planning. You have something to focus on, and while that something is concrete, it seems rather unreal.

And then things slow down, and for everyone around you, life returns to normal. Only, there you are, in this new normal - a normal you want absolutely no part of, but which you cannot escape.

And you feel torn. Part of you just wants to get through to the point when the new normal will actually feel somewhat normal; the other part of you wants to hold onto the fresh grief you’re experiencing because letting it go indicates a distance from this person you love that you cannot even stand to imagine.

Your emotions are so raw. Maybe an iPhone ad in which a small child talks to his grandparents on FaceTime will cause you to dissolve into snotty, incoherent tears. Maybe a routine telemarketing call to your parents’ house by someone asking for your father will launch you into such a state of rage that you’ll want to reach through the phone and throttle an unknowing stranger. Maybe your brothers’ remembrances of your father will make you laugh until your abs are literally mildly sore the next day (which is probably compounded by your lack of working out at the moment…but that’s a story for another day).

I’m staying with my Mom right now. This house is so full of my Dad. There are little things he left around, because he was only going to be away a couple of weeks. There are tools. There is his shed. There are the birdfeeders (OH MY GOD, THE BIRDFEEDERS, what was he, starting a sanctuary in the backyard?!) that need to be filled, like, ALL THE DAMN TIME. There is his library of every James Patterson novel ever published. And that dude is PROLIFIC. There is the Bremner Wafers tin. These are just a few inconsequential examples.

I miss him so much that I literally ache. I have no idea how to exist in a world where he isn’t here. I have no idea who to call now when I need career advice (which I will again eventually). When I need a Santa-vention for a misbehaving child. When I just need to hear my Daddy’s voice.

When I was in my teens and my thyroid disease was not yet diagnosed, it behaved a lot like depression. I remember one day, I just COULD NOT stop crying. For no apparent reason. If you’ve ever been pregnant, you totally know what I’m talking about, since it's a similar phenomenon. I don’t remember where my Mom was, but my Dad was home with me and my two younger brothers. And he didn’t get exasperated or angry. He hugged me to him like I was a little girl instead of a 15 year old, and he said, “Sometimes, you just feel sad, huh?” And he held me that way until I felt better. I didn’t include this anecdote in my eulogy, because I’d never have gotten through it.

Dammit, I just miss him. Every second.

Ramblings...

I can't seem to stop reliving it, in the quiet moments. The times when I can't fall to sleep, or fall back to sleep. The times when I'm driving. Or just when my mind isn't otherwise occupied. That's when it comes back. That second when my world crumbled around me. Does that sound dramatic? It's the truth. The words my poor husband had to speak haunt me. And I feel the panic rising in my chest all over again. I want so badly to be able to go back to life before that moment. But of course, there is no going back.

Then there are other times when I feel like I'm going to be ok. I feel like my amazing Dad (and of course my amazing Mom) prepared me to take the hits life hands out and even though this sucks harder than I could've imagined, I'll be ok. I'll miss him. Of course I will. Every day. But I can do it.

In the almost two weeks since he died, so many people have told me how wonderful, great, amazing my Dad was. But of course, I already knew. The things they're telling me are true. He wasn't perfect, of course, but he was a remarkable human being. He was kind, loving, honest, brilliant, hilarious, cantankerous, crotchety...did I mention hilarious?

There are a million and a half things I already miss about him. I miss his hugs. I miss his Dad smell. I miss his voice. I miss him calling me Das. I miss his laugh. I miss the way he clapped when he thought something was REALLY funny. I miss the way he could change my son's mood in a split second. I miss the way he looked at my Mom as if he'd never seen anything so beautiful, even after almost 48 years as a couple. I miss his ability to listen and give absolutely spot-on advice. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

I hate this. I hate it. I know it's part of life. I know how absolutely crazily blessed I was to have this amazing man as a Dad for 37 years. But I hate it.

Dad

At around 4:30 in the morning on Saturday, August 3rd, one of my very worst nightmares came true. My parents had left on Friday for a European vacation with my oldest brother and his family. I woke up at 4:30 to my husband on the phone with my brother in law. Immediately, I knew something was gravely, gravely wrong. For a split second, I thought the plane had crashed. But then something told me that wasn't it. Something in me told me it was my father. Sure enough, E got off the phone and took my hand. I was already hyperventilating as he told me, "Something happened to your Dad on the plane, and he passed away." I went into a full blown panic attack, pretty much immediately. E went and got my panic meds, and then I just sobbed for a long, long time.

The rest of that day is a blur. My mother and oldest brother, along with his wife and two children, were stuck in Ireland, where their plane had been diverted, until all the "paperwork" associated with someone dying on a plane could be completed. Here's what I remember. I know I packed up some stuff for myself and the kids, and we went to my sister's house. I know the two brothers who weren't in Ireland and their families came over, as did my cousins and uncles and aunt. Later in the day, my best friend came over. I know I cried. A lot. I know I felt something beyond shock. I know I texted a lot of people. I know that, at some point, it started to hit home. My Dad wasn't coming home.

It still seems pretty surreal. I go back and forth between feeling relatively ok, and missing him so much I can't breathe. I suppose that's pretty standard.

This deserves a much, much longer post. But I'm just not there yet. I'm just not. Even the words for the eulogy I'm trying to write are not coming easily. I just miss him so, so much.

To top it all off, today is my Mom's 68th birthday. We did our best by her. Hopefully, it wasn't too awfully miserable, although it was a world away (literally and figuratively) from the birthday she and my Dad had planned.

Boston, You're My Home...

As I've said countless times here, I process through writing. So, once again, I'm going to try to do just that. I don't know how successful I'll be, but it's worth a try.

Today started off as one of the best days I've had. My brother set up an amazing experience for my entire family at today's Red Sox game. All of us, 19, went to Fenway for a private tour of the park that included being able to walk on the field. After the tour, we went to a private suite to enjoy the game. During the game, the 2004 and 2007 World Series trophies were brought into the suite for us to take photos of and with them. We got Boston Red Sox baseball gloves. It was amazing from top to bottom. Sharing it with my entire family, including my children, was nothing short of magical.

After the game, children under 12 were invited to run the bases. We did that (I actually ended up being allowed to run with my niece who got separated from the other kids and didn't want to run by herself). We took our time getting out of the park. And I'm really glad we did.

When we finally made it to our car (after ambling back to it, and a pit stop or two), we got ready to leave the parking garage we were in. E got an alert on his phone, glanced at it, and said, "Oh no, multiple injuries at the marathon..." But we didn't really know what that meant.

Then, almost simultaneously, I realized I had a voicemail that had come through while we were in the garage. It was from the mom of the boy I take care of during the week, whose family were also at the game today. She was calling to see that we were ok, and wanted me to text or call her to let her know. Immediately, E said, "Uh oh, get on Boston.com, this must be something bad." As he said that, several unmarked cruisers SPED by us, headed toward the finish line area in Back Bay.

I couldn't get on Boston.com. Thank God for Twitter, which was my source of information. We were able to ascertain what was going on and figure out how to get out of the city. It took ages to get out, but we were safe.

And I've basically been crying intermittently since then. So many thoughts have raced through my brain. How many years have my family and I been right where the bomb went off, watching the marathon? How many years have we had runners who would've been in the vicinity (in a massive coincidence, this year was the first since 1998 that no one in my family ran)? How many people do I know who WERE running, and whose family were in Copley? My mind and my city were both in chaos.

Boston is my city. It's my home. I grew up in the suburbs of Boston. I lived in the city for my fun, urban, single girl years. I worked in the city for over a decade, all told. It's a special place. And Patriot's Day, or Marathon Monday is its special day. It's a magical day in the city. I said to E, just this morning, "Today is the day I most miss living in the city."

We will mourn this terrible act of cowardice and barbarism. We will mourn the lives lost, the injuries suffered, the families fractured. But we will not let go of our special day. We will not. We are a strong, tough as nails city. We fight hard, we love hard, hell, we even drink hard. We do everything at full force. And we will recover at full force. And may God have mercy on the souls of those responsible, because there is no way in Hell Bostonians will have any mercy.

Love Is Love

Here's the thing. You can disagree if you like, but (sing it with me if you know the words) this is my blog and I'll voice MY opinions, thankyouverymuch. I believe that love is love. I believe that sexual orientation is not, by and large, a "choice" or a "lifestyle" but a part of a person's genetic makeup. Just like race. Forty years ago (give or take), there were laws against marrying someone of another race. And to the vast, vast majority of us now, that seems completely preposterous. And you know what, when my children are adults, you mark my words, they're going to feel the same way about same sex marriage. And I will rejoice in that day.

You can call me Godless for that, if you must. I'm not Godless. I have a wonderful, communicative, fulfilling, comforting relationship with God. God is a part of my life every second of every day. Everything good in my life, God has provided, and I am well and truly grateful, always. And I tell God that, many times daily...when I'm not begging God for the strength not to hit for the hills when my five year old is making me want to tear out my hair, that is. My relationship with God is my business. It's personal.

Another of my opinions is that believing in God, having a relationship with God, need not preclude us from recognizing scientific fact. I think we can believe in God and still believe in evolution. I think we can believe in God and still believe that God made us all different, intentionally, and that God doesn't see those differences as "right" or "wrong."

The thing about the Bible that causes so much trouble is that, for better or worse, it is man's translations of God's teachings. Of course, the men who wrote it received messages from God. But haven't you ever played a game of telephone? Stuff gets lost in translation. I'm truly not trying to make light of serious issues here. It happens. My question is always why we can take certain parts of the bible with a grain of salt, but then must take others absolutely at face value? We've stopped owning slaves and smiting our neighbors for their transgressions, yet for some reason, people get really focused on NOT moving on from the passages they see as forbidding homosexuality. I'm not a biblical scholar, so I don't pretend to be an expert here, but still, that seems kind of lopsided.

It's been very interesting to me to see the gay marriage issue play out on social media. It's been interesting to me to see so many friends change their profile pictures and post pro-marriage equality items. It's been equally interesting to see other friends get decidedly defensive, as if those of us in favor are personally targeting them, in some way. I can only speak for myself. I'm not. At all. It's got nothing to do with anyone personally. It's an issue I believe in. Period. It's also been interesting to see people make fun of those of us speaking up in support - saying things like, "Oh, yea, Facebook and Twitter are gonna make SUCH a difference!" Well, but here's the thing. Social media CAN and HAS made a huge difference in social issues. The hikers who were being held in Iran gave a huge amount of credit to Twitter advocacy to helping get them home. Last year when the Komen Foundation screwed up so enormously, the Facebook and Twitter backlash was so severe that they reversed course. Those are just a couple of examples.

I just can't wait for that day I spoke of before, when people are shocked that gay marriage was ever even an issue. How, as a developed nation, is the US standing in the way of consenting, non-related adults who love each other getting married? The mind, it wobbles.

Luckiest

Nine years ago today, I went with a bunch of friends to one of my favorite events (Harpoonfest) at one of my favorite places (Harpoon Brewery in South Boston) and it changed my life. I remember that a year earlier, I jokingly predicted to a friend of mine, "I love it here. I'm totally meeting my husband here." I never really thought it would be true. But it was.

The thing I remember most about that day is how comfortable I felt with E, right off the bat, which was unusual to say the least, and which made me think I must not be romantically interested in him. Yet, I found myself wanting to be around him. Enough so that I dragged a friend of mine along to see him and his friends at a bar (that was in completely the opposite direction we were headed) they were going to after Harpoonfest. Enough so that I thought, "Sure, what the heck?" when he asked me out. And enough that, when he got back in touch after a brief, ahem, hiatus a few months later, my overwhelming feeling was of relief.

I had always wondered how people get to be so comfortable with the people they are in long term relationships with. And then I met E, and it all made sense. Everything sort of fell into place. Sure, we had our missteps (the aforementioned hiatus among them), but overall, there was a sense of comfort and of easy communication, that wasn't like anything I had experienced before. He once told me he would do whatever it took to gain and keep my trust, and he has spent the days and years since doing exactly that. I can be my total freak show of a self with him and he doesn't bat an eye.

When it came time, in those early days, to have the conversations I'd found excruciatingly difficult to have in other relationships, I found that we could discuss serious matters rationally and respectfully and come to conclusions together. We were a team. And that was amazing. It still is.

Happy Birthday to the love of my life. Thank you for everything. And shouts out to Harpoon Brewery and our friend Jacki for the assists. :-)

Missing, But Not Gone...

I know. I disappeared again. But one of the reasons (there are many), is that I'm beginning to guest blog for the March of Dimes, on the March for Babies Family Team blog. My first entry features one of my bestest buds and her miracle babes. Check it out here: http://mfbfamilyteams.blogspot.com

Resolute

I'm not that big on resolutions. I get their intent. The idea of a new year being a blank slate - the idea that you can start fresh, is appealing. But firstly, you can start fresh ANY day. And secondly, I think resolutions often set up a dynamic wherein you're kind of destined to fail. Not always, but often.

So, what I'm looking at, then, isn't so much a resolution as a project that I'm deciding to begin (again) for 2013. I want to accept and love myself more. I worked very hard on this same thing in my late teens and early twenties, and by my mid-twenties, I had it down pretty well. I liked who I was. I knew I wasn't perfect, would never be perfect, and felt ok about that, because I felt like I was a good person, a likable person, lovable even, and I felt good enough.

But a lot has changed in the years since. I think a lot of it is pretty natural, normal stuff. I got older. That's a biggie. I became a mother, and really, don't we all kind of tend to feel inadequate as mothers, like, always? I left my career, which like it or not, defined a big chunk of my life. Add to that all the mental and emotional duress leading up to the leaving of said career, which had already stripped me pretty bare, self-esteem-wise, and what you end up with is someone with A LOT of self doubt and a feeling of being adrift.

Additionally, as my therapist likes to point out, I tend to like to beat myself up. I never really was conscious of it until he pointed it out, but let me put it this way: any of you who want to judge me are certainly welcome, as it's your right, but I assure you, you're never going to judge me as harshly as I'm already judging myself.

And that's the big one. I really want to quit judging myself. I want to stop looking in the mirror with such critical eyes. I want to remember all the things about myself that I LIKED once upon a time. I want to remember what was so cool about that girl, and remind myself that, for the most part, it's still in there.

I think this should be a pretty attainable goal. I know E will be on board, since, you know, he loves me and thinks I'm pretty cool. I know my therapist will be MORE than on board since he's been telling me on and off since 2008 that I'm not nearly as inadequate as I've made myself believe I am.

I'm not perfect. Never will be. I'm a work in progress, but said progress will be lifelong. And the fact that I'm in progress doesn't mean I'm not good enough. That's the conundrum.