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.

Passages

My grandmother passed away yesterday. She was 96. Well, truthfully, she'd have been 97 on December 1st, so she was actually closer to 97 than 96. She was, for lack of a better, more accurate word, amazing. She was the original tiny force of nature (something we call E frequently).

I'm struggling with this post, a bit, because I'm not even entirely sure how to articulate everything I want to say. But I know I need to try. So, here goes...

First of all, my grandmother was my namesake. She was, like me, the middle of five children. And as much as we were different, there were ways in which she always made me feel like she got me, in a really special way. She got married at 28, which, back in the 40's, was considered pretty late. And that was one of the really significant things she passed on to me - that belief that there should never be a rush to get married - that it should be all about finding that right person. And since I've covered her love story with my grandfather repeatedly in this space, we all know she did just that. And the moment she met E, she was absolutely, 100% convinced that he was that right person for me. And as usual, she was right.

My grandmother was kinda fabulous. She believed in looking good - dressing well, being well-groomed (the last time we visited her, E told her her hair looked nice and she positively GLOWED as a result), and in living life to the fullest. She played golf into her nineties and drank martinis at cocktail hour (5 PM sharp) even deeper into her nineties. She led a life brimming with love. She invited it, cultivated it, cherished it.

On that last visit that E and I had with her, she was fairly out of it, for the most part. Interestingly, as we were getting ready to leave, she perked up. It was as if she came back, in a way. And she said almost exactly the same things to me that my grandfather said to me the last time I saw him. To the end, they were true twin souls (and still are). And just like with him, I had this inkling inside that it would be the last time I'd see her.

I know I've written before about the visit I took to see my grandmother after my grandfather passed away, and about sitting in his chair, and the flickering lamp. Tonight, as I was sitting in my own living room, the lamp next to my sofa flickered the same way. It's not really a lamp that flickers regularly, so it caught my attention. I could just picture the conversation:

Mam: "Oh, Dad. Don't fool around. You know how sensitive Linny can be."
Bucky: "No, don't worry. She loves this trick! Watch. [Flicker.] HA! See? She loves it!"
Mam: "[Shaking her head,] I wish you wouldn't do that. She's so overly sensitive. You're just going to make her cry again. Heavens to Betsy, that Linny can cry."
Bucky: "Oh, Betty, relax. She's not a child. Drink your drink before it gets warm."

I've had this very intense mix of emotions inside these last two days. I'm so relieved for her that she's no longer sick or suffering. She loathed being sick. And she even more intensely loathed the loss of her eyesight. But that doesn't erase the ache inside that results when you have to say goodbye to someone you love so dearly. And then I'm also so glad for her that she is finally, after almost exactly 13 years, with my grandfather once again. She missed him terribly every day of these years, and I know the reunion they're sharing is full of joy. And then there's the pain that comes with knowing they're both gone now, and that part of our family life that they represented is more memory than reality now. I think we can acknowledge that death is a natural part of life and appreciate its inherent difficulty. I don't think those concepts are mutually exclusive.

Among the hardest things was having to tell B what had happened. I'm of the opinion that you shouldn't lie to children about these things. So, we didn't. We told him what was going on. And in his highly emotional way, he processed it. He cried, and he wailed that he didn't want Mam to go to heaven. He said he was going to miss our visits with her, and he told us he was mad at us for visiting that last time without him (she was in hospice care toward the end, so children were not allowed). But he expressed all of that, and he expressed how much he loves her, and all in all, I think it went about as well as it could.

Anyway, I feel like this post is VERY all over the place, so who knows - maybe I'll come back and tweak it at some point. Or maybe I'll just leave it as kind of a raw, brain dump. We'll see. Suffice it to say that a big part of who I am left us yesterday and I'm sad. And happy. And very, very thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. Give your peeps big hugs, y'all.

Five

Five years ago today, my son was born. As everyone always says, everything changed that day. (Cliches are cliches because they're true, right?) In some ways, these five years have gone by in a blink. In some ways, I really can't even remember what it was like before he was here. He's just everything. It's funny. I kind of feel like those early days are a blur. I forget what it was like when he was very tiny, because he's clearly not that baby anymore. He's a (very) tall, mouthy, strong-willed, intelligent, sensitive boy who amazes and annoys (enrages?) me on a daily basis. He defines who I am as a person. My questioning of myself mainly stems from him, as does much of my sense of identity. I waited 31 years for him, yet in a way I feel like he's always been with me.