A Decade Can Pass So Quickly

A decade sounds like such a long time, when in fact, it is but a moment. A blink in this life we are here to live.  I have taken so many decades for granted as I lived in the moments of them.  I think you may have done that as well.  When life is happening, it is hard to imagine it not happening in the same way,  in perpetuity. 

That thinking changed for me a full decade ago. It has been ten years. Ten years have gone by both quickly and slowly. Until I was 48, I believed you would tangibly, physically,  be a part of my life forever.  I took our phone calls for granted, even while I cherished every moment of them.  I believed we would be visiting between St. Paul and Michigan each year until we could no longer travel. (I assumed you would stop traveling first because you hated flying and long car trips, both things I loved).  I knew when you no longer were able or willing to make the trips here, I would come to you.  I loved coming to the Twin Cities.  It always felt like coming home.  Maybe because it was your home, or more likely, because being together, being with you, felt like home to me.  

People sometimes ask me how close in age we were, given our strong connection.  When I tell them 7 years apart, they are often a bit confused.  They can’t seem to imagine how a 7-year gap could foster a sibling relationship that flourished and just “clicked,” especially when I tell them about the time you put a live toad down my shirt, which created my irrational fear of the damn things even at 58!  I don’t remember or know how you felt about me coming into our family.  I don’t know if our bond began then for you. My earliest memory, which I mark as the foundation of our mutual admiration and connection, is you telling me a story of a boy who lived in a peach. A boy with  2 terrible aunts, Sponge and Spiker.  You spun this captivating story as we traveled in the back of a Ford station wagon in the heat of the summer of  1969.  We were on a family trip to California.  That story, which you told bit by bit each day, held me spellbound for hours through the heat of the western deserts.  I believed you were just making it up as you went.  Imagine my surprise in 5th grade when my teacher read James and the Giant Peach aloud, and I realized you were a published author!  Also, imagine how much of an idiot I was!  But you told the story so well, from memory.  I’m certain it was embellished, you knew how to tell a story and hold an audience.  You held so many people captive with your storytelling during your too-short life.   It’s no surprise that it is that part of you I often miss the most.  Many who love you do. 

These past 10 years have been challenging.  It started with your passing.  Biggy Munn and Mom both developed health issues.  Caring for them was a gift.  And it was hard.  In all kinds of ways.  You would have been very little physical help, but there were so many times I wished you were there to share the stories with me.   They are both gone now.  I hope you are all reunited in some glorious place where you and Mom can hunt for mushrooms and Dad can sit by and supervise.  I hope the 3 of you are celebrating all of the good things that were part of this life and whatever it is you are experiencing now in this life in the after.   That part is a mystery, driven by Hope. 

There has also been so much joy these past 10 years.  Those are the times and experiences that make me want to pick up the phone and share the details with you the most.   The good stuff, that would make us both weep.  There has been a marriage, and another to come.  A new baby, who came with a bonus older brother.  There are performances and pets aplenty.   Our offspring are flourishing in so many different ways!  You would be captivated by all of their journeys and experiences.  The stories I want to share with you over beers and laughter could fill countless hours with joy!  Sometimes I share them with you when I am driving alone in the car.  I’m sure people think I’m nuts.  Sometimes someone catches me talking to myself softly…..I don’t tell them I’m talking to the dead; that would confirm their assumptions. 

As I look ahead to another 10 years without you, and  I think, you will never be truly gone from me.  I carry you with me wherever I go.  I see things, both magnificent and small, and imagine how you would marvel at them.  I spend time with my kids and yours and imagine how much joy you would find in those moments and mischief.  I speak of you often, gently, with an understanding of you that I didn’t fully possess when you were here.  

I miss you, my brother.  Tom. Milton Chesmo. The Grand Man of Grand Avenue, with an ache that I cannot fully put into words, though I try with every year that passes. You are still loved, still a part of us, and still present in so many ways that matter.  My memories of you remind me to live fully in the moments, with each passing day…because the decades will be gone too swiftly and contain so much that is important for others to remember. 

Too soon and too quickly.

Precious Boy

 

Our lives are made up of a series of stories.  Big moments. Small moments. Milestones. Setbacks and successes.  Some of these stories are tied up in the mundane things of daily life, but that does not make them less important. Less meaningful. Some of them are big life events and celebrations.  All of our stories, mine, yours, and all of the people in our lives, intertwine at times. Sometimes they are moments that are ours alone.  

Precious boy, today, your first story became inseparably tied to my much longer story!  Your first story became part of your mom's story, and your dad's story too.  I don’t know those stories in the same way that I know my own, theirs are not my stories to tell.  You will eventually hear them from your parents.   But this letter, this is about how your first story became a part of my story. This is the first, in what I hope will be, many stories we share together!  

When your mom called to tell me you were going to be arriving, our family group chat (text thread on our phones, explained in this letter because, by the time you read it, that kind of thing might be obsolete!) lit up!  We were all so excited for you to arrive in this world!  Your mom was experiencing some complications, so there was also some concern about the whole event.  But we were all hopeful that things would go according to plan and our group chat was fizzing with banter and guesses about your major stats upon arrival.  Boy? Girl? Time of birth. Weight. What the prize would be for whoever came closest to the correct answer.  Naming rights, the first gift of Christmas, and some pilfered hospital items were all prize options.  This kept us all busy as we waited somewhat impatiently for your arrival.  We all hoped we would know who you were by the end of that first day. I had been so excited for you to get here that I drove to your Aunt Fiona’s house, (which was closer to your mom and dad) to wait for the news of your arrival! We struggled to sleep that night   As you probably already know, that did not happen.  Day 1 rolled into day 2.  

We were all trying to be patient, trying to keep busy and distracted. Aunt Fiona and I were out running errands when your mom called, a little scared and emotional, and asked us to come.  You were not doing super well inside of your mom and she was not doing great overall.  We were all pretty worried.  There were tears. Kind of a lot of them.  By the time you read this, you will likely be very familiar with our side of the family and tears.  We’re big weepers.  We weep when we are happy, we weep when we’re sad. We weep when we are worried, frustrated, angry, or scared.  On the day you were born, our tears were filled with worry and love.   For you.  For your mom. For what we feared we might lose.  For what we prayed we would gain!

Aunt Fiona and I drove like your lives depended on it.  We anxiously waited for your dad to text us.  To update us in any positive way.  It seemed to take forever.  Every moment we drove felt like hours.  Aunt Fiona kept checking my phone for messages.    Finally, a little more than an hour after your mom had called asking us to come, we got your first family picture.  Your mom and dad were both grinning from ear to ear.  You were mushed-faced with your eyes tightly closed!  But you were both alive!    Aunt Fiona and I could not stop crying!  We were so thankful and so, so excited.   We had to pull over to just look at you.  To soak it all in for a minute.  We also needed food!  Suddenly we were starving.  That’s another thing you probably already know about our family, we’re pretty good eaters.  Already, at 2 days old, you are proving to be a good eater as well.  This eating part of our story could really spiral here,  down a real rabbit hole. I’ll save that for another letter. 

Your dad sent that first picture.  And NOTHING ELSE.  We didn’t know who you were yet.  We didn’t know if you were a boy or a girl.  How much do you weighed?  What your name was?  Nothing except that you were here, and from all accounts, seemed to be doing well.  You probably know this by now, but your dad is not an over-communicator.  He’s succinct.  That is a great quality in a lot of situations. Not so much in this one!  We were thrumming with anticipation to know all of your details.  Again we waited for news.  

FINALLY, after what seemed like hours, but was only about 38 minutes, he told us who you were! All the things. Your name, weight, length, time of birth, and he sent the 2nd picture of you!  Your feet looked ginormous!  And again, we were weeping!  Our family had all placed bets on the time of your birth, your gender, and your weight.  No one was even close on the time, but I knew you were a boy from the very first!  I was over the moon with joy I had not really expected.  Something you don’t know, but I will tell you now, I was never really anxious to become a grandparent.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be one, but many of my friends are longing to be grandparents. I have always been ok with being one, or not.   I just wanted your mom and aunts and uncle to be happy, healthy, and living lives they loved.  If that included kids, great, if not, I would be ok with that too.  This joy your life brought to mine was unexpected and good Simon.  I had no idea how much I would love you.  I had no idea how you would impact my story! 

I will never forget the first time I saw you. You were sleeping skin to skin against your mom. The early evening light was glowing gold in the room, like an anointing, welcoming you to this world.   It was the most precious sight in the world. Seeing you with your mom, already cozy, peaceful, and trusting in your sleep.  You were maybe 4ish hours old. All of my worries from the day for your safety and your mom's went out that window in that golden light.   You eased right into my heart that day, where you will always remain.  When I held you for the first time. I felt like I was holding my breath.  It had been so long, probably 21 years, since your Uncle Noah was born, that I had held someone so new and tiny.  You felt so light in my arms and also heavy.  The weight of your importance in my story, in my heart, was so visceral at that moment.   

Writing this today, I have no idea what is to come of our stories together or separately.    Of course, I have hopes for you.  I can imagine beach days, camping, playing games, baking brownies or cookies, and singing songs. sharing my favorite books and stories with you.  Discovering new ones.  I can imagine hunting bears, slaying dragons, catching fireflies, riding bikes, and nerf gun wars….but today, I don’t know which of those things will be favorites for you.  Today they are all just possibilities.  So many wonderful possibilities.  That’s what this life here holds for you, Simon.  A world of possibilities and experiences.  

As your Grammy, I am so excited to share some of those things with you.  To be a part of some of those stories in your life and for you to be a part of them in mine.  There will be many stories in your journey through this life, as there have already been in mine.  The one thing I have learned is that the people that I experience those things with are what make those experiences and stories the best!  People like your mom and dad, your Aunt Fiona.  All of our family who love you so much already, and who haven’t even met you yet.  Today I am back home in Michigan,  feeling too many miles from you and your mom and dad, and I am longing for the next time I can snuggle you up and hold you in my arms,  soaking up more precious moments together.  I am full to the brim with joy, gratitude, and love for your safe arrival in this world and your permanent infiltration into my heart!

Becoming Caloria

 

In life, we often do not realize the exact moment or day when something significant occurs. A shift, a changing of the guard, when we go from child to adult, teen to responsible grown-up. Or  the day we "become" our parent.  I feel so fortunate that I am able to pinpoint this moment, this day precisely.  It was today!  July 6, 2022.  I turned into my mom!  

This has been no small feat.  I have ALWAYS shared far more traits with my dad, John.  His tendency toward playing the devil's advocate, his love of visiting friends unannounced, his facial expressions when concentrating on something, his disdain for exercise, his willingness to hop in the car and drive to wherever someone needs to be picked up or dropped off and his emotional responses to marching bands, a good song, movie, and peoples avid participation in anything they enjoy.  I have, however, never been a whole lot like my mom, despite wishing  I could be.

In recent years, due to age and a "busy" mind, I have taken to making lists. This is something I learned from my mom.  She always had lists and even saved them for years.  I mean YEARS!   I have Thanksgiving prep lists from the 80s in a folder upstairs, along with the menu and food layout from my high school graduation party in 1983!  She is an organized saver of documents as well, something I am finding I have done partially, but not quite as well.  I'm a work in progress in this area.   In these ways, I have become a little like my mom I guess, but they also seem like more widespread practices, at least I see a lot of "organized influencers" boasting about the necessity of lists and documenting things so that my life can be well ordered and peaceful.  Jury is still out on all of that....I digress. 

For as long as I can remember, my mom  (and dad) were planners and organizers.  They were thrifty as well, in a way many people these days are not. That trait may be coming back into fashion given the current economic state of our world, honestly.  My mom scoured the grocery ads for sales and stocked up her pantry with key items she used throughout the year.  She even stocked what we used and by  "we" I mean me and my family because for most of my adult life we have lived relatively close to my parents.  I tell this story pretty often, but I do not remember buying toilet paper, peanut butter, or syrup for most of my adult life, until early 2019 when my dad's health began to decline and shopping all the sales became far less a priority to being his loving and attentive caregiver for my mom.  I was 54 years old!  My sister always said I would have a rude awakening when I had to add toilet paper to my budget with all of my kids still home!  I feel like I dodged that,  as 2019 was the year I was supposed to be living in an empty nest!  Somewhat unrelated, but also curious, until that same year, I never really bought my own underwear.  Six or seven new pairs of practical panties always came by way of a Christmas present from my mom.  Along with socks.   Again, I was FIFTY-FOUR YEARS OLD!  I should be horrified, but oddly, I'm not.  

While stocking the pantry, my mom also had a fully stocked freezer.  She had a couple of favorite meat markets/grocery stores and loaded up when things were on sale.  She would buy 40 lbs of ground beef or chicken breasts, then cart it all home to cook, package and freeze.  She also bought roasts and other cuts this way, but not in such great quantities.  One of my earliest blog posts here was related to a "Good Chuck Roast" she gave to me back in the early 2000s shortly after my divorce!  My sister and I have chuckled often about mom's packaging and labeling.  I'm not going to pretend I don't miss all of those wrapped and labeled packages from my parent's freezer.  It is weirdly something I miss a lot.  I find it interesting the things that spark memory and reflection for me.  I remember weeping (my dad's trait) when I used the last packaged item from my parent's freezer in mid-2020.  I don't recall what was in it but understood that it was the last time I would probably pull our freezer wrapped anything with my mom's handwriting.  Or freezer-wrapped anything at all.  

Which brings me to today.  Olivia, my third child, is having a baby soon.  In preparation for that, I decided to fix a few meals and things for her freezer.  So yesterday I got some chicken and ground turkey, in pretty large quantities, but not nearly 40 lbs!   Today I set about cooking up some taco meat, cut up chicken and cooked it, and packaged up chicken breasts to pull out for dinners later in the year.  It was then I remembered that I had kept what was left of my mom's freezer wrap from when we emptied their home in early 2020.  It was at that very moment, I crossed the threshold from being fully "me" to becoming a morphed version of me/my mom!  Carolyn and Gloria.  Caloria I will call this new version of me.  

I cooked, weighed, measured, wrapped, and labeled ground turkey and chicken for my own offspring.  I even dated the packages!  While I was in the process of doing it all, I didn't really even think about how weird this was (for me to do, not in general) It just seemed natural.  A natural progression.  A right of passage if you will.  I can't wait to tell my mom all about the process.  She will probably laugh, and think, but not say, it's about time!  You are 57 after all!  

Significant moments of transformation happen all the time.  We are transforming into better versions of ourselves every day if we are inclined to bend and stretch ourselves and not stay cemented in our experiences and practices.  Most of these significant moments happen without our realizing them.  But once in a while, we get a moment like I did today.   A moment when we realize we have come to embody some of the best parts of the most amazing and influential people we know and love.  Our Parents!

Mixing Things Up

 A year can fly and drag by in tandem.  Today I feel this contradiction of time in my innermost parts.  Grief and loss are weird things.   Grief seems such a visceral thing, both cathartic and immobilizing alternately.  Loss is different though.  Loss can sometimes be put out of mind, we don’t always feel it or think about it. But then loss , and the weight of loss,  can hit us out of nowhere, reignighting that flame of grief we thought we had extinguised better.  

I guess we never do that.  Not if we have loved and been loved well by people.

It’s been a year since my dad passed.  It’s also just “been a damn year” right?  The phone call that moring took me so by surprise.  I was not prepared or ready. Are we ever really ready to let go of someone we have loved and been loved by so much?  I don’t think so.  Nothing really prepares us for the empty pit that ebbs and swells inside of our innermost parts.  

If I could do anything or be anywhere today, it would be with my mom.  We would have spent the day celebrating the life my dad lived, the love and “words of wisdom”  that he offered  so freely.    I think I would have made bologna stew and homemade bread and cookies!  All some of his favorites.  

But here we are, a year into this pandemic, and mom is sequestered away in assisted living, unable to leave or have visitors.  That’s how we have had to grieve for most of this last year. Separated. Separately. Oh, we visit at her window, FaceTime, talk on the phone.  It’s not the same as being together in person.  It’s not the same as looking through pictures or watching family videos together, weeping and laughing and remembering together.  But we do the best we can.  We’ve had to.  

Remembering my dad today, I think about this past year and the things he has missed.  Not the pandemic, or all that has happened in out world and country. That stuff would have fired him up!  Or made him sad.  It would have all been very difficult for him in memory care.  I guess in that regard, he left this earth at the right time for him.  Bigger things though, things he would have been proud of like Elsa’s graduation from college, Noah’s new apartment, Fiona’s new cat, Clementine, Olivia’s leadership for safety equality in her job, Savannah and James new jobs and all the pictures of everyones pets!  My dad would have loved all of that.  He would be so happy that Hannah has found a life partner and is engaged.  He would totally want to road trip to that wedding.  My cleaned and organized garage!  Lord how I wish he could see that!  I finally got rid of all the damn bikes he fretted about for so many years.  

I want to do something that honors and remembers him today, but here I am on Weight Watchers,  so getting a good donut at Max’s or a  Clark Bar are off the table.  The garage is organized already, so not that.  I have a few extension cords that would keep him up at nights, but I really need them, so I can’t change those.  What to do, what to do?  

So, I will intentionally be present  to whoever may need someone to stand with or beside them.   Offer my own words of wisdom, however unwise they may be.   I have a lot of students and life is challenging right now for many of them.  I can be here to listen and share what I can, be available,  keep the door open….like my dad always did. A garage door and a classroom door aren’t all that different right?  Today and really most days, I hope to honor him by living a life like he did. Willing  to help, to walk alongside, to teach what I can, and make people feel seen and valued.  Loved.  

You won’t find me in the garage like Mr. Michelson, but I will be in my classroom or my kitchen if someone needs a listening ear or a bit of perspective.  I also serve this all up with whatever I may be cooking!  The counter is open, and today the conversation is going to include lots of “Johnisms” and memories. They will be mixed  up with  grief and loss and laughter and served  up with a side of encouragement.  I can’t promise I won’t tell anyone to “get their head our their ass”, but if I say it, it will be salt and peppered with unconditional love, just like John I hope!  

Jamming Your Worries into a Crevice and Getting Out of the Way

I wrote this in August and for some reason didn't press "publish."  So here it is now...

Peace.  Something I, and literally millions of people around the world are in need of today.  These days.  During this time of global pandemic and devastaion.  Inner peace.  Peace of mind.  Peace that someday things will return to normal.  That life as we knew it will one day be again.  Peace that quells all of our "what ifs" and worries about the future. 

I am desperate for this peace.  Today,  reminders of this need for and promised peace has cropped up in all kinds of unexpected places. 
Waking, if you can call it that, as I really didn't sleep, there was a heavy longing for peace of mind.  
Something to assuage some unnameable fears or restlessness of my mind.  A longing for the freedom to grieve the passing of my dad unfettered by worries about my mom who is no isolated from all of us when she needs us most.  

I remembered reading about the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. A place where Jews have been going and leaving behind their petitions to God for hundreds of years. An act which I am certain brought them a sense of peace.  

I'm unsure if there are guidelines, religous or lay,  related to leaving your prayers and such there, but often people write down their worries and simply  stick the little scraps of paper in the ancient crevices. And then they just walk away.  Worry free?  Fears abated? Filled with peace?  From what I have read, that is the point of the action. 

While I've never been to the wailing wall, and honestly I probably will never go....the idea of writing down the things that are weighing heavily on me and sticking them in a crack somewhere seems kind of appealing. But then what? I think I would go back and pull out the paper and see if somehow God had penned back a solution, or a quick fix tip...or even a small word of encouragement to let me know that turning it over to Him was a good step. I'm not really good at relinquishing control. 

My big issue with anything that I need to turn over and let go of is that I don't do it completely. I seem to always rethink and come up with some different slant or angle and then think...hmmmmm...I can handle this thing or that thing again...I just need to do it a little differently. And these days? These "unprecedented circumstances"  are beyond my ability to handle, control or understand. This grief is a thing I cannot escape. Yet still, I busy myself attempting to handle it all.   So ultimately, I am back to a place  where  I need to jam the little scrap of worry or struggle in the crack to begin with, and where does that leave God?

Still there, just looking at me a little more perplexed by my lack of faith and trust. I think He shakes His head and laughs alot at people like me....the ones who say they trust Him, and try and put Him first. The ones who know, know, know that they know....

In the turning over and letting go of things, in the trusting and waiting....well, I kinda suck at that...its HARD.....

I read this today and it kinda helped my perspective a little: "Maybe turning things over is not the solution to everything but, you do what you can. Then you get out of the way, because you're not the one who does the work anyway."

All I have to do is turn it over....and then He does the work? Tonight I'm writing some things on scraps...and turning them over....cuz I am getting weary of trying to do the work. Oh yeah, and I need to find some kind of crevice to jam em in.....

...I can think of a couple of places....but I probably need to write those down too!

New Year's Eve: A Lengthy Reflection on a Shit Storm of a Year

 Some may be stunned to discover that New Year’s Eve is not a big holiday for me.  I don’t really look forward to it, but honestly think of it as a night and following day I just need to get through.  Weird, I know, with my penchant for the barley and vine.  

The night always seems a tad bittersweet, melancholy even.  I don’t love change, and I am not one to want to hurry time along.  I never have been.  I love to bask in moments in time  and hold on to them as long as I can.  So ushering in the new year with celebration and anticipation always seems like I have to be letting go.  This year I think most people would agree that there is much to want to let go of.  It’s been a doozie!  Yet still, I look back and hold this year close.  

Reflecting back, for me it was ramping up in August of 2019.  My dad’s dementia was getting worse, we hired caregivers to assist/relieve my mom at home. But in October he took a spill walking to the bathroom at night and cracked a rib.  Over the next week pneumonia developed and ultimately he was hospitalized.  The night he went in I remember him being so disoriented and restless.  I stayed with him all night, and finally about 3:00am he drifted off to sleep. I was sitting by his bed with my head resting on the bedrail, sleeping as much as possible.  At some point about 4am he woke up, clear eyed and looked over at me and said, “ Carolyn, what are you going to do with those sleds in your truck?” I lifted my groggy head, looked him dead in the eyes and said “I’m going to put them in the garage on the shelf.”  I had no idea what sleds he was talking about and he hadn’t seen the inside of my suburban for months!  He pursed his lips together, looked at me, shook his head a little and responded back, “I don’t know how you’re going to get them in there with all those damn bikes!”  

Oh! My! Gosh!  Here he was, in pain from a broken rib and pneumonia, dementia that was stealing his memories and understanding and in this one moment he was lucidly fixated on my cluttered garage!  He recognized me and called me by name, and he was still worrying and nagging me about the number of bikes I had in my garage!  This had been an issue since my divorce in 2006!  Every time he came to my house, he would walk through the garage, count and assess the bikes, come in the back door and ask, “How many people are living here? Because there are (insert number of bikes, sometimes between 8-11) and 6 people surely don’t need 11 bikes.  I would then explain why we had so many bikes, some were in case friends came over to ride, a couple were just for riding trails and I was storing the Earth Cruiser for my friend Darrel!  My dad was really concerned about the amount of space the bikes took up in my garage.  I assured him that I didn’t need that space for anything else but I could tell the bike situation was a constant vexation for him.  Even delirious with medication in the ER, when he hadn’t remembered my name in weeks, the bikes and sleds were worrying him!  And I was so damn happy about that, because for that brief moment at 4am in the ER, my dad was back! 

Fast forward.  We ended up needing to put dad in memory care after being discharged from the hospital.  That was a hard decision.  Really hard.  My mom was exhausted.  My sister flew home to handle a lot of the logistics.  She stayed a couple weeks.  My mom developed some back and leg pain.  She was trying to rest and heal at home while Patty and I took care of getting my dad settled in.  This was all so difficult emotionally for all of us.  

Patty went home.  My mom’s pain got worse.  She called at 8:00am on October 30th because she couldn’t  get out of bed due to the pain.  Fiona went immediately to help.  I went over  after work.  She didn’t want to go to the hospital.  By 7:30 that night, she knew she would have to go in.  She wanted to wait for shift change in the morning.  Once a nurse always a nurse!  

There are a lot of great details that I am leaving out here, they really are a story of their own.  We called an ambulance at 6:30.  The biggest concern for my mom was the pain in her back and legs.  The biggest concern for the doctors was her heart.  At some point she had developed Afib and she had a lot of fluid around her heart.  And still the pain!  She also had a new compression fracture in her back that was pinching nerves.  She needed surgery, but the heart issues made that a very dangerous thing.  She wanted to call hospice.  Thank God for her friend and cardiologist, Dr. Harris.  He and the neurosurgeon Dr. Barret, along with the hospice nurse, convinced her that even if she chose hospice (she was not a real candidate at this point) they would insist she have the surgery.  Dr. Barrett stayed late to talk to her about this on Halloween, while his kids were waiting for him to take them trick or treating.  He talked fast and seemed rushed, but still, he stayed to make sure my mom didn’t take a blood thinner that night so he could operate the next day.  He assured her she would feel 100% better than she did right then.  They were all worried about her fragile condition.  They let me stay with her right until they took her to surgery.  Dr. Harris, Dr. Barrett and the anesthesiologist all prepared me for a “worse case scenario’.    The waiting was horrific.  But she made it through.  

She needed to go to rehab before she could go home.  Patty came back.  Ultimately, mom decided to go to assisted living and not home.  There was a small room available in the memory care unit and she could have that while waiting for an assisted living apartment to open up.  She was near my dad.  We made the room as cozy and homey as possible. There were several nights that I went and stayed with her while she slept in her lift chair, still in pain.  Those were not bright days in 2019.  I was looking forward to 2020!  Imagine that looking back!

After a week or two when mom was feeling a bit better, we wheeled her down to the sun room to see my dad for the first time in 2 months.  It was precious!  He recognized her. They held hands looking out at the birds.  Noah and I cried and soaked up the moments. This all felt so surreal. This was never their plan. 

We celebrated Christmas with both parents in that same  sun room at Devonshire.  My dad,  still sneaking and trying to open his presents before his turn.  Elsa, Fiona, Olivia and Noah each taking a turn distracting him and laughing...basking in the normalcy of it all.  We sang carols. We didn’t know what was coming.  We took pictures to document the moments, even though they were bittersweet moments. 

And 2020 rolled in on us all.  In a whirlwind of decisions, we sold my parents home and disseminated 63 years of memories and possessions .  Treasures, what- nots, trinkets and tools.  That was hard. It’s still hard.  

Mom’s back improved slowly.  Dad was holding his own.  Trips to Devonshire to visit and take things they needed happened almost daily.  They both had so many friends and neighbors stop in to visit with them.  It was amazing for us that other people checked on them both when we couldn’t.  We were all getting to know the staff pretty well  and they probably got tired of us being there. We didn’t really care!  At the end of February a room opened up in the section of memory care my mom was living in.  They moved my dad to a room right next to hers.  They could eat together at meals and my mom was able to “teach” the staff his eating habits, likes and dislikes.  He didn’t really  eat much there.  He spent a lot of time sleeping.  He recognized us less often.  He did have a few really good, lucid days. Days he remembered us and where we had glimpses of his old self.  

In the last week of February an apartment finally opened up for my mom in the assisted living section of the building.  It was at the opposite end from memory care, but mom really needed to be with other people who still had their mental faculties.  She could still visit dad and the staff was good about making sure they spent time together.  Patty was still here wrapping up the sale of the house, and was able to oversee the transition.  She was heading back the morning of the 29th, but staying in Detroit on the 28th. I was out of days at work but  I took a half day on Friday, February 28th to help her  get mom settled.  There were boxes everywhere!  Patty was at the end of a long stint here filled with so many decisions, organizing and wrapping up the sale of the house.  She was ready to be home with a lovely glass of wine!  

And she almost got it too!  She had just arrived home in Oregon and poured herself a lovely red, when Devonshire called to tell her dad had fallen in his room.  Saturday, February 29th. I’m sure she emptied that glass in one slug.  I’ll bet money she didn’t share the rest of the bottle!   I went over first thing in the morning on Sunday.  Mom and I stayed with him in his room most of the day.  He was in pain, hospice came in and ordered an x-ray.  We were pretty sure he had broken a hip.  Mom had already made the decision that if this were to happen, surgery would not be an option.  The hospice nurse agreed.  The x-ray,  when finally done,  showed no fracture.  They were giving dad morphine for the pain, a low dose, because moving him to change his Depend was painful.  He had some lucid moments that day.  He recognized mom and I both.  He ate for the caregivers and they were so good with him.  I fed him 2 popsicles, the last right before leaving.   Mom and I decided we both needed to get a good night's sleep, because we felt like the week ahead would be filled with hard choices and long days/nights. I let my boss know that I would likely need more time off that week but I would come in and work at least a half day Monday to get things organized for the week. I might even work the whole day, it would depend on the call from hospice in the morning.  

I went to the bathroom during  my 2nd hour.  I missed the hospice call.  I had a text from Patty telling me to answer the call because she was boarding a plane and couldn’t.  I called, expecting to hear the new, revised plan to manage dad’s pain and get him up and moving, since there was no hip fracture.  The hospice nurse was so kind.  “Carolyn, I’m so sorry, but your dad passed this morning.”  The next moments were a blur as I stood in the hallway trying to assimilate this information.  I was crying, loud.  Co-workers came out of their rooms to check on me.  My students alerted my co teacher that something bad was happening.  She helped me gather my things as I tried to process it all.  As I walked to my car crying, my friend Nate was coming in.  He had lost his mom earlier in the  year.  His dad went into assisted living.  He and I and another co worker were all sharing this phase of life journey together.  I was the only one who had not lost a parent. We had lunch together every other week or so and prayed for each other.  Running into him helped me focus.  I pulled myself together enough to drive.  My mom was waiting for me to get there to go see dad.  

I called each of my kids individually as I drove to Lapeer.  I wanted them to hear this news from me.  Noah was on a cruise.  I did not want him to find out via social media or from someone else.  At some point I had my friend Tony try to track down the ship.  Mother of year had no clue what ship Noah was on or where his cruise was actually going!  

When I got to Devonshire and mom’s room we just took time to weep.  We both felt like we had made the wrong decision the night before.  Neither one of us had been with dad when he passed.  He was alone and we both were devastated by that.  We went down to say goodbye. The 2nd most difficult  goodbye of my life. The most difficult goodbye to watch as my mom squeezed his hand and kissed his forehead for the last time.  The two of us were just stunned and bereft.  We also had decisions to make and plans to put in motion.  First we ordered lunch. Michelson’s are Michelson’s after all, even in grief, we still needed to eat! 

Olivia drove home from Kankakee that day to be with me and Grandma Gloria.   Fiona had just gone to Buffalo for spring break. She headed home.  We met with Todd Muir from the funeral home that day.  He was amazing.  There was no way Noah could be home before Saturday.  He still didn’t know yet.  We made the decision to put the  funeral  off until March 13th and 14th.  

Over those 2 weeks the Coronavirus was spreading quickly across the U.S.  Hospitals were filling up.  On February 28th Governor Whitmer had activated a state of emergency operations center to prepare for potential Coronavirus cases. On March 10th the first 2 confirmed cases of Covid-19 were confirmed in Michigan.  On March 11th Governor Cuomo of New York moved SUNY and CUNY to distance learning.  Fiona’s boyfriend was teaching and learning from Michigan. Colleges and universities in Michigan were following suit.  Social distancing measures were being implemented.  Masks and PPE were in short supply for healthcare workers.  The general population was encouraged to limit contact with others. On March 13th gatherings of 250 or more were banned in Michigan The visitation, funeral and dinner were in question.  Muir Brothers were prepared to supply hand sanitizer at the door and other locations at visitation and the funeral.  The pastor wanted to cancel it all.  Todd Muir put his foot down.  Visitation at assisted living facilities was restricted.  Devonshire made an exception for mom given the circumstances.  Things were changing daily as the pandemic swept across the country and globe.  We were concerned about the visitation, and tried to limit hugging ect.  Of course at some point, all of that caution became lax.  Those 2 days of family viewing, burial, visitation and funeral were all we had hoped they would be to honor my dad.  In the aftermath we held our collective breaths hoping no one got sick.  Thankfully, no one did.  There were people who opted not to attend in an abundance of caution. We totally understood those choices.  

March 11th was the last day schools met in person.  I had come back on Monday/Tuesday of  that week but took Wednesday-Thursday off.  I wasn't there to say goodbye to my students. I had no clue I would not see them in person again. This year was already surreal and it was only March!

Statewide stay at home orders were being implemented in Michigan and many other states across the country.  Elsa made the decision to stay in Michigan for the remainder of her senior year, as it would be online.  Noah had moved out of the dorm and back home.  Fiona was teaching from home and Sean, her boyfriend, did not return to New York.  The 5 of us sheltered in place together.  Toilet paper became a scarce commodity but I was not worried.  I had stocked up before everyone came home for the funeral.  I didn’t stock enough!  Savannah and Olivia returned to their homes after the funeral.  Oliva continued to work in labor and delivery and Savannah was working from home helping many who were out of work navigate the overwhelmed unemployment system.  Bars and restaurants were closing on March  16th at 3:pm.  We all went to Johnny’s Pour House for breakfast/lunch/drinks one last time.  It was eerily empty.  We made sure to tip well.  We celebrated St. Patrick’s Day at home, but did it up right!

The shelter in place order  was honestly just what we needed. Except that after  March 16th we could no longer go in and see my mom in her apartment.   The kids couldn’t go in that day, only me.  I took her birthday tostadas and lemon meringue pie.  The kids all sat outside her window in lawn chairs, holding umbrellas, wrapped in blankets.  It was a sweet moment.  We thought it wouldn't be long until we could all be inside together again.  We were so wrong.  

There are so many good moments and memories from our time sheltering in place together.  We cooked a lot!  We rested. We grieved.  We taught and learned remotely.  We learned HOW to teach and learn virtually.  It was weird.  And good at the same time.  We all looked for toilet paper if we ventured out.  We went through pounds of coffee.  We missed my dad and missed being able to see my mom.We watched home videos.   We Facetimed Grandma Gloria and that was good.  I had Zoom happy hours with friends.  It wasn’t the same, but we stayed connected.  We went through a lot of booze. And then we got a hold of ourselves.  I started to walk daily.  Healing was happening.  

June arrived and while the pandemic restrictions were lifted and modified, social distancing and masks became our new version of normal.  We were eventually able to take mom out for drives and even dinner in restaurants that  were practicing safe Covid protocols.  We vacationed with caution and did so much more outside than ever before.  I continued to walk daily and honestly, there were good things that happened during those months.  

Preparing for fall and the return to school had us all apprehensive.  The virus was on the rise again by late August, just as Dr. Fauci had predicted and cautioned, just like the Spanish Flu in 1918.  I was not in favor of returning to teach F2F.  Fortunately, neither was our superintendent.  We began the school year teaching remotely, which honestly was weird.  Being in my classroom with no students, the halls quiet.  But I did enjoy collaborating once again with dear colleagues.  Those days had some fun moments as we navigated trying to meet, yet stay distanced.  My room is huge, so we often met there.  

Eventually, the students came back in a hybrid model.  The numbers were rising, students and staff alike tested positive, were quarantined, traced...it was good to see those kids in person, but the constant stress and worry about exposure to this virus took its mental and emotional toll.  By the middle of November we were going to be  back to virtual learning.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  My biggest exposure risk was now going to be gone.  On November 12th I had an intestinal issue at work.  I had to leave early or risk soiling myself and decimating the staff bathroom.  As this was a Covid symptom, I had to have a negative test to return to work. I was certain this was not Covid related.   I went to an urgent care 1st thing Saturday morning, was the 3rd person in line. I waited 4-6 minutes in the waiting area  before being put in a room, swabbed and sent  out the door.  The test results didn’t come back until Tuesday but they were negative!  We started virtual learning that Thursday.  I was in the clear and breathed a huge sigh of relief.  There were 14 days until Thanksgiving and while we had decided to not have everyone come, I felt good about Noah and Olivia coming home.  Sean too.  We continued to do all the right things.  

The night before Thanksgiving Brian’s allergies flared up.  Or he had a cold.  I joked about Covid.  The neighbors came down and had drinks on the  deck as we prepped dinner inside on  Thursday afternoon.   We kept the sliding glass door open so we could visit easily. I kept telling them I was ok with them coming in.  Shelley did not want to risk exposing me if she had somehow been exposed.  They stayed on the deck.  Thank God!  

We did our usual decking of the halls that weekend.  I developed my usual cough that happens when I haul out the holly from the dusty, musty basement storage.  Brian didn’t feel great on Monday so took the day off.  Tuesday they didn’t have anything going on so they told him to stay home another day. Wednesday they told him to get tested before coming in.  I worked from my classroom on Monday and Tuesday, but focused on getting a lot of things organized so that I could attempt to teach from home.  What better joy than to be at home all day during the holidays, teaching and working by treelight!  I was just getting ready for my first Google Meet when Brian texted me to call as soon as I could.  I knew.  He tested positive.  We were both stunned.  I tracked down a place to get a drive through test the next day at 4:30.  I was terrified.  Fiona’s boyfriend came back from his parents.  He had only been there a few days.  Hopefully if he had been exposed, he wasn’t contagious yet.  He came here to quarantine.  My test came back Friday at 2:30. It was positive.  

The first word out of my mouth started with an F.  A really BIG F!!  But I felt fine.  I had my usual holiday decorating cough...but F...maybe it was more than that!  I called my doctor who called in preventative steroids.  I purchased a pulse oximeter.  I busted my ass finishing up the Christmas decorating, getting the Christmas bedding on all the beds and all the things I hadn’t quite finished on the weekend. Just in case I started to feel worse.  Being sick in a half decorated, cluttered space would be untenable, clearly!  Then I packed a bag to quarantine at Brian’s “island of no chores” for the weekend...maybe longer.  He felt like he had a bad cold, a little crummy, I felt okish.  And then I didn’t.  Ultimately, we all survived.  I was hospitalized, I thought for sure I would be part of the global pandemic statistics, but here I am...looking back on this New Year’s Eve.

It’s been a freaking shit storm of a year!  There has been sorrow, loss, grief, celebrations of life and death, unexpected gifted time quarantined for months with adult children, the unexpected joy of eating in our favorite restaurants after months of them being closed, cooking new things, and a brush with death.  Oh yeah, I also refinanced my house and did a massive remodel!  I was without a washer and dryer from September 17 to December 18th!  In the big picture of surviving Covid, this seems inconsequential, but let me just say, those appliances are a bright spot in an otherwise really dark year.  

This year I have learned to look for the joy wherever and whenever I can.  This New Year’s Eve will not be spent out with friends, or out at all. Everything is closed.  This New Year’s Eve will be spent looking back, letting go, giving thanks for life and lives well lived and looking forward! 

 Looking forward to whatever changes and challenges await us in 2021. Looking forward to vaccinations and the opening up of the global community.  Looking forward to living life as fully and joyfully as possible, knowing that each moment of it is a gift to be treasured and held close, because things can change so quickly despite our best laid plans and intentions.  I will always hold this year close because of all that we have endured and learned and shared. But on this New Year’s Eve I am so ready to let this year go and move into the next, with a bit of trepidation, quietly so as not to awaken any sleeping giants, but with hopeful anticipation of change and goodness that surely must be coming! 

Twenty-Four Years: A Journey

Twenty-four years ago, in September of 1995, my oldest child started kindergarten.  I remember thinking on that day that the next 13 years would be filled with so many memories and opportunities, but that it all seemed like it would take  such a long, long time.  In 1995 I only had three kids.  I had no idea then, that two more would come along to complete the brood! 

With Savannah we experienced all of the “first things” with the enthusiasm and energy parents of 1st borns and onlies have buttoned down.  We learned so much about teachers, friendships, extracurriculars, group projects, Raider Pride and what it means to be part of an amazing school district in small town USA.  We didn’t realize how great things were here.   That came in time, and with more experience.

When Fiona started school, we met new teachers, made new friends, and expanded our world a little bit more.  We had brought our overzealous parenting of school aged students down a notch or two,  but still,  the energy was high, and parent teacher conference nights became longer, as we navigated not one class, but two.   Elsa came along while Fiona was in 1st grade, shortly before her teacher gave birth, which is not important really, except in this small town, those 2 girls became friends later in life.

By 1999, Olivia was starting school.  We had gone from one on one to zone defense as parents, but Liv was easy going and laid back and made parenting three pretty easy.   Our enthusiasm for  public education had not flagged.  We were well known  up at Seymour, the family with all the girls, and by the time Olivia was attending we knew the routine.  We looked forward to the Thanksgiving Feasts, holiday parties, gingerbread houses and field days.  We knew by this time that the grade level musical performances were events that mandated the ole shoulder mount video recorder, which was also a must have on the 1st days of school, much to all 3 girls horror!  During these years, The Boy was born, and the teachers at Seymour celebrated and marveled with us at such a turn of events! 

All four girls were in school the day the Twin Towers fell.  But they were safe.  Protected and oblivious as the world changed around us.  It never occured to me to get them out early and  bring them home to the relative safety we all believed we could provide.   As school shootings happened and lock down drills became  part of life, I felt fortunate to live in a place where my children were known and loved, and where I knew their teachers and staff would protect them in any way possible.  I also knew those same people watched out for them when life changed for our family.

In 2003 we had kids in 2 schools.  Savannah was at the new middle school and Fiona, Oliva and Elsa were at Seymour.  Elsa began these years with her best friend LIbby, whose older sister and family we met during Fiona;s earliest school years. And so we walked into the halls of Seymour with old friends, and felt far less nervous about the experience.  Elsa had been waiting to start school with the big girls since she was about 2 ½ and she was comfortable with the teachers and routine, as she had attended countless holiday parties during her first 5 years of life.  Elsa flourished with academic endeavors and was in awe of their Principal, Mrs. Blair, a diminutive dynamo, who had a no nonsense approach that was both intimidating and awe inspiring. 

By the time The Boy started school, we were familiar with all levels of public education from elementary school  to high school.  Before he was 5, Noah had been to each of the different schools more times than he could count, if he had been  able to count, which he likely couldn’t, I don’t remember, because honestly, he was the last of five and my bar for parenting had lowered just a smidge since #1.  Although, upon more careful reflection, I know he could count, because Elsa and her best friend loved to play school, and Noah was the only pupil available to attend,  so thanks to that little endeavor, largely run by Libby, Noah was able to count and knew his letters-ish.

Over the years we came to look forward to school  all of the small town school related traditions;  the 4th grade wax museum, sixth grade camp, grade level musical productions, (Lewis and Clark was a real standout in this category),  report card A’s used for  free movies, 6th grade graduation, the Christmas Collage Concert, Fruitcake concert, the annual Art Show in May, where  our elementary aged kids always had some masterpiece hanging to be enjoyed. The musical productions, and other theater events. Homecoming events, parades,  Powder Puff games, dances, Raider Games  and all the milestones and celebrations of senior year. 

Twenty four years.  Twenty four years, some of which lasted longer than others, but mostly, looking back, seem like a blink.  Trite, I know.  But so, so true.  I can still see Savannah’s face in the bus window as it drove past our house without stopping on her first day of kindergarten. The wide eyes and smile, not an ounce of worry that she did not get dropped off as planned.  Every memorable moment is still so fresh in my mind.  Which is astounding considering I have no recollection of a conversation I had with someone just last week.  I also don’t know where my address labels and open house list went, but those things are not the things that matter in this world. 

Moments and  memories and milestones and momentous occasions that marked the passing of time and growth and celebration.  Those things are what matter.  Those things I remember so very clearly. 

Two weeks ago, The Boy got up and attended school for the last time.  For him it was a milestone just like all of his sisters’.  His last  day was filled with picture taking, good-byes to beloved teachers, conversations and thanks to support staff and Administrators who have invested in his life here these four years. His day was not filled with tearful farewells.  He is an optimist; confident that the people who matter to him today, will continue to matter to him moving forward.  He is right, mostly. 

As Noah moved through his last day, and proceeded  through the next week of ceremonies and events, I have been left feeling as though I’m living someone else’s life.  There is so much in these last things that is surreal for me.  Eleven years ago I experienced all of these “lasts” for the first time with Savannah.  Then every two years-ish, with each child that followed.  Each of those experiences were unique in the people who surrounded them, the accomplishments, interests, awards and such.  But they have all also held so many familiar ceremonies and celebrations  Traditions that Noah is moving through with enthusiasm and a bit of nostalgia while I am trying to stay present, and somehow stop the movie reel of all the ones that have come before.  Last day of school, cap and gown pick up, Honor’s Night, Senior Brunch, elementary school walk (a newer tradition and one last chance to hoist up that old shoulder mount video recorder!) and finally Graduation, and in a few weeks, an Open House.  Ugh! 

Mixed with the pride and celebration of Noah’s years of school, is this hard to define pride and melancholy that this is the last time as a parent I will stand alongside one of my children and celebrate these 13 years of school. I am doing my best to stay connected in Noah’s moments, yet I keep finding myself slipping back in time into all of the other moments and memories.  The movie in my head running like an  old 8mm reel has me feeling like Clark Griswold, alone in the attic, as I remember and relive all of those moments again.  On the plus side, I am not shivering with cold on this trip down memory lane, although in truth taking this broad view of how incredible these last 24 years have been does give me chills. 

Today, was graduation.  The last of five graduations for this family.  The end of twenty-four years that have been filled with so much Raider Pride.  As a parent I am so proud of each of these five kids that have grown up in the halls of Flushing Schools.  I am also so incredibly thankful for all of the teachers and staff who have invested in each of their lives.  When the band began playing Pomp and Circumstance today and the seniors began their processional, my heart and eyes filled knowing this was the end of this part of the school journey for this family.  I am filled with gratitude, joy, pride and a small bit of melancholy here at the end.  Small Town USA has been a great place to raise this family. 

So now, we press on, into the next phase of life, which has taken twenty four years to reach, moment by moment, year after year, memory upon memory, in the blink of an eye.

 

Tonight I am sitting on the precipice of significant changes.  Tonight I was reminded casually that tomorrow is Noah's last "first day of school".  I have been through this 4 other times, so I know it will be a bit emotional for me, but we will laugh after I finally get the best picture I can through my tears and in all likelyhood a crunched time limit because we will both press snooze one too many times.  I've been here.  He's been here, albeit watching as his sisters posed for their "Last first day" pictures.  But while I was prepping the coffee pot for the morning I was overcome with the reaslization that tomorrow is really my very last :first day of school" picture."  The last of five.  There will be no more of these moments.  Next year there will be none. 

 I'm not going to lie.  This is hard.

Not hard because I don't want them to grow up and leave home and become independent amazing people. 

 Not even beacause I long for the days that they were babies or even all still living at home.  

Lord knows those days were often chaotic, passed in a fog of exhaustion and prayer.  No one in their right mind really wants to relive those days, looking back at the pictures and videos is enough to satisfy that yen.  Or sitting next to a family with small,  children screaming in a restaurant. That works too. 

Going into tomorrow I am pulled back to the first, "first day of school" picture with Savannah.  All excitement and nervous energy, with her Pocahontas backpack and purple Gymboree dress. Holding our hands and walking confidently into Seymour Elementary, blissfully unaware of the GIANT camcorder on her dad's shoulder and both of our tears as we left her at the door, watching her walk to her desk and strike up a conversation with the girl to her left.  Later that day, watching as her bus drove right past our house and seeing her bewildered face  in the window.  Later greeting her as she flew down the bus steps to hug Fiona tighly,  then regaling us with all the excitement of her first day, and her relief that the bus driver finally figured out where she lived!  

All of the years since that first day, walking the next 4 kindergartners into the school, also following each of their siblings in the upper grades with the same huge camcorder, every year, the same emotional feelings of pride in who they were becoming and a little melancholy that our carefree days all  together had once again come to an end until the following summer.  

I've thought of the transition years from elementary to middle school and middle school to high school.  All the firsts.  All of the lasts.  All of the ordinary days in between.  There have been changes in our lives over those years.  Some small.  Some not so small and not so easy to face.  Some incredible. 

I've thought about all of the teachers, principals, secretaries, bus drivers and support staff who have had significant impact on these five kids over the course of these years.  The parties, field trips, the stories shared by teachers and others.  Recounting  acts of kindness, or misbehavior reported with "off the record" pride in one daughter's  loyalty to a friend and courage to slap the bully..although she could never know her princpal secretly wanted to thank her!   Good stuff.  Ordinary  life memories and people. 

Tomorrow Noah begins his last first day of school.  Springboarding into a year filled with firsts and lasts and so many events that will  mark this final year in this 13 year education process.  I am excited for him, knowing his gregarious nature, he is going to do his best to live fully in the moments this year will mark.  It's shaping up  to be a great year.  This last senior year. 

Meanwhile, I am doing my best to hold my shit together.  Prone to weeping in moments of joy and pride, tomorrow, and much of the rest of this year's experiences,  promise to be a veritable Super Bowl of emotion.   I'm steeling myself up for it.  Noah, on the other hand, has no clue what may be in store for him.  No clue that  the memories of his 4  siblings' school days, piled onto his, spanning twenty-three years are all bubbling up like a fount of parenting elixir inside of my head.  And heart.  

Change is a good thing, in the main.  Tonight as I sit here preparing  for tomorrow, I just can't stop wondering how it all changed and moved along so quickly.  Three things I never imagined on that first child's "first day of school";  ever having 5 children, and tomorrow, the very last "First day of school" and this damn stinging at the back of my eyes that I can't seem to control.  My only regret in all of this its that I don't still have that giant camcorder to follow him in with tomorrow! That would be spectacular.  And it was a great way to hide my tears!   

Time, Traditions, Transitions and Pinworms

Time.  So many people tell you that it slips away.  It's gone before you know it.  Turn around and poof...life has warped.  Or time has warped.  They warn against wasting it, thinking you have all of it in the world, and that you should cherish it in the moments.  I believed all of those things to be true.  I reveled, for the most part in the moments as they happened.  Soaked in the memories, the traditions, and the people, children, family and friends, who were a part of them.  The small corner of realist in me knew that time would change things; that with each passing year we were drawing closer to a new era, a new time, with new traditions, memories,  and people to share them with.  The idealist in me, which takes up far more of my psyche, was certain that I would be prepared,  and transition into that era with the grace and acceptance my mother modeled.  Outwardly, I am putting on a decent show of it.  But inside. Inside I'm falling apart,  Inside feels like a weekend binge of Stepmom, Steel Magnolias, Sweet Home Alabama and Homeward Bound, and a long parade of marching bands.

One hundred percent, I thought I had one more year.  I was prepared this year to soak it in, potentially for the last time.  Those traditions and activities that have filled this holiday weekend.  Tree day.  Decking the halls.  I was girded up,  ready to handle each ornament one last time, remembering each circumstance of its arrival to our tree.  I was even ready to grudingly let the kids put the pregnant " Mom to Be" rabbit and kangaroo on this year.  Seriously, an ornament to mark every life circumstance and milestone is in our box!  Pregnant rodents.  Good lord! The Polish glass Santa, a gift from a dear elderly neighbor, my first year in Flushing.  Mittens bought on a weekend getaway,  four  creepy Victorian doll heads, nursery rhyme books, trains, bears, cats, football players, black Santa,  the Big Cheese and a Magic School Bus.  I knew decorating this year might be a bit emotional for me.  I knew there would be some staring, and laughing and some barking of "pull yourself together," which might be hissed  the loudest from my internal voice.  But things haven't gone quite as I had thought or planned. 

Instead of pushing forward with the traditional activities and exhausting demands of tree day, we spent time with wonderful and dear family who rarely visit.  We pulled it together to go get a tree, acknowledging that this would  be the last year, only to pull into the farm to find their sign announcing  "This is Our Last Year."  It seemed fitting.  We were so thankful that we had decided to go.  We had almost chucked the idea.  Some of our St. Paul family joined us, to experience cutting a live Michigan tree.  It was lovely. Balmy and bright.   There was laughing and singing and debating, and some pressure to get a Christmas bush instead of a nicely shaped spruce.  When you get your own house you can put up a Christmas bush or a Douglas Fir, or a Jack Pine, but this last year, this last tree day, I'm looking for a magnificent Blue Spruce to carry me through.  A spruce to remember and mark this passage of time.  A bookend to the first perfectly shaped Blue the light shone on 24 years ago at this very farm.  I didn't say any of that out loud, except  the part about "getting your own Christmas bush," but the rest was all in my head.  And heart.  The rest I was soaking in, knowing it would be the last.  That next year will be different. 

We opted out of decorating on tree day.  We didn't even bring the tree in.  It's actually still outside, laying on the patio, still bound in its red wrap. It will get inside eventually.  I hope,   We spent the rest of tree day laughing and talking too loud and playing horrifically inappropriate games at a home town brewery.   Because we needed time out of the house, because we needed to cherish and take in cousins and in laws and each other.  Because we  all needed to be  fully informed about things like pin worms and how to find out if you have them, and that all of us have a bit of emotional "stuff" we still struggle with. We needed to laugh.  At ourselves and each other.  We needed to let go and not hold so tightly to the traditions of the past, and focus on the time we have right now. Right here. In this moment. 

So today, I am mostly here on my own.  I am forging ahead with a new kind of tradition.  I am slowing down, not racing to get it all done so that everything looks and feels like it always has.  I am reworking, reexamining, revising, as I step across the threshold into a new era a bit before I thought I would have to.  I admit, as I am holding some things perhaps for the last time, and I am doing a bit of weeping.  And laughing. And shaking my head at those damn pregnant rodent ornaments.  But I am also taking my time doing it.  Inclined  to put whatever I am doing aside to revel in other moments of time that are right in front of me.  Although, if any of the people that are a part of those moments want to help me decorate this tree...I'll gladly hand them a bulb, and then tell them where to hang it.

Era of the Surreal

Surreal is as close a word as can be used to describe life currently.  At a point which seems not very long ago, my life was about raising kids,  and it seemed as though those days would last forever; in a good way most of the time…really, honestly.  Well, some days it may have seemed like an eternity in a not so great place, but by and large…good!  I was so fortunate to be home when my kids were growing up, only entering the workforce in recent years.  Even then, the work I have done has kept me close to them, in proximity if nothing else.  The light of the childrearing tunnel has been a distant pinpoint for many years.  One I have not envisaged apparently for a long while. So this week when I dared look up, and around, and forward, I realized that the light has become very large, glaring even, while I hurtle to the conclusion of these parenting days.

I looked up this week because #4, Elsa, the fourth and last daughter, is graduating from high school.  This in and of itself has its own out of body experience tied to it.  She is an anomaly within our fairly bright and intelligent family, standing out as a super achiever, graduating 2^nd in her class of over 300!  This is her shining hour to be sure.  She has embraced all of her years of schooling with an enthusiasm and fervor which has been remarkable to watch.  While her siblings all enjoyed their high school years, Elsa has experienced every aspect of high school possible to its fullest extent, most of the time with her bosom chum Libby alongside her!  AP classes, Student Council, Class Vice President, theater, vocal music, lacrosse, NHS, French Club, Book Club, community service projects, Homecoming dances, court, Sadies, Prom; there are pictures to mark her investment and involvement in all of these things and more!  Just this morning she was honored at a local business club as the Rotary Student of the Month, and it was there that I started to feel overwhelmed with pride in the person she has grown to be.  This 4^th daughter, who I worried would always be growing in the shadow of three older sisters, has clearly not been shadowed by anyone. She has grown, bloomed and flourished while the rest of us have watched her with astonishment and a bit of quizzical wonder through the process.   She will graduate with many honors next week,  and in the fall move across the country to attend college and begin a different journey away from me.  Away from the home where I thought I would be raising her (and her siblings)  for what seemed like so many more years.

Surreal is the realization that this very home, which has been seeping estrogen for so many years, will, for the first time, harbor a more balanced measure of estrogen and testosterone. I have always viewed myself as a mother of girls….and The Boy.  This house is, in many ways, “a girl house,” by color scheme and the feminine paraphernalia that litters every room; e.g. make-up, foundation garments, shoes, scarves, sundry accessories, feminine products, and on and on the list goes.  All this does not preclude signs of the lone male cub here, to be sure, there are many.  Balls for one.  There are balls everywhere.  In the house, in the yard, in the garage, in the trees, and of course the obvious set, which thankfully we do not see but I would be remiss to not acknowledge their existence,  just sayin’.  The sounds in the house are distinctly The Boys.  Train horns. Vines.  YouTube videos.  Episode after  episode of South Park and other such nonsensical shows.  Plates of dried food, and wrappers from said items, scattered like so much trash in an alley.  There are signs. 

Over the next three years I wonder how the estrogen seeping, girl house will evolve.  I wonder if the whiffs of estrogen that will be left in the wake of the last daughter leaving will linger in corners, swirling at our feet on days The Boy and I are missing The Sisters.  I wonder if we will miss them with an ache, like amputees miss their limbs, or if the years of estrogen will be like a fading memory, pushed out by all the new balance of hormonal ascendancy.   I wonder how quickly these last three years of parenting will fly by.  Actually, I think I know the answer to that.  The last 26 have hurtled by without my realizing the speed at which they were passing.  I want to slow things down.  I want these next years to move like a zephyr, softly and gently.  I want to pump the brakes and relish these last years, much like I cherished the first years.  Soaking up the moments, the small things of everyday life.  Even when I know that many of those small, everyday things will not be centered on the girl-centric things of the earlier years. Fully understanding and embracing that these last years of small, everyday things will likely include Vines, and trains, and YouTube and of course, balls.