It's time

It's time...

Readers, I abandoned you.  I have many reasons.  Too many to list.  So many that they would make your head swim.

As many of you who used to follow this blog knew, my uncle and godfather had a health crisis two years ago and my sister and I took on him and all his medical care.  For the last two years, we battled doctors, hospitals, dialysis and death, tooth and nail.

Last week, it all came to a head.  And Death won.

I cannot describe what is was like to watch him come to terms with his own mortality, when he had managed to escape it REPEATEDLY over the course of 35 years.  His biggest victory was 19 years ago, when after being told that he had 6 months to live if he didn't get a liver transplant, he managed to squeeze out almost 2 years AND receive one of the first liver transplants the University of Miami ever completed.

As I watched him listen to Pavarotti in his last few hours last Sunday, he smiled with pleasure.  He lived a good life; filled with adventure and excitement.  He got to say goodbye, he got to tell people how much he loved them, he had my grandparents come and escort him to Heaven's gates.  He turned in his 80 year old body battered and bruised.  He truly put it through hell as he sucked the marrow that life gave him.

For me, it has been hard.  Even though my sister and I did all that we could, we couldn't keep him healthy enough to creak out another 5 years.  We have been second guessing ourselves for the last week, wondering what we could have done differently.  Even though we lost our dad eleven years ago and should know that there is no negotiating with God's will, it doesn't make it any easier the second time around.

My uncle kept his life very compartmentalized.  It was easy for him to do it.  As a single man with no responsibilities, he pretty much answered to no one and did as he pleased.  It was hard for him to give up that independence two years ago, when we took over his affairs and clucked at the amount of Coke he consumed and how many ramen noodles he had stashed under his kitchen sink.  We reprimanded him on the effects of too much sodium, too much soda, on his dialysis and failing kidneys.  He would smile, tell us he would stop, and continue to do whatever he pleased.

We met some of his closest friends the day before he died.  They flew cross country to be with him in his final hours.  They stood shoulder to shoulder with my sister and I as he breathed his last.  They came back to his apartment and told us which of his paintings should get us the most money.  They told us of the man they knew, one who once decided that for a whole year, they should always have a bottle of champagne whenever they got together.   The man who traveled to all the corners of the Earth and never gave a rat's ass about what other people thought.

Today, I picked up his ashes.  We will be having a funeral Mass and interment sometime this week.  As I peered into the cardboard box that held his ashes and saw the toe tag that undoubtedly hung from his foot, I wondered what he would make of being contained in such a plain box when he had such a colorful life.  I wonder how my mother and my aunt, his sister will hold themselves together later this week, when they will see what is left of someone they loved so much.

I find myself being stoic at times, afraid of unleashing the sadness that is welling up in me.  My oldest son seems to sense that underneath all that strength, there is a very sad little girl who misses the uncle who would show up with extravagant, unpractical gifts and would disappear for month, years at a time.  My boys and husband are cautious around me, afraid that I will break.  And that worries me.  And it makes me very sad.

It has been a hard year.  My mother continues to deteriorate.  Yesterday, my sister and I went to get her a wig, as the chemotherapy has ravaged her head.  All this in preparation for a funeral.  Now, her head looks better, but her body continues to turn on her, robbing her of movement, denying her comfort.  I wonder how much this will break her spirit when she watches the urn that holds her favorite brother go into a wall, near her husband, near where she one day will be.

When we were leaving yesterday, my nieces spotted a small little store that had just the kind of impractical, extravagant items that my uncle would have been drawn to.  I saw a pink kitty umbrella that had caught my oldest niece's eye.  My younger niece found a mermaid one. 

And I did as my uncle would have wanted.  I bought them those umbrellas and smiled.  Because I knew that somewhere in the clouds, surrounded by beautiful things and clutching a champagne bottle in each hand, singing along with Luciano, he was nodding in agreement.  But I won't disappear for months, years.  I will surround myself with the joy that these two girls and my three sons give me, and hope that I get to say goodbye, listening to beautiful music, surrounded by love.

Drive...

If you are a parent, there is nothing carefree about this stretch of road...

The action of driving: impending dread

(for oh-so-many reasons in South Florida!)

and what will bring our family

to the brink of bankruptcy when

we have three additional males insured

under our policy.  God help us.

But only if the grocery bills

don’t drive us there first. Seriously.  

Check out what drives Melissa and Six Word Fridays!

Grow...

June 2009: Daddy and the boys in Naples, Florida

Almost twelve years (yikes!) into motherhood,

I am growing in this role.

I no longer quiver when faced

with a bleeding (or vomiting) child.

I no longer tremble when challenged

by hungry, filthy, bored , warring boys

that seem to gain monstrous strength

with each and every passing  second.

No.  I have grown in mothering

just as my boys flourish with

each passing milestone,  every grown inch,

each hard won, exhausting, monumental,  accomplishment.

I stand in wide mouthed awe,

amazed that, in spite of myself,

their growth leaves me behind, small;

but oh, so very much beloved!

And someday, rather soon, I suppose,

they will tower over me: souvenir

of time's passage; my own growth.

Growing into this?  Check out Melissa and Six Word Fridays!

Bring...

Sunscreen, towels, chairs and gossip rags.

Toys, food, drinks, umbrella and kids.

Sunny days, rainy afternoons, hazy laziness.

Hoping the calendar brings summer soon...

Charge

Permission slips signed. One field trip.   

Distant destination: Orlando. Parental nerves frayed.

One new, fully charged cell phone.

Just what the anxious mother ordered

as Matthew goes on his own,

for the very, very first time.

So she doesn't go completely crazy,

letting her baby test his wings.

Find out more about Six Word Fridays at Melissa's blog!

Five for Five: Listening

Listening to your three rambunctious children

shouting their goodnight's and love you's,

whispering in bed instead of sleeping,

the sounds of their cascading giggles,

is a beautiful lullaby for mothers,

and one I would not trade

for any golden treasure on Earth.

Five for Five: Age

I heading towards the big 4-0 in a little over a year.  I know I should not be too worried.  Forty is the new thirty.  I have over a year to get over it.  I understand all of that.  Really, I do.

But I have a son who is going to start middle school in the fall.  I have a son who will begin Kindergarten in the fall.  I can't be young and have a middle school-er, can I?  I mean, do you remember what your parents and your friends' parents seemed like when you were twelve?  I'll say it for you: ANCIENT.

Somehow, the idea of a middle school aged kid and a Kindergartener shouldn't go together.  I mean, they are both monumental milestones.  Forty: a monumental milestone.  I am a little freaked out.  

Really. 

And I kind of feel sorry for my husband.  

Can you imagine what things are going to be like?  Mommy is turning forty and running from a midlife crisis in sensible (read: old lady) shoes while her baby is starting school for real and her oldest is going through pre-teen, emotional, pre-adolescent bullshit. 

Yeah.  Life will be grand.  Please note that this statement is oozing in sarcasm.

So I have done what any sensible woman would do (besides wonder how the hell I got to here).  I booked a cruise.

I know what many of you who have followed my blog for a while and remember last year's ill-planned cruise are thinking.  But I was smart this time.

I know no one in my household will be making a major religious sacrament.

I know that everyone will have testing in April. 

I know when the last day of school is in 2013 (no eye rolling, please.)

I made sure we leave two days AFTER the last day, making it virtually impossible to screw this up.

Except that we won't be celebrating my fortieth on the ship, because my big day is the day before.

Nor will we be celebrating my husband's fortieth (as he is quick to point out, I am eleven days older), because we get back before his big day.

And I'm okay with that.  I want to be in the comfort of my own home, frantically packing for five when it hits. 

I wonder if it will hurt.

I guess my biggest problem is that my mind cannot accept this.  I don't feel older than 25, at most. And maybe there is the crux of the issue.  In my head, I am 25.  My body says otherwise if I carry too many groceries at one time or I try to scoop my sleeping five year old to bed.  My body screams: NO!!  You are not 25.  You are there.  Where you thought you would never be.  You are arriving at middle age.  Shit.

It took me most of my life to finally be comfortable in my own skin.  I have a better clue of what I am doing now in most areas of my life.  I can live in my own head now; the noise has considerably gotten quieter.   I have finally found the courage to be the person I thought I could be.  I have challenged myself physically (6 half marathons in a year, yo!).  I have pushed myself to do the impossible (have you tried to keep three boys clean, groomed, fed and entertained while holding down a full time job?) and still manage to want to try new things (like assisted handstands in yoga or getting up each morning and doing it all again).

How can it be that the calendar says what it says?

I suppose that it is the amount of milestones that we will be celebrating in early June 2013 that has me grasping.  A son finishing his first year of middle school and inching towards 13.  A middle son ready to start his last year of elementary school.  A baby boy finishing his Kindergarten year.  Mom AND Dad reaching middle age.

Any of these, by themselves, are enough to have you reeling, even just a teensy bit.  If broken up into chewable pieces, you can savor each one separately, brace yourself for the next one.  But all of them simultaneously is a lot to get used to in a short amount of time.

This passage of time is relentless.  You don't get to just stop at your favorite part and linger for a while.  It goes by FAST and furious.  Good and bad.  All of it.  The photographs chronicle.  Looking back, it seems like 5 minutes ago.  And that's the cruelty.  There is no time to lament.  Enjoy it NOW.  Or it will seem so five minutes ago, but really be five years ago in the blink of an eye.

And, really, that's all age is.  Time.  Time your ticker has been ticking.  What you have done with the time you have been allotted.  What you have done with the body you were assigned.  What you are going to do to make up for the things you wish you had done differently. 

Age means that you know the difference.  You have the wisdom to discern, to change tactics, and make it okay.

In the end, the extra little lines that make their debut slowly on your face, you've earned.  I would rather have earned them smiling, laughing my ass off (if ONLY that were true!), and etch them deeper in my face by continuing to live on my terms.

I mean, 40 is 30 with ten years experience, right?

Five for Five: Words

From the day I strung my first sentence together, it seems as though I have never been at a loss for words.  It was the words of the countless books I read as a child that kept me from going mad within my desperate surroundings.  It was the enchanting tales of other children, stuck in situations far worse than my parents’ unhappy marriage, that allowed me to dream that everyone deserved some happiness in their lifetime.  Some got their happiness in steady drips throughout their lives; other got a jolt of it in the later half. 

As I got older, words- lots of words, kept my mind busy.  It helped drown out the vicious voice of my ever critical subconscious forever chastising me.  If my words made you laugh, your laughter soothed me.  If I made you laugh, I couldn't be all that bad.

I know that the ability to communicate is an incredible gift.  But in my life, there have been times when words have been inadequate, at best.  Walking down the aisle and seeing my smiling groom waiting for me.  Finding out I was pregnant.  Seeing a tiny blip that was my unborn child's heart.  Seeing my firstborn son for the first time.  Witnessing my father passing from this Earth.  Finding out I was pregnant a second time. Seeing my second son for the first time. Finding out I was pregnant a third time.  Seeing my precious last baby's face for the first time.  

The list is endless...

How can you put into words the emotions that threaten to pull you under, both in good and bad ways?  In that raging sea of emotions, words are like flotation devices; they help keep you above water, but they will not swim you to shore.

But what good are words if they are mindless sounds that escape bodies, with no real purpose?  What happens when there is no feeling, no meaning behind them?  What is the point?  Yet, I have been responsible for more noise pollution than I am comfortable to admit.  I am not proud of myself.

Perhaps it was having children, but I began to look forward to the brief instances when there was a bit of quiet in the house.  Granted, too much silence (is there such a thing if you are a parent?) would put me in panic mode.  Surely, anyone who has a child knows that too much quiet usually means a hurt child, a super-clogged, overflowing toilet, or an unauthorized masterpiece on pristine walls. 

Still, silence amongst adults was incredibly uncomfortable. 

And then, a gift.  I was assigned a single classroom to myself.  No teaching partner to share the space.  Planning time with no one in the room with me.  I was forced into quieting myself.  I learned to cope.  I used the time to acclimate myself to just being. 

It became a spiritual exercise, and one that would come in handy.  Observing.  Listening.  To listen to my own heart.  To trust myself with my own decisions.  To finally become comfortable within my own skin.

I had finally found the silent Ying to my loquacious Yang.

And, in that silence, I finally found my voice.

I found that words are powerful.  You don't forget the throb when someone's words cut through your soul like a knife, so I choose my words cautiously.

You don't forget the delight when someone makes mention of something you have done with no intention of recognition, so I make a point of reminding people of the good within them.

You don't forget the joy you feel when you hear "I love you" from those you hold dear, so I make sure I say those words as often as I can, while I can.

And in the meantime, I listen.

And the words will come, as they always do. 

Hold

Matthew, January 2002- Where has the time gone?

My mercurial boy is growing quickly.

Mood swings threaten, take us under.

You yearn for freedom, I ache.

My heart wants nothing more than

to hold you in my arms,

as you sleep, make everything better.

Your bed barely holds you now,

as you change before my eyes.

Your existence still holds me enchanted,

and my heart holds every smile,

like a priceless treasure carefully guarded.

Over

Your protective hand over my fragile one

Makes me remember that I'm loved

and that I can accomplish anything.

Check out Melissa and find out more about Six Word Fridays.

Offering...

A tiny flower, a gentle heart.

His muddy hand carefully cradles

the delicate lace of purple petals.

My youngest son's eyes eagerly await

the smile that curls my lips.

I  whisper "thank you" to the Universe:

for him and his joyous offering.

Have something to offer?  Visit Melissa and find out more about Six Word Fridays!

Surrender

At the end of the day,

after homework, dinner and baths;

the battle begins; a hopeless dance.

Be productive in relative peace, quiet?

Drop everything , grab the neglected book ?

Run to undo the days dietary mistakes?

Or succumb to the inviting softness

of the freshly made, warm bed...

In hopes of a productive tomorrow

when I can read or run;

not surrender too quickly or soundly

as the white sheets beckon me tonight.

Waving the white flag?  Visit Melissa and find out more about Six Words Fridays!

Bare...

As I always am with you.

No pretenses, no barriers, no secrets.

Always lovingly accepted with no disguise.

I cannot imagine any other way

to know a lover, kindred spirit

in this masquerade the world holds,

each day of our complicated lives.

Ready to bare all?  Visit Melissa and learn more about Six Word Fridays.

Chat...

Our children busy, wrapped in imagination.

Breakfast dishes littering the kitchen table.

You and I, two coffee cups.

The aroma entices us to awaken;

a truth serum for the weary.

Long forgotten antidotes, reminders of events.

Our past, present and future whispered;

treasured on this rare, quiet morning.

My hopes spoken, worries finally revealed

to my faithful confidant, secret keeper.

Need to chat?  Find out more about Six Word Fridays by visiting Melissa's blog!

Share

A very well deserved getaway, alone.

The last slice of adult pizza.

A stolen moment of longing, silence.

The seemingly insurmountable grief of loss.

The joy of seeing our kids.

The worry of parenting the kids.

The very last crumbs of tiramisu.

With you, sharing is not optional.

That is just fine with me.

There is no one who shares

quite as well as you do

all of life's joys and sorrows,

as well as favorite culinary delights;

the warm comforters on cold nights.

In a sharing mood?  Link up to Melissa's blog and find out more about Six Word Fridays!

Stop and go

Green light: GO!  Traffic, meetings, assignments.

Red light: STOP!  All I want is to stop

for a bit, so there is

fuel to go.  A moment to

set my eyes on Nature's beauty.

Want to learn more about Six Word Fridays?  Visit Melissa's blog!

Lost and found...

Whenever I am seemingly, hopelessly lost,

You are there to find me.

You, inevitably, with a knowing smile;

rescue me; categorically lost; forever grateful;

in my own sea of imperfection.

You still are the shining beacon

that safely lights the way back.

Lost something and found something along the way?  Visit Melissa and find out more about Six Word Fridays.

An explanation to the long absence...

As you have noticed if you frequented among these parts, things have been amiss for the past few months. While I have posted every week through Six Word Fridays, even that has been difficult and has, often times, alluded to all that has transpired since late last spring.

Life happens. And usually not in the way or shape we would like it to.

And because all that has transpired in these past months has been difficult and painful, it would have made sense to write about it here; to make light of it, to poke fun at the situation I found myself in. To be witty.

But I couldn't. For the first time in a very long time, it was just too painful to write. I had no way of expressing all the sadness, frustration, and fear I was experiencing.

And if I put it in writing, it would be real. I desperately wanted it not to be.

As many of you know, my beloved mother in law spent nearly a year battling breast cancer. Our family weathered the storm of the complications, the chemo, seeing her frail and warrior-like. Little did we know that we were in for more. We had another scare in the summer, but by now, we were also seasoned warriors.

My uncle, who has no children and is a liver transplant recipient, had a MAJOR health crisis. In early May, he was whisked away by ambulance in the middle of the night, and began an extended stay in the hospital and later rehab (and later the hospital again) before he took up residence at the assisted living center where my mother lives in mid-August.

The process of dismantling a life is an arduous one. So much to become acquainted with, so much paperwork and legality, to make repairs on a home, pack it up, put it for sale. So much to be made responsible for, when you are already responsible for so much.

My boys and I, along with my sister and my aunt (my mother's older sister) spent our summer cataloging my uncle's items, making piles for the dump or charity, and packing his things to be moved into his new apartment. I cannot tell you what a comfort it was to see my boys helping us in any way they could. Whether it was trudging down the stairs laden with books, to packing and sealing boxes, to making lists of things to be done, my two older sons were workhorses last summer.

And it quite literally broke my heart to see them so hard at work, peering curiously at me as I often stood, bewildered with worry and anxiety in the middle of my uncle's rundown house, wondering how the hell I was doing this again.

That flurry of activity was during the day. At night, my sister and I would go see him at the hospital, often wondering what his prognosis was going to be, wondering how in the world we were going to handle all of this new responsibility when school started back. Somehow, we would manage.

We emptied his house, made it sellable, sold it, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he moved into his new place, somewhat healthy and begrudgingly happy.

In the midst of all this, my mother's physical therapist was concerned at the pain she was experiencing during therapy. She ordered a routine MRI and uncovered a huge mass on her stomach.

Welcome to Round 2.

We had no sooner finished dealing with the immediate needs of my uncle when my mother was diagnosed with a somewhat rare cancerous tumor on her stomach. Her surgery was successful in that it removed a 13 centimeter tumor. However, she spent the better part of a week in ICU , unconscious, when she experienced difficulty breathing on her own a day after the surgery.

More tests.

More worry.

Another tumor was discovered on her larynx.

One that was seen and commented on by three different doctors.

One that miraculously wasn't there when they went to biopsy on Halloween Day.

The hell that went through was nothing compared to the generosity of spirit of our family, friends and coworkers. I have never felt so much love and support in all my life.

I am happy to say that things have somewhat returned to normal. We had a peaceful Thanksgiving.

We had so much to be grateful for. So many lives saved during a course of 365 days.

I had my "normal" Christmas. The one I so longed for last year when my world was collapsing around me. I had all my folks. My mother in law. My mother. My uncle and my aunt. They were all alive. My handsome new nephew, my brother and sister in law. My sister and her family. Every single person who weathered the storms of 2011 with us. They were all smiling; happy and healthy; under one roof. My roof. Even writing this now, the words blur through the tears.

So you can imagine why I couldn't write. Too much. Too fast. It was exhausting to live it, overwhelming to even think about putting it out there.

The prognosis are pretty good all around now. My mother in law is doing better than fine. She is back to doing her thing, on her own terms, and the mischievous gleam in her eyes has returned.

My uncle in is dialysis three times a week, but now he has to deal with my sister and I. I think he is slightly pleased that things fell into place as they did. He seems happy and has adjusted well, considering.

My mother's latest PET scan came back clean. She is on a chemotherapy that was originally given to leukemia patients. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it was funded by the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, whom I have fundraised and run for since 2010.

I hope that I am back to this, my writing in my space, more regularly now.

I hope you understand my lingering absence.

I know that soon, I will be laughing again. And taking you along for the ride...

Looking forward...

Dark days are finally behind us.

And I am looking forward to:

holding your hand through this life,

sharing quiet moments alone, however scarce,

watching sunrises, sunsets, counting shooting stars,

knowing that you love me still.

Learn more about Six Word Fridays by visiting Melissa's blog!

Heart's Focus

After sixteen years, what was fuzzy

is now clear, without question, unmistakable.

The life we have built together.

Our solid commitment to each other,

the upkeep of our family garden;

the weeding out of what's damaging,

the cultivating of memories that flourish

within our minds, hearts and souls.

You are my heart's sharp lens.

You focus me on the importance

of the legacy we will leave

for the magnificent men they will become.

The lens in which I always

look through to gauge the truth

resides within my ever faithful heart.

And only you hold the key.

What do you focus on?  Visit Melissa and Six Words Fridays to find out more...