In Remembrance

I sang this years ago in my college choir. Today the first phrase had been going through my mind and I asked a friend if he remembered where it was from and then he sent me this link.



Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle morning rain.
And when you wwake in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I did not die.

Searching

One of the nights when I was back home my brother took Big Love and I up to my Dad's house. I hadn't ever been in it, didn't even know where it was because he had moved there some time after my last visit.

It was located just a mile or two from town and the view was beautiful. He showed me the land that had finally become his six months previous after renting it for a year or two and the shop where 'it all happened'. Seeing the shop made me happy. Because I could tell he was happy in it building the beautiful things that he did. There was so much space for my Dad to build his things and lots of light coming in. My brother had bought him some cushioned squares to put in the places where he spent most of his time standing and from what he said, my Dad couldn't get over how much more comfortable it was to stand on them rather than the hard concrete floor.

When I walked into the house I was surprised. The cabinets looked similar to what mine did when I moved into this house 6 months ago. I can honestly say that I was a little sad at the state of things considering he had built beautiful cabinets for everyone else but couldn't afford to build them for himself. (He did build gorgeous cherry wood cabinets for the house we grew up in.) The rest of the house needs a lot of work, too. But it will get that work done just before my sister and her family move into it. I can totally understand why they want to move in.

On a cabinet just when you walk into the house there was a small tape recorder. Those old ones with the itty bitty tapes. I took it and started fast forwarding and playing, forwarding and playing, forwarding and playing. In my head I started getting frantic. "What the fuck do I think I'm going to find?" I said out loud. His voice. I know I wanted to hear his voice one more time. And if I'm really honest I wanted to hear him talking to me, telling me he was sorry that he wasn't able to be more of the father and build a bridge for us to meet on. Dad, why was it so hard for you to listen to me and talk to me? I only wanted to be heard and loved.

My sister found Wally Lamb's book The Hour I First Believed in my Dad's house even before I got there. I loved his other books and since my sister kept my Dad's copy I ordered my own shortly after getting back from our trip. (She would have sent it to me but I wanted to get reading it as soon as possible.) For the most part I spent the kid's nap/quiet time in the afternoon reading it a chapter or so at a time with coffee that my sister had sent with me in a cup she had given me clasped in my hand. I read every page carefully and here again I found myself looking for something. My Dad hadn't gotten very far in the book, maybe only a chapter or two, but there was part of me that hoped I would find something on the pages that would speak to me, that would help all of this hurt go away and leave only peace in its wake. And miraculously give me some answers as to why our relationship had to be so damn hard. I know part of it was my fault, but I got so sick and tired of being hurt, Dad, that I just had to stop. And I'm sorry for that, but it was all I knew how to do. Now I hurt in such a different way and it won't stop either.

Everywhere I turn these days I'm hoping something will help all of this make sense. If it could come all at once and make everything crystal clear... well, it won't and if I'm lucky I'll get little pieces here and there that will eventually show me a bigger picture. For now nothing makes any sense. And I'm trying to be ok with that.

A rose by any other name

Hot stuff, beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, love ... just some of the names by which Big Love calls me. Of my little list there, the last one is the only one I really believe. (When we first started dating he called me 'baby' but I put an end to that quickly.) So sometimes I bug him and make comments that he doesn't know my name or can't pronounce it. Then he says it. And it sounds so strange and awkward coming from his mouth. He's even tripped over it a few times. I don't know why this has been bothering me so much lately, but it has. Sometimes I don't feel like I know who I am; I don't feel like myself and I'm a little lost. Maybe my brain is weaving that into the whole name thing and making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to. For some reason it has been bothering me more and more lately. I want scream something but I'm not sure what. I guess it's a good thing that I'll start seeing my counselor in a week from tomorrow!

17 months with a baby in the room

So Little Man has been sleeping in our room until Labor Day. Yup, for 17 months our boy has been sharing a room with his Mum and Dad. I keep making a little list in my head as to why in case people asked. So here it is. There's probably a bunch of other reasons that are completely unbeknownst to me.

1. When my babies were wee, it was much easier than having to go to a different room and get them for their middle of the night feedings.
2. Our room is ridiculously oversized in comparison to the other rooms. There was still room to spare with a full size crib, two large dressers and my hopeless chest (my Dad made it for me and that's what he called it).
3. I needed a space to do yoga and my exercise videos.
4. For some reason, it's a bit drafty in the room. It's located right above our little mudroom and the front door so that probably has a lot to do with it. It's also one of the hottest rooms in the summer. Wanted to keep him in with us in case we needed to get our one air conditioner going during the summer heat waves.
5. My sister was supposed to come and visit so I was going to use that third room for them.
6. I was really hoping that I'd be able to move Little Man in with Sweet One so they could share a room but it just hasn't gotten to the point where I think it is going to work. Perhaps when he's ready for a big kid bed I will get them some bunk beds and they can share when he's a little older.
7. I absolutely loved hearing him laugh in his sleep when I was wide awake in the middle of the night.
8. Listening to him breathe helped me to relax.
9. I liked having him close and since he's my last baby (as far as I can control) I probably had a harder time letting him go.
10. Having him sleeping five feet from me on the other side of a wall is just too damn far! (Yes, I'm very good at being a drama queen from time to time.)
11. Birth Control! (see number 8) Big Love can't get too amorous when there's a sleeping baby a few feet away! (I called it Cribena instead of Mirena because I'm just so funny.)

Ok. So once I actually had him sleeping in his own room it really wasn't such a big deal. There was a lot of cleaning involved in the move and I spent the little spare time I had on Labor Day sweating upstairs while I moved things around. (It's been incredibly humid here lately. The western girl in me expects things to feel much cooler once September 1st hits!)

A friend's prayer

This morning a friend I met at the mom's group I attended messaged me to tell me that she woke up and felt like God had 'put me on her heart' and that she needed to pray for me. I was a little surprised because we don't communicate on a regular basis. All she had seen was a Facebook status that said how proud I was of my sister and the eulogy she delivered for my Dad. I often don't know how to respond to these types of moments especially when they come from an evangelical fundamentalist practice, but I do trust her. All that I have seen her do seems very heartfelt and genuine.

A few hours later I ran into her at Sweet One's preschool. It was an introduction morning for the students and holy shit! was Sweet One so excited to be there. She hugged both of her teachers (she's never met either of them before) and told them she'd come back "by myself". She and I are so ready for this.

But I digress. This friend left shortly after we had arrived but returned later on her own because she was worried about me. I talked to her and tried to limit my crying so as to not let the other mothers see me cry (they were busy with their own friends, anyway). I was very surprised that she had come back to check on me but there was something inside that felt so comforted by it.

Later on in the day (after canning 22 quarts of peaches and still having enough left over for another 10) I messaged her and thanked her. I also asked what made her feel like she had to pray for me and if she'd mind sharing. Her response struck me so deeply.

I haven't been feeling any spiritual comfort in all of this. I only feel empty. I'm a little scared because I want to feel something to help me move on and feel ok.

When my alarm went off this morning at 5, you were in a dream I was having. I can't remember the dream, but I woke and just felt an urgent need to pray for you. So I did. I prayed for strength, encouragement, courage for whatever struggle you might be facing. I prayed for protection and that God would continue to embrace you, comfort you, and consume you with his love. I will continue to pray for you. I could see your heartache in your eyes today. Praying for peace, comfort, and healing for you dear friend. Hang in there.

Her prayer was perfect. She gave me words for what I need when I haven't been able to find them myself. If that isn't God working, I don't know what is.

Now I'm going to watch Rookie Blue as soon as Big Love is done with Futurama. I'm tired and need to turn my brain off and have a good night's sleep. But I will fall asleep feeling a little more comfort in my heart than I did last night.

Two phone calls

Leading up to getting pregnant with Sweet One, I was regularly seeing a counselor who helped me through a lot of anger. I didn't realize I had been carrying it for as long as I had and while it completely shook my foundation I ended up in a much better place. There were moments when I literally felt like the pieces inside of me were fitting back together in a way I had never felt them before. The yoga classes I was also taking helped with a lot of this as well.

While being a mom is amazing, as are my two little ones, I haven't felt my pieces fitting for quite some time. The challenges of being a mom and dealing with a strong-willed 3 1/2 year old, as well as not having any outlet for myself as an individual, has worn on me. And now with my Dad dying, (which I absolutely hate typing every time I have to) I feel absolutely lost. The pieces are all jammed up inside of me and I don't know how to put them together or to make sense of how I move on from here. I'm quick to anger and, unfortunately, it usually happens when Sweet One is pushing me off the edge. It's not fair to anyone in this house.

I made two phone calls the other day. The first was to my yoga instructor. We had been playing phone tag for awhile but finally connected and there's a class I can go to on Mondays from 530-700. I was hoping there'd be an early morning one I could go to so the kids wouldn't feel like I was leaving them, but as my sister is trying to drill into my head,

"Just remember it's actually for their own good. They see you being your own person and having your own life and they're still secure. Then they know they can do the same."

The second phone call was to the counselor I had been seeing. She phoned back the next day and I have an appointment booked for September 17th, with her phoning if she has any cancellations that will help me get in a little earlier. I'll have to drive to another city so the whole thing will take probably a minimum of 2 hours and 15 minutes but I didn't want to find a new counselor here in town where I'd have to go through the whole history. And this woman really helped me. I don't like having to be gone that long but I'm also fantasizing about maybe being able to get to Target all by myself either before or after the appointment!

I've put aside my own needs over the past few years and only looked at them when things felt really bad. Right now I spend the days feeling like I'm walking wounded. No one can really see the giant gash inside of my chest but I can feel it pouring out, asking to be healed. I can't continue as I have for the past few years and so it's time to take care of myself a bit more. My kids will be ok when I'm away from them. Big Love is a great Dad and if I can't leave them with him for that long, well that is just plain stupid. It's hard to admit but I am afraid of putting myself into a vulnerable position where I'm going to have to be very honest with myself. I'm not sure what I'll find out. I only know that regardless of what I have to work through, I'll be a better person when I'm done.

One more cup

My little espresso machine made one more cup of americano for me today. I had given up on it, save for a wasted bit of hope that the DeLonghi customer service might be able to help me get it up and running. I found a suggestion on an amazon review and with the help of my contractor (because he had the tools) I was able to get one more cup this morning. We'll see if I get many more but for now I'll enjoy what I have!