Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Por Favor

Can I ask a favor of you. Please go to the FOLLOW BY EMAIL section on the right hand side of the blog and enter your email. You'll only be notified any time there is an update here. I promise you it's safe. No spam.

This way I don't need to put something on Facebook to say I've updated my blog. I feel like I'm bragging or something, begging people to read it.

You like what I write? Get notified. You don't like what I write? Why are you still here? :)

Laugh Twice and Call Me in the Morning!

 
Yes, I know. My posts are sad, dreary and depressing. There is no denying that our family has had a bit more of our share of difficult things to deal with. Oh well. No pity party today. No pity party most days.

So why share all this depressing stuff? Well, that's what's happening. How could it be my blog if I didn't share my stuff. While I share with you my thoughts, fears, my life, I also like to share the fun.  I'm not moping around ALL of the time. I laugh a lot. Really, I do!

Laughter really IS the best medicine.

Those of you who know me well know that I love to laugh. I laugh often and I have been told on a few (ahem!) occasions that my laugh is loud and weird. I like to think it is amusing and distinctive. If my laugh is weird then that gives you just that much more to laugh about. I'm here to entertain.

So, here are a few things that make me laugh:

 Here's another one!
 
 
We took this photo when we were in Utah, last Christmas. Yum!
 
Can't you just hear them saying these lines? Thanks, LaSchel, for the calendar!
 
 Rick and I got to go on an amazing work-related trip to NYC last Feb. We were put in an incredible suite in the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. This was the panel on the wall next to the heated toilet seat. Yes, the warmed water did oscillate!
 
When I say it, I just can't do it 'Joey justice' 
 
I used to have fingerprints of little people on the backseat windows. Now I have these!

 
 
Recently, I heard a saying... A laugh is a smile that has exploded. I'm glad not all explosions are bad.



 
 

Monday, November 19, 2012

Sorry, Charlie Brown.

Grieving is hard. It's like a pus-filled wound. At times, it seems to be getting better and healing. Then, out of nowhere, it flares up, becomes painful and you can't stop thinking about it. The only way to make it go away is to pay attention to it, clean out all of the yucky stuff and wait for it to heal.

Good Grief!

Lots of wounds right now. The wound of Lauren's issues is different than my other ones. It's active, constantly being picked at and reopened. Let's just say, "That's gonna leave a mark". Oh yea.

My others.... I have names for them: Dad, Mom and Hilary.

We've been so worried about Lauren that I haven't really had down time to grieve Dad. I miss him very much! I miss his beaming smile, the shape of his eyebrows when he would try to be cranky with me but I wouldn't take the bait. I miss that distinctive voice, with the accent that many try to mimic. Everyone says Rick does the best 'Joe' voice and I believe them, but I just didn't hear it. I only heard the voice of my daddy.

I miss him so much that at times I just want to walk around, telling strangers "My dad died. He's gone. My dad passed away in July. Did you know my dad is gone?". It's like I want people to hurt as much as I do. It's weird, I know. I was driving on I-45 and saw a man holding a cigarette out the window. His hand looked like Dad's hand. Not his face, not the car, just that left hand. I didn't want to take my exit. I wanted to follow Dad's hand.

I took my correct exit.

When we packed up my dad's assisted-living,Susie and I divided the remaining items between us. One of the things I ended up with was an almost-full Kleenex box. I bought it for him on July 2nd, when I did the last grocery shopping for him at the Kroger on Echo Lane and I-10. The color of the box doesn't match my house, but when I put it on my bathroom counter I could smell something familiar. My dad's cologne. Over the past few months I've used a tissue or two. Once I realized that the box was getting empty I stopped using them, choosing to go to another room to get a Kleenex. At times, I would instantly grab one from that box and then regret that I had done it. Silly, I know. But, grief is silly and messy and makes you savor one last Kleenex in a box.

The box is empty now. I'll throw it away.... soon. When I'm ready. Ouch. My booboo hurts.

I went to that same grocery store for the first time a few weeks ago. I went to pick up things for dinner, after getting Josh from school. It was hard to not put my usual purchases in the basket: feta cheese, endives, grapes, Stella beer, grape tomatoes, dates, pita bread, juice, etc. As I turned down aisles I saw images of Dad on an electric shopping cart and the 2 of us trying to figure out how to steer it. I chuckled to myself when I got to the magazine aisle where I got Dad stuck. Like Austin Powers driving that golf cart in his movie. Move 2 inches forward, turn as much as possible, reverse. Repeat. Remembering was funny and sad all at the same time.

My wound really hurts. Makes me think of my mom kissing my bruises to make the pain go away.

Thinking about Dad makes me miss Mom as well. I'm a 47 year old orphan. I have no parents. It just doesn't feel right. It's just wrong.

My ouchie, named Hilary is really flaring up. It's coming up on a year since my smart, giggly, talented, stubborn, beautiful, techno geek friend disappeared from our lives. Last Thanksgiving was her last holiday. A year ago this weekend, she had a great time with family, including her brother. She posted about seeing the new Muppet movie. Which makes me think of Zach singing The Rainbow Connection, which makes my throat hurt and my eyes burn.

A year ago, Sunday, I picked up Zoe from cheer practice and got dinner for her and Hilary at Panera Bread. I bought gingerbread man cookies. Hilary ate some of her soup bread bowl and about half of the cookie, while we watched her recordings on DVR. She fell asleep and I just watched her. She opened her eyes and we talked some more.

It's like I'm playing the DVR version of the last week of November and the first week of December of 2011 in my head. It makes me cry. But I can't turn it off. It hurts and feels good all at the same time, kind of like rubbing that canker sore on your tongue with your teeth. You just can't help it.

Sorry, this post is kinda gross. I must have been a surgeon's daughter! :)

I guess this is how I clean out my Hilary wound. It's the path to healing.

I guess Lucy was right. Good grief!