A Year of Firsts

When I think of the phrase “A Year of Firsts” I think of the first year of each of my children’s lives. I think of the first pregnancy tests that I took. (Pretty sure with the first one I took about five pregnancy tests. I realized with subsequent children, the test was fairly accurate, and I probably only needed to take it three times). I think about the first time we heard the heartbeat. I think of the first ultrasound, and the first time we saw the baby.

Then the firsts are much more physical. The baby is born and we each had our first time that we held the baby. This was followed by the first bath by the nurse, the first diaper change and the first car ride to go home.  Once we made it home with the baby, then we had the overwhelming realization that the entire year would be filled with firsts. There would be the first bath at home, the first time the baby sat up, the first time the baby ate solid food, the first words the baby would say, the first time the baby would crawl, and the first time the baby would walk . . . those first tentative baby steps, that seem to be one of the top highlights of the first year. There would be so many firsts leading up to each of those big moments. As parents, we tried to capture all of these moments on film, whether as a still or a video. Knowing that each child was growing quickly, and that time is fleeting.

It is the crawling and walking that I really think of now when I think of my children as babies. The other firsts have blended a bit in my memory, until I pull out the pictures. But the crawling and walking . . . I had one child that started crawling with an army crawl, looking like they were going through baby boot camp. Then I had one that crawled with their tush in the air, as if afraid of getting their knees injured while crawling (I know it hurt my knees when I would crawl along besides my children). Then there was my mystery crawler. Seriously, I would put the baby down in one location, and the next thing I know, the baby would be on the other side of the room, and I swear I didn’t see the baby crawl.

From the crawling, came the walking. I have to admit, and I may be a bit biased, but my children were adorable while they learned to walk. Each of them went through the same basic process. First they would learn to pull themselves up to a standing position, usually while holding onto an adult leg, or a piece of furniture. Then they would learn to circle around their base of choice. With obvious confidence that the base would not move, they would walk in circles. Then they would realize that if they held on tightly to an adults hand, they could walk from one base to another. Their knees never had to be on the ground again! As time and confidence grew the children would start walking from one base to another and let go of the adults hand as they made progress. They were learning to walk on their own.

It is truly amazing how a baby grows and develops in their year of firsts. They physically grow and change. They learn more in their first year, that I’m not sure it can truly be measured. It’s made me realize that this year is yet again another year of firsts for our family. No, there are no more babies in our home. They are all rapidly approaching the teenage years. (Another first!) No, this year was not one that was chosen. This year did not actually begin on January 1. No, this year began last November. For that is when Chris passed away. If you combine all of the time we dated and were married, we spent 20 years together. We were together exactly ½ of Chris’s life. This was the person that I shared all of my joys and all of my challenges with. He was the first person I would call to share exciting news. He is the person who would hold me tight, and let me cry all over his lightly starched white shirt when I was sad. He was one of the very few people who ever saw me cry. I like to believe we made a good team when it came to having a family, and the ideals we wanted to instill in our children. But last November, that all came to a sudden halt. With Chris’s last heartbeat, it felt as if it was our last too.

And so a new year of firsts began. For all of us, we were back at the beginning of our lives. We had to learn to take care of ourselves again. We needed to learn to sit up again, to not be doubled over in the pain that was wrenching our stomachs into knots. We had to learn to feed ourselves again. We live in an amazing community that provided us with meals, many times twice a day for months. But we knew, that we had to start living again. We had to learn how to speak with people again. There were other conversations to be had that did not revolve around Chris’s death. For the world kept moving. We needed to learn how to laugh again, and to know that it was okay to do so. Slowly, we have begun to crawl out of the emotional hole that we found we were living in. We have learned to take those tentative baby steps. A little shaky at first, but by holding hands, and anchoring each other, we are gaining confidence daily.

So this has been our year of firsts. It’s just different this time.

The Day After September 11

As I drove my middle and my youngest to school today, I realized that I have done a disservice to my children and to myself.

Time wise, it is a short car ride to school in the morning. Really only extended by a couple of minutes if I happen to hit red lights at the two stop lights I have to go through to get to the school, or if it happens to be raining. Today, it is a hot, humid, clear sky kind of morning. So our only delay was when we hit one red light. It was while we were sitting at the light, that the middle one brought up why there should be a moment of silence at school on September 11. The younger one, sounding perplexed, simply asked, “but why?

I’m going to back up in time a bit . . . 14 years to be exact. 14 years ago the company I worked for offered me an opportunity of a lifetime. I could move from Los Angeles to New York City to work with co-workers I had only talked with on the phone. Chris had one semester left to complete his Master’s in LA. But when I told him about the opportunity, he just smiled and stated the obvious “of course you are going to take the job. When else will you have the opportunity to live and work in NYC?” So we packed up part of our home, drove together across the country, and as I settled into a new city, he flew back to our LA home to finish school.

I only spent one year in New York City. Truly, it was only 11 ½ months. But during that time, I have to tell you, I fell in love with New York City. I really did. People tried to warn me of all the awful things that could happen there. The crime was high, the city is dirty, people are rude, traffic is horrendous, and nobody ever slows down (this last being of great importance to my beach friends from LA). The truth was, yes, the crime was probably high, but there are millions of people living there. Unfortunately not everyone always follows the basic rules of life of treating others with respect. Parts of the city are dirtier than others, as in all cities, but there is also beauty in the architecture of the buildings there, and some amazing parks and gardens that can come as a surprise when you discover them. As for the rude people, there are rude people all over the world. NYC does not stake the only claim for that. But truly, it was the native New Yorkers that I discovered were some of the kindest, most helpful people I have ever met. Especially when I was lost! I could always find someone, especially police officers, to help me get to where I needed to go. As for the traffic and not slowing down, that pretty much is true. That is also why they have a public transportation system. It gets people where they need to go, and usually pretty efficiently, if a bit cramped.

During my time there I met an array of fabulous people. I made friends through church, through work, and even with my landlord. I even discovered high school and college friends that had moved there, but through time and distance had lost touch with. But for obvious reasons (I might have been a bit of a workaholic) it was my co-workers that I spent the most amount of time with. For me, it was like having a big extended family. When I left New York in the summer of 2000, and left my job, I left a part of me there.

August of 2001 was my first trip back to New York after having moved to Virginia. We had just moved from an apartment to a town home, and it felt like we had moved out to the countryside. I was completely discombobulated. Chris asked if I needed a trip to the City to be grounded again. I had to say, I absolutely did! So I called a friend, asked if I could come visit, and oh, by the way, would she mind if I brought an almost walking 10 month old with me to come stay in the City? Being the good person that she is, she said of course, I will meet you at the train station. It was a marvelous trip, and I felt like I was going home. I pushed my oldest in an umbrella stroller all through the City. The two of us saw the sites, ate lunch with friends and co-workers. I wasn’t able to see all of my former co-workers, as some were no longer with the company. I clearly recall the running monologue I had going for my oldest, as we walked through the City . . . “if you are ever lost in the City, look up for the World Trade Center. You can figure out from where it is, what direction you need to go. But no, I will never take you to the top. It’s much to high for me.” When I came back to Virginia a few days later, I felt refreshed. Making connections with friends and being in the City had been good for my soul.

It was that first week of September that my Mom came to visit. Being blessed with wonderful parents and brother, my Mom had come out here to help us get settled into our new home. Dad had already been out to help with the actual move. We had only been there a few weeks, and I knew I wanted to paint two bathrooms, and make some other updates. So she flew across the country to come help, as only my Mom can. I would like to say that we were successful in our painting. However, for one bathroom, we went through 4 different shades of red before I finally liked one, and for the children’s bathroom, the paint literally bubbled off the wall. On September 9, as my Mom and I sat on the bathroom floor, staring at the paint that was peeling off the wall, my Mom suggested that she stay another day so she could help me fix the problem. Seeing as it would cost quite a bit to change the airline ticket, I told her, no, go ahead and head home on September 10 as planned. I would fix the problem later in the week as the baby slept.

On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, it was a gorgeous clear day here in Virginia, as everyone around the world now knows. I woke up as I did any other day, with an expectation of a good day. So much so, that I changed my morning ritual of turning on NPR for the morning news, and as I gave my oldest breakfast, I said, “you know, there is never anything positive on the news anymore. Let’s take a day off from the news, and plan a trip to the park.” It was 9:01 when I called another mom to see if she wanted to go to the park that day. It was when I called her, that I found out the reality I had been living in had been drastically altered.

I learned a lot that day. I learned, or maybe just learned to acknowledge that there is a lot of hate in the world. It’s not something easy to acknowledge. I learned that this country, when faced with an inordinate amount of hate, from somewhere else in the world, can actually be brought together. I learned that we could not have chosen a better community in which to live, as everyone met out front, to check on one another. We all remained outside until late, just talking. Staying connected with humanity. I also learned that one of my former coworkers, a friend, had died when the plane hit the World Trade Center.  

Over time, I admit, I do not think about September 11, 2001 on a daily basis. Life has continued to move forward for those that remain. However, every September it does come to the front of my mind. Usually by September 9 I’m cranky and moody with my family. On September 10 I think about the “What if Mom had changed her plane reservation for September 11?” By September 11, I usually sit down and watch the news coverage of the day, reliving the time, and I end up having an ugly cry.

But this year was different. This year we have faced our own challenges, and so, not quite through conscious thought, I blocked September 11, 2001, from my mind. I thought more about the fact that it was my neighbor’s birthday yesterday. I thought about the fact that I was starting a new adventure as a substitute teacher. I thought about a first baseball game on a larger field for my oldest. I thought about the positives of the day. I never mentioned September 11, 2001 to my children yesterday. On social media sites, I did not linger on the images and notes about that day. I think, somewhere, in the back of my brain, I thought if I didn’t talk about it, I wouldn’t be affected by it again.

So I admit, it came as a shock when my middle one brought up September 11 this morning. It was a kick in the gut, and a reality check, when my youngest asked “but why?” when we spoke about a moment of silence. I could barely get the words from my brain to my mouth, let alone, actually speak them. As we were stopped behind a school bus, as tears started rolling down my cheeks, and my throat began to close, I explained to her about two planes crashing into the World Trade Center in New York, about a plane crashing into the Pentagon in DC, and about a plane that went down in a field in Pennsylvania, because the passengers prevented it from doing much worse. That there were so many innocent lives lost, and so many lives changed forever on that day.  That the September 11 attack on our country, has lead us to be in a war for more years than she has been alive. That having a moment of silence to reflect upon the changes our country has gone through, and the lives that have been lost since that day is so important, lest we forget.

Will my youngest remember what I told her today? Most likely not everything. She is still so young. Will we have more discussions about it in the future? Of that I am certain. Because I know, and now acknowledge, that I will always remember. 

Letters that should have been written . . .

This would fall under the “Letters that should have been written category”

Dear Gas Company,

I am writing to thank you. Yes, that is correct, writing to thank you for your lack of care or concern. For without this lack, I would not be where I am today. I’m sure if you look, you would find it in your notes that I called you last December.

The conversation went something like this . . .

“Thank you for calling the Gas Company, how may I be of help?”

            Yes, good morning. I am calling because the pilot light on my hot water heater is out, and I need help lighting it. When would it be possible for you to send someone out to help?

            “Thank you for your inquiry, may I have your account number and name please?”

            Of course, the account number is 12345, and my name is Amy.

            “One moment please.”

            “Yes, I see that account number, but the name we have listed on the account is Chris. If I could speak with Chris, we could get this taken care.”

            Well, I’m sorry, but that will be difficult. Chris passed away last month.

            “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. But in order to provide service or answer questions, I need to speak with Chris.”

            Yes. I understand that. However, Chris is dead. He cannot come to the phone and speak with you to make the request.  Is there someway that you could help me please? It is December and the pilot light is out. The water is quite cold at this time of year.

            “I’m sorry, but I cannot send someone out to fix it, if the request is not made by Chris.”

            Really? But he can’t make the request because he is dead. Is there someone else I can speak with to get assistance?

            “One moment please.” (placed on hold)

            “I’m sorry, but we cannot send anyone out to help you, since it is not Chris making the request.”

            Okay. Then how can I get it changed so that he is no longer the contact person, so I can get things like this fixed?

            “We would need a death certificate to prove that he is dead before we can make any changes.”

            Okay. The problem is, I don’t have a death certificate. There was an autopsy shortly after he died, and the coroner has yet to determine the cause of death. So I don’t have a death certificate yet. What else can be done?

            “I’m sorry, that is the only way we can make the change.”

            Okay. But again, all I really want is the pilot light to work. There is no way to send someone out for that.

            “Not without a request from the account holder. Besides, we no longer provide the service of lighting pilot lights”

            Okay then. Thank you so much for your time.

Yes Gas Company, I am going to thank you for the complete waste of time that you provided me. I would have made far more progress if I had hit my head against a brick wall at that moment in time. The truth of it is, I sat down and had a good cry after that conversation.

Then I realized, that if I wanted to have something done, I might as well do it myself. I made a few phone calls, and finally spoke with Walt, a handyman. After ONE question, “how old is the hot water heater?” he told me over the phone how to light the pilot light. Yes, it only took one caring person, one question, and one phone conversation to learn something new.  After speaking with Walt, I swallowed my fear, walked over to the hot water heater, and I lit the pilot light. Me. I did it. I did something I had not known how to do before. Something that I would normally let someone else do for me. I admit, I really did not want the knowledge of how to do it. I wanted someone else to take care of it for me. But there was no one else.

So thank you Gas Company. Without your lack of assistance, I would not have risen to the occasion to learn something new. I would not have taken the time to acknowledge, it’s all up to me now.

Thank you for all that you do,

Amy

I took a walk today.

I took a walk today.

I know, not a big deal. People do it every day.  It’s pretty easy to do. After all, you just put one foot in front of the other and repeat. But today, it was me. I took a walk.

So it is a glorious September morning. September 5 to be exact. The walk to the bus stop had a briskness to it, with the promise of warming up as the day went on. Just enough hint of Fall, to feel alive. So after everyone went to the bus stop, I was sitting in a quiet house. I realized as I sat there that it was much too quiet. I also realized, I had NOTHING on my schedule for today. I’m not subbing, I don’t have to take the car in for inspection (that was yesterday after all!), I’m not signed up to volunteer at school yet, there are no doctor appointments, not even ballet or baseball is on today’s schedule. The possibilities of what to do with my day were endless. Honestly, it terrified me that there was nothing planned.

But then sweet Athena, my wonderful puppy came into the room and stretched out beside me. The beauty of the morning was still with me, so realizing that I had the time, and surprisingly the energy, I decided to take a walk with Athena. Honestly, I was worried about keeping my own company, so I did call a friend or two to ask if they wanted to join me. However, they had other plans. Thankfully. Don’t get me wrong, we would have had an enjoyable walk and chat, and I would have been thankful for the company, but I'm learning, that sometimes, as terrifying as it may seem, you need to be on your own.

The moment that I started getting ready to walk, ie. donning my running shoes, Athena rose to the occasion and was thrilled by the opportunity to go. She raced to the basket where her leash is kept, and once it was on, she bounced at the door, as if she was trying to get it open on her own. The amount of energy she has, far surpasses mine! So we began our walk with energy, and with the purpose of not going anywhere in particular. As we walked, she stopped to smell, and I would stop to observe. Whether it was the purple flowers in the field, the butterfly and dragonflies in the air, or even the faceless person mowing their lawn, we paused to take note.

It was as the initial energy wore off, and our walk slowed that I really looked at Athena. Then it hit me that it has been 13 years since we first brought her home as an eight week old puppy. How, there never had been a plan to have a dog in our life, and yet, here she is, 13 years later . . .

A brief history of Athena . . . I was six months pregnant when I quit my job, and we happily moved from NYC to Virginia. Chris had started working a dream job for him, and I was going to start my dream job, of raising a family, and being able to stay home. We had been here for a little over 6 weeks, when we finally took our cars in for the state safety inspection. When we arrived at the gas station we discovered that it would be another hour at least before we could take our cars home. So being restless, I decided to head to the pet store in the shopping center. Thought I would see if there were any cute “puppies in the window.” Not to get one, but just to see cute puppies. After all, I was due to give birth in 9 weeks, and baby anything was on my mind. As it turned out, the pet store’s neighbor had an entire litter of puppies that had been born because Mama dog had been outside, and the Daddy dog was fast. (We’re still not 100% sure what kind of dog we have – we know for certain that she is at least part border collie). When I went back to Chris, I asked how he felt about getting a puppy. His response, “I will not condone, nor condemn getting a dog.” In other words, it would have to be my decision. After several trips between the pet store, and the gas station, with time to play with the puppy in between, and the same answer from Chris all three times that I asked, I decided to just jump right in and get a puppy. I mean, I had 9 weeks to get it housetrained, right? As it turned out, I only had six weeks. My oldest was born in October. Just as Fall was fully entrenched, and an icy winter loomed.

So 13 years ago this Fall, I found myself, with a puppy, and new baby, in a town where I only knew one person besides my husband. We lived in a third floor walk up apartment, and there weren’t too many children living there. There was only one other stay at home mom that I met in the entire apartment complex. As winter set in, I realize now, I was a perfect candidate for postpartum depression. But there was Athena. She was always there by my side. She loved taking long walks. It didn’t matter the weather, she wanted to be outside seeing the world. So there I was, baby wrapped up, in the stroller or in the carrier, Athena on a leash, and we would walk. We spent hours walking. Most days we walked at least five miles. Some days it would be close to ten.

It has hit me before, and it did again today. Athena pretty much saved me 13 years ago. She saved me from depression and from losing my mind by being at home with a new baby. She made me get out of the house. It also made me realize, that in her own way she is saving me yet again. No question about it, my children are the reason I get out of bed each morning. But there is something special about Athena.  Today was the first time in over ten months that I have really taken the time to walk outside. To think. To observe. To realize she was once again saving me from myself.

I took a walk today. I put one foot in front of the other. I kept moving forward. It isn’t always easy, but I did it.