Chicken

I have a confession to make. Deep down inside, I’m a complete chicken. (Pretty sure this is not a compliment to chickens). But truthfully, I must admit, I’m a big chicken. The list of things that I am afraid to do is rather staggering when I really stop to think about it. I’m afraid of heights, small spaces, and confrontations. I’m afraid of messing up my children, failing at work, and just all around letting people down. (I should add . . . this is just the short list!)

So why am I pondering this today? Maybe, because today is just a day, like any other day this winter.  Laundry needs to be washed and put away, the house needs to be vacuumed, and my children’s rooms are in a constant state of chaos. The sun is trying to shine, the snow is trying to melt, and I am trying to face something head on that I really don’t want to do today. So it’s not really just another day. The odd part about it is, that what I need to face today is something that I have always enjoyed in the past. I have to face “Soup Night” with my neighbors.

What is Soup Night, you ask. Well, let me tell you. It is a night when all the neighbors get together for an evening of food and fun. I can’t even tell you when it all began, but I’m thinking it’s been around for 8-10 years now. (Neighbors reading this, please let me know if you remember). As I recall, it started around Halloween. We had one neighbor that would have a Halloween party before trick-or-treating. The children would all come in costume, eat yummy treats, and then go collect candy. Most of the parents would have a beer or some wine, and then follow the children around the neighborhood. Definitely a win-win for everyone involved. At some point, we all realized that we were all making large amounts of comfort food for our families, and what everyone was making, sounded delicious to all of the neighbors. Someone then had the brilliant idea that there should be a party for the adults as well as the children for Halloween. So Soup Night was created . . . a treat party for the children to begin the night, trick-or-treating and then top the night off with homemade food. At some point a fire-pit was added to the mix, and so we would have all the food in one house, and the fire-pit outside. People wandered inside and out enjoying the food, but most especially the company. I would usually make chili. One neighbor makes the most amazing homemade rolls I believe any of us have ever had. Another neighbor has a fabulous recipe for gumbo. You get the idea . . . lots of delicious food, spending time with good friends and neighbors, and everyone gets to try new foods!

As time moved on, and Halloween did not fall on a weekend, it was agreed that it was hard to have a late night in the middle of the week. So Soup Night became a moveable night. If Halloween landed in the middle of the week, Soup Night would usually fall on a Saturday night. The children were also getting older, and many were involved with sports on Saturday mornings. It has been a challenge to have a late night on a Friday anymore!

These have all been good times. Certain foods have been requested year after year (I did mention the rolls, right?) Funny stories and inside jokes have emerged from our late nights together. Large amounts of food, too many candy corns, and probably too many beers have been shared amongst everyone. Some neighbors have moved, but friendships have remained. We have had new neighbors move in, who we are now lucky to call friends. So, why would I want to avoid heading to Soup Night tonight?

Because the last Soup Night this neighborhood had was November 3, 2012. Emails had been going between everyone all week. Recipes were discussed as we sat outside Halloween night handing out candy. Chris had purchased wood and stored it in the trunk of his car for the fire-pit. The children were excited to have s’mores and to stay up way past their bedtime. Chris did a last minute trip to the grocery store, to make sure I had all the fresh ingredients for the chili I made every year. I even took a nap, as I knew I would be exhausted by the time Soup Night was to begin. When I woke, Chris was at soccer practice with MK, and the other two were playing in the basement. I set to work on the chili, and had just put it in the oven when the phone rang.

I had known for quite some time that I lived in a pretty special neighborhood. There had been emergencies in the past that had brought everyone together. But this was unexpected and unwelcome. When I hung up the phone, I ran next door to my neighbor to let her know that I had to leave, and to please take my children and take care of them. And, oh by the way, the chili would be ready in two hours. Would she please take it out of the oven, and bring it over to soup night for me? For the rest of the evening, and into the night my neighbors took care of my children. They watched over what they ate to make sure it was free of allergens. They let them play and I think watch movies with all of the other children there. The adults knew the truth, and they let my children have one more evening of the life they had always known. They kept them safe and feeling loved.

So that brings us to today, February 16, 2014. We aren’t anywhere near Halloween time right now, or November 3. It was agreed upon this past Fall, that we all still wanted to do a Soup Night, but I knew I just couldn’t do it in the Fall. It would have just been too much. All day I have had the feeling that I wouldn’t be able to do it today either. Too many memories, too many emotions just too close to the surface, and it feels like they may come forth at any moment. All that being said, I know that I will be doing it. The children are already dressed. The brownies have been made, and the baked ziti will be in the oven shortly. All I need to do now is get dressed in something other than pjs, gather everyone and everything together , and cross the street to my friends’ home. After all, the chicken does it all the time. 

Certainly, I can too.

First Christmas

A few months ago, the children decided that we should skip November altogether. Really there was no reason to acknowledge it, as nothing good came of it last year. So they started referring to November as our “first December.” I have to say, I was rather okay with the idea. I might have pointed out that it could cause some confusion at school, so it was decided that November could exist at school, just not at home.

As first December rapidly approached, my youngest had an idea, and began to make plans. She announced to us all, that since we would be having two Decembers, we would need to celebrate Christmas two times. However, for the first Christmas, everything you wanted to give to someone in the family had to be handmade. There were several times when she told us we were not allowed in the basement, as she was working on gifts for us. I honestly did not know what she was making, and I really didn’t think that the idea would last all the way to the end of November. (Seeing as I have children who never let go of an idea, I’m not really sure why I ever doubted she would see the plan through). When it was realized that the 25^th of our first December fell on a Monday, it was decided that in order for us to truly enjoy our first Christmas, we would celebrate the day after Thanksgiving. That way, they would not have to go to school on Christmas day.

On a side note, emotionally speaking, the week of Thanksgiving sucked. Last year during the holidays we were all still in a state of shock. Which allowed us to make it through the holidays in a rather numb condition. We made all the appropriate motions to make it through the holidays, but I can’t say that any of us clearly remember them. So it was more like this year was going to be our first Thanksgiving without Chris. We were all missing him in our own way, and everyone was out of sorts.

Fast forward to the morning before Thanksgiving . . . my youngest came upstairs and placed three boxes on the coffee table. I should add here, my middle one is the one who actually made the boxes. She took paper, and origami style folded the boxes for her sister to use to wrap gifts. Then the youngest added glitter and drawings to the boxes. My first thought, those are really cool looking, and I was amazed by the amount of time that had gone into making the boxes. My second thought, where in the world had the glitter come from? And as realization hit, oh, (bleep) she used the glitter in the basement. It’s never going to come out of the carpeting! Luckily, I only commented on the first thought.

With the bringing up of the boxes, it dawned on me quite clearly, that she had gone to a lot of trouble in wanting to make this first Christmas special, and I had made absolutely NOTHING. I should point out now that I am not a crafty person. These traits were handed down to my children from my Mom and Grandma, but skipped me. My crafts come from a point of waiting until the last possible moment, and hoping inspiration strikes. Luckily for me, I came across a felt craft kit for making Christmas ornaments, that I had purchased last Christmas for the children. Apparently I had never given it to them, as it was still sealed and on a shelf in a closet. I opened it hungrily for ideas. Thankfully I did see some ornaments that I assumed I could make, and then realized there was not enough felt to actually make them. A trip to the craft store was added to my list of errands to run before Thanksgiving, where I was able to pick up enough felt and ribbon for ten projects. I was leaving room for error.

This all being stated, I have to admit, that I did not actually begin making the Christmas tree ornaments until late Thanksgiving night. Thankfully I left room for error, as there were several false starts! After multiple hours of cutting felt, sewing, and I admit, some cursing (I loathe sewing), I finished three passable ornaments. They aren’t Pintrest worthy, but I liked the finished product. So I wrapped them in tissue paper, and placed them next to the boxes that were on the coffee table.

As it turns out, our first Christmas was celebrated in the afternoon. The youngest knew her brother and sister had not made anything. So she told them that a note to the family or to each other was okay too. It didn’t have to be an actual gift, and if we waited until the afternoon to celebrate, that would give them enough time to finish.  When it came time to celebrate, my youngest was the one to lead the event. We all sat down together on the couch and love seat. My youngest sat next to me with a shoebox on her lap. On the box, in bold letters she had written “DO NOT OPEN.” She decided that we should begin with handing out the boxes that had gifts in them. So we all opened up the boxes to find new bracelets made on a rainbow loom, and braided bookmarks she had made out of yarn. Being Mom, I actually received three bracelets, one with a charm. All of us immediately put on our new accessories. Then she said that the gifts that I had made could be opened.  Luckily, the children seemed pleased that they would have new ornaments to hang on the tree this year. She then told her brother and sister they could hand out the cards that they had made. Each had a picture they had drawn, and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas.

It was at the end that my youngest opened up the shoebox that she had told everyone else not to open. In it lay a stack of cards that she had written. It is quite apparent to me, that 7 year olds are much more observant and wiser than many give them credit for . . .

A card for her brother, who LOVES to read:

Baby girl, you, your brother, and your sister are definitely far more precious than anything in the world. 

And a card for me:

Baby girl, you are right, it is hard, but we aren't going to let grief win. 

One year ago

A year ago today was Chris’s funeral. The children and I had to say a final good-bye. Our family and friends were there to support us, and to have their chance to say good-bye as well. The week leading up to the funeral was daunting to say the least. It was made smoother with the support of family and friends that arrived. Some came with food. Others came with hugs. All arrived with love. It was an overwhelming experience.

While planning the funeral, I did consult with the children on what they wanted to happen. I had to realize that the funeral was for all of us. Although they were only 12, 10, and 6, it was important to know their thoughts and feelings on how best to say good-bye to Daddy. It was during one of our conversations, that the 10 year old said she wanted to read a poem at the funeral. I’m not really sure why it surprised me, but it did. I tried to tell her that it was a lovely idea, but really, she didn’t have to do that. She stood strong, and said she needed to do it. I told her okay, and that if she needed me, I would stand beside her while she read it. She said that would be fine. Then she floored me when she asked me what I would be saying at the funeral. In reality, I had not thought about speaking at the funeral. I am terrified of public speaking, afraid of making a mistake, afraid of being an embarrassment, and being in a rather emotional state, I did not think it would be the best of ideas. But trying to explain those weaknesses to a 10 year old, who was looking at me with quiet expectation, just wasn’t going to fly. So I agreed, that if she thought I should speak at the funeral, then I would.

So today, my post is a reflection of last November 10. At the funeral, the minister spoke first, followed by my mother in law, then my 10 year old, and finally me. When it was her turn, my 10 year old walked to the microphone at the front of the church. When I asked her if she would like me to join her, she gave her head a small shake to tell me no. She stood tall, and stood alone. She was truly amazing, as she spoke clearly and without hesitation. I know I was so very proud of her, and I know Chris was too.

This is what she read:

Where the Sidewalk Ends, by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight

To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

And the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

I have to admit, that following her was a challenge. But I knew what her expectation was. Her faith in me was much too important, and there was no way for me to turn away from it. I know that I drew strength from her faith in me. Now, looking back on what I wrote, I don’t think I would change anything. I do know I added a few things as I read it aloud that afternoon. But it all comes down to the simple fact that Chris was my friend, and he is the man that I love.  

So this is what I had to say a year ago:

So I have had a week of thinking of things to say today. I have had so many thoughts in my head as to what would be the best. It all felt like it was too much to say, or not adequate at all. 

I thought of talking about the many titles Chris had . . . son, brother, friend, SC Trojan, husband, Dad. I thought of reassuring all of our family and friends that seriously, Chris never wore the title of spy. 

I thought of sharing how I used to tease him about saving the world. I would call him at work to ask him to pause in saving the world and come home in time for dinner. I was actually cooking. I find out now, that in truth, he really was out saving the world. He had a passion for it, and most of us will never realize the impact he has had on the world.

There were thoughts of what an amazing family man Chris was. From the time N came into our lives, he was an integral part in all of his children’s lives. Everything from changing diapers to homework, playing puzzles, baseball, and soccer. He even learned how to put MK and B’s hair into ponytails. He attended parent teacher conferences, back to school nights, dance recitals, school assemblies, and school board meetings.

Then I thought about when we first met at school in California. We were first friends, and an amazing love followed.

But then I realized that all of these things could not begin to explain such an extraordinary, complex man, who had a passion for his family, his work, his Southern California Trojans, and Life.

So then I decided that I would rather share a poem that we both liked, and maybe that would scratch the surface of all my thoughts and feelings for Chris:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears of all my life! – and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

(Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

A First to Remember

There are days when everything is moving quickly, and the to-do list is as long as the laundry pile is high, and then you make the mistake of sitting down. You think that you will sit for just a moment to catch your breath before the next item is crossed off your list, before the next phone call is made to set the next appointment, before you realize that you have been going for several hours, and maybe you should eat breakfast, even though it is now lunch time. You also know that you are fooling yourself, because as soon as you sit down, you are going to have time to pause. Time to think.

That is where I find myself this afternoon. I made the mistake of sitting down. Sitting on my couch, looking around the room. Realizing that it has been one year since Hurricane Sandy made it’s way up the East Coast, and wreaked havoc in so many communities. Hard to believe when I look outside on this beautiful afternoon, with one single pink rose on the rose bush, that a year ago the skies were dark, school was canceled, as was work for Chris. I’m also realizing that although I was stressed a year ago because of the storm (I really don’t like “weather events” of any kind) that as a whole we were doing okay. The children were happy because we let them play video games to their hearts content since they weren’t in school, and it would have been a poor decision to play outside at the time. Chris and I were together on the couch, as we worked on a puzzle of the Space Shuttle Columbia.

It’s the part about the puzzle that is coming so clearly to mind today. I know that it was the puzzle of the Space Shuttle Columbia at takeoff, (we have multiple puzzles of space), because it lists it’s take-off date and the disaster date, which happened to be my 30^th birthday. We had had a brief discussion about it. Our discussion that evening went from there to further back in time, to the first October 29 that we knew each other.

October 29, 1992, was the night of our first kiss. Yes, we actually recalled our first kiss. After all, it was a leg-popping kiss, and I have to admit, I knew then, he was the one for me. (It only took 5.5 years to get to the alter . . . didn’t want to rush!) A year ago we were laughing about that evening. What had been going though our minds that night . . . our friends’ reactions when they realized we were a couple. Then the realization that last year marked 20 years since we had shared that first kiss. Since I was 19 when we first kissed, I teased him that we had been together as a couple for over half my life, and I wasn’t really sure what I thought about that. We also spoke about where our 19 and 20 year old minds thought we would be in 2013. I’m pretty sure neither one of us had pictured us waiting out a super-storm in Virginia, as we put together a puzzle and our children laughed while playing sports on a video game.  Honestly, I’m not sure my 19 year-old mind really ever did have an image of us in the future, other than us growing old together.

So now, as I am writing this, I am thinking maybe it wasn’t a mistake to sit down and take the time to think. The laundry pile and the to-do list are still there. But now, I have a cherished memory in my mind as I go about the rest of my day.

And I have a single pink rose, blooming outside my window that I have taken the time to notice.

Just a Few of My Thoughts

Grief is one of the oddest, and most confusing of emotions. And unfortunately too many of my friends have experienced heart breaking loss in their lives. It seems especially in the last year. Now I know that I am not an expert, but over the last 11 months, I have been given some amazing advice, as well as have learned things on my own in regards to grief, like things not to tell someone. So if you would like to know a few of my thoughts, please continue reading . . .

Grief does not only come from the death of a person. A person can grieve for many reasons, including (but not limited to) a loved ones death, because of a divorce, a loss of a job, moving, or even children going away to college. People grieve, because a major part of their life has been significantly changed.

No two people will grieve the same. There are those that will be demonstrative of their emotions in public, and others that will not. No one has the right to judge the person and how they do/do not display their grief. It is an individual’s right to choose how they will express their grief.

Never tell a grieving person that someone else’s “grief is a 1000 times worse than yours. “ (Yes, this was actually said to me). This goes back to no two people grieve the same. A person who is grieving may look completely fine on the outside, and act just like they always have in public, but you have no idea what happens in their mind or in their home. There is no comparing when it comes to grief. 

Be gentle with yourself. This is the most often heard, and yet the hardest to follow. I’m still trying to learn how to do this.

Give yourself time. For some people (like me), a checklist is needed for things. However, there is no checklist for grieving. There is no box to check to say, “okay, I’ve gotten through denial, I’m ready to move on to anger.” This is because there is no order in grieving. You can feel an entire range of emotions all at the same time, or one emotion for an extended period of time.

Never tell a person that they should “be over it by now.” There is no time limit on grief. To people who say this, I would like to smack you in the head.

For those with grieving children, hug them, but only when they want to be hugged. Let them know that you are there to listen when they are ready to talk. Just because they can go laugh and play, does not mean they are finished grieving. Children have their own way and time of processing information.

Laugh. Smile. Enjoy life. Seriously. These are actually incredibly difficult to do after the loss of a loved one. The first time I laughed, I felt guilt. I can honestly say that there are days when I do still feel guilt. Chris should still be here to hear the laughter of our children, and to share in the new inside family jokes. But when I do feel that guilt, I have to talk myself out of it, and remind myself, he would want us to be Living.

And finally, as my 11 y/o added after she read this . . . talk about the person who is gone. They may not be here with us physically on earth, but they live on in our hearts and in our stories. 

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.