Hatin' on the Grievers

“When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time -- the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes -- when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever -- there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.” 
― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany


A Prayer for Owen Meany has been one of my favorite books for nearly 20 years.  I named my oldest child Owen, something I decided long before he was born and before Owen became a popular name again.  I even got mom to read it; she pronounced it "weird."  We didn't really have the same taste in books.  But I came across this quote today and liked it.  


I've been sporadically attending a grief group on Thursdays and I have a confession to make.  I'm terrible at grief group.  In fact, I might be a sociopath or something.  Last week, there was a woman there and she began to cry.  So I'm feeling very sympathetic, and then... she started to talk.  It turns out that she lost her mother two years ago.  Her mother was 91.  She talked about the amazing bond they shared.  She talked about her last weeks and her last words.  I started crying too, but I discovered that what I really felt was HUGELY PISSED.  I toyed with the idea of actually saying out loud something to the effect of "Oh my God!  Would you please shut the f--- up!"  Nice, right?


Because in my twisted mind, she was awfully damn lucky.  My last words with my mom were something like, "can you hear me? Hello?  I don't think FaceTime is working..."  We both had new iPhones and were trying to figure out FaceTime.  We got cut off and when I tried to call her back, it went to voicemail.  That was Tuesday.  Wednesday we were skiing at Brighton and she texted me "Great photo of the girls." I texted back, "Thanks.  It's snowing now."  That's all.  Thursday morning she died.  What would I give for some loving last words?  What would I give for TWENTY-SEVEN more years?  The list is long.  


Of course it's all relative.  One of my son's classmates lost his father this weekend to cancer.  46 years before 91.  What would his kids give to have them at graduation, weddings, births?  My friend Anne lost her 7  year old son to cancer.  84 years too soon?  Or my dear sweet Brandy, who lost her daughter at one day?  90+ years that Emily didn't get to have.  


I know it's not my place and it's not right for me to judge this woman's loss, but I'm just really jealous of that "extra" time.  There is something so awful about accidents.  Death from an illness is wrenching; I know.  My second dad suffered the last months of his life from prostrate cancer and it was terrible.  Somehow though, I feel like I can't argue with an illness.  The battle was fought, and the battle was lost.  It seems so utterly ridiculous and cruel that my mom paid with her life because of where she stopped her car that morning.  Because she stopped for doughnuts.  Because she took a different route to the airport.  Because, because, because....


Clearly I need to go to the grief group some more.  Some of us are a bit more in the anger and bargaining crap than others.  Let's just hope I don't smack someone.

My pretty mommy

I discovered last night that the slide show put together for mom's visitation is online.  I had no idea, but the funeral home's website has a link to it.  This is the type of thing one learns when they are constantly Googling his or her mother's name.

Link:
Leslie Campbell Slide Show

I think you'll need to then click on "View Video Tribute"

Many friends who wanted to be in Iowa for her funeral couldn't make it due to cost and so I'm putting this link up for anyone who wanted to see.  About the songs - Kelsey and I chose them.  One word about that - we don't particularly like Celine Dion but, honestly, the words to "Because You Loved Me" fit mom so well.  As I've said before, mom raised us almost completely on her own.  She was our constant and our home.  So we did choose an obvious, sappy, cliched song - deal with it.

It's been more than seven months since she died and everyone was right.  It hurts just as much.  I'm just a little better at doing other things while hurting.

I hope you enjoy these photos as much as we did.  I haven't actually sat and watched the slide show since the visitation, so I'm going to do it at well.

Hello October!

I do not know why I feel so good this morning.  By all rights, I should not.  But I've learned, slowly, that when life feels good, you'd damn sure better sit up and take notice and appreciate it.

Mom's birthday is one week from today and I know that it's going to be really sad.  She'd have been 65.  It's another facet that feels so wrong to me - from now on our age gap is no longer fixed.  My mom will not remain 20 years older than I am; she will always be 64.  I hate that each day, she becomes a smaller percentage of my experiences.  Does that make any sense to you?  What if I don't want to move on?  What if it feels disloyal to not think of her very first thing, very last thing of each day?  It doesn't get easier, it's true.  But finding a way to live with it and just maybe, one day, finding a way to make it all make some difference, makes it tolerable.

This week I made an apology to someone I hurt in the past.  Sometimes amends are overrated.  I guess I was feeling so good about what happened in Houston and felt that anything was possible,  which is just not the case.  My warm and open feelings towards the truck driver and his wonderful family did not translate into this particular person finding much redeemable in ME, and it frankly hurt, which means I'm still not the magnanimous person I aim to be.  I wanted to defend myself, to expound, to say, "Oh yeah? Well what about this?  Did you know this?"  Being demonized is really not a lot of fun.  Dropping it is always a challenge for me.  My family says I'm like Claire on Modern Family - I always have to be right.  HUH UH!  Let me prove it to you..... haha.

I've done the best I could and I know I'm a passably good person.  If you can find me someone who, if his or her worst choices were public knowledge, wouldn't be ashamed, I'd be amazed.  I'm through letting my shortcomings and people who knew me from the darkest days of relapse define me because they never did and never will know the person I actually am.  Maybe amends ARE useful, if only for separating the wheat from the chaff in life's experiences.

I love my friends!  My husband!  My children!  My bigger family!  I am excited to be getting back on the horse of my life.  Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts,  library, reading, sunshine, exercise, grief group, recover, my dog!  Oops, I left out the cat.  Stupid cat.  Most likely I will end up in tears at some point today and that's okay too.  Most days I have a cry.  But if I start to have more hours without tears, that's a good thing and I'll take it.

Last night we went to watch this Champions of Tennis thing and got to see Agassi, Chang, Courier and Martin play and it was so fun!  Laughing, excited - and then tears falling when I remembered I couldn't call Mom later to tell her about it.  It just turns on a dime.  But for many months, I didn't even have the laughing and excited part happening, so it's a good thing.  Next week we have dinner with our excellent group of friends - Fall Harvest theme - and there is a lot to look forward to in the beauty of a Minnesota fall.  I'm going to bookmark this one to reread when I'm feeling like total crap next.

Outcomes

I've struggled with what to write about the events in Houston last week.  Six months after the accident, the criminal legal part has been resolved.  Now I feel a little at loose ends.  

I still don't know how to express well what happened in Texas.  I knew that however I imagined it in advance, nothing would really prepare me for what the reality would be.  I will be forever thankful that my aunt, my mom's beloved sister, came with me.  I thought it was something I "should" do alone, but it was all so crazy that I can't imagine now how that would have been.

I'm still not entirely ready to talk at length.  

But many people have been wondering and so very, very supportive, so here is a quick picture.  I think I have a lot to still process.

The hearing in Houston was before a judge, no jury.  The truck driver was charged with violating his probation for a previous felony charge.  On the day of the accident, he was driving on a revoked license.  As far as the accident goes, he wasn't speeding or under the influence.  He claimed my mother pulled out in front of him.  The police reconstruction did not agree, but without solid eyewitness testimony or gross negligence, there were not charges filed criminally in her death.  It was presented that he had a fairly significant driving history with several speeding, driving without insurance, and prior driving on a suspended charges.  Once warrants were issued on the driving charge and the revocation, he stopped reporting as required.

He pleaded "true" to the charge that he violated probation and witnesses were called by both sides.  The judge, in accepting this true plea, had several options: reinstating probation only or sentencing him using the sentencing guidelines of his original crime, which were 2-10 years.  The probation officer, the lead police investigator, and the driver all took the stand.  

The judge listened to closing arguments and then sentenced him to five years.

Those are the facts.  

Some of my reactions:

I thought I might faint when he walked in wearing his orange jumpsuit.  I was weeping.  Directly across the aisle, his mother and wife sat weeping.  When he took the stand, he was holding my mother's funeral brochure and sobbing.  After the sentencing, his family and ours spent time together, hugging!  Let me say that again!  Hugging and crying!  They were wonderful people.  

I don't know how much was for us and how much for himself, and really - I don't care.  There were things he and his lawyer said that I don't believe to be true.  But still, what I saw was another person afraid and genuinely suffering, a family in crisis, and it was awful.  A mother without a son, a wife without a husband, and worst - a teenage boy without a father for a minimum of 2 1/2 years.  I felt no joy whatsoever in this outcome.  On the other hand, if I were told I'd have my mom back in 2 1/2 years and could visit her, talk to her, and there was an end in sight to the separation, I'd be overjoyed.  

I then decided not to read my statement - it would have been after sentencing.  I wrote it with the idea that he would be nonchalant, even rude about the accident.  I wanted to make him feel sadness, to hammer home the horror of her death and the huge role she played in so many lives.  At that point, my instinct was to comfort, not to inflict more pain.  He asked to speak to us directly and we sat at a table, no glass between us, just out in the courtroom.  He had tears rolling down his face as he spoke to us.  At the end I held his hands, which were cuffed.  Who would ever have believed that?  Seriously?!  Really!  Never in my wildest dreams.  It was completely surreal.

I didn't expect to feel this way at all and it was one of the most emotional and human experiences of my entire life.  Not sure what to do with all of this.  I feel like I've visited another planet and come home different.  

Anyway, I just wanted to share some of this with the many people who have been so supportive and interested in what's going on.

I feel a lot of concern for his family - and for him.  Some people have said "it's not enough" but I have the feeling that Texas State Prison is not pleasant or easy and knowing that, however poor his judgment might have been, there was no intent to harm her, makes me okay with it and able to forgive and wish him well in the future.  There isn't any point in permanently ruining another person's life - a person who I really think has true sorrow and regret.  

Well this wasn't so brief after all.

Roller Coaster?

Don't get me wrong.  I LOVE a good metaphor.  I have a great one about how alchol to a drunk is spot-on like a  handsome yet awful and abusive ex-boyfriend that you just can't forget.  But grief-is-like-a-roller coast?  I think the mental health professional who coined that one went to the Dr. Nick school of psychology.  It's just lazy and completely inadequate.  Ups and downs? Yeah, got it.  You must have worked hours on that one.

So loss, especially sudden loss, is NOT like a roller coaster.  For starters, and most importantly, ummm, ROLLER COASTERS ARE FUN.  One boards a roller coaster willingly, except in those cases where your kid is making you get on some vomit-inducing thing where you'd rather be scrubbing toilets I guess.  But you still go by choice.  In fact, you'll pay mightily for the privilege, just ask those kind folks at Disney.  Next, you KNOW you are getting on the roller coaster.  You're not just going about your business and BAM you're suddenly at the top of a huge hill, plummeting downwards at 60 m.p.h. with no idea how you got there.  Roller coasters have an end, usually in about two minutes.  Most people can endure just about anything for two minutes.  Afterwards, one might say, "that was freakin' awesome!"  "Let's go again" or maybe, "that was horrible, so glad it's over, at least I can say I did it..."  No one who has been through the grief horror wringer is going to make any of those statements.

Maybe there isn't a good metaphor and that's the point.  There's simply no way to describe it properly.  I was thinking about all this during this week after Ryan Dunn (of Jackass fame) crashed his car and died.  His friend Bam was on TV saying he somehow knew, that he had some kind of premonition and started freaking out and trashing his car around the same time of the accident, thousands of miles away.  The day of my mom's accident, we had no such feeling and I thought that somehow we should have "felt" it.  We were in fact having a LOVELY, perfect day on vacation in Utah.  

We'd gone out for donuts at Banbury Cross (do yourself a favor if ever in Salt Lake and have the cinnamon - mom's favorite).  Then we took the kids to an amazing bowling alley that we had to ourselves (who bowls at 9:00 in the morning?)  We had a fantastic lunch and then went to Hatch Family Chocolates for ice cream.  Anyone seen the Little Chocolatiers?  It used to be on TLC, I think.  I had a nice chat with Steve, the husband, about the show.  They make a great vanilla bean ice cream served in dish with espresso and the kids were writing the word "geezer" in the steam from their breath on the window to the elderly (geezer) who cut in line in front of us.  Finally, we drove back to Kelsey's and didn't hit a red light the whole way.  This alone is miraculous - that ride can take 15 minutes and it took 5.  I commented on it to David because it was freakishly great.  I looked up driving directions while David packed our car with the ski gear for the drive to Eden for the long weekend at Snowbasin.  I was thinking they were pretty complicated and mom was going to need the map when she landed the next morning to join us.  I had loaded the snacks.  I was working on the refrigerator - eggs, I believe, when David's cell phone rang and our world fell apart.  The refrigerator stayed open for the next hour.  

It's weird, I can feel my adrenaline rising again just writing that.  That might be the only connection to roller coasters.  Because if this was anything like a roller coaster, I would say, "sorry, I'm not ready for this ride, I'm going to pass."

On this Father's Day...

I have to start by admitting Father's Day was never a big deal in my house until my husband became a father.  He is the #1 star of this day in my heart.  My children have THAT dad - the one who coaches soccer, takes memorable vacations with them, shows up for school events and conferences, comes home from work when he could go out with the boys, gets up in the night when they're sick, works on homework and projects.  I believe he's even tried to paint fingernails for the girls, but I could be imagining that.  David Heupel, you are the ideal father (and husband) and if I don't say it often enough, we hit the jackpot with you.  I love you.

Today I also honor my amazing Granddaddy.  He broke the mold for great guys for his two daughters and today I hate the fact that, at 90 years old, he will experience his first Father's Day without his Tiger, my mom, who brought him so much happiness.  He is such a strong force in our lives that I chose him to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day, despite the face that my real dad was still alive.

And my two dads... Never an easy thing to describe.  My real dad battled demons, which I inherited.  His wasn't an easy life and I know that he loved me the best he knew how.  He died in October of 2009 at 64.  What I miss is the annual calls on my birthday and the chance to ever really know him well.  It's a sad thing to say that he taught me what I didn't want in a husband and father, but it is true.  I don't resent him anymore at all; if anything I'm so sorry that he didn't have the chance to really live life fully.  He did the best he could with what he had to work with.  Rest in peace Daddy Mike.


My mom's second husband adopted me when I was six.  For a few years, things were nice.  I had two dads who loved me and wanted to be with me.  Unfortunately, in that time, often when a marriage ended, the fathering ended too.  I think he too did the best he could and he was a nice man, but again, the connection, the trust, the feeling that daddy was always there for us, wasn't there.  He died in 1996 and I always regret that we didn't keep the bonds closer.  I love him for his efforts and hope that he's at peace as well.

They say that girls marry their daddies - so not true in my case.  Perhaps what really took was what my Mom tried to instill.  She raised us, no sugar coating that, essentially alone.  My David has her gifts for compassion, interest in others, a strong work ethic and ability to try to always make things better.  What a strong woman to help me not make the same mistakes she made.

So Mom, Happy Father's Day to you.  Thanks for always being both parents to us.  It makes your absence that much harder to take.  I didn't realize until you were taken from us what it truly means to lose a parent.  I used to call my Mom on Father's Day, not my dad.  She earned and deserved it.

Lastly, though he doesn't deserve it, I hope that the man who killed my mom isn't arrested today - for his son's sake.  I don't want him to remember Father's Day as the day his dad went to jail.  He doesn't deserve that, any more than his dad DOES deserve that break.  I hope that the man thinks today about what it means to be a father, even when it's putting yourself in a tough situation because it's the right thing to do and showing your child that taking responsibility for our actions is part of being a good person.

Happy Father's Day to all of those doing the right thing, and Happy Father's Day to those who've failed to do the right thing.  Today can be a new day and it's never too late to be a better person.
Love the ones who need you the best you can.

Peace.

In Grateful Appreciation

Today I want to extend my sympathy to the family of Officer Kevin Will of the Houston P.D.  He worked in Vehicular Crimes and was a friend of my favorite police officer, who shall remain nameless so I don't embarrass him.

A link to the story follows:
http://abclocal.go.com/ktrk/story?section=news/local&id=8166018

Officer Will died on the same stretch of highway - the North Loop - as my mother, just a few miles away.  Many of the stories about his killing focus a great deal on the fact that the drunk driver who caused his death is an illegal immigrant.  I don't intend to touch that subject.  What I want to convey is my deep respect and gratitude to all those who take on a job that is much more dangerous than most realize.

It surprises me that the Boys in Blue are so often maligned, that people want to find reasons to hate the police as often as possible, without ever acknowledging the very difficult lives they've chosen.  I compare it to the military - low pay, dangerous conditions, uncertainty, disrupted lives, extreme stress and exposure to nightmarish and unforgettable scenes of death and damage... yet police are not often given the same level of respect and gratitude as our soldiers.  They have a never-ending mission that they're often forced to perform with their hands tied.

Look specifically at the case of Vehicular Crimes officers.  Their jobs are often performed in one of the most dangerous locations around - the side of the road.  Until my mother died, I never thought twice about Vehicle Crimes.  The work is slow, painstaking stuff, and most of the time, charges aren't filed.  Even when a driver is found to be at fault, there must be extenuating circumstances like drugs, alcohol, excessive speed, etc. for criminal charges to be filed.  How disheartening to see so many victims with no one being called to account for the carnage.

I can't begin to describe the level of patience, kindness, and hard work that I've seen from this department.  I am forever in its debt.  Today, if you see a police officer in your midst, why not shake his or her hand or buy them a cup of coffee if they are in line with you, just as so many do for our active military?  For these souls, it's not a tour of duty - it's an entire life choice.  For the family of Kevin Will, a choice that took away a husband and father far too soon.  Thank you to ALL who serve, here or around the world.

Absence

My thoughts are always so jumbled that it's not usually a lack of things I want to write about that keeps me from posting more often; it's too many things jumping around like a non-stop stream of consciousness.

I recently read Elizabeth Edwards' book Resilience.  It was a gift from my stepfather this past Christmas, and seems a bit of foreshadowing now, in light of her strong focus on the death of her son in a car accident.  John gave it to me with a note saying he thought of it for me because of my own resilience in the face of some significant challenges.  I only hope that I can continue to live up to that description, which I don't really feel worthy of in the first place.

One of the passages that really moved me was one in which she talks about the terrible adjustment after her son's death... "What I had to face was not something present, it was something absent.  And although we can escape something's presence, there is no way to escape its absence.  There was no place to go where he would not also be absent."  Wow.  In many ways, I know I have been trying to escape mom's overwhelming absence.  Because she was a victim, there is a lot of time to search for facts, to focus on fault, details, outcomes, etc.  It's very painful to deal with the concept of an accident, something avoidable, something that "shouldn't" have happened, as opposed to a medical issue, a breakdown of her health or something.  I know somewhere deep down I have had this silly idea that if I could "prove" a chain of events, if I knew everything, I could somehow take it back, make it not have happened.  Coming to terms with her absence is really, really tough.

I keep waiting for a "sign" - a little bird, a whisper, a nudge, a dream where she hugs me and tells me that she is okay, and it just doesn't come.  It makes me feel that she is so very gone and I hate it.  In fact, the only dreams I've had that my mom's friend and I think might be mom's doing are those in which I drink and something horrible happens - which I've had several times.  Mom was so vested in my sobriety and would know that this would provide a severe test, so maybe she sends me these to remind me of the dire consequences of relapse.  If so, thank you mom, but enough with the overkill!  You're freaking me out!

This weekend we will visit the Lake that my mom loved so well.  We have decades of beautiful memories there with her, though I honestly cannot remember the last time she actually got IN the lake.  She liked to curl up with a good book, make homemade ice cream, and just spend time laughing with her family.  There was always so much laughter.  It was wonderful to see her relationship with her parents, still with us and still happy after all these years.  I know that we would have had the same with her and it's a physical ache in my chest to know it's not a part of future now.

I bought a pot of her favorite flowers the other day - the periwinkle colored Hydrangeas - and they rest in the beautiful area of our family room that is filled with her things and her photos.  I love you Mom, so very, very much.   You cannot imagine how much you are missed.

The questions that have no answers

I haven't posted in a while.  Sometimes I have nothing to say and other times I have too much to say.  Unfortunately I have two settings, off and overdrive.  I'm working on finding medium.

Things have been racing through the brain, especially at night.  I think about a time in our lives when mom and I were on our best ground when living together- I think it was probably when we lived in our house on Erie in Cincinnati.  She had just divorced and I was a senior at Purcell.  I just loved that time.  I don't want to forget anything - like at Skyline: mom ordered 4-way onion, whereas I'm a 4-way bean gal.  For all intents and purposes, my mom was a single parent to my sister and me for the majority of our lives and having the girls' only house was really, really great.  I walk through the rooms of that house in my mind now, and more and more details come back.  I find myself asking why human emotion is so unbalanced - at least for me.  Joy, peace, happiness - they come in moments, in hours, and if I'm really lucky - days.  Depression, sadness, grief - they come in weeks, months, seasons.

I haven't been writing about the events in Houston for several reasons.  For those who are wondering, the case is still being completed on the investigation.  I can only say that I'm very glad I don't drive the streets of Houston.  Working within this vast, disjointed system has convinced me that some serious work needs to be done on the oversight of commercial drivers, the vehicles they operate, and the companies that put them on our highways.  When the time is right, I'll have more to say about that and might even decide to talk to some lawmakers in the great state of Texas.  People deserve to be safe on our nation's roads.  

Someone told me shortly after this happened that I would be surprised by the people who suddenly disappeared from my life and by those who suddenly stepped in and became a source of comfort and support.  True and true.  I know that I am a downer.  I understand people don't know what to say.  For some, I think it scares them, or maybe even gives them a sense of luck, of relief - if it happens to our family, it's not happening to theirs.  I used to feel that way about plane crashes - if there was one close to a time when I was going to be traveling, then OBVIOUSLY my plane would be just FINE!

Speaking of plane crashes, my mother once had a serious fear of flying, which she overcame to a remarkable extent.  She was able to fall asleep on planes prior to takeoff in her recent years.  My mom was SUCH a strong woman, such a survivor, and always able to find a positive in a bad situation.  I too was afraid and still have moments of nervousness.  Recently I had a dream that I was on a plane that was going down.  I've had those before, but always land safely, or wake up.  This time I dreamt through impact - we were diving straight into the ground and I was thinking "please don't hurt" - then we hit and it was instantly a blinding flash of white light.  I'm not sure what it indicates.  I also dream of being lost.  Of mom calling me or me phoning her but not being able to find each other.  I so want a dream where she wraps her arms around me and tells me everything is okay, but so far it's not happened.  Some of the dreams are so frightening and even gruesome that I can't share them here.  At any rate, it's tiring to have my day filled with sadness or longing and my nights filled with bad dreams.

My saving graces are family and friends - the things that matter in life.  My children continue to make me smile and have hope.  Lydia called Dave "Pa" last night - we are reading Little House in the Big Woods.  What a little ham.  Soccer games, Girl Scouts, movies - every time we do something like this together, it makes me believe just a little bit more that life can go on, even though it looks different now.  I have a few friends who call me, again and again, despite knowing I don't have a lot of sunshine to spread and I love them with all my heart for their persistence and belief in my resilience.

The sun shines in my neck of the woods this morning.  I'm trying to love my life as best I can.  And I am missing my mother through it all.  Peace.

Trying

When I ask myself, "what would mom want?" I am unsure of the answer.  I don't think this is a scenario she ever envisioned.  She worried about us and was always thinking about how to be helpful to other people - her family, her friends, those who worked for her.   I don't think she imagined not being in our lives.

The only thing I can think of is that she wouldn't want a part of us to die too.  It's felt that way; like the person I was is gone too, or badly damaged.  I have no spark, no sass, no funny left right now and I don't know how to reclaim any of it.  All I can do now is try - try to be the mom I was or need to be, the wife David needs, the friend she would be, the strong person that she believed in.

As soon as I finish this, I will turn off Desperate Housewives, clean up, do some laundry, and go have lunch with my daughters.  All I can do right now is try, and then try harder.  I know she believed in me, despite my failures and setbacks, and I don't want that faith to be misplaced.

Mom, I love you so much and I hope that somehow, you'll put your hand on my shoulder and push me a little (or put your foot on my butt and give it a kick when necessary).

I miss you every minute, pretty lady.  Stay close, please.

Feathers Brush My Heart

I'm reading a book called Feathers Brush My Heart, stories from women who have lost their mothers and their experiences afterwards of signs from their mom.  I look for signs every day.  I had one unusual experience the other day - who knows.  A bird flew into the glass door; I heard that telltale thunk sound.  It happens a few times a year and I didn't investigate immediately.  About 15 minutes later, I went outside for a cigarette (I know, I know - quit date is targeted for April 17th).  I looked down and in the snowbank by the door, I saw a bird's quivering tail, that's all.  It was buried in the snow and all that was showing was its tail and feet.  I got a shovel that we've been using to scrape ice from the deck and scooped it out, snow and all, thinking that it would do what most birds do: die shortly.  I gently dumped the bird out on the grass and as the snow fell away, it flew off.  I've never seen that happen - ever.

My sister told me that recently mom shared that she had been having dreams she was flying.  Not in an airplane, but flying on her own.  She told Kelsey that she LOVED the dreams, that it was so much fun!  It's a wonderful gift for a person who was once deathly afraid of flying.  Mom overcame a flying phobia years ago and got to visit so many exciting places.  She visited places like Guam and many South American countries for business - when there, she had to travel with an armed driver because of the kidnapping threat.  I think she found it pretty thrilling.  Mom and John traveled abroad a lot with friends and family.  Their last big trip was Italy and Greece.  

One thing I appreciate and love about my mom is that she truly was an optimist; not in the Pollyanna sense that all people are wonderful and every day is super-duper groovy.  But she believed that things could and would always improve and that no matter how dark and scary life sometimes could be, that the lows didn't stay low.  She was truly fearless, and when she WAS scared, she just picked herself up and went headlong into things until she wasn't afraid anymore.  She was just SO STRONG in so many ways.

Tomorrow the kids and I travel to Florida.  We booked these tickets eight days before mom died.  I'm happy to be in her place among her things, but am scared of how sad that might feel.  Most of the time, this still feels completely unreal and absurd.  How can someone we love this fiercely not be here?  I feel her presence and her memory in every second of the day.

Isn't she lovely..

Miss you mommy.  I am not having those brief moments some have where I forget that you're gone.  I fall asleep with it, I wake with it and it's always, always there.  I wish I could dream about you.  Last night I had my first dream with you in it, but it was at your funeral.  I need your voice and your laugh.

Quickly

1)  I feel pathetic that I have no followers.  I feel pathetic for feeling pathetic about that.

2)  I love that my husband gave me Laura Hillenbrand's (remember Seabiscuit) new book, Unbroken, for Christmas.  Clearly a book about World War II isn't my usual thing, but I love it.  It took me a little bit of time to get into it, but now that I have a few things stand out.

The level of sacrifice that everyone assumed during the war.  Everyone understood that actions have consequences.  War is ugly.  There is a cost.  Everyone was involved.  Today it's all so removed, so sanitary.  The ugliness is all kept far, far away and few people truly have a vested interest.

Reading about the horrors these people faced for months, years on end, makes me feel like a pampered little crybaby.  The fact that anyone made it home alive and with a functional mind left is incredible.  I take way too much for granted and spend far too much time being introspective.  Like worrying about the fact no one reads my blog.

Going light and non-controversial this morning... partly

I considered writing about Gabrielle Giffords and the other people shot in Tucson yesterday because my mind is so full words - loud words,angry words, sad words.  Instead I'm going to share my smoothie recipe with the modifications for Lydia.   Oh - I did put in my two cents on the gun thing at the end of this post.

I use this a lot after school and the kids love it.  Yes, it's a bit of a pain to get the stuff, but once the ingredients are on hand, not so much.  I've tinkered with it a lot but it's a winner for all three, which is rare.

Makes 3 16 oz. servings
1 1/2  to 2 cups Stonyfield Farm organic yogurt - strawberry or Banilla (both are low fat)
4 oz pomegranate juice - newer addition, sub o.j. if  desired
2 oz orange juice
6-8 ice cubes
1 cup frozen organic strawberries
2 frozen bananas (I buy them, peel them, break them in chunks and store in a big ziploc bag)

Blend it!  Pour out 2 servings for those who DON'T need to gain weight.
ADD:
1 Tablespoon avocado oil
1/2 to 3/4 packet Carnation breakfast essentials, vanilla flavor

This bad boy has 350-400 calories for Skinny Minnie and only about 175 for the other two - less than a comparable amount of chocolate milk for example and with much more good stuff.  Add blueberries, mango or whatever else strikes their (or your) fancy.

I fought the urge and have failed so I just want to say this:  Guns don't kill people; people kill people.  Uh... WITH GUNS.  It's about easy access and impulse so much of the time.  Could Jared Loughner have stabbed Representative Giffords?  Well sure!  Could he have stabbed 18 other people in that span of time.  Hell no!  Could the 12 year-old son (that's right, TWELVE) of a dear friend's secretary have hung himself rather than killing himself with a family hunting rifle because of a breakup with a girl?  Of course.  Might he have been less inclined to do so with a less-instantaneous and irrevocable option?  Well, that one, unfortunately, we will just never know.

I'm so sick of hearing about gun deaths, and not "sick of" as in "bored with" - like "I'm sick of doing laundry" for example.  Sick to my stomach, sick at heart, sick with the endless losses.  When will we wake up and demand better of and for people?

What's been happening for the last 16 months...

I can't possibly cover all this ground.  Let's see... I relapsed, acted crazy, had horrible experiences and traumatized those who love me, went to outpatient rehab, started and quit smoking again, went back to AA, tried to get my shit back together and have hopefully gotten myself and my family on solid footing again.  There is a lot of very writeable material in that period, but current events are just more pressing. 

Let's talk about Lydia!  Did you know that a 7 year-old could receive treatment at an eating disorder center.  Well I did not!  I cried when we were referred there; though I know in my head that we've tried everything, it still feels like a colossal failure on my part.  This has not been a fun journey.  BUT... she gained some weight this week, and tonight she hit 40 pounds on our home scale - first time EVER.  I am too tired to do this tonight I think, but I felt like if I didn't start posting on here again soon, I would forget again.  The curse of my short attention span.

It may be that no one ever reads this, and that's fine too.  I feel scattered and sad tonight, so outraged and sickened by the shootings in Tucson today.  This country is in deep, deep trouble. 
Sweet dreams to anyone out there...