Sometimes still, after all this time, it is too much. I sit and can't understand what happened, how he could really be gone, and how I am never going to hear his voice again.
To make it real I inevitably think of seeing his body, which is horrible. Horrible that it was a body, that it was my brother's body, and that my mind goes there because that was the most real moment of his death. It was a nightmare out of a poem that we stood in the morgue on Father's Day and looked at his face hovering in front of us on the closed captioned TV screen they now use for next-of-kin to identify bodies. We knew cerebrally he was in there but before the screen flipped on I know our souls were screaming for it to be a mistake and to see some other young mans face appear. It was Brendan, unmistakeably B with his messy curly blonde hair. He had a bruise on his cheek, his mouth was slightly open, as were his eyes. He didn't look asleep, as processed bodies almost do, he just looked dead. You couldn't see the bright beautiful blue-gray color of his eyes, but they weren't cloudy or creepy. They just weren't anything.
I had to eventually ask the old sad man who was working alone in the morgue on Father's Day to please turn it off. I was crying and I said something about yes it was him and what were we supposed to do and please turn it off, and I remember feeling like I had to because I was the only one not sitting on the couch in the room and I could feel my family crumbling behind me. Later in the car my mom said she though Brendan looked like a picture of Jesus on the screen, because his hair formed this gold halo around his face. He did. He'd laugh at me for saying that.
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
04 January 2011
07 December 2010
I don't know what my first memory of my sister is, but I like to tell people it's the time when I was still a baby and she, a toddler, was holding me on her lap, and she leaned over as if to kiss me but instead bit my ear. (She describes it now as if she meant to show me, her baby sister, affection, but was overcome by a wave of jealousy that somehow manifested into an ear bite.)
Megan is two years and twenty days older than me; she was born on my parents 10th wedding anniversary and I like to think many of her personality traits reflect the manner in which she was conceived: planned, organized, calculated, logical... (She will think I'm teasing there, but really, they are traits that I wish I carried more strongly. Or at all.) My growth spurt and puberty hit not long after hers did (I think because I was always trying to catch up and play with the big girls, maybe my body took a cue) and I used to make people guess who was older, and giggle with glee when they guessed me. In reflection, I shouldn't have been surprised many years later when after a couple bottles of wine my sister mentioned casually how much she hated me in high school.
Megan didn't go to college right away; instead, she went to South America and worked with orphans, learned Spanish, ate lots of street food, and got her first tattoo. Then she went to college, which included a year in Africa as well as a return trip to Bolivia to research her undergraduate honors thesis, and graduated about six months before I did. The years between then and now included two in the Peace Corps, three getting two masters degrees from an ivy-covered school in the Northeast, and lots of travel.
If Megan and I hadn't had Brendan to balance us out I think we may have actually hurt each other in middle or high school. He was often a little shit, but he was our little shit, and we loved him more than anything, and that was often the one thing we knew we had in common. The morning that Brendan died, and I called my sister after hanging up with my parents, knowing she already knew and dreading what we had to do, I remember holding on to the phone and listening to her sob and telling her I loved her over and over. We knew from that moment that the only way to survive was together. It still is, and we are, and we do.
Last Friday at 5 a.m. my parents and I put Megan on a bus to Chicago to get on a plane headed to Indonesia. She'll be there a few months certainly, most likely a year or two, or more. She's in Jakarta now, I've gotten a text and a couple emails, and all is well. I miss her terribly.
Megan is two years and twenty days older than me; she was born on my parents 10th wedding anniversary and I like to think many of her personality traits reflect the manner in which she was conceived: planned, organized, calculated, logical... (She will think I'm teasing there, but really, they are traits that I wish I carried more strongly. Or at all.) My growth spurt and puberty hit not long after hers did (I think because I was always trying to catch up and play with the big girls, maybe my body took a cue) and I used to make people guess who was older, and giggle with glee when they guessed me. In reflection, I shouldn't have been surprised many years later when after a couple bottles of wine my sister mentioned casually how much she hated me in high school.
Megan didn't go to college right away; instead, she went to South America and worked with orphans, learned Spanish, ate lots of street food, and got her first tattoo. Then she went to college, which included a year in Africa as well as a return trip to Bolivia to research her undergraduate honors thesis, and graduated about six months before I did. The years between then and now included two in the Peace Corps, three getting two masters degrees from an ivy-covered school in the Northeast, and lots of travel.
If Megan and I hadn't had Brendan to balance us out I think we may have actually hurt each other in middle or high school. He was often a little shit, but he was our little shit, and we loved him more than anything, and that was often the one thing we knew we had in common. The morning that Brendan died, and I called my sister after hanging up with my parents, knowing she already knew and dreading what we had to do, I remember holding on to the phone and listening to her sob and telling her I loved her over and over. We knew from that moment that the only way to survive was together. It still is, and we are, and we do.
Last Friday at 5 a.m. my parents and I put Megan on a bus to Chicago to get on a plane headed to Indonesia. She'll be there a few months certainly, most likely a year or two, or more. She's in Jakarta now, I've gotten a text and a couple emails, and all is well. I miss her terribly.
18 June 2010
Across The Park and Two Decades
Two weeks ago I was celebrating the last single days of my best friend.
We helped her marry her best friend, a man I wouldn't have imagined her with and cannot now imagine her without.
I grew up a half a block away from her family, I've been scolded and celebrated by her mom as I have my own, we've cried and laughed together more times than can be counted, and now she's with the man she is going to make a family with.
Her brother and sisters have children now, beautiful blonde, funny, smart little kids that I couldn't help but stare at. These kids that shared the park with me are now adults, beautiful and handsome, raising kids that I actually want to be around.
I spent these weeks thinking about what is really important. This life is short, and this life is now. If I am always waiting for it to start, I'm not really living am I? What's really important is not what grand imaginations I entertained since I was a teenager, but rather what makes me feel good, what calms me, what brings me safety and celebration now.
I want to leave my imprint on the world in a way that will carry love forward past when I am gone. I want to be a mother. I want to raise children to be better and smarter and happier than have ever been.
It is said that friends are the family you choose, and I'd choose her and the whole clan from across the park over and over again.
We helped her marry her best friend, a man I wouldn't have imagined her with and cannot now imagine her without.
I grew up a half a block away from her family, I've been scolded and celebrated by her mom as I have my own, we've cried and laughed together more times than can be counted, and now she's with the man she is going to make a family with.
Her brother and sisters have children now, beautiful blonde, funny, smart little kids that I couldn't help but stare at. These kids that shared the park with me are now adults, beautiful and handsome, raising kids that I actually want to be around.
I spent these weeks thinking about what is really important. This life is short, and this life is now. If I am always waiting for it to start, I'm not really living am I? What's really important is not what grand imaginations I entertained since I was a teenager, but rather what makes me feel good, what calms me, what brings me safety and celebration now.
I want to leave my imprint on the world in a way that will carry love forward past when I am gone. I want to be a mother. I want to raise children to be better and smarter and happier than have ever been.
It is said that friends are the family you choose, and I'd choose her and the whole clan from across the park over and over again.
16 March 2010
Tomorrows
I've been thinking a lot about what's next.
I am ready for a transition to something more, but what that will look like is still very fluid and fuzzy.
The most difficult part of any change, for me, is the way it changes my relationships with people. In the last couple months I have been savoring moments with people a little more deeply, and a little sadly. Part of this is because I am not talking about what might come next with more than a very close handful - really, those that would be affected directly. Intentionally not discussing a topic does not come naturally to me. If something is there, on my mind or imminently present in some way, you can usually bet I'll have some words on it.
In the last week my demons of insecurity of loneliness have been especially pungent. Ironically, because I have been really busy with work and socially and have been around people more than in the average week. I think maybe that's the crux of it - the more I feel fulfilled and stimulated socially and emotionally, the more difficult it seems it will be to decide to leave.
I am taking a day off today and so far I've done exactly what I wanted to do, which was nothing. I slept a long time, and am more or less still in bed into the afternoon. Letting my mind wander as I search birdcage veils and watch Friday Night Lights on the internet is what I needed; rather than putting off thinking about hard things or making hard decisions, it's actually letting my mind relax into itself. My mother has told me on several occasions that she knows when I'm making a big decision, or figuring out a problem, because I won't talk about it and I'll go more or less radio silent for a time, and when I do surface I'll have some answers.
I found a moment of acceptance in my bed meditation today. Wherever I go, be it down the road or a continent away, I will still be with myself. My insecurities, my demons that I've been dancing with as long as I can remember, are likely to stay with me. So let those not guide my path. Let these decisions be made based on what I know about me and my abilities rather than what I fear.
I am ready for a transition to something more, but what that will look like is still very fluid and fuzzy.
The most difficult part of any change, for me, is the way it changes my relationships with people. In the last couple months I have been savoring moments with people a little more deeply, and a little sadly. Part of this is because I am not talking about what might come next with more than a very close handful - really, those that would be affected directly. Intentionally not discussing a topic does not come naturally to me. If something is there, on my mind or imminently present in some way, you can usually bet I'll have some words on it.
In the last week my demons of insecurity of loneliness have been especially pungent. Ironically, because I have been really busy with work and socially and have been around people more than in the average week. I think maybe that's the crux of it - the more I feel fulfilled and stimulated socially and emotionally, the more difficult it seems it will be to decide to leave.
I am taking a day off today and so far I've done exactly what I wanted to do, which was nothing. I slept a long time, and am more or less still in bed into the afternoon. Letting my mind wander as I search birdcage veils and watch Friday Night Lights on the internet is what I needed; rather than putting off thinking about hard things or making hard decisions, it's actually letting my mind relax into itself. My mother has told me on several occasions that she knows when I'm making a big decision, or figuring out a problem, because I won't talk about it and I'll go more or less radio silent for a time, and when I do surface I'll have some answers.
I found a moment of acceptance in my bed meditation today. Wherever I go, be it down the road or a continent away, I will still be with myself. My insecurities, my demons that I've been dancing with as long as I can remember, are likely to stay with me. So let those not guide my path. Let these decisions be made based on what I know about me and my abilities rather than what I fear.
10 February 2010
I got my Valentine's Day package from Mom and Dad today...
And it reminded me of a few things...
Love is scratching out the "I" on the Valentine's Day card you send your children so it says "We", because it's from Mom and Dad.
Love is sending candy for every Halloween, Valentine's Day, and Easter, no matter where your children are in the world, no matter that postage costs more than the goodies inside. (It's also, for that matter, sending Girl Scout cookies even though the daughter says she doesn't want them because she's getting fat.)
Love is leaning over your adult daughter as she cries in her bed, not asking why, and touching her hair and saying "You are loved."
Love is parking at the airport, walking your daughters into the airport, and then waiting outside the rope at the security line just so you can wave until they are through.
Love is scratching out the "I" on the Valentine's Day card you send your children so it says "We", because it's from Mom and Dad.
Love is sending candy for every Halloween, Valentine's Day, and Easter, no matter where your children are in the world, no matter that postage costs more than the goodies inside. (It's also, for that matter, sending Girl Scout cookies even though the daughter says she doesn't want them because she's getting fat.)
Love is leaning over your adult daughter as she cries in her bed, not asking why, and touching her hair and saying "You are loved."
Love is parking at the airport, walking your daughters into the airport, and then waiting outside the rope at the security line just so you can wave until they are through.
30 November 2009
Give Me My Cookies
While I was made aware of sex and relationships and the potential consequences, physical and otherwise, from an early age, my parents didn't get too far into the "It can feel really good" portion of the discussion. (They did like to make us squirm with the "It doesn't really get good til you're 40" comments, but I digress And gag a little.)
Maybe because it was assumed I had already figured that out at some point between getting a time-out for kissing boys on the playground in kindergarten, getting a time-out for sitting on boys laps in 7th grade, or getting grounded at various points during high school for various boy-related violations.
Laundry Girl's mom apparently filled her in on that part too. (Please click on that link, especially if you're a straight man.) Wise, wise, wise words. It's all about how everyone should get their cookies, and since the encounter usually has a way of winding down after the boy finishes his, that it's only appropriate and polite that he makes sure the girl gets hers first.
This may explain why LG was always one of my few friends who seemed to know the in's and out's (pun intended) of getting down and dirty, not just the did-you-or-didn't-you technical details. If I would have prescribed earlier to her Mom's way of thinking maybe I would have put up with much less poor-effort-sex over the last decade, and really, the less of that in the world the better.
Maybe because it was assumed I had already figured that out at some point between getting a time-out for kissing boys on the playground in kindergarten, getting a time-out for sitting on boys laps in 7th grade, or getting grounded at various points during high school for various boy-related violations.
Laundry Girl's mom apparently filled her in on that part too. (Please click on that link, especially if you're a straight man.) Wise, wise, wise words. It's all about how everyone should get their cookies, and since the encounter usually has a way of winding down after the boy finishes his, that it's only appropriate and polite that he makes sure the girl gets hers first.
This may explain why LG was always one of my few friends who seemed to know the in's and out's (pun intended) of getting down and dirty, not just the did-you-or-didn't-you technical details. If I would have prescribed earlier to her Mom's way of thinking maybe I would have put up with much less poor-effort-sex over the last decade, and really, the less of that in the world the better.
06 November 2009
Good Wife
I got this little nugget from my mother in an email a few months back... (click on image to see it bigger)
Such gems include:
"Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him." and
"A good wife always knows her place."
I love watching the suppressed rage of Betty Draper on Mad Men as much as the next person, and I got a good laugh out of this. Then I read it again and I thought, "Holy Shit are my sisters and I lucky that my mothers and hers worked so hard and didn't mind the label of feminism... Cheers to you women, and cheers to our grandmothers for not losing their intelligent and underused disrespected minds. We owe you lots."
"Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him." and
"A good wife always knows her place."
I love watching the suppressed rage of Betty Draper on Mad Men as much as the next person, and I got a good laugh out of this. Then I read it again and I thought, "Holy Shit are my sisters and I lucky that my mothers and hers worked so hard and didn't mind the label of feminism... Cheers to you women, and cheers to our grandmothers for not losing their intelligent and underused disrespected minds. We owe you lots."
02 September 2009
All The Way Home and Back Again
A lot of things have been happening and I feel like I am having a hard time catching up...
Ted Kennedy died last week. One of my first memories of my father crying had something to do with Robert Kennedy. There are countless Kennedy books on my parents bookshelves, and I've stood at JFK's Eternal Flame with my father more than a couple times to pay our respects and shed our tears for could have been. I didn't read the articles the day Edward Kennedy died nor have I watched the President's eulogy, nor did I spring for the $10 Newsweek Special Commemorative Edition... it's all happened to fast and I want to give it due time and reflect properly but it's been a week and it's getting ahead of me.
I was in Wisconsin for almost 80 hours last weekend, Madison for most of it. I walked through my high school for the first time in almost a decade and was impressed with how clean it was yet how it had only seemed to change in insignificant surface ways. I walked through with my father to see an art show of my brothers work that he did as himself and as Solve, curated in by my mother and cousin in the gallery in the high school that he almost didn't graduate from.
It was unseasonably cold but sunny and beautiful all weekend. Friday night there was an unexpected thunderstorm that I got to feel start standing on my parents front porch with a glass of whiskey in my hand and the arms of a man around me.
I found out one of my oldest and best friends is having a baby, I cried when she told me and when I saw a photo of the sonogram.
I went to the farmers market with my sister and we bought coffee, cheese curds, tomatoes, and pastries full of carbohydrates because she said that was the only thing she really wanted.
I saw my cousin get married on Saturday with almost my whole family and it was a fabulous party, complete with a wardrobe malfunction (mine), a drunk best man that quoted Macbeth and called me a bitch in the same breath (which he was quite proud of), a speech from the father-of-the-groom that brought everyone to tears, first in laughter then not, and a bad ass first dance.
Most of us drank a little too much but as always we had not nearly enough time together, and it made me want to do it all over again next weekend, and not just for the generous open bar. My family is just... well, they are amazing. Everyone thinks so. And now they've started placing bets on who will be the next cousin to get hitched.
Sunday I went to a movie. It was totally unplanned and not a movie I would have seen by myself but I was invited and I went and it actually felt like a proper and wonderful date. It was a perfect Sunday afternoon and then we met my family to eat food from the festival that happens every year in the park across the street from my parents house.
My sister slept off the fever she'd had for a day and a half by Monday morning, and we bought coffee and t-shirts from the closest coffee shop to my parents house, then walked the mile and a half downtown to see the show in honor of my brother downtown. My Dad bought us some of my favorite sandwiches on the way to my airport.
Before I knew it I was back in California. I had a scratchy throat and I cried to my sister on my two hour drive from the airport to home about not knowing what I wanted to do with my life. Then I got home and my aunt and uncle were happy to see me and I felt like I was home, and the dogs wagged their tails.
Yesterday I worked for around ten hours and today my throat's still scratchy. I have not yet blocked off time to read about Ted Kennedy, although I did manage to unpack my over packed carry-on suitcase.
Ted Kennedy died last week. One of my first memories of my father crying had something to do with Robert Kennedy. There are countless Kennedy books on my parents bookshelves, and I've stood at JFK's Eternal Flame with my father more than a couple times to pay our respects and shed our tears for could have been. I didn't read the articles the day Edward Kennedy died nor have I watched the President's eulogy, nor did I spring for the $10 Newsweek Special Commemorative Edition... it's all happened to fast and I want to give it due time and reflect properly but it's been a week and it's getting ahead of me.
I was in Wisconsin for almost 80 hours last weekend, Madison for most of it. I walked through my high school for the first time in almost a decade and was impressed with how clean it was yet how it had only seemed to change in insignificant surface ways. I walked through with my father to see an art show of my brothers work that he did as himself and as Solve, curated in by my mother and cousin in the gallery in the high school that he almost didn't graduate from.
It was unseasonably cold but sunny and beautiful all weekend. Friday night there was an unexpected thunderstorm that I got to feel start standing on my parents front porch with a glass of whiskey in my hand and the arms of a man around me.
I found out one of my oldest and best friends is having a baby, I cried when she told me and when I saw a photo of the sonogram.
I went to the farmers market with my sister and we bought coffee, cheese curds, tomatoes, and pastries full of carbohydrates because she said that was the only thing she really wanted.
I saw my cousin get married on Saturday with almost my whole family and it was a fabulous party, complete with a wardrobe malfunction (mine), a drunk best man that quoted Macbeth and called me a bitch in the same breath (which he was quite proud of), a speech from the father-of-the-groom that brought everyone to tears, first in laughter then not, and a bad ass first dance.
Most of us drank a little too much but as always we had not nearly enough time together, and it made me want to do it all over again next weekend, and not just for the generous open bar. My family is just... well, they are amazing. Everyone thinks so. And now they've started placing bets on who will be the next cousin to get hitched.
Sunday I went to a movie. It was totally unplanned and not a movie I would have seen by myself but I was invited and I went and it actually felt like a proper and wonderful date. It was a perfect Sunday afternoon and then we met my family to eat food from the festival that happens every year in the park across the street from my parents house.
My sister slept off the fever she'd had for a day and a half by Monday morning, and we bought coffee and t-shirts from the closest coffee shop to my parents house, then walked the mile and a half downtown to see the show in honor of my brother downtown. My Dad bought us some of my favorite sandwiches on the way to my airport.
Before I knew it I was back in California. I had a scratchy throat and I cried to my sister on my two hour drive from the airport to home about not knowing what I wanted to do with my life. Then I got home and my aunt and uncle were happy to see me and I felt like I was home, and the dogs wagged their tails.
Yesterday I worked for around ten hours and today my throat's still scratchy. I have not yet blocked off time to read about Ted Kennedy, although I did manage to unpack my over packed carry-on suitcase.
10 August 2009
Easy Silence
Anybody who knows me well enough knows I'm a sucker for a sweet simple pop song. I first heard the Dixie Chicks "Easy Silence" when I bought their Taking The Long Way album, the most recent one that was a big deal because it was made in reaction to the anti-Dixie Chicks uproar after the lead singer made her I'm-ashamed-Bush-is-from-Texas comments in March 2003. (Which, by the way, made me want to buy all their albums twice. My mom bought two copies of this cd just on principle.) While I can probably sing along to all the songs on this I hit repeat for track #2 every time I heard it.
At the time I was seeing someone and we were at the point in the relationship where everything is perfect. As it happens we had to end it before it really has a chance to go anywhere, or get into any of the hard stuff, so as a result the song reminds me of a happy moment, a high and loving moment, an example of how good it should be.
The song, while being easy, folky, country, and poppy, does have incredibly and simply sweet lyrics. It speaks to what I think I need in a partner - to give me a sense of calm and peace and ease of being.
There is so much craziness around us, so much noise and activity and commotion. Part of it is out of our control but much of the noise is self-inflicted. We have so many different things happening at once that it's often more effort to really Be Quiet than it is to keep at least a couple balls in the air.
It feels like a gift to me when I realize I can be quiet and comfortable and peaceful with somebody. That sense of shared calm, that quiet connection - that feels so valuable to me.
27 July 2009
Glynnspring
This weekend most of my large Irish/German family (Mom's side) will be gathering at the family farm in Wisconsin for the annual reunion. I won't be going this year which is always a little sad.
My mother is one of ten children that grew up on this dairy farm, which has been in the family since my grandfathers' grandfather bought it. There are more than twenty of us first cousins that grew up visiting and playing on the farm. All of us have collections of memories of our Grandma&Grandpa hosting us when we were children. Most of us were at one point or another taken "camping" by Grandpa, which involved what felt like a cross-country trek on the tractor that ended miraculously upon arrival at Aunt Molly's (his sister) house, which geographically is only some miles from Grandpa's. Some of us would go to church with Grandma, because I know for a lot of us since we didn't go with our parents it felt fun. Grandpa would take us to Doug's Pub in town, where we would get soda and a bag of chips as he drank beer and solved the problems of the world with the other old men.
Only as we've gotten older have we realized how special this place is. My grandfather passed away not suddenly but quite unexpectedly in 1999, and my grandmother followed after a long and debilitating illness in 2002. Since, the ten siblings have formed an LLC that parcels ownership and responsibility equally among them. Part of the reason for the annual reunion is to sort out any family business regarding financial decisions and the farm.
As mortality becomes more a reality the siblings have begun to think more concretely about what will come next for this land that is collectively and individually a part of our history. Eventually, hopefully in many years, my mother and her siblings will die and mine will be the oldest generation. My cousins and I are removed from the farm as only one of us have ever lived there. I think we all feel, some more than others most likely, the importance and significance of the place and most of us would be willing to start inputting more to keep it in the family and maintain it.
The question is how and who more than anything I think. Do some of us want it more than others? Perhaps. Ultimately our parents will decide what they think is best for the place and for us, their children, but as most of my generation has a foothold in what we'd call 'adulthood', and we are of this family - we will no doubt be long on opinions.
My hope is that we can keep this place for my children, and even my children's children. I appreciate that most families don't have this home, this place that holds their history and so many connections. I understand that a physical place isn't necessary to be a close family, and if anything should ever happen to our place I think we would find a way to be as close.
My mother is one of ten children that grew up on this dairy farm, which has been in the family since my grandfathers' grandfather bought it. There are more than twenty of us first cousins that grew up visiting and playing on the farm. All of us have collections of memories of our Grandma&Grandpa hosting us when we were children. Most of us were at one point or another taken "camping" by Grandpa, which involved what felt like a cross-country trek on the tractor that ended miraculously upon arrival at Aunt Molly's (his sister) house, which geographically is only some miles from Grandpa's. Some of us would go to church with Grandma, because I know for a lot of us since we didn't go with our parents it felt fun. Grandpa would take us to Doug's Pub in town, where we would get soda and a bag of chips as he drank beer and solved the problems of the world with the other old men.
Only as we've gotten older have we realized how special this place is. My grandfather passed away not suddenly but quite unexpectedly in 1999, and my grandmother followed after a long and debilitating illness in 2002. Since, the ten siblings have formed an LLC that parcels ownership and responsibility equally among them. Part of the reason for the annual reunion is to sort out any family business regarding financial decisions and the farm.
As mortality becomes more a reality the siblings have begun to think more concretely about what will come next for this land that is collectively and individually a part of our history. Eventually, hopefully in many years, my mother and her siblings will die and mine will be the oldest generation. My cousins and I are removed from the farm as only one of us have ever lived there. I think we all feel, some more than others most likely, the importance and significance of the place and most of us would be willing to start inputting more to keep it in the family and maintain it.
The question is how and who more than anything I think. Do some of us want it more than others? Perhaps. Ultimately our parents will decide what they think is best for the place and for us, their children, but as most of my generation has a foothold in what we'd call 'adulthood', and we are of this family - we will no doubt be long on opinions.
My hope is that we can keep this place for my children, and even my children's children. I appreciate that most families don't have this home, this place that holds their history and so many connections. I understand that a physical place isn't necessary to be a close family, and if anything should ever happen to our place I think we would find a way to be as close.
08 June 2009
When it rains...
My sister and I are planning a 40th wedding anniversary party for our parents. Since they happened to be married 39 years and one week exactly before their youngest child was killed, this has turned out to much more of an emotional enterprise than it might normally be.
My head is spinning - the planning of everything (anniversary party, somehow marking Megan's 30th although she is trying to pass it off, and then commemorating Brendan on the anniversary of his death) is taking a lot more time and energy than I bargained for. It's all happily spent and well worth it, but I am exhausted. I fly back to Wisconsin in two days and am preparing to strap in and enjoy the ride.
It's always the best and the worst of times, isn't it? A huge happy milestone so intrinsically intertwined with tragic loss and heartbreak. I am ready to celebrate and commemorate, and then I will be ready to take a big breath, and a long nap.
My head is spinning - the planning of everything (anniversary party, somehow marking Megan's 30th although she is trying to pass it off, and then commemorating Brendan on the anniversary of his death) is taking a lot more time and energy than I bargained for. It's all happily spent and well worth it, but I am exhausted. I fly back to Wisconsin in two days and am preparing to strap in and enjoy the ride.
It's always the best and the worst of times, isn't it? A huge happy milestone so intrinsically intertwined with tragic loss and heartbreak. I am ready to celebrate and commemorate, and then I will be ready to take a big breath, and a long nap.
01 June 2009
Secret II
Sometimes I wear an old housedress of my mother's to sleep in.
It is cheap terry material with horizontal white and neon green stripes.
It is clingy and very comfortable and hideous.
I should have known it was over between my ex and I when I was willing to wear that in front of him.
It is cheap terry material with horizontal white and neon green stripes.
It is clingy and very comfortable and hideous.
I should have known it was over between my ex and I when I was willing to wear that in front of him.
10 May 2009
Mother's Daughter
Who would have thought that Mother's Day would be so full of almost-crying moments for me?
Very early this morning in the car I was listening to NPR as they closed one of their shows by announcing who did what (for example "This show was executively produced by Ona Motapia") but instead of saying their own names they said Daughter or Son of their mother's name. It took about a minute to do all the credits like that and I laughed first then got all choked up. And I know it wasn't just because I was up before dawn on a Sunday because that's par for the course these days.
Mid-morning I made the Mom Day phone call to the home base in Wisconsin, chit chatted with Daddy for a few, who then passed the phone to my sweet little mother. Most of our conversation consisted of talking about re-doing the windows of the house and spring allergy attacks, but at some random unexpected point in the conversation I had to take a moment of deep breaths so I didn't burst into tears. Not that crying on the phone to Mom is totally out of the ordinary, but it doesn't usually happen when talking about weather/home improvement.
Earlier this evening I was again listening to NPR as I worked on my very slow-going needlepoint project, and I caught the tail end of a story which consisted of a grown son who was given up for adoption speaking one side, and his biological mother speaking on the other. It was the story of him finding her and greeting her for the first time, and when the woman spoke of the feeling when the child that she had given up walked up to her to "initiate a hug" I choked up and once again had to reach for the kleenex.
I don't have kids and I'm not expecting them anytime soon, so the multiple teary-eyed moments caught me a little off guard. Maybe because as I'm watching more and more of my friends and contemporaries have kids I can relate more closely to parenthood? Maybe because I recently realized for the first time that I do indeed want to raise children one day?
Maybe because deep inside I'm just a little girl who really misses her Mommy.
Very early this morning in the car I was listening to NPR as they closed one of their shows by announcing who did what (for example "This show was executively produced by Ona Motapia") but instead of saying their own names they said Daughter or Son of their mother's name. It took about a minute to do all the credits like that and I laughed first then got all choked up. And I know it wasn't just because I was up before dawn on a Sunday because that's par for the course these days.
Mid-morning I made the Mom Day phone call to the home base in Wisconsin, chit chatted with Daddy for a few, who then passed the phone to my sweet little mother. Most of our conversation consisted of talking about re-doing the windows of the house and spring allergy attacks, but at some random unexpected point in the conversation I had to take a moment of deep breaths so I didn't burst into tears. Not that crying on the phone to Mom is totally out of the ordinary, but it doesn't usually happen when talking about weather/home improvement.
Earlier this evening I was again listening to NPR as I worked on my very slow-going needlepoint project, and I caught the tail end of a story which consisted of a grown son who was given up for adoption speaking one side, and his biological mother speaking on the other. It was the story of him finding her and greeting her for the first time, and when the woman spoke of the feeling when the child that she had given up walked up to her to "initiate a hug" I choked up and once again had to reach for the kleenex.
I don't have kids and I'm not expecting them anytime soon, so the multiple teary-eyed moments caught me a little off guard. Maybe because as I'm watching more and more of my friends and contemporaries have kids I can relate more closely to parenthood? Maybe because I recently realized for the first time that I do indeed want to raise children one day?
Maybe because deep inside I'm just a little girl who really misses her Mommy.
20 April 2009
Just Another Dinner Conversation
My mother is the second of ten children in a family that grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin.
I live with my aunt and uncle, my mother's sister and her husband, who is the eighth born of my mother's family.
Their first cousin, who is the third of three children born to my grandfathers youngest brother (#'s 2 and 5 of five), is a large animal veterinarian and lives with his wife, a nurse, and three children in a small community in Wisconsin not far from the homestead where my mothers and aunts family was raised. They were out in California on vacation this week and we all had dinner together at my aunt and uncles house.
The conversation covered a vast array of topics, including but not limited too: drinking one's own urine for health purposes, distribution of human waste as fertilizer, marriage, weddings, family reunions, hors d'oeuvres, pig farming, sledding, adoption, puberty, boarding school, sexual harassment, sex ed, date rape, picture books, precocious children, the disadvantages of being a middle child, horse fertility patterns, and drinking wine while sitting in the sun and reading the dictionary. (This last one was a description of what my great uncle did on his last trip to Florida after he protested having to go, which was, as his son, my second cousin, said, exactly what Joe should have been doing.)
Maybepartly because I'm finally feeling healthy-ish after a week and the meal (roast pork, beans&rice, fresh asparugus, salad) was delicious, but the night was rich and quietly wonderful, like Matt and his wife Diane.
My favorite quote was cousin Matt quoting his father, Uncle Joe, the one who sat in the sun with the wine while reading the dictionary, saying how since he's had some heart issues, when he thinks about doing something risky, he thinks "I might die." and that "That just takes some of the fun out of it."
I live with my aunt and uncle, my mother's sister and her husband, who is the eighth born of my mother's family.
Their first cousin, who is the third of three children born to my grandfathers youngest brother (#'s 2 and 5 of five), is a large animal veterinarian and lives with his wife, a nurse, and three children in a small community in Wisconsin not far from the homestead where my mothers and aunts family was raised. They were out in California on vacation this week and we all had dinner together at my aunt and uncles house.
The conversation covered a vast array of topics, including but not limited too: drinking one's own urine for health purposes, distribution of human waste as fertilizer, marriage, weddings, family reunions, hors d'oeuvres, pig farming, sledding, adoption, puberty, boarding school, sexual harassment, sex ed, date rape, picture books, precocious children, the disadvantages of being a middle child, horse fertility patterns, and drinking wine while sitting in the sun and reading the dictionary. (This last one was a description of what my great uncle did on his last trip to Florida after he protested having to go, which was, as his son, my second cousin, said, exactly what Joe should have been doing.)
Maybepartly because I'm finally feeling healthy-ish after a week and the meal (roast pork, beans&rice, fresh asparugus, salad) was delicious, but the night was rich and quietly wonderful, like Matt and his wife Diane.
My favorite quote was cousin Matt quoting his father, Uncle Joe, the one who sat in the sun with the wine while reading the dictionary, saying how since he's had some heart issues, when he thinks about doing something risky, he thinks "I might die." and that "That just takes some of the fun out of it."
15 April 2009
Sick Day
I am sick.
Being sick sucks.
Being sick especially sucks when you have to just suck it up and go about your standard daily activities, i.e. working instead of lying in bed/on couch with water/tea/oj and something really salty to eat. (That might be just me but whatever.)
Every time I am sick and I have to actually do something (so, almost every time I've gotten sick since 9th grade) I think of something my Mom said to me back in the day. Probably 7th or 8th grade since it still rings so true.
Me: "Mom, I'm really sick and I have to stay home from school. [moan, cough]"
Mom: "Dammit Caitlin! One day you're going to HAVE to go to class or a job, and you won't be able to stay home 'sick' whenever you damn well please!!!"
Oh Mommy. If only you knew how your words haunt me.
Moan. Coughcough.
Being sick sucks.
Being sick especially sucks when you have to just suck it up and go about your standard daily activities, i.e. working instead of lying in bed/on couch with water/tea/oj and something really salty to eat. (That might be just me but whatever.)
Every time I am sick and I have to actually do something (so, almost every time I've gotten sick since 9th grade) I think of something my Mom said to me back in the day. Probably 7th or 8th grade since it still rings so true.
Me: "Mom, I'm really sick and I have to stay home from school. [moan, cough]"
Mom: "Dammit Caitlin! One day you're going to HAVE to go to class or a job, and you won't be able to stay home 'sick' whenever you damn well please!!!"
Oh Mommy. If only you knew how your words haunt me.
Moan. Coughcough.
01 March 2009
Gratitude and Awe
Warning: What follows is on the mushy mush side, so consider yourself warned...
I've had a rough couple of weeks.
I have been feeling more fragile since I have been since last summer, and everything has been hitting me harder. It really kinda feels like the world is falling apart, got some bad news regarding the murder trial for my brother's death, and to top it off I had some sort of back spasm that resulted in me being in pain for the better part of this week.
Yet there is such undeniable beauty and love around me that it can't help but filter through my clouds - I am so thankful.
I spoke with my mother last weekend on her birthday and I got off the phone choked up because I love her so much, and because I get to have her love me too. We haven't always had the easiest of relationships (basically, 6th through 12th grade had some pretty rough spots) but she is one of the more amazing women that has ever walked this planet. She has survived unimaginable heartbreak, more than one time, and still loves us fiercely and beautifully.
I had talked to my aunt and uncle last night for about an hour about my mental/emotional state, and I am still so in awe of the love and support and advice that they give me so freely, so generously. They have been my soft place to land in some situations that could have been so much more horrible. AND I get to see them every day and learn from these two incredible people.
Today I drove down to the city just to spend the evening with a group of friends at a barbecue at a beautiful house on a hill. This is an incredible group that is made up mostly of people that I grew up with in Wisconsin who have ended up in northern California. Most of us have known each other since 9th grade, if not before, and we've traveled wildly different paths to get here. Some are married, some in grad school, and we are about to add the first baby to the group! We manage to get together every few months or so and it never fails to be damn good time that I never want to end. They are such different and interesting and good people, and I get to be included. I just love that. My stomach always hurts after these gatherings from laughing so much.
I went out last night with two best friends and I just had so much fun. Drinking, laughing, flirting, being a big fishy in a tiny tiny pond. The hangover was so worth it. Krystal told me today that the best part of last night was seeing me laugh and just be Caitlin, having fun. And I just did - after talking to auntie and uncle and being with my girlfriends I was able to shake off some of this weight and feel good. (Even if it was party fueled by booze and the weight comes right back tomorrow, it was so worth it.)
Shortly after Brendan died I told someone that I didn't believe in a god, but if I'd ever seen God, it was in the love and support that carried my family through those first weeks. I'm expanding that. I still see whatever That is in the people I am so unbelievably fortunate to have in my life.
I've had a rough couple of weeks.
I have been feeling more fragile since I have been since last summer, and everything has been hitting me harder. It really kinda feels like the world is falling apart, got some bad news regarding the murder trial for my brother's death, and to top it off I had some sort of back spasm that resulted in me being in pain for the better part of this week.
Yet there is such undeniable beauty and love around me that it can't help but filter through my clouds - I am so thankful.
I spoke with my mother last weekend on her birthday and I got off the phone choked up because I love her so much, and because I get to have her love me too. We haven't always had the easiest of relationships (basically, 6th through 12th grade had some pretty rough spots) but she is one of the more amazing women that has ever walked this planet. She has survived unimaginable heartbreak, more than one time, and still loves us fiercely and beautifully.
I had talked to my aunt and uncle last night for about an hour about my mental/emotional state, and I am still so in awe of the love and support and advice that they give me so freely, so generously. They have been my soft place to land in some situations that could have been so much more horrible. AND I get to see them every day and learn from these two incredible people.
Today I drove down to the city just to spend the evening with a group of friends at a barbecue at a beautiful house on a hill. This is an incredible group that is made up mostly of people that I grew up with in Wisconsin who have ended up in northern California. Most of us have known each other since 9th grade, if not before, and we've traveled wildly different paths to get here. Some are married, some in grad school, and we are about to add the first baby to the group! We manage to get together every few months or so and it never fails to be damn good time that I never want to end. They are such different and interesting and good people, and I get to be included. I just love that. My stomach always hurts after these gatherings from laughing so much.
I went out last night with two best friends and I just had so much fun. Drinking, laughing, flirting, being a big fishy in a tiny tiny pond. The hangover was so worth it. Krystal told me today that the best part of last night was seeing me laugh and just be Caitlin, having fun. And I just did - after talking to auntie and uncle and being with my girlfriends I was able to shake off some of this weight and feel good. (Even if it was party fueled by booze and the weight comes right back tomorrow, it was so worth it.)
Shortly after Brendan died I told someone that I didn't believe in a god, but if I'd ever seen God, it was in the love and support that carried my family through those first weeks. I'm expanding that. I still see whatever That is in the people I am so unbelievably fortunate to have in my life.
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