Saturday The 14th

Today is Saturday the 14th, which means yesterday was a Friday the 13th.

As with every other Friday the 13th I can remember since high school, people seemed to use it as a reason to celebrate, maybe go a little crazy.

The 14th of June last year was a Saturday, preceded, as always, by a Friday the 13th. Like yesterday, there was a stir because of the connotations of this day and date.
It ended up being a calm, boring night for my girlfriend and I, going out for a while but being home before midnight.
Around midnight Pacific time we went to pick up her roommate whose car hadn't started, which was about the same time my little brother was being pronounced dead after being stabbed in the chest, in an alley in Chicago.

I of course didn't know this until the next morning. I walked into my aunt and uncles house just before 8am that morning of Saturday June 14th with lattes and a smile on my face; it was a beautiful morning and we were about to do the local farmers market.

My aunt was holding the phone in her had and looked at me as I walked in; I don't remember anything out of the ordinary other than her not being busy with something. My uncle stayed just out of sight right around the corner as she reached the phone towards me and said, "You have to call your mom and dad..." and then she put both arms around me as I did.

My father answered the phone right away in what sounded to me like a normal voice. I remember thinking "It must be Grandma..." and then my daddy said "Honey it's really bad." I said, "Ok." I didn't hear my mother's voice but I knew she was also on the other end of the line. Dad paused and said, "Brendan was killed last night..." and then it all gets pretty black.

I know my aunt and uncle were both standing there when I dropped the phone (I remember having this feeling that the phone was heavy and it just leaving my hands). When I dropped to the ground I remember both of their bodies holding me. They were sitting somehow behind me and next to me on the floor and the first thing I remember being able to focus on was the phone on the floor a couple feet in front of me, and I wondered if my father had hung up. Some matter of time later when my uncle picked up the phone and handed it back to me I remember feeling surprised that my parents were still on the line. That was the first moment I heard my mothers voice, but it was the sound of her crying.

I've often wondered, morbidly maybe, what it all looked like from the outside. What sounds I made, what I said, how long I was on the floor, how did my aunt and uncle get down there with me... I know it wouldn't bring any comfort but I am curious.

The holidays and birthdays, the weddings and babies and funerals, the birth and death dates of the deceased (especially if they were young and it was sudden) - those are the events when you think people are thinking of the ones who died. This is true, of course. But in fact it is every day, almost every phase of every day, when I am thinking about Brendan, punctuated by the "important dates", which for me now include Fridays that fall on a 13th day. Every Friday the 13th now when people are getting ready to get into some troublesome fun, I will be remembering the last moment, the last breath I took before my heart broke on a Saturday the 14th.

TiddlyBitsies

Some recent things that have made me smile:


I received this text a few hours ago from my sister:
"Fucking flight delayed 2 fucking hours. But i'm pretty sure i just bumped into maggie gyllenhal asking her kid if she needed to take a poopie"

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I also had the prettiest breakfast today, and it was pretty tasty too:


Plain yogurt with plain almonds with honey drizzled over it. Sour/tangy, savory/creamy, sweet, beautiful.

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The puppy is having a grand old time as it warms up and is raining less - more fetching time, more mud to roll in. This made me laugh off and on all evening yesterday:

Oink

I walked in the house yesterday afternoon after getting back from out of town and the first thing I saw was two piggies in a cage.

I know, living on a farm in wine country, I experience a lot of things that would seem unusual to most of my contemporaries. However, piglets in a cage in the entryway of the house threw me for a loop.

At first, I thought maybe the farm cats they'd been talking about getting had arrived until I heard the small grunting noises coming from the cage. Then I noticed that they were not cats, not kittens, not a new puppy, not even a duck (which wouldn't be the first time, since my ex decided it was a good idea to get pet ducks and have them live in our garage.) Nope, they were indeed little black and white piglets. Piggies. Swine.

Now, my family here and the farm manager raise pigs for food; they get them as younguns and then they grow up in a big pen up towards the top of the hill, rooting in the mud and eating food scraps to their hearts content. However, there is a distinct difference between FARM animals and pets, and never did I ever think a pig would come into the house unless it was in pork form.

Turns out, some friends were hunting boar and grazed a sow, and then rescued the babies. Since these friends live in the city during the week and the piglets need to be feed every couple hours, my uncle said, "Sure!" without really thinking about the maintenance that goes into to caring for a baby piglet.

I had the great idea last night after a cocktail party/pig roast (Ha! I just noted the irony) that I could just wrap the little guys in a towel, a swaddling per say, and get them to feed that way. This is when my Uncles' conjecture that "These are not cuddly fellas..." was proven true. Two pounds of pure muscle can wriggle like hell, and the term "squeal like a pig" has a whole new meaning for me. Needless to say, I ended up with more goats milk on me than on the pigs face, and certainly more than in the pigs belly since it was too busy spazzing out to actually drink any.

Lessons learned:
Pigs are, indeed, not cuddly; Piglets in a cage confuse pet dogs; Goats' milk mixed with piggy spit is not a good smell.

It's raining hard outside right now. There is a frog (toad?) croaking directly behind my bedroom window, and it is such a happy sound.

I have always loved rainstorms. There is something about being inside, sheltered, when nature is letting loose that I find incredibly appealing. There is a comfort, a safeness that this brings that is incomparable to anything else.

One of the things I miss about Wisconsin is the summer thunderstorms. When it is so hot and muggy, and then finally the sky opens up with pounding rain and thunder and lightening... I love that. I used to get a blanket and sit on my parents screened in porch just to be as close as possible while still being sheltered. I could feel the spray of the wind through the rain on me, and the power of the thunderclaps through the cement, and I remember feeling so calm and peaceful in the middle of that.

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.