To Rosie, On Your 27th Birthday…

I have had this written for weeks. But even publishing it is another acknowledgement of finality, so I’ve procrastinated until today…

One recent night, we caught up on the season finale of Modern Family. And, honestly, most of it was not their best episode. A lot of disjointed and obvious gags, forced jokes, and contrived situations (wild fires, abandoned wedding venues that are suddenly reclaimed, the officiant going into labor). Ugh. But, Mitchell and Cam were getting married–YAY! We arrived at the last few minutes when the wedding was finally going to happen, which began the actual sweet, true-to-the-series part of the episode. Jay stood next to Mitchell, about to walk down the aisle, and said he is walking with him. Gloria joined them. Cam’s parents move to walk him down the aisle. Cue the wise, summarizing voice-over by Claire. The string trio or quartet or how ever many there were (a running gag in the episode) began playing. And I started weeping. Balling uncontrollably. Like a baby. Jim put a supportive, wow-this-is-really-affecting-you arm around my shoulder. I thought to myself ‘Huh, Cam and Mitchell’s wedding is really affecting me.” And then my conscious mind caught up with what my heart had already realized– the group of musicians (however many there were) were playing Home, by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. Your and Al’s song. With the wind sucked out of me, I cried through the final minutes of the episode and for about 15 minutes after, through blubbering sobs to Jim about why I was really crying. Dammit, that was supposed to be our Rosie’s and our Al’s walk down the aisle… Our crazy, modern family celebrating your love.

Flood gates open, feelings raw again, I struggle with tears and anger and sadness that our lovebirds didn’t get their moment. There is so much that you didn’t get the chance to experience. Rosie, you deserved so much more. Standing there in your room during those final moments, I know many of us were willing that some force would ‘take us instead’, so that you could live and love and marry and travel and enjoy your promised life–if even for just a while. But we don’t get to choose how the dice turn up when rolled; we don’t have such sway over the universe. As I stare at the computer screen, I hear your voice echo in my mind from a dream I had right after you left: It’s okay, Bridgie…….. It sure doesn’t feel okay. So I write about this as a way to help process your song in a sitcom and last June and this June and the last year that shouldn’t be. But all I can really do… all any of us can really do is pick up those pieces of sadness and disbelief and anger at what is; gather the pieces of our broken hearts like one gathers pieces of a broken cup and recycle them in this it-is-what-it-is world of ours.

Keep a song in our hearts.

Spread kindness.

Revel in the simple joys.

Be love.

Happy 27th Birthday, Rosita. I love you and I miss you.

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

iPhone Dilemma

As the post title says, I am in a dilemma about my iPhone. Sounds silly? Of course it does. I have a hate-love a wee bit-hate relationship with my iPhone. These iPhones can be so consuming, too intrusive, just too much reliance on technology for my liking. I don’t need my phone to be a “smart” phone–I’m smart enough for both of us. I don’t want it to connect every account I have with my contacts–that’s just creepy. And then there’s all those apps that are never used. But there are two things that I love about the phone–1) its ability to take decent, rapid-fire photos and–pulling much more at my heart is–2) the fact that it contains my last text from Rosie. The text is from a year ago today. She’s was in the midst of what would be her final days, unbeknownst to any of us. And, inexplicably, it’s the only text from her that I have left.
My angst over this is that I’d really like to untangle from the whole smartphone web. It’s very, freeingly appealing to just get some simple, regular phone when my contract is up. On the other hand, I’ve spiraled into crying over the thought of forever losing this last text from her. My hubby suggested to me that if I save it as a photo, I’ll always have it. (But I’m not sure that’s the same or enough for me at this point.) And while I continue to internally struggle with what I shall choose to do about my silly phone, I remember sitting at my kitchen table a year ago today and texting to my sweet, warrior-poet sister who was in an actual, very real struggle.
I so wish there was an app for turning back time.

Love you, Rosita. ❤

                       

Sleepy Ninja Bebes

I often refer to our kids as our Bebes. I think I picked it up from some siblings and it just stuck with me. I like its youthful, endearing quality, while not evoking the whole “I’m not a baby” response from them when I speak it. Anyway, we’ve discovered that our Bebes have nighttime ninja capabilities: they will occasionally sneak into our bed with us during the night, as we slumber away, our conscious minds none the wiser. How is this possible? Afterall, I am not the uber-heavy sleeper that I once was, capable of dozing through sonic booms and quakes of the Earth; having Bebes drained that once super power. I’ve considered this and realized that there are a few whispers of their presence, that apparently my sleeping mind tucks away from my conscious mind as the ninja-ness is occurring…

…a tickle to my calf as they crawl into our bed; a wiggly, little toe-sized tickle, which only dreamily registers in my slumbery perception.

…a slight tousle to my hair, clearly not enough to fully awaken me, but noticeable enough to filter into my dream as I’m visiting with the gang at Monks, sipping a cafe latte.

…the gentle nudge of an itty-bitty, soft elbow, too small to be my Hubby’s. But wait, it’s still dark. Dark enough to be lured back to sleep for some additional Zzzzzzzzzs.

After each tiny sign of Bebes, I inevitably make my way back to the diner, only vaguely aware of the extra breathing and occasional whispers of Shhhhhes mixed with the usual, familiar snorning. Morning eventually makes its subtle entrance, its light slowly peeking through the drawn curtains; and I find two, sleeping Bebes snuggled in the middle of our bed. Our Sleepy Ninja Bebes. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

To Kelly Lynn, On Your 38th Birthday

Kelly Lynn was three years young than I. She lived for five beautiful months. Kelly was born with Cystic Fibrosis; but, in those days, CF was relatively unknown. Most of what I remember about her is a feeling of pure, gleeful sisterhood and togetherness. One clear(ish) memory is the bottom picture; I was holding her bottle for her, while eating peanut butter from the jar with my other hand. I can still recall that peanut butter aroma and feel the balancing act of doing two different things with my little arms. Though I have few specific, vivid memories of Kelly, I have missed her as long as I can remember.

Our Original Warrior

You sat with me in our blue, tall-back chair,

Together in joy, love, and light.

Then in a blink, you were no longer there…

The glee that was, dimmed overnight.

You were a warrior in an unknown fight;

How could anyone know it would end?

 I wish I could have eased that plight

For  you, Sister–my absent best friend.

I am reminded of you in a song’s tearful refrain;

But, memories haze in the distance from three.

While the beauty and joy that were You remain,

There’ll always be an empty seat beside me.

Like wind on the wings of an airborne skylark,

The years keep rolling across time and space.

Your spirit calls like a familiar voice in the dark;

Know that our hearts remember you, always.

Going Crackers

Ever since our family frequented a restaurant called Daryl’s in the 80’s, I’ve been mildly obsessed with crackers. They would put baskets of this whitish-cracker-thing on the tables as a sort of free appetizer. Upon first taste we thought “Who would put this out? A dull cracker…what’s the big deal?” But, as inevitably happens when you’re hungry and waiting for food and there is a free basket of crackers in front of you, we kept nibbling and became hooked. They were very subtle, understated crackers, almost like a pie dough; and they were simply wonderful at the time.

Recently, I’ve been intrigued by those Nut Thins crackers in the heath food section of the grocery store. Crackers that are less carby and healthier? Could it be true? Last grocery day I splurged and bought a box of the pecan variety. They are really pretty okay. Seriously, they’re no Triscuit or anything. (But, son-of-a-biscuit, they are healthier!) Yes, not a stunning endorsement; but they have rekindled an old curiosity about making homemade crackers. Could I make something similar, with some sort of nut component, that would taste at the very least really-pretty-okay? Today was attempt #1.

Looking at the ingredients list on the side of the Nut Thins box and comparing it to what we have in our pantry, I opted to use 1/2 a cup each of almond meal, old fashioned oats (I put half of the oats in the food-processor to make them more floury), and all-purpose flour; 1/4 cup of flax seed meal; about 1/8 cup of olive oil; salt, pepper, and garlic powder to taste; and enough water to form the dough ball. I then rolled out the dough until it was pretty thin (as it turns out, not thin enough in a few spots). Next, I cut the dough into sort of equal, kind of rectanglish pieces, put them on a baking sheet, and baked them at 350 degrees until the edges browned a bit.

Of course, you’re supposed to wait until they’ve cooled to room temperature to taste them (or so I read on some baking site), but I pretty quickly popped one into my cracker hole. And then another. I like their flavor, but they need tweaking–perhaps a lighter flour component. Soon, my little Sweet Pea asked “What do you have?” She tasted her first (of three) and said “They’re good, Mama!” That’s enough of an endorsement for me.

White Pashmina

A luscious snowfall visited us last night and and lingered until this morning.

I found myself venturing out early, to the porch, to take in the landscape.

All looked so soft and snuggly– grass, tree branches, sidewalks, and everything enshrouded in a fluffy, white pashmina.

The usual, bustling city sounds were remarkably mute, as a lone bird called from above.

All was quiet and peaceful, with a soothing beauty, a gentle glow.

And for a moment, you were there with me.

Lessons From Rose

For us, 2013 was a heartbreaker of a year. No banners, not a lot of woo-hooing, nothing bang-up about it. It’s been loss and grief and utter devastation, laced with increasingly frequent moments of small joy. Just last night, I had one of those experiences of feeling in momentary shock that she is really gone… six and a half months later.
It was also a year of learning–an excruciating education, to be sure, and I’d trade every lesson I am learning in a heartbeat… in a New York minute… to have our Rosie back. Of course, I don’t have that kind of influence over the universe. Instead, I’ve been reflecting on what I am learning–the lessons from Rose; and I now share these with you:

ღ Spread kindness and love as often as possible. Acts of kindness done for others are among the best kind of joy, for the giver and the receiver. (This has been one of the most healing lessons for me.) Love is our greatest natural resource.

ღ Forgive others’ transgressions and shortcomings, if nothing else, for peace of mind and heart. Focus on the love and beauty in life. Our time here is unpredictable and fleeting… the less negativity ingested, the better.

ღ Strive to refrain from judging others, regardless of what is known or supposedly known about them. We are never truly aware what others are experiencing and living through at any given time. Lots of folks truly are doing the best they can.

ღ Express love for others at every available opportunity–in person, verbally, or electronically; through loving, thoughtful actions or by just being there. No one ever left this world thinking “I’ve been too loving…”

ღ Share our real, truest selves, the ones that reside deep inside. (This is one of the most challenging lessons for me.) Surely in this busy world, there will be times when no one notices, but there will also be times when someone’s day is made or someone’s heart is touched. Either way, we’ll be living as our authentic selves.

It’s nearly impossible to express every bit of love and wisdom that I am learning from Rose, but this is a place to start. I’m saying nothing new–these are platitudes have all been expressed in one form or another on Facebook, Pinterest, and various coffee mugs. Where the learning lies for me is in taking these lessons into my mind and heart, trying to make them a conscious part of my actions and decisions, striving to live and be this each day. Rosie understood this; she LIVED this. Even at her lowest points. Even from her hospital room in Atlanta. She called it Being Love and she exudes Love like a rose shares its precious scent, like the sun radiates its warming rays.

In learning and living her lessons, I carry Rose with me into 2014 and beyond.

6 Months Hence

In those final moments, as the melodies swelled in and around our huddled group, as we realized that Home, Family, normal, and the golden beauty of it all would forever be altered, dulled… I have no doubt that each of us who were there that day 6 months ago was internally on hands and knees, begging the Cosmos to take me instead; allow her more time to live, to wed, to travel, to spread love, to more fully experience life than she’d ever been allowed…

But the cosmos, unswayed by our pleas, went about its business of transforming her back into moonlight and stardust, reclaiming her from us all too soon, leaving us with the precious memories and photos, her handcrafted treasures, her astute life lessons, and the Love that was she. As we’ve trod through our grief these 6 months hence, it’s become clear to me that–in the matters of spreading Love and giving from her heart–our beautiful Rose had wholly blossomed.

Ride, Sally, Ride!

From the time I was about 6 years old, I wanted to be an astronaut. My favorite movie for years was The Right Stuff and I adored Elton John’s “Rocket Man”. When we went to theme parks, I would go on every rollercoastery, high speed, curvy, whirly, upside-downy ride I could find, and I called it all “astronaut training”. My need for spacey speed increased with seeing Sally Ride become the first American woman in space; and imagine my glee when I won a poster of her in a classroom game around that same time! This desire to be an astronaut clung to me (or I to it) through the horrendous Challenger disaster… I still vividly remember watching those devastating events unfold on the TV in Ms. Lindsey’s 7th grade math class. What my longing-to-be-an-astronaut did not survive was 11th grade pre-calculus, as I realized that–sans the military route–I would have to do that higher level sort of math for a living in order to have a shot at the astronaut corp. About face!

But the point of my post today is to remember and celebrate the late, great Dr. Sally Ride, whose first flight into space aboard the Challenger (STS-7) in 1983 saw its 30th anniversary on June 18. She made an impression on that little Beanie girl, reinforcing the fact that women are just as smart, just as strong, just as gutsy, and at least as capable as men in anything they wish to do. (I say that Dr. Ride reinforced that fact because I come from a long line of spunky, strong, determined women, starting with my mom; and thanks to them, the idea that I could do whatever I set out to do in life was not a foreign concept.) We ladies just have to hold on to our dreams and have the cajones to make them happen.

I still have the Sally Ride poster I won as a 10-year old; it graced all of my classrooms over my 11 years of teaching at three different schools. Several years back, my good friend and teaching neighbor, Diane, and her daughter were attending a girls-and-science conference in Orlando–led by none other than Dr. Sally Ride–and she graciously offered to take my poster to have it autographed by Dr. Ride, which she did. I treasure it to this day, as it hangs in our home office.

Today, Dr. Ride receives a posthumus Presidential Medal of Freedom, which I read will be accepted on her behalf by her lifelong partner. Sally Ride was a pioneer in her personal life, in addition to being smart as a whip, the first woman in space, and the inspiration spurring so many girls to embrace math and science. The Medal of Freedom is described as “the nation’s highest civilian honor, presented to individuals who have made ‘especially meritorious’ contributions to the United States”. I’d say she fits the bill.

Ride, Sally, ride!

Forever November

Fa la la la–Fall, please don’t leave…

There was a time when I was crazy for Christmas. I gleefully took down my fall decos each November 1 in order to get the house decked out for the Yule. Many, many Octobers (from about the age of 13), saw me quietly borrow some of the family Christmas albums to bring to my room and play over and over on my turntable. The Walton’s: A Christmas Together and Holiday Strings were my special faves. (My hubby usually rolled his eyes when I’d start the Christmas tune playing so early around our house.) Grandpa Walton’s monologue “Grandpa’s Christmas Wish” was especially memorable to me… I won’t bore you with the all many, sappy paragraphs, save this favorite:

“There is one wish that I make every year. I never said it aloud before, but I’ll tell it to you now. I wish for all the seasons I have known, endlessly to come and go; the dogwood Spring, the watermelon Summer, the russet and gold of Autumn. I wish for Christmas to come again and for each of us to be here again next year at this time…together, safe, warm and loved as we are at this moment.”

Many times as a youngster and right on through adulthood have I played this paragraph in my mind as our family was gathered for the various Christmas season traditions. Even last year, as we celebrated Christmas in Emory’s cafeteria and 5C waiting room, I heard these words in my head and felt comforted–we weren’t home with the usual trappings of revelry, but we were all together. I remember all the time spent at Emory during last season, including Christmas Day. The hospital was all decked out with its trees and bawbles in all the lobbies and holiday wares in the gift shop windows… bringing the Fam Christmas cookies that kids and I baked… all of us exchanging gifts in 5C and in Rosie’s room, as we acknowledged that the real gift was a certain pair of new lungs… there was the magical promise of the gift of a new life.

I wish for Christmas to come again and for each of us to be here again next year at this time…together, safe, warm and loved as we are at this moment…

That will never be the case again.

Last Thanksgiving weekend was our last time together as a family, outside of the various Emory waiting rooms. It was jam-packed, complete with Thanksgiving festivities, Black Friday craziness, the annual “A Christmas Story” night, and our parents’ 40th anniversary celebration. A weekend as perfect as any of us could imagine. There won’t ever again be a golden weekend like that, with all of us gathered… Reflecting upon that, I have committed to never again completely decoratively or emotionally bypassing the autumnal sweetness of Thanksgiving–and all it’s beautiful, treasured memories–in favor of the supposedly more exciting Christmas.

In my heart, it’s forever November.