A Sacred Conversation

When I was very little I prayed to the God I believed granted wishes to give me a ravaging disease instead of to other moms.  My reasoning was that I thought I was strong enough to "handle" it.  I'd seen enough after-school specials to know kids needed to have their moms around for a long time (whomsoever "they" were and let's pretend whomsoever is still in the English rotation).  I was young, ignorant, unattached, and dispensable.

I'm not sure where that particular wish came from or why I had the ego of Kanye West.  Maybe because my mom means so much to me.  And her mom means so much to me.   Maybe because my dearest friend's mom had just died from cancer before she entered high school.  Maybe because I felt impervious and virtuous to ask for such a blow.

Who knows why we do anything as kids.  But now?

Now?

I am taking that request back every day, like a chump.  Please God, please let me me live long enough where my children will be ok without my daily presence.  Andy too.  Nice and old, maybe 80 something.  Dear God, I realize we made a deal but now other people are relying on me and I had no idea WHAT ravaging diseases ravaged.  Dear God, I have saved a lot of Ziploc bags and cut all those plastic rings so turtles and dolphins won't die whenever we buy bottled water.  I'm sorry we buy bottled water.  (When it comes to living, I am not above pointing out how green I am and how much I honor sea life.)

I have no idea if this is how it works.  Because while I've felt a God since I was little, my relationship with religion has been soft and light-hearted.  For me, proof is the point of living.  All the rest feels more like a test I am studying for when I have the time.  Read a little hear, write a little there, all the while hoping to take in what I need to pass the final when the time comes.

When the time comes.

Jimmy told many of us his time would come sooner than later.  He knew he wouldn't live to be an old man.

"But HOW do you know?" I prod him, squinting my eyes at his.
"I just do.  Look at me.  I'm aging in dog years.  I look like a basset hound."
"Shut it.  You look as handsome as ever.  More like a distinguished terrier.  Besides, I don't think I'm going to live that long either.  I made this deal with God a long time ago.  Oh no, it's cool.  We can party together in heaven."

Jimmy's countenance changes immediately.  He is not amused.  His face is locked flat, his eyes are sad, and I get the sense he thinks I'm mocking his premonition.

"No," I clarify,  "I just mean I'm not going to be ok without you here."
"You're going to live a very long life, Hon,  AND you're going to be ok," his words still make me cry, "I'm old and you're going to get old, ok?"
"Ok, fine.  If you say so, Jimmy."

And now, getting older every year feels like an extra bonus from him.  A little nod to one of our last conversations together.  Gifted time I get to spend growing grayer, softer, and stronger.

And yes, I'd say even a little basset hound.

Prayerful

I'm not sure when it started but we now have a nightly tradition.  At bedtime, after I peck their foreheads and mush their cheeks for another kiss, they ask the same question:

Grayson:  Mom, will you pray with me?
Abby:  Mommy, will you PRAY, not P-L-A-Y with me?  There was some confusion one night with Abby's request, leading to my delivery of a dissertation on effects of sleep deprivation.  She is seeing to it that never happens again.

For Grayson, now 7, we fold our own hands neatly, close our eyes, and chat with God silently for a few minutes.  Our main focus here is to ask God to fill our minds with specific lovely things while we dream.  But there's a catch.  He insists we pray for each other and not ourselves.  I find this fascinating.  Either my boy doesn't trust me to cover myself in the right words or he has certain requests he's sure I'll omit.

Abby's another story.  She likes her prayers out loud, up close, and centered around her only.  Our prayer is conjoined, outspoken, and sparkly.  Just like our relationship.

Dear God, thank you for these blessings we recognize and fail to recognize daily.  Please allow Abby to dream of rainbows, fairy wings, cotton candy, Pandora kitty, kissing Sparrow and NOT ______________.  There is always a fill-in-the-blank word she chooses with fervor like NOT SHARKS or NOT WOLVES or NOT GREEN BEANS.  My favorite is "NOT SECRETS because I cannot keep a secret."

The other night I was in a hurry and ready to collapse into a pile of laundry I'd held at bay all day long. Grayson sensed my rejection but held fast to our ritual just the same.  My prayer for him was officious, abrupt, and over well before his prayer for me.  This gave me a few seconds to watch his small face emote all the requests being made on my behalf.

A slightly raised eyebrow.
A tiny frown lasting milliseconds.
Eyes squeezed together and pensive.
And finally, peace.

"What was that all about?"  I had to ask.
"You'll see,"  he responded, tickled with himself.

That night I had a visit from Jimmy in my dreams.  It wasn't anything spiritual, heavenly, or even magical.  It was a favorite uncle hanging with his niece, talking over mundane things like wallpaper.  His voice was pure Jimmy- rich, mellow, and normal.

It was an answered prayer from a little boy who has every reason to be tickled with himself.

Pandora's Box

It seems our world has been enlightened.

We have a new family member that I haven't formally introduced yet.  Her name is Pandora and this is her story:

On Father's Day, I am doing what all derelict wives are doing - coming home from Wal-Mart with last minute Father's Day gifts.  Reveling in my hour long child-free shopping trip, I decide to take the interstate home for a moment with the open road.

It takes nearly five whole minutes of driving down the wrong direction on the interstate for me to realize I am, as usual, headed west when I need to go east. The nearest turn around spot takes me to a busy parkway, where everyone is speeding up to merge instead of slowing down.

Oh man, is that a half-smushed bird in the road?   I swerve hard to the right so as not to add insult to obvious and miserable injury.

My God.  It's a KITTEN!    And the kitten isn't dead at all, she is dragging her lifeless legs toward the median like the tiniest warrior I've ever seen.  Mouth wide open in a battle-cry, she is heaving her good legs - one front and one hind- to propel herself away from zooming cars and toward the safety of tall grass and swarms of ants.

You can do this, you can do this, you can do this!  My van and I are parked with hazard lights on before I rationalize how stupid it is to try to chase a traumatized creature on the median of a busy road.

(No cars taken in this pic as it was taken days later, but it was insane on Father's Day)

You're gonna be ok, You're gonna be ok, You're gonna be ok.  I gallop from shoulder to median eyeing dry grass for any movement.

With nothing but my thrapping heart and jingling car keys, I stand without a towel, extra shirt, or even large cup, in which to put her...if I find her at all.

A few feet in the opposite direction of where I think the kitten is hiding, I see a flattened piece of cardboard.  My head on a swivel, I grab the cardboard piece and galumph through the grass with bumblebees like a dizzy antelope.  (Oh no, I'm sure that's not scary at all to a wee kitten running for her life.)

You can do this, you can do this.

 If I'm able to get to her, I'm now positive she'll shoot toward the street again to get away from the crazy panting monster leering at her spouting Tony Robbins inspirations.

There you are, you dear little thing.  

I lay one hand on her speckled gray coat and use the other to put the hunk of cardboard on the curb that she is hugging so she can't dive toward traffic.

We stay like that for many minutes.  She lets me pet her until finally her open mouth lets out a silent cry that guts me from the inside out.  We are not having a picnic, this girl is in trouble.  She is in serious pain and I need to get her out of here now.

You can do this.  We can do this.  This is happening.

I quickly lift her scruff and she doesn't even flinch.  Holding her a few inches off the ground gives me no comfort as to well-being.  Her limbs just hang this way and that.  Some look broken, some look to have simply given up.

I scoot the cardboard piece under her before realizing it's actually a dilapidated box.  Not much of one anymore as I re-assemble its ripped up sides but enough to act as her safe house for a while.

She lets me slide her right in.  Her terrified golden eyes are the last thing I see before clutching that box in my arms like it is a bomb ready to explode.

Well, shit.  I can't just stick you in the carseat, can I?    

If you've ever try to extract a petrified cat from your vehicle, you'll know this only ends in cat urine all over your upholstery and slices down your arm that may or may not need stitches.

(Yep, she's in there.) 

I have no choice but to trust she's too tired to fight.  I put her in Abby's carseat, tell her she's going to be ok now, and drive like hell to the nearest open animal hospital.  

Then, somehow text my husband.

Hi Honey.  Pls don't be mad but I found kitten in road and now at vet.  Will text soon.  Happy Father's Day.

Within a few minutes, he writes back, "Do what you gotta do," and I fall in love with him again.  You see, Andy hates cats.  He doesn't hate anything but he hates cats.  He has allowed many dogs in our home throughout the years but has never bent one millimeter with his rule of no cats, ever.

So I sit in the waiting room - half adrenalized and half wondering what will happen to our bank account when the doctor comes in.

Two hours later, Doc tells me the kitten looks bad but is stable.  Do I want to continue with feline leukemia test?  Yes, I do.  What''s going on with her?  Kitty has sustained a lot of injuries and a possible head trauma as one pupil is blown.  Kitty's x-rays show no broken bones but she does have legs that have serious ligament injuries, front much worse than hind.  It will be more than likely she'll need her leg removed before long.  She will need observation overnight.  Do I need a coffee?  No, just a job please.  We are hiring.  I'll take an application.  Thank you.  No, thank you.  Have you named her yet?  I haven't even seen her yet, really.  What does she look like?  She's gorgeous.  And tiny, only 2 lbs.  Would you like me to bring her out.  Yes, let me put on some lipgloss.  





Well Hello you little warrior princess.

I name her Pandora because she is stunning, strong, and let me put her in the saddest little box I've ever seen.  I name her Pandora because it's a name I love and I'm pretty sure I already love her, too.  Warrior kittens don't come across my path everyday.  When they do, I illegally park my minivan to help them get to safety.  Forever.  I'd be crazy not to.

******************************

An update on Pandora or Pandy Paws as we call her:

She has come along beautifully!  She has gained weight and is now over three pounds.  Pandy Paws no longer has worms, fleas, or any disease at all.  She still cannot feel or technically use her front right paw but has been using the rest of her legs quite well.  I cannot see any defects in any of her other legs.  Our regular vet assessed her recently and discovered there is a teeny-weeny bit of feeling returning to her injured paw so we will give her much more time and kitty PT to see if she can keep it.  We are so hopeful.   And our vet says there isn't any sign whatsoever or head trauma so another win!

Pandy Paws hasn't officially been integrated in with the dogs yet.  Sadie scares her which is hysterical because Sadie is more afraid of cats than anything else in the world.  Sparrow has whined, pined, and cried for Pandy ever since she sniffed her here.  We hope this is maternal (Sparrow had a litter of pups before we adopted her.) and not carniverous.  Needless to say, introductions are going well but very, very slowly.

The kids' summer has been filled with kitty snuggling, kitty feeding, kitty play-scratches, and kitty bedtime stories.

Life with a kitten is a very good life, indeed. 

Peeling Carrots

"It just feels less special without Jimmy in this world, doesn't it?"  I ask my husband while peeling carrots and after two mixed drinks.

"Yes.  Yes it does," he admits in a lower register than usual.

I don't care if I make it awkward.  Jimmy's name is as common around my household as it ever was.  I bring him up from time to time and so far the only downside is having Abby ask me if I'm crying because of "Uncle Jimmy" every time I blow my nose.  Sometimes, Honey, it really is just a sneeze.

For the most part, I carry no weight of sadness on my shoulders.  I no longer live through that day of hearing about him being gone over and over again like a loop of a YouTube video.  I am able to function as a mom, wife, daughter, and friend.  But other times, when I'm doing dishes or peeling carrots with my grandmother's vegetable peeler, I go there.  And it's not always a bad thing.

When a favorite person of yours is no longer here to look forward to seeing, hugging, clinking glasses with, Instant Messaging, or just setting your eyes on, the world is on a forever tilt.  The day you learn you can't be with him anymore is the day minutes shift and smush down onto a record that has a finite number of lines on the vinyl.  And that feels right.  Your mortality is in visual and that's alright too.  It doesn't feel like a thing that is to be feared or guarded against but more like a fine tuning of your time left.

Yes, I wish I made it to his apartment for that drink we talked of having.  No, I don't regret doubling back for that awkward conversation and even more awkward hug I gave in his driveway one summer day when his thoughts were elsewhere and his spirit was low.  Yes, I want to climb through the clouds to hear him tell me if any of this dying business hurt and was he scared when he knew nobody was coming for him.  Yes, my God yes, do I wish I could've been there for him like he has always been there for me.  There would've been nothing to stop me from getting to him in time. Not. One. Damn. Thing.  But that wasn't negotiable, nor is it worth any time spent in regret.

But, holy sh*t do the days show their palor and the conversations I have with others mark his absence like they should.  I don't try as hard to make an impression because the one I wanted to impress is gone.  Maybe there is freedom there.   For some time later.

My world -this world- is missing someone so, so special and that's hard to get used to.  It will always feel off, I think, and maybe that's just how it's going to be.
**********************************************************************

Our last Instant Message Conversation:

Jimmy:  Hello my favorite niece. Just wanted to say thank you for your kind happy Father's Day greeting. I had a great day. Hope to see you soon and as a reminder, we both have a birthday coming up soon. Yours is joyfully anticipated, mine is being met with all the eagerness of attending a Dahmer family reunion.

Jimmy:  Are you smiling? Hope so. Could not love you any more. oooxoxoxox Uncle Jimmy

February 10, 2013 5:05 pm

Erin:  p'ville just sold again a few months ago. it was the highest sale in our neighborhood overall, awesome! i'm now "following" it on this site so i can find out when it goes on the market again. leave it to me to follow a house on the interwebs. maybe it has a twitter account? it totally should xoxo love you, uncle jimmy! xoxoxox

February 11, 2013 4:41 am

Jimmy:  Awww....So exciting. We'll get that house back, yet! My biggest regret was letting it go.

Erin:  No regrets, you had to. Boomps was still "in it" and holy moly as much as we love him, a ghost him would just be too much. We will ke track of it and maybe stak it until it's ready for us again. xoxo

*keep * stalk My editor is still asleep.

September 14, 2013 3:04 pm

Erin:  Dear Jimmy, I miss you so much I can't stand it.

The Privilege of Pain

It's not like I go about my days mopey and dejected.  

It's just that my heart reminds me, in quiet times when the light is yellow or when leaves skitter across the street like children, I have a choice.  When that swell begins, I can choose to either accept or deny.  

I make that choice every time depending on whether I'm wearing eye-makeup, meeting a friend for tea, or running into Kmart for conditioner.  Yes, I fell off the conditioner wagon.  Sometimes I choose to deny and go forward with imaginary moose horns leading the way.  Those days are good.  I am an excellent forgetter.

Other times, when my kids are gone and my husband is at work, I accept. 

Like an invitation, I accept the hurt of remembering.  The chance to once again hold memories dear.  To let the curling ache surge through my bones at the loss of what I can barely believe, almost a year later, that he's in heaven.

We talked about it often.  Heaven.  What goes on.  Who's already there.  Is Boompa running away from Boomps as they both trip over themselves toward a fancy ballroom?  Do we get to watch our lives, the good parts, on a screen in a leather-bound lounger with cats on our laps and limitless popcorn?  Will we get to choose again?

The morning he passed, I tried to call him to ask his thoughts, again, on heaven.  I wish I were kidding.   Did he believe you had to certain things here before getting to see our loved ones again?  Did he feel the same way I did about all the rules and regulations?  Do people walk this earth as separate strands of one immensely powerful source of light?  Does this light gain strength through compassion?

I tried to call him as I drove through Starbucks to get my friend an iced-vanilla latte.  Watching all the people staring at their phones in an attempt to connect to their brighter, bigger, happier source of light.  Hundreds of small lights, roaming in close range to one another without once making eye contact.  Seemingly blinded by the fact that eye contact is the only way in.

I didn't connect with him that morning but instead connected with his son, about a concert.  About music.

The minutes of that day are a movie-reel;  I play them over and over in my mind.  So many parallels.  Too many coincidences to be accidents.  My thoughts always goes back to the strangers I saw that afternoon at Starbucks milling together, but light years apart.  I cared so much to understand each of them.  That day. That day.

The many layers of unconditional love are revealed to me through missing him.  And denying myself that would be denying myself answers I meant to ask him that afternoon;  when he was already gone.

So now, when I accept that invitation to hurt, to ache, and yes, sometimes to cry useless tears, there is sadness but now I notice something else riding shotgun.  I'm not sure what it is because it's new.  We haven't known each other long.  For now, I'll call it privilege.  I feel the invitation to miss him is a privilege.

It is a privilege to shed tears for anyone we miss.  To deny ourselves the right to acknowledge their specific strand of light does not feel right.  I think we are meant to recognize those who bring us goodness, laughter, depth of character, and soul.  We are meant to pull them from the throngs of people just cruising at altitude to honor their spirit loudly and with sh*loads of confetti.

Those opportunities to accept losses are allowing me to connect with my brighter, bigger, happier, eventual source of light.  And who the hell am I to decline that kind of beautiful invitation.




********

Last Friday, I made a selfish request to hear from him.  That afternoon I received nada, except a cryptic note from a handsome elderly man about Elvis.  So creepy.  Yet sweet.  Very confusing.

This morning. I was in search of something when I came across this card.

It's an old birthday from Jimmy to me.  Since I was little, he called me "Nooskie-Boo."  Thirty some years old and I was still his Nooskie-Boo.

See what I mean?  An absolute privilege to keep them close, even through the pain of losing them too soon.  

Close is Good, Right?

Sheesh, it's been a minute, hasn't it? 

(Ninja Pop on left, Ninja Nammy on right)

My Ninjas (in-laws) are in town and we have been biz-eee.  Visiting, eating, shopping, giggling, preparing to eat, getting coffee, wondering what's for dinner, and touring the local attractions. *By local attractions, I totally mean my favorite diner shack that makes every meal feel like someone in the kitchen loves you.  Tour Guide Extraordinaire up in here.  Who has gained five pounds in eleven days.  Boo-yah.

Also, I've forced Nammy to join me in seasonal browsing at every possible thrift store this side of the Mississippi.  Where's Pop been, you ask?  At a nearby train shop.  Every day since he got here.  Passionately reconfiguring Andy's inherited miniature train set in our garage, Pop has been the busiest of us all.  He's almost finished with the layout in order to build his village.  I'll show you pictures soon.

Until I can get my brain around them leaving way too early in the morning tomorrow, I'll leave you with a few pictures of the last two weeks.  I'm a little irrationally pissed sad that they're leaving tomorrow but Oh Man have we made memories to last us until they return.  Hopefully soon.  The village is going to need renovations and we all know Pop will want to see this project through to the end.  Nor would we want it any other way.

How was your Thanksgiving.  Quiet or chaotic?  Silly or serious?  Where did you spend yours?  Did you make something traditional from your past?  Where do you stand on cranberry slaw? 

Ours was peaceful and calm.

 Kids and I hit up the Pinterest Kids Craft section pretty hard. 

There were more name cards than people attending. 

 

 

 

 Found this idea on Pinterest too.  Add pictures of far away beloveds to your centerpiece.

 

 

 

 

 So I added all of the pictures of every beloved.

There were more pictures than there were guests attending...every dinner across America.

 

 

 

 

 There's Grampy far left, my dad and siblings middle, Grammy who just passed recently front and center...

 

 

 

And gold spray painted leaves for a fancy yet homey feel. 

(Pinterest is helping me work through some things.)

 

 

 

 

 And then there was this odd zero-rain-induced rainbow over our house right before dinner.  The boys saw this perplexing polka dot of light pouring out rays toward our house and thought I might be interested.  Interested.  I left a voicemail with Theresa from Long Island Medium two minutes later.  That stuff is miracle grown.

 

Miracle or not, folks still gotta eat.

 Ninja Nammy getting things ready for the big meal.

 

 

 

 

 

 The Big Peanut Fried Meal

 

 

 

 

 Ninja Pop serving us up.

 

 

 

 

 Kid Table

 

 

 

 

Sweet weekend houseguest

 

 

 

 

 This was when I tried to get a picture of Grayson and instead inspired him to whack his head on the corner of that countertop to avoid the camera lens.  Mom of the Year.  It's ok to hate.

 

Post Dinnerness

 

Peaceful and calm is a drastic turn from the familiar raucous frenzy that has been the wonderful norm for us in the past.  My family and I are not a reserved bunch once we all get together.  Before my favorite awesome people went to heaven things changed, Thanksgiving was the time I'd look forward to going home to visit my family or hosted them over at our house. 

Rightfully so, this year has a big vacuous hole in it.  A crappy undeniable hole that felt more cavernous leading up to the actual Thursday.  It was a big first without Jimmy.  Once Thursday finally hit, I let myself privately choke on tears in the shower.  Release from an all too prickly buildup.  Suddenly it was an hour later where I couldn't pick myself off the shower floor and guests were arriving.  Hard water scalding my shoulders as I just gave the hell in.  It wasn't a pity sob or a desperate wail.  It was a release from keeping it all in.  Typically, I'm a sharer.  Fine, over-sharer.  So bottling up angst quietly isn't easy for this chatterbox.   Oh okay, now's good...  Here I am alone and nobody will feel awkward if I bring up his name.  Nobody will be irritated that I haven't moved on.  Nobody will look the other way.  To give myself permission to feel Jimmy's absence on a day that means him, Boomps, Boompa, Mom, & Eric at my most historical core.  We were Thanksgiving years ago with Boomps' camcorder taping every bite we took during dinner.  Nobody talking at first, then Jimmy cracking the first joke about how one of us will be discovered once these VHS tapes hit Hollywood, and probably it would be Mom.  She'd always check her teeth in a dinner knife without missing a beat.  These two could've gone on the road.

The Redskins game would be turned on before chocolate pudding pie was fed to Rhett, our ancient, balding sweetheart of a dog.  Dishes piling next to the sink, awaiting our return from a post-gluttonous eating walk.  Every year, always the same.  It's probably why my heart still welcomes fall with full expectation of empirical greatness.   

 

 Top & Bottom Pic - Jimmy with his parents (my Boomps & Boompa)

Top Pic - Eric and Me (wearing Jimmy's shirt he gave me, still have it...score!) 

Bottom Pic - Me and Jimmy playing a heated (yawn) round of Simon Says. 

 

Both pics are of Jimmy and my mom.  They are one year apart and share the same quirk.

 

Top Pic- 4yo me, Jimmy, "Uncle Dee-Dee" (his GF then), 6yo Eric 

Bottom Pic - Jimmy with Boompa (his mom, my grandma) in our living room.  Don't you love that Bookwork lamp?  I think Eric has it now. 

 

 

 

 

Jimmy with a not quite geriatric yet Rhett

So yes.  I give into my sadness occasionally because that time has passed forever.  But it's a beautiful sadness because I understand now, more than ever, what it means to have them, him, all of those dirty dishes, imprinted on my soul. 

It's not exactly acceptance, but it's close.