Thanksgiving Blues

Last year I was driving back from Atlanta, having dropped off my best friend at the hospital for more tests and procedures. Normally I stayed there with her, but my children needed me home. With all her treatments and tests, I'd hardly seen them. Her old college friends were in Atlanta and she'd spend the holidays with them. I was coming home to my kids.... and to you.

Traffic was hell and I ran so late. There would be no Thanksgiving dinner. I wouldn't even get home until after everyone's bed time. I wouldn't get to pick up my son's from the sitter. Only my daughter would be home waiting for me.

I called you in tears. You told me to stop by your Mom's on the way home. You said that there was plenty of food. I'd never met your mother or anyone outside of your children. You're mom's was only a half hour round trip out of the way and an hour and half before I'd get home.

I told you I'd come because I was so tired and hungry that I didn't think I'd make it home if I didn't stop for a break to eat.

I really came because I needed you. I needed to feel you're presence. You never touched me, yet you always felt like home. I needed you to tell me everything was going to be all right. I needed to see your smile and that look in your eyes that you got when you were worried about me. I needed to smile back and tell you that I'd be ok. That I was ok. Somehow always telling you that I was ok made me feel stronger.

I was so tapped out I didn't want to meet anyone new. I was wearing leggings and a sweatshirt so that I'd be comfortable for the long car ride. My hair was pulled back with sunglasses and the bags under my eyes showed the hours I'd logged driving. I'd left my house at 2am, and here we were at 9pm.

Yet, the minute I pulled up and saw you, everything was OK. You walked me in and sat me down at a table away from everyone. Then, your mother dove in. She was all the things a mother should be. Comforting, understanding, supportive. She made me a plate and then made a plate for me to take home to my daughter.

Do you remember that night? Your daughter was in the kitchen talking to other family across the bar. I heard her clearly say, "No, they're just BFFs" as you walked into the kitchen to get me something to drink. "Right Dad? You and her are just BFFs?" You replied something I couldn't hear and I heard her say, "Yeah, just BFFs".

Your mom told me later that she knew that night that you and I would end up together. She said that I was good for you. That she could see how much I loved you. She told me you could be difficult but that you were a good man.

Here we are, a year later. I don't know if you love me or if you ever did. You're no longer my best friend and there are no more trips to Atlanta because the cancer finally won and my other best friend is gone. I told myself my health issues were too intense to cook Thanksgiving today but the truth is that this Thanksgiving is too painful. This Thanksgiving I look around my life and realize my two best friends are gone. I've spent most of my life without best friends. I've been ok with that. Yet, I had two for a short time and felt less alone than I'd ever felt in my life. Somehow that makes today feel more alone than ever.

This Thanksgiving I'm sitting here at a computer, typing these words as tears stream down my face. I ache to go back in time just for a brief moment, to a time when my two best friends were in my life. To that time when I thought I was strong, loved, and able to conquer anything life threw at me.

I miss you.

I miss her.

This Thanksgiving sucks.

Hauntings

I walked into that store I abhor and never go to. Today, my craving for a DiGiorno Spicy Chicken pizza (that only that store sales) overcame my aversion to the store itself.

I got just to the main, massive aisle that runs behind all the registers and saw my aunt! I was so excited and as I turned to walk towards her I instantly smiled and thought of my usual greeting, "Hey beautiful!"

I don't know how many steps I took.

I don't think it was more than three or four.

When I realized "it", I stumbled.

I froze.

I looked again and she was still there!

But it couldn't be her.

It's not even been a year yet.

Almost.

But not quite.

I quickly ducked into the freezer aisle where only one older lady stood. I was crying and shaking.

Life just hasn't been the same without her in it. She was my rock, my backbone, the mother when my own abandoned me.

I miss her.

Cancer sucks.

What Type of Person Am I?

For as long as I can remember people have described me as "strong". Those that know my stories, that know my experiences, they tell me that they can't understand how I have come through it all. When people are in need, they come to me. When they need someone to talk to, they call me. When they need to run away from life and reset, they run to me. I am OK with that.

     However, I am only human. I am imperfect. I can never be strong 100% of the time. Some people seem to believe that since I've been through so much, since my heart has broken a thousand times, since I've cried tears over monstrosities most people never think of......some people seem to take that to mean that I can suffer no setbacks. They find it inconceivable that any thing that happens now should faze me after I've survived so much.

     There are those that, when they see me weaken and waver, they become frightened. They rely to much on others, myself included, and when those that they rely on falter they become frightened. They worry that if something seemingly miniscule n their mind could cause me to falter after all I've been through, then what will happen to them if something bad comes their way?

     There are those that remain constant in my life, as long as I am perceived as strong. When the moment comes that I need a break, that I need someone to talk to, that I need to run away for a bit and reset......these people are not there. They will return once I am back up at attacking the world with all I have, but that is only when they are there.

     Today, I was told that I wasn't making sense and that where I was equated to "drama". Although I felt I had clearly explained where I was, and why I was going through what I was going through, it appears it fell on deaf or non-understanding ears.

     My life is so blessed. I have wonderful children that are doing better than I ever dreamed imaginable. I have a soon to be 16 year old that will be enrolling in college this fall. He has shown me that living with special needs does not keep you from your dreams. I have a gorgeous 13 year old that I couldn't survive a month without! I have a 7 year old that shows me every single day that one can always put forth more effort, even with special needs. I have another son as well, one that adopted me years ago. He also has special needs and he proves that despite ridicule or bullying, the human heart can still be open and giving without restraint.

     I have a wonderful and supportive church family that always seems to know exactly what I need, when I need it. I wouldn't have made it through the last year without their faith and support. I have friends that love me at all times, through thick and thin and ugly.

     My career is taking off with leaps and bounds. It has exceeded my own expectations. I am excelling in college and pushing through for several more degrees. I have met the most amazing people in my line of work and am excited to be entering such a rewarding field.

     I have a lovely home that no one can take from me. It is nestled in the midst of what I am certain is the Garden of Eden. My children love it here and I live in the midst of serenity.

     Yet, even with life being so wonderful, events can still come that knock the wind out of you. Even when these events are expected. My aunt passed away after her battle with cancer this past Wednesday. My aunt was buried at the same cemetery as my best friends little boy. Also in the same cemetery lies my grandmother. My grandmother and my aunt, the two women who always accepted me just as I was. The two women who loved me unconditionally. The two women who believed in me. The two women who are responsible for my strength. Lou lies at the top of the hill in the cemetery. Lou who took me in when I was a homeless and bewildered 16 year old child.

     Also at my aunt's funeral, I was reacquainted with my cousin's son. My cousin and I did not have the pleasure of growing up together. Yet, when I started hanging out with him during my teen years, he and I bonded quickly. He was an old soul and our talks would sometimes last way into the night. He died in a car accident shortly after my own son was born, his son was still a toddler. Being able to see this small toddler grown into a smart, intelligent, accomplished basketball player....my heart is still soaring!

     There were many that stopped me to tell me that my aunt had told them how I had hopped in the chair after her to get my head shaved. Her radiation was over, and her hair was falling out. She decided to get it buzzed close to the scalp, but for the first time ever I saw my aunt melancholy and sulky! I couldn't let her do it by herself. So we did it together. I knew that in that moment it brought her comfort. Yet, I had no idea that she had told so many others about it.

     She and I spoke of her illness. What she wanted and didn't want. How she would sacrifice her wants to meet the needs of others. Where she would go, how she would go. What was acceptable and what wasn't. I had her back and even if I didn't agree, I'd support her 5,000 %. That's what she always did for me. She told me once that we all have to learn our own lessons, and all anyone else can do is to support us as we do.

     My aunt's death shook me to the core. I didn't expect it to. I knew I would feel her loss greatly. I didn't realize how she had touched every single part of my life though. How much the wisdom she gave me had forever shaped who I was to become, who I am still becoming.

     I haven't felt very strong the last few days. I haven't felt pulled together, focused, or driven. I've felt an emptiness and I have grieved. In the midst of it all, I most likely haven't "made sense". In the midst of it all, I most likely appear weak and maybe even a bit tragic. There are those that have disappeared, those that have made it clear they dislike me this way, and those that have placed me in a position to re-evaluate whether they need to be in my life.

     Then there are those that have stood by my family and myself. There are friends that spread the word amongst themselves about my aunt's passing and have checked on our family regularly. There are those that have offered their ear, their shoulder, their arms. Those that call just to ask me if I need anything. These people are the ones that matter. These people are the ones that I will forever love and hold close. These are the ones that I call friend.

     My aunt told me many years ago that when someone dies, God takes that life and puts it into someone else. While my aunt was passing away, my dear friend was having cancerous tumors removed from his brain. The surgery went better than expected and my friend has gained more time on his life. Time that wasn't supposed to have been given.

     Dear Aunt, if you can hear me wherever you are, thank you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for knowing that I could succeed even when I was certain I couldn't. And Aunt, thank you so much for telling me that when one life is taken, that life moves forward to another. I can't help but think that my friend now has your life, and with that he has gained more time.

     I won't always be strong. I'll have my moments, my weeks, maybe even my months. Yet, when the grieving is over, I'm still me. I'll still be here. Will you?

The Strong One

Yesterday, you introduced me as "the strong one".

You dear, you are the strong one. You are the one who has never let people forget how your beautiful son died. You are the one that held the people who contributed to his death responsible. You are the one who made sure laws were changed so that other children would be protected. You are the one who comforted me and helped me to carry on when I was crushed with the guilt, thinking something I had said could have made a difference in his life.

You are the one who now is sitting in a hospital room, watching your "better half" of 11 years slowly fade away. You are the one who still comforted me when we spoke of your son that was gone so many years ago. You are the one who is still smiling for others when inside you must be experiencing such great ache and agony. You are the one who is still clinging to God, even as you wonder if He's given you more then you can bear.

You, dear Pam, you are the strong one. I love you and I would do anything to take this away from you. (((((hugs))))))

RIP Childhood Friend

"I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?"

Every year, as August 8th nears, I begin to think of my friend that died when we were 14 years old. I always dwell on the last time we were together. We went to eat seafood with several other families. On the way back home, she and I sat in the middle seat of Dad's brown Toyota mini-van. We sang "We Are Family" while dancing around and then "Lean On Me". That was when all we had to listen to was radio or a cassette. These songs just happen to play on the radio back to back. We smiled and laughed and said we'd always be family.

This year makes 20 years since Mary died. We were 14. I was on vacation, worried about a boy. He broke up with me that trip, and I remember thinking it was the end of the world. We were on vacation, and I didn't know she had died.

I remember so vividly, I'd just gotten out of the same brown Toyota mini-van and had my blue suitcase in my hand. I was walking to the front door and Dad was reading a note left on the door. I remember he looked at Mom who was somewhere behind me and said in a shocked, stunned voice, "Mary's dead." I don't think he quite believed it and it seemed almost as if he was hoping she would tell him he was wrong. I don't even think he realized that I was there, or that his words forever altered me. I'd just lost my best friend.

I can't tell you how long I spent beating myself up over the fact that I had been on vacation, worried about some stupid guy, while she was being laid to rest. I never got to say goodbye and for the first time, at 14 years old, I understood that funerals aren't for those who've passed...........funerals are for those that are left behind.

20 years..........it seems so big, so long. I've lived more years since Mary passed then I had before. I grew up to go to college, to have children, to marry.

I remember being scared that I'd forget her. Yet, even now when our songs come on the radio, I crank it up and I am taken back to that day, cruising down 109 in a brown Toyota van, singing at the top of our lungs, knowing we had our whole lives ahead of us. When I eat seafood, I see her smiling and laughing beside me.

When I was 16, I was in my first wreck. It was in that brown Toyota mini-van.

I remember when the boy I was so wrapped up in on that vacation got married, and all I could think about was my dear friend who I missed.

I remember when her Mom asked to speak to me on the phone. She told me that Mary had always looked up to me and that she loved me. I remember being so shocked............she'd looked up to me? I had always looked up to her.

I still have the ring that belonged to Mary. Her mother gave it to me after she'd passed. It's worn now, and bent out of shape. When I was 18, I had a severe allergic reaction. My boyfriend at the time, who was later to become the father of two children, was in the ER with me when the reaction started. He told me later that I screamed and fought the nurses when they said they had to cut off my rings due to swelling. He said I couldn't even talk, and could barely breathe, but that I fought them so much that the doctor told them to figure something else out. I had to be treated and the doctor couldn't treat me while I was fighting. I have that ring sitting now so that every morning it's one of the first things I see, and I see it throughout my day as well. I see it before I go to bed at night.

I've had the type of life that is seen in movies, read in books, and even though it's marked "based on a true story" no one really believes it's true.

BUT, I've had that life. I've had those years. I've lived longer since my best friend died then before.

It's been 20 years, and I haven't forgotten.

I love you Mary. I can't wait to see you again!! We have so much to talk about.

*name changed to protect anonymity 

"I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?"

Quote taken from the movie "Stand By Me"

RIP Childhood Friend

Each year, August 8th is noticed by me. It's the day my dear friend died. I wasn't with her. I was on vacation. I found out from a note on the door when I returned, long after the funeral.

I remember us sitting in the back of Dad's brown Toyota mini-van singing "We Are Family" and "Lean on Me". We were on our way back from a seafood restaurant that sat on Hwy 109 in the middle of nowhere. I even remember what I ate, where we sat at the table that day, and the guy that I was unabashedly flirting with.

Her death touched me in a way no other has. We were 14 years old, she just a few months younger then me. I had all kinds of things I was going to tell her about my vacation. Death was not even a possibility.

Then there was the fact that I wasn't there. I missed the funeral. I didn't get to say goodbye.

We were only 14 years old.

And so begins the thoughts of what she would be like today. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would be vibrant and full of life. That her smile and laugh would light up a room.

I'm gonna kick over to youtube, find the videos to the two songs we sang the last time we were together, and sing it while doing the same dance moves she and I did that day so many years ago.

I'll always remember you Mary.