Hold Them Close to Your Heart

Numbers.  My brain has a way of holding onto them.  342-3667...my phone number when I lived on Main Street in New Lexington.  I haven't had that number in 20 years, but I know still it.  15-22-11...my locker combination my senior year of high school.  67...the number of months John and I tried to conceive before our miracle happened.

Babies are miracles.  Our participation is largely primitive and unimpressive, but what happens at the cellular level is truly magical.  Conditions must be relatively perfect for the egg and sperm to unite.  The window for conception is quite small.  It's amazing conception happens at all.  (Unless you're an unmarried and uncommitted teen in the back of a car....that seems to be the recipe for pregnancy.)

I carried a lot of anger inside me while trying to conceive.  It seemed like there were babies everywhere.  Everyone I knew was having a baby.  John's family popped out children like the Duggars.  Yet, it wasn't happening for me.  I longed for the chance to be a mother.

Somehow, with a lot prayer and wine, I made peace with not being a mother.  John and I decided to wait until we turned 30 to adopt.  We planned to travel, buy a timeshare, enjoy our life together.

In March 2007, we went to Vegas.  I was sick the entire trip. I assumed I caught something on the plane.  John was disappointed because "Fun April" was replaced with "Tired as Balls April" in the most liberal city in the US.

When we returned home, I still wasn't feeling better.  A month went by and I was falling asleep watching the 5 o'clock news.  John thought I should see a doctor. No way...no docs.  My friend, Brenda, said I was pregnant.  I laughed at her and went to buy a large chocolate milkshake at McDonald's because I couldn't seem to get enough of them.  (I have never like chocolate milkshakes.)

Shortly after, we had a party and Brenda helped me set up for it.  She was chopping veggies while I sat on the kitchen floor drinking another milkshake.  She opened the fridge door and I caught sight of the dill pickles.  I kid you not, I had to have one.  A pickle and a milkshake.  Brenda said, "We're going to Walmart. You need a pregnancy test."  I finally thought she could be right...I just didn't want another negative test.

We ran to Walmart and I read the test directions on the way home.  The directions recommended waiting until morning.  I couldn't do that.  I had to know.  If it was negative, I was going to get so smashed at that party - drunk enough to forget the hope of having a baby.

It was positive.  I walked out of the bathroom stunned.  I asked Brenda, "What am I going to do?"  Her reply, "You're going to have a baby."

You're going to have a baby.  The most longed for words in my history.

We told very few people we were pregnant.  We kept it from our family.  It seemed too good to be true.  My pregnancy was verified by the doctor and an ultrasound was scheduled for a week later.  I had no idea how far along I was.  I hadn't kept track of my menstrual cycle...it hadn't mattered.

John had to miss the first ultrasound.  He was traveling for work.  My doctor said, "We've got a heartbeat.  Want to hear it?"  In that moment, it became real.  I really was having a baby.  Unbelievable.  I had no experience with any of this, but I thought it would be odd to have a heartbeat at such an early gestational stage.  It turned out, I was 13.5 weeks along.  My doctor said, "Welcome to the 2nd trimester."  I thought, "well, that was easy." My due date was Christmas Day.  My miracle.

It was mid May, 2007.  We waited to tell my family at my dad's birthday.  I signed the card from John, April and Baby Gano.  It took him a minute to get what I meant.  He asked if we were finally adopting.  Everyone knew I couldn't conceive and no one was expecting a natural pregnancy.

One minute after our announcement, my sister said, "Chris and I are going to try to have a baby too."  Really, she usurped my moment.  I was pissed.

My sister was pregnant by July.  John's sister was pregnant by October.  Why wouldn't anyone just let me have a little bit of the spotlight?

But I got over it.  It would really be nice for my daughter to have 2 cousins to grow up with.  Then tragedy came, as it always does when things are perfect.  Too perfect.

My sister went into labor in December.  She wasn't due until April.  Tyler was born on December 11, 2007.  2 weeks before Christmas.  We knew his survival was slim.  I sat in the window sill in her L&D suite while he died.  I did not hold him.  I could not hold him.  My baby was due in 2 weeks.

How could this happen?  I was so sure he would be a miracle baby.  Born way too early, but strong and relatively untouched by the trauma of his early birth.  It happens.  Why didn't it happen for him?

Have you been following Grey's Anatomy?  The Kepner/Avery story line crushed me.  Last week (SPOILER!) April and Jackson said goodbye to their baby.  April struggled with her faith.  She demanded to know where the justice was in their loss.  She begged for a miracle.  "They happen.  Miracles happen," she cried.

This is on my mind today.  My newest niece will be born tomorrow in the same hospital my nephew died in.  I can't think of being there without feeling the pain of losing him; relieving those horrible few days.  I do not know how my sister puts that memory aside when she enters that hospital.  Maybe she can't?  I do know that she is much stronger than I ever gave her credit for.  Perhaps that is a miracle?

Miracles do happen.  I know because I had 7 pounds of miracle inside me while my nephew was being called home.  Why does that happen?  Why do so many mothers get such few precious moments with their new babies, their miracles? Why do we stumble when the miracle we've prayed for isn't received?

Maybe, we expect too much.  We demand biblical miracles: the deaf hearing, the blind seeing, the dead living.  Perhaps, we are failing to see every day miracles around us.  The pregnancy we were blessed to have.  The ability to feel another human being growing inside us.  The sun on our faces, the snow, the rain.  A smile from a stranger.  The birds returning to the exact same place every spring.  Fruit trees, flowers, nature itself.  The Ordinary Miracle.

I'll be as Honest as I Feel

Life is a circle.  Well, maybe not exactly a circle.  More like a tide or a wave.  Or whatever.  I don't really have any philosophical bullshit to feed you today.

Life can be so good.  So, so good.  Then, BAM!  WHACK!  Out of nowhere, something sweeps your feet out from under you.

For a few weeks, I had been feeling a stabbing pain in my right breast.  It wasn't constant, but it scared the hell out of me.  I felt my breast, my lymph nodes, my groin.  I was sure I'd find a lump.  Nothing.  Until 2 weeks later.

I was in the bath, leaning back and relaxing.  I felt the pain and thought I'd feel for a lump.  And I found one.  It was about the size of a pea.  I yelled for John.  He felt it too.  Then I threw up.  Why? Because that's what happens when you're 35 and you find a lump in your breast.  Breast cancer at 35 is tough to beat.  There is a grave difference in survival rates between women of advanced age and women in child-birthing ages.  Breast cancer kills young women because it feeds on the hormones we still produce.

Panic.  Sickness.  Doom.  My own mortality.  Fear.

I was convinced that one tiny lump would end my life.  Take me from my children.  Finish me before I watched them grow.  End me when I feel like I've just begun.

It was my own fault.  I hadn't been to the OB/GYN since the boys were born.  Yes, I know it's been nearly 5 years and shit like that's important.  But, I've been a little busy trying to be everything to everyone all the time.  Some things get pushed to the side with the intent to catch it up at a later, less busy time.  Less busy...never gonna happen.

I tried to make an appointment.  My doctor had retired.  Greeeaaaatttt.... just what I wanted: a new doctor to become instantly intimate with.  I must say, the new doc was pretty fantastic.  He was extremely professional and didn't judge me for putting my own health absolutely last in my list of priorities.  He was very positive and told me not to worry before the test results were read.

I felt one lump.  He felt two. The mammogram and ultrasound revealed 3.  THREE!

The mammogram wasn't as bad as I expected.  Yes, ladies, they literally squish your breast.  Like a pancake.  After capturing horizontal images of your breast, the technician moves the equipment and vertically smashes your boob.  It wasn't exactly painful, but it certainly wasn't something I'd like to volunteer for often and I'm so happy I am not a mammogram technician because, eeewwww.

When the tech found 3 lumps, she marked them with stickers so the ultrasound tech would have an easier time locating them.  I walked from the mammogram to the ultrasound in nothing but a hospital gown, opened in the front.

The last time I had an ultrasound, I got a wonderful pic of two perfect little boys growing inside me.  It was miraculous and beautiful.  This experience wasn't as nice.  I laid, humiliated, while another woman squirted cold gel on my breast, moved it all over the place and firmly pressed her wand into my body.  And then it was over.

I expected a long wait.  I was starting to put on my clothes when the tech turned to me and said, "Please keep the robe on.  I have to take this report to the radiologist.  You are probably done, but I may need to take more images.  You will knowing something soon."

"Soon" turned out to be about 30 minutes.  The radiologist came into the room.  I was sure I was doomed.  Why else would he take time to talk to me?  He said, "Ms. King, I just talked with your doctor (OMG...I'm terrified!) and I am 100% positive that you have 3 sebaceous cysts in your right breast. They're completely benign. Whenever you feel pain, it's because they have filled with fluid.  Use heat to drain them."

I'm alive!  Healthy and alive.  AND READY TO LIVE.

I have made some promises to myself.  Life is short.  We are not promised tomorrow.  I will be happy with whatever time God gives me.  I will live in a way that pleases me.  I will not die without standing in the Montana valley, smelling the crisp mountain air, feeling so tiny.  I will not die having never known reciprocated love.  I will not waste the rest of my life the way I have so many precious years thus far.  I will not feel anger or resentment for things that were never in my control.  I will not feel the need to reveal my plans, my whereabouts, my business.  I am responsible only for my own feelings.

I've spent forever healing.  I am no longer picking up the pieces.  I am whole.

The Liars and the Dirty, Dirty Cheats

There is nothing I loathe more than being lied to.  Nothing.  I am an honest person.  Lying isn't a part of my life.  That doesn't mean I walk around saying every thought that comes to my head or that I don't have secrets.  I do manage to keep some things to myself.  But, should you ask, I will tell you the truth.  I will not hold back in order to protect your feelings.  I will trust you to decide for yourself whether it is worth being upset over.

I expect the same.

Why do people lie?  How has it become a part of our nature?

My 7 year old daughter is struggling with telling the truth.  She lies all the time.  If I ask if she's practiced violin or piano, she always says, "yes" even when I know she hasn't.  She makes up stories about other people who've hurt her feelings.  She's even broken things and blamed her brothers.

I understand this is typical kid behavior, but I have no patience for it.  I absolutely will not tolerate lying.  She loses television time when she's caught in a lie.  I wonder what more I can do to prevent the behavior.  I'm thinking about adding chores, but she hasn't really started doing them yet.

What chores do your 7 year old children do?  What punishments do you implement for lying?  Keep in mind, I intend to punish my child.  I do not want to hear about your ridiculous, misguided, raising-an-asshole, redirection principles.  I'm specifically inquiring about punishment.

Shit, I just called kids "assholes" again.  I'll drop another 17 Facebook friends after this post, I'm sure. That's ok.  I'll shake it off.

We Don't Deserve a Single Damn Thing

Parents, we are failing our children.  When did we become so stupid?  Yes, stupid!  Why is it intolerable for a child to experience unfairness, adversity or pain?  Why?  Are adults so irreparably damaged that we need to completely shelter our young from the harsh realities of the world?

When trying to protect our kids, we do so without recognizing we’re raising a generation of assholes.  I realize that at least one of you will take offense, “Stop calling our children assholes!  They’re children!”  Hey, you, overly-sensitive parent, your child is likely an asshole.  

If you’re wondering why I’m incensed, blame this.

Informal poll:  hands up – how many of your parents explained to you why Billy got better stuff than you for Christmas?  Or why your Santa appeared to be more generous than Suzie’s Santa?  I wonder how many of our grandparents coddled our parents this way.  Or our great-grandparents. 

No, I imagine conversations were more like this:

Child:  Waaaaahhh….All my friends got (insert ridiculously overpriced fad-toy of the era here) and I didn’t.  It’s so unfair!!!!  Why didn’t Santa bring me what they got??!!!  *ugly cry*

Parent:  Shut your mouth and be thankful for what you have.  There are starving children in the world and some kids get nothing for Christmas.  If you don’t knock it off, we’ll give all your presents to those kids.

And you know what?  That is the right answer.  If you choose to share the Santa myth with your kids, do not feel you have to take away from it, or justify it, because other kids are less/more fortunate than yours.  That is life.  Allow your children to EXPERIENCE life. 

We live in a Capitalist nation.  In such an economic circumstance, there will always be grave disparities between those with much and those with nothing.  Some kids will always have more than others, no matter how many social welfare programs we create or impossible education standards we attempt. Children are remarkably bright, intuitive and resilient.  They know, no matter how you try to shelter them, people are not economically equal in the United States.  By parading this false equality, you are not convincing them to change the system or to see others differently.  You’re convincing them that they are entitled.  You are raising an asshole.

My suggestion, if you’re still reading, is to reflect on what the hell is wrong with you.  Discover what is lacking in your life that makes you unwilling to allow your children to live in reality.  Then, talk to your children about economic differences throughout the year, not just at Christmas when they’re whining about unfairness.  If you don't know what to say, here's something to get you started: People with more money have more buying power.  They have nicer things.  Some people earn their money.  Some people inherit it.  Some have lots and lots and lots of wealth.  Some are homeless.  Some children have more affluent Santas.  If you find that intolerable, be active.  Be loud.  Demand change.  Live your life doing good things.  Help others when they’re down.  Give without expecting anything in return.  

And finish the conversation with assigning a chore.  “Take out the trash, Joey, or you don’t eat today.”  Enough with this generation of Entitlement. 

Weep Not For the Memories

Saying goodbye is so hard.  Knowing someone you love is dying and there is nothing anyone can do about it is excruciating.  Watching your husband, a strong man, feel pain - intense, gut-wrenching pain - because his friend will soon be gone cuts to the core.

After church today, our choir visited a friend who is nearing the end of his life.  We gathered in his room at the nursing home and sang two songs for him.  He was aware that we were there and we could see him mouthing some of the words along with us.

I'm a Christian.  I believe that life begins at death.  I know my friend will receive his reward.  So why does knowing he will soon be gone hurt so badly?

Maybe it's because he's been through so much and fought for so long. Operations.  Medications.  He was always so positive even when we knew it was taking a toll on him.

Maybe it's because he's a good man.  One of the best.  Generous.  Kind.  Just the perfect mix of serious and ornery.

Or maybe it's much more personal than that.  Our friend and his wife have always been kind to me.  Welcoming.  I met them when John and I were dating.  I knew right away how important John was to them.  It was obvious.  They looked at him with such love and were genuinely interested in his life.  I'd never known that kind of love existed between unrelated people.  They've taught me the importance of a chosen family.

When I became a part of John's life, they became a part of mine.  To this day, they are one of the biggest blessings I've received.  When I feel I'm at the end of my rope, it seems like one of them is always there to tell me that children are small for a short time and whatever they're doing to make me crazy will pass.  They've been a major support source for me, offering praise and acknowledgment of my parenting.  They even lent us a crib when we realized I was having twins.

It's often said that things will never be the same without certain people.  It's an overused phrase that's often meaningless.  However, I can tell you, with 100% accuracy, that things will never be the same without our friend, Dave.  Who will heckle the presidents or the music chair at Community Choir?  Who will stop us during rehearsal to ensure that we sound like a polished group of professionals?  Who will make us laugh at every single rehearsal?

Dave makes me want to be more like him...the kind of person deserving the eternal reward.  One, whom for decades, will be remembered with fondness.  One whom will missed, so terribly missed.

When you know someone's life is limited, you become flooded with memories.  It's not often that I can say every memory I've made with someone is positive.  Dave is so good.  Gracious.  Kind-hearted. Warm.

You're unforgettable, Dave.  No matter how much time passes between your exit and mine, I Will Remember You. 

And You Spend Your Life Putting Money in His Wallet

For 120 years, Americans have celebrated the first Monday in September by taking the day off.  We enjoy the long weekend.  We host barbecues and make a family day out of it.  But, do we really know what Labor Day is or how it came to be a national holiday?  Is it something we cover in detail in our history classes?  Would we remember if it had been?

Labor Day is the result of the 19th century labor movement.  In the  midst of the Industrial Revolution, the average American man worked 12 hours a day, seven days a week.  Children as young as 5 years old were forced into horrific working conditions.  Mothers in textile sweatshops brought their toddlers to work because, even at age 2, little ones were capable of earning a living by picking up buttons and sewing scraps from the floors.

In the late 1800s, as industry replaced agriculture as the main American employment, labor unions gained strength and became more vocal.  Demands for better working conditions and pay, as well as strike threats (and follow-though,) became more common.  People grew tired of working their lives away for very little pay.  Workers were robbed of dignity and humanity.  It was a new breed of slavery.

On September 5, 1882, more than 10,000 laborers took unpaid time off to walk from City Hall to Union Square in New York City. It was the very first Labor Day parade.  When news of this parade traveled, the idea of a 'workman's holiday' caught on.  Many states passed legislation dedicating the first Monday in September to the workers.

Congress, however, did not pass legislation to recognize the holiday until 12 years later when employer practices could no longer be ignored.  On May 11, 1894, workers at the Pullman Palace Car Company in Chicago went on strike to protest the firing of union employees and wage cuts.  On June 26, 1894, the American Railroad Union called for a boycott of all Pullman railway cars to show support for the Pullman workers.  The boycott immobilized railroad traffic across the nation.

In order to break the strike, the feds sent troops to Chicago resulting in a wave of riots.  More than a dozen American workers were killed. In an attempt to appease and heal the American workforce, Congress passed an act declaring Labor Day an official holiday.

Many would argue that not a lot has changed.  Workers in industry and service still sweat to put money in the rich man's wallet.  However, conditions for today's worker are much, much better than those found 120 years ago.  If you're lucky enough to earn a livable wage and work a 9 to 5 job OR if you're enjoying this day off OR earning holiday pay/double time at your work, thank those hard workers whose blood, sweat and tears inspired this day.  Happy Labor Day.

As Real as it May Seem

Dreams.  The mind's representation of our deepest wants.  In dreams, we're given precious moments with those taken from us.  Or, we live our fantasies.  And sometimes, we have crazy, wackadoo,  off-the-wall dreams we wish we could understand.

Like this one.

The other night, I dreamed John and I were no longer together. (This could be fantasy or nightmare depending on how much he's pissed me off lately.) He wasn't even a part of the dream.  No mention of John.  Perhaps I had never met him.

I believe I was 34, as in current time.  However, I was dating a college boy.  And he was a FRESHMAN. (WTF?)  His name was Bryan and we were in love.  I moved into his dorm room so that we could spend all our time together.  Ah, true love.

Here's where it really gets weird.  Bryan was an Animagus.   He preferred to be a dog.  Most people were unaware that he was human, as they had only met him as a dog. He brought dog friends to the dorm room where I fed them raw steaks on China.  The only time he kissed me in the dream was a big, sloppy dog kiss.

What could this possibly mean?  Other than the obvious...that I'm slightly nutso. I kissed a dog. Thank God it was only in my dreams.