The Lost Post

I stumbled upon this post in a draft form. The times have changed; the sentiments have not.

...

I love happening to you.

Every night, I whisper a “secret” into my children’s ears. It’s the same “secret” every time but I treat it as though I’m sharing it for the first time: dramatically pushing away the cozy blankies, moving in closely so they can hear the quietness and deliberateness of my voice as I confide my not-so-secret…

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Once in awhile Jimmy gives me a “ Aw, thanks, Mom,” but more often than not it’s a “Yah, that is the same thing you told me last night”… But Maddy, my sweet baby who is no longer a baby, mimics me and tells ME a secret right back from time to time. “Thanks for the cupcake,” “Tomorrow I want to watch Ariel,” and “I love lunch bunch,” are just a few of her secrets.

But then, one night, this gem: “I love happening to you.”

Cue the ugly cry. Silent, ugly tears ran down my face as I quietly exited her bedroom, so as not to bother the Big Guy, studying on the couch.

It’s no secret the last year and a half have been some of the toughest moments of my life, aside from losing my Ma before she got to meet her grandson (this side of the rainbow at least).  While we’ve been through a lot, to me, nothing can top that. Losing my Ma was the single biggest disappointment of my life.

But these last 18 months… yikes. Reflecting on the last 18 months sometimes make me want to scream fu-- at the top of my lungs, but then I worry y’all would have me sent to the crazy house. But it’s true. Life has changed in what seems like a thousand ways some days; on others, it seems like I haven’t skipped a beat. Eighteen months of the longest days of uncertainty, unexpected change, unanticipated growth, wins and losses, and just Life. Happening to me. Everything and nothing -- all at once. To get through, I keep moving. Moving more than I have ever moved in the last 41 years. That’s why I’m the skinniest I’ve ever been… ha ha.

“I love happening to you” brought my world to a screeching halt at the intersection of Self-Reflection and Let it Go.

While all of the things happening in my life that I can’t control can bring me down at times, I can’t let it define me or my family. I’m sure things that are happening to me are at the hands of the Big Man Upstairs, or at least I like to think so.  So I will let things happen, the way they are intended… and just let it “God”.

6.

5:18am.

"A robin bird woke me up, Mama. Actually, it was a cardinal. I speak bird. I'm hungry."

Left dumbfounded, I rubbed my eyes and quietly got out of bed. Mads was just snuggling back into her spot on the couch to join her brother by the time I got to the big room. 

"Mom, can you make me 'Snug as a bug in a rug'?" Jimmy asked, still rubbing the wake-up out of his eyes. "Sure, buddy," I respond, smiling.

...

I have tried to make sure my children really know you in their daily lives, even though they insist they met you during their time in Heaven, before you sent them down to me. This lovely thought is a notion they came up with totally on their own, so we roll with it. If it's the way things work, it gives me comfort and peace and a big ol' smile to my face - like I was let in on a secret that people live their whole lives searching for, never really knowing the answer. 

It's the little things like: "Snug as a bug in a rug," or knowing that Cardinal birds are signs from Gee Gee, that make you a part of their lives. I have carried all of the little things you would do for me and have introduced them to the kids, hoping someday Life won't be so cruel and will allow me to be more than just a Heavenly presence when they pass these things along to their own children.

The reality of you being gone 6 years today is unimaginable to me, and one I am struggling to accept. Six rounds up to 10, and by then we will be counting the number of decades since you crossed the Rainbow Bridge.

I hate decades. You know, those pesky clumps of time in your mind joined together by happenstance. Decades give you the Good. the Bad. the Ugly. - either by chronological time or chronological age. You always said "Life is a series of peaks and valleys," and I'm sure when looking back at a "decade," people see that this is true. Some of the worst and the best times of my life have happened since 2010, (my 30's), but I always try to focus on the best, because that is what you taught me to do.

...

Six years ago, I watched you take your last breaths, as you were greeted by Deb, your parents, and your brother at the gates of Heaven... at that exact moment, I felt a strong kick from the little boy growing in my tummy. Judging by what Jimmy tells me, this is no coincidence. While you don't want me to remember you in the last 13 days of your life in that hospital bed, this moment was so raw and purposeful, it's almost the first thing I think of when thinking of you. It reminds me you are always here, always a part of who we are and what we do.

Today, we will visit the flower park and bring a balloon with us to send up to Heaven. When it reaches you, send us the cardinal bird so we know you got it.

Just not at 5:18am, please.

Love you, Ma. More.

93 Gas. From the Mobil.

My car only takes 93 gas. From the Mobil. Not that you have to fill it up or anything, but in case you do, it has to be 93 gas. From the Mobil. 

It was April, 2012. I was four months pregnant when I got rear-ended and begged to borrow Ma's car for a few days. She wasn't jazzed about the notion because it broke one of her Life's Rules, cataloged under Tape Number 39: Never drive anyone else's car. God Forbid you get into an accident. God Forbid you get into an accident driving someone else's car. What a pain in the ass.

Sitting in the driver's seat, checking my mirrors and adjusting the seat for my longer legs, I can recall thinking: I've never driven this Bad Boy before. How funny, because that "Bad Boy" of a car was a 2005 Volvo. Hardly as badass as the zippy Acura I was paying exorbitant payments on at the time. But I liked it. It belonged to my Ma. I was going to be a Mom. Seemed like a natural fit. The Volvo, although older than the Acura, made me feel like my "Mom Card" had been punched for the first time. "First a Volvo... then what? Skechers shoes?" I remember thinking as I backed out of the drive. She shouted to me from the garage,  "My car only takes 93 gas. From the Mobil. Not that you have to fill it up or anything, but in case you do, it has to be 93 gas. From the Mobil." 
...

Tossing the key onto the kitchen table, I told her "I really like driving that thing." Ironically enough, two short months later, "that thing" would be mine. Because Life can never be as easy as your hand out the window in the wind.

Once Ma was gone, I sold the Acura, bought the Volvo for the bargain price of $1, and have been happily driving it ever since. Dad and I liked the notion that GeeGee's car would be taking her grandchildren to doctor's appointments or to baseball practices. I still even keep a bookmark stuck into the dash that reads, "We are so very proud of you," in Ma's handwriting, of course. Nice to see that reminder every day.

The Volvo has taken me (and her Grandchildren) 46,000 since June of 2012, just days after she was gone. My goal was to see the odometer at 65,000 miles before trading that Bad Boy in... I'm just short of that, and that is okay. My emotional attachment to this car is irrational at best, and I know it. In my mind, that car was one last connection to my Ma, and each day I drive it, it's one day further from last seeing her... but, depending on what you believe, it's one day closer to seeing her again. In the meantime, though, I always look for the "signs" she isn't really that far away after all.

On Saturday, after a particularly uncomfortable "Car Dealer Hostage Situation," (an entirely different blog post that just has to be written) I just wanted to get back to the kids for hugs and love. Almost home, I was greeted by a "sign"... A Cardinal, casually sitting in the middle of the road, unfazed by the approaching Volvo. After a few seconds, that bird flew north, probably to Wisconsin. Ma loved Wisconsin.

...

Today, I met a dealer named Jimmy H. and he loved the Cubs. Good signs. I finally picked out a car, and will take delivery in a couple of days. When I asked Maddy earlier what color car I should get, she told me "Blue. So it'll match my eyes"... GeeGee's too, baby girl. GeeGee's too. Blue it is.

If you happen to hear about a woman who had to be pried away from her ridiculously old, trade-in car, that's probably me. But, I will try to compose myself and recall her sage advice: Tape Number 20- crying makes you tired. Crying does nothing but make your face puffy and tired and then you’re all cried out and you’re thirsty. Stop crying.

I will say my goodbyes and be sure to make this car my very own. First order of business: finding the perfect spot for my bookmark. After all, it will be nice to be reminded of how proud she is of me, while out shopping for a new pair of Skechers, or even just while filling up with gas. 

Although this car doesn't take 93. And that's okay.