Archive for November, 2009

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  It’s a day when families come together and celebrate all that they have been given.  It’s a day without the pressure of gifts, or elaborate decorations.  It’s a day to just revel in all that life has given us.

Until Avacakes was born, I don’t think I ever understood truly, the meaning of the word grateful.  Like so many other emotions, it was there, buried underneath the surface.  Her arrival into my life made me realize the true meaning of joy, happiness, appreciation and even fear.

But today, let me give thanks for all that I have been blessed with.

First, for my husband.  We’ve had our rocky moments.  The times that made us question our relationship and ourselves.  But we’ve always managed to pull through it and lean on each other.  I have a renewed sense of us, and our future.  He lets me lean on him when I need to, and steps back when I need solitude.  I am thankful every day that I have this wonderful man in my life, as my partner and friend.

My daughter.  Oh, Ava.  Words can never truly express how much you mean to me.  How thankful I am to have you.  That you are happy, healthy and full of life.  Each morning brings new smiles and laughter to the house that is now a home because of you.  You remind me to take joy in small things.  Watching you grow has been the greatest treasure I could have been given.  My heart bursts with joy and pride each time I look at you.  You are the light of my life, and I am truly grateful.

Family.  The ones close, and the ones far away.  My husband’s family who took me in 10 years ago and made me part of their family.   You gave me a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt since my father passed away.  For that I can never thank you enough.

My tribe.  My online community of friends.  I am amazed by your generosity, your kindness.  I’ve seen it in the past week as everyone once again came together in a time of crisis and need.  Once again, you stepped up.  I hope I never need that kind of support, but it’s comforting to know it would be there if I did.

My newfound friends.  You know who you are.  The ones I’ve shared emails, and texts with.  The ones who let me lean on them.  The ones who trust me with their own troubles.  I am humbled and grateful beyond words to have found you.

I hope all of you have a wonderful Thanksgiving.  May it be a safe and joyous one.

I don’t remember the first time.  I don’t remember every time.  But quite a few stand out.

The time I used a bad word.  I got slapped so hard it knocked me over.  The time I didn’t want to wear a jacket because I hated how it made me feel.  I was slammed into a wall.

Wooden spoons.  Flyswatters.  Belts.  Bare hands.

Those are some of the things from my childhood that I remember most about my mother.

To say we’ve had a rocky relationship is an understatement.  I remember the yelling, the hitting.  I remember anger and frustration.

I wish I remembered loving hands.  I wish I remembered cuddles, hugs and warmth.  I wish I remembered hearing “I love you.” Or “I’m proud of you.”

I wished these things this morning as I was feeding Ava before I left for work.  I lay in my bed with her tiny little body snuggled next to mine.  Her slurping away happily as I breathed in the scent of her hair, felt the warmth of her head on my cheek.  I whispered in her ear.  “Mommy loves you so much.”  I know at seventeen months she won’t remember that.  But if I tell her that every day, and show her how much I love her, she will remember it.

I honestly don’t know where things went awry for my mother and I.  I have a vague few memories from around 3.  Good memories.  However, that was also the point at which my father was diagnosed with the disease that would claim his life 14 years later.  I wonder if things had been different if my relationship with my mother would have been less adversarial.  Less physical.  I wonder how much of my punishments were really borne out of frustration of her life, taking care of my father and me, not really having a life of her own any longer.  Was she trapped?  Did she feel that way?  Was I just an easy target, being a child?  I’ll probably never know the answer to any of those questions.

I tried confronting my mother once.  Years ago.  After I moved away to Oregon.  I asked her if she remembered the wall incident.  She denied it ever happened and told me I was crazy.  I ended up hanging up on her.  We didn’t speak for over a year.  When we did, I was the one that made the first move.  I’ve never brought it up again.  At this point, she will never admit to any of it.  For her, it simply didn’t happen.  These are my demons to exorcise.

We did have some good times.  For a few years after my father passed we had a pretty good relationship.  Of course, by then she handed over the reigns of responsibility to me, so I’m sure she felt unburdened.  No longer chained to the house or her duties of caring for my father, she was free for the first time in years.  We went shopping, went to movies, out to eat.  She seemed happy when I got married.  She was very unhappy when I got divorced.

Then I met Darin.  I fell in love.  One of us had to move.  He had a job, family, and ties to Oregon.  He didn’t want to move.  So I did.  We made a agreement, my mother and I.  A financial one.  After a while, she chose not to honor it any longer.  And didn’t tell me.  A decision that led to one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do in my life.  I ended up filing for bankruptcy.  I had to stand up in front of a lawyer, a judge and the world and say “I can’t pay my bills.”  It was without a doubt the most humiliating thing I’ve ever experienced.

What I keep coming back to is my childhood.  I don’t know how to let go of it.  So often I look at my daughter and I cannot fathom slapping her in the face.  I cannot imagine not telling her everyday how proud I am of her.  How much I love her.

Why was I not good enough to be proud of?  Why did my mother feel she had to hit me?  Why did my father not stop her?  He never hit me himself, but he never once intervened, either.  Did he fear her wrath?  Did he feel trapped, too?  Knowing she was his caretaker as well as mine, did he fear her leaving him?

I could write for hours on this, but I only have questions.  Hundreds of them that I will probably never have the answers to.

My mother and I get along ok these days.  It helps that she’s 3000 miles away.  We see each other about once a year.  By the end of her stay, I’m definitely ready for her to go home.  I want her to have a relationship with her granddaughter, but I wouldn’t trust her alone with Ava for any length of time.

I have vowed that I will never, ever lay a hand on my daughter.  I have vowed that she will NEVER look at my hands and remember pain.  I have vowed that I will tell her every day how proud I am of her.  I will tell her every day that she is loved.  Because I never want her to look back on her childhood and ask any of the questions that I have.

I don’t ” know” Anissa.  I’ve never even met her.  But I do read her blog, and have for some time now.  From that I’ve learned that she is a strong, amazing woman.  A powerhouse of a mom.  A fighter.

Anissa currently needs our help. She suffered a stroke yesterday and is in the hospital in ICU.  If you pray, to whatever God you call your own, please pray for Anissa.  She has a husband and three beautiful children who need her very badly.  She has hundreds of friends who are sitting by their phones and computers, waiting for updates, hoping.  Wishing.  Praying.  If you are not the prayerful type, please take a moment to send healing thoughts and wishes.

As a mom, I cannot imagine for one second not being there to watch my daughter grow up.  It is unthinkable.  Once again, we are reminded of how fragile life really is.  How each second can never be taken for granted.

Having lost a parent relatively young, I am wishing and praying with all my might that Anissa’s kids never know that pain.

The outpouring of love prayers and help is a testament to what a wonderful person Anissa is and how many lives she has touched.   I am praying hard for a full and speedy recovery.

If you want to do something more concrete, there has been a PO Box set up for help for the family.  Gift cards for gas, hotel and movie rentals for the kids are currently listed items.

For more information on how you can help and updates on her condition, please go here:  Aiming Low

Seventeen Months.  Today  Ava is seventeen months old.  Since April, when Maddie passed away at the age of seventeen months, I have thought often about this day.  I knew it would be something more than just another month.  And it is.

I can’t explain why Maddie and her passing had such a profound effect on me.  She and her parents, Mike & Heather, are strangers.  I read Heather’s blog.  I followed her on Twitter.  However, when Maddie passed, I felt a physical blow.  As a mother, I instinctively wanted to run home and grab Ava and never let go.  In fact, I did leave early that day.  My boss took one look at me sitting at my desk with tears streaming down my face, and asked me what was wrong.  I told him.  He told me to go home.  Go home and hug your daughter, he said to me.  So I did.

In the last seven months I have continued to read Heather’s writing as she grieves for her daughter.  I have learned so many lessons about motherhood, life and love from her and from Maddie.

This is what I’ve learned.

I’ve learned not to take a moment of my daughter’s life for granted.  Each moment is precious.

I’ve learned to make the most of every day we have with Ava.  To make each one special in some way.

I’ve learned that even on the days part of me is fed up with the demands of being a mother, I need to stop, regroup and keep going.

I’ve learned that there is something to smile about every day, always something to laugh at.  (Thank you, Maddie for always having a beautiful smile on your face)

I’ve learned that in the darkest hour, there is strength.

I’ve learned that the kindness of others far outweighs the negativity.

I’ve learned that you have to enjoy life.  There is no do-over.

I’ve learned the little things just don’t matter.

I’ve learned to love my daughter in a way I didn’t know was possible before.

I’ve learned how fragile life is.  Again.

So today, I wanted to take a moment and say, Happy Seventeen Months to Ava.

I hope we have many more celebrations to come.  But I hope we always remember Maddie, who only had seventeen short months on this earth.