Too tired for a title

I have seen so much pain and heartache this past year to last me a decade. Not all has been mine, and not all has been specifically connected to me in anyway. But we have all seen the havoc that was 2016 and it reeks of death and sadness and brokenness.
A suggestion when encountering those who are staring, have stared, or will stare pain and bleakness in the face.
Don't tell us how to grieve... I find this the most damaging suggestion anyone could give. By this point, those of us who participate in social media have, at some point, experienced deep and gruesome pain. Perhaps not death. Perhaps sickness or break-up. Gruesome none-the-less. And the human desire for community in us wants to relate to those who are hurting with our own tales of healing. Do so, if you wish, but with extreme caution. Because no matter the pain in your past it will never compare to theirs.
In just a few short days, those of us who are left will greet, hopefully with unwavering hope, the dawn of a new year. Cross fingers, hold breath, make 10,000 wishes...it has to be better. It just has to.

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Tiger must stay in your backpack...

I'm not that parent. The one who gloats too much, and shows off all the pictures. The parent who relays every detail of their kid to let others know how incredible I think they are. Perhaps it is a flaw. Who knows. And I also pride myself in not being a helicopter parent. I teach and let go. I discipline and let go. And I thought I would be ready for this: first day of Pre-K. I have been very positive and uplifting and have wanted my son to be extra ready to go to school. We have talked about it for months! I am ready... Or so I thought. This morning, as white boy was leaving to take them to daycare, he said to Owen, "You can't take Tiger to school tomorrow or he will have to stay in your backpack, so do you want to take him to daycare today?" I thought little of it, but as Owen threw him down on the ground and turned to head out the door, my throat hitched. "Are you sure you don't want to take him today?" He said no. It was a sense of finality. ...

60 years ago is not the 1940s

When you are born, you are lucky to get one day a year to celebrate just you. Well, you and all the others born on that day. When you become a mother or father, you get another day for just you. Sometimes those days come when you are not ready, and some come when you wish they wouldn't. Today, 60 years ago, my mother was born. A date that means littler to most people I know than to her or me. As we age, and my mother is no different, our birthdays become just another cycle of the rising of the sun and a following of the moon. Nothing to make a big to do of. My mother enjoys subtly. She can be dramatic but embraces the subtle acknowledgement of herself. She has ALWAYS placed herself second and counted the accolades of her children as if they were her own. That was one thing my mother NEVER lacked: humility. Which made me often sad she didn't get more than 2 days a year commemorating her. Mom, I know I've come short. I know that I have openly and often faile...

A goodbye love letter to you...

I sat across from my dad at lunch, yesterday, and asked him, "Do you know what tomorrow is?" He said, "Yeah. 1 year." And his eyes grew damp. "I'll never forget walking into that room..." He didn't continue. I didn't ask him to. "I'll never forget the police officer banging on my door at 1130 at night..." I didn't continue. He didn't ask me to. "This journal was given to me several years ago by my children. I know they wanted me to write down my thoughts to get through the rough times I was going through at the time. I did not start this at that time. Why am I starting it now? Well, I only thought I had been through hell back then, but now I realize I didn't have any idea what heartache was until Aug 15, 2010 -" This is the beginning of one of my mother's journals. A journal she started a little over a month after Andy died. And she wrote it--to him. "Dear Mother - Today is the day before Mothe...

"Getting older's not been on my plans"

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