No Matter What

I was drying Lily’s hair after her bath. The drying of Lily’s hair takes place on my bed in my bedroom. She rests in the basket of my legs and watches the Wiggles while I dry and groom her hair, drawing out thick locks of hair like wet silk and brushing it smooth as it dries. She doesn’t love it, but at least doesn’t fight it.

When we finished I threw back the covers that I’d gathered around her to help hold her in place and she spun to face me, careless of the placement of her knees, her not inconsiderable weight plopping down inconveniently as I dodged and adjusted my position.

She stared back past me, up and to my left and I followed her gaze back to the wedding portrait that hangs over my bed. Leslie and I standing in our wedding day attire next to a reflecting pool. It’s not something she typically does.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Lil?” She didn’t answer. I wanted her to say mommy; needed her to say it. I wanted to know she remembered. I mean, I know she does, but sometimes I just need to hear it.

“Who is that in the picture, Lil?”

“Daddy!” she answered.

“And who else?”

“Lily!”

“No…Lily’s not in that picture. Who else is in that picture?”

“Mommy,” she said, and then she was silent for a moment before adding, “No matter what.”

The words Leslie said to her every night at bed time; the words I now say to her after her prayers. “I love you, no matter what.”

“Yes,” I said to her, blinking back tears, “Mommy loves you no matter what.”

She remembers. Of course she remembers.

It’ll be a year this coming Thursday.

We all live on borrowed time. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, all that stuff. Bodies are temporary. People pass away. But a mother's love endures; a mother’s love is forever.

No matter what.

Endings

Caring Place had its final night for us this evening.  It was a good experience.  I don't know if it was an experience tailor made for someone like me necessarily, but it definitely was a good experience for me and for Emma.  It generated some nice conversations.

Caring Place is a group support "service"? specifically for the benefit of children who have lost a loved one.

So every other week for the past...four months...Emma and I have spent our Mondays with other families also dealing with the loss of a loved one.

Emma asked me if it helped me.  I hedged.  "It didn't hurt me."

A second went by as I considered.

"That's not the same thing as helping."

"I know, baby, I just want to be honest, let me think about it for a second."  And I thought about it.

I told her that I felt that it was helpful.  I told her that if nothing else it gave me a 'scheduled time to grieve'; a time where I didn't have an excuse to compartmentalize.

What I told Emma then was that I don't like thinking about it.  That I'm pretty content 90% of the time because I'm not thinking about it.  On purpose.  That when I DO think about it, I'm sad.  And I don't want to be.  The Caring Place for me became a time where I had no escape from thinking about it.  And I told her that was good for me.  Because I think it's good for me to think about the sadness and about Leslie and about loss...and that sometimes I'm just not disciplined enough to do it myself.

And it was good for me too because it made me feel like I was "doing something" to help give Emma an outlet.  People to talk to who "get it".

Emma told me that one of the things she liked was being in a group where discussing losing her mom or her mom's life wasn't "a downer".  Not that it wasn't still a downer...but everyone in the room was in the same boat.  It didn't stop conversation...it started it.  It was nice not to have to censor herself and just talk to people without trying to protect their feelings.

Ironic, right?

Did I love it?  No.  It wasn't necessarily my kind of place.  We did touchy-feely things that make me feel uncomfortable.  They were quick to reiterate that anyone could "pass" on any activity without judgment.  And they meant it.  But I was committed to the program...it just wasn't necessarily my thing.

Would I recommend it to someone...anyone else?  Yes.  Everyone.  Maybe it's not your thing.  Maybe it IS your kid's thing.  Maybe you might even find out that although you thought it wasn't your thing...it really WAS your thing.  Whatever.  Highly recommend it.

We did a square of a quilt that will hang in the Caring Place when it's done (in a month or two, I think).  They took a picture of Emma and I.  It looks weird.  We're smiling because we're having our pictures taken, but we're holding a square of a quilt with Leslie's memorial on it.  Yay!

Emma saw it and said, "I look so tired."
I looked at it and said, "My beard is so long."

But I thought...man we sure look happy.  Brave faces maybe.  Appearances perhaps.  But we are happy for the most part.  Just looks weird.

Stalling

I keep putting off the wedding story.  I keep finding other stories instead.  And it's okay, but I think it's like New Year's Eve.  I think Leslie's life was in 2015 and so I was reluctant for 2015 to end even though she died then too because she wouldn't be in 2016.  So maybe I'm reluctant to keep writing about Leslie's life because I already know the ending.  Like a really good book that you love reading so much that you're sad when it ends even when it ends happily...and each story I tell about her gets me close to that ending.  And it doesn't end happily.  Or if it does, it ends in the happy sad way that a life well lived always ends.  Bittersweet...what a nice way to live a life...any ending seems too soon.

But there are things I want to say...need to say...about watching someone you love pass.  About things that we said to each other and to our children.  Some things I know I've already said.  Some things I can't remember if I've said.  Some things...when I think about them...my chest tightens and I feel like I can't breathe.  Those are the hard things.

But they'll get said.

------------

I took my wedding ring to the jeweler today.  I tried moving my wedding ring to the ring finger of my right hand.  It fits.  Snugly.  Too snugly.  After a couple days I started getting worried and pried it...with the aid of some soap off my knuckle.  So then I moved it to my pinky.  And every so often, when I wasn't really thinking about it...I'd make a sudden gesture and the ring would fly off my finger, rolling to a stop....somewhere.  And when I found it I'd be all panicked because I'd almost lost it.  And so I decided to have it resized for my right finger, which, apparently, is about 1/2 a ring size bigger than my left ring finger. 

I was putting THAT off too.  Like everything in this house...one step closer to absolute.  Her clothes still hang in her closet.  Her dresser is still filled.  Her night stand is more or less untouched.  I'll get to it...tomorrow.  So today when I picked up my shrimp pad thai I stopped off at the jeweler and walked in and handed over my wedding ring to have them resize it for my other hand.  I walked out of the store without it.  My hand feels naked and exposed and wrong.  That ring hasn't been off my finger for 16 years.

And again, like New Year's Eve, I was really feeling like there'd be this 'change' like when Frodo takes off the One Ring...invisible to visible.  But there wasn't.  It was fine.  More dread than anything.  And that was a relief.  But also made me feel sad.  Like letting go of it was easier than it should have been.

Still fighting that feeling that in order to go on living I need to suffer to grieve 'properly' instead of just thinking about her and being sad and sort of...homesick for her.

Hey, if you really want to cry...I was writing this from the treadmill and no lie, Jamie Lawson's song, "Wasn't Expecting That" came on.  Listen to it.  It's beautiful.  But a punch in the gut.  My friend Bec once begged me not to listen to it and I kept pretending to misunderstand her and agreeing that yes...I would listen immediately.  And then the kicker came and I was like..."WHY DID YOU MAKE ME LISTEN TO THAT???" for comedic effect.  I think she probably really liked that a lot.  Anyway.  Made me cry.  But she warned me.

Fierce

Part of writing more I think is realizing that there doesn't have to be anything monumental; there doesn't have to be any earth shaking "story" in order to justify the exercise.

Leslie loved the Steelers.  She was so passionate about them, and football.  Last night they played as the sixth seed in the playoffs and the game was crrrrrrrazy.  And I was REALLY aware of her absence.  I'm not kidding when I say she would have been on her feet, SCREAMING "you ASSHOLE!" at William Gay when he got called for excessive celebration after what turned out not to be a touchdown.  I can see her face, eyebrows furrowed.  Fierce.  Standing in front of the television.  Legs shoulder width apart.  Finger.  Stabbing.  At.  The.  Screen.  Punctuating each word. YOU! STUPID!  ASSHOLE!  Her hands to her head, running angry stiff fingers through thick hair.  Turning her back on the screen and stalking back to her seat.  Sitting heavily.  Still mad.  Me, looking up at her...half smirk...Her, coming slowly back to herself.

Emma hid during Steeler games.  "Mommy is too loud.  She scares me." That sounds bad.  She cheered too loud for Emma.  Hurt her ears.  She censored herself when Emma would watch with us.  Biting back the words.  Anger visible.  Vein at her temple throbbing.  I miss that crazy-ass angry Steeler wife.

She wouldn't have seen the final field goal that won the game.  Eyes closed tight.  Leaning over her knees.  Fingers in her ears.  Too much pressure.

The field goal was good.  We won.  She'd have stood then.  Cursed now instead at the Bengals fans for throwing shit on the field.  Anger redirected at the "enemy" without.  Fierce victorious wrath.  Standing again.  That punctuating finger stabbing at them.  THAT'S!  WHAT!  YOU!  GET!

I love watching football.  But I'm too dispassionate.  There's always time left.  There's always another viewpoint.  I'll never be the fan she was.  I'm okay with that.  One is enough for any house.  But I'm sort of fiercely proud of her passion.

Good friend to have.  Good person to have in your corner.

2015 Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

I know I sort of discussed this a couple days ago, but I really am having a difficult time getting past this weird feeling of loss as 2015 ends.  Okay, yeah, I know, obviously...loss.  But I don't mean Leslie exactly.  Or rather, I DO mean Leslie, but I mean that it feels like Leslie is a part of 2015, like her memory is rooted to it.  Like when 2015 ends, that door closes.  It's really...disconcerting, and sad.   And so I'm struggling with it, because I know that the door isn't closing...it just is difficult to get past that feeling.

I think because putting the old year behind me and looking forward to the new year has become so ingrained in my psyche, I feel like I somehow am also saying goodbye to Leslie all over again as this year draws to a close, like a barrier goes up when I open the calendar to January. 

It's just another day, and I keep reminding myself of that.  But everything moving forward always seems so tied to that, "first day of the new year" label, that "start here" mindset, that somehow starting new means ending old.  I just have to wrap my head around it.  It's just another day.  It's just another day.  No endings and no beginnings. 

----------------

On the subject of New Year's Eve...and New Year's Day.  I was talking to a couple friends about their plans.  NYE always seems to be a bit of a disappointment.  I don't know if it's because the evening itself is so romanticized, but I suspect so.  If you're not on a marble dance floor gazing lovingly at the "one who got away" about to have your first kiss as snow gently falls outside, and the big band plays Auld Lang Syne while confetti dusts her long lashes...then it seems disappointing.  It's just another day.  It's just another day.

On the other hand...it seems like a natural drinking day.  Drinking to good memories.  Drinking to luck or fortune.  Or even drinking to try to get rid of the foul taste that the previous year left in your mouth.  It seems like a night that lends itself to going out. 

I don't know.  Do you go out on NYE?  Do you enjoy it?  Or is it always a bit of a disappointment?

-----------------

My sister is coming over tonight to HABLAB with me and we'll watch Dick Clark (Seacrest now?  Or is that the other network) and the cavalcade of lip syncing pop stars du jour entertain until the ball drops.  I'll probably have a shot of something expensive.  That'll be for Leslie.  But not two...that'll be for Lily.  Because Lily's inner clock does not recognize my hangover's authority.  Never has.  And just like this morning, I have no doubt that I'll hear her softly stirring around 5:30 tomorrow morning.  And I can't really parent her properly with a hangover.

------------------

Expect to read more from me in 2016. 

I hope the New Year brings you peace.  I hope you never forget 2015.  Everything that happened then brought you to now. 

'Tis the Season

I know the last post I wrote (a month ago) I said I was going to write about our wedding day.  And I will.  But that's not what I'm going to write about in this post.

And it's not all doom and gloom.  But there's some gloom.  I don't know why I haven't written lately.  It's starting to get jumbled in my mind...the things I've written and the things I want to write.  Sometimes I'll catch myself writing things in my head and think..."I should write this"...and later it's hazy to me whether I wrote it, or just thought it. 

Anyway, there's been so much already written (by me) about grieving and processing and life without Leslie that I don't want to play like a broken record.  But this is it.  This is THE time of year I've been dreading.  The holidays are upon us.

First...Status Report:  We're doing well.  I'm looking at private placement for Lily next year (she graduates to fourth grade and will have to transition out of her current school situation anyway).  She remains more or less unchanged by all this still.

Emma just finished a play at school.  She played Juliet in "Romeo to Go".  It was fun to watch.  Funny.  These 'drama kids' have become her clan and support network.  She's doing well in school.  Sad at times, but overall seems okay.  She and I have been going to the "Caring Place" since late September.  They have ten sessions of "group support" spaced every other week.  We're going again tonight.  Halfway through.

I am doing well too.  I consider, as I always have, nearly every day a good day, though many days have sadness in them, there is more joy than pain.  I'm slowly...very slowly...getting the house back into shape.  Clearing out messes in Leslie's (now Emma's) office, and the dining room, collecting old computer equipment to put out for the garbage, cleaning the basement "weight room/dobby's room" and steam cleaning the carpets (fucking cat).  I get lonely at times, but I've been reaching out to friends more than I ever did before.  And I've been trying to go out more...to eat or to see a band (next week)...just getting some adult time. 

There is this feeling of...being on hold.  Like somehow grief and grieving needs to run its course before I can continue to live my life.  It still seems like most of what I'm doing in some way is based on a reaction to Leslie's passing...and not necessarily on just...living my life.  I have to really think about that.  On the one hand it feels right.  I still have a lot to process and work out before I'm just me.  Before I'm just living my life and not reacting to Leslie's death.  On the other hand it feels wrong.  Thoughts and feelings about and for Leslie will never NOT be a part of my life (though I'm sure they'll change and develop), so I need to just accept that as part of "me" and move forward with it.  Like I said, I don't know.

In the meantime, I'm doing little things for me.  Things that aren't separating me from Leslie, but that somehow draw a distinction.  Leslie liked my hair shorter, and certainly my beard MUCH shorter.  She would never have said no to anything I really wanted to do, but I liked keeping my hair and beard the way she liked it.  So I'm trying something a bit new with both.  I started using Trunk Club for clothes to just update my wardrobe a bit.  It's probably not going to last super long...because it appears to be expensive as fuck, but it helps me with ideas, and if I pick up a few high quality basics and build on it with other stuff, then it's worth it.  I haven't spent money on clothes (that weren't on my birthday or Christmas) in ...decades.  Seriously I was going through my closet and could pick out clothes that I knew I'd bought 15 years ago.  These little selfishnesses seem minor enough that they don't hurt to contemplate or implement.

I find I'm talking to Leslie less.  This hurts.  I compartmentalize a lot, and maybe that's part of it.  But sometimes I forget about the little butterfly monument and makeshift shrine/time capsule that the kids and I planted under the corkscrew willow.  The beauty of recognizing a thing you're doing (or not doing) and being hurt by it...is you can change it.  

Anyway...back to our story...

First, I want to say that I love the holidays.  Well...not Thanksgiving.  Fuck thanksgiving.  So many reasons that Thanksgiving irritates me, but I looooooooove Christmas.  And loving Christmas is unchanged without Leslie, though certainly her absence is a shitty contrast to "joy to the world".

So I had been thinking about Christmas...really I've been thinking about it since Leslie died.  There are so many things that I "thought ahead to"...things like Mother's Day and her Birthday and ...Christmas, happy/fun events where her absence will make them less happy/fun and more bittersweet.  And Christmas is sort of the grandaddy of them all.

Thinking about Christmas, I started planning for Christmas.  And the first pragmatic conclusion I reached was that unlike Christmases past...I wouldn't have that extra set of adult hands needed to either:  help decorate, help direct, organize tasks, or wrangle Lily.  So I decided to start decorating a week earlier than we used to.  Adapted tradition.  Every year we tried to decorate the day after Thanksgiving.  This year, Halloween damn near didn't go up (decorated the day before).  Christmas is just too special to our family for me to let that happen.  So I started dragging out the decorations yesterday.

Emma, noticing I was really beat the night before, tucked me into bed at about 10:15 that night.  The result was that I woke with a ton of energy and was able to get laundry and decorating started.

My folks offered to watch Lily and then have us over for dinner last night, but then switched gears when it became apparent that I was stressing out over being able to get as much done at home as I wanted if we went to dinner and just took Lily for a play date instead.

And I thought...okay...this is going to be okay.  And my sister took Emma to church so I started lugging all the decorations out from the basement behind the stairs to surprise her when she got home.

Having carted the Christmas tree box upstairs, I started moving the furniture to accommodate the tree.  The love seat is really heavy, but also sort of...flimsy?  The furniture twists a bit when you try to move it.  I think it's the result of having the ability to recline.  But it's shitty to move.  And I literally was thinking...I wish I had you here to help me, Leslie.  Like that was in my head.  You should be here helping me now.  And I budged the loveseat with my shoulder and it slid a bit against the carpet and uncovered a bunch of m&m's and some popcorn and paperclips...and...this picture:

And if you've read past posts you know that Leslie's friend Jen is a bit of a butterfly fanatic when it comes to lost loved ones, and I find myself much more conscious of it myself as a result.  To the point where it's become an important symbol of Leslie...and transformation...and ascendance of the soul, and of her watching us and helping us.  And so this stupid card that the school sent home with Lily one year to help her work on vocabulary (we told them she loves flipping through the pictures and labeling them, and we work with her on describing them) is revealed beneath the loveseat as I shoved it aside, my thoughts on Leslie and her help...and I kinda fucking lost it.  A little.  In my fashion.  I sort of gave that half sob sound thing and my eyes welled up and I held the picture in my hands and rubbed the wing with my thumb and felt a little sorry for myself before I smiled, chuckled a bit and thought..."yeah, I know you're here to help me when I need you, baby...but I meant lifting the couch, not emotionally, ass."  Leslie would have laughed at that too. 

So I think I was probably already a little emotional when I opened the storage bin of stocking holders and stockings.  There, put away inside the box in which we first bought it, sandwiched between foam, was the jeweled Christmas tree with "Leslie" engraved underneath for hanging her stocking.  Digging further, the faux fur stocking she had glitter-written "Leslie" across.  What the fuck was I going to do with that?  Even my stocking had her mark on it.  When we'd first started dating we bought matching stockings and wrote our names on them.  Mine came out horribly.  Looked like a 5 year-old had done it.  We kept them like that for years, maybe even until Lily was born, and when we couldn't find a fourth stocking that matched the other three...at last we bought all new stockings and I made her write my name so it would come out legibly. 

The gut punch of the stockings came as these things always seem to:  unexpectedly.  I really SHOULD have known this was going to prove harder than it started emotionally, and maybe that's why the butterfly 'proactively' flapped its colorful wings in my face...be strong, be ready, I'm here to help.  If you believe in that sort of thing...

I wasn't really sure what to do with them.  Throw them away?  I had no sooner thought of it than I had discarded it.  Put them up?  That seemed somehow worse.  In the end I waited for Emma to come home and talked to her.  I nudged her in the direction of "storing them for next year."  Sort of a planned familial compartmentalization until we were better equipped to deal with it.

In the end we finished perhaps 90% of the decorating before Lily got home.  Some things I just don't know how to do.  I don't remember how Leslie decorated the light over the kitchen table or the fixtures above the island...or the dining room in general.  I have boxes of decorations, but it's like looking at a jigsaw puzzle with no picture.  Except that I DO have pictures, I'm almost sure, and I need to go back through old pictures and see if I can piece it together. 

I had to push Emma to help more than in the past.  I don't blame her.  She's usually pretty eager to decorate the trees, but if she was somewhat less eager this year, I can't really fault her.

We're going to be fine.  Christmas will still be great.  But it will be great without Leslie, and so that will make it less great than it could have been.  But we'll manage, together.

Happy Hour

One of the things Leslie told me I needed to do while we were in the hospital together, knowing the end was coming, was, "make friends."  I rarely went out even before Leslie was sick.  I preferred time with the family to time away.  I still do.  But now I feel like I need to be social with people.  Let them in.  Back then I didn't need friends.  I had Leslie.  She was always enough socialization for me. Now...

I went to a Happy Hour with work people a month or more ago.  First time I've done it in years.  Literally years.  At some point during the happy hour a girl, new to the company, was talking to me.  We had been talking about her husband and their dogs.  She pointed across the table to my ring and said, "I see you're married."  Asked me about it. 

I had known it was coming.  Had pictured that moment in my mind.  I didn't know it would be that night.  I thought about what I'd say.  How do you tell someone who has no idea that your wife recently died?  How do you do it in a way that doesn't make them feel like a total asshole?  I didn't let myself come up with an answer though, mentally changed the subject until just then, that night, and she popped that cherry and I found myself completely unprepared.

Everything now seems so pregnant with meaning.  I'm no longer officially married, but I wear a ring.  When do you take off your wedding ring?  Everyone tells me, "When it feels right."  It doesn't feel right.  But I can't help thinking about it.  When will it feel "right"?  That answer seems too simple.  It will never feel right, because the minute I think it feels right I will also feel like I'm betraying her.  Betraying us.  Facebook rolled out this new profile video thing, and I was like..."oooh, cool!" and before I could think about it, I took this stupid little 10 second video and it replaced my profile picture.  And a minute later I was like..."Shit!  That just changed it from the picture of Leslie and I!"  I used to change my profile picture relatively frequently.  Now I can't do it without second-guessing what messages people will glean from it. 

I took my ring off a couple nights ago and massaged my ring finger like she used to, and it made me think about this.  Then I slid it back on.  Maybe it will feel right someday.  Maybe everyone is right.  Whether they are or aren't...today is not that day.  But maybe I'll know when it is.

"Uhhh," I said, unhelpfully, looking down at my ring, twisting it nervously, "It's sort of weird situation."  It was a horrible non-answer.  I wanted to deflect the question, make it disappear, but my answer just invited curiosity.  She guessed wrong and congratulated me for getting out of a bad relationship.  I let out a long breath and said, more or less, "It's not that.  My wife passed away a few months ago."  And into the shocked inhalation and near comical gesture, her hand going to her mouth, immediate apology on her lips, mortification evident, I quickly said, "You had no way of knowing.  It's weird.  I have this ring, and it's obvious from the ring that I'm married, anyone would think it, and it's just that I'm not ready to take it off yet." Words tumbled out quickly, I tried my best to make her feel better.  It wasn't her fault.

Next to me was a woman who had lost her husband perhaps a decade before.  She pointed to her right hand and said, "I still wear mine.  I just moved it to my other hand." More apologies followed.  The night was ending anyway.  I'd had my beer.  Had my second.  Paid the tab.  I was leaving anyway...but what a way to end it.

So...I'm making friends.  Sort of.  

I miss just rolling out of bed and having a friend to talk to.  Not just anyone, obviously, I mean, I miss Leslie in particular.  But I mean, when you get married, assuming you get along as well as Leslie and I did, you always have adult conversation.  You always have company.  I miss Leslie specifically , but I miss company in general, and conversation, even arguments.  I don't want to make it sound pathetic, because I think somehow it always sounds pathetic when people say it, but I get lonely at times.  Not cripplingly lonely, it's not a cry for help, or an open invitation to drop by (I don't love that), but just missing the mundane day-to-day feeling of being around people I enjoy.  The banter.  Even the small talk.  It's out there for me all the time via social media or whatever, but in person is so much harder. 

I've gone to a local microbrewery a couple times with a couple different friends.  I'm realizing that "making friends" or even maintaining existing friendships requires a bit of work.  I'd love to just "go out" to grab a beer or two and come home, but I have to schedule it, line up a babysitter, that kind of thing.  It's one thing to talk to a friend about "grabbing a beer" and then a whole new thing to actually execute that plan.

I went to meet some "internet friends" recently.  It was fun, but even that wasn't without its strangenesses, since most of my internet friends are female, and I worry what Emma will think.  When I say I'm going to meet a friend from out of town and use the "she" pronoun, I immediately worry what she'll think.  We went to dinner and had drinks, and the idea of getting Uber or a taxi or something exhausted me as I then tried to figure out...how will I get my car back?  So I stopped drinking.  I got "lost" on the way home (phone gps wasn't updating as quickly as I needed it to) and ended getting home about 30 minutes late.  I ended up paying the sitter for 8 hours, and then thought...oh my god, has it really been eight hours??  But I left at 4:30 and I didn't get in until 12:30.  I paid her for an actual eight hour work day...  THAT shit will get expensive. 

And then I think...I had fun, I'd love to do it again, but think...Emma...money...get a sitter...and then think, "I'll give it some time."  Anyway...I started writing this post weeks ago.  The day after the happy hour, actually, and then forgot I started it.  Then I wrote a post for Healthline (which was sweet because I actually got paid for it) here:  http://www.healthline.com/health/parenting/explaining-death-to-children, and one for Glade Run (which was sweet because I got etc etc) here:  http://gladerun.org/blog/2015/10/06/you-should-have-written-this-post/.  But I think I'll write about the day we got married next. 

I can always go back in time and write about the stuff that we did before we were 'legit' another time, but we've been watching the video of our wedding a lot lately (Lily calls it "Mommy Video") and so it's pretty fresh in my mind.

Hi Again

It's been a couple weeks again.  Some of what I've been thinking and feeling and observing just seems like a lot of repetition.  Ups and downs, more good than bad, yadda yadda.  And there are times where what I'm wanting to write about seems like stuff I've already written about, but my memory is crap, so I no longer can figure out what I wrote about here, posted on Facebook, or just talked to friends about.  It all seems like the same thing.

But...

shh...the show's about to start

Emma had her performance of Annie Jr.  It was really good.  Like...REALLY.  I was telling my mother that we've been doing this since Emma was 6, and she said, "Has it really been that long?" so we started counting backward through the years...

2015 Annie Jr.
2014 High School Musical
2013 Hairspray (and Peter Pan Jr.)
2012 Legally Blonde
2011 101 Dalmations
2010 Charlie Brown
2009 Jungle Book

the full cast

And I guess because the productions are age-based you'd expect them to get better and better the older the kids get.  And they have.  This was far and away the best production we've watched Emma in.  The ensemble sang "Hard Knock Life" and the whole time I was thinking..."this is as good as the version I've heard recorded."  It really was.  Some of the performers (predominantly girls) are developing their own areas of specialty.  Where Emma is sort of a Jill of all trades, a few of the girls are competitive dancers, and the production made use of those sorts of skills, incorporating them where appropriate.  It was very very entertaining.

Emma as "Lily"

Emma was Emma.  She possesses a gift for comedic timing, and she is very at home on stage.  Her part of "Easy Street" was clear and in-tune and lovely.  I always worry about those first few notes, but there was nothing to fear.  She was dead on.

She struggled the week leading into the performance, though.  She was very nervous.  Felt unprepared.  Really appeared uneasy.  And I tried talking to her about it.  I tried to help her with the idea of compartmentalizing.  I think she has that tool in her toolbox already, but I thought maybe I'd try to reinforce it a bit.

Her thing:  I just want it to be a good show.

"Emma, you need to worry about your performance.  Only yours.  Make your performance the absolute best it can be.  Know your part, know your dance, know your positions.  You don't worry about the rest of the performers.  Let the director do that.  Your job is just to worry about you.  His job is to worry about all of you."

And I think she mostly got that.  I told her to focus on those things that were within her control.  To figure out everything she could improve or alter.  Anything she could directly impact.  And everything else, she just needed to put away in a box inside her brain so that she could get some sleep.  So she could relax when she steps away from the stage.

I wondered too if maybe mommy not being there had something to do with it.  And we talked about it one evening.  We shared some tears in her room at bed time.  It's hard knowing that a lot of the reason she is participating in CLO at all is because her mother was so passionate about making sure she had opportunities to get on stage if that was what she wanted.

And so I told her a bit about some weirdness I've been experiencing.  More of that weird...joy/guilt type stuff.  And let me back up for a minute to sort of explain myself, because I've been thinking about it for a couple weeks.  If you follow the blog relatively closely, then you know that I shared my weird feeling about being happy about being sad and being sad about being happy.  Just that while I'm grieving for Leslie I've been doing this...weird...finishing projects thing.

There are all these things that Leslie and I talked about doing...hardwood on the stairs and hallways, putting together a will, starting a special needs trust for Lily, figuring out our retirement, setting up Emma's 529 plan.  And I've been doing all of them.  And not just that, but trying to keep our room clean and the bed made every day and trying to keep the counter clean of dishes for the following morning, changing the bedding...all stuff she used to nag the shit out of me to do...I'm doing.

And so on the one hand, I feel like Leslie would be all..."Wow, Jim, you're really doing a nice job with the house." and on the other hand I feel like Leslie would be all, "I had to DIE for you to change the fucking sheets?"

Except Leslie wouldn't say that because she was a lady of breeding.  Still.  It's weird to think that all the things she used to be forced to bug me to do, I'm really careful about doing.  And I justify it to myself that it's Leslie's voice, or Leslie's influence, or it's an homage to Leslie that it's all getting done.  And that's part of it.  But I think the other more practical part is that I literally KNOW that Leslie won't be picking up after me, so if I don't want to live in squalor, I have to do that stuff.

Okay, so back to Emma.  I know she was sad about mommy not being there to see her in Annie.  God...she'd have been SO proud, and there were many times during the performance that I felt my eyes well up thinking about how much Leslie would have loved to see it...so I told Emma, "Em, every time that you and I do something that we know mommy would have wanted us to do, or that we know she enjoyed doing with us, or that she had fun watching us do, we honor her memory.  It's like remembering her and remembering her love and letting that memory guide our actions and shape our lives.  And when we do that, we include her in our lives even though she's passed."  I explained to her that I know it still sucks.  And I know it's still not the same...that it can't be the same.  But I tried to explain to her about me and the housework and redoing the stairway and explaining that every time I do all the little things that Leslie always harped on me to to, every time I finish a project that Leslie always wanted to finish, every time I go enjoy time with friends like she always encouraged me to do...I'm remembering Leslie's voice.  I'm honoring Leslie's memory.

And even though Leslie wasn't going to be sitting in a chair next to me at the performance, I told her that I believe she'd be watching Emma perform if Emma wanted her to watch her perform...and that doing her best to put on a good show would be a nice way to honor mommy's memory, and listen to her mother's voice in HER head.

Meanwhile, Lily has been a bit off lately.  Defiant.  Anxious.  And it's difficult to tell whether it's related to:  summer, her mom passing, growing up, etc.  The BSC is looking at the data trying to help us figure it all out.  She seems happy enough most of the time, but lots more "noes" than I'm accustomed to.

Anyway.  Sorta dry stuff.

Less dry...

Friday Tryday was more or less a success.  A friend did caution me not to make Emma feel like she was solely responsible for the variety of our menu, and after mulling it over, I talked to Emma about it and explained to her that I hadn't meant to put the weight of our eating variety on her.  And then I relaxed Tryday to every other week (this week...chicken wings).  But the first Tryday was a success...fried fish.  Not horrible.  Actually sort of liked it. 

And, not wanting to be outdone, Lily ate baby back ribs that I slow cooked.  I stripped the meat from the bones for her, and didn't add barbecue sauce, but she ate everything I gave her.  I was amazed.

What else...

Oh! Emma's Aunt Lauren was in town for Pappy's birthday, so Emma and Aunt Lauren made some Adventuretime (mostly) themed cupcakes.  I think they turned out great!

Finally...the newspaper did a story about the volunteers at Glade Run (where Emma volunteers).  They had a little slide show that accompanied the online article, and there were several pictures of Emma included.  One of them...(this gem below)...I'm having blown up and framed for our home.

gesundheit

Organization or Lack Thereof

I was having a bit of a rough day yesterday.  Really the whole weekend.  But mostly yesterday, I think.  And if you're reading this, please...I swear this isn't a cry for help or anything, just telling you what I was feeling.  I don't need reassurance, just to vent. 

Anyway, the recitals in particular, and dance preparations in general have been harder emotionally than I would have thought.  It feels wrong to me to see my children achieve success and to mourn it because their mother isn't here to share it with, but that's what I was feeling.  And that feeling felt wrong and I just had to sort of...think myself though it.

Leslie is the one who never stopped trying to find a dance studio that would take Lily in, and give her a chance to do something that incorporated her two greatest strengths...love of music, and love of movement.  Sooooooo much movement. 

So seeing Lily on stage (Leslie was always backstage helping get Lily ready to go on, but never got to enjoy from the crowd), and feeling the warmth of the crowd (no snickers, no mocking, no laughter) and see the hands waving silently in accommodative applause was at the same time such a happy feeling, and also so empty.

anxious...I'm pretty sure she's "visualizing" right here.

And Leslie was also the one who danced when she was young and always tried to help Emma with her hand movements and technique, and to see Emma, so poised on stage, her dancing so beautiful and graceful and her face just emoting...joy...was such a happy feeling but again...so empty.

I was telling a friend that I think what I've struggled most with of late is the loss of that...sounding board/partner/bestfriend that were all represented by Leslie.  I make friends relatively easily when I try, but I don't often try, and for twenty years Leslie has represented, for the most part, the only friend I really felt like I needed.  And now she's gone, and the person I want to text pictures of the girls to, or tell about "this thing that Lily just said" or brainstorm some social issue that Emma's dealing with...is silent.  And she can't really be replaced.  And I have friends I can talk to, and I have family members who care about me and my family and who I can tell things to, but it's not the same, and I've really been missing that.

So the recital happened and I wanted to text pictures and send messages and I couldn't.  Or...I could, but I couldn't send them to the person whose life revolved around those kids exactly the same amount as mine did...and does.

Sunday had been a series of personal failures.  They were all more or less trivial, but taken in the aggregate just pushed me into a funk that I struggled with until the end of last night when i finally switched off the light and let sleep claim me.

I suck at organizing.  Maybe I actually don't "suck" at it.  I just don't do it.  I'm not practiced at it.  That part of the partnership was Leslie.  She required it.  I just went with it; flew by the seat of my pants.  But her organization allowed me to succeed at flying by the seat of my pants because there was rarely ever any reason for me to have to do so, and my ability to react to whatever was left over unaddressed allowed her not to stress out that every last detail wasn't completely planned out.  We fit.

So now I have to start organizing.  Especially now, since the vacation is Friday, and it was just one thing after another on Sunday and they were all just a little too much.

Emma asked for mac and cheese for lunch.  I started boiling water and realized I was out of mac and cheese, and groceries weren't coming until Wednesday.  So I switched gears on the fly, and made hot dogs, but after grilling them realized we were out of hot dog buns.  Then we were invited to a pool party after the recital and the only swim suit I could find for Lily was too big (and we're going to the BEACH!).  Later I had to feed Emma supper but realized I had nothing made, and I'd have to make her eat frozen pizza for the second night in a row because there really wasn't anything else I could make quickly.  I hadn't cleaned the minivan's carpets or started packing...there'd just been too much to do that weekend.  Emma left the performance in a surly mood because people had been talking about a cast party scheduled for today, but nobody had told her...and she felt left out...only to realize the cast party information had been sent to me the week before in an email, and I was the reason she didn't know.

And I felt like I wasn't treading water anymore.  I felt like I was going under.  I remember thinking...well...this is it, I made it two months before complete system shutdown.  Laundry wasn't done yet, some stuff was folded, not put away.  My kitchen island was a nightmare, papers everywhere.  My dining room was the same.  The plants that got sent home with us from the funeral were slowly turning brown as I brain farted my way through the occasional waterings that were slowly killing them with my too-casual neglect.

All of which is maybe an overdramatization, but it was how Sunday felt to me.  I post these blogs and people I think get the impression that I'm super dad.  And I do try.  I try to do my best, and I think for the most part my best is pretty fucking good.  Maybe great.  But I doubt and struggle and question and all the stuff that isn't necessarily the stuff of weekly blog postings.

I had a rough time last week too, around the time of Kennywood.  And I got through it by making lists and tackling the things on the list one at a time.  I got through it with the help of friends and family...offering rides, or errands, or an ear.  And so I started my list for the vacation and last night I steam cleaned the van carpets (holy shit, if you've never done that...it's like they're new again) and started talking to Emma about packing and making plans for laundry and the week.  And I feel more on track again.  But it's not my forte.

So here's your Leslie story...

Six weeks after Leslie died, her office offered a memorial service on campus for her work friends who hadn't gotten to go to the viewings or funeral, and so I headed up with my in-laws and parents to sit in and shake hands, give/receive hugs and remember Leslie.

I called off work that morning, so I was at home when the truck showed up in the cul-de-sac.  School was still in session, and Lily's bus hadn't arrived yet to pick her up, but I looked out the window as I passed the front door, anticipating it.  It looked like maybe the neighbors had hired a grass contractor, because the truck had a lawn mower and some shovels in it.  I got Lily ready for school and we walked out to greet the bus.  It was my friend Jimmy in the truck he'd bought the week before.

I scowled at him and motioned questioningly to the bed of his truck with my head.

"What's uh...what's going on here?"

And he confessed that he'd sort of fucked up the "surprise" but a bunch of people were coming over to mow the lawn and lay mulch and do outside stuff that they knew I hadn't gotten an opportunity to tackle.  And I felt uncomfortable, but grateful and after chatting briefly went back in the house to get ready for the memorial service.  A half hour later two more people had joined Jimmy.  One was Jen, a former dance mom whose daughter was friends with Emma, and whose mother had been bringing Leslie communion at home for months.

"You know, Leslie set this all up months ago," she told me.  I had NOT known.  "She felt bad that so much had fallen on you and didn't want you to have to do all the outside work too.  She organized it months ago and this was the first free time we all had."   

And I let all that sink in as I drove to the memorial.  Even dead, she was still taking care of me.  She remains more organized than I am even from the fucking grave.  It's sweet and sad and so Leslie.  And when I got home the yard was mulched, and flowers were in the pots in front of the house, and shrubs were trimmed and trees pruned and it was more than I knew I'd have done.  More than I would have thought to have done. 

And I know I don't have to learn to be Leslie, but I do need to be more organized.  And I know that I can't just accept the duties associated with Leslie's share of the partnership overnight because that post has been vacated.  I know I need to ask for help.  I know I need to open myself more to friendships. 

These are things Leslie and I talked about when we learned she was dying...ways for me to succeed...open up more, ask for help, and accept help when it's offered. 

So last night I started making my lists and tackling things one at a time and today I feel better again.  Back to myself.  But maybe slightly better organized.  At least for today.

The Dowden Brake

We went to Kennywood last week.  I think I thought it would be easier than it was.  I mean, I always stress out about Lily getting in and out of Kiddieland, and getting on and off of rides, and potential potty accidents and/or meltdowns or whatever, and not having Leslie with me, I knew that stuff was going to be harder.  I psyched myself up, stressed out, but ultimately felt mentally "prepared" for it. 

And instead of Emma's friend's mom going with us (as was our tradition), her dad attended, and idea that Emma's friend's mom had so as not to rub in the...momfulness of her friends and her...momlessness (my words, not hers).  It's something Emma and I have talked about.  It concerns me that she might pull away from friends whose mothers are really active and involved in their daughters' lives in favor of those who are less pervasive (not a big deal...everyone parents differently) or not around at all in their kids lives (more of a big deal for me) especially her core group of friends whose mothers are, like Leslie was, very..."visible".  Caring Place starts next week...

So anyway, the dad and I are friends, and the girls mostly ride by themselves anyway, so I felt like I was about as prepared as I could be.

But not emotionally, I guess.  This was to be the first Kennywood visit without Leslie.  I was going to write this whole preachy "firsts/lasts" post about how all these..."events" are occurring now that Leslie's gone, and each one is the first (insert event) since she passed.  First mother's day, first birthday, first vacation, first Christmas, all these "events" that I'm dreading because each one just shoves Leslie's death back in our faces and makes us confront her absence instead of just enjoying the event itself.  And the post probably could have been summed up in a couple paragraphs (like these), but I'd probably have drawn it out to five pages because that's what I do.  But I'll just cover it briefly here.

A friend of mine said something about how we had an awful lot of events like that lately, and I know what she meant (mother's day, Leslie's birthday, memorial day, first day of summer visit to kennywood, beach vacation (in a week and a half)) but I was just like..."No escaping it.  There are never NOT events."  Every day has some new thing that we're doing for the first time without Leslie.  And it sucks.  I mean, I spent damn near literally every day of the past 20 years with her.  We did a lot of shit in that time, today might be the first time...making tacos without her, or first time going to the pediatrician, or some other seemingly trivial ridiculous thing...but it's going to take a while to exhaust all those shitty little milestone "firsts" and certainly much, muuuuuuch longer before we stop mourning the "last" time we did (insert event) with Leslie...

But I had sort of forgotten about the Kennywood thing.  And Kennywood..well...Kennywood was very special to Leslie.  And the more I started preparing for it, the more memories crowded for space in my brain and started to press against my heart...

It started with the last time we went to Kennywood together, which, I think I probably blogged about.  Lemme find the link and I'll come back to write more...*hold music plays*...

Okay...I didn't.  I wrote about the first trip to Kennywood here:  "The Amusement Park".  And it references the Dowden Brake (the story of which will follow in THIS blog, in Leslie's own words, with embellishment from me) and has tons of pics.  It was three years ago.

Then I wrote about it the year before last here:  "Summer Is Coming".  Leslie was in remission then.  We thought.  Her hair was growing back in.  She was starting to look more like "herself" again.  It's actually kind of hard for me to look at and realize that the final cancer shitstorm was on its way.  But I have to compartmentalize that stuff and just revel in her joy at the park.

Back to the now (or the...last week)...and the weather forecast called for rain, and so I was looking for rain ponchos because last year at this time, Emma and Leslie were making a day of it, and Lily and I had headed for home (and her bedtime) while the adventurers stood in line for thrills.  Leslie bought rain ponchos because it was raining on them, and she stashed them away after they got home. 

I...get rid of crap.  Leslie...kept crap.  So a couple of $3 plastic rain ponchos?  Possibly I threw them away.  But I had to first look in all the usual places...her car (side pockets, glove box, center console), her "office" (all over the effing place), and finally...the coats in the coat closet.

And the first coat I reached into the pockets of maybe had a bit of change and a receipt for gas or something and...a tissue.  A wadded up used tissue.  Ugh.

And I stopped and thought and remembered...she always reused those fucking tissues.  She'd blow her nose, wad it up, and stuff it in her sleeve, or her pants' pocket...or her coats.  And I was like "Leslie, throw those in the garbage, they cost like...a cent per tissue...we have more, just get a clean one." and she would ignore me and continue doing it just as her mother had (and continues to do) before her.  So four coats into my search for a rain poncho I had four wadded up kleenexes in my fist.  Four for four.  And I showed it to Emma and we remembered how she always had a tissue...clean or used...in her pocket, and I stood there, tears in my eyes...over a fucking kleenex.  (In the end I found one poncho, in the bin where we keep gloves and hats and stuff...it makes sense.  I probably should have started there)

That was the first sucker punch, and honestly the day was really great, and Lily was good, and she had fun, and Emma had fun, and we ate awful food and rode for hours, but throughout the day there were many little aftershocks...so many Kennywood memories, watching Leslie ride with the girls, taking pictures of them together...and listening to her re-tell the story of the Dowden Brake.

so awful i barely finished it in five minutes.

 And I thought...I'll never hear that story again.  And it was one of the few she always told (because I'm the story teller guy) and I always laughed at and enjoyed...but somehow never really quite understood well enough to tell myself.

So I was talking to that same mutual friend, Bec (who talked to me about events) about the Dowden Brake and the story...and lamenting the fact that I didn't really KNOW the story to tell it.  She and Leslie corresponded via email daily, and Leslie had told HER the story, and she offered to share that and the other emails with me.  And...well it's just such a gift, these previously unheard words exchanged between friends...it's like being able to hear her voice all over again.  So I thought instead of trying to recreate the story of the Dowden Brake I'd let Leslie do the talking, providing only a little color commentary here and there. 

"The Dowden Brake"

From Kennywood's website:  "The park was designated a national historic landmark in 1987. One of the most popular additions to the park was a new steel-looping coaster the Steel Phantom in 1991. The Steel Phantom's top speed was 80 MPH, its longest drop was 225 feet and it featured 4 loops."


From their discussion June of last year:

Leslie:  Our kid's school went on strike in the beginning of the school year, so they get out late...June 17th.  We celebrate by taking them to a local amusement park the day after.  I love it...not so much for Jim.  He is not much of a rider.  

Bec:  Oh is that Kennywood that you go to?

Leslie:  Yes, it is Kennywood!  It is a huge family tradition with me...went every year.  Once out of highschool I went there to work for the summer.  It was a blast!!  Jim is not as big of a fan of riding.  Emma so far loves it, and Lily does pretty well.  I have not really pushed her much beyond the Kiddie Land.  She is just so tiny. I will be sure to send some pics.

Bec:  You worked at an amusement park?? That would be so much fun! What did you do there? 

Leslie:  It was so much fun to work at Kennywood!  We worked like everyday and worked very long hours...it was great!  I worked a laugh in the dark kind of ride - Noah's Ark; the Turnpike cars; and then I was on the inaugural team for the Phantom's Revenge roller coaster.  That was their baby!  Then one evening during a major thunderstorm, there was an incident where I somewhat broke their multi-million dollar baby...so I was demoted back to the Turnpike Cars.  It was fun none the less!!

Bec:  I'm laughing so much at the thought that you broke a multimillion dollar roller coaster! How on earth did you do that??

Leslie:  I figured that would make you laugh!!!  I didn't actually break it...it is a roller coaster.  I did not set a brake appropriately (much longer story), and the coaster did not make it through a loop and it went backwards.  Now I need to mention that there was no one on the coaster at the time.  Ultimately, it kept going back and forth till it ran out of steam and it finally stopped on the tracks in a huge ravine...so they needed to get a crane and take it back up one car at a time.  They were not happy!! 

Yeah...the way she told it to me, the head engineer or maintenance guy commanded that she be fired on the spot.  Like...in her presence, with spittle flying and angry jabbed finger-pointing.  They demoted her instead.  To "The Turnpike".

Picture the scene in Nemo:

NEMO:  Dad, dad...can I go play too? Can I?
MARLIN: I would feel better if you go play over on the sponge beds.  (insert video of baby fish crying on a soft bed of sponge) That's where I would play

That's the turnpike...the sponge beds of Kennywood.  So Leslie's days at the Steel Phantom came to an end.  THE INAUGURAL TEAM!!

Some additional color commentary...

During a thunderstorm, they had shut the ride down.  The policy was to run empty cars through after a shut down to sort of test it out prior to starting the ride back up again.  But the brake had to be set differently to run the cars empty than to run them full.  Meaning, I believe, the extra weight of the riders meant having to set the brake a little more aggressively so that the ride didn't run too fast.  Leslie left the brake in the position you'd have it in for riders...and it was too much brake!  The loss of momentum through the loop was enough to get the empty cars caught in the bottom, slowly rocking itself to immobility and uselessness with no means of removing the car from the track...except to bring a friggin' crane in to pick it up and move it.

They had to redesign the brake system...to...forgive me, my love...idiot-proof it.  And when they completed the redesign it was informally dubbed the "Dowden Brake" to memorialize the "idiot" who had prompted its...proofing. 

She told that story every year.  And I miss the sound of it.  And laughing with her about it.

Cross another first off the list.  First Kennywood without Leslie.

At the end of next week we're going to Myrtle Beach to the exact same condo that we spent last year's vacation in.  But this will be the "first family vacation without Leslie".  We'll have fun, but I expect it will be sad as well.  For all of us.