as the cake crumbles

Yesterday was an incredibly hard day for me.  I could feel it quickly approaching and no matter how desperately I tried to ignore it, the 4^th of July was here.  While I am a patriotic American, this feeling of dread was not about the birth of our amazing country, but the birth, and inevitably the death, of someone special to me.  I am sure, by knowing the typical topic of my woes, you know exactly whom I am referring to.

Yes, my dear mom was born on the 4^th of July 1969.  The fact that she was born on such an important holiday added to how special she was, and how special she thought she was.  She used to get excited about her birthday, then it was her birthday weekend, which turned into her birthday week, and before she was gone she had capitalized on an entire birthday month.  And she was so worth it.  She deserved a birthday month.  And if she was here, I would celebrate a birthday 6 months if it meant I got to see her. 

When it came to her birthday she was like a little girl, she could guess what was inside any package my dad would get her.  One year he got her a new  car stereo, the movie titanic, and a new Bible.  He wrapped the speakers separately and put the movie into a huge box, the Bible into another.  She knew what was in each package.  She shook one and said, “I bet this is the left speaker.” And she was right.  She was always right (that’s where I get it). She correctly guessed what was in each box, and I can still see her smile and feel her excitement.  She was so bubbly and it was always contagious.

There are specific days in which the hole in my heart that she left is thrown in my face.  Mother’s day, my birthday, and her birthday are a few of the worst. The night before her birthday I dreamt of her, and  I never dream of her anymore.  When she first died I would dream of her a lot.  It was always in the house that I grew up in, and I used to say that I was going to knock on the door and see if the people who own that house now would be okay with me sitting in their closet so that I could maybe feel close to her.  I clearly never did this because I am not a creeper, but I thought of it all the time.  I just so desperately want to feel close to her again.

The dreams that I had were at first fine and happy.  She was there.  That is all that really mattered.  But by the end of it she was gone and I would be left searching for her, trying to find her, feeling her absence. One of them I was on the phone with her and was talking to her and all of a sudden she was gone.  I was frantically saying, “mom? Mom?  Are you there?  Mom?” It was awful.  It is how I feel all the time.  Like she should be here,  like she is just outside my reach. 

So needless to say, I woke up sad yesterday.  I woke up feeling empty and alone yesterday.  I woke up missing her.  It is strange, but even 3 years later it doesn’t quite feel real.  Yesterday morning her absence felt so real.  The chasm of emptiness, loneliness, grief, anger, hurt, confusion, and desperation was so very real.  I thought of just up and driving to the beach.  If I hadn’t of just had surgery I really think I would have.  When I miss her I want to be at the beach. It is why there is a beach tattooed on my body.  She is at the beach.  I feel her when I am at the beach.  And it was my first thought.  I needed to be at the beach.  But, like a mature adult I didn’t just react out of my grief and I stayed in town.  But I couldn’t just stay home. 

The kids and I ran some errands, met Raul for lunch, and our final stop was at fry’s.  They were out of most of the things I wanted which was frustrating, but my meltdown happened when I got to the cake aisle.  I had decided I was going to make my mom’s favorite cake.  She loved marble cakes and I wanted to make her one.  But guess what?  There were no marble cake mixes.  None. Zero. And I lost it.  I cried right then and there in the cake aisle.  Karsyn (my three year-old), seeing how upset I was,  kept pointing out cakes saying things like, “mommy look at this cake.  I think your mommy would like this one!”   All my kids just looked at me not sure what to do.  They had never seen me lose it in public.  They all were trying to find a marble cake, moving boxes around, but it was pointless.  There were no marble cakes. 

Just like my mom was missing in my dreams, she is missing in my life.  Being without her on her birthday just plain sucks.  In my entire life I had only missed 2 of her birthdays, and now there have been 3 without her.  They don’t have her cake, and we don’t have her.  Our family is all spread out and while we all wanted to be together it just didn’t work out.  My aunt, grandma, sister, and I all texted throughout the day and each one of us were really struggling.  Each one of us felt like it has gotten worse with time, not better.  And each one of us wished we could have been together.  One of us was in Phoenix, one in Tucson, one in the White Mountains, and one in Kansas but we really needed each other, and we really needed her.  I feel like nobody gets it quite like the four of us women.  All of our grief looks different, but we are all the most alike, and we are all the most like her. Nobody shares her with us quite like her mom, her sister, and her daughters. 

My heart is broken.  It is irreparable damage.  I will never be able to move on.  Just hours before she died I was texting her and without warning she was gone.  She died snug and safe in her bed and I just can’t move past that.  Getting the call from the officer  to respond to the house because my mom had died was the pivotal moment in my life.  It is where everything changed.  It is where my life was broken. You don’t just get over your mom dying.  I just can’t. 

It is hard because it has made me question my faith, my beliefs.  If I believe in God then it means that he chose to take my mom.  And while everyone talks about how happy and pain-free she is “dancing with Jesus”, I cannot get over the fact that God would do this to us.  I watch the pain and suffering of all my family members, of my daughter and I cannot see how this is a “good plan”.  I am so angry at God and I cannot see how He has a perfect plan in store for our lives.  For what?  To ruin our lives?  To break us?  I don’t see it.  I cannot accept my mom’s death.  It is too awful and horrifying.  It is too painful and devastating.  It has broken me to the core and I am not sure that I can survive the injury it has caused.  It was a lethal blow. 

just ignore my crazy person rant...

Sometimes there are so many thoughts racing through my head that I can’t focus on one.  I have written a paragraph and deleted it more than once as I sit here and type.  I cannot stick to one topic, to one idea, to one feeling.  I feel incredibly high strung right now; I think it is the cabin fever getting to me. I cannot just sit here and do nothing.  My life is constantly going at a fast pace and just being stagnant like this is driving me absolutely crazy.

In case you missed it I had an abdominal hysterectomy 2 weeks ago, and  I am supposed to lay low for 6 weeks.  Yeah, six whole weeks.  I mean, it sounds like a vacation, right?  I have the chance to just sit there and do NOTHING for six whole weeks!  But, yeah, no.  I am out of my mind.  My bathroom needs to be cleaned, the kid’s bathroom needs to be bleached and scrubbed and disinfected and possibly just destroyed, the floors need to be vacuumed and mopped, and I have still been keeping up on the laundry.  I am ITCHING to be productive. 

I am only one-third of the way done with this prison sentence and guess what?  I already over-did it and opened my incision.  Yup.  Within the first two weeks I have already set myself backwards.  Time is moving in slow motion and now I went backwards? FANTASTIC.   I feel worthless and lazy by not getting things done around here; so much of my identity is wrapped up in being a mom and getting things done.  I strive to be mostly perfect and sitting here like this is messing up my style.  It is making me think less of myself.

And don’t even get me started on the gym.  I feel like I did all that hard work for nothing.  NOTHING, I tell you!  In six weeks of missing workouts I am going to be fat and out of shape.  I am going to be back at square one.  And I am not a fan of square one.  I push my body to the max and I love the high I get from it.  The endorphins help my depression and anxiety, the sweat feels good, and the muscle tone on my body shows absolute success.  But sitting stagnant like this is doing nothing but bad for my body.  My brain can’t handle the reality of sitting still, neither can my body.  I am desperately longing to run, to lift, to squat, to feel the BURN.  The burn is so good!!!!! 

I will confess…I started to vacuum today.  I couldn’t take the dust-full-sized-rabbits on my floors.  I decided the Swiffer vac is way more light weight than the dyson so I rationalized that it’ll be okay.  The floors were SO BAD that it ran out of battery before I finished the kitchen/dining area.  NO JOKE.  I took it as my hint of stopping.  So I stopped.  But if it is charged before Raul gets home I might go back to it.  I am a clean addict and might need an intervention.

Another confession…the kids caught me lifting dumbbells the other day.  I mean, they were just 3 lbs a piece.  It really doesn’t even count as a workout.  But the dr gave me a 5lb weight limit so I took that as being allowed to lift 5lbs.  I know it equals 6lbs when lifted together but it made me feel like I was doing SOMETHING. 

If I am not busy doing something I sit there and think and thinking isn’t good.  I mean between them removing my womb, it almost being my mom’s birthday, and the loneliness, I shouldn’t be allowed to think.  Not. At. All. Cleaning is way better for my mood than thinking is.  Running is way better for my spirit than thinking.  Thinking should be banned. 

I am pretty sure this rant is only for myself.  If you have made it this far…I apologize.  Sorry for wasting your time on my lonely, crazy rant. I just really need to get out of the house.  I need my house to magically be cleaned (I’ve tried the animal call like snow white and it didn’t work), and I need to go for a good, long run. 

END RANT.

being a mom when my kid had surgery....and being motherless along the way

I love being a mom.  It is part of my identity. It is part of who I am.  Perhaps I use my motherhood to an unhealthy degree, if that is even possible.  Nonetheless, I am a mom.  I love it, though sometimes it is the hardest thing I have ever done.  And you know what makes it even harder?  NOT HAVING MY MOM.  Oh yeah, that. 

I used to call my mom for everything.  I’m cooking a chicken, call my mom.  I am cooking a roast, call my mom.  My kid gets hurt, I call my mom. My kids have a high fever, I call my mom.  My mom was Google, a triage nurse, a friend, a confidant, a psychologist, a counselor, a mediator, and my biggest support system.  We had a lifetime of rapport and there is just no relationship like it.  There is just not another her. 

I have had to Pinterest more recipes, call my grandma more, and actually talk to my pediatrician more.  I so feel bad for Brice and Lisa, they would hear from me a whole lot less if I had my mom to call first. Thank God they are both amazing pediatricians who truly love my kids.

Last week Karsyn had her tonsils out, and it has been horrible as a mom.  My kid in pain is unbearable.  Not being able to fix it is even worse.  And not having my mom to call and vent to is absolutely unacceptable.  My grandma and my aunt have been my go-to people.  They are the people who are the most like her, but  I still need her.  When being a mom is the hardest, I need my mom the most. 

Karsyn was having her tonsils out Thursday morning so we took her out Wednesday night.  The older three went to my in-law’s house and we had some special Karsyn time.  She chose to eat at Texas Roadhouse and then we went to the mall.  She slept in the bed with me that night because I wanted to make sure that she didn’t accidentally end up eating or drinking something.  We explained to her what was going to happen Thursday morning so that there were no huge surprises when we went.

She was so brave Thursday.  She didn’t complain about how hungry and thirsty she was.  She had a great attitude, and was totally fine.  She waited in her tiger gown, colored, and just playfully talked.  She kept asking, “when is the doctor going to take my owies out?”  She even went with the nurse and anesthesiologist to the OR without freaking out and even said bye.  I mean, she’s only three and a half.  She was SO brave.

I was a mess though.  I didn’t sleep the night before and when I did I had nightmares about the surgery.  My three year-old was braver and more calm than I was.  At the surgery center my heart was pounding and I could barely breathe.  I am a mom, I think of all the worst. 

They had this cute little hobbit door to get in to the kid area.  It was this cute arch opening just big enough for kids.  Of course to get into the kid area I went through the adult door.  I sat down and filled out paperwork, but when Karsyn got called back I instantly had serious anxiety.  I tried to play it off cool so that Karsyn didn’t sense it.  Thus, I forgot that I was not a hobbit and for some reason attempted to be one, meanwhile smacking my forehead on the top of the hobbit door.  Newsflash.  I am NOT a hobbit! And boy did it hurt!  I totally played it off cool in the moment.  I held it together until over an hour later when Karsyn was taken back to surgery.  Yes, I did walk smack dab into a wall.

My mom had a sick sense of humor.  Anytime we fell as kids she would burst out in uncontrollable laughter.  She would have laughed at me on the spot that morning and I would have been mortified.  But you know what?  I’d take the public humiliation just to have her in that waiting room.   I am so grateful that Raul was there with me and that he showed nothing other than concern when I painfully discovered my lack of hobbit-ness.  I am so glad that he waited to laugh until I was willing to laugh about it myself.  But I also wish my mom was there in the waiting room with us.  I wish her presence had been there.  I probably still would have been a mess, but at least she would have been there. 

Karsyn did so well.  She wasn’t whiney coming out of surgery nor that whole day.  We have watched Frozen about 7 times in a 3 day period, and then yesterday the kids reenacted frozen word for word.  It is all she cares about.  Frozen, ice cream, unicorns, waffles, and mac and cheese.  She is up playing.  She is usually happy.  Nights are rough, though, she’s in pain at night. 

The first night she whimpered and cried most of the night.  She slept in our bed for that very reason and it was miserable for both of us.  She was miserable in pain and I was miserable because I couldn’t fix it.  I am her mom and I couldn’t take the pain away.  I know my mom would have wanted me to keep her updated even in the middle of the night.  She would have left her phone on for just that reason.  The second night was the worst night, though.  I stupidly let her sleep in her own bed.  At 2am she woke up screaming.  I went in there and she was shaking uncontrollably and burning up.  It was like a nightmare.  I have never had one of my kids shake like that, ever.  I rushed her to the ER where she proceeded to puke all over me, and herself for that matter.  She was incredibly dehydrated and also has a UTI.  That poor girl. 

We were in the ER for 4 hours and came home and slept most of the day.  It took 2 days trying and fighting to get fluids in her and trying to get her to take her meds.  She would hold them in her mouth for half an hour and then spit them all out.  It was miserable.  She is so stubborn but it was hurting her.  We only got her to take meds and drink under the threat of going back to the hospital and getting shots.  Good parenting right there.

But through all of this struggle, through all of this stress, through the fact that we are STILL not sleeping through the night, I miss my mom.  Being a mom this week has been painful, scary, stressful, and miserable.  Being a mom this week without my mom has been cruel punishment.  This isn’t about how to cook a chicken, this is about the well being of my baby.  It is the hard mom stuff.  And the ache and hole in my heart that the absence of my mother has left has been hugely evident this week. 

It is hard because mother’s day was a matter of weeks ago.  It is hard because my birthday was a week ago.  It is hard because I still haven’t recovered from losing her and sometimes that still just isn’t real to me.  The pain of losing her is an every day battle.  The reality of life without her is an every minute struggle.  But there are sometimes, like mother’s day or my birthday that it just hurts worse.  And this horrifying experience.  This exhausting mom thing, is just extremely worse without her.  She loved my kids as much as I do.  They were everything to her.  And she was, and is, everything to me.

tidal wave of anxiety...can't tread much longer

It is all so real, so intense.  My thoughts are racing.  My legs are shaking, I am not sure why but it is a nervous twitch that I cannot seem to stop, but it is also driving me more crazy.  Just sit still, legs.  Calm down.  My breathing is shallow and uneven.  My chest feels tight and constricted.  Yes.  It is my anxiety coming to the surface again.  It is my anxiety taking over my life again, taking over me again.  This overwhelming tide of panic is rushing over me like a tsunami and I so desperately want to control it. 

I am a master of controlling my emotions, my reactions, my thoughts.  Why can I not get a handle on this?  I am a skilled control freak of myself.  I am used to being poised and mild mannered.  I can talk about deep pain without breaking a sweat or shedding a tear.  So why has this anxiety consumed me? 

I have worked so hard at my perfect little life.  I have worked hard to beat the odds, to be the best.  And right now as my reality is facing me I am having a hard time coping.  Part of me wants it all out there, the relief of just letting it all go an no longer holding back, but the rest of me wants to keep hiding in the shadows.  I already deal with the glances of pity because I lost my mom, the looks of judgments because nobody can support our decisions, and the constant feeling of alienation from people around us.  Why would I put myself in another situation where people have information to judge me?  To judge us?

So, no.  The details will remain a mystery.  The intimate information of what is going on with my family will continue to be just that.  Our intimate details.  In order for me to release them I would not only be selling myself out, but I would be faced with the questions of “why?” and those details aren’t even mine to give.  I would be betraying someone else just by uttering the reasons why.  And you know what?  I have way too much respect for myself and for the others involved to do that.  But I need a release.  I need to get it all off my chest.  So I feel lost here, unsure what to do. 

This tsunami is all encompassing.  It is all consuming.  It is flooding over every area of my life, and I am nearly at the point of drowning.  I feel alone here, with nobody to throw me a life vest, a raft, a hand, or anything.  I am treading water and am getting very weary.  Why can’t I breathe? 

Under water are all my hopes and dreams.  Rushing with the current  go all of my plans.  My future is in the dark unknown down there being devoured and I am powerless to stop it.  The crushing waves hold me under for too long and I lose hope that I will ever surface again.  When I do finally surface, my breathing is too shallow.  My thoughts are so out of control that I cannot get my bearings.  I cannot anticipate the next wave because I cannot hold on to anything stable. 

Where have all the landmarks gone? Where has my sense of normalcy been carried to?  All my lists, consistency, plans, schedules, all my stability has been moved down stream in a current that I did not want.  It has all been out of my hands.  I may have opened the door when the tsunami hit, but I did not ask for it to come.  Everything that has been important to me is under water and it feels fruitless to try to swim under and attempt to get it back, yet I still have a desire to try. 

I am out here alone in the water.  Alone while the sharks circle around me, hoping to just get one bite.  When the tide gets rough why do I always seem to find myself alone and hopeless?  Why does nobody stand up for me?  How did I get myself out here in the first place?  Is this what I deserve?  Am I being punished for something? 

All this treading is making me exhausted, making me not want to fight any longer.  Why is breathing  so necessary anyway?  

Marriage Salt and Pepper [a little taste of the devastating calm after a marriage storm last night]

Ever have one of those nights where you wish you could just do it all over?  Or where you wish that you could forget it all?  Ever say something that did irreparable damage to someone else?  Ever do it with four sweet pairs of eyes watching?  Ever get so upset that a dish was broken?  Intentionally?

That is what our night was like last night.  I am not going to go into too much detail.  I am not going to sell out my spouse or give intimate details…but I’ll give you a little salt and pepper so see just what our night was like.  I’ll save the garlic and chili powder for our own privacy, but I’ll just give you a little taste.

It was a long day yesterday, I wasn't feeling well, I was emotional, and I got set off.  Yes, for the most part, I instigated it.  It has been since June that we had an argument and even longer before that.  We used to fight all the time, we used to cycle from loving each other and hating each other.  We used to generally be unstable.  But something changed.  I’d like to think that we grew up.  I’d like to think that we fell madly in love with each other in a renewing way that we never had before.  I’d like to think that we have learned to respect one another on a deep level.  While all of those things are true, last night we became like the old people that we used to be.  I was ugly.  He was ugly.  I was childish.  He was childish.  I was mean.  He was meaner.  Okay, Okay….maybe he wasn't meaner, we were probably pretty equal.

Nonetheless, we were monsters to each other and in front of our kids and I just can’t get past it.  No, we aren't cycling back around.  No, it wasn't as bad as it used to be.  Yes, we reconciled.  No, I’m not holding a grudge.  But I am so deeply sorrowful. I am grieving our behavior, both his and mine.  I am horrified that we had an audience.  An audience that was old enough to chime in and try to stop the damage.  An audience that was hurt by our selfish display.  An audience that defended us from each other’s harsh attacks.  An audience that will remember it all. 

I just can’t get past all of that.  I have the echo of mean words spoken about me in my brain.  They still threaten to tear me apart.  I have the echo of the words that I wish I could take back that spilled out of my own mouth.  And even worse, I have the echo of the cries and pleas of my children to stop.  I am grieving this on such a painful level that I almost can’t function. 

I know that my kids are loving and forgiving.  I know that there was family reconciliation.  I know that it is “fixed” but I still feel like the security and stability that we have worked so hard on for the past year is shattered and in the trash right along with the plate.  We broke each other, and we broke the kids.  I can’t stop feeling like an absolute failure. 

Things like this used to be more common in our house.  We used to have an unstable marriage, but we don’t anymore.  A fight like this didn't used to surprise me at all, but this time I feel devastated.  This time is different.  It may not have been as ugly as it used to be.  We might have had reconciliation way faster than in the past, but this time it was so unexpected and was with an audience that I try to protect.  This time is different.  I am so much more ashamed this time. I feel so much more hurt this time.

It has been 7 months since we spoke harsh words to each other and those 7 months have bonded us in ways I never thought possible.  Can we just keep going?  Can we just go back to the way things were yesterday morning?   Do we start back over? I feel so lost about all of this.  I suddenly feel so unsure.  I feel like a horrible wife and mother.  A failure on all sides. 

I want to move on.  I don’t want this to break us.  I don’t want this to set us back.  I feel so incredibly heavy this morning.  I feel unmotivated and just sad.   I feel worthless and awful.  I love and respect my husband and I have a deep desire to fix this. Even thought there have been sincere apologies and forgiveness, I feel like we need something more to fully fix it and reconnect.  I am just not sure what that is.  And that makes me feel a little desperate, makes me feel unsure, makes me feel weak, needy, and lost.  I am at a standstill with myself, unsure what to do to keep moving, unsure how to go forward.