I spent a large portion of time today, convincing a sixteen year old that his life would not end if he failed his AP physics midterm. That, even if it tanked his GPA, his life would still, somehow, be worth living. We talked about a lot of things - his (most likely situational) depression and how he doesn't think it's capital D Depression (and No, Thank You: He Would Not Like To Talk To Anyone About It, Auntie!); the fact that group projects have always, and will always, suuuuck; the fact that he puts all these roadblocks and excuses up in his own way, and makes it seem like things are impossible to accomplish, when they are not; the idea that he will be taking a much less stressful course load as a senior next year, and why can't it be senior year already; his belief that having driving lessons curtailed as a consequence to poor behavior is 'totally unfair', while I think it is 'maximum effort', and hopefully, never necessary. So Many Things. Hours worth of things.
And I never felt like I knew what the hell I was talking about.
I swear to you, I wanted to Google a million things while we were sitting there - building self confidence in teenagers, how to tell if a teenage boy is Capital D Depressed; what do colleges take into account beside your GPA, and on and on. I didn't, because texting while you're talking is considered (by me, at least) rude, so I didn't, but all of my answers felt, at the very least, humblingly inadequate.
"It's not fair that I should have to do all the work in a group project! I should just tell my teacher, or take the zero." "Um: No. If I find out you took a zero on a project just because the other people weren't pulling their weight, we're going to have an issue. Sometimes, you're going to have to deal with people who let you down, who don't do their share. You're right: It is 100% unfair, and you SHOULD mention it to the teacher - (bc one kid is dropping the class, he is doing literally no work for the project, and should not have been assigned to a group, IMO)- but, since it's due on Tuesday, at this point, you're either going to have to ride the other people in the group till they produce their part, or do their part for the sake of your grade. It's not fair, but it is Do-able."
"Well, the test will be scaled, so all I need to do is get about a 45, and that will still be a C, scaled up." (I have no idea how the math works on that, just that's what he said.) "You can - for sure - do better than a 45, and you need to set your sights a lot higher than that. Are you studying the right things; Is there anyway I can help you study, so you can do better? Because aiming for a low pass is something you're better than."
"I never should have taken this class, I'm in so over my head, and it's impossible to pass, and I'll probably get a 2 on my AP test, and then it will all have been a big waste of my time." "OK: I can see how it would feel that way, but you have to try to reframe it a bit, I think. It's not impossible to pass, because you are passing it. Even if you get a 2 on the AP test, you will still have passed AP Physics. Yes, I know your grades aren't where you want them to be, and here are 2 specific things I think you can do to bring it up some this next quarter, but stop thinking of it as impossible, because that just gives you an excuse if you don't do it. You ARE doing it. You don't need the excuses."
And on and on. I felt like a mix between one of my therapists, and a Hallmark "You can DO it: I have faith in you!" card. (Because that was literally something I said. It felt so sappy, but it's also 1000000% true, so I figured it needed to be said.)
Mostly what I wanted to say was this:
You are an amazing kid, and I don't like how overwhelmed and stressed out you are right now. I am going to help you find some better coping strategies, because this is not working out for you. I also think that maybe you should take some deep breaths, and listen to me when I say: This class - pass or fail, A or D - is not going to be the be-all-end-all of your life. I know it feels that way right now, because I went through it myself. But 15 years later? None of those things actually mattered. What matters is how I responded to tough parts; how you hang in there when things are hard - in school or in life - THAT IS WHAT MATTERS. So let me help you figure out how to hang in there. How to breathe, even in the midst of the really tough times. How to see a challenge that feels overwhelming, and still know - even if nobody else shows up - that you can tackle it. Because You Absolutely Can. And I will help you, for as long as you need my help, but I'm also going to show you how to do it yourself. Because those are the skills you need.
And off he goes, to take a test he's petrified of, and all I can do is say "Stub a toe" (our family's version of 'Break a leg') and cross my fingers, and know, even if he doesn't, that he can handle whatever comes at him.
Showing posts with label NoLongerYoungestNephew. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NoLongerYoungestNephew. Show all posts
Thursday, January 19, 2017
Monday, October 05, 2015
“In my closest circle of friends — you know the ones, the ones who are the family you choose instead of the one you are assigned — when someone is having a difficult time, we will remind each other that there are as many paths as there are people, and that while none of us can walk another’s path for them, we can all raise our lanterns a little higher, and let some light spill over to make the going less difficult and scary and lonely. ”Commenter, Teaspoon, via Kate Harding's Blog
Hey guys! I know it's been forever (only five months, but who's counting?), but can we just agree to put aside the awkward part where I say how sorry I am, and you all read it and forgive me anyways? Agreed? Good.
I can't make any promises about writing going forward, as things here are even less settled than they were the last time we spoke, but I miss this. I miss you, and our weird conversations, and having a place that nobody I know in real life ever comes. I miss the words - so much - and I think, just maybe, that my brain may be turning that light bulb back on a bit, which is a relief, let me tell you. (I don't think you ever get over the fear that the words just... won't come back this time. At least, I don't think it's a fear I'll ever get over.)
So anyways ~ how's about a quick update? Next week, my brother, my mother, his kids, his sister-in-law and I are off for a quick jaunt to the Happiest Place on Earth, and it feels so incongruous to where everybody's actual feelings are that it may just be the most ironic trip ever. -- Excepting the nine-year-old, who has a countdown on, and can't hold any non-Disney related conversations, and it's adorable and annoying in (nearly) equal measures. -- We're nearing the anniversary of their mother's death, and it's definitely being felt: there's so many other anniversaries on the way to that one - her brain surgery date, her last hospital admittance, the day I came to stay 'for a bit' - and each one is a little dig in someone's heart, a little pinch they can't seem to ignore.
My brother's grief continues to be overwhelming. He's made some positive steps since last year, but as the anniversary approaches, I can feel a lot of them sliding away. His mood vaciliates between pissed off, checked out, and maudlin, and the kids and I seem to often be at the mercy of them - it's hard to help a kid through their tough day, when their dad is upstairs slamming doors and ignoring people. I'm cutting him as much slack as I can, because I DO get that some days are harder than others, but... tantrums in front of your children are a line I am dragging him back across, some days to both of our peril. The thing is, I can see how hard he tries - on the days he's trying - and I guess I know him better than anyone else does, because I can SEE how much he's hurting, all the time, and I can feel what an accomplishment it is that he even gets out of bed most days. And I wish he had the space for his grief and the time for his grieving... that's what I'm attempting to do here, anyways, is make it a little bit easier on everybody else, but... when you have kids? You just don't have the luxury of grieving the way you want to.
He can't afford to bury himself in a hole, or hide himself in his room. And neither can these two kids.
Both of whom are doing exceptionally well - with various issues here and there: The little one knows a lot more about anxiety now then I wish she'd ever have to know, and the older one walks around some days as if it's his responsibility to... do everything. Which, at 15, I do not want him to feel, but I'm unsure how to prevent it. Everybody's got stuff they're working on/out, and November 10th is fast approaching.
So why the Disney, you might be wondering? Well, a cousin is getting married in Florida, which normally, would just require us to send a card. But between my brother's regrets that he and Nancy didn't just spring for the Disney vacation they might have taken a few years ago, and the 9-yr-old's puppy dog eyes, my brother decided that they had to go. So: from Tues - Saturday, we'll be hitting up the parks, and attempting to draw out as much of the happy when can for some kids who could desperately use it. (Although the 15 yr-old is not onboard our happy train - AT ALL - he's upset about missing school, and thinks he's too old for Disney (ha!) and all sorts of other cliches about sullen teenagers that get dragged off on their family's vacations. I may as well be living in an 80's movie, honestly. )
This is going to be very difficult, spoon-wise, and health-wise for me, but they need me, so off we go. Wish us luck.
In other sad news, SisterS's mom passed away - suddenly, of a heart attack - last week. She's understandably shaken, as is my Oldest Nephew, and my heart breaks that I can't be more there for THEM right now. Not that there's anything you can say when your mom dies (as I have learned quite extensively over the past year), but not even being able to just sit at her table and let her cry or rant or whatever she wants to do is making me feel extremely guilty. I am doing what I can by text message, and I have to hope that it will be enough. That I can help, in any small way.
Two of my other sisters have relocated over the summer - SisterCh to her mother-in-law's basement, which is not optimal, as you may have guessed, and SisterK to a far superior apartment out in Berkley, California, while her beau does some graduate work & she works for a literacy non-profit.
And our best news of all is that SisterJ and her husband are expecting a new little bundle of joy to add to our hoard! (Let's be honest: we all know if I was a dragon my horde would consist exclusively of books and babies. Like: for real.) The baby will hopefully making his arrival in February, which means a baby shower is in the works for the next little while as well.
So, I'm apparently full up and bursting with news guys - a real mix of who knows what.
But the light bulb - while still slightly dimmer than one of those energy efficient ones - has clicked back on. So hopefully, we'll all be around when it hits full strength.
Thanks for hanging in, you guys.
I can't make any promises about writing going forward, as things here are even less settled than they were the last time we spoke, but I miss this. I miss you, and our weird conversations, and having a place that nobody I know in real life ever comes. I miss the words - so much - and I think, just maybe, that my brain may be turning that light bulb back on a bit, which is a relief, let me tell you. (I don't think you ever get over the fear that the words just... won't come back this time. At least, I don't think it's a fear I'll ever get over.)
So anyways ~ how's about a quick update? Next week, my brother, my mother, his kids, his sister-in-law and I are off for a quick jaunt to the Happiest Place on Earth, and it feels so incongruous to where everybody's actual feelings are that it may just be the most ironic trip ever. -- Excepting the nine-year-old, who has a countdown on, and can't hold any non-Disney related conversations, and it's adorable and annoying in (nearly) equal measures. -- We're nearing the anniversary of their mother's death, and it's definitely being felt: there's so many other anniversaries on the way to that one - her brain surgery date, her last hospital admittance, the day I came to stay 'for a bit' - and each one is a little dig in someone's heart, a little pinch they can't seem to ignore.
My brother's grief continues to be overwhelming. He's made some positive steps since last year, but as the anniversary approaches, I can feel a lot of them sliding away. His mood vaciliates between pissed off, checked out, and maudlin, and the kids and I seem to often be at the mercy of them - it's hard to help a kid through their tough day, when their dad is upstairs slamming doors and ignoring people. I'm cutting him as much slack as I can, because I DO get that some days are harder than others, but... tantrums in front of your children are a line I am dragging him back across, some days to both of our peril. The thing is, I can see how hard he tries - on the days he's trying - and I guess I know him better than anyone else does, because I can SEE how much he's hurting, all the time, and I can feel what an accomplishment it is that he even gets out of bed most days. And I wish he had the space for his grief and the time for his grieving... that's what I'm attempting to do here, anyways, is make it a little bit easier on everybody else, but... when you have kids? You just don't have the luxury of grieving the way you want to.
He can't afford to bury himself in a hole, or hide himself in his room. And neither can these two kids.
Both of whom are doing exceptionally well - with various issues here and there: The little one knows a lot more about anxiety now then I wish she'd ever have to know, and the older one walks around some days as if it's his responsibility to... do everything. Which, at 15, I do not want him to feel, but I'm unsure how to prevent it. Everybody's got stuff they're working on/out, and November 10th is fast approaching.
So why the Disney, you might be wondering? Well, a cousin is getting married in Florida, which normally, would just require us to send a card. But between my brother's regrets that he and Nancy didn't just spring for the Disney vacation they might have taken a few years ago, and the 9-yr-old's puppy dog eyes, my brother decided that they had to go. So: from Tues - Saturday, we'll be hitting up the parks, and attempting to draw out as much of the happy when can for some kids who could desperately use it. (Although the 15 yr-old is not onboard our happy train - AT ALL - he's upset about missing school, and thinks he's too old for Disney (ha!) and all sorts of other cliches about sullen teenagers that get dragged off on their family's vacations. I may as well be living in an 80's movie, honestly. )
This is going to be very difficult, spoon-wise, and health-wise for me, but they need me, so off we go. Wish us luck.
In other sad news, SisterS's mom passed away - suddenly, of a heart attack - last week. She's understandably shaken, as is my Oldest Nephew, and my heart breaks that I can't be more there for THEM right now. Not that there's anything you can say when your mom dies (as I have learned quite extensively over the past year), but not even being able to just sit at her table and let her cry or rant or whatever she wants to do is making me feel extremely guilty. I am doing what I can by text message, and I have to hope that it will be enough. That I can help, in any small way.
Two of my other sisters have relocated over the summer - SisterCh to her mother-in-law's basement, which is not optimal, as you may have guessed, and SisterK to a far superior apartment out in Berkley, California, while her beau does some graduate work & she works for a literacy non-profit.
And our best news of all is that SisterJ and her husband are expecting a new little bundle of joy to add to our hoard! (Let's be honest: we all know if I was a dragon my horde would consist exclusively of books and babies. Like: for real.) The baby will hopefully making his arrival in February, which means a baby shower is in the works for the next little while as well.
So, I'm apparently full up and bursting with news guys - a real mix of who knows what.
But the light bulb - while still slightly dimmer than one of those energy efficient ones - has clicked back on. So hopefully, we'll all be around when it hits full strength.
Thanks for hanging in, you guys.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Literally a 5 tissue post. You've been warned. (YMMV)
There's a lot of things I'm in charge of here that I could not care less about: Making sure NLYNephew (now 14.11 yrs old, thank you very much) takes out the trash is one of these responsibilities. I hate Thursdays, because it is a constant refrain, from the time he comes home after school until he finally takes the trash out (tonight he did it about 10 minutes ago, a little bit after 9 pm). Not from me - I really only remind him the once, or - if I feel like he's closing up shop for the night and it has slipped his mind - maybe right before he goes to bed (which always earns me a huge groan, no question). He knows it's trash night; his dad knows it's trash night; EVERYBODY knows it's trash night. Why it has to be a big battle every week is a mystery to me, but somehow it always is.
--
I don't know why I started this post that way. I really just wanted to say that sometimes things here are still really freaking hard. Hard in ways I didn't expect - I really miss the jokey, sweet relationship that my nephew and I had before I became the one he has to check with to see if he can run to Dunkin Donuts with his friends after school. Before I became the one who puts corn on his plate and expects him to eat it.
Before I became the woman-shaped-person who's taking up space next to the giant gaping hole his mother left behind.
--
Do you ever write other people's stories in your head and try to figure out how they'd sound? Especially ones that include you? I've been doing that a lot lately, trying to look forward and backwards at the same time for the kids so suddenly in my charge. Trying to use our experiences as predictors for theirs, when I know that won't work, but I don't have any other grand ideas. Trying to see into the future and prevent their damaged hearts from being crushed, as if by magic.
I wonder, sometimes, what role they've casted me in, or will cast me in, in their eventual memories.
Is that a normal thing to wonder? I don't even know.
But I can't help it: sometimes snippets of things pop into my head and I wonder: Is that the truth of how they see me now? Is that the story playing in their head?
Recently, I had this moment of - I don't know - disconnect and not deja vu but an equally awkward "how is this my real life?" kind of feeling that left me off balance. And when my niece and her cousin walked in at half past eight, tumbling in all loudness and loopy from their grandparents' house down the road, I had this piece of narration that just popped into my head, as if I were seeing the scene from the outside.
"We were a few minutes late, and I could tell by the look on Auntie's face that she had noticed. She always noticed things like that, especially when you hoped she wouldn't. She was a constant looming presence now, with Mum gone, and seeing her there - usually spread across the couch with her laptop at a right angle, or twisted up as best she could to squeeze into our one, lone armchair: three pillows, a heating pad and the laptop's glow on her face - gave me the jolt every time I walked through the door. It wasn't her fault, really, but she wouldn't have been camped out at our house otherwise, and we all knew it. If Mum were around, she'd be back at Grammy's and our twice monthly sleepovers would still be something to look forward to, a nice change of pace where we played games all day and ate tacos. But here she was, and here Mum wasn't, and just like a switch, I remembered it all over again."
I realize the scene itself isn't particularly charitable to me - although I don't feel it's unjustly harsh either - it's just that sometimes I can see it on their faces, the re-realization, and I h a t e being the impetus for that, the thing that highlights their loss all over again.
--
I'm having a rough couple of days here - It's not just me: there's a lot going on in our family that's good and bad and horrible and up-heaving and life-altering. And I feel a little lost, sitting here on this couch, with my charges in bed - one of them upset with me because I'm making him do chores, the other listening to her TV because she finds the quiet unnerving, even all these months later. My brother, snoring away upstairs as he's been since right after supper, and he'll probably be awake at three in the morning, and off to work, and another day will start all over again.
And I wish that the end of the day felt like I'd accomplished something more than surviving. I wish that I was able to make them happier, or healing, or at least not argue with them about stupid shit that neither of us really cares about except Oh My God Why Do You Have To Act Like A Teenager Right Now??? Could You Not Be Jerk To Me For 10 Minutes, Please???
And the thing is, my nephew is a sweetheart, and I KNOW that. And most of the time, he continues to be that - he's a good kid, with a good heart, and he's doing so great and trying so hard. And neither of us really understands my role here or our new boundaries and ... it's fucking hard. It's hard for me, and I'm a grown-up woman, who lost her sister-in-law and misses her, but who won't ever understand what it's like to be 14 and have your mom taken away from you so brutally.
I know he doesn't blame me, but he kind of also does.
Because I moved in when she got sicker, and she just never got better, and I just never left, and I'm the one who told him it was never going to get better, and I'm the one who made him understand that that was her last day and he'd regret it if he didn't say goodbye, and I'm the one who's STILL HERE and his mom is NOT. And sure, he's 14 and he's smart enough to know (in his brain) that that doesn't make sense, that I wasn't a cause for that effect, but I also know it doesn't feel wrong, because sometimes he looks at me like he hates me, and it breaks every little piece of my heart.
And I can't show it, because I know that grief doesn't make sense, and I know that he doesn't like feeling it any more than I like seeing it, but, god, what I'd give to go back to a time when looking at me didn't hurt him.
I know he loves me, and I hope - with all my heart - that this is one of those things that time can fix - because I've loved this boy with my whole heart since the day he was born, and yes: I'm the one who told him his mom was gone, but I'm also the one who snuggled with him through every nap-time and sick day; the one who taught him about the joy of pretzels dipped in fluff; the one who showed him the miracle of bubbles; Who gave him sink baths and solar systems and learned the name of every maritime disaster in the last 100 years; the one he used to call when his parents were fighting and he was frightened.
I know, eventually, he'll remember those things too, but right now, on a night when he looks at me and sees all that he's missing, what I wouldn't give to trade places with his mum, to let him have her back, to let her fight with him over the damned trash.
---
Well, now that I've bawled my way through that... I gotta go turn on the dishwasher, and lock us all up safe for the night. Hope whoever is reading, wherever you are, that you're safe and sound tonight too.
--
I don't know why I started this post that way. I really just wanted to say that sometimes things here are still really freaking hard. Hard in ways I didn't expect - I really miss the jokey, sweet relationship that my nephew and I had before I became the one he has to check with to see if he can run to Dunkin Donuts with his friends after school. Before I became the one who puts corn on his plate and expects him to eat it.
Before I became the woman-shaped-person who's taking up space next to the giant gaping hole his mother left behind.
--
Do you ever write other people's stories in your head and try to figure out how they'd sound? Especially ones that include you? I've been doing that a lot lately, trying to look forward and backwards at the same time for the kids so suddenly in my charge. Trying to use our experiences as predictors for theirs, when I know that won't work, but I don't have any other grand ideas. Trying to see into the future and prevent their damaged hearts from being crushed, as if by magic.
I wonder, sometimes, what role they've casted me in, or will cast me in, in their eventual memories.
Is that a normal thing to wonder? I don't even know.
But I can't help it: sometimes snippets of things pop into my head and I wonder: Is that the truth of how they see me now? Is that the story playing in their head?
Recently, I had this moment of - I don't know - disconnect and not deja vu but an equally awkward "how is this my real life?" kind of feeling that left me off balance. And when my niece and her cousin walked in at half past eight, tumbling in all loudness and loopy from their grandparents' house down the road, I had this piece of narration that just popped into my head, as if I were seeing the scene from the outside.
"We were a few minutes late, and I could tell by the look on Auntie's face that she had noticed. She always noticed things like that, especially when you hoped she wouldn't. She was a constant looming presence now, with Mum gone, and seeing her there - usually spread across the couch with her laptop at a right angle, or twisted up as best she could to squeeze into our one, lone armchair: three pillows, a heating pad and the laptop's glow on her face - gave me the jolt every time I walked through the door. It wasn't her fault, really, but she wouldn't have been camped out at our house otherwise, and we all knew it. If Mum were around, she'd be back at Grammy's and our twice monthly sleepovers would still be something to look forward to, a nice change of pace where we played games all day and ate tacos. But here she was, and here Mum wasn't, and just like a switch, I remembered it all over again."
I realize the scene itself isn't particularly charitable to me - although I don't feel it's unjustly harsh either - it's just that sometimes I can see it on their faces, the re-realization, and I h a t e being the impetus for that, the thing that highlights their loss all over again.
--
I'm having a rough couple of days here - It's not just me: there's a lot going on in our family that's good and bad and horrible and up-heaving and life-altering. And I feel a little lost, sitting here on this couch, with my charges in bed - one of them upset with me because I'm making him do chores, the other listening to her TV because she finds the quiet unnerving, even all these months later. My brother, snoring away upstairs as he's been since right after supper, and he'll probably be awake at three in the morning, and off to work, and another day will start all over again.
And I wish that the end of the day felt like I'd accomplished something more than surviving. I wish that I was able to make them happier, or healing, or at least not argue with them about stupid shit that neither of us really cares about except Oh My God Why Do You Have To Act Like A Teenager Right Now??? Could You Not Be Jerk To Me For 10 Minutes, Please???
And the thing is, my nephew is a sweetheart, and I KNOW that. And most of the time, he continues to be that - he's a good kid, with a good heart, and he's doing so great and trying so hard. And neither of us really understands my role here or our new boundaries and ... it's fucking hard. It's hard for me, and I'm a grown-up woman, who lost her sister-in-law and misses her, but who won't ever understand what it's like to be 14 and have your mom taken away from you so brutally.
I know he doesn't blame me, but he kind of also does.
Because I moved in when she got sicker, and she just never got better, and I just never left, and I'm the one who told him it was never going to get better, and I'm the one who made him understand that that was her last day and he'd regret it if he didn't say goodbye, and I'm the one who's STILL HERE and his mom is NOT. And sure, he's 14 and he's smart enough to know (in his brain) that that doesn't make sense, that I wasn't a cause for that effect, but I also know it doesn't feel wrong, because sometimes he looks at me like he hates me, and it breaks every little piece of my heart.
And I can't show it, because I know that grief doesn't make sense, and I know that he doesn't like feeling it any more than I like seeing it, but, god, what I'd give to go back to a time when looking at me didn't hurt him.
I know he loves me, and I hope - with all my heart - that this is one of those things that time can fix - because I've loved this boy with my whole heart since the day he was born, and yes: I'm the one who told him his mom was gone, but I'm also the one who snuggled with him through every nap-time and sick day; the one who taught him about the joy of pretzels dipped in fluff; the one who showed him the miracle of bubbles; Who gave him sink baths and solar systems and learned the name of every maritime disaster in the last 100 years; the one he used to call when his parents were fighting and he was frightened.
I know, eventually, he'll remember those things too, but right now, on a night when he looks at me and sees all that he's missing, what I wouldn't give to trade places with his mum, to let him have her back, to let her fight with him over the damned trash.
---
Well, now that I've bawled my way through that... I gotta go turn on the dishwasher, and lock us all up safe for the night. Hope whoever is reading, wherever you are, that you're safe and sound tonight too.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
3 months later.
I miss you guys.
That seems like the place to start.
This is definitely the longest hiatus I have taken from writing here at my blog since I started it (coming up on 10 years ago), and it was unplanned, but pretty unavoidable.
Since my sister-in-law passed 3 months ago, I've been completely absorbed in trying to make things bearable for my brother and his kids, which basically consists of me living on their couch, making sure they don't starve (or, more likely, perish from scurvy, as their interpretation of fruits and vegetables runs more to the 'by the foot' and/or 'fry/chip' variety), pretending my 2nd major in social work 10+ years ago is an acceptable form of grief counseling, and making sure they don't live in filth. (My brother was ever the slob, and devastating grief did not make him MORE likely to pick up after himself.)
I'm not doing it on my own (there are a lot of us on the support staff) but a lot of times - when my niece is shivering her way through an anxiety attack at midnight, or my nephew is having a mini-breakdown that we're both pretending is all about school, or my brother is upstairs wailing his grief away and I can't go up and comfort him or even leave and give him privacy - it can feel like I am.
Normally, periods of emotional upheaval leave me itching to write, and this last little while was both no exception, and so much of an exception you wouldn't believe. There were times I felt as if if I didn't write, I might explode, and there were times were I felt like any words I could possibly write were too small, too insignificant, too useless. Mostly, though, I've just been too exhausted to parse any words at all.
The amount of spoons that this all takes - physically and mentally - is overwhelming. It's a 24-hours a day position, with no breaks or breathers, most times. My niece needs constant reassurance that everyone she loves is not going to just disappear, sometimes to the point of needing to be near me for hours at a stretch, constantly touching and talking and... that is not a thing I am physically capable of doing, most days, but I do it anyways. My brother needs someone to run herd on his kids during the days he can't get out of bed, even if they're huge balls of tantruming energy, which is not in my wheelhouse, but I do it anyways. My nephew wants me to help him figure out calculus I forgot three seconds after I learned it 20 years ago, through brain fog so thick I put the controller in the refrigerator the other day. Not a great plan, but I do it anyways.
"I do it anyways" seems to be the motto right now, because shit needs doing and I'm the only one around to do it.
But this mentality (and let's face it, that's always my mentality, no matter how many times I try to change it), as you might guess, does not play well with chronic illness. I've been running on the fumes of fumes for at least two of the four months I've been here, and I keep crashing, but still have to push during the crash, because otherwise - as I previously mentioned - shit doesn't get done. And none of that stuff is optional: it's homework and 'my head hurts' and 'why isn't there any food in the house?' and three solid weeks of blizzard conditions and snow days galore. Decisions, big and small; appointments to make and cancel and try to show up at; rules to reinforce and reinforce and reinforce - because bickering doesn't stop for migraines, and neither do dishes or meals or any of the other things that normally I would stop because it's just me and who cares, but right now it's not just me, and it doesn't stop, and that's hard.
It's all very hard, is mostly what I'm saying, and for every day I can crawl my way through without winding up in the hospital, I am super grateful.
And everybody else is on me to take care of myself better: which is a thing I want to do, a thing I know I need to do, but a thing I can't quite figure out how to do. Because asking for help is only OK if other people can provide it, and somehow everybody else is already doing the best they can here too. And I've definitely used up as much of my own reserves (ha! as if I had reserves. I had... like.... I don't know: gall? Is that a thing? I think that's the thing I mean.) as I could. I've been sicker here than I have been in years - part of it is exactly as I remember from watching these same kids as infants and toddlers, that every germ in creation is somehow called to them and then transferred to me, but another part of it is just being freaking exhausted in a way I've somehow managed to forget during (relatively) good cycles of illness.
I mean, I'm never NOT tired or sore - 20 years this past fall since that was even an option! - but I HAVE been taking care of myself and managing my illnesses for quite a while, and I've worked out all sorts of cheats to make things easier on myself, and so, I haven't had to be CONSTANTLY DOING anything for years (because I know how it wears me out, and is bad for me, and I don't do that anymore), so now, I guess I'm just remembering why. Oh yes: THIS IS THE REASON FOR ALL YOUR ADAPTATIONS, YOU FOOL. This constant exhausted feeling right here, where your brain is Swiss cheese and your white blood cells have declared themselves pacifists and your red blood cells have noped the fuck out of here, and you basically have all the energy of the lump of pillows you're trying to nest in, but you still need to get up and feed the faces of people who are still too young to manage it on their own. (Not that I don't make them do some of their own meals, but an 8-yr-old should not be in charge of feeding herself 3 meals a day, just take my word for it.)
If I've ever doubted that being a spoonie means being a warrior (and I only ever have in my own case, when it seems like the things I do are so little/adaptable in comparison to others), then those doubts are gone now. I could not be fighting any harder just to survive, and to pull these children and my brother along with me, than I am right now.
And, so, the lack of writing.
But I do feel like I'm going to explode without it, so I'm back. Even if I can't promise regularity. Even if the only thing I can promise is that when I show up, I'll have things to say.
I appreciate any of you still out there listening.
That seems like the place to start.
This is definitely the longest hiatus I have taken from writing here at my blog since I started it (coming up on 10 years ago), and it was unplanned, but pretty unavoidable.
Since my sister-in-law passed 3 months ago, I've been completely absorbed in trying to make things bearable for my brother and his kids, which basically consists of me living on their couch, making sure they don't starve (or, more likely, perish from scurvy, as their interpretation of fruits and vegetables runs more to the 'by the foot' and/or 'fry/chip' variety), pretending my 2nd major in social work 10+ years ago is an acceptable form of grief counseling, and making sure they don't live in filth. (My brother was ever the slob, and devastating grief did not make him MORE likely to pick up after himself.)
I'm not doing it on my own (there are a lot of us on the support staff) but a lot of times - when my niece is shivering her way through an anxiety attack at midnight, or my nephew is having a mini-breakdown that we're both pretending is all about school, or my brother is upstairs wailing his grief away and I can't go up and comfort him or even leave and give him privacy - it can feel like I am.
Normally, periods of emotional upheaval leave me itching to write, and this last little while was both no exception, and so much of an exception you wouldn't believe. There were times I felt as if if I didn't write, I might explode, and there were times were I felt like any words I could possibly write were too small, too insignificant, too useless. Mostly, though, I've just been too exhausted to parse any words at all.
The amount of spoons that this all takes - physically and mentally - is overwhelming. It's a 24-hours a day position, with no breaks or breathers, most times. My niece needs constant reassurance that everyone she loves is not going to just disappear, sometimes to the point of needing to be near me for hours at a stretch, constantly touching and talking and... that is not a thing I am physically capable of doing, most days, but I do it anyways. My brother needs someone to run herd on his kids during the days he can't get out of bed, even if they're huge balls of tantruming energy, which is not in my wheelhouse, but I do it anyways. My nephew wants me to help him figure out calculus I forgot three seconds after I learned it 20 years ago, through brain fog so thick I put the controller in the refrigerator the other day. Not a great plan, but I do it anyways.
"I do it anyways" seems to be the motto right now, because shit needs doing and I'm the only one around to do it.
But this mentality (and let's face it, that's always my mentality, no matter how many times I try to change it), as you might guess, does not play well with chronic illness. I've been running on the fumes of fumes for at least two of the four months I've been here, and I keep crashing, but still have to push during the crash, because otherwise - as I previously mentioned - shit doesn't get done. And none of that stuff is optional: it's homework and 'my head hurts' and 'why isn't there any food in the house?' and three solid weeks of blizzard conditions and snow days galore. Decisions, big and small; appointments to make and cancel and try to show up at; rules to reinforce and reinforce and reinforce - because bickering doesn't stop for migraines, and neither do dishes or meals or any of the other things that normally I would stop because it's just me and who cares, but right now it's not just me, and it doesn't stop, and that's hard.
It's all very hard, is mostly what I'm saying, and for every day I can crawl my way through without winding up in the hospital, I am super grateful.
And everybody else is on me to take care of myself better: which is a thing I want to do, a thing I know I need to do, but a thing I can't quite figure out how to do. Because asking for help is only OK if other people can provide it, and somehow everybody else is already doing the best they can here too. And I've definitely used up as much of my own reserves (ha! as if I had reserves. I had... like.... I don't know: gall? Is that a thing? I think that's the thing I mean.) as I could. I've been sicker here than I have been in years - part of it is exactly as I remember from watching these same kids as infants and toddlers, that every germ in creation is somehow called to them and then transferred to me, but another part of it is just being freaking exhausted in a way I've somehow managed to forget during (relatively) good cycles of illness.
I mean, I'm never NOT tired or sore - 20 years this past fall since that was even an option! - but I HAVE been taking care of myself and managing my illnesses for quite a while, and I've worked out all sorts of cheats to make things easier on myself, and so, I haven't had to be CONSTANTLY DOING anything for years (because I know how it wears me out, and is bad for me, and I don't do that anymore), so now, I guess I'm just remembering why. Oh yes: THIS IS THE REASON FOR ALL YOUR ADAPTATIONS, YOU FOOL. This constant exhausted feeling right here, where your brain is Swiss cheese and your white blood cells have declared themselves pacifists and your red blood cells have noped the fuck out of here, and you basically have all the energy of the lump of pillows you're trying to nest in, but you still need to get up and feed the faces of people who are still too young to manage it on their own. (Not that I don't make them do some of their own meals, but an 8-yr-old should not be in charge of feeding herself 3 meals a day, just take my word for it.)
If I've ever doubted that being a spoonie means being a warrior (and I only ever have in my own case, when it seems like the things I do are so little/adaptable in comparison to others), then those doubts are gone now. I could not be fighting any harder just to survive, and to pull these children and my brother along with me, than I am right now.
And, so, the lack of writing.
But I do feel like I'm going to explode without it, so I'm back. Even if I can't promise regularity. Even if the only thing I can promise is that when I show up, I'll have things to say.
I appreciate any of you still out there listening.
Saturday, November 22, 2014
2:41 AM, 10th November, 2014
If you follow me on Twitter, you know that my sister-in-law passed away on November 10th. She died peacefully - I saw her breathe her last breath, open her eyes, and then, just... never take another one, from the same exact chair I am sitting in to write this post, 12 days later.
She fought so diligently and so hard, for so long, even though she really only had a short time. Her cancer proved to be super-aggressive, and ... towards the end, there wasn't much we could do for her but keep her comfortable, and wait.
That last Sunday was horrible, with last rites, and a house full of family - hers and ours, and theirs - and her being unresponsive by dinnertime.
That morning, early - like 4:30 in the morning, early - I smelled the sharp scent of urine, and had to feel to see if she'd wet the bed (mostly because, at this point, she was sweating through her clothes so much that she was almost always damp). It was her first bout of incontinence, and - although I knew it boded ill, I did not realize how quickly things would go downhill from there. I had to wake my brother up to help me change the sheets, and then she took her pain meds and went back to sleep.
A few hours later, she'd woken up in extreme pain, couldn't seem to settle at all. Just kept shifting from one end of the bed to the next, every 5 minutes or so. She took more pain meds, but was just super uncomfortable and couldn't find a spot that worked for her. She told me her pain was 10/10 and she was crying, almost incoherent.
I woke my brother up again - from the couch this time - and he called the hospice nurse. Who came and different meds were administered, and we - the nurse and I resettled her on the couch, to try to help her find a way to sit with less pain while she waited for the meds to kick in.
It was during this transition that she was last semi-lucid, at least in my presence, and as I sat her down on the couch after yet another 'I'm so uncomfortable, I just need to move' attempt on her part (wordless, though - that's just the impression I got), she leaned over and gave me a kiss on the forehead.
I don't know if she knew who I was then. I don't know if she meant that for me, and I feel guilty that I was the person who got her last kiss. I haven't told anyone in our family that she did it, I don't think (although ... things were pretty intense there for a while last week, so I may have told one of my sisters without thinking about it), but it felt like a "Thank you" and a blessing and - now, knowing it was her last, and she didn't get to give it to my brother or their kids, or even her sister who showed up moments later? Almost a torment. I still feel gifted by it, always will, but it hurts my heart so much that she's not here to give out anymore.
Shortly after that, her sister came, a family friend who is an actual nurse and knows what the hell she is doing (as opposed to me, who just spent weeks caring for someone I loved and watching them slip away, AGAIN, but was just doing my best and making it up as I went along, and following directions) also arrived, and I moved into a much more peripheral role.
She continued to get worse and worse, becoming unresponsive to everything besides pain, relatively quickly (within a few hours). I let my brother and her sister, and the nurses, be in charge of what they could be in charge of, and I made sure the kids got fed and my parents & sisters got called, and that her sister knew she needed to call her parents and brothers as well. I learned all about the new, liquid meds from the hospice nurse, and gave doses of morphine and ativan and hyamax as the day wore on.
I called the priest, and the funeral home, and the priest again. (And we all know how much I hate making phone calls). We cried, and waited, and held hands, and helped the kids. Gave them a chance to say goodbye, then let the little one curl up into my lap and sob when she walked away. Watched her big brother comfort my big brother as they both sat in tears by my sister-in-law, SisterNc's side.
Watched as her nieces and nephews filtered in and out. Approved as my sister and her husband ordered a regiment's worth of pizzas and made sure everybody got fed. Comforted and cried, and just sat around rubbing smooth patterns into backs, and backs of hands, and anywhere I could reach, really.
Later, her parents and brothers, and my dad and sisters, all cleared out. We were down to my mom, her sister, the family friend who is a nurse, my brother and I, and a friend who had known them both since the moment they met, some 16 years ago. Around midnight, it seemed to get dramatically worse, and the med levels increased and the hospice nurse came out again and told us "a matter of hours."
About 2:30, my brother and her sister both decide to go upstairs to get some rest. The nurse-friend, the work-friend and I are sitting in the living room, my mom has snuck outside to get a cigarette.
A quick text from my brother asking me to bump the heat up because it's freezing upstairs, @ 2:37. As I settle back into my chair, I glance over at Nancy, see her breathing is very strange, but I check the book and it is nowhere near time for more meds. So I sit down, and the work friend says to me that she gets an inspirational text every day on her cell phone and starts to read it to me. It says something about "new pathways and being open to new challenges," And that's when I see SisterNc's eyes open, and I notice that she hasn't taken her next breath.
The nurse-friend has noticed too, and is getting up, checking on her, fussing with her. We both know - I can see she knows - that there is no reason to fuss.
It is 2:41 am, on Monday, November the 10th, 2014, and my only sister-in-law, the beloved wife of my brother and mother to two of my favorite people in the entire world, the only sister I ever made instead of came with, has died.
I send my brother a text that reads "you need to come back down, honey", and he must know. He wakes her sister up and doesn't bomb down the stairs. Takes each step, heavily, I can hear it even now. They are both crying as soon as they see us. As soon as they see her.
My mother comes in from the kitchen, seeing us, and begins crying too.
And that was her last day, her last actions, her last minutes, to the best of my recollection. I do not want that kind of thing to be forgotten, even if I am the only one who remembers it.
The past twelve days have been torturous for my brother, and difficult for his children, and so heartbreaking for all of us. I don't know how to help any more than I am, but I fear that it will not be enough.
I am - we all are - doing the best we can.
But it's hard to keep swimming with a broken heart, and hard to hold the pieces together while you wait for even the tiniest bit of it to heal.
She fought so diligently and so hard, for so long, even though she really only had a short time. Her cancer proved to be super-aggressive, and ... towards the end, there wasn't much we could do for her but keep her comfortable, and wait.
That last Sunday was horrible, with last rites, and a house full of family - hers and ours, and theirs - and her being unresponsive by dinnertime.
That morning, early - like 4:30 in the morning, early - I smelled the sharp scent of urine, and had to feel to see if she'd wet the bed (mostly because, at this point, she was sweating through her clothes so much that she was almost always damp). It was her first bout of incontinence, and - although I knew it boded ill, I did not realize how quickly things would go downhill from there. I had to wake my brother up to help me change the sheets, and then she took her pain meds and went back to sleep.
A few hours later, she'd woken up in extreme pain, couldn't seem to settle at all. Just kept shifting from one end of the bed to the next, every 5 minutes or so. She took more pain meds, but was just super uncomfortable and couldn't find a spot that worked for her. She told me her pain was 10/10 and she was crying, almost incoherent.
I woke my brother up again - from the couch this time - and he called the hospice nurse. Who came and different meds were administered, and we - the nurse and I resettled her on the couch, to try to help her find a way to sit with less pain while she waited for the meds to kick in.
It was during this transition that she was last semi-lucid, at least in my presence, and as I sat her down on the couch after yet another 'I'm so uncomfortable, I just need to move' attempt on her part (wordless, though - that's just the impression I got), she leaned over and gave me a kiss on the forehead.
I don't know if she knew who I was then. I don't know if she meant that for me, and I feel guilty that I was the person who got her last kiss. I haven't told anyone in our family that she did it, I don't think (although ... things were pretty intense there for a while last week, so I may have told one of my sisters without thinking about it), but it felt like a "Thank you" and a blessing and - now, knowing it was her last, and she didn't get to give it to my brother or their kids, or even her sister who showed up moments later? Almost a torment. I still feel gifted by it, always will, but it hurts my heart so much that she's not here to give out anymore.
Shortly after that, her sister came, a family friend who is an actual nurse and knows what the hell she is doing (as opposed to me, who just spent weeks caring for someone I loved and watching them slip away, AGAIN, but was just doing my best and making it up as I went along, and following directions) also arrived, and I moved into a much more peripheral role.
She continued to get worse and worse, becoming unresponsive to everything besides pain, relatively quickly (within a few hours). I let my brother and her sister, and the nurses, be in charge of what they could be in charge of, and I made sure the kids got fed and my parents & sisters got called, and that her sister knew she needed to call her parents and brothers as well. I learned all about the new, liquid meds from the hospice nurse, and gave doses of morphine and ativan and hyamax as the day wore on.
I called the priest, and the funeral home, and the priest again. (And we all know how much I hate making phone calls). We cried, and waited, and held hands, and helped the kids. Gave them a chance to say goodbye, then let the little one curl up into my lap and sob when she walked away. Watched her big brother comfort my big brother as they both sat in tears by my sister-in-law, SisterNc's side.
Watched as her nieces and nephews filtered in and out. Approved as my sister and her husband ordered a regiment's worth of pizzas and made sure everybody got fed. Comforted and cried, and just sat around rubbing smooth patterns into backs, and backs of hands, and anywhere I could reach, really.
Later, her parents and brothers, and my dad and sisters, all cleared out. We were down to my mom, her sister, the family friend who is a nurse, my brother and I, and a friend who had known them both since the moment they met, some 16 years ago. Around midnight, it seemed to get dramatically worse, and the med levels increased and the hospice nurse came out again and told us "a matter of hours."
About 2:30, my brother and her sister both decide to go upstairs to get some rest. The nurse-friend, the work-friend and I are sitting in the living room, my mom has snuck outside to get a cigarette.
A quick text from my brother asking me to bump the heat up because it's freezing upstairs, @ 2:37. As I settle back into my chair, I glance over at Nancy, see her breathing is very strange, but I check the book and it is nowhere near time for more meds. So I sit down, and the work friend says to me that she gets an inspirational text every day on her cell phone and starts to read it to me. It says something about "new pathways and being open to new challenges," And that's when I see SisterNc's eyes open, and I notice that she hasn't taken her next breath.
The nurse-friend has noticed too, and is getting up, checking on her, fussing with her. We both know - I can see she knows - that there is no reason to fuss.
It is 2:41 am, on Monday, November the 10th, 2014, and my only sister-in-law, the beloved wife of my brother and mother to two of my favorite people in the entire world, the only sister I ever made instead of came with, has died.
I send my brother a text that reads "you need to come back down, honey", and he must know. He wakes her sister up and doesn't bomb down the stairs. Takes each step, heavily, I can hear it even now. They are both crying as soon as they see us. As soon as they see her.
My mother comes in from the kitchen, seeing us, and begins crying too.
And that was her last day, her last actions, her last minutes, to the best of my recollection. I do not want that kind of thing to be forgotten, even if I am the only one who remembers it.
The past twelve days have been torturous for my brother, and difficult for his children, and so heartbreaking for all of us. I don't know how to help any more than I am, but I fear that it will not be enough.
I am - we all are - doing the best we can.
But it's hard to keep swimming with a broken heart, and hard to hold the pieces together while you wait for even the tiniest bit of it to heal.
Friday, October 31, 2014
My Space; My Experiences
So, I know I've been largely absent from here for a bit. I'm rethinking my whole blog thing, lately, since it's been so semi-abandoned, but for now, I'm just going to jump right back in as if we've only stopped talking briefly.
Because I've somehow, yet again, found myself in a dim room, in the early morning hours, listening to the rumble, rumble, whoosh of an oxygen machine and watching the chest of someone I love (as discreetly as possible, of course) to make sure it's still rising up and down. I'm somehow, once more, a keeper of someone else's med and meal schedules, daily logs, VNA appointments, doctors binder, and various other illness-related pieces of flotsam and jetsam. I'm struck, one more time, by how unfair life can be; by how easy/hard it is to pause my own life and help grip the ragged edges of someone else's; by how often I want to hug people; by how excruciating it is to feel both completely useless and optimistically helpful at the same time. By how much of my own illnesses I can cover up, and how much just won't let me even try. By how much I would give for just a couple days off, for all of us.
At least this time, I can be thankful that the couch I'm 'sleeping' on is brand new; that my brother and I somehow managed to make it through all the stages in our youth that would have insured our mutual destruction; that some days spaghetti and meatballs is the meal you've been waiting three weeks to watch somebody eat.
My sister-in-law's cancer came back.
Viciously, and without warning. It came back; it attacked; it took over a lot of places it had no business being; and (in a day I hope is much farther away than it feels right this minute) it's going to take her away from us.
And this is Not About Me.
And I think that's partially why I haven't been writing here: because this blog is about me, and my feelings about things that are going on, and about what kind of mess my brain has conjured up for us on any particular day. But all the stuff that's happening right now, is decidedly Not. About. Me., and so that left it pretty muddled in my mind; pretty difficult to think about, talk about, much less write about.
But I'm on my second week of overnights here, and while today had a bright spot that many of our other recent days have sadly lacked, I feel like if I don't give myself permission to use my words SOMEWHERE, it's going to be bad news for all of us, so... here I am.
Talking about what's not mine, but also what is.
Like memories - still too fresh - of having done this so many times before, and the heavy feeling that settles into my shoulders at the thought of ... well anything, to be quite honest. Staying. Leaving. Helping. Hurting. Waking her up to take her meds or letting her sleep through a dose. Reprimanding her daughter for being late, because I know rules are important, especially now, even though she looks as though I broke her heart for doing so. The taste in my mouth that's dry and bitter and coppery and won't go away.
Of the kiddos I sit here watching - one of them trying to pretend he's not constantly watching his mom out of the corner of his own eyes, as if to reassure himself that she's still there. Who's stressing out about football practice and hockey games and missing CCD and getting - God Forbid! - Bs this semester (his first in high school) in subjects he knows he could master if he Just Tried Harder!!! Never mind that his body is constantly coiled and he tenses up and quiets down when the grown-ups are talking about medical stuff, in the hopes of learning something he thinks might be being withheld from him. As if I can't see how sad he is already, and how hopeful, still. As if I could pick which one of those hurts most.
Or his sister, as she sits and reads her required reading aloud to us each night (Ramona Quimby FTW!), snuggled as close as possible to someone, ANYone, some nights; other nights tucking herself into the lonely corner of the sofa and evil eye-ing off all trespassers into her personal space. Who pouts more and preens more and pretends more and escapes more and seems so god damn confused about everything right now that I just want to secret her off to an abandoned island where she could be safe, and free, and P L A Y without being shhh-ed for making too much noise or reminded, by my mere presence, that the rules are different right now, and she doesn't know how they work. How anything works, because mama is sick and daddy is a mess and all of these other people are 'helping' and she doesn't know why.
Of their mother, the only bonus sister I'm ever going to get, (I assume: my single sisters seem to be set in their straight orientations, but you never know), who sometimes pisses me off and mostly just fit in as best she could/can amidst our crowd of misfits, troublemakers and complications. Who sleeps away another day, and laments her lack of energy, focus, clearheadedness, ability to participate in anything at all, even as she's aware that the meds that are making her that way are supposed to give her more time to stick around and participate in the 'long run.' (and oh, how that phrase chafes and means new things now.)
Of their dad, my original only big brother, who has all the high emotions that run in our family, but none of the healthier release valves some of us have been able to find. So he chaws his tobacco, and I watch the pill bottles closely. He isolates himself in the cellar, and I make sure to send a kid down every now and then to fetch him, so I can feed him up and send him to bed. But he surprises me. He says more open, honest things - to her, to me, to the lovely nurse who helped us on a day when we were sure things were taking a tragic turn - in the short time I've been here than I've probably heard him say in his entire life. Who walks around like he's got an open wound already, even though his wife is still with him. Even though.
Who asked for my help and somehow thought I'd be able to say no.
So here we are - heading into another NaNoBloMo/NaNoWriMo, I might add - and I'm giving myself permission: no REQUIRING myself to stop just letting it soak my brain and hope it'll get better. I'm using my words, about a situation that sucks and is scary, and is too big and huge and makes me want to build a pillow fort (or, even better, just move into a previously constructed pillow fort, with no muss or fuss) in order to hide away from all of this "being a grown-up" bullshit.
I'm determined to be helpful, and if what I can do is sit on the couch and play guard dog so my brother, who really should be sleeping, does a 1am-10am shift to make up for the fact that he has to miss so many days of actually working; than that's what I'm going to do.
And that's were we are, on the eve of this November, on this scariest of nights. Wishing I was five again, when the scariest thing in my life was that creepy as hell mask my dad bought and then decided to jump scare us all (as many time as possible, of course). But confident that even though the illness is Not Mine, and the sum total is Not About Me, I can still have this space to talk about the things that are happening, because the experiences, those are mine. The feelings - the fear, the frustration, the anger, the trepidation, the wanting to, NEEDING to help - those are Mine.
And so is this space, so I'm bringing them together again. As much as I can.
Because I've somehow, yet again, found myself in a dim room, in the early morning hours, listening to the rumble, rumble, whoosh of an oxygen machine and watching the chest of someone I love (as discreetly as possible, of course) to make sure it's still rising up and down. I'm somehow, once more, a keeper of someone else's med and meal schedules, daily logs, VNA appointments, doctors binder, and various other illness-related pieces of flotsam and jetsam. I'm struck, one more time, by how unfair life can be; by how easy/hard it is to pause my own life and help grip the ragged edges of someone else's; by how often I want to hug people; by how excruciating it is to feel both completely useless and optimistically helpful at the same time. By how much of my own illnesses I can cover up, and how much just won't let me even try. By how much I would give for just a couple days off, for all of us.
At least this time, I can be thankful that the couch I'm 'sleeping' on is brand new; that my brother and I somehow managed to make it through all the stages in our youth that would have insured our mutual destruction; that some days spaghetti and meatballs is the meal you've been waiting three weeks to watch somebody eat.
My sister-in-law's cancer came back.
Viciously, and without warning. It came back; it attacked; it took over a lot of places it had no business being; and (in a day I hope is much farther away than it feels right this minute) it's going to take her away from us.
And this is Not About Me.
And I think that's partially why I haven't been writing here: because this blog is about me, and my feelings about things that are going on, and about what kind of mess my brain has conjured up for us on any particular day. But all the stuff that's happening right now, is decidedly Not. About. Me., and so that left it pretty muddled in my mind; pretty difficult to think about, talk about, much less write about.
But I'm on my second week of overnights here, and while today had a bright spot that many of our other recent days have sadly lacked, I feel like if I don't give myself permission to use my words SOMEWHERE, it's going to be bad news for all of us, so... here I am.
Talking about what's not mine, but also what is.
Like memories - still too fresh - of having done this so many times before, and the heavy feeling that settles into my shoulders at the thought of ... well anything, to be quite honest. Staying. Leaving. Helping. Hurting. Waking her up to take her meds or letting her sleep through a dose. Reprimanding her daughter for being late, because I know rules are important, especially now, even though she looks as though I broke her heart for doing so. The taste in my mouth that's dry and bitter and coppery and won't go away.
Of the kiddos I sit here watching - one of them trying to pretend he's not constantly watching his mom out of the corner of his own eyes, as if to reassure himself that she's still there. Who's stressing out about football practice and hockey games and missing CCD and getting - God Forbid! - Bs this semester (his first in high school) in subjects he knows he could master if he Just Tried Harder!!! Never mind that his body is constantly coiled and he tenses up and quiets down when the grown-ups are talking about medical stuff, in the hopes of learning something he thinks might be being withheld from him. As if I can't see how sad he is already, and how hopeful, still. As if I could pick which one of those hurts most.
Or his sister, as she sits and reads her required reading aloud to us each night (Ramona Quimby FTW!), snuggled as close as possible to someone, ANYone, some nights; other nights tucking herself into the lonely corner of the sofa and evil eye-ing off all trespassers into her personal space. Who pouts more and preens more and pretends more and escapes more and seems so god damn confused about everything right now that I just want to secret her off to an abandoned island where she could be safe, and free, and P L A Y without being shhh-ed for making too much noise or reminded, by my mere presence, that the rules are different right now, and she doesn't know how they work. How anything works, because mama is sick and daddy is a mess and all of these other people are 'helping' and she doesn't know why.
Of their mother, the only bonus sister I'm ever going to get, (I assume: my single sisters seem to be set in their straight orientations, but you never know), who sometimes pisses me off and mostly just fit in as best she could/can amidst our crowd of misfits, troublemakers and complications. Who sleeps away another day, and laments her lack of energy, focus, clearheadedness, ability to participate in anything at all, even as she's aware that the meds that are making her that way are supposed to give her more time to stick around and participate in the 'long run.' (and oh, how that phrase chafes and means new things now.)
Of their dad, my original only big brother, who has all the high emotions that run in our family, but none of the healthier release valves some of us have been able to find. So he chaws his tobacco, and I watch the pill bottles closely. He isolates himself in the cellar, and I make sure to send a kid down every now and then to fetch him, so I can feed him up and send him to bed. But he surprises me. He says more open, honest things - to her, to me, to the lovely nurse who helped us on a day when we were sure things were taking a tragic turn - in the short time I've been here than I've probably heard him say in his entire life. Who walks around like he's got an open wound already, even though his wife is still with him. Even though.
Who asked for my help and somehow thought I'd be able to say no.
So here we are - heading into another NaNoBloMo/NaNoWriMo, I might add - and I'm giving myself permission: no REQUIRING myself to stop just letting it soak my brain and hope it'll get better. I'm using my words, about a situation that sucks and is scary, and is too big and huge and makes me want to build a pillow fort (or, even better, just move into a previously constructed pillow fort, with no muss or fuss) in order to hide away from all of this "being a grown-up" bullshit.
I'm determined to be helpful, and if what I can do is sit on the couch and play guard dog so my brother, who really should be sleeping, does a 1am-10am shift to make up for the fact that he has to miss so many days of actually working; than that's what I'm going to do.
And that's were we are, on the eve of this November, on this scariest of nights. Wishing I was five again, when the scariest thing in my life was that creepy as hell mask my dad bought and then decided to jump scare us all (as many time as possible, of course). But confident that even though the illness is Not Mine, and the sum total is Not About Me, I can still have this space to talk about the things that are happening, because the experiences, those are mine. The feelings - the fear, the frustration, the anger, the trepidation, the wanting to, NEEDING to help - those are Mine.
And so is this space, so I'm bringing them together again. As much as I can.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
NaNo used up all my brain cell spoons
After a long-ish weekend - what with kiddos sleeping over, dinner & games yesterday, and then actually leaving the house to do a thing last night - I am exhausted and flaring; Surprise! Fibro just dialed the pain up a few notches for me today, is all, and the accompanying brain fog has been lighter the last hour or two, so I'm trying to sneak in some words.
In the course of hitting today's NaNo goal, a plot point came up and hit me between the eyes with a 2x4, which I find very inconvenient. I seriously have no idea if it's just my scrambled egg brain today, or if some characters are starting to...do things I didn't think they would do, but I might be in trouble, sub-plot wise. That's ok, though, because I don't have to fix it today! (Another post might be upcoming on the subject of writing and denial, because I feel so strongly on this subject.)
Last year, I did NaNo completely last minute, as a means of distracting myself from my grief, and told nobody (in my real life) about it at all while I was toiling away. When I passed the 50,000 words, I did tell my mom, and although I skirted the issue a bit with a few other people - my sister, who's a poet, and I were talking about writing through the parts you feel stuck on, even if what you are writing is complete crap and you know it's not going to stay, for example - I think that was it.
This year, not only did I mention it here and on Twitter, I told Mom before the month started that I would be quarantining with quiet in the mornings, and not to be worried if I didn't poke my head out until noon (because - for the most part - my rule is to get the writing done, or at least get some writing done, first thing in the morning: if I do that, even if I go back to add more during the course of the day, at least I'll have something.) (Also, if I go out and have breakfast and talk and whatever, then turning on the TV or scrolling through Facebook while I'm drinking my tea is too easily done and too attractive to me - If I give myself the opportunity to be distracted, I will be distracted.). And over the weekend, I chatted with the kids about it - about how I would need some time to myself (which, when they're here I hardly ever take), and how I was stuck on specific parts of the story, and how, no, I didn't know how it would end yet.
It was really nice to talk to them about it, knowing that I had a NaNo under my belt, and that I was capable of finishing this one - even if I don't finish it in time, even if it winds up being National Novel Writing Year for me: I'm going to be able to finish this piece of work at some point, and so I could talk a little bit about it. They wanted to read it, which was hilarious, because: NO. Nobody reads it, which was a whole thing that they did not get at all, which is great because I love it that they're comfortable and confident enough to share whatever they're making, and I hate it that sometimes I am not, but right now? No. Mine; Don't even bother asking.
And I got some bad news from my 13-yr-old nephew, on the 12-yr-old girls and swearing front: "Schnikes!" and "Zoinks!" are definitely not making a comeback. In fact, he blushingly and under the promise of not getting in trouble, told me that he and his friends curse much more than ... well, anybody. Especially if they are playing X-Box (My brother concurs; said nephew has had to be reprimanded more than once for his use of foul language on that foul machine).
Now I knew that Scooby-Doo cursing was more than likely not in vogue, but I admit I'm disappointed that my angel-faced-gentleman nephew has a sailor's mouth - and apparently so do his lady friends. (Although he did say that he doesn't hang out with girls all that often, so he's just basing it on what he has heard in "like school (?!) and recess and things".) I guess that makes us equal though, since said angel-faced-young gentleman nephew gave me such a disappointed look when I explained to him that not only did I not curse when I was 12, I barely cursed at all until I was in my 20s, and even now, I just... don't like to. (Most times: Sometimes, a Sunavabitch just needs to get called a Sunavabitch.)
Besides, I really think it's time for a "Scnikes!" renaissance.
In the course of hitting today's NaNo goal, a plot point came up and hit me between the eyes with a 2x4, which I find very inconvenient. I seriously have no idea if it's just my scrambled egg brain today, or if some characters are starting to...do things I didn't think they would do, but I might be in trouble, sub-plot wise. That's ok, though, because I don't have to fix it today! (Another post might be upcoming on the subject of writing and denial, because I feel so strongly on this subject.)
Last year, I did NaNo completely last minute, as a means of distracting myself from my grief, and told nobody (in my real life) about it at all while I was toiling away. When I passed the 50,000 words, I did tell my mom, and although I skirted the issue a bit with a few other people - my sister, who's a poet, and I were talking about writing through the parts you feel stuck on, even if what you are writing is complete crap and you know it's not going to stay, for example - I think that was it.
This year, not only did I mention it here and on Twitter, I told Mom before the month started that I would be quarantining with quiet in the mornings, and not to be worried if I didn't poke my head out until noon (because - for the most part - my rule is to get the writing done, or at least get some writing done, first thing in the morning: if I do that, even if I go back to add more during the course of the day, at least I'll have something.) (Also, if I go out and have breakfast and talk and whatever, then turning on the TV or scrolling through Facebook while I'm drinking my tea is too easily done and too attractive to me - If I give myself the opportunity to be distracted, I will be distracted.). And over the weekend, I chatted with the kids about it - about how I would need some time to myself (which, when they're here I hardly ever take), and how I was stuck on specific parts of the story, and how, no, I didn't know how it would end yet.
It was really nice to talk to them about it, knowing that I had a NaNo under my belt, and that I was capable of finishing this one - even if I don't finish it in time, even if it winds up being National Novel Writing Year for me: I'm going to be able to finish this piece of work at some point, and so I could talk a little bit about it. They wanted to read it, which was hilarious, because: NO. Nobody reads it, which was a whole thing that they did not get at all, which is great because I love it that they're comfortable and confident enough to share whatever they're making, and I hate it that sometimes I am not, but right now? No. Mine; Don't even bother asking.
And I got some bad news from my 13-yr-old nephew, on the 12-yr-old girls and swearing front: "Schnikes!" and "Zoinks!" are definitely not making a comeback. In fact, he blushingly and under the promise of not getting in trouble, told me that he and his friends curse much more than ... well, anybody. Especially if they are playing X-Box (My brother concurs; said nephew has had to be reprimanded more than once for his use of foul language on that foul machine).
Now I knew that Scooby-Doo cursing was more than likely not in vogue, but I admit I'm disappointed that my angel-faced-gentleman nephew has a sailor's mouth - and apparently so do his lady friends. (Although he did say that he doesn't hang out with girls all that often, so he's just basing it on what he has heard in "like school (?!) and recess and things".) I guess that makes us equal though, since said angel-faced-young gentleman nephew gave me such a disappointed look when I explained to him that not only did I not curse when I was 12, I barely cursed at all until I was in my 20s, and even now, I just... don't like to. (Most times: Sometimes, a Sunavabitch just needs to get called a Sunavabitch.)
Besides, I really think it's time for a "Scnikes!" renaissance.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
My Grandmother's birthday is this month. This week now. Sometimes, when someone dies, the anniversary of their birth or death just sneaks up on you, or (if you're lucky) right by you. As someone who's lost (I was going to say a 'fair' number, but 'fair' doesn't enter into the conversation when you're talking about death, so I'll stick with) more than one person I loved, I've lived through loss long enough to know that it (mostly) does fade enough so that some years a birthday or death day will come and all I'll feel is that tug of longing, that twinge of regret that I no longer have that person in my daily life.
But firsts? Firsts of anything are ripe old bitches - and I know that I have been not been doing particularly well with my grieving process in the first place, this time around.
Mostly I feel like everybody else moved on, and I'm still stuck in last summer, holding the hands of a woman whose face I'm trying to carve into my memory as I watch my face fade from hers.
I can't explain how powerfully & profoundly that experience has changed me, and yet - nothing else has changed! She's still not here, and I still am: stuck in my bed, in this house, in this life that I don't want or recognize, but lacking the ideas, strength (physically & mentally), and just plain energy to do anything about it.
And now her birthday is coming up, and I'm hyper-aware of it. As in, I usually have no idea what the actual date is, unless I have a doctor's appointment in the near future, but ever since July 1, the calendar has been mocking me. It's been a constant, in my face, reminder that JULY IS HER BIRTHDAY and HER BIRTHDAY IS COMING, PREPARE TO CRY. The date has been getting closer and closer, and my mood has been getting darker and darker.
I think about how, for most people, Friday will have no meaning at all... even in our family, Grandmother's actual birth date was always one of those "Is it the 17th form 1919 or the 19th from 1917 or maybe it's the 21st?" kind of deals. (My family is bad at dates. Also time. Also lots of other things that matter to me a lot, which you can see would be kind of frustrating.) And for me, Friday is a huge, looming, taunting thing that I'm trying desperately to avoid, knowing it's going to come and suffocate me anyways.
Because, as I said, I'm no amateur at this whole grieving thing (even if it feels like I am, every. single. time.), I've done my best to keep occupied, knowing that distraction is one of my best coping skills. I've tried making plans for the actual date - my best friend is in New York, all my siblings are working, Mom says she is up for anything, but lately it's all she can do to not melt into a puddle every time she ventures out into the hot - and I think I've wrangled myself into a kiddo sleepover, finally, but - like everything else this summer - it's complicated too. No Longer Youngest Nephew (soon to be by the power of two, come to think of it) is 13 now, and .... while he's up for games and stuff, it's as if when his voice cracked, his preferences for spending time with me did also. It's not that he doesn't love me, or that we can't still have a good time together every now and then, but he'd rather be with aunts who drive cars to New Hampshire where he can hang out with his older cousins, or aunts and uncles who let him watch R rated movies and take him to hockey games. The largely sedentary Auntie NTE is no longer first (or even, honestly, second or third- which would be sitting at home playing video games) choice and, wow does that sting.
Still, I'll be glad to have them here on Friday, to give me something other than my own gloom to focus on. And - even though I know it is, in part, because of the overwhelming upcoming birthday - Holy Jupiter has this month (/season/past 9 months) been full of gloom for me. Let me just mention this one other thing, real quick, that kind of explains why I've been avoiding this space and writing in general for the last little (ok long) while:
Along with the gloom, which I recognize as both a normal part of grieving and a truly hideous part of grief, I've also been experiencing something a little bit more troubling, because it dabbles its feet in the "how close are we to the edge of depression here, really" pond, and that's terrifying to me. It's something that has been growing since before she died, when I felt like it was just me and UJ in the trenches and everybody else was sending care packages every now and then, but had no idea what it was truly like to be waging war against a disease that made you a stranger to the person you loved so much. And it blossomed once we lost her, and then my sister & her husband were forced to move out, and my mom's depression spiralled downwards, and everybody I knew was fighting their own ridiculously hard battle, and asking for my help, sure, but you can't tell people how alone you feel when they're crying on your shoulder. And somehow, even though I've tried reaching out, I am left, once again, feeling forgotten and outlived.
Which is not the kind of thing you can say to your pregnant baby sister, or your other baby sister who moved to the middle of nowhere again, or your other baby sister who you're so fucking proud of you could burst, but miss more than air sometimes - but it's how I feel. And even though I know that my family is not, in fact, "leaving me behind" (and also that it's not their responsibility to make me feel better about feeling left out, really), but it's kind of hard not to feel that way when you've experienced it so often, just by virtue of being the sick one. First with my high school friends, then when all my college friends started getting jobs and getting married, then when they all had their first round of kids, then their second (and some are now on their third), and this may sound weird, and horrible and selfish, but it recently just occurred to me that this is the first time that I have been the only one living at home, and it makes me feel (ancient and weak and useless and pathetic) a whole boatload of things that I know I am not, but still am feeling.
And, oh my god, so fucking lonely.
Which is why tumblr has been great, because: So many spoonies! and some of them are old like me! (Because holy jebus, the teenagers. Talk about feeling ancient.) So, less lonely: here I come. And a lot of them feel left behind too. So I don't feel so ridiculous about both loving the sight of my sister's gorgeous baby bump (Seriously? She's one of those adorable pregnant people who glow so much they nearly sparkle.) and still being so sad that it isn't me. One of my other sisters recently lost a ton of weight by eating healthy and doing an exercise program, and I was so glad for her, and at the same time, I kind of wanted to punch her in the face. Because I've eaten nothing but cardboard for a year, and I've eaten 3/4 fruits and vegetables for the last 2 years, and I still can't stand up without wanting to die. I miss moving my body and feeling good about it and not resenting everything it took away from me. I miss trusting it. (That's one of her big things, this hippie-crunchy sister of mine, "trust your body, it knows what it needs" which is almost so naive as to be cute, except for how my body apparently knows that it needs to lay on the floor a lot and never move, and make me feel like I'm constantly being crushed by the air? my clothes? gravity? So yeah: hilarious. And rage inducing.)
So, yeah: it's been a rough couple of months - not without its rays of sunshine, of course. In the forms of a family wedding and house guests who like to chat; a baby shower in the making; a couple of kids who grow like weeds having birthdays; a trip to the movies; a birthday trip out for me that included chocolate fondue and a book signing (which - heaven, right?); and even little things like a couple of really good books (a new JK Rowling under a pseudonym? Must acquire immediately!); coming up on finishing a really large (3+years) project; starting some new crafty things; making sisters laugh when they feel like they never will again; a pining Robb Stark (I'll post a picture this week); and learning how to apply makeup correctly for the first time in my life, via Youtube videos.
But this is going to be a hard week, and I'm going to need as much sunshine as possible to make it through, so if you have any, please feel free to share in the comments. Hope your weeks/months are going a little bit cheery-er, and even if they're not, at least you know you're not alone. {God everything I'm writing today is like a therapy session: I'm sorry internet. (I'm not really sorry - it felt kind of good to acknowledge that shit.)}
But firsts? Firsts of anything are ripe old bitches - and I know that I have been not been doing particularly well with my grieving process in the first place, this time around.
Mostly I feel like everybody else moved on, and I'm still stuck in last summer, holding the hands of a woman whose face I'm trying to carve into my memory as I watch my face fade from hers.
I can't explain how powerfully & profoundly that experience has changed me, and yet - nothing else has changed! She's still not here, and I still am: stuck in my bed, in this house, in this life that I don't want or recognize, but lacking the ideas, strength (physically & mentally), and just plain energy to do anything about it.
And now her birthday is coming up, and I'm hyper-aware of it. As in, I usually have no idea what the actual date is, unless I have a doctor's appointment in the near future, but ever since July 1, the calendar has been mocking me. It's been a constant, in my face, reminder that JULY IS HER BIRTHDAY and HER BIRTHDAY IS COMING, PREPARE TO CRY. The date has been getting closer and closer, and my mood has been getting darker and darker.
I think about how, for most people, Friday will have no meaning at all... even in our family, Grandmother's actual birth date was always one of those "Is it the 17th form 1919 or the 19th from 1917 or maybe it's the 21st?" kind of deals. (My family is bad at dates. Also time. Also lots of other things that matter to me a lot, which you can see would be kind of frustrating.) And for me, Friday is a huge, looming, taunting thing that I'm trying desperately to avoid, knowing it's going to come and suffocate me anyways.
Because, as I said, I'm no amateur at this whole grieving thing (even if it feels like I am, every. single. time.), I've done my best to keep occupied, knowing that distraction is one of my best coping skills. I've tried making plans for the actual date - my best friend is in New York, all my siblings are working, Mom says she is up for anything, but lately it's all she can do to not melt into a puddle every time she ventures out into the hot - and I think I've wrangled myself into a kiddo sleepover, finally, but - like everything else this summer - it's complicated too. No Longer Youngest Nephew (soon to be by the power of two, come to think of it) is 13 now, and .... while he's up for games and stuff, it's as if when his voice cracked, his preferences for spending time with me did also. It's not that he doesn't love me, or that we can't still have a good time together every now and then, but he'd rather be with aunts who drive cars to New Hampshire where he can hang out with his older cousins, or aunts and uncles who let him watch R rated movies and take him to hockey games. The largely sedentary Auntie NTE is no longer first (or even, honestly, second or third- which would be sitting at home playing video games) choice and, wow does that sting.
Still, I'll be glad to have them here on Friday, to give me something other than my own gloom to focus on. And - even though I know it is, in part, because of the overwhelming upcoming birthday - Holy Jupiter has this month (/season/past 9 months) been full of gloom for me. Let me just mention this one other thing, real quick, that kind of explains why I've been avoiding this space and writing in general for the last little (ok long) while:
Along with the gloom, which I recognize as both a normal part of grieving and a truly hideous part of grief, I've also been experiencing something a little bit more troubling, because it dabbles its feet in the "how close are we to the edge of depression here, really" pond, and that's terrifying to me. It's something that has been growing since before she died, when I felt like it was just me and UJ in the trenches and everybody else was sending care packages every now and then, but had no idea what it was truly like to be waging war against a disease that made you a stranger to the person you loved so much. And it blossomed once we lost her, and then my sister & her husband were forced to move out, and my mom's depression spiralled downwards, and everybody I knew was fighting their own ridiculously hard battle, and asking for my help, sure, but you can't tell people how alone you feel when they're crying on your shoulder. And somehow, even though I've tried reaching out, I am left, once again, feeling forgotten and outlived.
Which is not the kind of thing you can say to your pregnant baby sister, or your other baby sister who moved to the middle of nowhere again, or your other baby sister who you're so fucking proud of you could burst, but miss more than air sometimes - but it's how I feel. And even though I know that my family is not, in fact, "leaving me behind" (and also that it's not their responsibility to make me feel better about feeling left out, really), but it's kind of hard not to feel that way when you've experienced it so often, just by virtue of being the sick one. First with my high school friends, then when all my college friends started getting jobs and getting married, then when they all had their first round of kids, then their second (and some are now on their third), and this may sound weird, and horrible and selfish, but it recently just occurred to me that this is the first time that I have been the only one living at home, and it makes me feel (ancient and weak and useless and pathetic) a whole boatload of things that I know I am not, but still am feeling.
And, oh my god, so fucking lonely.
Which is why tumblr has been great, because: So many spoonies! and some of them are old like me! (Because holy jebus, the teenagers. Talk about feeling ancient.) So, less lonely: here I come. And a lot of them feel left behind too. So I don't feel so ridiculous about both loving the sight of my sister's gorgeous baby bump (Seriously? She's one of those adorable pregnant people who glow so much they nearly sparkle.) and still being so sad that it isn't me. One of my other sisters recently lost a ton of weight by eating healthy and doing an exercise program, and I was so glad for her, and at the same time, I kind of wanted to punch her in the face. Because I've eaten nothing but cardboard for a year, and I've eaten 3/4 fruits and vegetables for the last 2 years, and I still can't stand up without wanting to die. I miss moving my body and feeling good about it and not resenting everything it took away from me. I miss trusting it. (That's one of her big things, this hippie-crunchy sister of mine, "trust your body, it knows what it needs" which is almost so naive as to be cute, except for how my body apparently knows that it needs to lay on the floor a lot and never move, and make me feel like I'm constantly being crushed by the air? my clothes? gravity? So yeah: hilarious. And rage inducing.)
So, yeah: it's been a rough couple of months - not without its rays of sunshine, of course. In the forms of a family wedding and house guests who like to chat; a baby shower in the making; a couple of kids who grow like weeds having birthdays; a trip to the movies; a birthday trip out for me that included chocolate fondue and a book signing (which - heaven, right?); and even little things like a couple of really good books (a new JK Rowling under a pseudonym? Must acquire immediately!); coming up on finishing a really large (3+years) project; starting some new crafty things; making sisters laugh when they feel like they never will again; a pining Robb Stark (I'll post a picture this week); and learning how to apply makeup correctly for the first time in my life, via Youtube videos.
But this is going to be a hard week, and I'm going to need as much sunshine as possible to make it through, so if you have any, please feel free to share in the comments. Hope your weeks/months are going a little bit cheery-er, and even if they're not, at least you know you're not alone. {God everything I'm writing today is like a therapy session: I'm sorry internet. (I'm not really sorry - it felt kind of good to acknowledge that shit.)}
Wednesday, April 03, 2013
A tiny update on some not so tiny kiddos
It's been a while since you've since some of my littles, and you would not believe how they've grown. I wish I had a group photo I could post of the whole lot of them - they're multiplying and growing more quickly than seems normal to me.
Honestly: No Longer Youngest Nephew/Neph2's voice is changing... Cracking in mid sentence so that he looks as confused as the rest of us...it's scary. He's turning 13 in less than a month (which he informs me of on a fairly regular basis), and is all about hockey and baseball right now. Which is better than being all about girls, so I'll take it, even if I couldn't care less about either of those two things.
Oldest Nephew should be trying for his license soon and posted a picture on Instagram of the girl he asked to the Junior Prom. (Remember that bit I said yesterday about someone whose diapers I changed having babies of their own and the unreality of that all? Well I was a junior in high school when Oldest Nephew was born, so that's officially just wrong. ALL KINDS OF WRONG.) I was super sick and missed out on my Junior prom, while SisterS was pregnant with Oldest Nephew, and she called me a couple of days later to commiserate. So yeah: Officially weird and NOT RIGHT.
Lil Girl has always thought (and acted) like she was a teenager anyways, but now she's going to be seven next month, and seven is... no longer little, at least not in my mind. You can't pretend a 7-year-old is a little kid - they're right on the cusp of knowing stuff that little kids don't know, right on the edge of figuring out ways the world works that you wish you could protect them from. She's wise and not always kind (which we're working on) and sassy as all hell, but also sometimes the sweetest thing on two feet.
And Baby B is a big boy now, preparing for preschool and such, which is also... not right? He's the only baby that's been born into our family that I feel like I didn't get a chance to bond with before school started, and that's too bad... hopefully, as he gets older, his mother will bring him down more often.
And SisterCh's Boys - who don't even have proper blog names, I don't think, but have been seen here before: I should Blog Christen them, right, before too long? It's already been so long, I don't even know how that happened. So NephewJ and NephewT (because the numbers just don't work anymore, but I can't go back and undo them) are growing by leaps and bounds as well... one is all over Facebook and skating and guitar playing, the other is into the Marvel Universe and may have been converted to the Dark Side (of always wanting to play games) when Mom and I introduced him to War over Christmas break ;).
And, come the fall, we'll have another Baby (Sex as yet unknown) to add to the our ever-growing clan. It's really exciting to be one of the lucky auntie's to this rag-tag bunch... my brother and sisters have the coolest little people, and I'm looking forward to all the new additions as they come.
Also: Note to self: when the kiddos are down for Spring Break, take group photo, cuz the last one was nearly 3 years ago, and that's just pathetic, y'all.
Also, also: interesting postscript - I don't think I quite realized how much the gender tables have turned in this generation of our family: in my dad's generation it was 7 boys, 2 girls; in my siblings & my generation, girls outnumbered the boys by 2:1 ratio (generally, each of my uncles and my dad had a boy and then at least two girls... any other kids that followed were also girls); but this generation in our family seems to be a complete turn around. Interesting (probably to nobody but me and the few cousins I can chat about genealogy with), but we'll have to see how the pattern evolves as my younger sisters start their families. (And if I ever get around to it.)
Honestly: No Longer Youngest Nephew/Neph2's voice is changing... Cracking in mid sentence so that he looks as confused as the rest of us...it's scary. He's turning 13 in less than a month (which he informs me of on a fairly regular basis), and is all about hockey and baseball right now. Which is better than being all about girls, so I'll take it, even if I couldn't care less about either of those two things.
Oldest Nephew should be trying for his license soon and posted a picture on Instagram of the girl he asked to the Junior Prom. (Remember that bit I said yesterday about someone whose diapers I changed having babies of their own and the unreality of that all? Well I was a junior in high school when Oldest Nephew was born, so that's officially just wrong. ALL KINDS OF WRONG.) I was super sick and missed out on my Junior prom, while SisterS was pregnant with Oldest Nephew, and she called me a couple of days later to commiserate. So yeah: Officially weird and NOT RIGHT.
Lil Girl has always thought (and acted) like she was a teenager anyways, but now she's going to be seven next month, and seven is... no longer little, at least not in my mind. You can't pretend a 7-year-old is a little kid - they're right on the cusp of knowing stuff that little kids don't know, right on the edge of figuring out ways the world works that you wish you could protect them from. She's wise and not always kind (which we're working on) and sassy as all hell, but also sometimes the sweetest thing on two feet.
And Baby B is a big boy now, preparing for preschool and such, which is also... not right? He's the only baby that's been born into our family that I feel like I didn't get a chance to bond with before school started, and that's too bad... hopefully, as he gets older, his mother will bring him down more often.
And SisterCh's Boys - who don't even have proper blog names, I don't think, but have been seen here before: I should Blog Christen them, right, before too long? It's already been so long, I don't even know how that happened. So NephewJ and NephewT (because the numbers just don't work anymore, but I can't go back and undo them) are growing by leaps and bounds as well... one is all over Facebook and skating and guitar playing, the other is into the Marvel Universe and may have been converted to the Dark Side (of always wanting to play games) when Mom and I introduced him to War over Christmas break ;).
And, come the fall, we'll have another Baby (Sex as yet unknown) to add to the our ever-growing clan. It's really exciting to be one of the lucky auntie's to this rag-tag bunch... my brother and sisters have the coolest little people, and I'm looking forward to all the new additions as they come.
Also: Note to self: when the kiddos are down for Spring Break, take group photo, cuz the last one was nearly 3 years ago, and that's just pathetic, y'all.
Also, also: interesting postscript - I don't think I quite realized how much the gender tables have turned in this generation of our family: in my dad's generation it was 7 boys, 2 girls; in my siblings & my generation, girls outnumbered the boys by 2:1 ratio (generally, each of my uncles and my dad had a boy and then at least two girls... any other kids that followed were also girls); but this generation in our family seems to be a complete turn around. Interesting (probably to nobody but me and the few cousins I can chat about genealogy with), but we'll have to see how the pattern evolves as my younger sisters start their families. (And if I ever get around to it.)
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Our siblings push buttons that cast us in roles we felt sure we had let go of long ago - the baby, the peacekeeper, the caretaker, the avoider.... It doesn't seem to matter how much time has elapsed or how far we've traveled. ~Jane Mersky Leder
So I was just reminded that my last post was a super-angry rant, and that's not particularly OK with me, long-term. Yes, I'm still pretty angry; but I'm working on it. It is hard. (Well, duh.) It is spectacularly hard, sometimes, but I'm trying not to wallow as much, at the very least.
I am also having a spectacularly difficult time summoning my Christmas Spirit this year, which, is not unexpected and completely normal, but also kind of sucks. Because I love Christmas, but Christmas like this - Christmas-without-Grandmother, Christmas-where-everybody-is-still-hurting, Christmas-with-uncomfortable-truths-being-faced, Christmas-with-the-righteous-anger, Christmas-with-the-wounded - is not all it's cracked up to be. I'm very thankful that there are children in our family who I have to fake Christmas cheer for, because sometimes, if I fake it long enough, it starts to feel almost real.
Case in point, this weekend, two such littles (who aren't that little) helped us decorate our Christmas tree. No Longer Youngest Nephew is 12 ("and a half", he would insist) now, and can reach the top of our pretty tall tree well enough to help string the lights. Which is both amazingly helpful, and terrifyingly wrong. [Stupid kids and their growing up. Grumble.] Lil Girl was very critical of the placement of certain ornaments (which habit, I fear, is something she probably comes by naturally), and the tree turned out quite lovely, after all.
My favorite part of the day, though, was the 45 minute battle the two of them had over who got to sweep up the most tree needles. Because if your sibling is doing something, then it must be worth fighting about, is basically Lil Girl's theory, at this point. And her big brother can't resist arguing back, even over something so insubstantial (and chore-like!) as sweeping up big piles of needles and then vacuuming them up. It was annoyingly normal, and just what I needed to keep the smile on my face. (And, of course, in the end, Mum and I wound up doing most of the actual cleaning.) But here is a picture of them, working their hardest to outdo the other in the Battle For The Most Pine Needles 2012:
Take your smiles where you can get them, people. Definitely a lesson I've learned this (horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad) year. And I'm working on that, too.
I am also having a spectacularly difficult time summoning my Christmas Spirit this year, which, is not unexpected and completely normal, but also kind of sucks. Because I love Christmas, but Christmas like this - Christmas-without-Grandmother, Christmas-where-everybody-is-still-hurting, Christmas-with-uncomfortable-truths-being-faced, Christmas-with-the-righteous-anger, Christmas-with-the-wounded - is not all it's cracked up to be. I'm very thankful that there are children in our family who I have to fake Christmas cheer for, because sometimes, if I fake it long enough, it starts to feel almost real.
Case in point, this weekend, two such littles (who aren't that little) helped us decorate our Christmas tree. No Longer Youngest Nephew is 12 ("and a half", he would insist) now, and can reach the top of our pretty tall tree well enough to help string the lights. Which is both amazingly helpful, and terrifyingly wrong. [Stupid kids and their growing up. Grumble.] Lil Girl was very critical of the placement of certain ornaments (which habit, I fear, is something she probably comes by naturally), and the tree turned out quite lovely, after all.
My favorite part of the day, though, was the 45 minute battle the two of them had over who got to sweep up the most tree needles. Because if your sibling is doing something, then it must be worth fighting about, is basically Lil Girl's theory, at this point. And her big brother can't resist arguing back, even over something so insubstantial (and chore-like!) as sweeping up big piles of needles and then vacuuming them up. It was annoyingly normal, and just what I needed to keep the smile on my face. (And, of course, in the end, Mum and I wound up doing most of the actual cleaning.) But here is a picture of them, working their hardest to outdo the other in the Battle For The Most Pine Needles 2012:
Take your smiles where you can get them, people. Definitely a lesson I've learned this (horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad) year. And I'm working on that, too.
Saturday, November 03, 2012
Getting Ready
for Lil Girl to come over for a sleepover. Very excited: I have no doubt that she'll make it past her brother's midnight mark from last weekend's Fright Fest - we didn't even make it through one scary movie: the kid wanted to watch The Hunger Games, then he zonked out on me five minutes into The Woman in Black, which - just: no. I was too sad to watch a movie where kids kept dying. Lil Girl is another story: I told her we could stay up "all night long", so I'm anticipating a looong night. It'll be a nice change to have company during the wee hours, though. (Company and Disney movies... all I need now is to make some brownies.)
Wrote my three pages for today (am a little off target, but so please with what I've written that I don't care about the numbers yet: ask me again on the 28th), getting the blog posted, trying to go into the sleepover with (what I have that passes for) energy & enthusiasim. I miss her so much, and I'm wicked excited... but I also know somewhere around 9 o'clock, she's going to be wearing on my nerves and we're both going to need a nap. :) That's the fun of six year olds: all the energy of a three-year-old, with none of the naps.
See you in the morning ~ hope your Saturday night is as exciting as mine. (I'm going to think of a name to call you all, but I'm coming up blank: 'the five of you', how's that sound?)
Wrote my three pages for today (am a little off target, but so please with what I've written that I don't care about the numbers yet: ask me again on the 28th), getting the blog posted, trying to go into the sleepover with (what I have that passes for) energy & enthusiasim. I miss her so much, and I'm wicked excited... but I also know somewhere around 9 o'clock, she's going to be wearing on my nerves and we're both going to need a nap. :) That's the fun of six year olds: all the energy of a three-year-old, with none of the naps.
See you in the morning ~ hope your Saturday night is as exciting as mine. (I'm going to think of a name to call you all, but I'm coming up blank: 'the five of you', how's that sound?)
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Nymphs are not what you think they are
Did you know a baby llama is called a cria? Yeah, me either. There were some other surprises too: just finished reading Chuckling Ducklings and Baby Animal Friends to LilGirl for her bedtime story, and I was not aware of a lot of those names... Elvers (baby eels), leveret (baby hare), eyas (hawk). A lot of new information for two very tired brains. I have a feeling we'll be reading it again tomorrow, just for some clarity. But the pictures are adorable, and it's pretty cute, overall. She really loved it, and her big brother was paying attention when we were naming some he didn't know either, so that's a bonus. It's great when facts are presented in a fun way, you know, so you can trick kids into learning.
By the way, the title refers to one that wasn't in the book: did you know that a nymph is another name for a baby cockroach or grasshopper? I'm going to go with grasshoppers, just because roaches should not have such evocatively beautiful names.
By the way, the title refers to one that wasn't in the book: did you know that a nymph is another name for a baby cockroach or grasshopper? I'm going to go with grasshoppers, just because roaches should not have such evocatively beautiful names.
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