I'll love you forever

Why do we make these beautiful vows to our partners/spouses when we marry them, but not to our children when they are born?

When my daughter was an infant, I remember telling her out loud my promise to her.  And this promise is carried on through all four of my children.   

Here is my vow to my child.

Because you exist, I love you.  As long as my heart beats, I will love you endlessly and accept you as you are and as you choose to be.  I have no expectations of who you should become, what you should do, or what you will one day do for me.  

I will always be here, holding space for you inside my heart and inside my home.  You will always be welcome, and you will always be wanted.  I hope when you think of me, you think "home".  

I hope for you a life full of love and joy and happiness.  I will never tell you how to live it.  I trust you to know the path that you should tread.

I love you.  I love you because you are a part of me.  Not because you are literally pieces of me that I built with my own bones and blood and body (but I love that too), but because from the moment I first held you, I have thought of you.  I have given to you more than I thought I had to give- because of you, I have found that the well of love inside me is unending.  You fill it with enough beautiful things that it will never run dry.  I will nourish and cherish and support you every moment of your childhood and hopefully for the rest of my life.  I have sacrificed my well-being and my dreams for the dream of being your mother, and it is still my favorite dream made true.  I did not know when I met you that the longer I know you, the deeper I love you.

I accept you as you are and will love you through all of your changes.  Whoever you choose to become, I will love that version of you as well.  No matter what you look like, act like, think like, do.  I do not love you because you are smart or clever or beautiful (even though you are).  I do not love you because of anything you have or haven't done.  And I will not love you more or less for anything.    

You do not owe me anything.  I do not expect you to provide me with grandchildren or take care of me when I am old.  Everything I do for you, I do because I choose to.  Because I want to.  Because it fills my soul with joy to give to you.  

I will love you whether you achieve your dreams, or fail at everything you undertake.

I will love you if you come to visit, and if you don't.

I will love you if you have many babies and if you have none at all.

I will love you no matter where you go and no matter what you do.

I will love you endlessly.

I will love you if you never marry or get married seven times.

Time.  Space.  Distance.  Choices.  None of these matter.  

I love you.  I love that I grew you under my heart.  I love that I watched you grow into an adult human.  I love that no matter where you go or what you do, you will know that your mom loves you more than her own life.  I love that I have shown you this love in big and small ways.  From kissing a smashed finger to burning down the world.  

 I do not care who or what you become.  It does not matter what you do with your life. I do not care.  You matter because you are my child.  The act of existing makes you worthy of my love and my acceptance. 

People spend their lives searching for their true love.  I didn't have to search for mine.  I grew my own.  You are my true love.  The only love that knows no limits and expects no return.  You will be my greatest love for the rest of my life.  

I will always show up.

I will always choose you.

I will fly across the sea or burn down a bridge.  

I will hold your hand in the dark and wield a sword by your side.

I will never not adore you.

My most precious child, you are life to me, more important than breath.

You are my heart, my world and all the stars.  I love you across the sea and into tomorrow.

8/13/23

And now I know

People tell me I am difficult

I am demanding

I have to have it my way

I am controlling

I don’t listen

I am bossy

I am loud

I need to calm down

I need to listen

I need to be quiet

And what I heard was

You are a terrible human

And I believed it

And I believed my husband was a saint to put up with me

That he lied because something was wrong with me

And I questioned why he stayed with me if I was such a terrible human

I tried to be well-behaved

Quieter

Agreeable

I poured all that I had into my family and my marriage

I did everything I felt was expected of me

And still I wasn’t enough of what I was supposed to be

And I felt trapped

I felt like screaming

But I knew it was a flaw in me

And then

And then

And then one day I was driving to work

It was sunny and beautiful 

And all of a sudden I knew

And I said over and over on my way to work,

“I am not a terrible person.”

It started as a question and became a whisper and a statement and then a shout and finally a mantra on repeat on my lips,

"I am not a terrible person."

And I walked in and told my friend, 

“I am not a terrible person.”

And she said,

“No, you’re not.”

And then I KNEW

And I was filled with a rage at the years I had wasted believing I was the flaw

I wasn’t too much

I wasn’t too loud

I wasn’t bossy

I wasn’t demanding

I wasn’t difficult

I just knew what I wanted

I was decisive

I was confident

I had become the woman my life forged out of the sweet and tender girl I once was

I fought for the life I wanted to live 

And I stood up for my dreams and my beliefs

And for this, I was told I was too much???

No

No

No

I am enough

I am brave

I am strong

I am determined

I am kind

I am understanding

I am good

And you know what?  I will fight for the life I want

I will say what is on my mind

I will be me

And now

They tell me they don’t understand

Why I don’t accept lies

Why I don’t negotiate

Why I don’t follow expectations

And I tell them they are right

They don’t understand

Because even I didn’t until recently

And I will never be less again

I will never stop taking up space

I will never compromise my happiness

I will never go back in that box

I am free

And still, they tell me to get back in my box

To compromise

To settle

And I will not

I have one beautiful life

One soul

One heart

And I will not give up my one life for anything

It is mine

And I am the only one who will fight for it

I will protect my heart

I will defend my joy

I will lift up my soul to the light 

And I will never forsake me

Never.

4/1/24

Stop calling it suicide

 

April 14, 2023 

She died just weeks ago

I didn't know her

but I knew her friends

her family

I knew she had depression

just like me

I knew it started when she gave birth

just like me

I knew she suffered greatly

that it never went away

I knew she tried to end the pain

more than once

But that was all I knew

And then I heard she died

and I knew

I knew how she had died

but nobody said it

nobody printed it in the obituary

nobody said it in her eulogy

nobody ever even whispered it

they left it out

like it was dirty

like it was bad

like nobody should know

like keeping quiet would make it less true

because you see,

they do not believe how she really died

they called it suicide 

the coroner wrote it down

but nobody ever said the word

they left it out

like it was wrong

like it was dangerous-

they didn't see the truth

She didn't commit suicide

she didn't kill herself

not the way you say it

not the way you mean it

not the way you think of it

as failure

as weakness

as cowardice

as selfishness

as burning in hell for the rest of time

She didn't decide to go

She didn't want to go

She fought 

day after day

week after week

year after year

do you know how long that is?

for ten years, it is 3,650 days.

For 16 years, it is 5,860 days. 

Could you imagine fighting an illness that long?

Of being sick every day for more than 10 years?

Can you imagine?

And every time you think you're well, it comes back

No matter how hard you fight

no matter how many pills you take

no matter how hard you believe

no matter how many doctors you see

no matter how many prayers you pray

no matter how many people hold you up

it hurts

Every day

She didn't die by suicide

don't even say it

She died from depression

She fought so hard

She fought so long

She fought with all she had

She fought for her kids

She fought for her husband

She fought for her beautiful life

But in the end it didn't matter

because depression is an illness

and sometimes it wins

sometimes we die

when we get sick

and it doesn't matter

if it is physical sick

or mental sick

our bodies can handle only so much

trauma builds

endurance wanes

and eventually

the illness wins

let's honor this warrior

this woman who fought

with every prayer you prayed over her

with every day she survived

with every person she touched

with her love, with her kindness

with every memory 

built during those years

where she fought with her all

to stay here with you

let's remember her strength

her bravery

her joy

let's honor those years and the light

that she gave us

and send her on with love in our hearts

with truth on our lips and

say what it was

she died from depression

She was brave for so long

Imagine the strength to fight for years

This warrior mother

respect her

love her

for her strength is an example to us all

her death a tragedy

a testament to the power of an illness

say its name

speak the truth

depression is an illness

and it killed her

em

Dear kids

Your sister and me at the park yesterday.

 

Dear kids,

I am writing to you from Japan.  It is two days after Thanksgiving, and I haven't seen you in three months.  Three months ago, I took your little sister, got on a plane, and flew away.  I never dreamed I would do it.  I never dreamed that after spending 25 years fighting to be with you and keep you with me above all else, I would walk away.

When this job was presented to me, I thought about the leaving and living without you, and I pushed it from my mind.  Whenever I started to think about how much I would miss you, I just put those thoughts into a compartment in my brain.  I try to think how I thought I would live for two years without you in my daily life and not lose my mind.  I try to think how I thought I would be okay.  And, again, I just put those thoughts and feelings into the little compartment inside my brain.  I think growing up as a child of divorce and then as a parent of divorce, you have to have compartments because sometimes to feel all the things at once is too much for one heart to handle.  But sometimes, those compartments cause us to make decisions without sitting with the full weight of their consequences on our minds.

So I accepted this job.  And I packed up our house.  And I quit my job.  And I withdrew your sister from school.  And then we kept waiting for the tickets and the date to be set, so we didn't have a deadline.  It was so easy to keep moving along like our world wasn't about to be blown apart.  We joked about me not even telling you, and just being gone one day- but we wouldn't really have ever done that.  And then the tickets were bought and we were leaving in four days.  And then I had it all planned in my head how we would say goodbye.  We would have dinner at the ranch and everyone would be together, so I could just give you each a hug real quick and run out the door.  And it worked- sort of.  Because after I hugged and kissed everyone, and squeezed my babies close to my heart, I realized that Brady wasn't there.  My hell, where was that kid?  And he was back at the house.  So I drove back, and you, my stubborn, hard-headed, kept-saying-that-you-didn't-even-care-that-I-was-leaving, walked out sobbing.  And as I held on to you and told you it would be okay, I got this pain right in the center of my chest.  This pain right inside of and behind my sternum.  And it hurt all the way home.  

And when I woke up the next morning to drive to the airport, I almost didn't go.  I almost stayed in bed.  I almost quit before I ever started.  But I went, with the pain in my chest, I went.  And that pain didn't leave for weeks.  For the first three weeks we were here, that pain gnawed at my heart every day, and I walked around wondering what in the hell I had done.  And when Clara cried for her daddy, or her house, or her sister, or her brothers, or Sky or Trent, or Mae and Benny, I wondered what in the hell I had done.  But everyone here says that it gets better, so I kept pushing through and telling us that we would be okay.

And three weeks later when Jason got here, I thought the sight of him would break me, but it didn't. Because Clara climbed into his arms and all I felt was the peace of knowing her heart was full, and we would be okay because she would be okay and he would be with us.  And then we went up to our hotel room, and Jason handed me a hoodie that had been at the ranch with him and I smelled my mother's house and I sobbed big ugly sobs.  And all I wanted was to go home.  And then we moved into our new house.

The first night in our new house, with the 17 pieces of borrowed government furniture and the contents of 6 suitcases and one box of loaner kitchen goods, I thought we were going to die.  The wind was so strong and it all seemed so strange, and I thought we would be blown away.  I woke up probably 15 times waiting to hear the sound of the big voice telling us to seek higher ground, or get in a closet or something because the world was ending.  And all I wanted was to go home.  But our household had been packed up and was on its way, and I had a contract for two years.  So I had to suck it up and pray to all the gods that everyone here was right and the homesickness would abate with time.

Three months in and our household goods have arrived.  I am sleeping in my own bed, with my own pillow and sitting in my own rocking chair at night.  I check out books from the base library and we buy our groceries from the commissary.  I love my job and Clara is settled in and has friends and a loving teacher and enjoys school.  Jason is learning how to run our house and has figured out how to work the Japanese appliances and traverse the grocery shopping and bill paying and other challenges of being foreigners in a country that is not our own.  I spend my free time planning trips and traveling, and I think that is what has finally helped the homesickness abate.  It is still there, but it is tucked neatly in its little compartment in my brain where it shakes just enough to keep me calling you guys in a rotation each morning and each weekend when we are at home.  

And in just 10 days I am coming home to watch you, T, graduate from college.  I am so excited to see you all.  I often imagine hugging each of you and feeling your weight, smelling your smell and seeing your eyes.  It brings me great joy and great pain, so luckily I don''t do it as often as I did when I first arrived.  But now, as I am preparing to come home for a short trip, the homesick is growing every day, and I don't know how I am going to leave you all again.  Because, I just realized, it has only been three months since I have seen you.  And this time, when I hug you goodbye, it will be six months and one grandbaby until I see you again.  And my heart is already breaking.

I love you and I miss you more than anyone could think possible to miss their children after only three months, but I am missing you for two years all at once, every day.  I cannot wait to hold you and hug you soon.  My heart breaks already from leaving you again.

You are my heart, my world and all the stars.  I love you across the sea and into tomorrow,

Mom

The hardest part

 The hardest part of depression is hard to pinpoint.

There is absolutely nothing good about it.

But the hardest part is not trusting my own mind.

I wake up and feel like the entire ocean is laying over me.

I force myself out of bed, and struggle to the shower.

I manage to get dressed and feed myself.

I fold a load of laundry, and I am so tired that I lay myself down on the couch I had been sitting on and fall asleep for two hours.

I wake up, and the ocean is still crushing me.

Am I sick?  Is something wrong with me?  Do I need to seek medical help?

Or is it just depression?  Is it just in my head?

I don't know.

But I wash, fold and put away three loads of laundry.

And I feed myself.

And that is all.

I spend the day sleeping or laying down.  So tired that I cannot function.

So tired that I don't have energy to care or move.

I just pray tomorrow is a better day.  Maybe I will figure out if I am actually sick or if it is just depression coming back again.

Tomorrow is here.

And the goddamn ocean is sitting on my chest again.

My husband asks if I am going to get up today.

I am going to try.

And I force myself out of the bed.

Take a shower, put on clothes, brush my teeth.

Walk like a zombie through the house with pain in my chest.  

It is hard to breathe.

When I speak, I have to hold in my diaphragm because it hurts to talk.

My husband says he can tell from my face we should have cancelled the breakfast.

And I want to shout that I am doing my best.  I am up.  I am moving.  I am wiping down the table and picking up the house.  But now I have to worry about my face.  I am trying.  But I don't say anything because I do not have the energy.

Because I cannot care.  I cannot worry.  I just have to keep moving.  Keep slogging through the water that doesn't abate. 

I make it through our breakfast.  I snuggle my grands and we decorate eggs.  I can do all the things. None of the kids see that anything is wrong.  When they leave, I use the energy they brought and shared with me to replant the flowers that were wilting in their tiny plastic pots.

I will not lay down.  If I do, I will not get back up.  I am so tired.  Living is heavy.  Breathing is hard.  So I am pretty sure after two days that nothing is wrong with me.  It is just depression come back.  It is just depression trying to kill me.  To drown me.  To bury me.  

It is my body trying to give up.

It is my mind telling me that I don't care and I don't feel and it doesn't matter.

It is my heart beating painfully in my chest.

It is my lungs trying to breathe when it hurts so much.

It is my soul aching for rest.

It is just fucking depression.

And it wants me to die.

But somewhere deep inside of me lives something that knows I cannot trust my body.  Or my mind.  Or my heart.  Or my soul. Somewhere deep inside is the part that my children feed with their love.  The part that keeps me fighting when every other part of me is ready to give up.

I will never give up.  

This little part of me that hides from the monsters will never let me.  

em 4/10/22

Pedestal

You say our children put me on a pedestal

that you can never reach me

that you can work forever

and they will never set you high

If I am on a pedestal, it is a pedestal I built 

with my blood and my tears 

my sacrifice and my love

It is a pedestal to raise my children up; it was never meant for me

 I built it piece by piece to give them everything

Everything I had and everything I never had

The dreams I wanted for myself and never reached

the dreams I hoped they would create themselves

The guilt of being a single parent, the fear of never being enough

The agony of trying to be two parents instead of one

  

But mostly it was built of my love

A love unyielding and unbending

A love forged before they took their first breath

A love worth giving everything that I am to grow

I gave them all of me, every particle, every fiber

I showed up every time and I stayed by their side

And for that, they held on to me as I lifted them up

onto a pedestal made of my heart

em

3/2/22

Somewhere between despair and rage

 

I find myself somewhere between despair and rage.

I despair that we teach our daughters that they are strong and brave,

that they are smart and equally intelligent to men

that they are capable of making decisions and running the world.

We tell them to be leaders, to break glass ceilings

to shatter the out-dated belief that women can't

We tell these daughters that they can

We tell these daughters nothing can stop them if only they believe

If only they work, and strive and persevere

If only they prove to the world that they can and they are

They will be enough 

They will be enough to change the world

 For years, women have fought, bled, died to see them succeed

to see them run, to see them soar on wings denied to us-

And then I watch the patriarchy hand them a plate

with the past being served as the future

with the pain inflicted upon generations of women

served up as tomorrow's reality

Our leaders erase the progress we have made 

They claim to love "life"

and I call them out on their lies

They claim the life of the unborn must be protected

They do not protect a woman's blood and body, heart and soul

They do not even see her-

I tell my daughters that they are precious and powerful humans

And perhaps that is the greatest lie

I despair.

I rage.

I rage against the patriarchy

against our elected leaders

against the Supreme Court 

against everyone who supports this abhorent law they have placed in our path

this "heartbeat" bill

that tells a woman the tiny heartbeat inside her is all that matters

not her own heartbeat

not her safety

not her mental health

not her body

not her future

not her will

not even her life.

I rage against these people who tell us that we cannot make our own medical decisions

who tell us we are nothing more than an incubator for life-

whether we consent or not

whether we want it or not

whether it will kill us or not

whether it will survive or not.

I rage against everyone who supports this choice

who does not have a utersus

who has never been pregnant

who has never known what it feels like to be pregnant and afraid

I rage against you

You should not have a voice at this table

You should sit down

You should, quite frankly, shut the hell up.

I rage for the young girl forced to carry her brother in her own body

I rage for the disabled young woman who had no ability to consent, who doesn't understand the pain of what is happening inside of her

I rage for the high school student who made one wrong choice and will now live her life with the proof of her shame as the center of her life

I rage for the girl carrying a child that will not live outside the womb that she must continue to feel living inside of her, knowing that it is a false hope, but not able to give up

I rage for the woman from a broken home who found out she was pregnant after her husband left her

I rage for the college student who was gang raped at a party and must carry the child of a man she can never name

I rage for the women who will live lives they cannot afford, raise children they do not want, and suffer psychological trauma because of this law

I rage for me

I rage for my daughters

I rage for the millions of women who will die because history does not lie.

Abortion will never stop

Abortion will become deadly, dangerous to the very women whose lives we should be protecting.

Women will bleed.  And women will die.

We.  Will.  Die.

I rage with the blood of generations of women running through my veins.

The women who survived your abuse and your rape and your servitude, who lived and died in the hope the world would be kinder to their daughters.  They rage.

I rage with the fury of the lies we have been told- 

for with your vote and your law and your judgement

you bind me in shackles to assert your control and shape my future without my consent

(which I guess, in the end, is the point of your law).  

Images from: https://www.latimes.com/opinion/la-xpm-2014-mar-25-la-ol-the-coat-hanger-symbol-of-dangerous-preroe-abortions-is-back-20140324-story.html and https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/soloish/wp/2017/07/10/i-perform-abortions-the-men-i-date-often-see-me-as-a-political-symbol/ 

I grieve

 I grieve

I grieve for the loss of you

I ache with the pain of it

I grieve and I grieve

and I hate myself for it

for you have broken me over and over again

and I have forgiven you every time

now you break my children

over and over again

and they forgive you every time

so why do I grieve?

why can't I hold on to the rage?

I grieve

for the loss of our combined family

for the loss of our shared memory

for the loss of our future

the things we were meant to witness together

I watch them alone and I grieve 

A few weeks ago, I took M's last first day of school picture, 

and I almost sent it to you

and then I remembered

you do not speak to me

you do not see me

you have turned me into a ghost

and instead of the rage and anger I should feel

I grieve

and I send the picture to our daughter

so she can send it to you and you will only feel joy

because even after all you did

even after all the hate and lies

I still wish you well

I still hope you happy

I still grieve

And part of me wants you to know

Would you be satisfied to know?

Would you chuckle to hear you still wield power over me?

Would you be happy I hurt?

But part of me wants to know

Do you forgive me?

Will you ever?

Do you grieve?  

Because I do

I grieve

sometimes

until there is nothing but tears

and a well of anguish

and a sorrow that shakes my soul

I grieve

8/28/21

Teaching during Covid

I spent the last few months reading social media and listening to people in real life talk about teachers.  These people, none of them teachers, were saying things like,

"Breaks over teachers, time to get back to work!"

"You are an essential worker, get over yourself and embrace it!"

"You just had five months off, what are you complaining about?"

"Why are teachers so lazy that they don't want to work?"

And this is what I did- I listened to these words.  I absorbed them.  I internalized them.  And I allowed these words to hurt me.  I allowed these people to affect my perception of myself and allowed these people to make me angry.  I allowed myself to respond to their comments.  I allowed myself to spend my precious energy on this negativity. 

And then I realized something that a dear friend has been saying to me for over a year.  She says something to the affect of, "People don't understand what we do.  We have to get our validation from each other, and if other people want to appreciate us, that is just a bonus."

I was reading "Teach Like a Pirate" by Dave Burgess, and he basically said the same thing.  And after hearing it from two different sources, I had the great "Aha!" moment.  

In teaching, as I'm sure in most professions, there is a reason you do it.  There is a "why".  Obviously, in teaching, the why is not for the money.  My personal "why" is for the children.  I believe that every single child deserves to have someone believe in them and encourage them to be their best.  

I am a teacher

I would jump in front of a bus for one of my students

I would stand between them and a gun

I would run through fire to get them out of a burning building

(We practice these things and real teachers do them)

Every day, I check that they are clean, fed, and rested

Every day, I make sure their medical needs are met and check for signs of illness

Every day, I check for signs of neglect or abuse or trafficking

Every day, I protect their privacy

Every day, I teach them skills like shaking hands and looking in my eye

Every day, I make sure each child's individualized plan is followed

Every day, I engage them

Every day, I say their name

Every day, I make them feel safe

and loved

and wanted

and special

Every day, I teach them

I listen to them

I speak to them

Every day, I advocate for them

Every day.

And now I teach full-time in person learning

full-time virtual learning

and some hybrid version of these two

I am learning a gazillion new acronyms and how to use more technology

how to teach from 6 feet away

wearing a mask

unable to hug these children that I love

teaching them without even seeing them.

From now until it ends.

Every day.

And after all of this, some people are going to complain.  Judge. Hate.

But do you know what?

I don't have time for haters.  

I don't have time to even read the comments.

I have students to teach

and a world to change.

Image credits: 

1. https://www.economist.com/international/2020/03/19/how-covid-19-is-interrupting-childrens-education. 

2. Me

Letting them go

Sometimes there are no words
No actions
No way to help
Nothing but
Watching
Waiting

Sometimes it hurts more than breathing
When you have to let them go
Let them decide
Let them choose
Let them lead

Sometimes they walk into fire
And you can't stop them
And you can't go with them
And you can't send anything except your love with them into the flames
And pray to all the gods they won't be burned

Sometimes there is nothing except pain
An ache tearing through your soul
A gasp escaping your lips
A spinning in your gut
A hollow in your heart

Sometimes
There are no words
There is nothing
Nothing
But hurt

5/26/20
em


Image credit: https://www.kxly.com/spokane-valley-fire-dept-urges-alarms-sprinklers-after-weekend-of-fire-calls/

Being a Mom

Being a mom is the hardest thing I have ever done.

It is putting all of my energy and love and hope into someone else.  

It is someone else's actions affecting my happiness.

I am only as strong as my weakest child.

I am brave even when I am afraid.

I feed them, even if I have to crawl.

I protect them, even when it puts me in danger.

I hold on to relationships I do not want and let go of relationships I want to keep.

I choose a career and a home that fits their needs.

I choose what is best for them instead of what is best for me.

I have lost years of sleep.

I have destroyed my body.

I have spent 69 months breastfeeding and 40 months pregnant.

I fail.  Again.  And again.  And again.

To be honest, there are days that I want to run away.  

It is that hard.

Being a mom is a contradiction.

My children have the power to break my heart, but they are also the reason my heart beats.

I want to get away from them, but then miss them terribly.

They make me crazy and they keep me sane.

They are the reason I breathe and the reason I want to scream.

They are my greatest joy and my greatest fear.

Watching them grow fills me with happiness and nostalgia.

I can't wait for them to get to the next stage, but then mourn the last.

I celebrate their successes and catch them when they fall.

But being a mom is the best thing I have ever done.

My children have made me strong.

They have taught me how to give.

For them, I learned how to never give up.

To care for them, I have done things I never would have done for myself.

To protect them, I have gained courage I never knew I had.

To provide for them, I have pushed myself to the limit and found success.

To love them, I have learned selflessness.

To set an example for them, I have become a more honest and responsible human.

For them, I have become the best version of myself.

Although I fail them so often, they continue to amaze me with their resilience, their kindness, their goodness and their love.

When I see who they are becoming, I know I succeeded more than I failed.

And even on the hardest days, I love them more than breathing,

more than sunshine.

Parents say they will do anything for their kids

Burn down the world for them

Kill for them

Die for them

I continue to do anything for my kids

Burn down bridges and build new ones

Fight for them

Live for them

They are worth it.

Dreams Come True Ranch

The best sunset in Texas

Twenty years ago, when we threw my mother a surprise 40th birthday party, my stepdad held up a small, clear glass jar that held Texas soil.  He said he appreciated this woman who believed in his dreams, and my parents used this event of family and friends gathered together to announce that they would be leaving Utah and moving to Texas, where they would buy a ranch and run the horse business they had been talking about and dreaming of for years.
We all thought they were nuts. 
And they did it anyways.
For the last eighteen years, my parents have lived in East Texas.  For most of those years, they have lived at Dreams Come True Ranch in Nacogdoches. 
It is the place we have held Wednesday night dinner since my children were itty bitty. 

It is the place my children learned to fish, ride horses, shoot turtles, and hunt for frogs. 
And snipes. 
It is the place that each of my children worked their first job. 
It is the place my children have always run away to when they needed to feel safe and loved and mom and dad were just too mean. 
It is the place that my nieces and nephews took their first horse rides. 
The place my nieces run through the water hose and connect their big blow up slide. 
It is the place where kids swim in the pond, dump each other off of boats, and sling mud until they all look like creatures from the deep.
It is the place children watch mares deliver their foals in the middle of the night. 
It is the place the chicks hatch and the ducks splash.
It is a place with dogs, rabbits, chickens, ducks, deer, horses, cats, frogs, toads, snakes, fish, turtles, nutria... I can't even name all the critters we have seen there.
It is the place the children help grandma plant a garden.
It is the place that we used to play baseball on spring evenings after dinner.  Grandpa was the umpire and a close call always went to the kids. 
It is the place my little sister had her wedding.
The place my sister brought her first born child home to.  And her second.
It is the place we watch the sunset on the porch after a family meal.
It is the place I watch the sunrise on my way to work; where I feel calm even in the midst of chaos.
It is the place I have run to for comfort, peace, safety and love for eighteen years.
It is the place of my parents' dreams.
Their hopes.
Their vision.
Their livelihood.
Their future.
Or maybe not.  Twenty years is a long time to live a dream, and, boy have they ever lived their dream.  They bought the ranch. Left everything they had behind.  Started a new life.  Raised champion race horses.  Bred champion race horses.   Won awards and accolades.  Had articles written about them in magazines.  Horses on billboards.  causing waves in the horse industry by cloning horses.  Having a horse inducted into the AQHA Hall of Fame. 
And now,  they talk about selling the ranch.  And there are tears in both of their eyes when they say it.  It is their dream.  It is their home.  And it is our home.
 I love the ranch.  I cry when I think of it being gone.  My siblings will cry.  Our children will cry.  Our home.  Our beautiful, beautiful home. 
I imagine my youngest daughter growing up without knowing this place.  It hurts my heart that she will not know this place.
But then I think.
This place is built on my parents' love.  On dreams, on hope, on strength and sheer will.  It is built by my parents.  And I think of this place without them.  And it loses its beauty.  And I know that my daughter will be perfectly happy and whole without this ranch. 
But she won't be fine without her grandparents.
And so I look forward with a joyful heart to a future where my parents are not tied to the land.  Where they can sleep and care for their bodies that have been beaten and scarred from this life.  Where they can travel and spend time with their grandchildren.  For my oldest children have been blessed beyond belief to know their love, and there are grandbabies and great-grandbabies to snuggle and love and cherish.
This morning, as I drove down the ranch road watching the sun rise, I realized how much I love this ranch.  But I love my parents more.  I need my parents more.  Selling this ranch will give us more of them.  Of their love.
When my parents sell the ranch, I will remind them to take a small, clear glass jar and fill it with soil from this home.  This time, it will not be soil for a dream they hope to find; it will be soil from the completed dream.  It will be the soil of Dreams Came True Ranch.

The first 11 grandkids having shenanigans.

Morning on the ranch

Death is heavy

On May 30, 2019, I witnessed my grandmother's death.

We knew it was coming.  On Sunday, Grandma had been in the hospital and found out she was bleeding internally.  She declined medical intervention and said she was ready to go home.  In this case, home meant both my mother's house and heaven.  My grandma was ready to go home.  When I came up to the hospital that day, she told me all about her plans to go home on hospice and die.  She was happy with her choice.  She was grateful that her children were supportive of her choice even though they didn't like it.  Let me repeat, she was full of joy that it was her time to go.  She was ready.  She knew.  And so my mother took her home.  And we waited. 

Every day during this week I came to the ranch after work to sit with my grandma, to give my mom and aunt and uncles the chance for a break.  Today, when I arrived, I could feel ... something different in her room, something heavy, something new and uneasy, but I didn't know what it was.

I went into Grandma's room and sat in a chair at the foot of her bed.  My Aunt Dolly was with me, as my mother and uncles were taking care of other things.  We sat visiting and talking with Grandma.  She made a noise, it sounded like a gurgle, so we both moved from the foot of the bed to the top.  One of us on each side.  We adjusted the bed so she was at an incline to help her breathing.  I stroked her arm as Dolly caressed her cheek.  We told her how much we loved her and we spoke all the words of love we knew.  She made these strange sounds a few more times.  She made a few grimaces.  I asked Dolly if we should go get the others- I wanted them to be there if it was the end, but I didn't want my mama to see her mother making the pained expression.  We waited a few minutes- patting, caressing, loving.  And then her breathing slowed.  I told Dolly I was going to go get mom- she said she would get Paul- and then I realized we were both leaving and I said I would stay and asked her to please get mom.  She hurried out of the room calling my uncle''s name and sending someone else to wake my mother.

I was finally alone with my grandma for the first time in days.  I sat beside her.  I gently touched her brow, her cheek, her arm.  I thanked her for teaching me how to live and die on my own terms as she was doing.  I thanked her and I told her I loved her so many times, so many, many times.  "I love you, Grandma, I love you."  And as her breathing slowed, she made one gasp and, I don't know why, but I started counting... I made it to 45 before she took another breath.  And then it was a minute.  And I just kept telling her how much I loved her... that I was there... that her children had all come... that she was brave... that I loved her and she was not alone.  And I found the pulse in her neck and watched it because there was no more breath to watch or feel.  And then they got there.  And I told them it had been over a minute since she breathed.  And Dolly held Grandma and wailed, "Mom, no!  Mom!" and it was one of the most beautiful and devastating cries I have heard in my life.  The sound of love.  The sound of a woman losing a mother she has known for 30 years.  

 I touched her cheek.  Grandma was already growing cold... so quickly.  And then my mama came and it had been two and her pulse was gone and I moved from the bed because Grandma's children were there now.  And then I told my mama I would make the call... and she said we were supposed to wait five minutes... and I said I would wait however long she wanted, but that Grandma was gone.

Soon after I made the call.  I made many calls.  I walked through the back field and called everyone who needed to know.  I watched the sun drop low in the late May sky as I told so many people that it was over; Grandma was at peace.  

I stood beside my stepdad, our arms around each other, as we watched my aunt, uncles and mama say goodbye to their mama.  I watched as the stress and energy and nerves from the last five days deflated down to grief.  I watched as the hospice woman came to minister to my family.  I watched as the funeral home so respectfully cared for all of us in their gentle handling of my grandmother and all of our feelings.  We all left the room as they wheeled her out because ... it hurts.  

And then I was so tired.  The burden of witnessing death is heavy.  I was not sad, I was not broken, but the weight was oh so very heavy.  I never understood that there was a weight to death, a feeling in the air, but there is and I will never forget it.  

I was not close to this grandma of mine.  But she was my grandma, and my mother's mother.  And she taught me, all the way at the end of her life, that people can always change.  She taught me to live and die on my own terms.  

Already my memory is fuzzy.  Already I have forgotten and muddled the order of events of this day.  These are just my memories and my version of the truth.  Reality may be different, but this is my story.  On May 30, 2019 Pearl May King died as I stroked her cheek, counted her pulse, and spoke words of love to her.  I did not grieve her until six weeks later, when my tears finally fell and I let go of the weight I had been carrying.  

Death is heavy, my friends, death is heavy.  The burden must be shared. I told my Aunt Dolly that we are bonded forever now because we lived through the last moments together.  

I don't know what I believe about an afterlife, but my grandma believed in Heaven, and I like to imagine her there.  She is with her husband and her sister, and she is laughing at something she said that cracked everyone up.  And her body is strong and whole again.  And she feels our love traveling through time and space and making the Heavens feel a little more like home.

This is the last picture I took of my Grandma Pearl at her last outing.  Three generations- I so wish I had gotten the fourth in with us!

Anxiety Attack

There is an ache in my chest

A heaviness that sits between my breasts

Beneath my sternum bone

Beneath my skin and muscle

It weighs upon my lungs

So I cannot breathe

It pushes against my heart

So I cannot feel

I breathe

Deeply in, slowly out

I breathe

Deeply in, slowly out

I am losing

Deeply in, slowly out

The tears are pushing

Deeply in, slowly out

Against my eyes

Deeply in, slowly out

I breathe

I want to scream

And rage at the unmerciful gods

This is so unfair

So unfair

But I already learned it does no good

The weight becomes a butterfly

Trying to be born

It struggles to break free

Out of my chest

I breathe

Deeply in, slowly out

I breathe

Deeply in, slowly out

Don’t be born

Deeply in, slowly out

Stay inside butterfly

Deeply in, slowly out

I breathe

The butterfly does not burst out

The blurriness fades

The sting evaporates

My brain quits somersaulting

The world seems upright again

The floor no longer wavers

The roaring subsides

And the weight lessens

I breathe

And the panic attack is held at bay

But it’s not gone

It waits in the shadows

Until it thinks I’m weak enough

To try again

So I breathe

Deeply in, slowly out