I haven't felt much like writing here this week. At least not about cheery topics like my dead baby.
Maybe it is because I've been walking a lot, like as in many, many miles nearly everyday. It is like I just discovered that you can get to Place B from Place A using only your feet. Imagine that? I just put in my headphones and my life is suddenly accompanied by a soundtrack of songs from The Shins, Circulatory System, Radiohead, and Elvis Presley. Is it possible that I work out all the stuff I need to during those walks without having the need to do it here?
Maybe it is because my board exam is coming up in just over two weeks and I have entered survival mode. The place where I can function with only one goal in mind; do not fail this exam, oh please, oh please, oh please.
Maybe it is because I have something to look forward to in our upcoming vacation. Sandy beaches and warm water.
Maybe it is because my heart is slowly making scars around the places where I had to stitch it back together again after it shattered into a million pieces.
Maybe I am just exhausted.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
.thirty-something and a few more wrinkles.
I can't really be sure yet but I don't think much has changed in me since yesterday except that yesterday I was thirty and today I am thirty-one. Yesterday I was thirty and today I am thirty-something.
Turning thirty was a big deal. Only it wasn't. I had a birthday party at a bar. I got drunk. I ate red velvet cake. For the week leading up to my birthday I laughed with my husband that he should buy me therapy as my gift and if not psychological therapy then medical therapy- as in botox. I was joking. Only I wasn't.
Hours after waking up on day one of my thirtieth year of life I was like, This is it? This is thirty? This is what the fuss was all about? I'm taking back the botox and therapy and exchanging them for a sensible pair of shoes. Ones that won't blister my feet.
Thirty was twenty-nine only with longer hair and a great deal more tears.
Turning thirty-something wasn't a big deal. Only it was. I woke up and ate Leif's tasty pancakes made from a recipe for waffles. I found a velvet painting of a tall ship at a thrift store. I had lunch with my family and ate ice cream at a Baskin Robbins. I cried because I wished my baby was alive and because I wasn't supposed to be having this birthday without him. For the week leading up to my birthday I wished that I could just skip it and get another shot at making thirty consist of 100% less death than it had the first time. I was joking. Only I wasn't.
Hours after waking up on day one of my thirty-first year of life I am like, This is it. This is thirty-something without him. This is what all the fuss was about. I'm exchanging my sensible pair of shoes for more sessions with my therapist.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed that thirty-one will be twenty-nine only with more employment and only a moderate amount of more tears.
Turning thirty was a big deal. Only it wasn't. I had a birthday party at a bar. I got drunk. I ate red velvet cake. For the week leading up to my birthday I laughed with my husband that he should buy me therapy as my gift and if not psychological therapy then medical therapy- as in botox. I was joking. Only I wasn't.
Hours after waking up on day one of my thirtieth year of life I was like, This is it? This is thirty? This is what the fuss was all about? I'm taking back the botox and therapy and exchanging them for a sensible pair of shoes. Ones that won't blister my feet.
Thirty was twenty-nine only with longer hair and a great deal more tears.
Turning thirty-something wasn't a big deal. Only it was. I woke up and ate Leif's tasty pancakes made from a recipe for waffles. I found a velvet painting of a tall ship at a thrift store. I had lunch with my family and ate ice cream at a Baskin Robbins. I cried because I wished my baby was alive and because I wasn't supposed to be having this birthday without him. For the week leading up to my birthday I wished that I could just skip it and get another shot at making thirty consist of 100% less death than it had the first time. I was joking. Only I wasn't.
Hours after waking up on day one of my thirty-first year of life I am like, This is it. This is thirty-something without him. This is what all the fuss was about. I'm exchanging my sensible pair of shoes for more sessions with my therapist.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed that thirty-one will be twenty-nine only with more employment and only a moderate amount of more tears.
Friday, July 23, 2010
.irene.
Tomorrow my grandma would be 94 years old.
She died in December of 2006, six months before Leif and I got married. When I think about our wedding I also think about how she wasn't there to celebrate with us.
The last couple years of her life her memory was starting to fade and so she would often repeat her favorite stories, which I think is the prerogative of anyone over the age of 80. Every time she saw Leif she would faithfully comment on how his name was very Swedish, which made her Swedish-Irish self very happy. But her favorite story and the one most commonly heard was the one about how she and my grandfather met. She was working at a newspaper and he came in one day, for a reason I can't recall at the moment, and asked her if she would like to go into the darkroom with him. He was an amateur photographer and the offer was completely innocent (I think, but grandma was a looker so who knows) but it was funny in its inappropriateness.
She was also a pilot, which was no small accomplishment in those days, and was very close to joining the Women Airforce Service Pilots of WWII. Instead she got married and moved with my grandpa, a petroleum engineer, all over the US and later the world. She raised three children while living in Lebanon and Libya.
Once, years after my grandpa died she told me how she still dreamed of him every night.
When George died one of my thoughts afterward was of grandma and how much I wished she was still around. I thought maybe she would have something to tell me that would help ease the pain a little bit.
This was the second to the last time I ever saw her. We were celebrating her 90th birthday.
She was pretty amazing.
She died in December of 2006, six months before Leif and I got married. When I think about our wedding I also think about how she wasn't there to celebrate with us.
The last couple years of her life her memory was starting to fade and so she would often repeat her favorite stories, which I think is the prerogative of anyone over the age of 80. Every time she saw Leif she would faithfully comment on how his name was very Swedish, which made her Swedish-Irish self very happy. But her favorite story and the one most commonly heard was the one about how she and my grandfather met. She was working at a newspaper and he came in one day, for a reason I can't recall at the moment, and asked her if she would like to go into the darkroom with him. He was an amateur photographer and the offer was completely innocent (I think, but grandma was a looker so who knows) but it was funny in its inappropriateness.
She was also a pilot, which was no small accomplishment in those days, and was very close to joining the Women Airforce Service Pilots of WWII. Instead she got married and moved with my grandpa, a petroleum engineer, all over the US and later the world. She raised three children while living in Lebanon and Libya.
Once, years after my grandpa died she told me how she still dreamed of him every night.
When George died one of my thoughts afterward was of grandma and how much I wished she was still around. I thought maybe she would have something to tell me that would help ease the pain a little bit.
This was the second to the last time I ever saw her. We were celebrating her 90th birthday.
She was pretty amazing.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
.now we just need more guests to sit in them.
Our flea market chairs are finished. Huzzah!!! I feel strangely accomplished, even though I didn't do much of the work myself aside from choosing the upholstery and a wee bit of staining and sanding.
This is what the rocker looked like after we (by we I hope you know I mean Leif) finished most of the sanding.
I think we messed up on the measurements for the back cushion on the rocker because it is about three inches too tall. We also want to get the base fixed with webbing so it is more comfortable but...it has taken us forever to finally get these done. So I'm not sure if I just want to call it a day and be over with it for now.
Also on the list of things I would like to change but don't want to spend the money on it right now is a new rug. That blue one was supposed to go into George's nursery but, well, you know the story and now we have this rug and so it is acting as a placeholder.
This is what the rocker looked like after we (by we I hope you know I mean Leif) finished most of the sanding.
I think we messed up on the measurements for the back cushion on the rocker because it is about three inches too tall. We also want to get the base fixed with webbing so it is more comfortable but...it has taken us forever to finally get these done. So I'm not sure if I just want to call it a day and be over with it for now.
Also on the list of things I would like to change but don't want to spend the money on it right now is a new rug. That blue one was supposed to go into George's nursery but, well, you know the story and now we have this rug and so it is acting as a placeholder.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
.kittens trump allergies.
I don't like cats very much. Their evil dander creeps its way into my nostrils and lungs and after awhile I feel like if I don't suffocate to death because of the asthma or relentless sneezing first then my eyes will pop out of my head because of the sinus pressure and I will die a slow and tremendously messy death worthy of a scene in a George Romero movie.
Despite this fact, Leif and I offered to cat-sit for my parents last weekend so they could visit a friend out of state. They do/have done so much for us that we offered to spend the weekend in a part of California where the temperature often hovers around the 105 degree mark this time of year in order watch my dad's incredibly ill-temperedthird child cat . But we were happy to help my parents out, in spite of the cat and his bad temper, so they could take a mini vacation.
But in all honesty my dad's cat is a mean little booger, at least to everyone who isn't part of his "family." By family I mean my dad, my mom, and to a much lesser extent me and my sister. Leif, on the other hand is lucky if Simon goes a couple of hours without making an overt effort to demonstrate how much he doesn't like him. He is also as old as the hills which basically means you can't really expect him to change his ways now. So spending time with Simon means that you have to be on your toes because at any moment he can decide that he has had enough of you and God help you if you don't get out of his way quickly enough because he will bite you. Or scratch you. Or both. Or he will just give you the evil eye (the one starting to cloud over because of a cataract), which will make you certain that he probably just put a curse on you in whatever way outrageously old and evil cats can do those sorts of things.
And then he will want to come in the bedroom and sleep with you and when you don't let him he will cry and scratch at the bedroom door all night.
And then you will want to let him because you desperately want to be liked by everyone, even an old crotchety cat and you feel badly when he makes the lonely cat mews.
My dad absolutely falls to pieces over this cat because he is my dad and he is just that way with his cat. He always has been and it is part of the reason why I think my dad is such a great person. To be completely honest his cat does have a sort of charm that is hard to resist. Of course it is the kind of charm that is hard to resist because you are afraid that if you do you will wake up one morning to find that the phone lines have been severed and you can't use your car because the tires have been slashed. He may be old but he still has claws and (most of) his sharp teeth.
So yeah, I don't like cats much and Simon is just barely tolerable (sorry Dad). But I do like kittens. I can put up with allergies if the allergy-inducing agent is cute enough. There are three such tiny little entities in my parent's backyard; adorable spawn from a semi-stray cat that my dad has grown fond of over the years (On a side note they are taking her to be neutered after her kittens are gone, assuming they can catch her). Luckily they are not quite big enough to be taken away from their mom yet and my dad has done an excellent job of taming them so I got to play with them all weekend. I occupied myself with them so much that I barely noticed the 100 degree weather or the snot running from my nose.
But two of them still need homes or my parents are going to have to take them to the SPCA. So if anyone lives in Southern California and is looking to adopt a kitten I happen to know two very adorable, very friendly candidates.
Despite this fact, Leif and I offered to cat-sit for my parents last weekend so they could visit a friend out of state. They do/have done so much for us that we offered to spend the weekend in a part of California where the temperature often hovers around the 105 degree mark this time of year in order watch my dad's incredibly ill-tempered
But in all honesty my dad's cat is a mean little booger, at least to everyone who isn't part of his "family." By family I mean my dad, my mom, and to a much lesser extent me and my sister. Leif, on the other hand is lucky if Simon goes a couple of hours without making an overt effort to demonstrate how much he doesn't like him. He is also as old as the hills which basically means you can't really expect him to change his ways now. So spending time with Simon means that you have to be on your toes because at any moment he can decide that he has had enough of you and God help you if you don't get out of his way quickly enough because he will bite you. Or scratch you. Or both. Or he will just give you the evil eye (the one starting to cloud over because of a cataract), which will make you certain that he probably just put a curse on you in whatever way outrageously old and evil cats can do those sorts of things.
And then he will want to come in the bedroom and sleep with you and when you don't let him he will cry and scratch at the bedroom door all night.
And then you will want to let him because you desperately want to be liked by everyone, even an old crotchety cat and you feel badly when he makes the lonely cat mews.
My dad absolutely falls to pieces over this cat because he is my dad and he is just that way with his cat. He always has been and it is part of the reason why I think my dad is such a great person. To be completely honest his cat does have a sort of charm that is hard to resist. Of course it is the kind of charm that is hard to resist because you are afraid that if you do you will wake up one morning to find that the phone lines have been severed and you can't use your car because the tires have been slashed. He may be old but he still has claws and (most of) his sharp teeth.
So yeah, I don't like cats much and Simon is just barely tolerable (sorry Dad). But I do like kittens. I can put up with allergies if the allergy-inducing agent is cute enough. There are three such tiny little entities in my parent's backyard; adorable spawn from a semi-stray cat that my dad has grown fond of over the years (On a side note they are taking her to be neutered after her kittens are gone, assuming they can catch her). Luckily they are not quite big enough to be taken away from their mom yet and my dad has done an excellent job of taming them so I got to play with them all weekend. I occupied myself with them so much that I barely noticed the 100 degree weather or the snot running from my nose.
But two of them still need homes or my parents are going to have to take them to the SPCA. So if anyone lives in Southern California and is looking to adopt a kitten I happen to know two very adorable, very friendly candidates.
Monday, July 19, 2010
.a hard day.
Sometimes I can feel it starting to creep in and sometimes it just comes out of nowhere. It sweeps down, knocks the air out of my lungs and I am right back where I was on March 31st.
Today I wasn't expecting to feel so horrible.
This weekend my mom gave me the sweater that she was making for him around the time that he was born and died. It is tiny and adorable and he'll never get to wear it.
Yesterday I saw Gretchen, who I have known since I was eleven but haven't seen in over two years. Her family is absolutely lovely. She made George the most beautiful quilt. On it is embroidered an image of a little stuffie fox that was going to go into his nursery. It's perfect.
This afternoon I am having lunch with a friend who I haven't seen in months. The last time I saw her I was a slobbering mess. The only difference between me all those weeks ago and the current me is that I can put on a smiling face and pretend that I am not as sad as I really am.
I just want to wait for this day to pass into the next while laying in bed with the covers pulled over my head.
My heart hurts.
Life is unfair.
I want my son back.
Today I wasn't expecting to feel so horrible.
This weekend my mom gave me the sweater that she was making for him around the time that he was born and died. It is tiny and adorable and he'll never get to wear it.
Yesterday I saw Gretchen, who I have known since I was eleven but haven't seen in over two years. Her family is absolutely lovely. She made George the most beautiful quilt. On it is embroidered an image of a little stuffie fox that was going to go into his nursery. It's perfect.
This afternoon I am having lunch with a friend who I haven't seen in months. The last time I saw her I was a slobbering mess. The only difference between me all those weeks ago and the current me is that I can put on a smiling face and pretend that I am not as sad as I really am.
I just want to wait for this day to pass into the next while laying in bed with the covers pulled over my head.
My heart hurts.
Life is unfair.
I want my son back.
Friday, July 16, 2010
.with the naked eye.
The unseen matrix that makes us solid enough to hug, to touch, to kiss....
That which makes us unique...
The blood in our veins...
The stuff that fuels our life in all of its achievements and losses...
The part of us that prompts us to search out knowledge and pushes us to create...
The stuff that makes each of us an enigma to others and to ourselves...
Cheers.
*All these images are photomicrographs. They came from The Molecular Expressions Photo Gallery. Go and see for yourself and be amazed at what beer, antibiotics, flavors, dinosaur bones, and religious items look like under magnification.
cytosine
guanine
thymine
uracil
That which makes us unique...
dna
The blood in our veins...
hemoglobin
The stuff that fuels our life in all of its achievements and losses...
atp
brain
The stuff that makes each of us an enigma to others and to ourselves...
testosterone
estradiol
Cheers.
mint julep
*All these images are photomicrographs. They came from The Molecular Expressions Photo Gallery. Go and see for yourself and be amazed at what beer, antibiotics, flavors, dinosaur bones, and religious items look like under magnification.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
.not myself.
At one of our first visits to the OB after I became pregnant I found something in one of their numerous baby magazines that made me really uncomfortable. Mommy calling cards.
Janie Jones.
Mommy to Carolyn and John.
123-456-7890
myemail@here.com
This concept struck me as terrible for a couple of reasons. The first was that it made me think of parenthood and socializing with children as nothing more than a business transaction. A trading of commodities and services. Incredibly impersonal, although very practical. Whatever happened to just chatting with someone and writing down their contact information? I don't know maybe I am missing the point of them entirely and this is something I have to have children to understand.
But the thing about them that really made me feel uncomfortable was that they seemed to imply, to my narrow mind at least, that Janie Jones' entire identity was wrapped up in being Carolyn's and Jack's mom. I don't like that concept. It was something I struggled with even before Leif and I decided to start our family. I never want to be solely appreciated for one, albeit huge and amazing, part of my life. I am not just a mother (or a mother at all but I guess that is a debate for another time), or just a wife, or just a daughter...sister...PA...artist...scientist...friend. I'm all of those things (but I'm thinking that they probably all wouldn't fit on a business card). Although being a mother is certainly something to be proud of and worthy of praise I have never wanted to be defined solely on the basis of my motherhood or lack thereof.
For the most part I started writing this blog to make sure that Leif's parents felt part of this pregnancy, seeing as George was going to be their first grandchild and they were on another continent. But I didn't want this space to become one pregnancy/baby post after another. A baby blog, or whatever you want to call it, didn't seem to fit for me for reasons I've partially explained above. I liked to read them and I appreciated the people who authored them but I didn't want one of my own.
But, looking around this space I've come to the conclusion that a baby blog is pretty much exactly what this has become. Only it is the antithesis of what most baby blogs are about. There are no posts about nursery decor (anymore) or posts about what funny things the baby is doing. No cute photographs of toothless grins or red screaming faces. Nope, there are just sad and depressing posts about my dead son and how badly I want him back.
My father told me while I was in the hospital trying to get George's heart rate down that I shouldn't let this terrible, horrible event define the rest of my life. I shouldn't let it define the entirety of who I am.
He's right. I shouldn't. But it has and it is and I don't know how to stop it from happening.
Three and a half months ago I ran away and I have no idea where to start looking in order to find myself again.
Which makes me question what it is I am doing with this blog or if it should even be here at all.
Janie Jones.
Mommy to Carolyn and John.
123-456-7890
myemail@here.com
This concept struck me as terrible for a couple of reasons. The first was that it made me think of parenthood and socializing with children as nothing more than a business transaction. A trading of commodities and services. Incredibly impersonal, although very practical. Whatever happened to just chatting with someone and writing down their contact information? I don't know maybe I am missing the point of them entirely and this is something I have to have children to understand.
But the thing about them that really made me feel uncomfortable was that they seemed to imply, to my narrow mind at least, that Janie Jones' entire identity was wrapped up in being Carolyn's and Jack's mom. I don't like that concept. It was something I struggled with even before Leif and I decided to start our family. I never want to be solely appreciated for one, albeit huge and amazing, part of my life. I am not just a mother (or a mother at all but I guess that is a debate for another time), or just a wife, or just a daughter...sister...PA...artist...scientist...friend. I'm all of those things (but I'm thinking that they probably all wouldn't fit on a business card). Although being a mother is certainly something to be proud of and worthy of praise I have never wanted to be defined solely on the basis of my motherhood or lack thereof.
For the most part I started writing this blog to make sure that Leif's parents felt part of this pregnancy, seeing as George was going to be their first grandchild and they were on another continent. But I didn't want this space to become one pregnancy/baby post after another. A baby blog, or whatever you want to call it, didn't seem to fit for me for reasons I've partially explained above. I liked to read them and I appreciated the people who authored them but I didn't want one of my own.
But, looking around this space I've come to the conclusion that a baby blog is pretty much exactly what this has become. Only it is the antithesis of what most baby blogs are about. There are no posts about nursery decor (anymore) or posts about what funny things the baby is doing. No cute photographs of toothless grins or red screaming faces. Nope, there are just sad and depressing posts about my dead son and how badly I want him back.
My father told me while I was in the hospital trying to get George's heart rate down that I shouldn't let this terrible, horrible event define the rest of my life. I shouldn't let it define the entirety of who I am.
He's right. I shouldn't. But it has and it is and I don't know how to stop it from happening.
Three and a half months ago I ran away and I have no idea where to start looking in order to find myself again.
Which makes me question what it is I am doing with this blog or if it should even be here at all.
Monday, July 12, 2010
.that went well.
I failed. I couldn't handle being at my niece's birthday party for more than an hour and a half.
I really thought I was doing better these days....
It wasn't the multitudes of children or babies, although I think had there been a three-week old baby boy there I might have gone insane.
I failed because I couldn't handle being around my sister's very pregnant friend. I should have expected that she would be there. But I was surprised when I saw her. I hadn't thought about her in months even though I knew she was only a few weeks behind me in dates.
I failed and so I hid in my niece's bedroom and cried.
I cried and scolded myself for feeling envious and angry.
Angry with myself because maybe I was making other people uncomfortable and that is the last thing that I want to do. Maybe she could tell by my lack of eye contact or by my inability to be anywhere near her that I was really uncomfortable with her presence there. I feel like such an asshole.
So we left after only an hour and a half. I didn't even stay to eat any chocolate birthday cake (which is really unheard of for those of you reading who don't know me in real life). We decided that the only healthy thing to do would be to go watch a movie about the positivity of life. Naturally we saw Predators.
I struggle with talking about this part of my grief. The part where seeing pregnant women with due dates anywhere near my own makes me feel paralyzed with grief and envy. What good does it do? I don't want to be a source of sadness or anxiety to other women, especially those in my life who are pregnant. I want them to be able to enjoy being pregnant without worrying about me and how I am doing. I want them to feel confident that I am excited and happy for them and that I want nothing but the best for them. Because, really that is all true.
I don't know where the line is anymore. What things should I be honest about and what things should I shield people from?
I really have not a clue. So I flip-flop, like a politician during an election year.
I really thought I was doing better these days....
It wasn't the multitudes of children or babies, although I think had there been a three-week old baby boy there I might have gone insane.
I failed because I couldn't handle being around my sister's very pregnant friend. I should have expected that she would be there. But I was surprised when I saw her. I hadn't thought about her in months even though I knew she was only a few weeks behind me in dates.
I failed and so I hid in my niece's bedroom and cried.
I cried and scolded myself for feeling envious and angry.
Angry with myself because maybe I was making other people uncomfortable and that is the last thing that I want to do. Maybe she could tell by my lack of eye contact or by my inability to be anywhere near her that I was really uncomfortable with her presence there. I feel like such an asshole.
So we left after only an hour and a half. I didn't even stay to eat any chocolate birthday cake (which is really unheard of for those of you reading who don't know me in real life). We decided that the only healthy thing to do would be to go watch a movie about the positivity of life. Naturally we saw Predators.
I struggle with talking about this part of my grief. The part where seeing pregnant women with due dates anywhere near my own makes me feel paralyzed with grief and envy. What good does it do? I don't want to be a source of sadness or anxiety to other women, especially those in my life who are pregnant. I want them to be able to enjoy being pregnant without worrying about me and how I am doing. I want them to feel confident that I am excited and happy for them and that I want nothing but the best for them. Because, really that is all true.
I don't know where the line is anymore. What things should I be honest about and what things should I shield people from?
I really have not a clue. So I flip-flop, like a politician during an election year.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
.three years already.
(Somehow this got published last week. Not sure how that happened.)
Today is my niece M's third birthday.
It trips me out how much she looks like my sister.
Here is picture of us circa Christmas 1980. My sister is the on the right. Isn't she cute? Just like her daughter. They even have the same haircut.
I, on the other hand, am quite possibly the goofiest looking kid ever to take a family photo in front of a fake fireplace (and I know there are a lot of fake fireplace photos from the 80s out there). Had there been a better picture to demonstrate how much my niece looks like her mom I would never have used this one.
M is really such a sweet little girl. I adore her. She likes me well enough but she loves her Uncle Leif. When we visit I always get a quick hug but I know she is already looking over my shoulder to see if Leif came with me.
Yep, she loves Leif. I'm assuming my other niece L, who is nine months old right now, will also grow up to prefer my husband over me. But, in the end I will win them back (Yes, Leif, it is a competition) because I will paint their nails and buy them clothes when they are old enough to appreciate those sorts of things.
I am not above buying their affection.
Today is my niece M's third birthday.
It trips me out how much she looks like my sister.
Here is picture of us circa Christmas 1980. My sister is the on the right. Isn't she cute? Just like her daughter. They even have the same haircut.
I, on the other hand, am quite possibly the goofiest looking kid ever to take a family photo in front of a fake fireplace (and I know there are a lot of fake fireplace photos from the 80s out there). Had there been a better picture to demonstrate how much my niece looks like her mom I would never have used this one.
M is really such a sweet little girl. I adore her. She likes me well enough but she loves her Uncle Leif. When we visit I always get a quick hug but I know she is already looking over my shoulder to see if Leif came with me.
Yep, she loves Leif. I'm assuming my other niece L, who is nine months old right now, will also grow up to prefer my husband over me. But, in the end I will win them back (Yes, Leif, it is a competition) because I will paint their nails and buy them clothes when they are old enough to appreciate those sorts of things.
I am not above buying their affection.
Friday, July 9, 2010
.ashes and dust.
It's engravable. The man at the funeral home never told us that, but it is. Had we known I'm not sure we would have opted to have anything engraved anyway. What was there to be written? His name? A single date? Beloved son? Beloved idealized version of the future? Besides, the anonymity of the small bronze box seems to be a more accurate representation of who he was and who he still is to us. We didn't know him, not really. Not the way we had thought we were going to have the chance to know him.
I look at that unimaginably small bronze box and it feels like it has always been a part of my life. I have to keep reminding myself that it has only been three and a half months. Three and a half months is nothing, yet it is almost half as long as he was here.
...and I can't help but wonder if people read this and think I should be over him by now...
I kept it for too long in my nightstand- I was too afraid to catch a glimpse of my own private Pandora's Box. Two nights ago, in the early morning I pulled it out along with one of his baby blankets and cried myself to sleep on the couch. That hasn't happened for awhile.
Leif woke up to find me asleep in the living room holding the blanket, used tissues scattered around me. So he made me pancakes. He is so wonderful.
I knew once it came out I couldn't put it away again. But where does it belong now? I stared at it for a long time on the mantel before I ended up moving it. While there it sat between the flea market bronze candlesticks, a postcard from Melissa, and a gift from Natalie from where in the world I can't remember- Three Wise Monkeys.
Now it is on a shelf that I inherited from my grandmother. It is on the same one as a framed engagement photograph and one of Leif's surround-sound speakers. Those shelves get so dusty. I'll have to dust the bronze box too, if I decide to leave it there.
I look at that unimaginably small bronze box and it feels like it has always been a part of my life. I have to keep reminding myself that it has only been three and a half months. Three and a half months is nothing, yet it is almost half as long as he was here.
...and I can't help but wonder if people read this and think I should be over him by now...
I kept it for too long in my nightstand- I was too afraid to catch a glimpse of my own private Pandora's Box. Two nights ago, in the early morning I pulled it out along with one of his baby blankets and cried myself to sleep on the couch. That hasn't happened for awhile.
Leif woke up to find me asleep in the living room holding the blanket, used tissues scattered around me. So he made me pancakes. He is so wonderful.
I knew once it came out I couldn't put it away again. But where does it belong now? I stared at it for a long time on the mantel before I ended up moving it. While there it sat between the flea market bronze candlesticks, a postcard from Melissa, and a gift from Natalie from where in the world I can't remember- Three Wise Monkeys.
Now it is on a shelf that I inherited from my grandmother. It is on the same one as a framed engagement photograph and one of Leif's surround-sound speakers. Those shelves get so dusty. I'll have to dust the bronze box too, if I decide to leave it there.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
.this is what happens when you have a lack of imagination.
So with my exam date now on the horizon (gulp...August 17th) Leif and I are making plans to take a vacation. We were pretty sure that we were going to go back to one of the places where we went for our honeymoon in Punta Uva, Costa Rica (we also went to Arenal). However, since we last went there has been a change in the flights that go to San Jose from Los Angeles and there are no direct flights anymore. Most flights will take us anywhere from 10 to 14 hours with the addition of layovers. That wouldn't be a deal breaker except that from San Jose it is another 5 hours by car to the Caribbean side of the country. When you add that time on to the flight time...well, it seems so less appealing when we are only going to be on vacation for about a week.
This is why this bums me out...
Costa Rica is beautiful.
If no Costa Rica then these are the main things I have to consider when trying to figure out another place to visit:
1. Travel time. We don't want to travel for longer than half a day or so.
2. Beach. There must be beautiful tropical beaches where other tourists are not swarming all over the place.
3. Safety. I am chicken shit. Seriously. I am a huge pansy.
4. Low key. Leif and I like our vacations sloooowwww. Which is why Costa Rica is so great for us. We can relate really well to all the sloths that live there.
Those four things don't seem like much but I am having a difficult time coming up with other options.
This is why this bums me out...
If no Costa Rica then these are the main things I have to consider when trying to figure out another place to visit:
1. Travel time. We don't want to travel for longer than half a day or so.
2. Beach. There must be beautiful tropical beaches where other tourists are not swarming all over the place.
3. Safety. I am chicken shit. Seriously. I am a huge pansy.
4. Low key. Leif and I like our vacations sloooowwww. Which is why Costa Rica is so great for us. We can relate really well to all the sloths that live there.
Those four things don't seem like much but I am having a difficult time coming up with other options.
- Hawaii is not going to happen since five months ago I was there for my third visit.
- Mexico seems to be knocked out of the running by either 2 or 3 on my list. Maybe I am incorrectly swayed by the media to think that non-touristy places in Mexico are dangerous for foreigners right now. Please educate me if I am indeed being misled by popular media outlets. Even though I trust the media 100% and they never, ever lie about anything. Sarcasm, folks.
- The Florida Keys were a possibility but there is a good chance that the oil from the BP fiasco will be headed there next, which is truly heartbreaking.
- We don't do cruises. They freak me out. I had a friend who used to work on a large cruise liner and she shared with me that people die all the time on cruises. Elderly people will often just continually go on cruises until they die. They are affectionately referred to as "white-lighters" by cruise staff. And you know what that means? Ghosts.
- Canada is a nice place. I like Canadians a lot. But unless the geography of the world has been turned on its nose, tropical beaches aren't really to be found in our friendly northern neighbor's territories.
.cake in your face.
Well done Martha Stewart (rather Martha's minion who really does all the work), well done.
By the way, we polished off this cake in two days. I gave two pieces away but Leif and I ate everything else. Go us.
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