When Ryan and I were first dating and it came time to meet his family for the first time, I was mortified! Ryan had lots of stories about being the youngest of 7 siblings and I had nothing to compare it to, having grown up with just one sister. He had a family photo that we spent hours with. I would look at it, point out a face and then start trying to remember as much as I could about each one of them. It was harder than studying for an Organic Chemistry test! I was so afraid I was going to say the wrong name or ask about the wrong child. I NEVER imagined how quickly they'd take me into the fold and how easily I'd start to feel like another member of the family.
In the last 2 years I have felt more blessed and more grateful than I ever thought possible. Through the trials and tribulations of all of Ryan's health problems (and some of my own as well!), his family has stepped up to the plate to support us every single time. Here is a list of some of the things they've done for us...(i won't mention names...but you know who you are!)
- driven Ryan to various doctor's appointments, from Downtown Buffalo to Niagara Falls...even as far as Cleveland and back (and not just one time!)
-provided babysitting services for Leah, complete with unlimited sea shells, more toys than she could ever possibly play with, meals, snacks and treats ON DEMAND, videos, movies, cartoons, and non stop saying "YES" to any and every one of her wants or needs.
-mowed our lawn....every single saturday this past summer....from May until October....without being asked and without being "put upon".
-completely weeded and re-landscaped not only our front yard, but our enormous backyard as well, including wrangling hastas and plants that had overgrown beyond the point of recognition
-called and asked if they could pick us up anything from the store and then delivered a full 2 weeks worth of groceries to our door.
-made meals and deliverd them or made meals and invited us over or came to our house and cooked for us there, and then cleaned up the kitchen, too
-vacuumed, dusted, washed dishes, did laundry (like probably more than 100 loads!), swept, mopped....if it had anything to do with cleaning...they've done it.
-moved furniture from one room to another and then back again when we changed our minds later!
-brought us gifts and treats and took us out to dinner or out for coffee or out for ice cream
-offered to do any thing you can think of and then did it without complaint...over and over again
-watched Rusty, or let him in or out, or offered to go to the house, get him and take him for a walk
-stayed with me in surgical waiting rooms, brought me coffee, laughed with me, and kept me from worrying myself to death.
-offered health and nutritional advice and expertise
-bought us tickets to see Disney on Ice, the Princess Edition just because they knew we'd love it!
-picked Leah up from a variety of places (the babysitter's, someone else's house, a doctor's office, the nursing home) and took her to wherever she needed to be next
-think of us in so many moments and call to ask how we are, what we need or if they can help
-got on their hands and knees and scrubbed the kitchen floor and then had to do it again after Leah spilled something on it.
-And...most importantly...never once made us feel like we have been asking for too much.
I honestly believe that if we had not had these amazing people in our lives during what has become our most challenging time, that we would not have survived it all. Thank you so much to each and every one of you for always being there for us. You'll never know how much it has meant to us!!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Squeaky Chair (Also know as "Random Thoughts About My Mom"
My mother's birthday was February 2. Yes, Groundhog Day. She would have been 64 this year if cancer had not ripped her out of our clenched hands 9 years ago.
For the first few years after her death, my sister, my father, and I would always make a point of talking to each other on her birthday...of course none of us actually thought any one of the others would forget...I think it was just a way for us to try to deal with the emotions of celebrating the birth of someone who is dead. It is a very strange transition...not one I ever imagined would be part of surviving her early death, not that I ever imagined any thing anywhere close to what the reality has been.
Right after she died, and probably for at least the subsequent two years, whenever I thought of her, the overwhelming emotional response was always sadness and anger. Regardless of the actual memory, the response was the same. The mental image I had of her was of the frail, thin, pale and "altered" person she'd become just before she died. Nothing at all like the strong, robust, funny woman who'd raised me.
Years 3 through 5 were a little easier. A very little. The sadness still accompanied the memories of her, but I learned how to stifle the impending torrent of tears and sobs, but only if I were in a place or time that would make myself and everyone else uncomfortable. Occasionally, a thought would come that didn't completely floor me but would, instead, drape a thin blanket of sadness around me. Heavy enough to effect me but not heavy enough to crumple me. My mental image of her started to shift a little and now the standard image was that of a photo I'd found in which she looked like "her".
Years 6 and 7 were challenging in entirely new ways since we were planning for Leah's arrival and then enjoying her babyhood. It was a bitter sweet time. We were so happy to have become parents that we seemed giddy at times. Occasionally the giddiness would trigger my guilt and remind me that I shouldn't be TOO happy since mom couldn't be here to enjoy it. I think I thought about her more those 2 years than the previous ones because suddenly I had something in common with her and finally began to understand so many of the challenging points of our own mother/daughter relationship. It was an amazing feeling, but I felt unable to fully experience it since I was not able to look her in the eye and say "I get, Mom. I GET it." The mental image here became a bit fuzzy since I could not picture her holding Leah or interacting with Leah or loving Leah...therefore, I couldn't even conjure an image that would suffice.
And now...well. What about now? The current phase of grief seems to be fear and shame based. There are actually times now when I can't remember her face or her voice and I am so ashamed that my heart seems to be letting her go. The fear comes when I start thinking..."Oh My God! If I can't remember some of her now, what is going to happen 10 years from now...will I remember anything at all?"
For example, I remember that my father always sat in a certain chair at the kitchen table (the one closest to the phone) and my mother always sat in the chair to his left. It was "her chair" and it had a very interesting attribute. It was squeaky. You wouldn't notice in the day to day happenings since people just sat in it. But, if you were lucky enough to be in the room when my mother started laughing, you'd be witness to something very strange in deed. You see, when my mother got to laughing, it was common knowledge that if you got her going hard enough, she would eventually laugh so hard that it became silent. Her whole body would be vibrating with the laugh but her vocal chords couldn't keep up and all you'd hear was that squeaky chair. Even if I hadn't heard what led to the hysteria, I'd join right in...it was infectious.
But here comes the hard part. I can describe the scene and remember it to some detail. Sometimes I can even see the sun catchers in the window, a knick-knack on the window sill, the repaired bullet hole in the wall (from the previous owners). What sucks is that I can't really feel it. I can't remember what the laugh sounded like before it disappeared. I can't remember her voice, I can't remember her demeanor. There is a place in my heart where she will always be but it almost feels like it is shrinking or like it is becoming incapable of holding everything. It sometimes makes me so sad that I can't think straight. And, inevitably, I fast forward to the day of my own death and start wondering what it will be like for Leah since she has a very good chance of living longer than I do. I know its a terrible place to go, but I can't help it and my mind wanders.
If I had a genie in a bottle, I'd wish for 10 more minutes with her. I'd find that same squeaky chair for her to sit in. I'd tell joke ofter joke and get the laughing started and I'd videotape it so that I could see her and hear her anytime I wanted...forever.
For the first few years after her death, my sister, my father, and I would always make a point of talking to each other on her birthday...of course none of us actually thought any one of the others would forget...I think it was just a way for us to try to deal with the emotions of celebrating the birth of someone who is dead. It is a very strange transition...not one I ever imagined would be part of surviving her early death, not that I ever imagined any thing anywhere close to what the reality has been.
Right after she died, and probably for at least the subsequent two years, whenever I thought of her, the overwhelming emotional response was always sadness and anger. Regardless of the actual memory, the response was the same. The mental image I had of her was of the frail, thin, pale and "altered" person she'd become just before she died. Nothing at all like the strong, robust, funny woman who'd raised me.
Years 3 through 5 were a little easier. A very little. The sadness still accompanied the memories of her, but I learned how to stifle the impending torrent of tears and sobs, but only if I were in a place or time that would make myself and everyone else uncomfortable. Occasionally, a thought would come that didn't completely floor me but would, instead, drape a thin blanket of sadness around me. Heavy enough to effect me but not heavy enough to crumple me. My mental image of her started to shift a little and now the standard image was that of a photo I'd found in which she looked like "her".
Years 6 and 7 were challenging in entirely new ways since we were planning for Leah's arrival and then enjoying her babyhood. It was a bitter sweet time. We were so happy to have become parents that we seemed giddy at times. Occasionally the giddiness would trigger my guilt and remind me that I shouldn't be TOO happy since mom couldn't be here to enjoy it. I think I thought about her more those 2 years than the previous ones because suddenly I had something in common with her and finally began to understand so many of the challenging points of our own mother/daughter relationship. It was an amazing feeling, but I felt unable to fully experience it since I was not able to look her in the eye and say "I get, Mom. I GET it." The mental image here became a bit fuzzy since I could not picture her holding Leah or interacting with Leah or loving Leah...therefore, I couldn't even conjure an image that would suffice.
And now...well. What about now? The current phase of grief seems to be fear and shame based. There are actually times now when I can't remember her face or her voice and I am so ashamed that my heart seems to be letting her go. The fear comes when I start thinking..."Oh My God! If I can't remember some of her now, what is going to happen 10 years from now...will I remember anything at all?"
For example, I remember that my father always sat in a certain chair at the kitchen table (the one closest to the phone) and my mother always sat in the chair to his left. It was "her chair" and it had a very interesting attribute. It was squeaky. You wouldn't notice in the day to day happenings since people just sat in it. But, if you were lucky enough to be in the room when my mother started laughing, you'd be witness to something very strange in deed. You see, when my mother got to laughing, it was common knowledge that if you got her going hard enough, she would eventually laugh so hard that it became silent. Her whole body would be vibrating with the laugh but her vocal chords couldn't keep up and all you'd hear was that squeaky chair. Even if I hadn't heard what led to the hysteria, I'd join right in...it was infectious.
But here comes the hard part. I can describe the scene and remember it to some detail. Sometimes I can even see the sun catchers in the window, a knick-knack on the window sill, the repaired bullet hole in the wall (from the previous owners). What sucks is that I can't really feel it. I can't remember what the laugh sounded like before it disappeared. I can't remember her voice, I can't remember her demeanor. There is a place in my heart where she will always be but it almost feels like it is shrinking or like it is becoming incapable of holding everything. It sometimes makes me so sad that I can't think straight. And, inevitably, I fast forward to the day of my own death and start wondering what it will be like for Leah since she has a very good chance of living longer than I do. I know its a terrible place to go, but I can't help it and my mind wanders.
If I had a genie in a bottle, I'd wish for 10 more minutes with her. I'd find that same squeaky chair for her to sit in. I'd tell joke ofter joke and get the laughing started and I'd videotape it so that I could see her and hear her anytime I wanted...forever.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Man, Am I in Trouble!!
These pictures were taken in a bathroom stall at the HSBC arena during the intermission of Disney Princesses On Ice. Apparently the static electricity was enhanced by the close quarters and her hair rubbing against the walls. They have nothing, really, to do with this post but I thought they were too funny not to share!
Last night, Leah was being a little wacky. She had just done something "bad", which I can't even remember now, and I was on my way out of the living room into the kitchen. Whatever it was made me stop in my tracks, turn on my heels, and say "Hey! Wait Just a Minute, Missy, That's Not Nice."
As I was saying this, I switched to my "mad mommy" voice, slapped a grimace on my face and squarely set my hands on my hips. All, of course, in an attempt to convey the message to Leah that I meant business, and that she'd better listen to me and straighten up her act.
As I began to loudly explain to her the error of her ways, she started mimicking me. She screwed up her face, let out a long, low "MAHmeeeee" and then, in a perfect mirror image, planted her hands on her hips as well.
I couldn't help myself. I had to laugh! She caught me off guard in one of those moments when her true personality was shining through and I couldn't help but be surprised and pleased at how much she is really becoming herself.
Of course, I didn't want my chance to discipline her to pass, so I quickly looked at her again and declared "Hey! It's Not Funny! I'm serious now!".
When she looked at me again and smiled with a devilish grin it was all over. I couldn't bring myself to be stern with her anymore. I laughed and rolled my eyes and looked at Ryan with one of those "Oh My God, what have we gotten ourselves into" kind of unspoken looks. I kept laughing and walked into the kitchen shaking my head.
Never mind the fact that Leah looks alot like me, especially when you see pictures of her and me at the same age side by side...there is no denying that that little girl is SOOOOOOO my kid!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Easy, Sister!
I don't know when it happened or even who I picked it up from, but somewhere along the line, I started referring to the women in my life as "Sister". It seems to come really naturally to me.
Well, as luck would have it....Leah has picked it up from me. It makes perfect sense, really. When she is misbehaving I start the conversation by saying "Listen, sister!". When I come home from work in the evening, she'll greet me at the door and I'll say "How was your day, sister!". I'm sure there are lots of times i say it that I don't even realize.
A few days ago, Ryan was upstairs cleaning and he asked Leah to go get him some things. Apparently, when she brought him the things he asked for, handed them to him and said "Have at it, Sister!".
Ha!
I LOVE IT!
Well, as luck would have it....Leah has picked it up from me. It makes perfect sense, really. When she is misbehaving I start the conversation by saying "Listen, sister!". When I come home from work in the evening, she'll greet me at the door and I'll say "How was your day, sister!". I'm sure there are lots of times i say it that I don't even realize.
A few days ago, Ryan was upstairs cleaning and he asked Leah to go get him some things. Apparently, when she brought him the things he asked for, handed them to him and said "Have at it, Sister!".
Ha!
I LOVE IT!
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