Come visit me

I've changed blog sites. Come visit me at wordpress. I can't promise you'll read anything amazing, but it's easier to use. And this blog is all about me, so..you know. Whatever.

Dear Momma

Hi Momma,

I am watching Law and Order SVU right now. It's one we haven't seen. Or maybe we have; we've watched so many of them I lose track sometimes. Same with NCIS, Bones, Diners Drive Ins and Dives....

I think of you every day. Every single day. I miss you so much.

I talked about you today and didn't cry. Well, at least not right away. One of the doctors who treated you saw me in the grocery store and asked me how you were doing. He was the one who was very erect, remember?  I mean he walked erect...he wasn't erect-erect. Ha! Anyhow, he remembered treating you...even remembered my name.

So, I told him that you had passed, and he was shocked. He remembered that you were fragile, that there was a very delicate balancing act happening. But he was still surprised that it was so fast. I told him that I felt the same way, that even as you were lying in "comfort care" I was sure -- no, make that ABSOLUTELY sure -- that you were going to live a long time. I tell people that you made the decision yourself, partly because I hope it's true and partly because it makes me feel better, because I didn't do more for you in the days before all that happened.

Your boy is missing you, so I've been spoiling him like crazy, which is kinda backfiring because now he's even more of a suck, if you can believe it. The other day I said "your momma would be rolling her eyes right now", and when he heard me say "momma" he ran to the window to look for you.

I am starting to think of you with smiles and laughter more often. But I miss you everyday. You'd be amazed at the support we're getting. And the people who have reached out! You obviously made an impression on a lot of people.

I love you so much momma! I hope you have your head back in laughter, and a very large glass of wine in your hand.

Love,
Your Squirt
Xxoo

My Tribe

I believe in signs, always have. Some may be made up signs (e.g., 'this is your lucky year' to me means I will win the lottery sometime in the next 12 months...regardless of if I buy a ticket), but others are -- to me, anyways-- real. Like the hearts I've been finding since my momma died. I find them in dog food kibble, in rocks, and most recently in a leaf that happened to float down and land right in my path, upside down and backwards, so that it looked exactly like a heart. Like the weight I sometimes feel on my bed that I know is my sister sitting with me. I truly believe they are both trying to talk to me about peace, forgiveness and love.

Anyhow, lately I've been hearing a ton about 'villages' and 'tribes'. Communities of friends and family. Today was no exception.  I listened to someone talk about the importance of her tribe, her family; how you can push and push and how they let you push as hard as you want but they won't let you topple them. And what it means to recognize the effort it takes on their part not to punch you in the face, even when you deserve it, because they love you that much.

And how you need to keep those friends who keep you. Maybe try a bit harder to let them know that they matter.

I've played with fire more times than I want to count. I've made bad excuses and even worse decisions based on poor judgement. I've mourned deep losses, sometimes badly, and continue to do so everyday. And each and every time I've had a safety net made up of my tribe, my village. I would be nothing without them.

From the deepest part of my soul, I thank you.

Why Do Birds Suddenly Appear?

One hundred million dollars to the person who gets that reference from the title.

Just kidding. That'll never happen, you idiots. Have you been reading my blog? 

Anyhow, can I tell you a story about bird poop? Ok, well shut up because you are reading my blog and today I'm talking about the science behind the flight of bird poop. Quite literally, how bird poop flies and why it affects me. 

Example #1: My Crooked Trailer has a bit of a porch on the front. Not a big one, but enough of one to have two chairs and a cute table that I bought on sale for 27$ at the grocery store. Have I mentioned it's cute? It's blue. 

ANYHOW, I have a window underneath the porch roof. It's underneath the porch roof. Have I mentioned it's underneath the porch roof? 

One day I come home and I find a long, white-and-black, goopy pile of bird shit not only on  my window, but SEEPING THROUGH MY WINDOW SCREEN. Which means that some bird, miles high in the sky, decided to take a dump. It decided to take a dump about three miles away. Then it released that dump, and it went flying through the air....flying through the air, picking up speed, starting slow then taking on a slight tangent in the air that made it finally drop at a straight 45 DEGREE ANGLE, landing under my porch roof and in my window. 

You think I'm exaggerating. You. Just. Wait.

Example #2: So yesterday I get into my car after work. We've been having incredibly weird weather lately, raining harder than Hades then being hotter than Hades. Yesterday at work I rolled down my driver's side window on the way to work and forgot to roll it up. No worries, I thought, because it never did rain and it was literally rolled down a few inches. 

So I get into my car, look down and notice something funny on the side of the driver's seat. I look closer, and it's....

Wait for it...

BIRD SHIT! ON THE SIDE OF THE DRIVER'S SEAT! WHERE I SIT! 

Bird shit, where I sit. That has a nice ring to it. 

Seriously, a bird, miles high, decided to take a giant crap.  And that crap came down, gaining speed and angles as it went. And then, it managed to MAKE ITS WAY INTO THE TINY LITTLE OPENING IN THE WINDOW. 

Honest to God. 

What to Say

I'm so thankful for my family. You know, a lot of people have cranky families.  I am unusually unsure of the possessive on that last sentence and I could care less, because I have the best family. And my mother is dead.

My mother is dead.

I still can't get over this. I really believed that she would live longer, way longer. And you may laugh. But I really did not believe this was going to happen. Not even when they wheeled us into 'comfort care', which in my mind was NOT paltliative. It was just...comfort.

And then, she died.

And now I don't have her. I don't have her for NCIS. I don't have her to argue with. I'm a bit at a loss to be honest. People keep asking me how I am, and I just don't know how to answer. I know, I know.  She's at peace. I know.

I'm numb. I don't know how I am. That's the truth. This is still unbelievable.

I feel like digging my head under the covers every morning. I feel like packing up everything, including Kobo, and just driving for months.  I feel like shoving this computer out of a window because it keeps autocorrecting.

I want to run away for a bit.  Live somewhere, alone, in a cabin where I can process this. I really thought she'd live longer. I want to be alone, in a cabin (with a bathroom, by the way),  with Kobo and a journal. And hopefully a beach where I can swim. Swimming is...I can't even tell you.  The water is a place of peace for me.

But my mommy is still dead. And I just...I can't.

My Mommy Died

My sweet momma died last week. On a Friday, between 6 and 6:25 am. The reason I know this is because I was in the room with her. The nurse came in at 6 am and my Mom was breathing regularly. The she tapped me on the shoulder at 6:25 and said "I'm so sorry". I jumped up and yelled "no, no, no, no" over and over again, because No. This woman can't be gone. I didn't hear anything. Maybe I was asleep. Maybe I wasn't, I don't know. What I know is that I didn't treat her well enough to be gone. And before you say "oh come on, blah blah blah," hear me out.

I hated going to the hospital. More than often I thought of it as a chore. I loved seeing my momma, but after I worked all day the thought of going there was an eye roll. And more the once my mom knew that. So, she thought she was a chore. And that, the knowledge that my momma thought that, it kills me. I'm not sure I'll be able to forget it easily. I'll never be able to reconcile the fact that my mom thought that something was more important than she was. I can give a lot of excuses: I didn't think she was going to die, I thought she would leave and go to a nursing home. Eventually I'm sure these thoughts will diminish a bit. But they will never fully leave, and I will live with the knowledge that after everything my mom went through, all of the shit, in the end a piece of her thought I didn't care enough. Or maybe she didn't think that. I'll never know, and that's the hard part.

Shit Head

Since my ma's been in the hospital, I've inherited a dog.

Sorry, let me rephrase that. I've inherited the Prince of Why-the-fuck-are-you-not-petting-me, also known as the Emperor of Look-I-have-the-saddest-eyes-EVER. 

This dog. I'd add a photo if I could f*cking figure out how to do it on this iPad. Picture the size of an seven month old lab -- actually, make that a four  month old lab, with the eyes of the Puss in Boots character from Shrek and the multiple personalities of Jekyl and Hyde. 

Confused? Let me explain. 

This little black dog is a cuddlier.  He LOVES to cuddle. He's like a cat in that sense. He also dances like a monkey on his hind legs when I get home. He's on my lap, has his head on my shoulder when I drive and is leaning against me when I am on the couch, often looking at me with the saddest face, the little whites of his eyes looking at me like he's just lost his best friend.  Which he has when you think about it, twice over. 

Roxy passed in December, his comrade, his partner in crime. They spent every day together for as long as he's been with us, more than five years. She taught him how to bark (much to my Momma's chagrin), and to this day when he does manage his weird little bark I always think of my sweet gal.

Then my ma ends up in hospital. For more than two months she's been there. So he's lost his momma, too. Now, instead of me going to work and him having Roxy and momma, he's alone. All by himself. He doesn't wanna be all by himself. Anymore.  (Cue Celine Dionne and crescendo)

The other side of him is a shit head. The side of him that decides no other animals can enter the house because he has a big penis and is Master of the Universe (btw, his penis isn't that big.  I mean, I can't speak with any confidence...he had HUGE balls when we got him, but the penis? I've seen better). The one that turns him into the Tasmanian Devil when we see another dog on a walk. He. Goes. Beserk. We once hired the Dog Father, a local trainer, to come and help us manage him with other dogs. The Dog Father took one look at me and told me:

"You. You are the problem."

Excellent!

The funny thing is that the dog walker comes every day, throws him into the back of her car with six other dogs, and he's totally fine. Wait...maybe that's not funny. Maybe that's evidence that I really AM the problem. 

Well shit.