28 now

Today (which is officially yesterday, I suppose) is my birthday.

I laid around in my pjs, then got dressed. We went out to lunch (Friendly’s, my choice). Did a little shopping, then went and saw Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. I don’t care what anyone says, I loved that movie. Loved. It.

Did some more shopping, and drooled over Coach purses. Got supplies and came home.

Tooled around some more, and got to baking. Two kinds of cookies and cupcakes later, I’m tired.

But satisfied.

It’s been a sad day. My dad and grandma are on my mind a lot- it’s the first year they haven’t called. Not to hear my grandma sing happy birthday to me is a little heartbreaking. Talking about how proud my dad was to have me, and know I’ll never hear that in his voice again- that’s hard.

But I’m trying to be happy, still. So let’s call it happy with smudges of sadness around the edges, for today.

Why, Indeed?

This morning I walked out of my door into freezing cold. I almost walked into him or her. It was a little bird, on the sidewalk in front of our apartment. He was just sitting, and I almost walked into him. There’s no way something wasn’t wrong, because he didn’t fly away. I thought something was wrong and he was probably dying. I looked at him as I walked away, and as I drove away. I couldn’t think of anything to do. It is the circle of life that sometimes birds die, but I also felt like I should do something. I wanted to save the bird. I couldn’t bring it inside, because – well, her name is Rory. Bring the bird to the vet? I don’t think so. So I drove away.

And I cried. I cried. I thought- I don’t know what to do. I want to save you, or be there with you, but I don’t know what to do.

When I told co-workers I was leaving, I tried not to show how happy I was. I was so ready to be done. So tired. So burnt out. So, so, so tired.

Then I started telling my kids. One after one- I have something I need to tell you.

One after one, the next question was always the same.

Why?

It’s one thing to explain it to coworkers and foster parents. They may be sad, but they can understand. They understand burnt out. They get emotionally drained. They tell me you need to do what you need to do. I would nod my head and agree. It was time. I told myself you need to go before one of your kids or families pays the price for you being burnt out. My foster parents had a range of reactions- tears, lots and lots of questions, disbelief at my next move (insurance?!?!?), and understanding, compassion, and support.

It’s one thing to tell them.

It’s a whole other thing to answer why from my kids.

How do you tell them? How do you explain to a six year old that you can’t walk around carrying his pain anymore? The pain that he deals with personally every day- how do you explain that?

How do you tell a fourteen year old you can’t fight for him anymore? That you’re running out of energy and can’t fight his battles for him? How do you explain that you are scared that you won’t be able to fight the way you have for the last two years and that he will end up paying the price for that?

How do you explain to a thirteen year old that you are leaving, again, and that she’s going to have to have a new worker, again. How do you respond when she tells you how much she hates changing workers, and tells you that she tells you everything, and won’t have anyone else to do that with?

How do you help an eleven year old understand that you can’t finish the work you’ve started with her, because it’s time for you to go? What do you say when she asks why? I just don’t know.

I don’t know what to tell them. I don’t know how to explain that I can’t carry their pain and fight their battles anymore. I don’t know how to reconcile the fact that I can’t be there for them,  yet I ask them to live with their histories and their pain every day of their lives. I don’t know how to explain the personal toll that my attachment to them, my passion for helping them, changing their lives, has had. I don’t know how to help them understand that the toll has become too great, at least for a time.

I’ve always wanted to be a social worker. There’s never been anything else for me, besides mom. I knew I wouldn’t fit anywhere else. I just knew. There’s always been a passion inside me to fight for those who are helpless. The bird, the children. I’ve always wanted to rescue them. As I became a little more experienced, a little less naive, I realized that I couldn’t rescue them. But I could show them someone who cared, I could be someone who was willing to fight for them, I could advocate for them. If I changed their lives in some small way, if I saved one of them in one way, it would be worth it.

I feel like I’m not only leaving a job, but that I’m cutting off a limb. I feel like I’m walking away from a part of me that has always been there. People joke that I am going to the “dark side” and I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’m walking away from such a huge part of who I am, in order to save the rest of who I am. This is something I still don’t completely understand. I know on several levels that it’s time to go, that I personally need a break and a change. I know that I need to focus on other parts of my life right now, and that while I am still pouring my heart and soul into these kids I cannot focus on the things that I need to elsewhere. I know, but I don’t understand.

I know. It’s a lot of emotion for someone changing jobs. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I’m overestimating the impact that me leaving is going to have. But I see the look in their eyes as they asked why. I hear the frustration they feel at finally finding someone they trust, only to lose yet another social worker. I feel the pain of having to say goodbye to someone yet again.

I feel guilty for causing any of them any kind of pain. It’s one thing to be the bearer of bad news, it’s another to be the cause. I know, I know I need to do what I need to do.

I want to save you, but I don’t know how anymore and I’ve run out of energy trying.

Why, indeed?

Remembering

In three states, in four cities, four women made the same thing tonight.

Used to be it was just one woman serving it to the four, plus a whole lot of others.

Tomorrow, in three states and four cities, a whole lot of people will taste it.

It doesn’t sound like much and it sure doesn’t look like much- it’s pink.

My grandma’s grape salad is the best, though. There are two things I cannot do Thanksgiving without- my grandma’s grape salad and my mom’s applesauce nut bread (Shannon- 2T of butter).

When I moved out to CA for college, those are the things I made. I didn’t care about a whole lot else. I brought it with me wherever I went.

So while I was not looking forward to cooking, as I pureed the cranberries to sit overnight, I got a little teary-eyed. Thinking about the other three woman who were thinking of her and probably getting a little teary eyed too.

My friend who lost a very close aunt today said she was trying to figure out how to honor those we had lost this year as we sit down to eat tomorrow. She chose to buy a pretty candle, and will light it before they eat in honor of her aunt. I thought the sentiment was sweet, but not for me. As silly as it sounds, I’ll honor grandma by making her grape salad. I think she would like it better than a candle.

Four women. Three states. Representing so many more. All missing her.

November

November has typically been a hard month for us. My husband has lots of painful memories of November, and he usually struggles through the month. Every year it gets better, and we can breathe a little easier.

Right about the time he stopped needing to crawl into a dark corner for the month, it became my turn.

For a long time the grief, depression and anger subsided. I felt whole getting through the day. It felt a little bit easier. I could think of them without crying, without not knowing what to do with myself. I could talk about them.

Then I started realizing that I was having a tough time with all of that. It started getting tougher to get through the days. I started thinking about what happened more. I started getting more snippy and snappy and out of sorts and… sad alot. I realized it was the end of October.

I realized it was almost November. I told Khalil that I would like to crawl into bed now and come out in 2008. Clearly 2007 has been the worst year of my life. I used to hear people ask what was the best year and what was the worst year of your life. And I used to think I didn’t have a worst year. I knew there were years with best parts and worst parts, but not a whole year of best or worst. I now know what a worst year feels like. It’s when you feel like from the time the clock says 12:01 on January first, on through every day, you just can’t wait for the year to be over. It’s the year when every time you turn around the hits keep coming. It’s the year when you never really full like you can take a deep breath of pure air and just smile and be happy.

I now know what that feels like. This has been my worst year.

I realized a few things about November. First of all, it’s November. Which is always hard and I always dread.

The second thing I realized about November is this: the nightmare I called my life for six months started the day before Thanksgiving. That day I brought my grandma to the eye doctor. She had some loss of vision and wanted to get it checked out. The day is a bit fuzzy for me, but I remember being scared that she was not going to be ok. We didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of the brain tumors that eventually killed her.

Third, it’s the start of the Holiday Season. Halloween comes, and then it’s all about the HOLIDAYs! People start asking about Christmas shopping and what your holiday plans are. The truth is, I literally don’t know how to face the holidays this year. I’m sure when they come I’ll grin and bear it. But I don’t really want to. I want to, as I said, crawl into bed and just skip them. I’m not entirely convinced on why I can’t. That would be one way to get through the season. My memories of last year are tainted. My dad came on Thanksgiving. He was not feeling well, but my stepmom wanted to come and I wanted him here. He spent the meal time asleep on our bed, and then they went home. It was sad, and I remember feeling sad. I remember so desperately wanting him to enjoy the day with us. Christmas Eve came, and we always spend that with my dad and my stepmom’s family. It was fun, but it was a tough year because you could just see how sick he was. It was also Christmas Eve of 05 when we realized he looked sicker. So Christmas Eve 06 was a painful memory of how healthy he looked when we thought he looked so sick. Because now he really looked sick. But I remember treasuring being there. Christmas came, and we talked alot about Christmas. Because my mom, sister, and I were scared it would be the last one we would have with my grandma. And it was. It was the last I had with both of them.

This year is the first without them. And my life comes full circle. I’m heading back towards the day that started the hardest months of my life. And I’m scared to death. I don’t know how to walk through all of it. I don’t.

************

I wrote this about a week ago, but didn’t post it. I’m figuring it out- you walk through it by putting one foot in front of the other. Every day. That’s the only way.

Year Two, Day Four

Today is one of those days that if I was not doing NaBloPoMo, I wouldn’t be writing. I don’t write when I feel off like this, and when there are long stretches of me saying nothing, often that means long stretches of me feeling off. (sometimes, though, I’m just busy).

It’s one of those days where nothing feels right, everything feels off. The fun stuff has a smudge of crankiness around it. No one else does things right and that includes me. Where I want to snip and snap and crank but there’s no one that deserves it around, so I stuff it as much as I can and it just leaks out around the edges. One of those nights where Khalil starts feeling edgey because I’ve bitten his head off twelve too many times in the last twelve minutes.

Don’t you know? The days when you feel on the verge of tears all day long for no good reason? The days where you are stressed worried and upset about everything and nothing at all, all at the same time? The days when you vascillate wildly between falling off the edge of a cliff and being in the middle of a calm lake?

It’s when he asks what’s wrong, and I answer with both nothing and I don’t know. Usually one right after the other. Nothing. I don’t know. Because the truth is nothing is often my way of saying I don’t know when something is wrong. But I truly don’t know what it is. If I’ve finally figured it out it doesn’t take me long to come out with it.

Often it’s the collection of small but overwhelming stuff. The apartment is a mess (really, I am dreading going to work tomorrow). I don’t want to  unpack (really, I’m worrying about them, missing them. Feeling badly that I left them). I have to pay the bills (really, I’m worried about a job. I hate mine and I want a new one). And then maybe some more that are yet unnamed. I don’t know.

It’s one of those days, and there’s a reason I don’t write about them. Ellie is at the age where she whines (I don’t know if there’s actually an age for that, or if you just have to be a girl, because I remember getting in trouble for whining when I was graduating from high school at 17). All weekend long Shannon and I told her not to whine. And posts like this sound like one. big. whiny. whine.

Would you like some cheese with my whine??

It was a good weekend.

I arrived, and we spent some time putting beautiful programs and favors together.

The bride and her niece.

The bachelorette was at the Melting Pot, which was soooooooooo yummy!

Pedis and Manis the day before the wedding.

Do you guys think that’s Jonathan Antin of BlowOut?? I could have sworn it was him, and pretended to take a picture of the mother of the bride so I didn’t blatantly take a picture of him, but it’s really hard to tell. We were at this little nail salon not in LA or Beverly Hills, but I still think maybe. If it is him I’m so going to kick myself for not saying something.

A bridal tea.

The day of the wedding, getting hair and makeup done!

The newly married couple- who knew a whole face could smile so big??

Isaiah.

Kira “hey! what’s up?”

Naomi, me, and Jenn.

Jessica and I.

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It was a very good weekend. So nice to be part of my friend’s wedding, and so nice to see my friends. I miss them very much. As I said to Naomi before I left- it’s sometimes harder to come, because I remember how much I miss them.

Welcome to the World, Baby Jack

On Saturday I had the privledge of meeting Jack:

(bottom right is big sister Molly kissing Jack’s toes).

Congratulations to Joe, Brett, and Molly. Jack, you’re one heartbreaker already.

Six Months

Last night I was all kinds of “off” and just couldn’t figure out why. Was snippy, didn’t want to get off the couch. Wanted to lay around and pretend like that was all I ever did.

This morning I figured out why.

I was listening to my Nickelback CD, and this song came on. I listened to this song alot back in March. A. Lot. I would blast it in my car and belt it out. It made me feel alive, made me want to be alive. The phrase “Amen I, I’m Alive”- I would sing it over and over. It felt like everyone was dying, and I needed a way to stay connected to life.

The song came on in the car, and I realized.

It has been six months since you have been- not alive. The other day Khalil asked me to go grocery shopping with him. He rarely does this, but he did this time. I went, begrudgingly (I’ve never liked grocery shopping in general). But I got to the store and it hit me like a ton of bricks. This is what I used to do with you every other weekend. I still know your habits and could probably get the main things off your list. Veggies from the salad bar. Tomatoes on the vine. Milk in the purple jug. Aveeno. There was a reassurance to getting certain things every week, but also trying to find the new things that you saw commercials for that our grocery store never carried. The spray salad dressing. The pain stuff you wipe on your forehead.

You had fallen, and had black eyes. You didn’t really make a big deal out of it, but I was sad. These were some of the last pictures we took with all of you, and look at those black eyes.

Rory was still little here, and was smelling your hair. You were laughing hysterically, which was cracking us up. It was so funny, but especially because you just loved cats. You always asked about Rory, and always loved on her when you came. You indulged me my little stories about her and laughed at all the parts where other people just look at me like I’m crazy because I’m talking about my cat like she’s a person. How could I not? It’s in my blood.

You were really happy at your 80th. So surprised, and happy. I’m glad we did that for you. It was also your last birthday.

This is you with my other Grandma, dad’s mom. You guys were really cute together, sitting there holding hands.

Look at that. Four generations. That’s a nice picture. We’re lucky to have you.

That is the smile I remember best.

I love you and still miss you.

Seasons

I used to live in Southern California. I didn’t miss the humidity of New England summers, or the snowstorms of New England winters. I did miss spring rains and the sounds of fall and the changing leaves. Despite that, I convinced myself that I didn’t miss the seasons. I had heard other New Englanders tell me that they couldn’t live anywhere there wasn’t seasons. I told them I didn’t miss the extremes. 

Either I was lying or I didn’t know myself well.

I love the seasons. I love measuring time by watching the weather turn. I love the end of each season, where you can anticipate the nest. I love the end of summer when you’re just dying to be able to wear long sleeves and sweaters. When fall comes there’s the smell of crisp leaves and fireplaces going, as well as the beauty in the landscape of trees in an array of colors. As fall progresses I love being ready for winter- anticipating that first snowfall and the first time you can see your breath in the air. I love the end of winter, when you’re not sure you can make it one more day. I love that first unofficial day of spring, when people come out in short sleeves and capris, even though it’s freezing, because they’re so sick of sweaters. I love watching the buds pop up through the snow, and watching the snow melt. I love looking at the green buds on the trees come out, and watching the trees fill out with air. I love waiting for summer to come- when you’re hoping for a day when you can feel comfortable in tank tops. When you can sit outside in the light until 8:30pm. When the air is sticky on your neck, and when you’re waiting for breezes. I love the smell of freshly cut grass. And then there’s the day towards the end of summer, when you’re waiting for fall.

I think that having the time in each season makes you appreciate the next even more. Just when you think that you can’t take any more of a certain kind of weather, or clothes, or nature, the next season is well on it’s way, just in time again. You thought it might never come, because it seems like this year it’s not going to, but there it goes and saves you again.

I think that’s true about life too. It’s so much easier to appreciate the joys when you’ve tasted some of the sorrows. Seasons in life are easier when you’ve had to wait for them, anticipate them. I can do that, and just keep reminding myself that like the seasons, our time for the things that we wait and hope and dream for will come. Just like each season.

I excuse her humor

I had a wonderful weekend with my friend. It was so good to be with her. So good to be with someone you can just be yourself with. That’s a beautiful gift.

We ended up at Friendly’s in the mall for lunch. It’s one of the small restaurants, full of booths, no tables. We walk up to the hostess station, the restaurant is maybe 1/3 full. Of booths, no tables.

I say, “2 please”

Amy says, “Is there any way we can get a booth?”

We made each other laugh in this way all weekend.