If It's Tuesday, I Used to Be.....

an optimist.

It really pains me just to write that, because it's just not true anymore. I've done a lot of reflecting in the past couple of days because I joined Facebook. And while it may be the most addicitve thing on the internets EVER, it has allowed me to reconnect with a whole slew of long lost friends from my happier and carefree days in Orlando working at Disney World. Each one asks me what I've been up to, and it's just so hard to explain in a short little response how different life is now.

I was young(er), totally free of most responsibility and full of laughter almost every day. Each obstacle seemed a breeze to overcome. My mantra was always, "It'll all work out." Such feelings can be so fleeting, however. The worst thing that happened to me in those years was a truly disastrous marriage, but it was thankfully short lived and I recovered with the help of all of those friends around me, who were really like a huge family. In fact, I rarely even think about it. If not for the really nice photos, I might even convince myself it was a dream - or nightmare.

After my time at Disney, I married Toad and we kept moving closer to New Orleans to be near my family. We eventually landed in Jackson, Mississippi, where our first child was born. My mom and dad were there to welcome him. All was still right with the world. And then, the tables began to spin rather than turn. Oh, I was still an optimist, but reality began to seep in. My mother - my rock - was diagnosed with cancer. Our daily phone conversations got longer and sadder. I will never forget sitting in my cubicle at work with my crying mother apologizing to me for being sick. I promised her that everything would be ok, because I refused to believe anything else. And, actually, my mother beat cancer. She had surgery and a lung was removed - and her cancer was isolated to that one spot. She needed no chemo and no radiation. It seemed like a miracle - a new lease on life. I got pregnant again, and she was thrilled, although she was really hoping for a girl this time!

However, she was having lots of trouble with atrial fibrillation and the medicine she was taking made her miserable. And miserable to be around. The stress on my dad and siblings was awful. She could no longer drive. Her personality had completely changed at times. But she was still my best friend. I invited Mom, Dad, my sister and nephew to my house for Thanksgiving. I thought it would be easier for her than trying to do it at hers. My brothers also welcomed the chance to not have to go to two dinners. Mom and Dad stayed at a hotel near my house and came over every day. I could tell mom didn't feel good, but Dad said she was often that way. Actually, my mother was dying. By that Saturday she was in the hospital. By Sunday, she was no longer responsive to us. She died that Tuesday. She had sepsis, probably from a urinary tract infection. I was 6 months pregnant. I sat at her side and begged her to come back to me - to wake up and tell me what I should name the baby - to not leave me. And, then I just sang to her. I sang "Be Not Afraid" because I knew she was. And so was I. The last lucid thing she said to me was, "Gee, I hope I get to see the baby." "Of course you'll see him. Don't be silly," I said. I was, after all, an optimist.

My mother's death impacted me in ways I never imagined, and it was months before I could wake up in the morning without my first thought being, "Mom died." And, you can be as optimistic as you like, but when someone is dead, they stay that way no matter how hard you wish or pray it isn't so. Mom's death was also the first in a series of tragedies in our lives that have changed us in ways both good and bad.

My dad did not deal well with my mother's passing. They had been married for 50 years, after all. He began to drink too much and sleep too much. And then, he said he was going to marry her best friend. No, no, I'm going to marry this other person instead. He was so lost, and I was so angry that he wasn't grieving like I thought he should. It took a while, but we made some peace. We decided Toad and the boys and I should move down closer to him. We found a great little house right near Mom and Dad's, quit our jobs and planned to move. We closed on the house on February 11th, 2005. My dad was there because he lent me the downpayment as we hadn't sold the other one. It was a new beginning and he couldn't wait to spend more time with the boys.

The next time I saw my dad was a week later. He had suffered respiratory failure while visiting his fiancee in Lafayette. He was in a coma with brain damage. My brother removed his respirator as we all waited outside. When we came back in, my sister quietly sang Amazing Grace as he drifted off to sleep. And all of a sudden we were all orphans. It was a shock and frankly surreal. A funeral in the same church, with the same priest, and the same mourners, a burial in the same place - just all two years later. I am pretty sure the last full mass I attended was my father's funeral. I felt like God had some explaining to do.

Life went on, albeit in a haze. We moved into Mom and Dad's house for a couple of months to help clear it out while our little house was fixed up and a fence built around it for Daddy's dog. I loved our little house and couldn't wait to move in. The irony never left me, though. Here I was, finally home - and they weren't here. Finally, in May of 2005 we moved in. I was thrilled with my little raised Acadian with the enormous bedrooms and tiny kitchen. The boys loved playing hide and seek because there were so many closets! And, ever the optimist, I thought maybe everything was going to be ok.

When we first heard about Katrina, it was all the way in south Florida. My Ohio born husband was getting worried, and I told him - say it with me now - everything is going to be ok. Well, when the monster enveloped the entire Gulf, we caravaned with my sister to North Louisiana. After all was said and done, Toad found 5 trees on and in the house and the whole thing flooded from a busted pipe in the upstairs bathroom. We never spent another night in that house. We stayed evacuated in Jackson for months until we figured out what to do. Big D started his second kindergarten. I frequently pulled over in random parking lots to cry hysterically. The stress was incredible. My hands shook all the time. A therapist told me I had post traumatic stress disorder. I believed her. Not just my house, but my brother's, and my entire hometown had basically been destroyed. Every couple of days, I would look at Toad, pleading, "Honey, please tell me everything is going to be ok." "It will work out," he'd say.

I cannot describe what it's like to have no idea where you and your family are going to live in a month. To tell your kids they can't have Halloween decorations because "I'm sure we'll be home by Halloween." To not buy Christmas presents because you don't know where you'll be having Christmas. After about 5 months, we bought a second house in Mandeville, Louisiana and moved in 3 years ago tomorrow. I told Toad we would not ring in the new year as evacuees, and we didn't. We eventually hired someone to fix the other house. It took two years and over $100K. We paid two house notes all that time. I sold it 2 weeks after it was listed. I have never seen it again.

In the big scheme of things, I suppose it all worked out. But, my oldest child went to 3 kindergartens and still gets nervous when it rains. He came away with some serious emotional issues that we still deal with today. As in, "Mom, why does everyone I love have to die?" Of course, his other grandfather died this year, and I just waited for him to lose it. He did ok. And, when we evacuated for Gustav, Dubya asked if we would be moving to a new house when we got back.

So, you ask, Kelly, what have you been up to all these years? Well, I have been in the depths of a great grief and come back again. I have fought and clawed myself out of a hole so deep, I was afraid for myself and my family. I have lost a lot of innocence. I have updated homeowner's insurance. I worry much more than before. I often find myself waiting for another shoe to drop for no reason. When I get mail I don't recognize, my stomach drops in anticipation of bad news. When my sister tries 3 or 4 times to call me, I panic until I reach her because I think something's wrong. I am able to miss my parents and love their memory without tears. I have made a stable home for my now 3 children. I know my husband will stand by me through anything. I am no longer an optimist - maybe a realist? I am better - but, you know, for whatever reason, I still can't drive by that damned house?

If It's Tuesday, I Used to Be.....

a recipient.

"A what?" you say.

A recipient. A person who, on Christmas morning, woke to find disgusting displays of lavish consumerism awaiting her under the tree. I used to have to sort through a sea of gifts to determine what belonged to me and toss all else to my siblings. There were always some fabulous surprises in store - well into adulthood. My mother was a great gift-giver, with a knack for remembering some odd thing you'd mentioned 6 months prior and having it appear on Christmas as though you had placed the order yourself. For example, I once mentioned to her casually that I should have bought white dinnerware because the stuff I had seemed outdated already. I totally forgot about it. To this day, some 10 years later, I eat off of a really nice set of white dishes - 2 full sets for my then family of 2.

Sadly, they were usually repaid with just a token - a sweater set, some perfume, shirts for dad, a gadget of some sort. We tried, we really did. The best gift I ever gave my mom was a German class at UNO. I even gave her a backpack and took her to registration with me. We were like college buddies, and she loved it. That was a good year.

I'd like to think I was always grateful for the amazing Christmas gifts, although I do remember crying about my next door neighbor's awesome doll collection one year. I must have been about 7 or so. I went over to play after the big day and was consumed with envy. I still feel like crap about that, so I'm guessing I'm not a total heel. It's just, now I have 3 kids, and the sheer magnitude of what my parents did every year amazes me. And, now I know, they REALLY wanted us to love every single thing - because that's how I feel. I went shopping today, and I must have looked skyward in silent thanks at least 5 times. My sweet mom - how she loved her kids!

And, so now - I am the giver. I love to find just the right thing for the kids. It's not always easy - for them or for my husband. And, while T tries really hard, it is not in his nature to find "the thing." He got lots of points for the XM radio when it was still really new about 6 years ago. And he's still riding high on last year's iPod Touch, which ranks right up there with my all time favorites. But, one of the things I miss the most about Mom is that there is really no one in the world who knows me like she did. My likes, my dislikes, my hopes and dreams. And maybe that's the key to finding the perfect gift after all.

Here We Go Again......

It seems like I should be old enough for it not to matter, but I am an orphan. My parents are both gone - and have been for a few years. However, there is never a time when this is so very apparent as that great American thing known as "the Holidays." Most of the time, I can just cruise along like other people, participating in things with my own little family without really thinking about it. And then, here they come - those times when family is meant to gather for celebration and tradition and memory making. I can handle Grandparents Day at school - for which I recruit a sibling or in law to fill in. I hate it, but the kids don't seem to mind so much. But there is just something so wrong about having to figure out every year where you are going to celebrate Thanksgiving so you don't end up being the only family at the Shoney's buffet who doesn't qualify for the senior citizen discount. Since Mom died, we have had to wing it for Turkey Day. I know we did it one year at Mom and Dad's with a bunch of extended family to ease the pain. It actually turned out pretty good. And then Dad died, too. And then Katrina left two of us homeless. Yep, homeless orphans. That year my little family went to Tennessee for lack of anything better to do, us being refugees and all. The boys played in the snow and took a helicopter ride and it almost seemed normal. There have been two restaurant meals. And, now, we are going to a cousin's for dinner.

My cousin lost her house in the storm as well and they built a new one that I hear is beautiful. That is, until my kids get through with it. And, while I appreciate the invitation and am glad to have somewhere to go, I really want to hang around my parents' enormous house, drinking my dad's way too strong old fashioneds, helping mom make oyster dressing and waiting for her to burn the rolls again. I want all the little cousins to sit at a kids' table with my brother there to keep the peace. I want to wake up the day after and eat leftovers.

My kids never experienced this, really. My mom died while I was expecting Dubya, and Daddy died before the Princess was born. It is my job to make memories like these for them. I always joke that we are auditioning new family traditions. I just wish we could share some of the same ones.

So, when I say that I "hate" the holidays, you know why. I am not really a scrooge. And, while I know and have experienced the stages of grief - reaching acceptance in spite of myself, sometimes I just take a few steps back into anger. It will pass, I know. But, pardon me if the signs of "the holidays" turn me into a real bitch at first. I'll catch up to the rest of you soon enough.