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 traveller.

There are those times when filling out some survey or something when you come across the blank for "Interests" or "Hobbies." In my past life, this was easy to fill out, and "travel" was always one of them.

In college, I majored in European Culture and Language, which was my excuse to study all the things that interested me and avoid high level math classes. It also meant I had a good reason to travel every summer. My destination of choice was always Europe, naturally.

My first trip to Europe was a high school graduation gift from my parents. I went with a bunch of other Catholic high school senior girls and a very experienced and proper teacher of ours. Even though it was one of those totally annoying bus tours, it was great for a young girl of 17. There were a lot of senior citizens on our tour, and they enjoyed having us around to add a little spark. The only thing I hated was the total lack of flexibility, but as a Catholic school girl, you're kind of used to that anyway.

I spent a couple of summers on summer programs in Austria, always with a whole lot of travel to other places mixed in. It seems for a while, I went to Europe almost every summer. I was a self-conscious over-protected young adult, but still managed to find my way through the capitals of Europe many times.

I once went to Europe with my mom and dad - just us three. I left with $20 in my pocket and came back with $100. My dad said he was taking me along as his translator, but I am pleased to say that I know it was because my parents just really enjoyed my company. We took advantage of a shared interest and had fun on a trip that means so much more now that they are gone. The last time I went to Europe, it was when I was working at Disney World. They sent a crew of us to Paris to help during the grand opening of what was then called EuroDisney. Nice work if you can get it, I say.

I have also been to Mexico and Victoria, British Columbia. I've been to lots of places in the U.S., but, oddly, never to New York or Chicago except to change planes. I've always wanted to go to Budapest, Prague and Berlin. There were trips planned for those cities, but they were cancelled for one reason or another.

Fast forward to today. It is not so easy to go anywhere with the little SaidSos. They require lots more planning than a backpack and a train pass. We have managed to make the necessary trips to Disney World. They have seen snow in the Smokies. They have visited their grandmother in Ohio. They have been to Tampa for their grandfather's memorial service, where we threw in some time at Busch Gardens.

Sadly, my passport has long expired. I miss those days, but not so much that I would change a thing. I often say that one of the advantages to having children later in life is that I had the opportunity to live a really full life before they came along and made me whole. Sometimes I dream of taking the whole family to Vienna for Christmas or Venice for Carnival and showing them some more of the world, and one day it will happen. I will share with them something that is such a part of what made Mom who she is. Until then, we keep our feet planted on the ground and our adventures not too far from the nearest bathroom.

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.

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

In my quest to entertain my sparse but much appreciated readership, not to mention my need to just get things off of my chest, I will now feature a "Topic Tuesday." The topic itself is inspired by the name of a great blog by Lyndsay called "I Used to Be Witty." Anyone who reads her knows that Lyndsay is most certainly still witty, but I digress. The title always makes me think of things I used to be - single, younger, thinner, broke, a partier, edgy - what a list! So, for as long as I can manage it, Tuesdays will be dedicated to exploring something I used to be, for better or worse.....

And, now I give you -
If It's Tuesday, I Used to Be - COOL

It's true. This did not happen in high school, or even college, really - although I desperately wished it to be so. Coolness was not easily won in my school, most especially not by someone who parked her old postal jeep behind a classmate's Porsche every morning of senior year. No, coolness came to me sometime in my mid 20s, and it happened mostly on another continent.

My parents sent me on my first summer in Europe to get me away from a boyfriend they despised. I was there with a bunch of other spoiled Americans and a few who were genuinely fun and not necessarily looking for the nearest Louis Vuitton store. It was a life changing summer - so much so that I went back the next year. This time, I knew the ropes, knew some natives, knew the best places to go, and could manage to lead everyone to the Eiffel Tower and Dachau without getting lost. And then, the real test. I came home for a few weeks and convinced Mom and Dad that I really needed to go back for an entire year. And I did.

I spent a long time in Austria, learning my way around, travelling all over, learning German. I was the only American most of my friends knew, and I almost never spoke English. For a lot of that time, I went to Northern Italy by train every weekend to visit my Italian boyfriend and his family. They were native German speakers, so we could talk to one another - but I learned my share of Italian, too. There were 3 main TV channels we watched - two in German and one in Italian. Shopkeepers usually spoke both languages, but rarely English.

During this time, I translated a PhD candidate's thesis into English. I rang in the New Year with Irish and Austrian friends atop a mountain in the Alps. I often took the train to Munich to shop for the day. I drank wine with friends while two Scots we met downtown played guitar and ate our cooking. (The wine was from a friend's backyard vinyard.) I befriended lost American tourists who were always amazed at the fact that I lived there - and spoke the language! Until they asked, most Austrians assumed I was Scandinavian. Americans, it seems, don't often learn fluent German.

I filled my passport with stamps from all over. I swam in the Aegean Sea and could see all the way to the rocky bottom. I once rode on a motorcycle through the Brenner Pass between Austria and Italy, and it was so cold, I could not lift my leg over the bike when we stopped for a break. We rode to Pisa, Capri, Naples and Rome, where, oddly enough, I caught Bruce Springsteen in concert. I saw Mount Vesuvius from the back of that bike. I have never been so filthy in my life as I was on that ride around the Italian autostrada.

And, during all this time, I was cool. I was cool to my European friends because I was American, from New Orleans, no less. But I was one of them, spoke their language, translated popular songs and didn't complain about the lack of cold Coke. And, I was cool to Americans, because, well - I was living in freaking Europe!

Eventually, I had to come home. I willed my belongings to friends, shipped a lot of stuff, left my snowboots at my boyfriend's and flew out of Zurich back home. My family took me out to dinner that night. I was so exhausted, I couldn't think straight. When the waiter came to take my order, I stared back blankly because I honestly couldn't remember how to order in English. What are the odds of finding a waiter who speaks German in some seafood restaurant in NOLA? Not good, but thank God for this guy! We chatted a minute about Germany and that he studied there, etc. After I ordered, I looked up to see my whole family staring at me in disbelief. "What's wrong with you people?" I say. And my brother, still staring wide-eyed, finally breaks the silence, "Damn, that was SO cool!"