Dreams and Adventures

 So the boys went forth in the world, boarding a bus for Durham, NC and spending a week exploring some place new. They made and paid for their own arrangements.

Elder traveled out to Ohio last week and found out the hard way about missed connection and canceled legs. 

I spent last week on the water and making my peace with all the change I cannot change. I’m not there, yet.

This morning I had an early morning dream wherein I lost elder, then v 5.0. I stopped the car I was in because I saw him in a field with a house behind. By the time I got to where I had seen him last, he had disappeared.

Someone arrived and noted that loss happens, and moved on, leaving me to seek and not find.

And I find it upsetting on reflection, because it is true.

As it was, shall it ever be

 Cleaning out my office, I found this lovely little relic.

I could have written it last week, but closer inspection reveals that I wrote this maybe 15 years ago.

Is it still true? I was struggling with a lot at that particular time point (when was there ever not a struggle? Good question) and here I am, again, trying to make my peace with the way the chips land.

When will I ever?

In other news, the boys are traveling out of state by themselves. That’s all I’m saying about this for now. 

Mask Up

So. Something happened.

I already committed this to my private journal, so no need to belabor here. Suffice it to say, I am mourning, and I am masking.

I haven’t had the need in three years, and necessity compels me to do it now.

I’ve forgotten how uncomfortable it feels, yet I’m somehow better than ever at doing it. Maybe because I am building in breaks to take it off, idk.

I no longer feel safe.

What a privilege it was to feel safe.

Minus One

 This is what I’m calling this year, the sunset of my sixth decade, a year I never dreamed in a million years that I’d hit—it’s here, now.

I’m closing the end of my second year in my doctoral program by submitting my draft prospectus. Next comes approval and movement toward the proposal; then IRB, then God help me, I hope I can get people to talk to me.

I’m not there yet, but I’m a lot closer than I was two years ago.

I don’t know what comes next. Just trusting the process and that this is exactly where I need to be right now.

I think we are in the falling apart part of the program

 I’m sick. My voice isn’t working. That’s never a good thing. In a previous life, I must have been a prey animal, because the amount of anxiety sickness brings is beyond stupid. 

It’s really of a piece. Maybe this was as good as it was going to get. Now to get ready for the pancake. Which sounds a lot better than it is.

The weather has been gorgeous, and all I can do is enjoy it through the window.

What just happened?

 The magnitude of what happened yesterday is just beginning to catch up.

My kid did what no one expected him to do.

And he did it better than I did (GPA .5 better than mine) and in the same timeframe as his peers.

And he has his brother talking about when it’s his turn (not if. WHEN).

He’s working out the what next part. This may take a while, but that’s okay—even he was surprised at how quickly he did it.

Damn. This is a lot.

GCC, BA

 My younger guy graduated from my alma mater today.

Lots to figure out, but that’s a tomorrow problem.

Turning the Page

So this is getting real. Younger graduates from my alma mater on Friday.

Mr. Spiky Cognitive Profile

Mr. ADHD

Mr. Space Cookie

My slow processor. The one they couldn’t say for certain if he had TBI at birth or not. 

The one they said probably wouldn’t be able to do academic work…..

….is graduating with his same-age peers with a higher GPA than I had.

(I have no excuse)

Of course, this means nothing if he isn’t able to get a job because he can’t pass the interview process. Or….a million other things. The grief of the things that may never happen for my guys is real.

But I will not let grief take away the joy of the things that somehow do happen.

Keep looking for the bluebirds, rainbows, and silver linings.

Frankie

 My accidental bird. We were his fourth home. He was 25 when we picked him up from a friend at the brewery last April. I knew the clock was ticking, but whatever time he had, we were going to make it good.

He’s the only bird since Paulie who would allow skritches, but like Paulie, he was flightless, so put up with it til he launched himself off my lap, letting me know he was done.

Today I took a moment while I was cleaning the bird room. He hung out with me as long as he felt like it. I gave him skritches. I didn’t intuit an ending.

An hour or so later, Gary was trying to pick a play out of him, and I tried to rescue him. He launched himself as he has dozens of times, but this time, he landed wrong, and I knew as soon as he did that it was bad. I scooped him up quickly (cursing myself, how could I miss him?) and held him close. And he closed his eyes and was gone.

His little face was peaceful. I sat with him for over an hour, talking to him and giving him skritches. 

He was such a good boy.

Struggle Bus

 Younger graduates from Temple in 3 weeks.

I said what I said.

Elder will not. Not yet. He celebrated 10 years at his job this month, certainly longer than I’ve been anywhere and has a side gig he’s trying to get off the ground.

That’s all I have for now.

Also, George died two months ago, suddenly. I brought home a young bird last night—Butters—who is getting acclimated.

I finish year 2 of my program and am building my committee.

One thing at a time. I am way overwhelmed.

The Gift of the Magpie

It’s no lie, I like shiny things. I collect them until I realize I can’t wear it all, and not everything suits me.

So when elder decided to buy into lots of jewelry from estate sales in hopes of scoring big, the net result was four gallon-size freezer bags of stuff he couldn’t do anything with. 

He was fairly salty about this enterprise.

So I offered him about 2/3 of what he paid for the whole lot and did some scavenging. While I didn’t find anything of value, I found a lot of fun things that made me think of particular people in my life. I ended up creating a bunch of gift bundles, some directed at particular individuals, and the rest will go to ladies’ night at the brewery. The rest I handed off to a friend who has a knack for rebuilding and repurposing jewelry. She will have a lot to keep her busy. 

I gift wrapped a bunch of things this morning.

I also did all the baking on Friday. My semester is at an end, and I am scrambling to do all the things I didn’t have time for the last 14 or so weeks.  While I am enjoying the journey of the program, I am starting to think seriously about the next steps, what dissertation will look like, who I can talk to about that.

Younger will graduate in the spring. I can’t see beyond that right now for him.

Elder is plugging along. He wants to stay where he is employment-wise and is considering side hustles that might support him while he’s doing that.

I’m just hoping for the best, as always.

Broken Things

On the way out the door this morning, I broke my water bottle.

I was juggling my coffee cup, water tumbler, lunch, computer bag and pocketbook in an attempt to make a single trip to the car, and I somehow lost a grip on the water bottle. I heard it crack as it hit. The bottle is hard plastic, been dropped a million times, but I think this time, it just hit the wrong place on the bottle, and caught a corner of the step. G received this bottle as a parting gift from Montco, among other things, and I was happy to use it, because of all the good things connected with that experience.

So when I went to retrieve it, and saw that it was cracked, my eyes welled up with tears.

Because it was more than being about the water bottle—and this led to a chain-reaction of revelations that spiraled a little bit, splashing across my current class regarding theories of learning frameworks, philosophical arguments with my younger son about the train table divestiture, and my own meditations on hoarding and why we hold onto broken things.

We hold onto things because it’s our only tangible proof that good things happened, that good people exist, and because of these things there are reasons to hope for the future.

I think this is part of the reason why I have such a hard time going through my sons’ old artwork and school work, because there is so much bad mixed in with everything that is good that it puts me in an existential crisis every. Damn. Time. 

I know some of those reasons for hanging onto broken things, too, are generational strongholds; want, depression, war, hanging on to things because they may have use or value.

Or hanging onto things because they are the only things remaining of someone who is gone.

There is so much we store in our hearts, but we need physical proof.  There are things that have left that we want back, but aren’t coming back.

But here is this broken thing that is proof that it existed.

This Dear Mess

 So the last little while has taken on an elegiac cast for me. Part of me has accepted my mortality and that any given time could be a last time, and having said that, while being fully cognizant of the shitstorm happening around me, I will do all the good I can do when I can do it, and no one is going to steal my joy in doing it.

The enormity of it all weighs on me, not the least of which is a paper due tonight at 11:59.  I’m writing this partly to get my fingers moving, and partly because I have a lot to say about little things that happened that I want to remember. 

Like taking my younger kid thrifting and finding lots of treasures.

Like throwing darts with my crew Friday nights.

Like having a spring peeper land on my head while hiking in the dark.

Like spending time with my cohort.

Like spending time with hubby and the kids, doing anything. Doing nothing.  Together.

Like watching my birds do a preen because they feel safe.

Like chatting with my sisters over group text.

Like all the time spent with all the good people in my life, for whatever time we can find together enjoying each other’s company.

As I stood in the middle of my living room one quiet morning this week, taking in all the piles of books, papers, general lived-in-ness (I am being kind, I guess), I was overwhelmed by a huge sense of how transitory this all is, how momentary everything is, our situations, our lives, everything.  In the end, all we have is this dear mess that is our collective life.

Do good when you can, where you can, how you can. It all matters. In the end, it may be all that matters.

Rebellion

 I’m no longer postponing joy. Or anything, really.

My whole life has been spent relegating things to “later…another time… not right now.” Some of it is thanks to waiting for other things to happen first, and some of it has been waiting on other people (who never show up because I think we’ve had that conversation, and we haven’t), and some of it has been my own fears and insecurities about bad stuff that would happen if…

Three years ago and change I made a start of doing new things because I wasn’t getting any younger. I’ve built on that by pushing through my discomfort, reaching out, connecting—my life as N and G’s mom set the stage for everything that’s happening now.

Once, I might have pulled back, withdrew, hid.  Not now. 

Connection, action, JOY. This all happens NOW.

I’m no longer putting things off. And joy is everywhere. And nobody takes that away from me.

It’s yours, too. You only need eyes to see it.

Holding Space, Grace

 Not going to lie, Elder makes me insane six ways to Sunday.

Even so, his life is a master class in what grace looks like. Tonight, I picked him up from work; the original plan was I would take him to our church for ashes later in the evening. I came up with a different idea as I drove to pick him up.

I proposed another church—one he knew, and more importantly, had an elevator. He didn’t need convincing: that became the plan. He found us a parking spot and didn’t balk at the walk that came with it. We arrived late to a packed church and found places to stand in the back. I became aware of someone looking our way. Elder whispered the who and rejoined “I want to say hi after.” 

He looked at me carefully. “I have feelings about this,” I muttered back. He stared at me. “Mom, I’m asking you.”

I harrumphed. I’ve written plenty about the folks who have ill-used and/or ill-treated elder over the years, and one of them fell in that camp. I’d sooner see them burn in hell than put on a face.

“Mom,” elder reiterated, “I am asking you.”

Well, fuck. It’s not like he doesn’t know why I feel what I feel; we’ve discussed it ad nauseum. He wants to go say hello, and as far as he’s concerned, we’re a unit, and he’s not doing the thing without me.

Also? We’re in church. 

What am I always saying about walking the walk?

So. We do the thing. He’s happy. It doesn’t kill me.

As crazy as he makes me, he has a heart that is huge, full of grace, forgiveness, and mercy.

He can teach me a thing or two.

Embracing All the Wins

In light of all the insanity, sturm and drang and what may be the end of everything, I want to shine a light on all that is good.  Elder hit the quarter century mark over the weekend, much to his own surprise; adventures with his family ensued, culminating with an Eagles Superbowl win. He couldn’t ask for more than that.

The other big thing that happened last week was that he was finally named Employee of the Month.  Roughly eight years in the making, he actively sought and received feedback from his peers and supervisors to help him improve his skills. But more than this, he has been persistent enough, and fortunate enough, to have his supervisors and coworkers in his corner these last nine years to support, coach, and encourage him. When we parents were taught all about the importance of natural supports, the love and support of people in the workplace, this was treated as an aspirational, if not achievable thing. After all, this means people taking extra time and energy to support, coach, and encourage, and as many people living this particular dream can attest, it is freaking HARD to find this kind of environment, unless people intentionally create and nurture it.

Once upon a time, my teenager knew exactly what he wanted to do: work the front desk checking people in at his favorite place.  Although he was offered jobs in housekeeping and childcare, he persisted. He knew what he wanted, and he wouldn’t settle for less. He took the volunteer position doing what he wanted to do, and proved himself worthy of paid employment. And while there have been stumbles and false starts in this world of work, he continues to learn and grow and make his mark.

Meanwhile, my younger guy, Mr Huggable, stopped me last night and hugged me a long time. If I wondered whether the bigger picture was impacting him, that was my confirmation.

Whatever happens, I know we gave them the best lives possible. We controlled the things we had control over. The rest now is up to whatever the future holds.

Love wins

I’m not rehashing the last 12 days. I’m just not. There’s nothing I can add there.

But I will add something that is uniquely me, because I am the only person who can. I’m deep into this last first in this year of firsts since my mom passed away last February 3. Monday marks the first last with her first yahrzeit. I can’t think of anything that has unfolded in the last couple of weeks without remembering that she did not want to be here for it. Remembrance comes with a fresh wave of grief for everything—including the fact that my young men come of age as marked men.

This morning as I poured myself coffee, I noticed a heart emerging from the foam. And I find myself remembering a passage from Maxine Hong Kingston’sThe Woman Warrior, where Fa Mu Lan takes her father’s place in battle. My mom was the prayer warrior. 

Right now, I am doing everything I know how to do, but she is reminding me there is more I can do.

Full Speed

 Standing at the precipice of another….semester, year, life….

Today is the last day before the next semester. Hubby and I jammed in a packed weekend of socializing and birding before the next go around. I finished last semester with a3.85, which is almost a full point better than I expected.

I’m in it now. In it to win it.

Paulie is gone

 My cranky bug died this morning.

I knew the end was coming. Two years ago, when he still had two eyes and could still climb, the vet wanted to put him to sleep. Despite the fact he couldn’t fly, he could still move around quickly and hold his own with his two cockatiel brothers, so I said no, the end comes when Paulie calls it.

Decline was so gradual I didn’t realize it was happening. He lost an eye to infection last year. And by degrees, he slowed, didn’t climb as high, until I realized yesterday he couldn’t climb at all anymore.

I took him out quite a bit yesterday. He didn’t like me holding him as a rule, but he enjoyed skritches, and he basked in the attention.

Last night, Gary refused to get into the cage. I didn’t cover the cage but closed the door to the room. It’s not the first time he refused to get back in the cage, so as long as I closed off the room, he’d be fine.

At 3 am, I heard Nic and G talking loudly in the hallway.I shushed them and heard the birds chirping quietly behind the closed door.

This morning, I opened the door and George and Gary were sitting on top of the cage. Paulie was on his back at the bottom. 

I thought for a split second to call my mom. She likely already knew, not being on this side of the veil anymore. I brought his still body downstairs, where he lay in state on top of the washer until every one paid respects and said goodbye.

He’s now the guardian of the magnolia behind the garage, attended by wrens and cardinals.

God speed, you little crank pot. We will miss you.

Places of grace

No shortage of struggle this last little while. We all finished our coursework, and wait for grades.

Elder has had some unexpected bad luck with an unfortunate encounter with our Christmas tree and got a lacerated cornea for his troubles. A lot of things remain unresolved and undone. Our house looks like the transition we’re all in. Frankly, as a collective, we’re a mess.

The tree remains half decorated since the eye encounter. I have 3 weeks before the next assault, I mean, semester, and don’t know where to start. So I will start small; chocolate dipped strawberries and pumpkin bread. I wrapped two gifts for a party tonight. 

I noticed a bag next to the tree and peered in. It is filled with gifts and cards for elder from his bingo peeps. And tears sprang to my eyes because there is space for grace for him; he does have people who are not mom and dad who love him. We may not see them, but they exist.

These are the first happy tears in a while.