Playing with pictures

Baylee, my niece (9 yrs.)


Zach, my husband, and Ashley, my niece (6 yrs.)


Noel (15 yrs.) 

I'm almost 29, and I'm supposed to feel like this, right?

I have been on an emotional rollercoaster the past few days. I got accepted into the three schools I applied to for an MS in Speech Therapy, which I was thrilled about, but I am not going to receive any funding. I have filed a FAFSA application, so I can get loans, but, as many of you who read my blog know, it's hard to go back to school after earning an income (albeit meager) for a while. I got into Penn State, University of Vermont, and West Chester. West Chester would be a pregraduate degree program that starts in May. I'm not really keen on moving there for a pregraduate program, but I'm not discounting it yet, either. Penn State is a bit more expensive, but I'm already here and familiar with the school and town. Zach and I have been talking about moving for over a year now, but he says he doesn't mind sticking around for a few more years while I complete me program. It would be awesome to move to Burlington, VT, but the tuition is sky high, and neither one of us would have any source of income. I know we're young, and that this is the time to take risks, so part of me wants to just up and move to VT, because, when else will we be able to do that? I am also scared that we'll move and won't have as many opportunities available to us. Burlington is slightly more isolated than State College, not to mention colder. I have about two weeks to figure out what to do. I've been in contact with the graduate advisor for my programs at UVM and PSU, and I'm looking at different options, such as defering my acceptance to UVM until the fall of 2007, after I become a resident of Vermont and different sources of funding for Penn State. I think of Nancy and Michael moving to LA this summer, and know that they will face all kind of uncertainties. It makes me want to get up and move, too. In the meantime, life goes on. Zach and I are thinking seriously about kids (like in the next year or so), and a house and a dog. Maybe not in that order, but you get the picture.

Getting Up-to-Date

Me and Zoe. I've been playing around with my "new" digital camera and my husband's new laptop. It's taking me a while to figure it all out. I'm pretty clueless when it comes to computers and cameras, even when dealing with the simple stuff. Between figuring this stuff out and getting an IPod for my birthday, I'm moving into the 21st Century. 

Red-stained hands

So much has been happening the past few weeks, but I haven't been in a blogging mood. I haven't been in any kind of mood to sit still, but today was such a fun day, and since Zach's not home yet to share it with, I'll write about it.
It started this morning at work. I was in the gym with the 6 kids who come to the morning program before school starts, and the secretary announced that buses would be running late. Naturally the kids got excited, because that meant school would be starting late. Well, much to their dismay, the buses arrived only minutes later, and kids started flocking into the gym. Just as I was about to shout "clean up!", the secretary popped her head in and screamed in an unnecesarily loud, shrill voice "STOP IT, Taylor!". It shocked her, because all she was doing was spinning a jump rope around on the floor for other kids to jump over. Only no one was jumping over it anymore. I told Taylor not to worry, she just didn't know what you were doing, but I did and it was okay. This is not the first time this secretary has screamed at a kid before or after school. I was still stunned. I thought about saying something to her, but decided it wasn't worth it. She obviously has anger issues, and I don't need to waste any of my time on her. As I drove to the office I really felt that I rediscovered part of the reason for getting up each morning and going to my job; that is to show kids how to be reasonable, fair, and well-mannered. There are so many people yelling at them and telling them what they can't do in school every day, and maybe at home, too, and I can be one person to let them just be.
This afternoon one of the boys threw a tennis ball and hit an EXIT sign. The cover and the red backing to the sign flew off the wall and broke into several pieces when it hit the floor. The boy thought he was in BIG trouble, as the other kids started chiding in. I picked up the sign, and told them to get me a chair and some tape. All of a sudden we were working as a team. I was taping as the he fit the pieces back together. As I stood up on the chair to replace the sign, the very same secretary walked in to talk to a kid, and all the kids fled from me. She didn't say a word to me, but I felt suddenly like the kids must feel.
After that we made oobleck, which was a big mess and a lot of fun. One of the parents was laughing at me as a puff of cornstarch flew into my face when I crushed the box to it throw away. Usually doing projects like this one are just a big headache, but today was fun. I think more days could be like today.

Being sick AND married

So my cold is still hanging on. I am becoming one with it. I don't remember what it's like to not have this cold, so I live my life as if we are at ease with each other's presence. Zach, on the other hand, is having the harder time of it. He resorted to sleeping on the sofa bed in a sleeping bag twice this past week. He usually makes his way out of the bedroom in a huff around midnight. Apparently I snore and cough and move around a lot in my sleep. I'm not too offended. I was nowhere to be found when he was throwing up two weeks ago. Nowhere in the vows did it say anything about being physcially present during sickness. You can honor, love, and support someone from any, safe distance. This is about self-preservation. Not only that, but if Zach does catch my cold, then I'll have to hear about it for the following week or two. To not have to deal with that is totally worth having that cold, empty spot in the bed next to me. It took me about 2 years to get used to sharing my bed. Now I stay on my side even when Zach's not there.

My bronchial airways are inflamed, and I'm grateful for it!

Last Friday Zach came down with a stomach flu. For those of you who don't already know, I have a huge fear of throwing up. I can count on one hand the amount of times in my life I have thrown up, and I remember all the details of when, where, and how I felt. I went from the ages of 9-21 without throwing up once. That's 12 years (reference Seinfeld here. I would provide a link if I were more computer savvy or less lazy). When Zach threw up the first time last Friday, he thought it might have been too much beer on an empty stomach, but after the second, third and fourth time, I grew suspicious. I went out to sleep on the sofa with the pillow over my head. Poor Zach wasn't getting any sympathy from me. I even considered sleeping in the car. The next day I left the house for a few hours and returned with Lysol, gloves, and gatorade. I stayed about 10 feet away from Zach and talked for a while. I then scrubbed the apartment. For the next 3 days, I was hypersensitive to every noise my stomach made. I was anxious and didn't eat much. I ate crackers and drank gingerale for two days (I exaggerate a bit) , even after Zach was eating chicken marsala and chocolate cake again. I didn't get the stomach flu (knocking on wood), but I did end up with bronchitis, probably the after effect of not eating enough and lowering my resistance. I am content with my bronchitis. And Zach is not the least bit afraid of catching it. That's love.

Skunk or Gas Leak?

Early Wednesday morning Zach and I woke up to the phone ringing. It was only 4:45, too early for Zach's father to be calling. Our landlords, who live downstairs from us, came on the answering machine asking us to pick up. Zach answered, said "Okay", and hung up. "We need to get dressed. There might be a gas leak and we need to be ready to get out of the house". Something did smell a little funny. We got dressed in record time and ambled our way down the stairs. At the bottom was our landlord's grown son, who spends the night from time to time, with a scowl on his face like a teenager's. He mumbled something that sounded like a hello. We all stupidly stood in the kitchen wondering if we should go outside or not. The emergency guy at the gas company didn't say we had to go outside. As the smell worsened, we went out. "It smells like skunk", said our landlady. Zach and I agreed. Was it a skunk? Half an hour later, the emergency guy showed up. Apparently he had to get dressed first. At any rate, it was determined that we did indeed have ourselves a skunk. We found the hole he had dug into the storage shed attached to the garage. Thankfully it wasn't a gas leak. Even though it was just a skunk, we were all a little too nonchalant about the situation. I had even gone back upstairs to grab my bag, and I flipped the lightswitch on and off several times. Friends of mine did experience a gas leak once. The smell was overwhelming, enough to give you a headache. No one knew it was a gas leak until Liz passed out early one morning before her final exam. On her way to the exam, she started to feel better. When she returned home, she felt worse again. Her sister Annie attributed all her morning headaches to quitting smoking. A window had been cracked most of December with a bottle of detergent. When the detergent ran out, the window was shut, and that's when Liz passed out. They were lucky. We were lucky.

Spending Time

I've been reading some great books by author Elizabeth Berg lately (thanks to a suggestion from Nancy). I've also been crocheting some sad looking scarves with the time I normally would have spent cleaning. My apartment is still clean, but I just let it get dirty now first. Zach and I have been lamenting the day we can finally own our own home. On warm, sunny days like yesterday, we would like to spend our afternoons outside in our yard with the dogs.

That's all I really wanted to say.

Things have been going exceptionally well this past week. It's a welcome change from the way I had been feeling.

Hurting

Zach and I are readjusting to each other after spending 6 days apart while he remained with his family on Cape Cod for a few more days after X-mas. I came home to work and, be there no uncertainty, to have a few days to myself. A few days to myself became more like solitary confinement. I am not proud to say that I have spent a few nights in a padded room with nothing but a mattress on the floor, but this was worse. It was worse because I still went to work every day to face 20 screaming kids and because I still had to function like a functioning adult in the world. What made this time to myself so destructive was that I felt isolated and anxious. Soon it will be the one-year anniversary of Ashley's death, and that makes me fearful, sad, and angry. All those emotions at once are just too much, so I make myself numb. Zach doesn't like my negativity, but neither do I, and that's part of the problem. I try to push it away, so I end up brooding on my negativity. Then Zach asks me why I don't talk about it, and then I want to either hit him really hard or curl up in my bed with my stuffed bear. Zach is notorious for contradicting himself. He wants me to talk about what I'm thinking and feeling, but not to him. He wants me to be open and honest with him, but only if it's positive. It's enough to drive me crazy.

Resolutions

I normally don't make them, because for me it would be something like "be lazier", and somehow that doesn't sound like a good thing to strive toward. There is, however, something I would like to resolve to do better this year (and the years to follow). That is spending quality time with Zach. Oftentimes when we are together, my mind is elsewhere. I would just like to be more present when we do get a chance to spend time together.

Bad Business

I had some spare time this afternoon over my lunch break, so I decided to walk to the local library and perhaps the Cheese Shop to buy some chocolate (yes, that's what the specialty shop is actually called). I stopped short of the library when the sign of an herbalist shop caught my eye. It's hidden down below a set of concrete steps, and over the duration of the past year it's been occupied by a polish baker, a sushi maker and a different herbalist.
It's a bad location because it's out of the way. I walked down the steps and into the sparse little shop. There were bagged, loose-leaf teas surrounding one wall, a few hemp/cotton hats in the corner, and some oils and tree-less stationary at the other end. I picked up a bag of tea, but there was no price listed. That's always a bad sign. I picked up a cute hat lined with purple flowers, and, again, no price was listed. The woman behind the counter asked if I was looking for anything in particular. I said "no, I'm just looking", and she scurried off to organize something. I felt my heart beat in my chest and my hands tense up. I was trapped. I knew I was probably her first and maybe last customer of the day, and that's a heavy responsibility. I looked around trying to plan a quick, graceful escape. As I was walking around pretending to be interested, I saw a few items that I thought could make nice stocking stuffers for Zach or his sister. So I began asking the woman the prices of certain items. I immediately forgot each number she rattled off, because I need to actually see the numbers on the items. I walked around for another minute or so and then picked up a plain, white container of green clay facial scrub. There was no seal around it, so I unscrewed the lid to smell it. As the lid popped off, a plume of green dust flew down the front of my jacket and onto my shoes and the floor. It was too much to kick around with my foot and hide, but the woman hadn't noticed. I thought about running out of the shop at that moment, but I decided against that and took the high road. I said "I just spilled some of this powdered mask on the floor. I'm really sorry". She looked up, walked over and said in an agitated and stern voice "Please don't open any of the products". I felt like a little kid, but all I could think was "no kidding, _itch". I asked her the price and offered to buy it if she wanted me to. She said that someone else did the same thing a few days ago and did buy the product. (Hello, have you heard of sealing your products?) I said I would buy it. She ran around the shop looking for a broom to clean up the mess and then offered to top off what I had spilled from the container before selling it to me. As she came back to the counter, she asked me if that was it. I picked up a chocolate bar and said I'd take that as well. She looked me in the eye and said "you really don't want this mask, do you?" I said I would give it to a friend. She said I shouldn't do that because there was clay all over the label. She told me I didn't have to buy it. At that point I should have felt relieved, but a wave of indignation rose up over me, and all I could think was "what, I'm not good enough to buy your over-priced herbal crap?"
I bought the chocolate bar and left knowing I'll never set foot in that shop again.

The dog likes spicy chili

My parents just left after our mini pre-christmas christmas. Since they're not celebrating this year, Zach and I invited them to our apartment to eat homemade chili, cranberry walnut bread and cheesecake. We ate, went for a walk and then opened some unexpected gifts they had bought us. It was really a very pleasant day. I highly suggest celebrating on a day other than THE day. None of the stress was there, as were none of the expectations. My parents and I have been getting along very well, and I don't think I tell them often enough how much I love them and how exceptional I think they are. To answer your question mom and dad, "No" I'm not just saying this because I recently sent you the link to this blog.
On the 24th I'll head up to Cape Cod to spend Christmas with Zach's family. I have been skeptical toward Christmas this year and uncertain about how the grief will affect me. Christmas Eve was a big deal in our family, more so than Christmas day. On the night of Christmas Eve I plan on going to Smuggler's Beach, lighting a candle and spreading a few of Ashley's ashes on the beach. It's something I want to do in her memory. I also bought several books I know Ashley liked when she was younger, and I'm giving them to my nieces and the kids I babysit.
It's been really hard the past few weeks with the approach of the holidays and the one-year anniversary of Ashley's death. There really aren't any words to describe it. Sometimes my chest gets tight and I realize that I'm holding my breath. Sometimes my jaw is rigid and tense. Sometimes it's a dream I have; she's standing there before me, all of her features strong and clear, searching my face with her piercing blue eyes. The knowledge that she's gone enters my dream, and her image fades away. I try to hold onto the image, but it always slips away. It frightens me more than anything. The fact that there are things in life beyond anyone's control scares the shit out of me.

Each Day

I catch myself in a quick moment of peaceful mindfulness early in the morning on my way to work. I usually wake up in a frenzy, a little too late and a little too tired, and run out the door forgoing a shower or a decent breakfast. My ride to school is only 7 miles, and it takes me about 14 minutes to get there. As I round a bend a little over halfway there, a mountain ridge appears. It's not big, but it's serene and beautiful. The sun rises behind it, so the clouds are a soft pink and orange while the sky is slate gray. Snow covers the mountain, and some lights from the houses twinkle down its sides. It reminds me of the moment I entered the Fjord of Oslo by boat early one December morning 5 years ago. It is that small, fleeting moment that helps make the rest of the day okay.

My first paid "sick" day

I stayed home from work yesterday afternoon and napped, watched Roman Holiday and made turkey soup. The holiday season is hard. I didn't think I'd feel this way until closer to the end of the month and next month, but I've heard grief is unpredictable. Holidays are hard enough as it is. Why do we put all this undue stress on ourselves?
I really enjoyed my day off. Everybody should take at least one personal day in the month of December, if not more.
I'll be in Lancaster this weekend taking the GREs. Wish me luck!

Have your secretary contact my secretary

Things have been going well. Doing anything computer related is a low priority right now, hence my not updating my blog recently. I will post again when I gather my patience and we can sit down together to write. BTW, I know the word "secretary" is not politically correct, so I apologize now if I have offended anyone.

Wherein I get full of myself and talk about myself some more

Call me crazy, but my new "assignment" from my therapist is to NOT make my bed at least one morning this week, to NOT make lunches for me and Zach one day this week, to at least consider not running one of the days I run if I don't feel like it, and to try to stop the worrisome thoughts I have of what I'm eating-is it too much, not enough, balanced enough? Sounds crazy, right, like it's the complete opposite of healthy?
I've begun to accept the fact that I seem to be highly energetic and have trouble sitting still. In fact part of me gets a rush from getting so much done every day. The problem, though, is that at some point I start to feel tired and overwhelmed. I'm trying so hard to keep everything contained in a neat, little package wrapped in a pretty red bow, and it's bursting at the seams. I imagined it exploding, but then everything was strewn across the floor of a white room with no escape. I'm working on building myself mental shelves. That way I can keep everything on a shelf, nice and neat, but not bursting at the seams or scattered all over the place.
I've always been a worrier. I worry about the silliest things. For example, what if I forget to replenish the supply of cups at work? In reality, the kids would just drink from the water fountain that day, but the reality of the situation eludes me. I might just have to intentionally forget the cups one day to prove to myself that nothing catastrophic will happen. The irony in all of my worrying is that one of the ultimate terrible things that could happen to me has, that being the death of my sister. What could compare other than another death? But I've been worrying about things for as long as I can remember, starting in preschool. I've heard it said that awareness is the first step toward change. That may be true, but at this point all awareness has done is make it harder for me to live my life. At least before, without the awareness, I could live me life in a way that felt good, even if it wasn't healthy. Now I know better. Knowing better sucks, and that first occurred to me when I was three and Ashley was a baby, and I realized that she couldn't get in trouble, because she was a baby and didn't know any better. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, so I'll end on that note.

Like the disappointment after X-mas

I have the apartment to myself tonight because Zach is at one of his monthly weekend courses in Harrisburg. I was so excited about having the place to myself and imagining about a dozen different things that I could do, that I've made myself too exhausted to do anything. I might still squeeze in that trip to TJ Maxx. I could always use another pair of cheap shoes.

My first memory of Ashley (in utero)

I was reading the website of my friend Jenni where she was recounting one of her first memories. It made me think of one of my first memories, and I wanted to share it. It was shortly before my third birthday, and I was at the doctor's office with my mom. I remember standing by her side surrounded by legs, both of people and tables. The room was dim. It seemed like a half dozen people were standing around the table on which my mom was lying. The doctor bent down toward me and put the cold, metal stethoscope on my ears. I was scared. He asked me if I could hear the baby's heartbeat. I shook my head up and down furiously, just wanting him to take the thing off my ears. I couldn't hear a damn thing. Later, as we were leaving, he shut the door on my hand, but I don't remember that part.

Dear Ashley,

When I finally sat down long enough today to let myself realize what it is that I've been feeling, I realized that it's been 9 months to the day since you died. I've been running away from my feelings all week, and I've felt frantic and stressed out, but I'm afraid if I stop that I'll never start back up again. I wrote you a long letter today and cried for over an hour. It's amazing to me to think that with so many people in the world, how is it that I could miss just one person so much? I do though. I miss you more than you will ever know. I have gotten closer to mom and my friends, but I will never stop missing you. Some days I'm amazed to think that with all the losses that occur each day in the world, how anyone can find life enjoyable or worth living. I know it is, though, because I saw through all of your pain and suffering how you lived each day. Through your pain, you still found strength to talk about things that were important to you, like your friends, our family, school, events happening in the world, the quality of care (or lack of) of the hospital staff, and you still managed to ask others how they were doing and to smile. I'm sure you really learned how to accept love and kindness from others. I know you did, because you were so generous in returning it. I know you are no longer suffering, but I bet if you'd have had a choice, you would have chosen to stay here among the living. I think you knew it was your time to go, but I'm not so sure you really wanted to go. I hope you felt comforted at your death by my presence. I'm so glad I was able to be with you when you died. It was one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. I just wish you could be here with me now.
Love,
Angelique