Thank you.

To anyone who has read my writing and commented, thank you.  Sometimes my fingers hover over the keyboard for so long that I wish to stab my eyes out with one of the 263 stubby pencils that we have floating around our house.  For every entry I have posted, there are countless drafts not ready to share, ideas not fully formed, little seedling thoughts just sprouting but not ready to make their way quite yet.


I got my first piece of snail FAN  (I have a fan!) mail three days ago. A woman I have never met read a piece in the local paper and sought out my address, made a card, and sent a note that said, "I felt like I was reading my own words." She did not sound crazy or medicated.  Wow to me!  I know I feel overwhelmed and compelled to talk to the author when something I read resonates so profoundly. I have been unsuccessful in getting in touch with Ann Lamott to thank her for writing Operating Instructions, and I have stalked Diana Joseph on Facebook after meeting her at an author dinner for her book I'm Sorry You Feel That Way and she has yet to unfriend me. This is something because even in a cyber relationship, she is recognizing that what she has done matters to me.


I know that many writers will say they can't not write and in the end, it's the doing of the work that matters. This is true for me, but I also crave responses.  I like knowing how people respond even if they don't agree.  I like knowing that in my sorting and ruminating on paper, I have worked through things enough to bring clarity...not only to myself but someone else.  So when someone takes the time to comment in person, on-line, on my blog, on Facebook, or in snail mail I feel like I am safe for one more day....no stabbing required.


So thank you.

A love story for May 24, 2012.

Eleven years ago on a sunny May day, I was helping my drama students with their last run-through before their final performance for drama class. The room was buzzing with energy and excitement and the stage was being set.  But Miss Lucy, who hates to miss anything, had other plans.  My water broke during class so I called Big Man who was conveniently on an OB rotation at the time.  I barely got the words "My water broke" out before I heard the click that let me know he had hung up on me. He never was much for phone talk.


Though he was having his own troubles trying to deliver a baby with plunging D-cells, I only knew my husband had hung up on me and I was left to my own devices.  What was a girl to do?  I left my drama students in the hands of a capable sub and drove myself home while contracting. I found my amour (whom I decided to keep for the time being) waiting for me. He had changed out of his scrubs and was happy the baby he delivered was doing well. He was chatty and proceeded to call as many people as he could. Apparently, during your wife's labor is a good time to talk.  He was in no hurry. "Take a bath, relax!. Let me pack and I will tell people what's up." Yeah, the wrenching pain makes me feel like bathing....you take your time, buddy! is what I was thinking, but I was in too much pain to fight.


Miss Lucy made her persistence known with increasing contractions. Big Man, more of an expert in birthing despite being male, claimed we had plenty of time. He eventually, at my insistence, drove unrushed to the hospital and parked nowhere near the emergency entrance.  "Walking will be good for you!" he chirped.  Yes... walking with something akin to a human watermelon strapped between my legs will just be great! was a thought that may have crossed my mind. But, it is hard to be pissed, walk, and contract all at once so I opted for walking when not contracting and made it to the elevator. What, you say? He didn't make you take the steps? Oh, he wanted to....I saw him looking for them, but I was focused on the elevator and fortunately his good sense arrived in time.  'Pick your battles' is not only a good mantra for parenting but for marriage as well.


In delivery, I spent 20 minutes laboring on a table and she arrived with her eyes wide open.  She didn't squawk much, but she was checking things out, already taking in the world eager to get at it. This has remained true to her personality. My Lucy was two weeks early. Since then, she has ALWAYS been an early riser, will lie about arrival times for any function in order to get there at the earliest possible moment, and insists on clocks in any room she may be sleeping in.


Out of my heart came this tiny little dream of a baby girl. I lost six babies before she came to me. I became so frustrated, so angry and hopeless that at times, it seemed impossible to carry on with a shattered heart and broken spirit.  But Miss Persistence showed up anxious to prove dreams comes true.


And that they did.

Speechless

Sorrow founds it's way along the banks of the Mississippi.  A friendly, light-hearted, talented young man, the son of a well-known, well-liked, vibrant couple took his own life and every parent I know has been rendered speechless.

Suicide is forever. Those who remain must live with unanswered questions, unspoken words, and dreams unfulfilled.  The world as we know it has shifted into one we no longer recognize.

I don't pretend to know anything about this situation. But what I do know is that every single parent in this town is looking with fresh eyes at their own kids. We are re-examining our daily exchanges, peeking with renewed interest at their friends, and pulling every child who will let us a little closer. We are smelling necks and reveling in dirty socks and praying, even those of us who don't pray. Because what we know now, which is something we didn't know before, is that we are not smart enough, observant enough, vigilant enough, and this, above all, makes us scared.  

Our hands have been forced into witnessing painful beauty-- people who were once strangers reaching out to each other, young people expressing their pain through music, and parents at their wit's end re-committing themselves to their children's world.

But it is a beauty I don't wish to see or know.

"I'm so glad it's not me," is what many are thinking. 

But it could be.  Isn't that what we are all wondering now?