death – It’s All in Your Head

“You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life.” ~ Rocky Balboa

So, it’s one of these weird ‘things’ that I’m struggling with and obviously a situation for which I have no experience. I have been dating a guy for the last 5 weeks and am crazy about him. But…and there’s always a but…I am feeling a bit addled because of my conflicting emotions.

First, I honestly don’t know what to call this guy. Boyfriend sounds sort of juvenile to me…when I used to say partner about someone, people looked at me askance and asked if I was gay (which always made me think about how in love I am with Lady Gaga😳)…when I say ‘Significant Other’, I think that could be near about everyone in my life since they are all significant to me…and the ‘l’ word (i.e. ‘lover’) makes me gag simply because it was ma’s favorite word and made Terri and I cringe every time we heard it 🤢. We staunchly maintain, even today, that ma never ever ever had sexual relations, much like Clinton’s stance regarding Monica Lewinsky. So, for the sake of brevity, I’ll call this guy ‘the guy’. Easy peasy. 😀

In any case, he’s bringing happiness into my life and he’s doing this during a time when I’m missing ma so much that it physically makes me hurt. And that’s the quandry. I feel like my emotions are a rubber band being pulled in opposite directions and no matter what side I let go of, I’ll feel that stinging snap we’re all so familiar with.

The guy and I have so much fun going out together. We already have a favorite restaurant and special things we like to do. Watching movies with him is a blast…particularly all of the ‘Rocky’s’ since we both know the scripts by heart. And without trying to cause him any disrespect, I will say this: my “Yo Adrian” is just a tad better than his. We’re both fitness nuts (shutty 🙄) and spend tons of time in the gym, plus we can talk for hours and never run out of things to say. But honestly, here’s the thing that makes him stand apart from everyone else I’ve ever been with: his compassion.

After ma died, I was quite taken aback by the fact that O’s dad and my ‘exes’ never reached out to me. Ma treated EVERYONE that Terri and I have loved very well…she was never not kind or generous or supportive. Ma was ‘mother in law’ to O’s dad for 13 years and to motorcycle ex for 10; for them to not acknowledge her was rude and uncalled for. Plus, she always was amazing to men I dated that she pretty much abhorred…simply because I loved them at the time. Terri and I are always saying that ma was truly a class act.

The guy never knew her but has listened to me cry…vent…reminisce. He’s looked at umpteen pictures of her and sat through the stories that are behind all of them. And every single day, he texts me in the morning to see how I slept and if I’m feeling good about the day or not. It’s very different for me to have someone be that concerned about my emotions (in terms of guy…not my family!). One time I was telling him how amazing ma genuinely was and started bawling. After blowing my nose on his t-shirt (which actually makes him even that more attractive to me since it’s my mucus on his workout gear 😐) I apologized for yet another cry session. And here’s what he said: “Kristi, If I were to go into your kitchen and spill some milk, would you be mad? Would it be OK?” I was perplexed by the randomness of this and the thought of him being a ‘bit off’ briefly crossed my mind. I said: “Well of course not…I’d just mop it up with you.” Then he said: “Should I beat myself up over having had an accident?” And I said: “No! It happens to everyone.” And he said: “right.”

He told me how it was OK to ‘spill the milk’ – to break down and to be sad and angry and confused and everything else I’m feeling about my mom. He said that of course it happens and apologies aren’t needed…he just wants to be there to help ‘mop up the spill.’ In other words, he doesn’t want me to ever be sorry for mourning ma. Is he a winner or what? 🙂

But honestly, it’s the start of something new and I do feel guilty when this happens. I realize my situation is different from most relationship ‘starts’ and that I’m walking into something with a heart already shattered, but feeling bad at a time when I would normally feel good in a relationship makes me think I’m doing something ‘wrong’ to him.

However, we have the flip side. He makes me laugh…really laugh…and smile and whistle and hum…all of the things I always used to do before last August. And the problem? Feeling guilty for not being sad all of the time over ma. How can I laugh and joke when ma died? How can I ever allow myself to feel good things when the worst thing in my world has happened? Am I dishonoring ma by having this positive in my life? Am I not grieving for her as deeply as I should?

So no matter what, I feel bad. I feel bad when I’m happy in terms of disrespecting ma…and I feel bad when I’m sad in terms of burdening the guy. It’s a catch 22 at it’s finest. But I also know this, ma wants me happy. She wants Terri happy. In fact, that’s really all she ever wanted in her whole life…for us to know we were loved and that no matter what, she’d be there cheering us on in whatever we chose to do.

I talk to ma every night. Actually, I talk to her throughout the day but nighttime is our special time. After I talk to God, I look out my window and say “Hey ma” (the beginning of all of our phone conversations 😔) and chat about my day, and I swear I can hear her holding up her end of the talk. The loneliness I felt after she passed was horrible and having to grieve alone in my house with only Edward to hug wasn’t easy. So, I started asking her this: “Ma…you’ve always known what’s best for me. If you come across someone that you trust will be good to me, let me know.” I also asked her to get God’s input as well.

After about a month of this, I was compelled to check out a gym I had never even considered going into before. I swooped in the parking lot and was actually wondering why in the hell I was there. It’s more of an ‘old timee’ gym with no fancy frills – just weights, machines, sweat and tears…much like Mick’s gym (that’s a Rocky reference.). It wasn’t me. I like color coordinated walls with matching machines…carpet runners…fancy schmancy locker rooms…and people who look like they stepped out of Shape magazine. Instead I saw real people working out and a camaraderie I had never experienced in any gym before.

Then the man behind the desk asked if he could help me, and when he did this, he smiled. At that moment, I smiled…truly smiled…for the first time since August 2nd. After we’d gotten close, he said something that really resonated with me: he said that I bring him peace (ok ex-partners, quit rolling your eyes in case they freeze that way 🙄). I realized that I was at peace with him too. There are no games. No insecurity. No nervousness. No distrust. For the first time in a very long time, there’s peace within me too.

And maybe that’s why he was the one that entered my life. When ma was dying, she told Terri that she wanted me to be OK and for Terri not to worry. In other words, she wanted us to have peace in our lives. To have contentment. To have security. She wanted us to have exactly what she had always given to us herself. I know Terri has this with Dan and to be experiencing this with the guy is a gift right now.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“Confident people don’t hide their flaws; they laugh at them.” ~ Tim S. Glover

So, people tend to make their loved ones into saints after they pass, and I’m hoping my son does just that…someday. But you know, we don’t get ‘better’ after we die…we’re the same flawed, perfectly imperfect person we always were. And spinning new tales about acts the person performed that would rival changing water into wine is probably not a fair thing to do. However, having to chase Edward down the street in the snow…while wearing a nightie and crocs…screaming at the top of my lungs…and only slipping and falling twice before grabbing the little shit is pretty durn close. 🙄

Anyhoot, ma had flaws. Yes she was amazing and kind and sweet…but…she was also a horrible loser, snarky, opinionated, and stubborn as a mule. On a side note, we were talking about our less than perfect traits one day and I said “Ma…what are mine?” And she looked at me and said “I can’t think of any!” So, ma is a bit of a liar too! In fact, she also announced that I was the best singer in the family at a Christmas dinner a couple of years ago. This made my oldest nephew literally choke on his candied pecan, and I thought performing the Heimlich maneuver was going to be necessary. However, calling me the ‘best singer’ in the family is akin to saying I sound less like crap than everyone else. 🤔

When my great-nephew introduced his adorbs girlfriend to ma, he said this: “Be careful if you play a game with Grandma…she doesn’t like to lose.” From the mouth of babes. I remember when ma, pop, my grandparents and aunt were playing Tripoly one Christmas at grandpa’s kitchen table. My family LOVES playing card games and when there’s pennies involved, it becomes quite intense. Ma had a winning hand: a Jack, Queen, King AND Ace of hearts. This would have let her win a bunch of small pots of pennies (for a grand total of $.79 – it was to be a down payment on a new car 🙄) on the board and the look in her eyes terrified me. As everyone else was playing their turn, the daggers were being aimed and ma was literally shaking. My grandpa was sitting next to ma and he played his LAST card and won the pots! Ma got nothing and her cards were worthless. I have NEVER seen such a horrifying look on a face in my life. Never. And, if memory serves, she was mad at gramps for years. When ma would lose, her eyes would get squinty, her face red, and her mouth would materialize into a perfect straight line (me and Terri have perfected this look😐). However, the best part about her losing was always asking her if she was mad. “Ma…are you mad that I won and you…basically…lost?” “NO, Kristi. I am not mad.” Ooooookkkkkaaaaayyyyy!

When I went to my weekly Sunday lunch, we’d always play a game called Five Crowns. There’s no money (i.e. pennies) involved…just bragging rights. Ma kept score (I always double-checked it😏) and I usually won 80% of the time. Don’t be too impressed, this has very little to do with skill…it’s basically the luck of the deal. I usually left ma’s with her having that “look” and me skedaddling as fast as I could. Once ma won and just to be a snot I said, in my most serious voice possible, “Ma…I let you win.” Holy crap! I have never seen her face redden as fast as it did…even when my 17th birthday party at the house turned into an alcoholic free for all. She said: “You. Did. Not. That was all me.” Trust me, I never said it again.

And snarky? Hmmmm…how do I put this delicately and in a way that honors ma’s memory and sheds a positive light on her: she was a snarky little shit. And the fun part about her snarkiness was the way she’d say things: “Well, Kristi…we’re just a bit bitchy today, aren’t we?” Translation: “Well, Kristi…if you don’t stop bitching about everything going on and ragging on my cooking and predicting yet another card win, I will throw you out on your ear.” You get my drift.😳

In fact, Terri and I laugh over what ma said to us when she was in the hospital. She was getting to the point where she couldn’t speak so anything she said was special. Meaningful. Insightful. Something to be remembered and treasured. So I was sitting in the recliner (that fake leather recliner that’s in every hospital room in the country and that only 2 people on the face of earth find comfortable), holding her hand, and working on some class stuff on my iPad. Her fingers squeezed mine and I looked over at her and she leaned her head towards me. “Ma…what do you need? Are you in pain?” “Kristi. Don’t ever dye your hair that color again.” Got it.

And then Terri got her own last snark. My sister is a go-getter, someone who never procrastinates, and is more organized than Martha Stewart has ever been. She took care of all the paper work and other issues (insurance, billing, etc.) at the hospital and did so splendidly. So one day Terri was with her and ma opened her eyes and looked at her. She said: “Terri, I need you to do something for me.” “I’ll do whatever you need, mom.” “Wow. You’re easy to get along with now, aren’tcha?” 😐

Stubborn? Well…she was actually a fucking (sorry, ma🙄 – old habits are hard to break ) mule. By the way, if Terri is reading this right now, she’s nodding so hard that she will have a pulled tendon in her neck. Ma’s favorite phrases in terms of her stance in things are: “No.” “You’re wrong” “I’m right” “We’ll just see about that.” And my personal favorite (which includes some snarkiness…a double-header): “Whatever you say…you’re the one that’s always right.” Sheesh. I guess stubbornness is tied to being opiniated as well…which I actually see as a plus too. Ma would take a stance and be loyal to it.

But there was a downside as well; like insisting the lane she swooped over to one day when we were out running errands was a turn lane…which it wasn’t and which is what I told her. (She only drove on this road for 60 years). Her response to me getting whiplash as she plowed her way down the street: “They must have changed it.” Yes, ma. Overnight some elves re-did the entire street with newly painted arrows that showed everyone in town what turn lane you remembered. Hmmmmm. 🤔

So ma was flawed. Just like we all are. And honestly, I like remembering this along with my memories of her love and hugs and support and approval and everything else she gave to me and was to me. She was human. And she was fantastic.

And O? I’m going to start writing down my flaws for the eulogy you’ll say for me. When I think of some, I’ll let you know.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“Won’t take nothin’ but a memory from the house that built me.” ~ Miranda Lambert

So, my sister and I got an offer on ma’s house yesterday which we’re going to accept. The people want to move in around mid-January and this will be the last ‘thing’ we’re going to be letting go of. It’s hitting me like a ton of bricks.

I’ve always been the type to get attached to things so much. I’ve got a bunny I won at our local laundry when I was 4 and I named her ‘Pinky’…she’s pink so I was very creative with the name. Anyhoot, I still have her 52 years later – minus her ears which fell off sometime in the 70’s and a pair of my underwear from the same decade that’s been on her since. No…I’ve never washed this underwear in all of these years…and no, Pinky is pottie-trained so it’s ok. When O saw her for the first time last year when I was rummaging around in my old closet at ma’s, he was horrified. Absolutely horrified. In fact, I’ve never seen my son with such a look of fear on his face…apparently, he likens Pinky to Annabelle. Go figure. 🙄

I have so many other things that I just can’t let go of either: books from when I was a kid…old school papers of my own and of O’s…my teaching supplies from when I taught elementary complete with every drawing my students made for me…cards my college sweeties have given me over the last 26 years…even hankies that are in complete tatters just because ma said they were like Grandpas and you just can’t find them available anymore. I guess I’m just a sucker for nostalgia.

Me and Terri on the porch before a wedding!

Pop and ma built the house when I was in first grade and Terri and I got to pick out our room design: I chose bright yellow wallpaper with huge flowers on it, gold paint, gold carpet and then a red/white/blue ceiling light that went with absolutely nothing. I got the smaller room but bigger closet and pop built bookshelves in it and I’d sit inside the closet and play library with Pinky and my myriad of other stuffed friends. Terri was a bit more stylish since she’s so much older than me 🤨) and her colors of choice were orange wallpaper with bright flowers, orange paint, and orange carpeting. However, her light was much more in keeping with the decor. But we loved our rooms…they were VERY cool!

We used to use our hairbrushes as microphones and sing David Cassidy songs in front of her closet which was our ‘audience’…Terri styled my hair in her room and bopped my nose with the hair dryer each and every time…we each got our own stereo’s and Terri would play her Donna Summer album at bedtime and to this day, I still feel drowsy when I hear MacArthur Park. We’d make brownies when ma was at work and then eat the batter with our fingers. We tanned on our deck and watched our skin turn red and our hair turn orange. We’d pull our bikes out of the garage and ride around the neighborhood for hours. We’d use the pogo stick and stilts Grandpa gave us and would totter around the driveway.

Ma rummaging around in her kitchen in the 80’s!

But with ma’s house, I have mixed feelings – there are a lot of good memories in it…but there are a lot of bad too. And honestly, I think the bad ones are one of the reasons I chose not to live in the house myself.

Richard (that fucking bastard 😡) moved into it when I was a sophomore in high school and it was a weird time. He was nice at first (as most abusers are) but there was still that awkwardness of having this new person around. Then the violence he perpetuated against ma began, and escalated quickly. I would hear him beating her at night when I was in bed and the horror of that was indescribable. Then there were the ‘between’ times when ma and I had to tiptoe around on eggshells so that I was never really comfortable at home when he was around.

Even after moving out, Terri and I were still directly affected by R. EVERY holiday was hellish because he would either be ranting, preaching, demanding, yelling or lashing out and for 28 years, Thanksgiving and Christmas were a trial. Terri and I would dread going over there when he was home and because of this didn’t see ma as much as we’d like, which was exactly what Richard wanted. The less access she had to us…the more he had to her.

But then she divorced him and her transformation began. Not just personally, but in terms of her home too. She wanted a completely fresh start and re-did everything exactly the way she wanted. Paint, window coverings, carpet, furniture, lamps, a complete remodel of her bathrooms, and the list goes on. She even had her bedroom painted a pinkish-rose…one of her very favorite colors! Her home went from a prison to a retreat and she loved it so much. I don’t know how many times she said how comfortable she was…how content…how happy.

And it took on a completely different meaning for us again. I loved going over there and eating lunch at her kitchen island, playing cards in her sunroom, having holidays that were relaxed and fun and opening presents on the living room floor, sewing with her downstairs and rummaging through her fabric stash, watching her quilt on her long-arm, plopping on her bed when she got ready to go somewhere, having family meals…especially chili…in the dining room and laughing our way through it, seeing her sitting on the porch when she knew I was running over and wanted to see me coming up the street, talking to her while I watered her outside plants as she sat on the porch bossing me around. These last 12 years of memories are awesome…and those are the ones I want to remember most.

The last pic O took of ma and me…we’re in her sunroom!

I guess letting go of the house is letting go of her pride and joy. Of the best years of her life. Of her growth. Of her true happiness. Of the time where she could be herself with absolutely no one berating her. Suddenly the house ‘was her’. And it symbolized the best of her that she discovered within herself.

I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to do a final walk through. It’s completely empty now and I haven’t seen it yet. Terri was the one to take care of the long-arm machine which was the last thing to go. But I think I want to remember it full of her. Seeing her in her jammies and sitting on her chair and cross-stitching and watching American Ninja Warriors, (she had a HUGE crush on The Rock and actually told me something naughty she wanted to do with him…I was a bit taken aback! 😮) while eating a bowl of her Bear Track ice cream.

That’s what I want to take with me. And that’s what she was able to leave Terri and I with.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“…remember that life’s a balancing act.” ~ Dr. Seuss

So, I just got done grading all of my finals – thank the Lord – and was thinking about a question I posed to my Intro to Sociology class. It was about labeling and how we either try to live up to them…live down to them…and then their lasting impact on our lives.

Some of the labels my students talked about broke my heart. So many said they had been labeled as ‘fat’, ‘dumb’, ‘annoying’, etc. and regardless of anything, they still feel the pressure and anxiety from it. For example, one of my students said that he was chubby during childhood and was labeled the ‘fat kid’. Even though he went on to play athletics in Jr. High and High School and became very fit and slim, he still carries that early message with him and said he is ‘extremely’ conscious about his weight still. That made me so sad for him!

And even positive labels can be stressful. Students talked about how they had been labeled ‘smart’ or ‘good’ and constantly feel the pressure to maintain that…pushing themselves to get perfect grades or always being nice.

Anyhoot, Terri and I started talking about labels too and both of us have been labeled as ‘too emotional’ and ‘too sensitive’ (big surprise there 🤨).

We’re aware that the label is correct…we’re conscious of our impassioned reactiveness and how it’s seen by others. The emotional load we carry is hard and being so sensitive, empathic, passionate, emotional, etc. is burdensome at times…hard on us….exhausting. The effect it has on us causes anxiety in terms of the storms inside of us and then the reproval we might face. It’s not easy having all of that simmering inside us.

But right now, the label that’s pressuring me the most is this: ‘Kristi is always energetic and happy and talkative and always smiles!’ (do I need commas between these? 🙄). And I try so hard to live up to this! Sometimes it’s easy because I am truly happy and energetic and my life is going great and I express it openly. However, that’s just something that’s not possible for me to do right now and it’s making me feel guilty and anxious.

People at school say “Wow! You’re doing so well!” because I put on that label mask: I smile and chuckle (there’s no way I can even fake a laugh) and find the reserves of energy I need in my classroom and with my colleagues. When I’m asked “How are you?” I say “I’m doing good!” I don’t want to tear up…or talk about my grief…or show my pain. I feel like I can’t since it goes against what’s expected of me. Or most likely, what I FEEL is expected of me.

See, I continue this even with my family and friends. I text with my usual exclamation points and chat with people with smiles and excitement. And then I get home. And I sit…and stare…and draw…and crochet…and write…and do anything I possibly can to distract myself from the negative emotions I need to express. It’s almost as if the label has become so internalized that I can’t NOT live up to it even when I’m alone. For fuck sakes, I don’t want Edward and Mally to get upset or scared.

How do I start to refute this label…this performance? How do I go against a lifetime of ‘happy’ and now show my grief for ma? I think this charade is preventing the avalanche that’s going to happen when I do. I also think it’s going to be something that only 1 person could ever help me with…and ma’s just not here.

I like being single in so many ways! The financial freedom…eating what I want…sleeping when I want…knowing if I put something down, it will be there when I come back. I like the quietness and privacy and knowing that my home is all mine. But…and there’s always a but…this is a time in my life when I need a ‘someone’ so bad. Someone to hug me…listen to me reminisce about ma and look at the photo books I’ve made…let me vent and then validate me when I do. Being alone is tough right now. I want to wave a magic wand and have that someone (who can sing country songs 🤠) just be there. That’s all. Just be there for me and then of course, me for them.

In the meantime…probably decades 🙄…I’m traversing this ‘alone’ in a lot of ways. Yes, Terri and Ollie are wonderful! T and I talk everyday and her support is huge. I don’t know what I’d do without her! But I was thinking the other night that everyone in my family has someone all their own: Ollie has his girlfriend and they are like an old married couple…Terri has Dan and they support each other so much…my nephews have their spouses and kids…and even all of my friends live with someone who’s simply there.

You know, I miss ma more than I can ever express. We talked everyday…saw each other multiple times a week…traveled together…ate together…played games together…sewed together…went to holiday gatherings together…went to ball games together. In other words, she was my someone. The one who was also alone, and with me we made a ‘together.’

I guess I need to lessen the hold this label has on me. Try to overcome the perceived demands this has on me. Work to understand that expressing negative emotions is valid for me…that I can cry and be upset and not smile and that it’s ok to do so. And I need to do this. I need to mourn ma. And I don’t think I’ve even started yet.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” C.S. Lewis

So, tomorrow is Thanksgiving and as much as Terri and I are missing ma and trying to figure out how to navigate the holidays without her for the first time, I also know how many blessings I have in my life too. My son, my family, my friends, my career, my home, my comfort, and the list goes on. I don’t ever want to lose sight of these things regardless of how much I’m grieving. 🙂

One of my colleagues and I were talking yesterday and she shared that she lost her dad 3 years ago. She asked how I was doing and I said my pat response: “Ok.” She said that she completely understood and even after the years that have passed since her loss, she’s often just ‘ok’ too. We talked about the pain losing a parent triggers and she said that she still cries over her dad…misses him daily…and feels the pain of his loss as something that she just carries inside of her now. I feel so bad for her since she and her dad were so close and thank her for being so open with me. To know that the struggle is real…and is going to be inside of me since ma will always be a missed part of my world…validates what both Terri and I are going through.

I think that all women feel what I know I do: that we ought to be the self-less ones…the ones who don’t take the last piece of cake, or demand what restaurant we eat at, or let our own desires come before those of our families. Maybe it’s in our DNA…maybe it’s the way ma raised T and I…or maybe it’s what we’ve chosen to spend our lives doing.

I’ve been teaching since I was 19 years old…preschool, jr. high teaching assistant, elementary, high school and college…basically the entire gamut of ages and grades and no matter what the level, students need so much from you. And, since I teach psych and socio and talk about some pretty difficult issues and struggles, so many students come to me for advice…comfort…direction. And honestly, it helps me as much as them. I want to the be the one to be leaned on. To be needed. To give to others because it makes me feel so good. T is the exact same way…her work as a private nurse and then the kind of grandma she is to my amazing nieces and nephews shows the size of her heart and her willingness to give all she has of herself.

I think all of this is why I’m finding it so hard to reach out to people who have offered support. When friends or family inquire about how I’m coping and handling things, more often than not I say “I’m fine!” to them. I want to recognize their pain first…their issues first…their needs first. I don’t want to burden them with mine…put anymore on their own shoulders…admit I need help.

I guess I don’t ever want to be seen as selfish and for me, asking for help puts me in that position. I jump on my own roof to clean out my gutters…move tons of rock by myself…teeter on ladders to paint my ceilings…put drops in Edward’s ears alone since it can be messy, and honestly, just doing this one task truly does show my inner strength. I think O and my next door neighbor would agree. 🙄

I’m also self-conscious about always being down. As I think all of us who experience depression can attest too, we soon learn that there’s often not a lot of compassion for us; or if there is, it dwindles as we continue to be down. If I asked how many of you have heard “Just cheer up!” “You’re so lucky for what you’ve got!” “Don’t you realize how bad off others are?” all of your hands would probably go up. We often feel guilty for suffering from something that’s inside of us…not something we’ve created. Likewise, those of us with bipolar who cycle through manic states hear similar sentiments: “Slow down!” “Just stop!” And my personal favorite: “Just calm down!” GRRRRRR!

So, we learn to mask our emotions the best we can so we don’t hear the frustration, weariness, and even at times contempt, in other’s voices. Maybe I’ve been doing this so long I simply can’t stop. I don’t want to seem needy or weak or lost. But just between you and me my sweetie peeps, I feel needy and weak and lost. And what is so so hard to realize as well is that ma is the one who made me feel needed…and strong…and anchored. She was the one I could be all these things too and have total, always unconditional, acceptance. Isn’t it ironic that the one I need most in my world is the one who’s no longer in it?

I know that I need to open myself up to the support being offered but genuinely don’t know how. “Can you come over and keep me company?” How can I ask that when they have their own lives to live? “Will you sit down with me and look at a photo album I made while I talk about all the memories that are between the covers?” How can I take up their time hearing my stories and seeing me cry? “Would you mind running some errands with me because being alone 90% of my time just gets to be too much and having company would feel so fucking (sorry, ma) good?” How can I force someone to spend time with me when I can always handle things myself? “Can I call and chat for a while?” How can I make myself be a pest to someone who’s so busy themselves?

I understand that this is a ‘me’ problem. An “I don’t know how to do this” problem. And I also know it’s keeping me from starting the work I know I need to be doing…not just getting through each day so busy that I don’t have time to think. That’s beginning to not work for me now and with Thanksgiving, my birthday and Christmas all within the next month, those triggers are going to be mighty hard to ignore.

Terri and I both need to cut ourselves some slack…be kinder to ourselves. We need to stop feeling guilty for asking for help and for feeling selfish when we do. We also need to be able to start saying ‘no’ to things that will take away from what we are personally able to handle right now. Reversing decades of feeling bad about ourselves when we were depressed or struggling has made it’s imprint…it may be a while before we can let some of that go.

Every night I thank God that he gave me a ma that I miss so fucking much. She was such an amazing mother and the love I have for her is undefinable. It’s a blessing to have experienced what a lot of others haven’t been able too. And I’ll be thankful for that forever.

Happy Thanksgiving, peeps…thank you for your kind messages and sweet words. They are truly appreciated more than you’ll ever know. 💘💘💘

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“…or I might find out what it’s like to ride a drop of rain…” ~ Brad Paisley

Dear Ma,

So, where do I start? The hole that’s in my heart grows more and more as I come to understand that you are truly gone. Honestly, it takes my breath away and as much as I try to push down those feelings, I’m finding I simply can’t do that much longer. Ulcers, stomach pains, and headaches are telling me that I need to start what others call the ‘healing’ process. But to me, it’s not healing at all – it’s actually scarring which will be with me always and will still cause me pain when I bump against it. And you know, the funny thing about all of this is that the one person in the world who could comfort me best is you. You.

I feel so selfish though because I’m crying so much for me…for losing my support, my rock, my best friend, the person who loved me more than anyone else in the world ever has. Ma, I’m scared to be without you…so scared of what my life will be without you. I miss our Sunday lunches…our card playing…our trips…our eating Mexican and then getting too stuffed…our jokes…our conversations…our laughs. You always made me happy. Always.

Something else I’m struggling with is guilt. So much fucking guilt, ma…and it’s eating me up. What you went through with Richard is making me vomit whenever I think about it. I should have helped you more. Tried harder to get you away from him. Drug you to the police. Forced you to go to the DV shelter for help. There are so many ‘shoulds’ that I have running through my brain and they torment me. You always protected me and did everything you could for me and in turn, I feel like I failed you. Remember when I apologized to you in the hospital for this? I’ll never ever forget what you said to me: “Kristi, you did all you could.” I heard that ma…but just can’t believe it yet.

I also didn’t know how much you were drinking because you hid it so well. Sometimes I’d call you at night and knew you were drunk just because of your slurred words. But I truly thought those were one-offs…not a nightly thing. I’ve been going through tons of old photos and can now see the signs in your face during that time. And you know, I also see the difference in your eyes over time: I have a pic of you when you were with Richard (don’t worry, ma…he’s going to a very different place than where you are) and drinking, and your eyes are empty. Glazed. Vacant. After you left and settled in to what you call the best years of your life, they brightened and sparkled. What an awesome transition that is to see!

You know, I think a lot about your strength and class. I know you and pop divorcing was devastating for you. I saw your pain…your tears…and then your strength when you pulled yourself out and started to live again. Fighting back against Richard was horrifying; I remember you at the shelter as we were getting your OP and then going in front of the judge. You were shaking so hard beside me and grasping my hand to where I had indentations from your nails. But you persevered even with the fear of retaliation from him. And then you grew. And grew. And grew.

Your quilting business blew me away. Who knew you had such a keen business sense? What you built in the span of just a couple of years, and then worked at for over 15, was amazing. So many of your customers came to pay their respects to you, and Terri and I were so proud to hear them talk about your kindness…sweetness…talent…helpfulness. We were gobsmacked. You made such an impression on everyone you met and everything they said was true. Completely true.

So Terri told me what you said to her before you lost your ability to talk – “I want Kristi to be OK and I don’t want you to worry in your life.” Terri has been wonderful with me and has taken over the role of older sister seriously. We talk multiple times a day and are always checking up on one another. We’ve worked together on your house and haven’t had any sort of disagreement at all. We know you’d be proud. And when she came over the other day, she said “I’m going to hug you now!” Then we looked at each other and laughed. We both know Terri isn’t a hugger…but she knows how much I need that and is comforting me so much…I hope I’m doing the same for her. Little does she know she’ll be a champion hugger in a few months.

And ma, I know you wanted me to have your house but honestly, I just can’t do that. You are too much there and I don’t think I’d ever be able to move on to the degree I should in those surroundings. I would also feel like I was taking your place in a way…something no one could ever ever do. I do have your living room furniture though, and when I look at the chair you always sat in to read and sew and watch TV, I see you. In your jammies from Kohl’s with a scrubbed face and damp hair. I love that picture of you so much.

I talk to you everyday, ma and I hope you can hear my words…I know I can hear you. Understand that I’m never going to stop having you in my whole heart…never let go of your hand…never ever say goodbye. And when I see you again, I’d better get a damn big hug.

Thanks, ma. You were truly the best mom I could ever have. There are a lot of things that haven’t gone right in my life, but you were always there. Always. And having had that for all of these years makes up for anything else.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“Like a heart-broke Desperado, headin’ right back to my roots…” ~ Morgan Wallen

So, I’m having a crummy day. Actually, I’m having a very shitty day and I’m hoping it won’t go anymore downhill from here. I cried about ma in my office before class and then during an exercise in my Intro to Socio course, a student started to cry herself because the exercise hit home for her. THEN, a student of mine gave me a wonderful t-shirt she bought from a college student who is working hard for suicide prevention: It’s pink and says “Stay Another Day”…that made me cry too! Sheesh.

Anyhoot, I’m finding out that death is handled a lot like cancer by many people: apparently talking about it makes it catching. When some colleagues pass me in the hall and ask how I am, I say “I’m ok.” Then they walk away…uncomfortable with that honest response. Actually, a truly honest response would be: “I’m fucking horrible. My ma died and she was my foundation…half of my entire world…and loved me more than anyone on the face of this earth ever has.” And obviously, if ma has computer access in heaven, I need to apologize for saying ‘fuck’ – sorry I said fuck, ma. I know you hate the word fuck. 🙄

When ma was diagnosed with breast cancer, many of her ‘friends’ and even some family alienated themselves from her…at a time when she needed them most! I know some of that is fear…feeling uncomfortable…being faced with the understanding that anyone can get cancer. I also think we shy away from cancer, and death, because it’s hard to know what to say. I get that…it’s so difficult to know what words to use. What will comfort or what will hurt. It’s a balancing act and I know I haven’t walked it well in the past.

It’s been 6 weeks since ma died and the tidal wave of grief has started to wash over me…it’s almost like I actually felt the water hit. It’s getting much more difficult to deny that she died and is truly gone…but I’m trying. I talk to her all the time (not out loud in public!) and Terri actually texts her old phone. I think it’s our way of still feeling that connection as we muddle through this time.

Being at school has been a mixed blessing. My students motivate me to be ‘on’ everyday and knowing I have to get up and get going is something I need right now. Rolling out of bed on the weekends is a process.

But the flip side is this: putting on my “Professor K” mask gives me something to hide behind. You know when you were little…and you thought that if you covered your eyes everything…including you…would ‘go away?’ That’s my mask right now. Plus, school started days after ma died and I had to work on my classes fervently since I didn’t while ma was in the hospital, so I’ve had that mask on for this entire time. Then, I’ve been keeping it on at home too. I know Edward and Mally understand I’m sad but I don’t want to burden others, i.e. humans, with it. My neighbors are totally wonderful and I have gotten in the habit of using their yard swing to meditate on, but I don’t want to vent to Terri or O. Terri is in the same boat I am…she’s mourning and sad and confused and still denying that this could have happened. She’s burdened enough with her own feelings. And O lost his grandma; plus, he has 2 businesses he runs and a girlfriend. He’s busy and I only see him about once a week. All of this means that I’m pretty much by myself unless I’m at school. For someone who craves hugs and affection and cuddles, this is so so hard! I’d give about anything for someone I could do this with. Confide in. Vent too. Keeping this in and being so fucking (sorry again, ma) lonely is horrid.

It’s funny because I thought I knew what lonely was. As usual, I was mistaken (big shocker, huh?). Even when I was lonely because of not having a partner (hopefully ma is working on that now – a cowboy with Levi’s and a great singing voice like Morgan Wallens, tall, weathered, and funny…not a lot of expectations there 😐) I still had ma. We talked every morning and every night and texted throughout the day. When anything would happen, I’d call and share it with her…she was just always there. Terri said this yesterday and it’s so so true: “I just want to talk to mom about my mom dying.”

Anyways, I have some answers to this: first, I’m starting to allow myself to be sad…to not feel like I always have to be my usual effervescent self 😳. I also know I have to start reaching out more; I’m getting involved in a really great church that’s small, friendly, and so relatable; Terri has gone with me a couple of times and it’s nice to share that together. I’m also trying to eat better since it’s always hard for me to eat when I’m upset and am proud to say I’ve been snitching Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from our secretaries desk. Finally, O has encouraged me to see a grief counselor and I’m going to call for an appointment this week.

I know reading this is probably depressing but honestly, I need the outlet. Writing has always been therapeutic for me and I truly appreciate you all listening and many of you have reached out to me…thank you so so much! I’m actually going to do my best to get Terri to guest blog later this week. I think it would be good for her, and would also let her express things she might need to face which could be cathartic for her as well.

Thanks for listening, peeps…you’re all the best.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“You’re missing, but you’re always a heartbeat from me.” ~ Enya

So, it’s been a month now and I’ve been in denial about the permanence of ma being gone. Unfortunately my head…and heart…must think it’s time for me to break through this and it’s like a storm has suddenly washed over me.

It’s funny that what you wish for isn’t always what you can handle. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve wanted to get past this wall I had up and start ‘really’ feeling the grief I know is in me. And bam. It’s a’happening.

T and I were at ma’s yesterday helping someone pick up a quilt ma was making for them. After T left to go to the dentist, I walked through the house ma and pop built and that I lived in from the age of 6. I could see ma in every room, remember her laughter, and hear her voice. I could even smell her in that ‘house scent’ we all have in our homes.

You know, whenever I used to go over to the house, I’d walk in and yell: “Ma?! Are you there ma?!” And she’d say: “Kristi?! Is that you?!” Then I’d hug her hard…always always always hug her first thing. I yelled that yesterday. Again and again. And I was wanting so fucking bad for her to yell back; when she didn’t, I think I finally realized that my ma died. And honestly, I feel a sense of loneliness I’ve never…ever…felt before.

Of course I’ve been lonely at times in my life…sometimes it’s hard being single and living by myself. But no matter how down I got, ma was there. Always there. I could call her…go to her…and just always know that despite anything else in my life, she was within reach. Always my constant. Always my anchor.

Knowing that’s no longer so makes me feel like I’m adrift in the sea…no focus…no path…no direction. I’ve never felt this emptiness and it’s one tough son of a bitch to handle. Today I was just needing a hug. A simple hug. But my hugger’s gone and as someone who craves affection, it’s hard to not have that physical comfort. My neighbors across the street are getting used to me popping over in my boxers and t-shirt so they can give me a squeeze. It helps.

It also helps to keep busy so I’ve got a huge coloring poster hanging up and I work on that. I’ve done some jigsaw puzzles…just finished a 1000 piecer…and have been getting some more African violets to fuss with. There’s around 16,000 different varieties and even though my collection is growing, I do know my limits with these.

Anyhoot, I’m going to take this grief thing one day at a time…I guess that’s all you can do. I’m going to let myself cry. Vent. Yell. Whatever I need to do to start working through this heartache. I know I’ll never…ever…get ‘over’ ma. I know I’ll grieve her until I see her again. But I also hope it will become if not easier…then ‘less’. My pain will turn to an ache that will always be with me. And that’s OK. Because I know ma is with me…in my head and my heart. And I’m going to keep her there. Forever.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“But there never seems to be enough time…” ~ Jim Croce

So, one day O’s dad came home from work when I was 8 months preggy and found me sitting on the living room floor shoveling Oreo’s down my gullet, watching All My Children, and bawling with umpteen parenting books spread all around and all open to different chapters. He sighed, stomped into my pity bubble, scooped up all of these tomes and proceeded to chuck them in our dumpster. And yes son, this is before us old folks regularly recycled.

Trust me, this was an act of mercy. I don’t know about you all but when anything happens to me, I turn to books to try to figure things out. The only problem with this is that every book has conflicting advice, ideas, and tips to use for such a task. For example, EVERY parenting book I was reading on that day of infamy said something different about ‘how’ to raise my baby. Every one. I was so befuddled I thought about calling my OB/GYN (who had the bedside manner of a turnip 😳) and telling him I was calling off this ‘birth thing’ that was ultimately B’s fault. But know what I figured out after being a new ma for a few months? That they were all right. And all wrong. And my job was to do the best I could with the personality of the little guy I had and hope for the best. Luckily, it worked. Very well.

And now? I find myself doing the exact same thing with books on grief. I’ve read tons of info on ‘how to grieve in the right way’ and if I put into practice all of these, I’d be once again bawling, watching soaps throughout my day (which I actually wish I could🤔 ) and gaining 10 pounds a week. Hmmm.

However, I have come across advice that does help me and while searching I found this from Everyday Health (paraphrased):

“Saying goodbye to a parent is a life-changing experience, marking the end of a bond we’ve known for our entire lives (Heidi Horsley, PsyD). Until it happens, we don’t know what our lives are like without our parents and to have them gone can be traumatic, whether it’s sudden or expected.”

“Our biological parents give us life, and the parents who raise us (whether biological or not) shape our lives in really big ways. They’re with us from day one, forming the foundation of our identity.” (Alexandra Kennedy).

Research show that people continue to report trouble sleeping, concentrating at work, getting along with people, and a strong emotional response one to five years after losing a parent. Other research suggests losing a parent puts someone at a higher risk of numerous negative mental and physical health outcomes, including higher likelihood of binge drinking, self-esteem issues, and overall decline in happiness. This evidence also reinforces that parents often play critical roles in our self-confidence and sense of purpose throughout our lives.
Carmen Chai

Honestly, reading this comforted me in a way nothing else has because it helps me to understand the gut-punchy feeling I’m walking around with and why I have such a hard time accepting ma’s death itself.

Ma really did play such a role in my self-confidence…no matter what else might be happening around me, ma ALWAYS supported me and believed in my abilities to handle whatever it might be. I did feel a sense of purpose being ma’s daughter…that was (and I guess still is) a HUGE status for me and at night, when I’m used to talking to her and reviewing our days together, brings that home to me. I know how much I needed her attention and love and how ‘less than’ I feel by not having it now. She made me feel like I was so important in her life too, and never passed up an opportunity to show her appreciation for me.

Crystal Raypole wrote a great article in Healthline and gave 10 ideas for how to navigate through grief which is a great compilation of advice I’ve read elsewhere. Some of these are easier than others…and some are going to take me a lloonngg time to either begin or traverse through.

The first couple are to both validate your feelings and then allow yourself to fully experience the grief. OK. These are the toughies. I keep apologizing to people for being in such a ‘sleep walky’ type of existence right now and when others ask me how I’m doing, I always say OK which is actually not the truth. I know saying fine isn’t true at all and saying horrible probably is a bit harsh to put on someone else, so OK is my go-to right now. However, a friend of ma’s, T’s and mine said this yesterday: “Fine simply means fucked, insecure, neurotic and emotional.” I guess with this definition, fine really does sum up my day to day right now. (Love you, Teeeny 💘)

And fully experience the grief? I think this is different for everyone and right now, I can only take it in dribs and drabs. I find myself vacuuming yet again when I feel these waves come upon me and I know that if I open that door, I’ll drown right now. I eventually will…but right that that tsunami would be way too much.

Caring for myself is one I’m working on and I definitely have support from the fam but what’s ironic is this: I get to crying over ma and start to call her so I can talk to her about it…after all, that’s what I always did when I was upset. What a tough habit to break.

Sharing and honoring memories is another idea and T and I are doing just that in a lot of ways. Ma made so many beautiful quilts and we have given a quilt to all of our family, ma’s friends and neighbors, and are going to have the rest professionally cleaned and then donated to the local Cancer Care center for them to give to those getting treatment. This is the same place where we asked for memorials and it honors ma’s 25 years of having been a cancer survivor. We know she’d love knowing others getting comfort from what she made. Every time we talk, T and I (and O and I too) share memories and some make us cry…some make us laugh. And you know, having T is a gift. Only she knows what I’m feeling since she’s struggling with it too…we are truly a team in this loss.

Finally, a suggestion I’ve seen in various places as well says to forgive the person for past wrongs, unresolved issues, etc. Here’s a true testament to ma: I don’t have any. I know people make the dead into saints when in fact, no one deserves that title. However, ma was an amazingly, perfectly imperfect parent and she was there for T and I no matter what. We were lucky that we got to talk to her so much up until a couple of days before she died, and at one point she tried to apologize to me for having married her ex husband (yes, he’s a fucking bastard and had he shown up at her funeral, my nephews and O were going to ‘escort’ him out 😠) and putting T and I through these horrible years of domestic violence and the abuse he heaped on us as well. I stopped her. I told her she didn’t need to apologize…she needed to absolve herself of any guilt she had towards us because he was the abuser…not her. And I know that she was the one that had to ultimately understand when she could get away from him with her life. How can we blame her for going through hell? I blame him.

Maybe I’m reading too much about this grief thing and maybe I think that by doing so, I’ll glean quick fixes to this shattered life. The best thing I’ve learned is this: it’s going to take a LONG time to grieve ma…I’m going to feel things in my own time and way…I’m going to have to re-learn life with having a ma in it…and I have to make sure that the life I have is lived to it’s fullest and the people who are in it simply know how much I love them. If T and I can both do this, I think ma would be proud.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.” ~ Winnie the Pooh

So, I’ve been reading through the 2 years of blog posts I’ve written and it’s funny to see how much my life has changed. What was such a big deal at one time is nothing now and I know that in terms of relationships and break-ups, time truly does heal all wounds. How weird to see people I thought were so important to me be nothing more than a blip now. It’s nice to know the heart really does have the power to mend in these cases.

Almost every one of my posts has ma in it somewhere…even if it’s just apologizing for saying fuck. But wanna be in on a secret? Ma used to say it too every once in a while…probably 3 times in her life in front of me and always laughed and turned red when she did. So many of my posts talk about the fun we had together, conversations we trudged through, trips we took, and the list goes on.

Even though I am still in shock and a bit of denial (T and I both share these feelings), I am starting to see her everywhere…metaphorically. I did dishes today and she was there…standing over my shoulder at holidays with pursed lips telling me I didn’t rinse a cup well enough. On my way to school I realized that EVERY single place I pass is somewhere ma and I went: restaurants, stores, thrift shops, etc. I ordered a couple of African Violets just now (my new obsession…gramma and ma both loved them and I’m feeling it too 🙂) and it made me think of when I was a little girl and she had yellow shelving pop put together for her with violets covering them. I know I got my green thumb from her. I put a book on reserve at our library and thought about how ma went there every single week for all of her adult life. Every week. She was a voracious reader and T and I share that trait. Her favorite thing was to soak in a warm bubble bath with a little bowl of chocolate covered anything and read and snack. When T and I are doing things in her house I see her at her quilting machine…cross stitching on the couch…making the best chili in the world.

I think about our inside jokes…how we used to sign greeting cards with funny names or things we’d say while playing cards. She had such a great sense of humor and ‘got’ me more than anyone else ever has.

How can you describe someone who was your world? What words can possibly illustrate the scope of her in my life? The place in my heart? The memories in my head? It’s such an indescribable feeling to not only lose someone you loved more than life itself but to have your world so shaken up. Turned around. Changed forever.

Being Prof K helps a lot during the day…it gives me purpose and direction during this time of numbness. My students are absolutely freaking amazing and are so sweet in how they’ll ask how I am. But when I’m at home? It’s like I’m sleepwalking through life outside of campus. I can’t sew. I don’t know if I ever will again…T can’t either and ma’s bestie said the same thing to me yesterday. I’ve been doing huge jigsaw puzzles while listening to audiobooks for something to focus on but I hear her voice in my head telling me to work on the border first. Even writing this is hard…not because of the content and the fact I’m crying, but because ma always read my posts. Always praised them. Always told me how proud she was of me.

T and I are taking things one day at a time and I’m focusing on being there for O…he loved his gramma so much. Even Edward and Mally run to the door when someone pops over and I can see sadness in Ed’s eyes when it’s not ma. There was nothing he liked better than trying to lick her ears when she was on the couch.

So many people at school who have lost a parent have sought me out and talking to them helps. One friend said that I’ll never ever get over the grief completely…never have my world the same way again…but that you learn to live with it. That it’s going to take me a while. I know that my heart won’t mend this time…it will scab over but the hurt will be there. Always.

Today, a friend told me a quote by Winnie the Pooh: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” I was gobsmacked by this because it made me realize that ma was such an amazing person who I got to have for 55 years. But unlike Pooh, I’m never going to say goodbye. I’ll always talk to her. Always love her. Always miss her. And always work to make her proud.

I keep greeting cards I get and ma used to give me a lot of them. One of them I found said this: “You are loved and adored and I’m proud to be your ma.” What a great feeling to know she felt this way. What a gift. What a wonderful message that I can hold onto for the rest of my life.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo