Finally, a REAL New Year's Resolution list

I make a New Year's resolution yearly.  I write them down.  I keep the list and I cross it off.

I made my 2017 list on December 31 of 2016.  I keep my resolutions out in the open where I can see it daily.  Somewhere about January 9, 2017, I took this list and put it in my Daytimer.  (Yes, I still use a Daytimer)  I was pretty sure the list was obsolete by January 9.

As I pondered on my list for 2018, I kept looking over at the list for 2017.

Seriously, what was I thinking?  (Franklin always says I should make "Improve left handed penmanship" a priority.)

1.  I have written down "Lose 15 pounds" since I was 23 years old.  This is coming off the list.  I am almost 57 and even if I live to be 100, my life is half over.  Who cares?  I have great blood pressure, low cholesterol and what the hell?  There is not a Senior Citizens Sports Illustrated  Swim Suit Edition so I am done obsessing.  They advantage of being the "chunky girl" is when people see you, they say, "You haven't changed a bit" instead of walking to their car and saying, "OMG, she was so tiny and little and middle age just "rolled" over her". 

 I will always look bigger because of my enormous boobs. Instead of loathing them, I have embraced the enormous breasts.  Many of my dear friends no longer have theirs, cancer.  I don't even complain about them anymore.  They are ample but healthy and I will take that any day of the week.

2.  I have been sending pictures for reprints for the last three years.  Sometimes it doesn't happen until October, but I get it crossed off the list.  Hey "new" moms out there, do yourself a favor and get your pictures printed, soon, before something happens to your phone, you will thank me when they are 16.  A picture on a phone is NOT the same as a picture in a frame, in your home.

3. I did increase my income.  Not by much but i did.

4.  Teach or introduce something new to each child.  I did.  

5.  Did not finish the bathroom remodel.  Opted for a new heating and air system.

6.  I did not strengthen my relationship with God.  I don't feel like I did anything.  Instead, I feel like I was picked up by my bra straps (they are wide and sturdy) and was shaken to my core and then I was placed gently to the ground and he looked at me and said "Trust in Me."

After the "button's" accident, there were stages of grieving.  While the "button" was alive and breathing, our son was gone.  The son we knew and raised was gone.  And in his place was a bitter, angry young man with so many apparatuses that accompanied him.  Learning about his new life was exhausting and daunting.  Dealing with him as he learned to live with his new life, over the top exhausting, painful and daunting. 

And as time after the accident passed, and things became more real and "more in your face", the anguish crept in.  I was angry.  The "button" was making it.  He was sober.  He had a plan.  And Bang.  Literally, BANG. And Franklin and I were alone in our grief.  Perhaps we were alone in our Pity Party.  

I hate Pity Parties.  You invite people that you care and love and they are your friends.  You expect them to RSVP and attend for the reasons listed. They never show and then you are stuck with all the food.  Pity Parties suck.

And somewhere during our Pity Party of two, something happened.

Two members of our church started, PUB Theology...you discuss at a Pub.  I love it.

One night, as the 90 minutes was coming to an end, the question was asked, "Have anyone ever seen the face of God?"

I jumped up and words came out.  At first, I wasn't even aware, really aware of what I was saying and then it hit me and I became aware.

It will be a year on January 6, that I visited Craig's Hospital in Denver.  I wore the jacket that I had flown in to Craig's.  I will never forget walking into the game room there where several young friends had come to visit their friend Micheal on his 16th birthday.  I will never forget noticing that Micheal could not breath independently his left little finger was the only limb that moved independently and he could not speak.  His mom and grandmother slid a birthday cake on to his wheelchair tray and wanted to light the candles.  Nobody had a lighter.  And in her soft voice, grandma looked over and asked me if I had a lighter.  

I did have a lighter, I did.  In my jacket pocket.  I don't smoke.  I don't carry lighters, I have no need, but that morning, when I went to sit in my airplane seat, there was a lighter.  A lighter on an airplane seat, that's odd.  "A bit strange", I remember saying to myself as I slipped the lighter in my pocket.  

And now, I passed the lighter to grandma and they lit Micheal's 16 candles.  Mom had tears strolling down her face as they sang.  And then at 16 years old, they helped him blow out his candles.  

Doesn't seem like a lot to ask for in life, to blow out your own candles?  But it is for some.

And finally, first the first time in 45 days, Micheal looked up and spoke into the microphone and said "Thank you".

That is when I saw the face of God. I saw LOVE, HOPE and God all in one room.  
 It wasn't a coincidence there was a lighter in my seat.

The parents, the grandparents, the adorable 16 year old boys and Micheal himself will be etched in my mind, FOREVER.

After I got home from PUB Theology, I felt at peace.  You know, that peace after you break up with someone or fire someone or quit your job....when I said the words out loud and retold the story, it was like cement.

My life changed that afternoon in Craig's Hospital.  Our lives had already changed when I drove into the parking lot of Craig's  but my life changed that afternoon at Micheal's Birthday party.  I have thanked God in prayer everyday for that birthday party.

I have learned two things, really learned two things this year, the big stuff in life you cannot control but you can react how you deal and process it.

Attitude is really everything.  You can chose to be angry or chose to be accepting.  You can chose to eat the fries or chose to eat the green beans.  You can chose to positive or chose to be negative, the more energy you give either, the bigger anything becomes.  Attitude is key when dealing and processing what you have been handed. 

My New Year's List for 2018...

1.  Acknowledge a blessing daily in prayer. 
2.  Do my best to always make the healthier choice.
3.  Do 300,000 steps monthly.
4.  Work harder, be better.
5.  Send photos to Shutterfly.
6.  Experience something new with the family as often as possible.
7.  Celebrate 20th wedding anniversary with flare.
8.  Find something to laugh about in every situation.
9.  Read more, social media less.
10.  Embrace life and help those that are working hard to stay alive.

My list is written and I am going to make it happen.  

The LIFESAVER Book

What a difference a year makes!  Last year at this time, the tip of a hummingbird's beak was bigger than my Christmas spirit.  While I am usually festive, I could not find the JOY.  I was over everyone being over the top.  I just could not find the Christmas spirit.  Could not.

Fast forward to Christmas 2017.  I could be an elf.  

One of my very favorite things about Christmas is the music.  Karen Carpenter Christmas CD overload, BAND AID belting out "Do they know it's Christmas time at all?" and a little Josh Groban singing that Polar Express tune.  Love Christmas music.

It was early one morning on the way to school and "Jingle Bell Rock" was playing.  Walker's first two favorite songs were "Jingle Bell Rock" and "Delta Dawn" so he was singing away.

And no, they don't give me a hard time about the Christmas music.  I would kick them out of the car if they did.  

During this morning, I tried to convince them to forget about gifts and instead go somewhere.  No, they wanted no part of it.  "We were away last year, we want to stay home and we want gifts."

And then they asked, "Mom, did you ever have a Christmas where you didn't get what you wanted?"

"Hmmm.  Sure, I asked for world peace, the Kardashians to go away, Santa didn't deliver on being tall and thin and I never got perfect teeth.  My dream boy, Tim Russert died and Sting was married to a model. Sure, I guess,no, not really. I don't remember not getting something I wanted."

To which I quickly replied, "I never got the Lifesaver book at the Christmas Grab Bag Party."

They were rolling.  "What are you talking about?  Seriously mom?"

They got out of the car and I told them I would tell them later.  I never got the Lifesaver Book.

And when they asked about it later, I was a bit melancholy describing the Lifesaver Book.

It was a different time then.  Rudolph came on once a year.  It was the second biggest TV night of the year, tied with the Wizard of Oz.  You got a bath, put on your jammies and sat in front of the television with real hot chocolate and watched on a television where you changed the channels yourself.  It was also one of the two nights where you were allowed to drink outside of the kitchen.  It was a huge deal to stay up past bedtime to watch Rudolph.

There wasn't a Santa at every corner.  There was one and talking to him was a monumental occasion.  You dressed for Santa.  

We didn't go into Horne's or We traveled to downtown Pittsburgh, the Monday after Thanksgiving.  We never had school because it was the first day of deer season.  We dressed up.  We would go to three stores, Horne's, Gimbles and Kaufman's.  In that order., we just went to see the windows.  I am still a sucker this day for window shopping and mentally  judging from the streets, "best windows".

Then we would venture over to Kaufman's.  Ahhh Kaufman's.  Just saying that name gives my heart a warm glow.  KDKA would be broadcasting live from one of the windows for Children's Hospital and we would go by and drop our money in the bucket.  I can still sing the Farkleberry Tart song, "start your heart, eat a farkeberry tart, and tear the world apart, Farkleberry, Farkleberry.  It was real life stardom seeing those radio guys in action.  Maybe that is where my love for radio came from? We stood in that line proud to put our coins in the bucket with the hopes they would put us on the radio.

And then we went inside.  Chandeliers, wreaths, garland, perfection.  I can still see it.  We would always go to Kaufman's for lunch.  There was a paper menu on the table, each seat, with Rudolph's face.  There was a menu item for each reindeer.  I only ever ordered the Comet.  I have no idea what it was, who cares, I was eating in honor of Comet.

After lunch, we ventured to the third or fourth floor.  I must add, as we got older, if the girls were good (my cousins and I) we were allowed to stop on the floor where the wedding gowns were and take a peak.  I remember stopping and staring.  They were always lovely.  There will never be a department store like Kaufman's in downtown Pittsburgh.  
Anyway, we would get to the Santa floor and there were magical amusements, soft glowing lights, Christmas music playing and it truly was a Christmas magic land.  After a few rides, we would stand in line to see Santa.  The Santas at Kaufman's were amazing.  They were always so patient and kind and there wasn't a three second seating.  If you were engaged in a Santa conversation,  you were allowed to speak.  It wasn't like the Academy Awards were music came up when your time had expired.  

 And when you were done, my mom would ask, "what three things did you ask Santa for?"

Like she didn't know.  That Sears catalog came in September and we had those pages dog eared and things circled four hours after its arrival.  I can so remember looking in that book being so appalled that they had wasted so much paper on the towels and sheets section.  Who cared, get to the toys!

Finally, we would get to the Santa's workshop where they would pin the list of all the people I needed to shop and buy for to my crew neck sweater (that matched my plaid skirt) and we would go in there, without our parents and shop.  It was the best.

And then we went home with our presents.

No trips to the mall every week, nothing, that was it.  Our big annual Christmas trip to see Santa, eat the Comet and shop.  Christmas magic in one day.

And then you waited.  We had a tree, real and ceramic, stockings, and a ceramic Santa for decoration.  Period.  My dad hung lights outside and we were really hip because my grandfather made out of wood and hand painted a giant Christmas card that read, "Merry Christmas from the Bahneman's". 

We didn't worry about political correctness.  The card stood proudly under a single spotlight in the yard.  

I could always tell when the annual "baking" day was close.  My mom would gather her favorite Tupperware pieces, there would be jimmies, cookie cutters and apricot filling on the dining room table.  My mom, my aunt Judy and mamaw took alternated houses.  When we came home from school, there would be leftover jimmies and cookies everywhere.  We were always allowed to pick two.  Todd always picked the peanut butter Hershey kiss cookies and I always picked the apricot filled cookies.

Christmas Eve Day was the big day, either at my Aunt Judy's or our house.  Gifts were carried into the house and it started.  Youngest to the oldest, my cousin Janet and Great Grandma Emma opened and then closed the gift giving portion of the day.  Home cooked meal, church and then home to go to bed for Santa's arrival.

I can remember looking out my frosted window at the star in White Valley like it was yesterday.  I was convinced I could see Santa around that star.  Looking out that window at "my star" was one of the coolest things ever to me.

Christmas morning was a blur.  The most important part of the day was deciding what new toy to take to Mamaw's for Christmas dinner.  

Off we went to Mamaw's.  We ate in the basement and sat on metal  folding chairs.  Every time somebody went up those stairs, they creaked.  I would give anything to hear those stairs creak again.  My mamaw always put yellow food coloring in her stuffing to make sure it looked good next to the stuffing.  It was such a great day.

We only had one party, and it was at school, in our classroom.  Mom's were allowed to bring in homemade cupcakes, or whatever.  This was the only time of the year it happened.  Your teacher would bring in a record player or radio and you were allowed to play Christmas music and get out of your seat and have fun.  We would play games and then it was time, the grab bag section.  Everyone would bring in a wrapped gift and you would draw numbers whatever, to select your gift.  Every year I wanted the Lifesaver Book, every year.  I was never allowed to bring it because my mom said "everyone brings those".  No joke mom, cause they were awesome, that's why.  I was so frustrated she would never get those.  I mean, who didn't want a Lifesaver Book.

Never, never did I get it.

In the fifth grade, Scott S brought it in.  I knew the dimensions of those books.  (My brother and I are the best gift guessers ever and I knew it was the Lifesaver Book, knew it).  The first were laid out on a table right by my desk, and I stalked it.

Miss D put numbers put numbers in the hat and we drew.  Number 9.  I was number 9.  I only had 8 in front of me.  I had a shot.

We get to number 8 and Cheryl D goes to the table.  She himmed and she hawed and she picked up the Lifesaver Book!  Are you flipping kidding me?  So close but so far.

Could not believe it!  Ugh.

Cheryl D was my "first friend" outside family members.  She lived across the street from me growing up. We attended one another's birthday parties (both April babies) and went to kindergarten together.  I couldn't be mad.  The best picker won.

When I got home, my mom asked, "what did you get?"  

"Colored pencils and colored chalk."  I can remember my brother saying, "Dumb gift, what boy wants colored chalk?"

And of course, I told her I was one away from the coveted Lifesaver Book.  

She didn't respond.  And she never picked the Lifesaver Book to give as a grab bag.

My kids looked at me like I was from a third world country.  They had no idea what the Sears Catalog was and they were hung up by the Comet (rhymes with vomit) menu choice.  

"No decorations?"

"Not really."  I mean if you have a tree, really, what else do you need?

Two nights ago, as I was wrapping up my wrapping, as I placed a gift under the tree, I noticed a brown package.  I didn't put anything like this under the tree so I was a bit perplexed.  I pulled it out, large, thin, (surely a 2018 calendar) and it was addressed to me.

I glanced at the return address.  Cheryl D.  Cheryl D sent me a present.  I opened it and I knew it was a calendar.  It was.  But it was a sea turtle calendar.  My heart melted.  I am so being a member of the turtle watch team when I retire and she remembered.

She snagged my Lifesaver book.  Instead she gave me lifelong friendship in return.  

Maybe Christmas Joy isn't really about Christmas?  Maybe it is about love all year long? Maybe Christmas Joy is about thinking of others and letting them know?  Maybe Christmas Joy is about lifting others up when you are pretty sure they need lifting?  And maybe Christmas Joy isn't really about Joy, maybe it is about having your heart nudged so remember what the meaning of life is all about?

Yesterday, I called my niece.  She was struggling with, "I feel like a bad mom, I don't have my act together this year and omg, I could ruin their childhood over this one Christmas when we don't bake cookies".

I called her because that was me last year.  I was JOYLESS.  And nobody noticed.  They didn't remember we didn't bake, they didn't remember I was Joyless.  My kids just remembered they were loved.  

Everything we do anymore has become supersized.  Over the top.  It is like sickening sweet icing on good cake.  The cake is great without the icing, in fact better without the icing, but we feel the need to keep adding icing.  We don't need all the icing.  One more string of lights doesn't make Christmas better.  Matching Christmas morning pj's doesn't change the meaning of Christmas and special wrapping means nothing in the scheme of life.

Christmas, Hanuka, Kwanzaa, it is all about love.  Loving your God, loving one another and reaching out to those who could use a little extra love now and then.  

So go forth and be loved and give love.  Merry Christmas.  

Strike up the Band

It has been a few month's since my high school band incident, but, I was scarred again on Saturday when I saw this fellow.  

Early October, it was my turn to work the ticket gate at a high school football game.  I always get there early because there is no point in turning around and going back home after the drop off and truth be told, if you get there early, you get the ticket gate and not the concession stand.  

As I stood outside the ticket gate, I was watching the marching band practice.  No lie, it was maybe only 90 degrees at this point, and tiny, petite girls were hauling huge pieces of percussion instruments with sweat just dripping from them.  Gross.  I noticed the soccer players coming off the practice fields and they were "just sweaty."  Doesn't mean they weren't sweaty, just saying that at that particular moment, they didn't look like the percussion ladies.

I stood there listening to the familiar, "Five, six, seven, eight" and watched the directors from the stand, four of them, guiding, yelling and instructing.  

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I see a gentleman I knew.  I knew him from wrestling.  His son also wrestled with the "button".  I was shocked to see him.  I was certain he didn't have any more children and then I thought, "who knows in this crazy world?"

He stops, says hello and I return the greetings and I say, "surprised to see you here, I thought your kids were grown and had graduated."

"Oh, they have.  My brother and his wife are away at a a wedding, so we are watching my nephew."

"Oh, all this coming back to you now.  What team is he on?"

Get ready, "Oh he isn't on a team."  He moved closer to me and whispered, "He's in the band."  I would like to add that that he scrunched up his face like he just smelled sour milk.

"He's in the band, awesome. This band is awesome.  Man, I love marching bands."

He looks at me like I am certified nut job and says, "He is in the band.  So embarrassed for my brother."

I look at him, without skipping a beat (get it?) and ask, "Curious, have you ever heard of Beethoven, Mozart, Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger, Elvis, Donnie Osmond?  Seriously, you are embarrassed?  Those guys are how old and they are still around?  Name 25 famous athletes from the last five years, now, go?"

I am sure the thought cloud above his head was, "Just came to get my nephew and I run into her, still loud and mouthy, why didn't I just walk by her.?"

He shook his head.

I was fired up.  "Are you by any chance going to the band competition tomorrow?"
"No, my wife is going."
"Have you ever been?
"No."
"Change your plans and go.  It will not disappoint.  Trust me."

I LOVE band competitions.  

He walked off.  I have no idea if he went or not.
When I saw him on Saturday, he was in the stands cheering for someone and it wasn't the time.

The Farmer's Almanac must have had an argument with a former band director years ago.  If you want to know when the hottest week of the year is, just know it is ALWAYS the week of band camp.

The "button" would come home nightly, a lean, mean, athletic fighting machine, and he would shower, lay down on the bed, belly first,spread his butt cheeks  and say "Mom, I am ready, get the cornstarch, baby powder of Monkey Butt, I am ready."  By nine pm he was sawing logs.

Average weight loss during Band Camp Week, "9 pounds."  The "button" always said it was "like Musical Biggest Loser."

Band Camp Week always ends with Friday night show.  No costumes, uniforms or any of sizzle, just kids in t shirts doing a really raw half time show for parents.

I was sitting with my other two children when I saw them, the "pretty couple".  He was the QB and the captain of his football team, the mother was the cheerleader.  They were perfect.  Sheepishly, they were attending.  It was their first "raw, band camp performance."

Of course the gnats were out, mosquitoes too, no breeze and still 100 degrees when this started.  The "pretty couple" sat right beside me.

This dad had no idea what high school marching band was all about.  He wanted his son to play football, instead he chose a brass instrument.  And his son was serious about  it.

Finally, the "pretty" dad leans over and asks to me, "have they memorized all THIS music?"

"Yes, and the formations too.  This performance doesn't even included the National Anthem, fight songs, all that."

His posture changed.  He shook his head.  The sweat was pouring from his son who was marching into a sea of gnats and didn't even flinch.

"Pretty dad became Proud dad".  I am sure the mom did too.

My first year at West Virginia University, I don't think the Mountaineers won a game.  In fact, I am certain of it.

The stadiums were full every home game Saturday because we had something the other teams did not have, "The Pride of West Virginia, THE WVU Marching Band."

When the band ran out of the tunnel, the crowd went nuts.  The following year, the new stadium was built and you could see and hear the band coming down the hill.  To this day, just thinking about it, I get goosebumps.

http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=WVU+marching+band+ideo&&view=detail&mid=438DC5084A80ED323E23438DC5084A80ED323E23&FORM=VRDGAR

Better yet, it gives other goosebumps.

During the 2008 Olympics, it wasn't that athletes that amazed me.  It was the 2008 Chinese drummers, drumming in unison.  2008 Chinese drummers.  It was amazing.  I made my kids watch the practice video because the entire concept is amazing.  Tryouts for the 2008 drummers.  2008 drummers in a line.  2008 drummers showing up for practice.  2008 chafed drummers needing Monkey Butt, 2008 drummers!  Amazing.  Name an athlete who brought home gold in 2008?

No wonder countries are afraid of the Chinese?  Try finding 28 people who want to work at the new BoJangles in our town?  2008 drummers, drumming in simultaneously.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BDGPRBaDtE

During the winter Olympics, even my own husband turns his nose at the pairs figure skaters.  He always has some sort of "pansy" comment.  Of course, I am quick with, "you try ice skating  at 60 miles per hour and hoist a person over your head and keep them there for seconds...do it Miami man.  You cannot even ice skate."  This will be our home in February.

The coolest thing about being a mom to me is seeing what makes each child "tick".  They are all raised in the same home and are usually exposed to the same things but it is what they bring to the parents that is usually the most fun and interesting.

I NEVER thought I would know what a flyer or a base is, enjoy the smell of horse poop or not even mind the flies, never thought I would be yelling "shoot" to a guy in a "singlet" (took me forever to learn what that was called), and never thought I would be an expert on ringworm remedies or use a pressure washer to get stains out of baseball pants.  All part of the job, all part of the joy.

The first sense that babies develop in utero, the sense of hearing.  Your voice is what the hear first.  Don't tell me you have never song the ABC's song to figure out what letter comes next.  

Passions are awesome when you find them.   Some people never do.  Many times, kids don't quit band, their parents do.   I have met some of my best friends because of my kids and passions.  My best memories have been because of their passions.  
And to the millions of band members  who have made Micheal Jackson moonwalk across a football field, years after his death, I say thank you. 

My Confessional

"So, what's up with your blog?"

I just stared across the room, pretending not to hear.

"Seriously, what's up with your blog?"

There are about 55,555 ways I could have answered the question.

"Fricking Blogspot changed everything.  I cannot get in. I cannot figure out, I hate all this change.  Blogspot was just fine.  I just cannot access it and I don't know what to do."

"Ya, sure.  I am calling bullshit on you.  You could get in if you wanted.  You barely answer my calls.  Do you even leave your house?  You don't do anything socially....and you quit sending cards.  Blame it on the blog if you want but I know better."

Okay, blame it on the "maple syrup Saturday."

About two months ago, maybe 2 and half months ago, I was so excited.  Franklin and I were invited to a party.  Not some big lavish soiree, but a night out.  No kids.  Just out.  Makeup on a Saturday night.  I spent the whole week going over this, "don't make plans for Saturday cause I as in your dad and I have plans"  Over and over and over again I preached this.

Saturday came.  I was giddy.  Out.  I was going out with my husband.  We were going to a party and having fun.

As the day progressed, I could feel it.  Plans kept changing and the stars kept getting further out of whack.  And it happened.  Date night was not happening.

And then "it" happened.  

I was alone, AGAIN, and I was putting something away in the kitchen cabinet when I discovered that an ENTIRE bottle of maple syrup was dumped over and went all through the cabinet.  

It was the second time this has happened to me into my lifetime and honestly, this did not need to happen to anybody twice.

I went crazy.  I mean crazy.  Academy Award winning crazy.  Not in the fetal position, rocking back and forth type of crazy, just crazy.  I couldn't rock back and forth because I would stick to myself courtesy of the maple syrup.  I took on everything.  Everything that had sucked or sucked the air out of me, my family, everything in 2017.  

And as I cleaned for hours, and unstuck the sticky syrup things and obstacles got more clear.  

I had clarity.  I got my composure back.

And as I walked out to take the trash to the trash bag, I stubbed my toe on a cast iron dutch oven.  Not just a stub, but a crack the big toe nail down the middle and stub the big toe.

It wasn't the discomfort in my toe that did me in, it was my heart.  It was the pain in my heart that made me and my rage so raw.  It all surfaced. 

And as I screamed, "I don't want to do this anymore, I just want to kill myself and die", I turned around and saw my precious Walker astounded.

Not only did he see me pick up the cast iron Dutch Oven and hurl it across the garage like an Olympian Track Star, he heard me say those words.  The look on my face said I most likely wasn't kidding.  No, I wasn't suicidal, not really, but I was done with pain.  

Seriously, I think I need shoulder surgery.  I am still hurting.

It was the next morning that I finally figured out my behavior.

The syrup mess was worthy of a meltdown, for sure.

But it wasn't the syrup.  It was my son.

I am a fixer.  If something is broken, I fix it.  Fingerprints, wipe them off.   Weeds, pull them.  

I am constantly looking for a project.  Christmas cards done, next project.  

And here I was, the biggest project of my life, and I could do nothing.  Nothing.  Not one thing.  And there was so much to do.  And I could do nothing.  

I could pray and Hope and this is huge but I could not use my hands or my feet to help someone who could not use theirs. 

And so, I withdrew.  Because I was searching for answers, searching for questions and then answers.  And some more answers.  There were so many things to process.

If I withdrew, I didn't have to talk about something that was so much bigger than me.  And, if I continued to withdraw, the pain wouldn't be present.  The sadness wouldn't come up. 

But as I suffered in silence and solitude, I realized that I did indeed need someone to talk to and talk with.  I just didn't want to be the buzz wreck or negative Nelly in the room.  So I just continued to come undone.  

I don't know what is worse, when people ask you about your child or when they don't acknowledge your child at all.

I understand sometimes people don't ask because they are afraid of the answer  I get it.  

Sometimes, the acknowledgement maybe would have helped me get through the stages.

While my son is still here on earth, he is gone.  I have a new son.  The son who dug the giant hole in the backyard with a series of pulleys to hoist trucks and food into the hole, he's gone.

My new son, I don't know him very well yet.  I may never know him.  

I prayed the button lived through the day on January 1, 2017.  I celebrated life on January 2, 2017.  I realized how naive  we were and how grandiose the injuries were by January 5, 2017.  By January 7, 2017, I knew we were way in over our head and this was way bigger than I could have ever imagined.  But he was alive.  

I won't discuss the button or his current condition any further.  He is alive.  And being his mother has been the greatest joy of my life.

I have told Franklin 300 times, "it" is like wearing an eye patch over your eye...and it is the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of when I fall asleep, and every other second in between.

But, it was "our" thing.  So we kept to ourselves.  And we went through the stages, shock, anger, depression and finally acceptance.  Honestly, acceptance sucks the most.  It is the final stage.  

I never wanted to be the girl who sucks the life out of the room or is depressing to be around.  So, I played the "fake it till you make it" game, hurting all the way. 

A few weeks ago, I was at a baby shower.  The mom-to-be opened up a Christmas ornament and it said 2017.  She said, "2017, the best year of my life".  That's not what I was thinking but I watched her glowing and I was happy for her.  

The other day, Addie and I were in the car and we were talking about a friend of ours who has not been herself for three years.  She's been mean and angry for three years.    Addie looked at me and asked, "so when are you going to quit being sad and get back to being yourself?"

Way to get called out by your 14 year old daughter...answer, "Right now."  And I did.

Maybe I just needed my mini me to call me out to get my act together.  

So why now, why the confessional?

Today, the craziest thing ever happened to me.

I had to zip into the Hobby Lobby to gather items for the "crazy cheer bow"  (a whole other blog topic) exchange and I saw an acquaintance that I haven't seen in two years.  I was shocked when I went down the pipe cleaner aisle and there he was.

"Well look who it is, how are you Stephanie?"  

"Good, and you, I cannot believe you are standing here in the pipe cleaner aisle at Hobby Lobby.  You look great.  Wow, you really look great.  What's new?"

Ok, I expected, "I had onset diabetes and started watching what I was eating and started walking".  Instead, I got, "my wife got sick, needed a transplant...I was a match.  We did the transplant and she died."

Ok, I just stopped and looked at him.  

As I said before, "if you take your troubles to the market, you most likely will leave with your original basket."

"I have no words for your grief.  Thank you for trying to save your wife.  Come here, let me hug you."

I NEVER hug like this.  Not a hugger.  And we hugged.

I stepped back and asked, "what are you doing in the pipe cleaner aisle?  I have to know.?"

He laughed hysterically and said, "I have no idea, when I am having a bad day, I come in here and walk around and hope to get inspired."

"You need a new place to shop."  

We chatted some more and then I had to leave.  We hugged again and I wished him a Merry Christmas.  We started to walk off and he said, "let's have lunch some day when you are down this way, I will buy you lunch but if you need bone marrow, I am out."

I laughed.  I laughed hard.  I understood.  I understood how he felt like the biggest thing ever came his way and he couldn't fix it.  

And he says, "thanks for laughing."  He had no idea how much I got his painful admittance with his touch of humor.  

I got in the car and was blown away.  Blown away.  I was stunned.  His wife was young.  He is young.  Wow.  And now he wandering around the Pipe Cleaner aisle.  I am sure it is safer than throwing a cast iron Dutch Oven across the garage.  I got it.  I cleaned up the syrup but that was all I could clean up.  Everything I could fix, I had fixed.  

On January 6, 2017, a neurosurgeon asked me "what is your time line on this recovery?"

I remember saying "365 days."  

And quickly, I asked, "the button or me?"

He said, "you and it will take all of 365 days.  Your son is very changed and so much more is going to change.  Your family is in for a long year."  

Man, the doctor wasn't kidding.

I prayed for dignity and grace on January 1, 2017. 

I didn't have dignity and grace 100% of the time, but I had the dignity to admit when I didn't have dignity and grace.  My heart and my mind have grown more this year than any other time in my life.  

And now it is Christmas, the Celebration of Love and Life and Hope. 

I think about that mother-to-be from the shower and the Hope  she has for her child and her new family.  I hope she never loses that feeling.  I hope  she never feels the need to  hurl a Dutch Oven across a garage.  I Hope  her children are healthy and stay healthy.  I Hope she never buries her children.

I Hope she never has to give her bone marrow to anyone and if she does, I hope they live.

And mostly, I Hope and Pray that she understands that she cannot fix so many things for that child of hers.  And I hope she learns it very early.  All children are God's children, mom's just take care of them, and pray for them.  

So, Celebrate Love and Life.