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.
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