Anniversary Schmanniversary

My mom, 1989, just before she really started getting sick.

Ok, so that was a way disrespectful title to give the post I think I'm about to write.  And I say "I think" because I have every intention of writing about it, but I may falter and give up along the way.

I have in many posts spoken of my mom.  I've stated that she was a wonderful, selfless, giving person.  I've admitted that I gave her a ton of worry and heartache in my raising.  I've also come to understand how much I took her for granted and under appreciated her while she was alive.  She wasn't perfect.  Far from it.  But she is one person of whom I can honestly say this:  In all of her imperfections, she always had the best of intentions and the best interests of her loved ones at heart.  I am not gonna talk about all of this again today.

This date, the anniversary of her death, is also the anniversary of the hardest decision that my family and I ever had to make.  See, Mom didn't just die.  There wasn't any sudden or dramatic exit from this earthly plane for her.  It was a long and tortuous journey for her and for us.

Mom had severe lung disease.  She had undergone a major thoracic surgery in the mid 90's in a then experimental procedure.  She had had her ups and downs.  Times when she lacked the breath or the energy to do as much as eat.  Times when she was feeling great and could be active.  Many times, out of a sense of obligation or duty (mostly to her mom or eldest brother) she pushed herself to her physical limits.  Over doing it for a day cost her physically in weeks of  recovery time.  She never let anyone but me and my dad see that though.

I carry a lot of guilt because I know that some of the crappy decisions I had made during the 90's really took a toll on her. The emotional/mental stress always showed up as damage to her physical health.  Sometimes I wonder how many years I might have shaved off her life with my selfishness and immaturity.  I don't say that in a self pitying, fishing for consolation kinda way.  I mean that isht.  I really think that my brother and I had a lot to do with her decline.  I'm still trying to learn to live with that.

But I digress...

After years of treatment, surgery, rehabilitation, remissions and exacerbations, in 2003, her pulmonologist told her that if she continued on as she was, she had about 18 months to 2 years before she died.  However, if she had a lung transplant, she was looking at 5 to 10 more years, with the average being 7 years.  Of course there was the "fine print" as she liked to call it.  There was a chance she could die on the table.  The chance she would reject the organs.  The chance she would get a post op infection.  The fact that she was trading lung disease for life long immune suppression.  All sorts of stuff could go wrong.  But to her, all of the risks were worth the reward of not having to struggle and fight for every breath anymore.  Even if it was just for a short time.

She was on the "active" transplant list for a very short time.  She had moved from her beloved Mississippi back to Illinois to be within a 2 hour drive of BarnesJewish Hospital in St. Louis.  She was preparing herself mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually for whatever was to come.  She was ready for the wait, steeling herself for the disappointment, and still struggling to breathe.

Then the call came.  We were getting ready for church.  The phone rang.  I answered.  "May I speak to Eunice please, I'm calling for the transplant team at Barnes."  She got off the phone.  "Well, Cliff... we need to go to St. Louis."

Now, at that point, the surgery wasn't a definite.  They had a donor, but they wouldn't know if the lungs were suitable for transplant until they started recovering the organs. Still, she had to go through pre op prep.  She didn't want me to "drag the baby out for nothing," so Eli (then 1 year old) and I were going to go to church, then home to wait.  At the time, I was going to school (yes, I am the eternal student).  It was January 11, 2004.  Semester started the next day.  The last words my mother and I exchanged are burned in my brain forever.  "Mom, I love you so very much." "I love you too, Sissy... You have school tomorrow.  Don't worry about me."  Then she and Dad walked out the door.

So here is where my intentions and my strength of spirit are coming to a parting of the ways.  I intended to detail the long, hellish, surreal week that followed.  I just can't.  Maybe next year.  The synopsis of that week is disappointment, hope, loss of hope, desperate prayer, denial, anger, disbelief, renewed hope, stolen hope, more anger, guilt, more prayer and bargaining, despair, unspeakable sadness, agonizing heartbreaking pain and finally, resignation.  After a week on machines, never regaining consciousness, never taking that unburdened, deep and satisfying breath, my mom started into what I now know was multisystem organ failure.   She was shutting down.  She was no longer inhabiting her physical shell.

During all of hell week, at least one of us had been in the family waiting area at all times.  Until the morning of January 17.  Dad had gone to get an hour or two of sleep.  My Aunt Beckie, Dad's sister, was sitting in the waiting room in case anything happened.  She had to pee.  While she was in the bathroom, Mom went into cardiac arrest.  Without someone there to tell them to let her go, they resuscitated her.  Her heart started again.

When I arrived at the hospital, Dad told me and my brother what had happened, and he told us it was time to make a decision.  While none of us wanted Mom to suffer, we all felt like we were betraying her by admitting she wasn't going to get better.  We had all been carrying the guilt of "thinking the worst" for days by that time. But it was clear.  It was time to let her go. It was time to let her rest.

Every one went in 2 or 3 at a time and said good bye.  Then Dad, my brother and I went in.  We kissed her.  Told her we loved her and that it was ok to let go. They gave her morphine and ativan to ease the transition.  I couldn't watch them turn off the machines.  So I stood outside her room while the machines were turned off.  After about 5 minutes, Dad came out and told me she had gone peacefully.  We stayed with her a few more minutes before we went back out to the waiting room.

The next few days are a blur.  The funeral and visitation were nightmarish.  I remember feeling like someone was trying to pull my heart out through my chest.  I remember that I didn't know how I could hurt so bad and not go crazy or die.

For those of you who had the stomach to read all of this, I thank you.  I needed to tell it.  I don't know why.  Maybe to see how far I've come in the healing. Maybe to honor her memory. Maybe to exorcise some demons.

In years to come, I hope the memory of that week continues to fade.  But I hope the flame of my mother's spirit continues to burn inside of me and all of those who knew and loved her.

Rest in peace, Mommy.  I still love you so very, very much.

Luvologist made me think....Damn him!!!

Trust.  The Luvologist asks:  Today's Love Question of the Day  (Love QOD) was "what is Trust? And how do you know when you can apply it?"

In 140 characters or less??!!  Maaaaannn! What are you tryna do to us, bae? Make people have brain overload?  The question was asked on Twitter (if ya don't know by now, ppl, Google that ish! I can't keep tellin' y'all) thus the character limit--that's all the space you have for a single update.

Anyyyywaaaay.....

Trust is a hell of a deep subject.  It's like ice cream.   It goes from your basic, generic superficial vanilla to the depth and complexity of a Ben n Jerry's masterpiece (mmmm.....Chunky Monkey! bananas and chocolate and walnuts, OH MY!)  

You have the trust you extend to the world just by walking out of your front door....that the first person you meet on the street won't dot yer eye for no reason, for instance.  There's the trust you extend to your coworkers--I do my job, you do yours.  Trust for acquaintances, we'll kick it and whatnot, part ways on good terms and go on with our lives.  These are just a few examples of the store brand varieties of trust.  This is the trust you have to maintain on a daily basis to function in the world.  It's necessary, limited and conditional.  It's only gonna take one time for your neighbor to steal your newspaper or purposely let their dog sh*t in your yard, and that trust is pretty much done.  

The deeper, more intimate varieties are the coffee-almond-mocha ice cream of the trust continuum.  That's the best friend who has proven they can be trusted with your biggest secrets because they've kept all your little ones.  That's the sister who knows you so well that you don't hafta say a word when your heart is breaking--she's there for you, just like you knew she would be.  That's the lover with whom you're free to share your self, heart, mind and soul.

But where does it all come from.....?

I think it starts with that little seed of faith.  You don't know that guy at the bus stop isn't gonna push you under the bus as it rolls up, you just have to believe it's gonna be ok to wait on that bus and that nothing untoward is gonna go down.  It starts with giving over your little secrets, hoping that they get kept, but willing to take the chance that they won't....allowing that trust to build and grow.  Nurturing it and nudging it along like a mother teaching her child how to walk.  It starts with believing that lover isn't out to make a fool of you and break your heart...going into it knowing both the risks and potential gifts, willing to let it flower in its own time.  So it goes.

But, just as difficult as it to grow, it is just as easily broken.  It is a fragile thing, trust.  Especially the gourmet variety.  The more of yourself you have put into a relationship, the more you trust yourself to another person, the more voluntarily vulnerable you become, the easier that trust is to damage and destroy.  And the harder to restore.

So what is it?  I guess it's how we function in the world without losing our minds.  When do we extend it? Every minute of every day, with varied results....some wonderful, others rending.  That's still too long for a Tweet (it's another Twitter reference for some of y'all who don't know).  But it's what I think. . . . . for what it's worth.

why I'm not all up under him, for my friends who've asked...

I'm gonna expand on my last post a little.  I said I might go into more detail on the "my second time around with my guy" thing.  I do this not so much for the entertainment value as for the need to declutter my brain a little, and express an opinion or two.  (what, ya didn't see that coming?).

Marc (my guy) and I met in late 99.  We were together a little over a year.  I luvs me some Marc.  I always have.  I made a lot of mistakes out of a lack of confidence.  I actually kinda hated myself back then.  Had no faith in myself.  The relationship couldn't stand up to it.  He wasn't perfect either, don't get me wrong, but I really wasn't relationship material back then.  I was briefly involved with another man, and we ended up having a son.  He chose to cut and run.  His loss.  So, I've been raising my son alone with help from my family ever since.  Let me also add, I'd been celibate by choice from the time "baby daddy" dashed til Marc & I reconnected.  

Both Marc and I have moved a few times since then.  Then last fall, we found we were living about 20 miles apart.  We started talking and found the spark was still there.  

So you might think we're all up in each other's face n shyt.  Nope.  We talk or text every day once or twice maybe.  We've taken one trip to Memphis together.  See each other about once a week.  It's working for us.  We both have things we are working toward.  I'm going back to school to get an advanced nursing degree.  He's working on his career in music.  The point is, we have our own things going on.  We're "together" but not up under each other.  

Ok that's all back story for the rest of this. (Yes, there's more.....geez....be patient).

It took me all of my twenties and thirties to figure out how to be ok with and by myself.  It took til I was forty to be a whole, happy, grown-ass woman.  It took that long to learn how to love myself, and others, without needing any one  to make me a whole person.  Damn if I'm not a slow learner!

I have friends who can't go a day without seeing their SO without hyperventilating.  Why?  I don't get it.  Loving someone does not mean you dissolve yourself in favor of coupledom.  I'm there for Marc whenever he needs me and vice versa.  But I know he loves me if I'm with him, at work, with my son, at church or hanging with my girls.  He knows I love him if he's with me, at SoundCore (the music store he works at), on the wheels at the club or in the lab.  It doesn't change out of physical proximity.

I know he has my back and he knows I have his.  It's called commitment people!  It's also called communication.  We tell each other our needs and desires.  We tell each other what's going on, and we are patient with each other.  And we do this without smothering one another.

I've gotten a lot of flack from some of my "relationship bound" friends who apparently don't think our relationship is a "real" relationship.  Because we aren't attached at the hip?  Sorry, but that doesn't fly with me.  What does obsessiveness have to do with love?  What does jealousy have to do with love?  Nada.

I know what I've got.  I know I am loved.  I know it's all good.  And so does he.  Love is what you do, supporting, caring, accepting.  It's in the little things.  It's in having someone enhance you and believe in you, not complete you.  In fact, if you aren't complete in and of yourself, you can't successfully love anyone.  

So to my friends who tell me I'm not in a "real relationship" or  assume what I have with my guy is "casual" I say, it's as real as can be.  It's working for us.  We're good, and we're each other's.  And that's all that counts.

blessings

a

Lessons Learned

I'm in a relationship with a man that I love very very much.  There's a long story and a history behind this relationship, and I may or may not expand on that at some point.  I only mention it to preface the next statement I make.  This isn't our first time around as a couple.  I only mention that to preface the rest of this blog.  I'm gonna talk about learning from mistakes in a relationship and doing things better when you know better.

First lesson:  Insecurity ain't cute.

The first time around, I wasn't comfortable in my own skin.  I wasn't secure in myself.  I had a hard time seeing in myself what others saw in me.  The result was that I couldn't understand why he was with me, couldn't believe it would last, and I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It eventually did drop.  It took several years of changing and growing and learning to love myself before I was ready to accept love.  When I met up with my guy again, after almost seven years, we were both different people in a lot of ways.  The biggest change on my part was that I believe now that I am worth being loved.   He's lucky to have me.  I'm a damn good woman.  I've got my shyt together.  So I'm not a supermodel.  That's minor compared to what I am.  

Second lesson:  Jealousy is some bullshit.

Because I was insecure, I was also prone to trippin' whenever I felt that was an opportunity for someone else to move in on him.  Now I have a different attitude about that.  First, jealousy makes everyone involved crazy.  It makes you feel like shyt, and  it pushes him away.  There are no winners involved.  Second, he's with me by choice!  There are reasons for that, and a slick line and a fat ass shouldn't be able to fux with it.  If some chick can pull my man that easily, there are bigger problems at hand, and being jealous won't fix it.  Shyt needs a major overhaul in that case.  But jealousy?  Naw. That ain't sexy.

Third lesson:  Relationships are between the two people involved.

Your homies might mean well, but guaranteed, if you let them get in your ear, bullshit will follow!

Keep your business your business.  Talk things out with your man, not your girls.  They aren't the ones who can fix things.  

Fourth lesson:  Respect

Respect yourself, your man and your relationship.  Give it the place on the  priority list  it deserves.  Respect begets respect, so get the ball rolling.

Fifth lesson:  Fuck pride.

You can satisfy your pride or you can satisfy your man, but rarely both.  Choose.  I'm not saying throw away your integrity or self esteem or self respect.  I'm talking about no-sense-in-it, damn-if-I-apologize-first, I'll-show-you, pride.  It is corrosive.  It implies keeping score.  It's pointless.

Sixth lesson:  Let Your Man be the Man

Not popular with my Independent minded women, I'm sure.  I'm not talking about being a doormat.  It goes back to everything I've already said though.  And if you're willing to do your part as a Woman, and let him be a Man, beautiful things happen.  For me, it's about respecting his opinions and honoring his wishes.  When he was secure in my willingness to factor his views into my decisions, and include him in making decisions, the potential for compromise, the give and take space, grew exponentially.  

So that's that.  Love it or hate it.  It's working for us this rip.  

Blessings

A