It's all about me, isn't it?

Wow....just about 9 months ago

2010-08-21T10:54:00.002-05:00

I smoked my last cigarette...amazing after nearly 35 years of sucking on the unlit end of a paper tube filled with some chemical configuration that can conceivably kill you and which can take hold of your existence, your every minute of consciousness and bind you so tightly you struggle for breath.

Yeah, that love affair is over. Whew.

And, so, is another.

Details? You won't get them here...not for a while, actually. There is a court case ensuing and the better of me knows the value of "loose lips sink ships". Well, loose lips are at fault for many things besides sinking ships, quite honestly. I won't venture much past that for now either. Jeeez, me and my lips. Sinking ships.

Nine months without a cigarette~no desire to look back. Five months into my future~no desire to look back, with the obvious exception of my baby girls. It's all about us now. We are good~we are survivors. Well, I'll teach them that, too.

Love, love, LOVE my girls. And learning to love ME again. (I like her already without the stale stench of smoke) Yay, me.

Time away

2009-11-05T17:02:00.002-06:00

So here it is, nearly a week since our return from sunny Florida, and a weeks worth of above normal temperatures while there...

With the lack of summer we had in Chicago, the time in Hollywood was much needed. I couldn't imagine living without a hot sun. I couldn't survive without record heat. My soul requires both~

I'm thinking alot these days of wants and needs. There is a difference, a huge distinction. I wonder when it is that we are suddenly awakened to the separation, and the similarity of them both. How do we know when one will supersede the other? I still have to figure that out.

In the meantime, suffice it to say, I'm learning right now that what I need is definitely along the same lines as what I want. The very basis of happiness depends on our own dedication to achieving it, we can't leave anything to chance.

It's a wonderful life, a beautiful existence on this sphere that we dwell upon. That there is more beyond what we know here has been debated for centuries. Exactly what that is will be revealed at another time. Until then, I'm beginning to become increasingly aware of the current strategies, the aura around us all. There is more to this than most of us will commonly acknowledge. Perhaps we are fearful, in our subconscious? Perhaps we are keenly aware??

I know I am rejuvenated in the memory of the sun, the heat. I'm ready for the winter season to rear it's bitter chill...I have my sights set on spring.

Last night's dream is amusingly haunting me...

2009-06-15T22:34:00.002-05:00

A few months back, I honored--as usual--the birthday of my late friend, John. The yearly marker normally comes and goes with some kind of eerie connection that I know still exists between us, and this year was no different than those passed. It didn't occur on the actual date of his birth, but shortly thereafter, voila.

There is far too much detail to delve into, should I care to express the specifics. Just suffice it to say that there is a means by which I know he is always with me. Some inconsequential, some point blank obvious, but he makes it known that as I will never forget him, he has not forgotten me.

Now, how do I write, on a blog which encompasses the lives of my two precious daughters, and their father--my husband--about a man who was the most dear and generous friend a girl could ever hope for? That's a question I often found myself having to explain to Jeff, after John's departure. It wasn't easy then, and it doesn't get easier now...but I've expressed to my girls that "Uncle John" was a talent and a timeless friend for the ages. I can only hope that they both will find someone to fill their lives with the unique and unending friendship that he and I found together.

Music fills my heart, it bears burden, it shares joy. In John's expression of his soul through music, he exposed his very core in a melodic and temperate tone. Notes of high and low, he played them all and created a cucoon in which he cared for his sons, his parents, and his sisters and their families. He cared for me in there, too, there was always room for me.

We colored our hair together, listened to music intently for hours on end, we drove each other crazy ocassionally, as well. He was defiant and tenacious, mild and loud. Too loud, never. He played a guitar like no one I've heard before, effectually speaking through it-or as I often described: He could make it sing. He taught me about history I'd only scratched the surface of, and I created boundaries for him that he'd only heard of, prior. Somethings were better left unspoken, to coin a popular lyric from the times.

Sometimes, a relationship between a man and a woman CAN be platonic. It can transcend the triviality of dating and physical expression in the usual manner. Sometimes, two people can befriend and confide without the confinement or pressure of a romantic interlude. John and I captured that, we abolished the stereotype that was expected of us. And we gained, in spades, from the reciprocity of late night phone calls after a good "date", or a bad one.

Like two "old ladies", we could chatter and banter for hours on one subject--offering opinion, and heated debate, but culminating to an agreement to consider and respect the the opposing thought. It was like we grew up together, though we didn't meet until well into adulthood.

Girlfriends, boyfriends, they all came and went. They all knew there was a relationship here that would not be strained--nor could tarnish--that of a romance blooming. No matter which of us found ourselves in the midst of a "Mr./Ms. Wonderful Wonderful" scenario, all parties concerned understood that John and Camille were a team, and nothing could alter that state. He embraced every date that I brought to see him perform, and I welcomed all the girls that he would invite to a performance, often sitting with them while he played. It was perfect harmony on so many levels.

And then one bitter January day, he stopped answering his phone after a series of brief calls. Frightening phone calls where he indicated a terribly heavy pain in his chest. I rushed to his apartment and with the aid of a friend, entered through the back gate. The worst fear imaginable came true, and my dearest, most trusted friend was gone. I was alone, I was devastated, I was cold, and I was heartbroken. John was dead at 45 years young.

He left his two sons--his pride and joy--to grow up without a father. His sisters to question his contentment, and his insatiable appetite to belong with someone, to get answers to his unending questions. None of us was the same after that snowfilled night.

Jeff and I had just run into each other the week before John's heart attack. I still had yet to introduce them, and to get the nod of approval from my stand-in big brother. To this day, I will never know the outcome of that introduction. I am consoled that with Jeff, I was capable of waking up the next morning and facing the blindingly bright sky that etched into my weeping heart. I was capable of exhaling and living my life in forward motion. To this day, I question what would have become of me had the cards dealt been off, by even one suit. I am humbled that God cared enough for me to truly open one door, just as another was shut. It is the only way I can surmise the series of events of those few weeks, those passing days following the wake, the funeral, the burial. Brutal, life changing memories.

Last night I was privy to one of those uniquely 'real' dreams. The one where real time conversations occur with those who have left this arena. John was speaking to me on topics at hand, and tying in past encounters in anectdotal fashion. Jennifer's guitar practice, Monika's haircut, Jeff's new bike. It was a hauntingly familiar discussion, two sided, music entrenched. I'll be carrying this one with me for some time to come, as I haven't had one like it in several years. It was soft comfort, solid strength, everlasting satisfaction.

Fraulein Dakota HaileysComet

2009-06-11T08:18:00.004-05:00

So, I see that it's been nearly a month since my last post...Ellen, I'm sorry! I vow that the lack of interaction from the blogging audience won't hamper my continuity in writing, but it's been a little more hectic than usual around here lately.

We're introducing a new member of our family to our friends these days. On Saturday, May 30, we brought home an eight week old White German Shepherd puppy. Oh the joy! ;-) Yes, the joy!!

She has completely entrenched her way into our hearts, and the girls are beyond thrilled that mom & dad have actually allowed a dog into our lives! She nips, she sits, she drinks, and she devours (her food), all the while making for interesting conversation with all of our neighbors who walk their own canines past our house.

The best part of her break-in period? The crate training is taking place in our swank garage. We've decided to house break her from there, and she has found the peace and comfort of her cage quite appealing. It finally caught on to Jeff that the crate was necessary to her safety after she swallowed a nail/hook thing that she'd pulled off the wall in her first week with us. He is not a fan of the crate, but it's proven it's worth in the last several days alone--thank GOD!

So I rushed her to the vet that fateful Thursday morning after I discovered one of these nails on the floor-and further that their was still another missing from the wall she pulled it off of. Searched the garage, under, in between and above all the items neatly stowed and stored for her well-being, but it wasn't to be found... An hour later and $126.00 for the xray visit, it was nestled in her food stuffed belly.

Now if it had been that the nail was the worst of the danger she faced, I probably still would have been as frightened, but this thing had a hook on the head of it, which, when in the wall, was holding tight the wire of the thermostat to the wall. The vet was concerned, and didn't want to induce Dakota's stomach contents upward through her throat, so we opted for asparagus.

Yep, asparagus.

Apparently, this fibrous vegetable, in all its stringy glory, is a natural means of helping to pull a foreign object from the tummy through the intestines of our four-legged friends. Go figure. So now, rather than surgery, I'm off to market for asparagus to steam and cool, then feed her in a quantity equal to whatever she didn't turn away from.

So the marathon feeding began, and she ate nearly an entire bunch. By that evening, she was still her active and excited puppy-self, but I was horrified of the very real possibility that this nail could puncture her stomach wall, or worse, her intestinal tract. I was awake most of the night, at the ready should she have howled out in some kind of internal pain. Nothing-whew.

The next morning, it was back to the vet for another picture, and voila~the nail is moving outward in the most optimal position to avoid damage! Only two or three inches till exit~I had only to wait it out.

And it came out--with the telltale tarnish and etching from her little tummy acids. It was now in my hand, and she was out of danger. What a breath of relief! I proceeded to scrub my hands, up to my elbows.

Now she's happily confined to her monster cage with the partition which makes her space smaller now, allowing for her rapid growth. And rapid it is already becoming! She cuddles with her towel, her knotted t-shirt, her Kong, and two rawhide bones. The potty training is going more smoothly than when Jennifer was coming out of diapers--but I think Jennifer was just holding on to "baby-hood" for as long as she could. Dakota clearly wants out of "puppy-hood", and will soon be a full grown German Shepherd, as her ancestors before her.

She has a beautiful stance, both ears have now popped "up", and her demeanor is happy and social. We couldn't have asked for a better disposition in a puppy. I am eager to get through the teething stage, and onward to training school--of course, her appointment has already been set for spaying her in early July.

If I can only get Jeff to pick up after her...

2009-05-15T11:44:00.002-05:00

Today, I'm melancholy. I checked my stats and it appears no one reads my blog...

:-(

But the upside is that I write what's in my heart-it's therapeutic and relaxing. I appreciate that part of it all, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to even have a vehicle to publish my thoughts on.

I'll keep writing. And as a woman, I'll keep whining about it, too. That's my prerogative.

No spelling errors, either. I just checked.

Another Mother's Day...

2009-05-08T08:12:00.004-05:00

I read a post by a friend of mine on Facebook this morning, acknowledging that she awoke at 5:00 a.m. today, in tears. After 17 years, she still misses her mother, so.

Reflecting on that message, I still feel the barbs of pain when I think that I lost my mother 21 years ago, and no Mother's Day is an easy celebration in her absence. Of course, the hard-core hurt didn't really hit until I became a Mother myself, but she's always been in my heart since that cold winter day she left us, February 4, 1988.

My daughters have always known that "Nana Jennie" is in Heaven with the Angels. I've told them that they met her and she held them, before they came to me. It's always been sweet comfort to feel the love they share when they talk about her memory with me. At the time we lost her, I had no idea of the love that would eventually come into my life. The absolute joy of holding a precious new life in my arms, cradling their future.

As they grow and their hearts and minds are developing, a funny story that occurred years ago comes to mind. When I was a young teen, my parents & I watched that Joan Crawford movie "Mommy Dearest". I recall being completely appalled at the way that woman treated her children, though as I grew up, I learned that there are too many children who suffer at the hands of parents like that...but I digress.

At the end of the movie, while the credits were rolling, my mom told me to change the channel, and I sarcastically (who ME?) replied, "Yes, mommy dearest". My wonderfully humorous mom then picked up a folded pair of socks from a nearby laundry pile she'd just folded, and threw it at me. Hit me square in the forehead, a perfect shot.

I shared this story with my girls a few years ago after we all caught the tail end of that infamous movie on the telly one evening. When Monika heard the recollection, she locked it into her brain, and uses the phrase anytime she needs to reply to me in her own sarcastic (who HER?) way. I love that she found the laughter in that story, that she gets a piece of who my mother was without ever having physically met her.

My biggest tragedy is in raising my children without Jennie. But my greatest fear of their never knowing her is nipped in the bud with every story I tell them, and every word that they store in their hearts about the incredible woman who raised me. She had her faults, humans usually do. But her memory, her effort, and her frustration with me (who ME?) will never be lost. In Monika & Jennifer, she will carry on. As it should be.

One final note: When I was pregnant with Monika, we toiled over "baby names" for months before deciding upon hers. In wanting to hold my mother close to my first born, I gave her my mom's middle name, Lee. With Jennifer, I decided upon a variation of Jennie so as to give both of my girls the spirit of Jennie Lee. Respectively, they are Monika Lee & Jennifer Marie. I know I've succeeded, as I am reminded daily of her--not only in their names, but in their smiles, their actions, and their love for their own mother. That circle of life thing again, you know?

2009-05-04T09:37:00.004-05:00

It's a beautiful Monday morning here...sunshine, mild temperature, and the kids are on the bus to school! Only a few more weeks until the official start of summer, school is out on June 17th. Oh, I can hear the standard whine already: "We're bored"!

I shudder to think of how to fill their time this year. Neither of them did well at the Girl Scout camp I enrolled them in two summers ago. Last year, I couldn't even mention the name, this year, they rolled their eyes at the suggestion. I'm going to keep trying.

We'll be taking the motorhome out more this summer, that's for sure. Weekends away from the daily grind. I concern myself with the same thoughts, however. It takes a week to recover from such an excursion as I have all the laundry to catch up with, all the restocking of necessary items, and the daily in between stuff until the next trip. Can you tell how pleased I am that we even BOUGHT this motorhome?? It was Jeff's grand idea, after all...

But summer is coming, and it is my favorite season. I can't get enough of the sun, and don't even start me on the rising temperatures. 90 degrees in the shade is my idea of bliss! The only trouble I have is dealing with Jeff's need for cold during these dog day months. We're never on the same page when it comes to sleeping comfortably. Ugh...it shouldn't be that in the middle of July, I'm reaching for the down comforter at night. But he's a tub of sweat in the middle of the night and needs the thermostat set at 62 in order to get a full night of slumber.

Oh, the peril of looking ahead. I hope you're eagerly anticipating the coming season, while enjoying the beauty of the one at hand. You know, the spring we're in right now and these few days of sun between those filled with rain? It's all good!

Birthdays and Deathdays

2009-04-20T13:01:00.004-05:00

What a weekend~ Jennifer, my youngest, had been begging for a slumber party birthday celebration--and I gave in. Ooops! Not enough that I had eight girls in my basement on Friday night--all night--but it was supposed to have been last week, the night before her actual birthday. Unfortunately, she came down ill, so we had to postpone it. With the next few weekends being as full as they are, I had to reschedule for the night before the annual Daddy/Daughter Dance at our elementary school. Ask me how many moms were pleased with me for that? Then again, ask how many DADS were pleased? ;-)

The party was a huge success. They did all the things that eight year olds do, along with Monika, my 9 year old. It was loud, crazy, and since the weather was so perfect, it was also outside for a time. Monika had loaded 120 plastic eggs last week for the party, so we held an egg hunt in the back yard. What a blast! A prize for the winner, and minimal sugar intake, since she filled them with just a few jelly beans and some coins...more coins I kept telling her. A lesson in forethought!

Saturday morning was a hectic few hours too; Feed the party attendees, get them packed & picked up, Monika to softball at 9;00, Jennifer to the soccer field by 9:45, then back to the homestead, picking up one of Monika's friend who spent the day with us, and attended the dance with Jeff, along with a friend of Jen's who never left from the morning and also attended with "Rent-A-Dad". They had a great night, he took them for pizza after the festivities at school and they came home, spent!

Sunday morning wasn't much easier on us; Monika had softball photos at 10:00, Jennifer had soccer pics at 1:00, and then we took a Sunday visit to Jeff's mom's house. Phyllis hasn't been fairing too well as of late. The cancer she was diagnosed with over two years ago has returned following two chemotherapy treatments. It's running rampant in her abdomen, and another attempt at chemo starts as I type this. I believe the end is near, and Jeff is working through some difficult times right now. His dad passed just three years ago this February, and I don't think he'll be taking the imminent loss of his mother all too well. Who could? How do you prepare for these moments in life?

The beauty of watching our children have parties, attend dances, smile with team-mates in group photos is to relive our own childhood. To recall those days when mom would kiss your knee, and any amount of residual bleeding didn't seem so horrifying. When dad would patch your flat bike tire, and you were back on the street pedaling for another 100 miles on that patch. The reality of watching children do all those things that bring you back 30 or so years is that the pain stings with too much hurt when the cards are dealt that remind us all that we are human. That we have life cycles.

The cycle continues, and our legacy will be that our own children will raise theirs from the very moments that we stand in proud awe over them. The first spelling bee championship, the first diorama book report. The first funeral our babies have to attend and from it, learn first hand the only two truths of this life. You are born, and you will die. It is a lesson that we prepare for all of our lives, yet the end drawing near does not ease the hurtful stabs to the heart.

My mother in law is a strong, solid woman. She has taken each step of her illness with an attitude that she would not succumb and stop living while life was here to live. She's always been like that. I've witnessed her, in recent weeks, begin to re-evaluate her own mortality, her own final chapter. She hugs with more pressure, she tells her kids she loves them more often, she listens even more intently when her grandchildren tell her stories of their busy lives. She is facing a reality that, for her son I'm married to, will find it heartbreaking to bear. I guess that's what I'm for, at moments like these. To give him the support, the spirit, and the love that he needs to move forward.

I'll be the mom who holds her daughter's hands and reminds them that Nana will be with us, always. When the tears subside, the laughter will remain. We'll have more sleep-over parties, more dances, more sports games; And she'll be watching over every one. Our task, as mothers, is to hold all of this emotion together-to weep with mild tears and not cause undue stress on our babies, they need to see strength in times like this. Especially when their father can't provide that.

Monika turns 10 in September. We'll have whatever party she wants to have honoring this milestone birthday. And we'll have the spirit of the only grandmother my girls knew smiling down from Heaven. Oh, and Phyllis will laugh ferociously at my trying to keep another eight or so girls from turning my house upside down again.

Oh, the pressure...

2009-04-15T08:32:00.002-05:00

I've been linked to the blog of a friend I've recently found through that Facebook thingy...and I now have the pressure of feeling like I have to produce in order to be worthy of the link she's provided from her own site.

You see, she blogs far more frequently than I have proven capable of. She notes on daily events in her life, affects of her surroundings, her love of Jesus and all His Glory. She is quite the blogger to look up to.

Me? I blog when an earth shattering event in my life occurs. When a moment in time needs to be documented in more than a page in my scrapbook where pictures speak, but words are limitless. They can mold, bend, adhere and create. Words are my friends, I love them. Words are my comfort when I'm sad. They are my weapon when I'm angry. They are everything in between the two slices of bread that make up my sandwich of life.

I guess I haven't been eating much lately, the sandwiches have been lean. But now I'm motivated by the grace of my friend Ellen, in her promoting my blog to those who perpetually (or not) read hers. This will be the pressure that propels me to produce...I'm prepared to work better under pressure. Positively.

Yep, I love words, though perhaps I need to address this underlying love-affair with the letter "P"?

Stepping back in time...

2009-04-09T10:07:00.003-05:00

I recently delved into the social networking site, Facebook. It began when a friend from a High School Reunion site directed me to it, and the fun started right away. Communicating with friends is one thing--but being re-connected to long lost childhood friends is incredible.

My husband, one of six children, and never one to look back, often asks me what the attraction is that I have with the whole concept of reunions. Why do I reach out to those whose paths had detoured from mine? What do I get from opening up dialogue that ended so many years ago?

He doesn't get that the thread we all share brings us back to a simple time in life. When we played outside for hours on end. When we didn't have to check in every 30 minutes with mom to let her know we were safe. When we could walk to the local convenience store for a Slurpee...And in later years when we drove the streets of town as young adults with little concept of the dangers teenagers face today.

Those memories are the thing. They bring to full circle the present, where I currently am raising our daughters, and being reminded of the fun that childhood exudes. We sometimes forget these things in the midst of BEING parents, cautiously allowing just a little more responsibility to our own children as they grow in years and intelligence levels. I can only imagine what the next few years might bring, these first 9 have been filled with joyful moments.

I converse with some whom I have stayed in touch with--in one way or another--over the years. Some whose parents were close to mine, some who I grew apart from, and rediscovered, and even some whom I haven't even heard of over the past 35 years, or so. But with each discussion, with each post on a wall, I'm brought right back to BEING a child again. With the ability to mentally put myself there, I can wrap myself in the love of that simple time. What an enormously heartwarming tool to bring those distant recollections to the front and center...the right here, right now.

Alternately, I have found there are those who just don't carry the same heartfelt inclination in this re-discovery. Some who prefer to fill a friend list with names, but not extend friendship to it's full meaning. I pity those who lost touch with the elementary games, who've severed the ties that bring us back to the same starting point. I won't dwell on them, rather, I prefer to rejoice in the friendships that re-ignite, that begin from previous acquaintance, and perhaps those that spark from a simple shared moment in time.

Whatever the engine you choose to re-establish yourself with those from your past...I wholeheartedly encourage you to engage in some means of reconnection. My life today, as full as it is, always has room for a bit of my past to become a bit of my future. I don't know why Jeff doesn't get it--but it's my intent to continue that he see the joy that I get, and hopefully that I share with others, in making this very big world just a little smaller. It's yet another means of helping to teach my daughters the beauty of friendships, and the magic of their endurance.

Bella Ziemann 5/?/05 - 4/29/08

2008-04-30T10:05:00.010-05:00

On November 8, 2006, Jeff brought home a stray cat he'd found while golfing with a friend at their country club home. The cat had been hanging around their property for a few days/nights, and when he went to leave, she jumped into his car. He stopped at the pet store on his way home to purchase the necessities, and when he got here, the girls had a pet!

I must admit, a cat wasn't my first choice--I'd always wanted another Siberian Husky, or a German Shepard when the girls got old enough to take care of another living creature. But our new addition stole my heart immediately. We named her Bella--that's Italian for beautiful--and she truly was.

Within a few days of her arrival here, her first visit to the Vet, she was adapting well to her new surroundings. (They approximated her age at 18 months old-barely out of kitten stage!) We attempted to find her owners, but no calls were answered. On the third day, she suffered a gran mal seizure and subsequently, another nearly one month to the day of the first. More talks with our Vet, and we deduced that she was epileptic, a rare condition for cats.

My immediate thought was that someone had let this beauty out their back door because of her affliction, with no regard to her safety and well-being. It broke my heart. I think I grew to love her all the more, knowing that she was in need of daily medication--which she obviously had gone without until we learned of her condition--and that she once had a home where she was loved by someone, somewhere. They let her down, and I couldn't do that.

Over the next year or so, it was a constant battle to find the right dosage of phenobarbital to keep her from seizing. Too much medication, and she was lethargic & lazy, too little, and the seizures returned. Much to my dismay, the attacks always came when I was alone with her--which in hindsight allowed the girls to have been spared the horror of the event. It was not a pretty sight to see.

Much communication with Dr. Paul, trial and error with dosing her, and always feeling like she had to be contained to one area of the house when we were gone for any length of time--I was at my wits end in terms of being certain she was comfortable. The seizures kept occurring, more frequently, and the administration of a tiny little tablet 2x daily was taking its toll on all of us. She was gaining weight, alot of weight, and the strain on her heart was apparent. I had to make a decision that was not an easy one to make.

Dr. Paul had offered me comfort in that we had done all we could to give Bella a warm and wonderful home in the time that we had her. But sometimes, our pets just don't have the strength or stamina to get on with their lives with a condition that hampered her every waking moment. I was reminded by the girls that we could continue dosing her, yet there were issues that they couldn't understand and the reality of letting her go was not one they could comprehend at 7 & 8 years old, either.

Yesterday, we made our last visit to the Animal Care Clinic and to Dr. Paul. I was confident in my ability to do the right thing by her, but the emotion crept up on me as we signed in at the reception desk. My baby in the carrier hanging on my shoulder was not going to be coming home with me ever again.

The staff there was extremely warm & kind. They understood exactly what I was going through as I'm sure they see these things regularly. My only problem was that this was not regular for me, and I was losing my composure, rapidly. We immediately were escorted into an exam room and the next half hour or so will live with me forever.

I held my large and sedate Bella in my arms as Dr. Paul induced the injection, and within a matter of a second, she was gone. My self control was shot and I cradled her, reminding both of us that she was now running and playing with others just like her, never to be traumatized by those awful moments here on earth again. I stroked her neck as she used to like, and I spoke to her in the low tones that always got her to purr with delight. I put her back on the table and folded her front paws in her most comfortable position and said good-bye.

My God, it was the hardest thing I'd ever done, until I got home and realized that in only one short hour, the girls would be home from school, and I'd have to break the news to them. I struggled with how to put it, and my mind raced with the variety of their potential reactions. This was honestly worse than the earlier moments I'd faced alone with her.

As I expected, the girls were broken hearted. They immediately burst into tears of loss, and I into tears of compassion. This reality was not what they wanted to know about, they simply wanted their Bella back with them. We cried tears together, and gradually they began to reminisce of playing with and caring for our Bella. Over the next few hours, I kept them very busy and with the help of some of their wonderful friends, they were occupied mentally from the torment of their loss. Then we got home from dinner at Cheeseburger in Paradise, and the tears started all over again. It was going to be a long night...

Over the course of sleep, Monika woke and was in tears at 2:00 am. She must have been dreaming of Bella-Pie and was visibly shaken. Jennifer tossed and turned over and over--she slept next to me on the couch and I was up most of the night. But they awoke this morning and while dishing out cereal and powdered sugaring waffles, we talked more about our loss. They each have a paw print of Bella's that was provided by the Vet just before she left us. And I reminded the girls that Dr. Paul said he was proud to know that these two young girls loved and cared so much for a very sick cat.

Off to the bus stop, and on to school. I'm sure at the end of their busy day, they will be emotionally drained. It will be a few days before the pain eases, and their memories become soft comfort. Our newly adopted stray, Bianca, will be of great strength in their grief, she had already stolen their hearts as the cat who could do all of the things that Bella couldn't. My choice to bring a new animal into our lives a month ago was one of the smartest things I'd ever done. We saved another lost animal from a life of uncertainty in a shelter, and she is thriving with us all.

Sadness, memories, recall of the torture Bella endured and how we desperately tried to help her all flood my heart now. As the Vet told me, we gave her a year and a half longer than she would've had on her own. And certainly, she was loved in a way that someone else wasn't capable of providing for her. Bella opened my heart to the world of cats, and she will forever be etched in my heart for the beauty that she brought into our lives.

Horrific

2008-02-15T22:06:00.006-06:00

Yesterday was Valentine's Day--normally a time to consider that you are fortunate to be with the ones you love. To have and to hold them, to comfort & console them, to be grateful that they are with you.

Horror struck at the campus of Northern Illinois University this Valentine's Day, 2008. Life as so many knew it came to a screeching halt. One disillusioned soul, several dead victims, peril and mayhem for all involved. The pain sears through your heart, engulfing its vicious ugliness around an extended community.

We grow from young children with the wonderment of exploration. When we leave our parents and venture to college, we expect that events will change our lives. What is not anticipated is an event that changes the world.

Several of these massacres have occurred in recent time. Each more heart wrenching than the most previous, equally destructive in our ability to believe that the world is well. Something is wrong, ferociously wrong, and we are all searching for answers.

Ironically, I find the date of this tragedy to shed a sliver of light to it's morose existence. Perhaps, oddly, that this occurred on Valentine's Day sums up a simple equation.

What brought each of us into this world; what holds us together is one in the same. Quite simply, it is love. Love nurtures us from dependent infants into grown adults. It is uncompromising, unconditional, unequivocal. It is written that there is no greater gift than love.

So what of this distraught young man who thought so little of his life, his existence? What runs through the mind of one so bent on taking innocent lives with him in his quest to end his own? Was he in search of love? By voluntarily turning these families upside down was he in search of bringing with him, in his own demise, someone to come home with?

Experts in the field of psychology will examine and re-examine this case. Much will be written, posthumously, of the young man who seemingly lived an upstanding and successful life. Most of the points that I will read regarding these in-depth analysis will go right over my head. I am not of a capacity to understand the in-depth structure of the human mind. But I comprehend one thing.

This young man could not have felt love. He could not have grasped that, to the inner core of his being, there was something about him that could be loved. In my heart, I cannot fathom this sense of abandonment, but I can surmise that it is what he grappled with. There can be no other explanation than that.

He may not have experienced love, may not have believed he was worthy of love. He may have been in love and shunned. But whatever love he did not feel, he needed to know it was there. He needed to know he was loved.

No one lies in fault here. I am not placing blame in any one entity in a scenario where I am merely speculating my own hypothesis of such a traumatic series of events. All that I attempt in these words is the ability to equate how one of God's creatures could feel the depths of loneliness that would cause one to ride the path he took.

May God have forgiveness for this young man. May God have love to bestow upon him. May God somehow grant us the power to show love in everything we do, to everyone we meet. It is indeed the greatest gift of all. And we will fail as a society if we can't accept everyone whose paths cross ours to be a unique and qualified recipient of love.

We are the top of the ladder, the highest on the food chain. We're going to destroy ourselves from the inside out, if we don't work feverishly to end the hatred, end the disparity of our seemingly innocent actions without seeing the cause for positive reinforcement. Discord is evident, we need to reconnect.

It had been a long time!

2008-01-27T15:34:00.000-06:00

When my oldest was born, I never felt the loss of my mom's death more deeply. The minute this little baby came into the world, I was dumbfounded at the depth of my realization of what a mother truly gives.

So my quest was to find the woman whom my mom had asked to be my Godmother 38+ years earlier. The closest I could come to a mother who was an only child. They were best friends through high school and beyond. I had little to go on, "Auntie Mary Lou" had long since moved west and remarried. All that I knew was her husband's name was Vito and he was a pit crew boss back in the late '80's out in Vegas.

It had been nearly 25 years since I'd seen her, and had only most recently spoken to her when I'd called to tell her of mom's passing 20 years ago. Memories of this wonderfully open-hearted woman with long flowing auburn hair, and her white pressed uniformed shirt, badge and holstered gun are vivid! (She was, at one time, a Cook County Sheriff's Deputy!)

It took me nearly 8 years, but thanks to this very platform that brings far to near, I found her on one of the school reunion sites. I read a new entry on their high school page one morning back in July, immediately pulled up a pay-per-use information site and $14.95 later, I had a variety of phone numbers & addresses for her & her husband.

I called several and hit the jackpot when Vito answered the phone. After asking a few questions, he had a few for me, then he gave me her number at work. When she answered, I asked if she was sitting down, and she replied: "Who died?"...

We talked for nearly an hour. It was like I'd just called her last week, except that we had a lifetime to catch up on. Back & forth we went on, her telling me of their life and that of her 6 children, me on what's happened since Jennie left us. They still live in Las Vegas so I told her that the first trip my husband would be making out west, I'd be tagging along. This past week, I did just that!

I cabbed it from Caesar's out to North Las Vegas & couldn't get into the community gate, so I walked into the clubhouse...spoke to a woman at the counter, and saw Mary Lou stand up and turn around behind her. We laughed & cried for a few minutes, hugging and looking at each other. One of those reunions you read about in the women's magazines!

Just before Christmas, she told me they had found a small but malignant tumor in her lung. She's been treated with Chemo & Radiation ever since, so the beautiful hair I so colorfully recall had been taken away--but the effervescence of her personality was shining through. She is vibrant and heartwarming, full of stories and advice. She is blissfully married to a wonderful man whom I've come to know on the phone, and also couldn't wait to see.

I spent the afternoon with them and later, with Jeff, met them for dinner at their favorite steak house away from the strip. It was a fabulous night together, and they welcomed my husband just as they did me, a few hours earlier. The evening was over all too soon. Vito hit a video poker game on the way out and won a few bucks, she and I waited for the boys outside the casino.

We planned to meet up for lunch on Saturday before I returned to Chicago, but our schedules didn't mesh. On the phone that morning, we spoke of how grateful we were to have each other again. The photos I'd brought were a trip into our pasts, and it was breathtaking for me to hear her tell the same stories mom had done over all those photographs so many years before.

I eagerly look forward to getting back out west in the next few months. Next time, she'll be over her treatments and will be full of the energy that has left her, for now. I know she will be that bubbly and over-the-top woman I've come to know and love again!

Even in the midst of adversity, love and the beauty of life triumph. I'm grateful to have been given this chance to share my mom's granddaughters---her legacies---with her friend who so welcomed us into her heart all these years later. It had been a long time, but it didn't feel like that...at all.

Like spinning the big roullette wheel, eh?

Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seatbelts...

2008-01-21T21:27:00.000-06:00

I haven't figured out why you should yet; but I'm hovering at the edge looking over and it seems an appropriate line to open with.

This is an experiment in will, skill and thrill. Hang on~ we'll see how far I can take it.

I can't promise daily posts, I can't promise weekly posts. I can promise, I'll write.

If you find the time, check back...I just might surprise myself!

Welcome aboard, I hope you enjoy the flight!