Little Bits

Sometimes, you just have got to move on. I've cried - a lot lately - and I still stand by my opinion that a good cry cleanses your soul, although it leaves me looking red, puffy and blotchy. But out of everything that life deals to me, (supposedly not more than I can handle, although sometimes it brings me right to the brink of that cliff that looks down into the deepest and darkest canyon) I still want to see the light at the end of it all. I want to be an eternal optimist, hoping that the world will result in a final "Happy Ending" in a field of roses and daisies. I want to find that good person I once knew... I want to know that I haven't wasted years of aimless searching only to end up at that dead end. I want to know that the years I've spent searching and reaching for happiness have made me stronger.

There are days when that dark cliff looks like the end, and sometimes I swear I feel someone trying to push me over the edge, but then there are moments, brief glimpses, little bits of time, when that spark of sunshine starts to break through. I look down at the bottom of that dark cliff and wow, there's a rose bush in full bloom. It's then that I realize that whatever road I may have ended up on, is holding something for me, I just have to look hard (sometimes I have to stare for what seems like forever) and then I'll find it. It may even smack me on the forehead like it's been staring back at me for the same amount of time I was looking for it. But it's there... Life is there. Life that holds great moments of glory if I just stop to look for them.

Life is there, and it's not waiting, time won't stop, and if I don't stop to listen, that moment of happiness will pass me by. Life is there, and sometimes, in that darkest hour, I just have to step up and move on, and I have to keep looking for that moment before it does smack me in the face, because with my luck, it would probably knock me out cold when I did run into it...

Those moments are there, and I will find them. I will take that deep breathe and savor each little glimpse of happiness. Because in the end, that's all it is. It's not that I was born or that I died, but it's all those little bits of life that I take for granted in between that make my life what it is, and make me who I am. Those little bits of happiness that are just waiting for me to find them.

Words...

Remember the saying, "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me." While good in theory in teaching young kids to ignore the talk of school yard kids, is so far from the truth. Lately, I've realized that words said can never be undone. You can apologize, and you can ignore them, and you can yell and scream and curse in response, but once said, those words forever leave a mark on your heart and soul. No venting and no response will make that mark go away.

Those words cannot be unsaid, and whenever I try to think past them, I can't. You can't forgive the person that said them if they think what they said is right. You can't pretend anger was the source and that it didn't really mean anything.

Those words... they will try to drown you, they will haunt your thoughts, your dreams, they build that impenatrable wall around your heart, and they make you become defensive. Those words... I remember mom telling us when we were fighting to remember that those words could be the last thing you ever say to the person you are fighting with. And to never go to bed angry, and to never leave without saying I love you. And now, I know what she means, because once those words are allowed to fester, they just grow overnight like a horrid infection in the cut on your heart.

Those words don't allow you to think straight. They don't allow you to breathe and relax. You dwell on them and you try to figure out if they are right, are they words that are true in anyway. I think I know the truth, I think I know what is right and who I am. I think I know that who I am is where I want to be going, but those words make me question everything that I know to be right.

Tears will well up inside me everytime I think about those words, and wonder how much they were meant as truth and if they were possibly only said in anger, but do you say something in anger that you unconsciously don't really believe? I can't fight the words, I can't understand those words, and I can't forgive those words, nor can I take back any of my own words. And then, you realize you are at that cross road, that place in your life where you decide is it sink or swim? Am I treading water and staying afloat or am I slowly drowning. Will I slowly drown in these words...

Grandpa's Memories

We all know him as Daddy, Grandpa, Pops, Papa and Friend. He had 85 years of family and friends, and he spent his time making more memories than I could ever try to capture on paper. His one daughter spent three hours trying to write down all her memories, and even then, I’m sure she’ll think of memories in the days and weeks and years to come that she didn’t think of in those three hours. We could all sit around a fire pit for hours on end and talk about all the memories we share. They are good memories; some may be sad, some may be humorous, and some are just good heartfelt memories that help us remember who Donald Hill was.

Donald Francis Hill was a son, a brother, a friend, a dad, and a grandfather. He served his country well in WWII as a service member of the US Navy. He also served his community with almost 15 years of service on the Kalamazoo County and Barry County Sheriff’s Departments; he served his family well by using that position on the sheriff’s department to escort a daughter to the hospital with a cut up hand, and giving his wife a ticket, even though she may have been determined that she didn’t quite deserve it, but there was no sweet talking out of that one. He was a farmer, and he was a trucker, and he would take turns taking his children with him for a week or more at a time on the road. He helped his daughter conquer her fear of never driving again, after crashing the same car twice in a row, by making her get in and drive when she was too afraid to do it. He also enlisted the help of his son to cover up the fact when he crashed his own car, so his wife wouldn’t know.

He loved summertime, boating and fishing on the lake, and teaching his kids, grandkids and friends of them all to ski and fish. He would take them fishing and then head to the Circle Inn for breakfast with all the syrup you wanted. Gramps didn’t care if you had a plate of syrup, he’d let you have more. Grandpa also didn’t care if you wanted to fish, but didn’t want to bait your own hook, he’d do it for you. He loved to cook out for the houseful of friends and family that were always there at his house on Gun Lake. He’d stand by the grill with his drink and cigar, or what little nub of the cigar was left, and grill those pork ribs, brats, burgers, or even the teeny tiny one bite fish that his grandson would spend the day catching, and that grandpa would patiently scale and clean. He would take us all out to the island on the pontoon boat, which was loaded to the max with kids, grandkids and the dogs. Spending an entire day at the island and then parking the boat on the lake to watch fireworks on the 4th of July.

He was a good man, who once drove 200 miles for a daughter and his son-in-law, just to build special steps to make getting into the house easier. He once drove, for what seemed like hours, around San Diego on Christmas day with me and my newly enlisted USMC husband just to find a place that was open to make sure we had a Christmas dinner with family. He was a father and grandfather who was always there for his family, he would listen and be there for you, and he accepted us all for who we are. He spoiled his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There was always plenty of chocolate and candy to be shared by grandpa. Even after he had his stroke, he still helped his great-grandson learn how to walk with him and his walker, and then he taught him how to drive the scooter. He loved to garden, and once he was beyond being able to do the gardening himself, he still loved to supervise and make sure it was done the correct way. He loved his dogs. Buttons, Freckles, Missy, Sammy and Socks, the dogs travelled with him wherever he went. And, he loved to travel. He and Grandma Josie would take their RV and head to their next destination, whether it was off to see his daughter Marrian, or just to Whiskey Creek campground in Michigan near his family.

He was a lot of things to a lot of people. He had special memories that he shared with everyone of us. And, he had a good full life. The best memory is a general one and how I choose to remember him, as being full of fun and laughter, and sharing that laughter with all the people in his life, and with a smile on his face. We love you Grandpa, Daddy, Papa… We will see you again one day.

Goodbyes..

As I sat today and watched my grandpa breathe his labored breathes and try to suffer through the pain, because he wanted to be coherent and say goodbye to family and not take any of his pain medications, and as he tried to tell us his goodbyes, I realized that I was being selfish. I didn't want him to go. I didn't want his life to be just memories in my heart and mind. I didn't want for my kids to feel the pain of losing a loved one. I didn't want to explain to my 3 yr old what dying meant. I didn't want my older two to feel that pain and hurt, the confusion and all the questions that life drops on you when you lose someone you love. I am selfish. I want him to fight death and fight a losing battle, just so we can have him here a little longer. He wants to "go home." He wants to go see Uncle John. And he doesn't want to be in a constant state of pain. I need to let go. I need to help my kids understand that letting go is okay. I need to hang onto my kids tight just a minute too long, and let them know that you can't always be too tough to cry. That crying is good for their soul and that eventually the pain will go away. I need to help my 3 year old understand that Papa is not getting better this time. I need to hug my family, aunts, uncles and cousins. I need to talk to my sister in Arizona. As I sit here and think if I should walk down one last time, even though it's almost 10 pm, I know they are still there with him. I wonder if my mom or one of my aunts or cousins will be by his side when he takes that last breath. I wonder if he is at peace. He decided a couple weeks ago that he wanted no more treatment, no more pain meds, and I wonder if there was anything we could have done. I wonder how much pain he feels. I wonder if he hears us tell him goodbye and tell him we love him. Does he know all the memories I have of him in my life. Does he know that every summer I think about all the summers we spent at the lake, on the pontoon, eating ribs and all the little blue gills we would catch off his dock. I can still see my mom and aunts "popping" shrapnel out of his back and shoulders as it would work it's way to the surface of his skin 30 some years later... Does he know how much I loved those summers? Spending time swimming at the island, learning to water ski, laying in the sun on the raft, and fishing off the dock. Does he know how much my kids will miss "Papa?" Will my 3 year old appreciate all the time he spent with Papa the first three years of his life, and how much he was Papa's "Boy." Does he know that every memory of him I see that grin and that half chewed cigar that he always had in his mouth? Does he know how much it meant to me that my first Christmas away from home, in San Diego, he drove to pick us up, and then drove us around for hours just trying to find someplace open to have Christmas dinner? Does he share the same memories? As he lays there in his unconscious mind does he see us, his family as we are and were? I hope so, because as weird as family can be sometimes, they are still good, and the memories get better with time, as the good memories stay with you and the not so good ones tend to drift away. And, now, I think I can say goodbye. It still hurts like hell, and the lump in my throat and chest actually hurt, and the tears in my eyes are burning, and I try and smile as Robby asks if he can draw a picture for Papa... Just one more. I don't want to be selfish, I want Grandpa to be at peace. I have to say goodbye.

Crystal Ball

I wish I had a crystal ball... sometimes when I don't know if I'm coming or going, or if I'm seeing a sunrise or a sunset. When I know the choices that have to be made, but need to map out the million possible courses my life could take based on that one decision. Just one... If there is only one decision in life you have to make, it could rock your world right out of the water and blow up in your face, or it could turn the world over where you might find that happiness and sunshine, that destination you were always bound to find in time. When does that decision come along to lead you to that place in life where you know "this is where I'm supposed to be." Does that choice come along once in a lifetime? Twice? And what happens if you choose answer A. (the world blowing up in your face) instead of answer B. (destination dream land)? Do you ever get the chance to go back and change your answer? Is there ever an open book test out of college and high school? Where is my crystal ball when I need it the most and where are the cliff notes for Life 101... Sometimes my conscience had ideas, but are they just musings or are they significant thoughts from the voice in my head? Probably not, since mostly that voice is just saying, "I need more coffee... and then some more sleep." (Too bad coffee doesn't promote sleep...) Does life allow you to make amends for one bad decision? But even if you could, you can't change that one bad decision because the other million "things" in the string of events and moments in your life would be changed, and is it worth risking the possibility of changing any of the good to rid of one bad? It's literally like being in the 'Twilight Zone'. I have a friend who admits she's "warped and twisted" when it comes to her sense of humor, maybe she has an angel or two that have decided to play havoc on my mind and my life...

Although, when I look at my life, I am mostly happy with the world around me. My children, friends and family, but then there is that "what if" and the "what now", the "what next" and the ever looming, "where do I want to be..." So many questions and even more answers and those million possibilities to the many answers, and it leaves my head spinning again, and this is when I start to confuse that sunrise and sunset. Am I at a new beginning? Am I at the end of the road where the fork to the left and the right both lead to the unknown? When do new beginnings start? When do you know that the road your on has definitely came to that dreaded dead end. Not an easy dead end, but one that has a narrow road, with trees on both sides that doesn't allow for a U turn, instead you have to back up, slowly, all the way down that dark and twisted, narrow road, all the while getting a kink in your neck from having to look back and drive at the same time. And, for those that didn't know, I hate getting a "kink" in my neck and I hate backing up. I'd much rather be going forward, always forward.

So, as my rambling took me off course (down that nasty, twisted, dirt road with the dead end) back on subject... Where is my crystal ball? Because right now, I could really use one.

Laughter

I copied this from an old blog of mine and entered it into a writing contest for a spot on a "Dear Reader" column and actually won! I thought I would repost it here...

"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter." ee Cummings

Lately I tend to get too busy rushing through all the steps of mylife. The movements of going here and there, making this and fixing that, "Hurry comb your hair, brush your teeth, get your shoes on..."and the list goes on. In all this busyness, I sometimes lose sight of what is really important. I get irritable and stressed, and I tend to see those traits rubbing off on those around me.

Yesterday, amidst the rushing around and hurrying to do the littlethings, I was stopped cold in my tracks by...LAUGHTER! While trying to get three kids ready for bed and trying to finish dishes so that I can unwind and go to bed; I hear it--hysterical laughing. Myolder son is "mocking" me (using an overly stern, funny voice) andtelling the youngest "hurry and brush your teeth." Of course, of all funny things in the world, this voice is one my youngest finds hilarious, and of course, his belly laugh is completely contagious. So, my oldest, keeps going, and every time the youngest gets a louder and longer belly laugh.

Laughter begins to spread...my daughter is laughing, my husband is laughing, I think I even hear the goldfish laughing...I try to gain control, which I should have realized was a lost cause once the hilarity had set in, but I try... "come on, it's time for bed..." The only answer I receive is more laughing. A smirk at first, then a smile, next a giggle, and finally a true laugh as I break free from these bonds of time and control and slip back into enjoyment of the little things that life gives me. It's these moments in life, which are brief, too often forgotten and occur over a simple thing--like "lets mock mommy"--that keep me sane. In this world of schedules and deadlines, workloads and volunteer workloads (that become more work than the regular workloads), the light that breaks through the grayness of day to day mundane "stuff" is the laughter. The joy and laughter that my children share with each other and pass on to me is my sanity. Laughter really is the best medicine!

Superwoman...

I always wanted to be in her shoes for one day. Who? Superwoman. I could hop in my invisible jet and take off to another side of the world, take care of business and jet back in time to feed my family a full-course, healthy meal. I could use the super powers to take care of work (regular job 40 hour a week work), housework, and volunteer work in warp speed. I would look fabulous in that little tiny superhero costume and snap together those nifty little bracelets. Yes, I would like to be Superwoman for a day, or two, or three…

But, I’m not her. I’m not capable of using warp speed and my invisible jet. I just have the good reliable minivan that holds all the football league “stuff”, the kids backpacks, extra clothes, jackets, balls, some camping equipment leftover from the summer months in those lovely stow-n-go areas under the floor of my van, lots of miscellaneous paperwork, bills, and altogether “Junk.” And believe me, it is NOT invisible. Any poor person that is stuck riding in the minivan is subject to it. I wish it could be invisible. I wish I could be invisible. When those little hands are begging and pleading for one more snack, or one more video game, just one more… I wish I could disappear and not be the “mean” mom for making them be responsible young kids by eating healthy and going to bed at a normal time (or as close as humanly possible for those nights after practice, dinner, homework, baths and showers, when there isn’t much normal left). But, back to Superwoman, I am not her, nor am I invisible.

So, I will deal with this life of mine, and these kids that I love “more than the whole wide world,” as my youngest says. I will deal with my busy, overly busy, life. How? I’m not sure yet. For me it’s a daily challenge to balance it all. Right now as I type this I am “multitasking,” which means, typing, pushing play on the DVD player, checking homework, making dinner, sending out football emails, answering my phone, and listening to music, because I cannot multitask without music. As I finish this blog, I look at the clock and realize I started it about 2 1/2 hours ago. I deal and cope and as they say, I’m alive and still kickin’ and haven’t given up on it yet. Being like Superwoman would be nice and like a little vacation from it all. But knowing I am not superwoman just shows me that life isn't about super powers, It’s about coping, or the lack of coping sometimes.

Life is this series of non-super moments that teach me how to juggle and balance. They teach me about taking a deep breathe when I close my eyes and hope that invisible jet appears, then when I open them and see not a jet, but the spilled dinner plate on my floor that the youngest managed to drop and get on every square inch of surface area in my kitchen (rice and corn can sure fly when bounced off a plate on wood floors). So I will deal. I'll clean up that dinner plate.. since I can't leave the computer and go to the rest of the house without walking over it. And, I will yell at the kids to stop fighting because my head is pounding and I will go to bed and dream of that invisible jet to carry me away!

Ah...

I feel better already!

Some People

Ok, so I screwed up taping our son's football game. Although I am master of many things, videotaping sports is not one of them. Nor, did I ever state in my application for wife and mother (did I actually apply for this or did it just happen??) that I was a master of this. I didn't even claim to be frickin' an apprentice. But, suddenly you put one in my hand and I am supposed to be king of all cameras. Well, you know what... I'M NOT! When I do get the game on tape, it's either too far away, too close, too shaky, too much talking in the background... hire a frickin' videotaper then! I just want to watch the game!

So, anyway... yes, I screwed up and was hitting pause instead of record and vice versa for the whole first part of the game... You would think the world just came to a halt and flipped upside down on its orbit. Holy God almighty... Did I set the house on fire? NO! Did I lock a kid in the car outside? NO! Did I drop a fry pan and hit you upside the head - NO (may have crossed my mind but I didn't do it). But then, I laughed... I had a long day, and ooops, screwed that one up, but they lost anyway, oh well... That really did him in. Thought he was going to have a heart attack right then and there. "You think this is funny...." Well, no, but griping and chewing me out about it when I'm already sick of your football mindset, is not going to make it better, nor is it going to make me want to do it the next time... So, then World War (I think we are up to like100) 101 starts in our kitchen. I don't fight well, I get mad and yell and cry and it's not a pretty sight to see. So, because I screwed up a frickin' football tape (which like I said - was not the game gripper of the year that you would watch over and over again anyway) I am not speaking to him at this moment, of course it helps that he works night's and went to work. Why is a crazy football tape so important anyway? I just want to sit and watch him play and enjoy it while it's happening. And, after work, I don't want to hear about it, I don't want to know if it was good or wasn't because you know what? I DON"T CARE! As long as my kiddo played his best and had fun doing it ( and didn't break any major bones ) that's all I care about. I don't have time for one thing to watch it again, between working and then working for the football league, then doing school paperwork for the kids, and then dinner and then getting them in bed, when would I watch it again anyway?? I'm glad he has time to watch it over and over, but I don't. Urgh!

So anyway, wouldn't you think that my sanity and happiness was more important than a videotape? Obviously he is immune to the stress and the weight loss and the fact that I want to scream and pull my hair out. And then to start a fight over a STUPID TAPE! I don't get it. If I asked him to take a picture and he chopped half the family out of the picture? Oh well, life goes on. Doesn't it? Isn't tomorrow going to come and go with or without a video of last weeks game, and OH, isn't there another 20 dads that taped it also? I'm sure they are actually acclaimed Masters of that little device and did not screw it up like I did, and would be more than willing to give the Coach a copy? Oh heavens, to ask for some type of favor like that... Maybe I will just smash the whole frickin' camera and wrap it up in a nice little football box with lots of ribbon and a card for an actual professional videographer, because you know what.. I don't want the job!

Whirlwind

The wind is the chaos of my life blowing and churning around me. I have thoughts and plans and to-do lists and more chores and all of it is churning and storming and twirling around me. I've realized that all the chaos I've managed to make a part of my life has become this whirlwind around me that blows and pushes and knocks me back when I don't stand up strong enough. It's the force that tries to control where I go, what I do and lately who I am. This whirlwind has become so strong that the wind barriers that I try to put up just don't last. I try to make arrangments and delegate and the more time I make up for myself the more stuff I find that I need to do. And the wind keeps blowing and the storms start storming. Then, I find I'm dodging the lightning and the hail that the whirlwind has produced. I'm running for cover with no shelter to be found. My head is throbbing and my eyes just don't want to stay open. I am begging for sleep and rest. No more running and no more whirlwind, just peace and quiet. But when does the storm end, when will the force of the winds tire of besieging me? Will I succumb to the wind and the rain? Will I wrap myself in the presence of the whirlwind and face the deamons, step up to the storm and make myself stronger? Will I endure the pressure I face? Will the whirlwind run it's course? Will sunshine and a cool relaxing breeze find their way back to me?