dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding

Dearest girl,

Today you are 5. The last five years...that's a musical, you know.  It doesn't work in this case because it's about a broken heart. It's about a love shown backwards to the audience, that way it breaks their hearts too. Which you know me, you know I like that stuff. Because it's real. Plus Jason Robert Brown wrote the music so it's quality.

I like things that are real. The last five years have been the most real of my 35.  I came to the NICU to feed you and see you and breathe you in and the lady saw me at the locked door through the tiny window and told her colleague: "it's Sloane's mom, open the door." I'd never been anything but "Shannon" and from that moment when you were just a day old I never was "just Shannon" again.

So the last five years have been full of heartache and regret and anxiety.  I married your dad. I tried for many years with him (before you came and after) to make us work and we couldn't.  My heart broke. I divorced your dad. And nothing during any of that was worth much to me unless it was a measurement of your happiness.  So, I felt like a ratty mom. A mom who gave up on keeping her child's family together. I felt selfish.  But slowly because of you I rebuilt my shaky confidence in my motherhood. Every time you'd put your chubby hands out to me I grew a little bit stronger. "Your beauty trumped my doubt." (it's a lyric by Mumford and Sons, there's always a lot of supplemental reading when it comes to your mother's writing).

So it wasn't perfect. But somewhere I had and still have this dream in me that our happiness isn't mutually exclusive. And in fact that if you didn't have a mother who could be happy you could never learn to be happy either. And I think a lot about that hymn from when I was a little girl that we would sing in church and I hope it's true: "farther along we'll know all about it, farther along we'll understand why. Cheer up my brother, live in the sunshine, we'll understand it all by and by."

There are people who will tell you when you are older that you shouldn't have regrets, or that they in fact don't have any regrets.  I will tell you that if you become a parent this idea is utter bullshit.

I have one million regrets and they are all, every single one (besides everything I did in the year 2001) about you. They stem from how I could've made you happier, or how I could have prevented you from hurting.

I try to best navigate by how to make you not only feel happy but how to help you turn into someone who is kind and intelligent, a woman who doesn't fear any part of herself, a person who passionately seeks but who is not too involved with herself to help others find.  It's hard to navigate. I mess up a lot. You'll know soon: I'm bad at maps, directions, and even Siri gets me lost sometimes.

Until I figure out the next step though, I have a constant companion. You sing silly made up songs a lot of the time, some mornings you are quite grumpy, some days you tell me you don't want to live with me (some of those days I don't want to live with me either), but when you are away the sound of the quiet is different. The quiet when you are asleep is a blissful quiet, sweet and colored with the exhaustion from going through another day together. The quiet when you are gone feels like a humid room. It gives me time to think about all the missteps and how to correct my navigation and it makes me count the hours until the quiet is replaced with your voice.

For everything that ever hurt or will hurt, I am sorry. I promise I think of you more than you will ever know. I am prouder of you than anything I've ever achieved.  And I love you more than I love anyone else including myself.

Happy birthday, all I want for you is everything good and many, many more.  

Love,

Mama

the title is from a song by ani difranco, I hope there is a woman musician who does for you what she did for your mommy a long time ago...the song is called The Slant. The full lyric is this:

I am a work in progress
dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding
offering me intricate patterns of questions
rhythms that never come clean
and strengths that you still haven't seen

But no word or warning do you say. One minute right beside me, another you're a thousand miles away

When I said "I'll take it." I meant: as is. Just give up and admit you're an asshole... And I think you'd find that your friends would forgive you but maybe I'm just speaking for me.  - As Is by Ani Difranco

In an effort to practice what I preach...

I often tell clients that sometimes their pain lives in a place without words. Which seems only poetic, but it's actually true.  Trauma experiences are stored in the opposite hemisphere than language. So asking someone to process with words could be asking someone with a broken leg to walk to a hospital to set their leg.

I use Mandalas with clients in lieu of journaling occasionally because it provides a container (the circle) for their feelings, and a boundary. Also because if a client is not highly literate (or young) words can be intimidating and feeling like they are set up for failure before the activity even begins.

So here are two of mine.  I prefer oil pastels because I love to smudge and get my fingers messy and I title mine, a lot of times with song lyrics like the one below is a lyric from Possibility Days by the Counting Crows or with thoughts that I think they capture, like the top photo.  I always date them. Titling and dating is not necessary. It's just something I do to make it like a visual diary.  And yes, the top photo is inside my car.  I had the supplies in my work bag and I just had to "get it out."

Here's to the next step, which I am not happy about taking but not all of our steps make us feel thus.

Title from You're No Train (from Songs for a Hurricane) by Kris Delmhorst 

they are happy as they sing that old, sweet song

When I have too much on my heart I simply can't write blog posts. However there are so many words that it seems alien to fall silent. But instead of talking or writing I spent a lot of the last 10 days holding these hands.

I have always loved my grandmother's hands for all the comfort and sweetness they have given me for the past 32 years, heck I even thought her age and sun spots were pretty, as I viewed them as a young girl as freckles.  It was time to give a little of that back to her.

My grandmother left this earth at midnight Friday.  For the last ten days of her life she has rested peacefully in hospice surrounded by children, grandchildren, cousins, a sister, nieces, and friends murmuring their love for her.  Until 10pm on Thursday she let us know she loved us with her eyes and tried to answer us when we told her we loved her.

I already miss her sweet voice.

But I know that she is ecstatic to be alongside the love of her life again.  And I will see her again one day.

title courtesy of hymn: sing to me of heaven

road rules apply

We are about to embark on one of my worst fears since having a child of my own.  Family vacation/road trip.  For 4 glorious days we will be in Winter Park with beautiful scenery and mild weather.  But before we get there we have to survive the 9 hour car trip. 

When I asked friends and family members how to survive such a dreadful experience they had one common solution: the IPad.  Unfortunately I don't have an IPad.  Unfortunate for me, that is.  I know myself and if I had anything worth 500ish$ my toddler's little grubbers wouldn't come anywhere near it. 

So I sat down to research and work out how to take a toddler on a trip without an IPad (Iphone, Ipod, anything with a touch screen).  And here is what I am going to try. 

I don't need statistics to tell me how short of an attention span my child has at 19 months.  But it is nice that the research backs up my anecdotal data. 

Ages 16 months - 19 months

Your child might be restless, but is able to sustain attention to one structured activity for 2-3 minutes.

This road trip without stops is 540 minutes.  That is roughly 216 intervals of attention paid to one thing.  This bit of math told me that this was serious.  This would require a multi-pronged plan. 

 
Before the trip, make sure you have rested.  You need to be able to outsmart the toddler at all times, if this sounds easy to you, you haven't had the pleasure to spend much time around a wily spry toddler. 

If you slip and accidentally show them a stray box of mac & cheese you've packed for later, you will no doubt have a request (think of this as a list of demands from a terrorist) that you cannot fulfill at a reststop. 

1. Variety is key-- I suppose with the prior math I blew my own mind with, this is a given.

2. Use things they didn't know existed...this means new or something you've hidden for a long time, this can be challenging because you cannot be sure that they will really be interested in it if they've never seen it.  Try to pattern the new things off of things they have.

3. Don't break the bank.  I read a blog post about this same topic where she linked all the toys she bought and it would have equalled my budget for the entire trip.  The key is finding things ahead of time, utilizing thrift and yard sales and the dollar store.  I am pretty sure Sloane will love the 1.00 stickers that I bought more than if I got her a new toy for her 2-3 minute attention span.  You can also check out books/videos at the library.  If they don't like them there is nothing lost (unless of course you lose the book). 

4.  Do not sacrifice your own sanity-- you need it: to drive and outsmart them at the same time.  Therefore limit toys that make annoying & loud sounds like the Dora guitar that your brother bought them for Christmas (thanks for nothing).   5.  Save something for the return trip.  Obviously the toys you use on the way there will not have the same sparkle on the way home.  So plan accordingly.  I have packed a lot of things with hidden compartments jam packed full of things for said toddler to root through (she has similar interests as a rodent).  

plenty of junk to lose in the rental car & in the mountains-- the lot of it was a garage sale steal for 1.00

  6. Plenty of snacks (duh). I tried to make the snacks entertaining as well by utilizing my good friend Pinterest. And found these...

She likes to shake out her "feesh"

and this for you more ambitious mommas and poppas (link for credit was broken)

 7.  This is where I would say "have fun you are creating precious memories"...but that doesn't sound like me at all.  So instead I leave you with this...don't forget your __________ (insert anti-anxiety med of choice) and your camera.      title courtesy of Dashboard Confessional: Road Rules Apply

take the way home that leads back to Sullivan Street

I think that my friend leaving this world on May day (2 years ago) is poignantly fitting.  "Mayday" is the call of distress from a ship or a plane...it comes from the French "m'aidez," or "help me". When repeated three times on a radio frequency, "Mayday" signifies grave and imminent danger.

May day indeed.

I think my grief in someways for this loss has intensified since becoming a mother.  This is in part because I have grown so close to Dustin's father over the past 11 years.  Even after a scant 16 months with my child I don't want to think about being without her here on earth. 

28 years must have felt just like a blink.  There cannot be time long enough when it comes to the life of your child.

As for me there are "things I remember and things I forget, I miss you, I guess that I should." (Raining in Baltimore). 

What I remember so vividly...

what your voice sounded like -- the cadence of it.  especially the way you told me to "chill babe"

how you did things in order to push my buttons-- like insisting the scene in American Beauty that made it Oscar-worthy was the video of that stupid plastic bag that the emo boyfriend videotaped.  Now that you're gone every time I see a plastic bag fly by I think of you.  I notice them when I need to see them most.  I ate lunch with your dad and friends today and behind us on our walk to our car flew a grey plastic bag. 

your hair-brained schemes

your love of music, there are some artists and songs that make me think only of you because we played them in your car together, and then I played them for you in your hospital room (The Smashing Pumpkins Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness double album--especially Spaceboy, Better than Ezra-- this time of year, Dave Matthews Band---Live at Red Rocks album, Under the Table and Dreaming album, and their song Crush,  Counting Crows -- Sullivan Street it makes me think of all the times I left your house on Simmons street late at night to go home, and of course Rufus Wainwright's version of Hallejuah breaks my heart.) 

how you made me feel important when you spoke to me (you apparently did this for TONS of people--that's pretty amazing)

blueberry muffins---it was a piece of your memory you got back, something I was sure was insignificant and you would have forgotten it anyway... It was from the last time you had come to see me in Manhattan about a month before your car accident.  We went out for coffee at breakfast and I wanted you to try one of the muffins, they were wonderful but they were out that day.but one of the times I saw you later on, after we were not together you told me "you were mad they were out of blueberry muffins." It absolutely slayed me.  Cut me to the quick. 

how you hated celery-- you told me that if you looked at it you'd throw up you made it seem more like a phobia than a taste.  the thought of this cracked me up and I always planned to have a bag of celery in my fridge when you would go poking through it, but I never did it.

how you bought cards for occassions other than what was happening.  I have 3 of such cards from you-- one of them says "Congratulations on your baby boy!" (it was for a "break a leg") Happy Birthday (just because in September) and one about the loss of a pet (when you were leaving for the week back to Emporia).

you were basically wonderful. 


title from Sullivan Street by the Counting Crows

Honest to God, x is always an unknown

Dearest Sloane,

We've had such a time with your health lately that it reminds me how thankful I am for you and your general good health.   You started running a low grade fever last Monday, and had no appetite at all.  We thought it was just that nasty teething (you got another one-- I thought you already had all 20!).  But Wednesday it got up to 101.3 and I got concerned so I called your doctor's office.  The nurse assured me that there were a lot of bugs going around.  She warned me if you got worse or you started to vomit to bring you in. 

At 3am Thursday you woke me up with your cries and you sounded different.  I picked you up and you were burning up...103.9 and you had vomitted all over your bed.   Thank God aunt Tay is a nurse and Grammy works nights.  I called her and she helped me through it, the three of us women decided (with no objection from your dad) that we had to take you in to the ER.  I secretly (not so secretly now) fear being one of those parents...you know the ones who take their kid in to the ER for every little sniffle.  But something told me this wasn't a virus.  

And there was this nagging thing...When I was just a girl my mom's cousin lost their 20 month old toddler to meningitis.  They thought she just had the flu.  So even if I was going to turn out to be wrong I put you into your carseat at 2:45 am and met grammy at the ER.  I told your daddy to sleep for now and I would text him if we needed him since both of us were supposed to work the next day.  

It was so hard to see you in that hospital bed.  You looked tiny.   

This adventure hasn't been nearly this fun

We had wonderful nurses, radiology technician and doctor.  You were a tough little girl but you cried each time someone touched you (which there was a lot of).  Everytime you were touched you would look at me and sign "please" and say "bye bye" to the nurse or doctor.  It was so pitifully cute and heartbreaking.   I am so glad Dudley the monkey was there, he wore your hospital bracelet, so they scanned him each time they came to do something for you or give you a med.  After they would scan him you would proudly say "beep beep". 

The doctor ordered a throat culture (negative) a chest xray (indicating bronchitis) and a straight catheter urine collection (thank God for pediatric nurses) which was positive for a UTI.  The fever, malaise, and lack of appetite suddenly made sense.  You had an infection all along.   We got to go home at 5 am with an antibiotic.  We went to grammy's to camp out so that you could have your grammy and your personal RN--aunt Tay.  You area  lucky little lady.   

The next day you woke up with 102.9 and were shivering like mad.  I called your pediatrician to follow up and they wanted to see you right away.  You were not excited to return to a doctor's office.  You screamed through the check and especially the shot of antibiotics.

They asked me to bring you in again the next day.  You got another antibiotic shot and an appointment for a kidney sonogram and blood panel.   




They gave you a balloon because they felt so sorry for you



We are still working through this infection.  We are watching you closely for dehydration since you are running an intermittant fever, still little appetite and have had diarreaha for days.  Poor baby will have 2 more visits guaranteed, and we are hoping that is it.  

As I was driving you to grammy's late this morning my mind was in a pity party for you/us after everything we've gone through.  I was jolted back to reality when I was pulled over for speeding in a noon time school zone.  Just a reminder of my good luck.  You waved at him, which was great it made him feel really bad, more than once he said "I wish I didn't have to do this".  But he still gave me a ticket.  Of course.  I must remind myself, it can always (and will) get worse.

title courtesy of the new Counting Crows cover album Underwater Sunshine: song "Hospital"  

the speaker in this door is blown, so nothing sounds quite right

And I will leave under the cover

Of summer's kiss upon the sky

Like the stone face of your lover

Just before she says goodbye

I was certain that the season could be held between my arms

Well just as summer's hold is fleeting

I was here but now I'm gone...

I'm gone... I'm gone, I'm gone

I'm gone...

-dashboard confessional: so long, so long

Things we will miss---my thrift shops, concerts, the Royals, my clients, the night life, theatre in the park, the unicorn theatre, blanc burgers & bottles, my coworkers, the food

Also these people, in no particular order  in the order that these photos are stored on my computer...

josephine <3

McKay (can I still call you that now that you're married)

the plaza ( + these two)

1/2 the snob mob gathers in KC often (Em & Matt not pictured)

the night life and it's attire

lawrence is so close

we will still love the Royals from afar, although T-shirt Tuesdays may be hard to manage

we love you theatre in the park, we love you we love you

Kate & her husband (pictured) moved here we will miss having them as neighbors

my bestie only lives 45 minutes away from KC

Keenan's brother just moved back to KC as we are moving away

our lawrence friends the Rawls

haircuts & color from Shawn

Sloane's bestie Quinn

Dear Kansas City,

Thanks for a great 3 years and 4 months.  We have had 2 apartments and 1 little house.  3 jobs and lots of theatre between the both of us.  We've gathered here for barbeques, music, parites, weddings and babies (including our own!).  We've spent lots of money here and made even more memories.   We moved here on a hot Memorial Weekend with a little Uhaul and thanks to your wonderful thirft stores, stores and yard sales we will be leaving in a large Uhaul on Labor Day weekend.  Although we hate to leave you it is time for us to start the next chapter of our lives as a family.

Also a special shout out to Shawnee Mission Medical center for delivering the best gift we have in our lives and the nurses and doctors for keeping her safe until we could take her home with us. 

We love you!

So long,
Shan, Keenan & Sloane


lyrics courtesy of dashboard confessional's penultimate goodbye song: so long, so long

sink me in the river at dawn

When I am blue or overwhelmed I get quiet.  I can tell more about the number of posts I have in a month than what the posts say. 

easy pea-sy

Sloane is doing well. She is 7.5 months old (16 pounds, 24 inches). Time flies with her. Solid Pureed foods are our daily adventure. She LOVES green vegetables. I have to disguise any veggie that is not green with a few spoonfuls of spinach, peas or green beans. Making my own food for her has turned out to be fun and super cheap (it's honestly like 1/10 of the price to do it this way).  Keenan however longs for the day when our kitchen no longer smells like steamed squash and our ice cube trays contain ice instead of veggie-cubes.

excuse the blackberry quality-- here's her new trick:  nose scrunching & rapid sniffing

I am trying to ever remain positive but feel like sinking.  I desperately want to move back to my home town but it is so small and difficult for me to find full time employment where I could carry our insurance (ah the worries of a woman to be wed to a starving artist).  I had an interview at an agency similar to the one I work for but have yet to hear back from them (so I am left assuming the worst).  As I didn't get that job I started to think maybe this is the push I need to start my own business.  It would be the gamble of my lifetime (although I know that the market and location are right) but at least I would be surrounded by my family.  Insurance is really the most troublesome horrible no-good very bad worrisome thing.    But as I worry a small voice inside me whispers: 

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”- M. Williamson

As the small voice gets louder I pray I will have the courage to listen.

title courtesy of the band perry: if I die young

wish it was Sunday.

Our weekend was lovely, and lovely weeknds seem to go the fastest.  Did the 4 mile AIDS walk pushing this little gal in her stroller then caught a baseball game (yay Royals beat the Twins!)

Ready for the AIDS walk (note the red hightops)

 

my favorite thrift store find of the weekend ($1.99)

I even squeezed in a little craft time...

my nephew T on his 2nd birthday (12/5/10)

We read a little prayer out of one of Sloane's book every night: Bedtime Prayers by Bonnie Rickner Jenning.  My friend Dustin's family and friends have been on my heart and in my prayers all day today, as I handed the book to Keenan to choose the prayer he flipped it open and it fell to this perfectly appropriate prayer: "The Shepard knows that we need help to get us through our days.  He's faithful to encourage us in big and little ways.  He sends a friend to cheer us on or lend a helping hand.  And when we feel like giving up, He'll be our strenth to stand!  Dear God, thank You for giving me paitence and encouragement."

My heart swelled as Keenan read this to our daughter.  Just the words I needed to hear.

The book also puts a little Bible verse (in little words) for tonight it was Romans 15:5...Which is "May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you a spirit of unity among yourselves as you follow Jesus."  So be it.

title courtesy of Ms. Cyndy Lauper (Manic Monday, it's a blog favorite)

maybe you could leave a light on?

So proud that my favorite little scrapping site is having a raffle for prizes and ALL the $ goes to Autism Speaks. All you have to do is join and buy the 5.45 raffle ticket and then wait to see if you win! You can participate in other crop activities too if you like. This will all be occuring in April which is Autism Awareness month.

I will have some more posts on this during the coming weeks. This cause is personal to me as it touches my everyday life at work and at home. I work to make people with disabilities lives better.

In my family, my brother is on the autism spectrum he lives with Asperger's Syndrome (which even if the big insurance companies pressured the doctors to lump in with Autism in the DSM is still a subset of symptoms in itself).

title courtesy of the Counting Crows: Leave a Light on (Live)

For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt

Today is my due date. I wonder what I would have been like had I actually reached it.

Until only a few days ago I was still harboring a lot (95%) of negative feelings about Sloane's birth and the experience we had. I have been working to move past this and only focus on the fact that she is here and healthy now. Some people have even wondered what my hang up is, why I can't move past December 14th. The answer is I'm not really sure. But as a therapist I know that you cannot simply gloss over something traumatic (even if the trauma resulted in a good outcome...i.e. my sister was very lucky to survive complications of her tonsilectomy, which was 1 week after Sloane was born, she is fine now, but she coded 3 times and she cannot get the nightmares to alleviate). Trauma doesn't just evaporate.

However, as I work through my heart's feelings more light is visible all the time. Today a happy little thought occurred to me.

Today is my due date, Sloane, you may have come full term and been totally healthy and I would not have as great of a fear of what neurological challenges you may have ahead of you, I would not have the most intense fear of asthma and breathing...but I would not have known you yet. Instead I got an extra 5 weeks of really knowing you and loving you. I cannot say I would not trade the time, I am not at that point, but I can say that I am grateful for this.

And if your strife strikes at your sleep
Remember spring swaps snow for leaves
You'll be happy and wholesome again
When the city clears and sun ascends
mumford & sons, winter winds

words are not enough to tell you of our love, so listen to our hearts

I was watching the View a few months ago and Vanessa Redgrave was on talking about the death of her sister Lynn Redgrave and the loss of her daughter Natasha Richardson. It was so apparent that she was in the throws of life and they asked her how she was doing and she said she was "grieving and glorying"

When you lost people you absolutely love and adore, you're both glorying and you're grieving," Redgrave said. "You're grieving because you haven't got them anymore and you're glorying because you're taking in what a gift each of them was."

This concept stuck with me. Because the more I age the more I realize how loss is a part of gain. Death is intregal to life. It seems like a simple concept, although feeling it is not simple.

I feel that I am in the midst of much grieving and glorying.

I tearfully said goodbye to my grandpa on Monday evening Aug 24. I am ever thankful that I have gotten to have "last" conversations with both him and my grammy G whom I lost last year. 30 years of memories were washing over me and I have decided that 30 years doesn't make it any easier or more comforting. It hurts to know that for 30 years you've had his ear and quiet raspy advice and now that part of your life is gone.

I rushed back to Kansas City for my ultrasound on Tuesday morning Aug 25th where Keenan and I learned, joyfully, that we are having a baby girl. I imagine that if my grandpa could have spoken at the time we found out, he would have said "well I'll declare!"

The next afternoon my grandpa earned his rest from fighting cancer.

Eldon A. Rietzke

Eldon Arnold Rietzke, 89, of Salina, went to be with his Lord on the afternoon of Wednesday, Aug. 25, 2010. He was born July 16, 1921, in Kensington, the son of Charles and Mathilde Rietzke. The youngest of seven children, he was raised on the family farm near Kensington.

In 1939, Eldon graduated from Agra High School. He then earned a degree in education from Fort Hays State College in Hays and taught for three years at Norton School, a one-room school in rural Smith County. He later owned Rietzke Supermarket & Dry Goods in Kensington for 30 years, where he was known as the best butcher in town.

Eldon fell in love with a beautiful girl he met on a blind date, Dorene Prior. The two were married in 1950 at the Hutchinson Church of Christ by H.W. Prior, Dorene's father. They were blessed with three children, Tim, Tracy and Jill.

Following a move to Salina, Eldon continued as a butcher at Beverly's Meat Market and Waymire's Meat Market for many years. His most recent job was with Nabisco.

Eldon, along with his wife, Dorene, raised his children with strong Christian values. He was baptized in September of 1980 and humbly served as a deacon at Salina Church of Christ. Eldon loved his family, the church, gardening, golf, bowling and sports. He loved being with his children and grandchildren and watching all of their activities.

Eldon was preceded in death by his parents, three brothers and three sisters.

He is survived by his wife of 60 years, Dorene; two sons and daughters-in-law, Tim and Marilyn, of Coldwater, and Tracy and Cindy, of Kansas City, Kan.; a daughter and son-in-law, Jill and Randy, of Mentor; 11 grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren.

After the funeral was over and I came back to Kansas City, I got joyful news again Weds Sept 1st my nephew Kolten Paul came into the world healthy and happy!

Grieving and glorying...onward.

a memory so clear it's as if you're still before me

Of all the money that ere I had, I spent it in good company.
And of all the harm that ere I've done, alas was done to none but me.
And all I've done for want of wit, to mem'ry now I cannot recall.
So fill me to the parting glass. Goodnight and joy be with you all.

Of all the comrades that ere I had, they're sorry for my going away,
And all the sweethearts that ere I had , would wish me one more day to stay,
But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise while you should not,
I will gently rise and I'll softly call: "Goodnight and joy be with you all" -The Parting Glass

Every narrative has a backstory. Last Friday I attended a funeral for someone with whom I had quite a backstory.

Fare thee well my bright star, I watched your taillights blaze into nothingness - E. Sailers

This is from something I wrote four years ago...

On December the 5th (which was a Wednesday) 2000 my boyfriend got into a car accident...that claimed our relationship and his old life...

I was almost 21 and he was 19.

Dustin was effortless. He was fluid. Everyone wanted to be his friend. He made you feel like you were the only one in the world when he was talking to you. And he was caustically funny.

Not only people loved him, the stage loved him as well. He was an amazing actor, I remember the first time I saw him onstage. He was 16 and I was 19 & in-love. He was the lead (Eugene) in Brighton Beach Memoirs...lines upon lines upon lines, flawless delivery-ultimate believability.

I told him later once we began dating, in a way that I thought was sweepingly romantic that I had fallen in love with him that night. I was expecting him to say something equally romantic. Instead he said quietly in my ear “pervert”.

He had a way.

He had a ton of friends. He was always on his cell phone. He was gorgeous and attentive and fun as hell. One time we got lost on our way home from a play at Emporia State, we ended up in a small town in KS neither of us had been to. He gets out of the car and goes into a local bingo hall, not to ask directions, but to get a little old lady to take our picture, because we'd “never been to Olpe Kansas before.”

The night he planned to come and see me I was in a bad mood. I was stressed because it was almost finals and Dustin never took schoolwork seriously. He just wanted to spread his arms and fly.

He habitually drove too fast, because he was always a few minutes late. And his skin was always a few degrees warmer than mine. He ran hot.

He didn't have an ID...this was because a year back he had tried to make it into a fake ID and failed, so the hologram busted the whole ID. So he had never gotten around to getting a new DL. I had left my wallet in his car over Thanksgiving break. I left it on the floorboard of the passenger side of his white brand new Honda Accord. It was my black K-State bi-fold wallet.

He was just going to drive the hour drive to see me, spend the night, and return my wallet. Even though I was grouchy when he called, he told me that he wanted to see me, told me he loved me and would see me soon. He was on the road.

My exit is #303. He called me on his cell phone. He was at exit #277. That was the last time he talked to me. He said it was beginning to snow and was getting slick. I said “slow down” he said “Chill babe, love you”. I fell asleep waiting for him (this seems strange to me now, now that I am riddled by anxiety when anyone I care about is late to anything).

I woke up to the phone. It was late. I thought "here he is telling me he ran into a friend at the gas station in town and he'll be over in a bit." it was Srgt. Burgess of the highway patrol. He told me that they'd found an unidentified accident victim with my ID, did I know who it was. His accident was at exit 295. I said "is he okay?" Srg. Burgess said he didn't know, but it was the way he said it that told me another story.

Numb. I answered questions on auto-pilot, told them how to get a hold of Glen, told them his birthdate, and his name. I called my 2 best gf's, Amanda and Jessica that went to school with me. They drove me to exit 295, to the hospital that Dustin was at. I called my parents. They came to get me, to take me half way across the state where they would be air-lifting my boyfriend to. He wasn't conscious. He was in awful shape. He might not live.

They gave me Valium.

I cried to a respiratory tech who was about 25 years old with a tongue ring until he finally let me see him just for a second, he told me I could walk beside him to the helicopter. He was wrapped up in a bright blue sleeping bag. That was the last time I saw him...him when he looked like "himself". I tried not to cry. I told him that I loved him. I remember telling him that they had him locked up tighter than a government secret. I told him he'd be okay.

They gave me a bag. It had his clothes, they were a mess and had been cut off of him. He was wearing the outfit I'd given him for his birthday exactly a month prior. It also had his wallet and his cell phone.

Even to this day, I think about that. He listened to his grouchy girlfriend, put on the outfit she just bought him and went to cheer her up, spend a little bit of time with her. This to me is sweepingly romantic. And unfortunately poignant.

My step-dad took me home to Salina. My mom then drove me to Wichita. I skipped my final exams. I have my one and only ‘F’ of my educational career for that experience. When I was asked about this grade in the grad school interview I thought it sounded to bizarre to explain, so I just lied and said someone in my family died. It didn’t sound real to me and I lived it.

They kept me sedated. Not so sedate that I didn't cry though. There were many tears. I just wanted him to wake up.

He had traumatic brain injury, he had broken bones, a collapsed lung, a rupturing spleen....cuts bruises. He wasn't wearing his seatbelt. I was irate when I was informed of this, then I realized the futility of being angry.

Surgeries...surgeries....almosts and not quites. He was in a medical induced coma for 3 months...and then he didn't wake up for 3 more. When he did wake up he couldn't speak, or walk...or remember.

I stayed in Wichita until spring semester started, and after that I would drive up nearly every weekend and stay until I had to return for class (I only took 2 classes that sememster and they were both on Tuesday and Thursday). Finally they could move him from SICU to the regular floor, it was bliss because we could visit him more. And it meant he was getting better. I just wanted him to wake up.

Before he really did wake up he was in this half-awake state. He was agitated. He lost tons of weight. He would lay in his hospital bed and thrash violently from side to side. He looked skinny and awful and blank.

They told me he'd never really wake up. There was a speech pathologist who came in briefly one day (very briefly) when he was in this quasi-conscious state. The SLP came up to his gaze and told him to say "ahhh". Dustin did not respond. He tried a few more vowel sound instructions. Dustin did not respond. Then he promptly announced in front of his patient, myself and Dustin's father Glen: "He cannot speak."

I was an undergraduate student majoring in Speech Pathology. I had just taken Anatomy of the Speech Mechanism. My free time in college was spent in the speech lab watching therapists work with stroke victims and kiddos with speech problems. I knew from all of that, that vowel sounds are some of the most complex sounds. I told both Dustin and Glen that the guy was ridiculous.

So for days and days I worked with Dustin. Glen would sit in the back of the room and read. His mom would comb his hair and I would work with him to move his lips. One weekend when Glen was at the corner of the room in the easy chair I was working Dustin again. He might have been annoyed that I would never leave him alone, but that day he mouthed "I love you" clear as daylight to me. Our hearts began to swell with hope and joy. And again, they moved him. This time to a rehabilitation center. This really meant he was getting better!

Dustin woke up, for real at spring break of that year of college. He could talk. He remembered bits and pieces of everything. He remembered me, he gathered that I was his girlfriend, that I loved him...He couldn't remember "us" though, not really.

He had trouble with his short term memory. I'd leave the room to go to the bathroom and have to retell him everything. He was depressed, emotional and unsure of himself. He couldn't remember me, at least not as his girlfriend. One day he asked me "Did I love you?" Nothing has ever stung like that.

When someone dies you know right away, when a part of someone dies it's different. There was this person, living in my boyfriend’s body, with his voice...and yet I didn't know him and he didn't know me. And I didn't know what to do with that.

And so it is. It was the worst feeling I've ever had to break off the relationship. And all this time I have not wanted to fall in love quite like that again.

And I feel guilty. I feel like it's my fault. Still after 6 years. I am so sad and feel so responsible. Even though it's illogical. Even though I would tell my own client that it wasn't their fault. I didn't make him come, in fact I asked him not to. I didn't make it snow.

I hate that our relationship became defined by the accident. There was so much joy before that. He called me “sweets”. He was basically wonderful. We loved each other. He taught me more than I can put into words and he introduced some wonderful people into my life.

fare thee well my bright star
the vanity of youth the color of your eyes
maybe if I'd fanned the blazing fire of your day to day
or if I'd been older I'd been wise - E. Sailers

After the funeral I couldn't bear to change clothes, because I had the strongest urge to drive to Wichita to a hospital. I was stuck in a moment, but I was in the wrong place. It was 1 am before I got the feeling to subside, but only for awhile. It all feels wrong.

Part of what helped me a little was to hear wonderful things about Dustin. He went back to acting, only 3 years after his accident. He also found love and got married. This truly made me happy. So when I heard through the social networking grapevine that he was struggling with depression and then that he had taken his life it seems like it had to be someone else. That once again, he will wake up and beat the odds. One breath after I think that, I realize it's not true this time. It's also as though I don't know what is present and what is past at times.

So I found myself at a funeral for a man, who in part, I had lost almost 10 years ago. I found myself wondering that if I let myself feel my feelings I would be somehow invalidating other people's feelings. Or that I was in someway invalidating his last 10 years.

It wasn't that at all, it is all valid. For each of us, no matter what part of Dustin we loved: the before, the after, the inbetween, and now. So instead of fretting I am trying hard to remember all the times he told me to relax. I am trying hard not to apologize for feeling this way. I am trying hard.

fare thee well my bright star
it was a brief brilliant miracle dive
that which I looked up to and I clung to for dear life
had to burn itself up just to make itself alive
I caught you then in your moment of glory
your last dramatic scene against a night sky stage
with a memory so clear it's as if you're still before me
my once in a lifetime star of an age - E. Sailers

If you read this all, whew... thank you (and you should rest your eyes for awhile & forgive my subject-verb agreement and possibly tenses of verbs), I needed to say it and this was the place I felt it was most appropriate.

title courtesy of the Indigo Girls: Fare thee well

and spaceboy I've missed you

"There is no easy way to the stars from the earth." Whitney Mutch

Dustin Stovall 11.5.81 ~ 5.1.10

title courtesy of the Smashing Pumpkins: Spaceboy

young enough to know the right car to buy, yet grown enough not to put rims on it

La Bocca della Verita

Italian Resturant in Chicago

It is 4 months before my 30th birthday. I like aging. Really, I do (so far so good). I like it because I get further away from the mistakes I made in the past.

However 30 feels different. It feels like it's got clout. It feels like before turning 30 I need to be able to "back it up". As a little girl, and even a younger woman I had grand aspirations for 30. I imagined like most little girls:

• a perfect husband (insert gorgeous, successful sweetheart here)
• perfect children (insert well-mannered, healthy, green-eyed darlings here)
• a perfect career (insert paid well for my hard work as a drama therapist here)
• a well-kempt green-lawn (insert manicured grass here)
• and a mortgage (insert huge bill for charming bungalow in a nice part of the city here)

Turns out I've accomplished nada on that list.

• I rent a 2 bedroom apartment
• If I was a drinker, my job is the kind of job to drive you to it (actually it would drive you well past "drink" and straight to "drunk")
• I don't even have a pet.

In order not to focus on the above list, I need a list more maneagable. 4 months is not long to accomplish all the above things, therefore the "New 30" list was born. And I must accomplish it in 4 months, but the best part about the New 30 is that I don't have to depend on mortgage companies, realtors, supervisors, the stork or a man to accomplish it.

The New 30

• Forgive myself for my 20's (and hope that others forgive me)
• Learn how to make my great-grandmother's cinnamon rolls & my mama's sugar cookies
• Finish 3 books on my upcoming "staycation"
• Finish paying off debt
• Quit taking everything personally
• Forget about preconceptions about what I should have "accomplished" by 30.
• Quit counting my divorce as my own personal failure
• Quit "keeping score" "taking data" on myself
• Go to the Rivermarket grocery
• Look for a new(er) vehicle & save downpayment
• Talk to my boss about a raise
• Keep in better touch with my grandparents (1 letter per month)

title courtesy of JayZ - 30 something

columbine, thinking of you...

“Every year feels closer to what I once knew as normal. Life is a shoreline, a wet-dry line between normal and the awkward. The awkward piece is that to return to normal I must walk in the very doors that we frantically exited one spring day.” -K. Leyba, Columbine High School survivor & teacher.

April 20, 1999. I remember being in the crosswalk of my junior college heading from home to class and hearing the words "Did you hear about Colorado?" I rushed into the building where my class was and looked at the television. Columbine. That name tied a knot in my stomach.

My aunt was a public school teacher in Littleton, many of her past students were injured and some killed.

I sat in my comp 2 class wondering what had happened and wondering if my professor remembered her comment on my just-handed back editorial assignment about bullying in schools and violence in schools as something that "wasn't any worse than it ever was just more sensationalized." I wondered if she still felt as though I was buying into the "sensationalism". She told me I offered platitudes rather than solutions and that my writing was cliche (of course all of this was true...I was 19).

We (concerned citizens/people who wanted to reach out) drove around with our headlights on even during the day. As if we were all a part of a large funeral procession. Or as if we could shed a little light on some of the darkness.

Like any other big tragic touchstone in our culture you remember where you were, what you were doing etc. This was different for me. Maybe it was because I was a kid- a year out of high school. Whatever it was Columbine was jarring.

I logged onto the article on msn.com today to read about the stories of selected successful survivors of the trauma. In 2027 the legal depositions of the Klebolds and the Harris family will be available to the public, a judge locked them away until then. I wonder if they hold the answers. My guess is "no". There isn't an answer (as cliche and platitudinous as that may sound to my college comp teacher).

Thinking of you today Colorado, as if on anniversary cue.

good luck.

This is for the current challenge over at Category Stories ("I'm lucky") and I hope you play along.

This looks like such a simple little layout but it really means a lot to me.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the amount of violence in our world, and how much of it is directed toward women by people who claim to love them, people they are supposed to be able to trust.


I am pretty sure that Rihanna being beat up brought this to the forefront of my mind again. But sometimes I feel as though it's 'open season' on women. There are many problems that keep this cycle going.

One of the problems is that it's seen as shameful and that it's supposed to be hush hush, a dirty little secret. It's hard to relate to a woman when the victim doesn't have a face or a relationship with you. It's easier to wonder what she might have done to provoke the abuse (or the "situation", which seems to be the catch-all, no-blame term lately).


So I give you this layout. I was in an abusive relationship. And I got out. I was lucky. Some women try to get out and can't. Some women are too terrified of the threats that their children will be hurt. Some really believe that it won't happen again. And some get out only on paper, and live a life of fear and sometimes of eventual murder.


And I thought about deleting all of this (as you read this, I bet I'm still thinking of it). I thought about the possible repercussions. And then I thought about you being able to put a face to this. And I changed my mind. Here's my face. I did nothing out of the ordinary of a human relationship to "provoke it" and it happened. If my face is your face, seek help so that you can get out and you can live.

Good Luck by Counting Crows

Larry's in Vegas with some chick from L.A.

The best things are sevens; the sex is just okay

"So please stay," she says,

"Just stay."

cause there's a show at eleven

The drinks are all free

Maybe you can do better for yourself

But not me

So please stay, keep me company

All the while thinking this is the good luck

He stays with her most of the time

It takes time to make these machines run

And people are so unkind

Gets kind of nervous

When it used to be hard

She takes the edges off evenings

In bedrooms and back seats of big cars

All the while thinking this is the good luck

He stays with her most of the time

It takes time to make these machines work

And people are so unkind

She looks in the mirror

To make sure she's here

She keeps disappearing and dreaming

Of movie stars, weddings

Nothing is happening

He tries not to notice

She thinks he doesn't care

Capture yourself in a jar

And just say there

Until you vanish to thin air

All the while thinking this is the good luck

He stays with her most of the time

But he ain't got time while she's riding in black cars

And pokes at the sky to see if he can make stars

And people are so unkind

People are so unkind

People are so unkind

People are so unkind . . .

Autism Speaks needs your creativity...

Please consider donating your time, creativity and your supplies to this cause. I love what they have done for the cause because they will donate 100% of the money directly to Autism Speaks. Autism Speaks is a great organization and is privately funded so every dollar (especially in this economy) helps out.

Speaking of the economy, it's difficult to imagine writing out a donation check at this point in time. This is a great way to donate money by using what's already in your stash and giving your time.

Thanks for considering it! Also if you decide to participate in this card drive please post a photo and link me to it in the comments and I will draw a name out and you can win some happy mail from me.

beautiful day.

There is so much to say on a day like today. And so much is said by the silences. if you are a follower of the blog, or a friend of mine you know that i have been hoping for and working toward today since even before Mr. Obama announced that he would indeed be a candidate for 2008. I automatically just began typing "Senator Obama" and became elated all over again that "Senator Obama" is now "Mr. President"!

I have so many things I should update about that I think I will do a bulleted list rather than drone on for paragraph upon paragraph and then I will post the pics soon.

• Keenan threw me a surprise party for my birthday. It was wonderful. Thank-u to those of u who were able to make it. Plus I got some fab gifts!


• Keenan was honored to accept an honorarium to be a guest presenter and actor at the American Collegiate Theatre Festival's Central Region conference in Lawrence at KU.


• I got to see Keenan do a reading of the winner of this year's Rosa Parks Playwright's Award (great play)and meet the playwright who is fab.


• Keeping our fingers crossed that said great play turns into a great job for this spring!


• Anxiously awaiting Keenan getting home from Lawrence and watching the season premiere of LOST.


• Tons of meetings this week at work and working on a proposal to start doing some drama therapy for young children w/ autism! Very exciting.


• Totally enjoyed my 3 day weekend and think that all weekends should be that long, although I can't decide if I would want to have Friday or Monday off.


• Saving $ for a trip in late March to NY for a very important audition, as well as a girls' get-away this summer in Texas.
• Spent some quality time in the hotel hot tub reading the Sookie Stackhouse series. Pure.Guilty.Pleasure.

day one

Day one, day one
Start over again
Step one, step one
I'm barely making sense
For now I'm faking it
'Til I'm psuedo-making it
From scratch, begin again

~alanis

it is january. the year of 29.

resolved...

this year i will finish paying off my credit cards. i started doing this in november and this year it will be done.

i began this resolution earlier but i think i may have a few more goals this year as well. they haven't come to me yet though. ha. i did a quiz on blogger that said i should try to reduce my stress level overall this year. yep. i should. and most likely this is a good goal for anyone reading this.

good luck w/ your resolutions and with the first day of the rest of the year.