Sarah's Birthday and What It Really Means To Me.

Today was Sarah's 6th birthday.  It was celebrated in a way befitting her place in our family, the youngest girl following behind 2 older brothers and 1 older sister.  She wore her sparkly rainbow tiara while playing at one brother's baseball game.  It's the only way she knows how to celebrate a birthday, what with being born in the middle of the season.  Her birthdays have always involved baseball.

Sarah was born at our house in Virginia.  She was nearly 2 weeks late and Bill delivered her.  Yep, really.  Bill delivered her in our bathroom.  On purpose even.  He was the first person to see Sarah when she entered our world and the person who had the privilege of telling me that she was a she.  It was the most amazing, spectacular, simple birth and I will always, always treasure the memory of that day.  Ask me about it sometime and I'll tell you the whole story.

And then later in the day, Bill saved my life.

Without going into much detail, after Sarah's birth I suffered a rare complication that resulted in massive hemorrhaging.  According to the Doctor who treated me at the hospital, had I not received medical treatment when I did, I would have died as a result from the major loss of blood.  But Bill called the ambulance and got me to the hospital in time. He was so calm and capable.

We used to laugh at that crazy turn of events.  How he loaded the kids up in the van (Sarah was only 6 hours old!) and drove through the Burger King drive-thru while trying to decide what to do next.  He always joked that he was buying cheeseburgers when he didn't even know if I was alive.  How he and Madeline tried to figure out what to feed Sarah should she wake up (we had never used a bottle--I nursed all of the kids).  She, providentially, did not wake up until I was out of surgery.  We smiled when we would remember how Bill had to hold Sarah while I nursed her because I was too weak to hold her myself. We understood the necessity (to us) of him tucking Sarah and I into the hospital bed so he could get himself to Jack's game later that evening. (He was coaching and would not let Jack down)

For years we have talked about what would have happened to our family if Sarah's birth story had not ended so happily.  I guess in some way those conversations were preparing me for the decisions I'm having to make now.  Gosh, I never would have anticipated it working out this way.

What has haunted me today, though, what I cannot get out of my head, is that Bill saved me.  He really, truly did.  I owe him my life.  On the anniversary of Sarah's birth, I am always certain to remember what he did for me.

But I couldn't save his life.  I tried, but I didn't succeed.  That thought, I cannot quiet and it shatters my heart into even more pieces than before.

Our sweet, darling baby girl is now 6 and I am so thankful for her precocious ways and the part of Bill that she represents. Her birthday will always be happy and exciting and sparkly.  But the joy that I feel will always be overshadowed by an undeserved second chance that I could not reciprocate.

Oh, Yes, There Will Be a Job.

The other day someone made the incredibly insensitive statement to me that, "Now I would have to get a job and live like everyone else."

Let's talk about that for a moment, shall we?

First off, the life that Bill and I created was one of purposeful simplicity.  We didn't seek status or wealth.  We never shied away from hard work or complained about our limited resources and comforts.  We wanted to be with each other and our kids as much as possible.  Even if it meant going without many of the supposed "necessities" of modern life.  Except plumbing--I drew the line at outdoor toilets.

This was our dream.

We didn't expect other people to join us.  We didn't criticize anyone for choosing a different route from ours.   People often felt it was their responsibility, however, to mock our choices with surprisingly passionate anger.  How many times did someone refer to our life with the words, "Do they think they're pioneers?"  Not hardly.  Last time I checked we had not traversed the country in a covered wagon to claim our homestead from the government.  I regularly employ a washing machine to clean our clothes.  We are consumers of petroleum products.  We might even eat at McDonald's from time to time.

Maybe we should have just bought a new car or gone into atrocious amounts of debt to get people off our backs!  Surely that would be the answer.

The plan was:  Bill goes to work and I stay home to raise the kids.  That's all we wanted to do.  I had no aspirations for a career.  Ever.  All I wanted was to have children and raise them as close to home as possible.  They are our kids,  therefore our responsibility.  I won't argue about the "it takes a village" idea because there is truth in that statement for sure.  But we wanted to assume the majority of the upbringing of our kids.  We would chose the "village" that supported us in the endeavor rather than default to the norm.  That's the way we had always lived.  It was the way we planned on living until the end.

You know what they say about best laid plans........

So now I'm faced with the process of retooling these ideas, goals, and plans.  My first priority now is to honor Bill's wishes and that means continuing on the path that we had started down.  There are still 4 of our children at home and all 4 of them need me to be available (in different capacities) at all times.  Now more than ever, considering all they've had to experience in the past several months.  Their lives have been brutally upset enough and I will not add anymore upheaval to the already shaky foundation.  For anyone to expect me "to get a job and live like the rest of us"  is spiteful and ugly.  Maybe I should encourage them to "be like me and become a widow!"  Surely, using their logic, that evens the playing field.

Idiots.

So, let's talk about this job now.  Yes, I will have to get a job someday.  And then I'll have to work until I die probably because I have no one else to support me.  Whatever.  I committed myself completely to Bill and allowed him to support me for 20 years.  I have no regrets.  Was it a risk to live this way?  Probably.  But isn't it a risk to drive down the road?  Or even to get out of bed in the morning?   My future is unknown now, but really, wasn't it always unknown?  I do know that I didn't make any stupid or selfish decisions to get myself into this situation.  Of that I am certain.   In the mean time, I will do exactly what Bill would want me to do;  take care of our family.  If I have to eat beans and rice for years, I'll do it.  If I have to wear rags, I'll do that too.  If I have to limp around with a POS car, I'll do it.  If I never go on another vacation again, who the hell cares?  If I have to live in a tent, I'll do it.  As long as things go along as usual for our kids.  For as long as possible.

And so, spiteful wretch, there is the answer to your question.  I appreciate your vengeful interest in my family's overwhelming sorrow and misfortune.  And to borrow our dear friend Gilly's input on such a statement, "There is a special place in hell for someone who gets a thrill out of your grief."  Well said, my friend.  Well said.

Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands.....
1 Thess. 4:11

Bill Always Did Love a Party.

Bill really liked to host a party.  Getting people drinks ("Can I get you some tea?") or a piece of pie--that's what he liked to do.

See the rainbow?  Last night, as our party came to a close, the most incredible, brilliantly vivid rainbow ended at his tree.  Oh, I think he was with us.  He couldn't offer anyone some tea but he certainly offered us something infinitely better.

Thanks to all who shared the day, the work, the meal, and the celebration of the simple with us.

(But let us not forget to thank Costco for its provisions as well.)

Sigh.

Long time married people.  Newly married people.  Firstly married.  Secondly married.  Families with many kids.  Families with one child.  New families.  Old families.  Together families.

They're everywhere I look, surrounding me.  And I took it for granted.  My beautiful, sweet, pure, and perfect family.  Now in it's place is this unfamiliar, broken mess.

What I see mocks and torments me.

So I fill the empty spots with extra.  And busy.  Lots and lots of busy.  Until the busyness runs out.  And then what?

And then I suppose I figure out how to make the proverbial silk purse out of a sow's ear.  How to change my perception of beautiful.  But I don't know how.

Mother's Day.

Trying to put my thoughts together this morning with a letter to Bill.

Hi Bill.  Just me again.  Last week was a crap week.  I don't really know why but it started poorly and then just kept going downhill.  I didn't want to get up today.  It was my first Mother's Day without you.  Remember the Mother's Day when Madeline was just a baby and you hid my present (the Kitchenaid mixer) under our bed and then broke the bed frame when you pulled the box out?  I ended up with a new bed that year too!  I used that darn mixer just yesterday so you chose wisely.  Madeline and Sarah gave me a bracelet and a new pitcher.  It would be the perfect thing for holding your sweet tea.  But no one drinks sweet tea anymore so I guess it'll just be for water.  Alisha was sweet enough to take Jon shopping for a Mother's Day gift on Friday and he brought me some flowers (heliotrope and gerbera daisies!) and a new vase.  He told me his friend Jesse helped him pick out the card.  So sweet.  Heather came to visit yesterday and surprised me with a nice big bouquet from her yard and homemade bread.  The weather was nice so we sat outside while the little kids played.  I missed you a lot today.  You always mowed the lawn and did a major yard clean up for my present. You usually cleaned the bathroom (with bleach, which I dislike, and probably Mop n Glo too) and washed the dishes for me.  You would ask me what I wanted to do for Mother's Day and I always answered, "Go to the Farmer's Market and then to the yarn store."  I didn't do that this year.  No one went to the store and brought me back a Skor bar for dessert either.  That was one of your favorite things to do for me.  Silly.  Oh, and Sarah woke up with a cold this morning and you know how intolerant she is when she's sick.  Yeah, happy Mother's Day to me.

I sat through 4 games and 4 practices this week.  I cried at Jon's practice on Thursday because someone else was showing him how to hit and it should have been you.  I cried after Sarah's game on Saturday because she was the only kid there without her Dad.  All these families around me discussing their weekend plans for Mother's Day and I had no one to plan with.  I was still a Mom, sure, but I was only half of why I was a Mom to begin with.

I bought the first strawberries of the season and made, of course, your favorite strawberry shortcake.  With lots of whipped cream.  You know me and my whipped cream.  Scott and Judith came for dinner too.  Jack, Austin, and Andrew camped up on the logging road last night and fished at the river.  Not a bite, they said.  Three 16 year old boys.  By myself, Bill.  Gosh, I could have used your help with that bunch.  They rode the mini bike in the dark but I had the sense not to let them take a gun camping, even though they tried to convince me that they "needed a gun for protection."  They also tried to convince me to let them drive down to the pond in Gates, saying that two permits was as good as one license.  Seriously.  I don't know what to do with big boys, Bill.  It seems they're always on the verge of hurting themselves, someone's property, their own property, or some other person.

We walked to the Bigfoot spot this afternoon.  I can barely remember where it is now, it's all grown up and looks so different without the beaver pond.  Remember our picnic up there at Niagara Rock when Dolly slid down the hill?  Remember the time we were picking flowers there too and the elk came crashing through the swamp and scared us?  I used to love walking up there with you.

5 games this week and nearly as many practices.  I love it and I hate it.  I love it because it's baseball and because it keeps me busy.  So busy.  But I hate it because it just magnifies your absence.  You should be here showing Jon how to hit and talking about Jack's game with him.  There shouldn't be a sign in center field that says "In loving memory of....".  I don't want your memory.  I want you.

The yard is so pretty right now.  All the rhodies and azaleas are blooming.  I know how much you loved the springtime here.  The garden is growing nicely.  It's smaller this year.  I got your apple trees planted--2 of them, just like you wanted.  Uncle Ken came and put fence up to keep the deer and elk away.

I started reading Hemingway this weekend.  How did I get to be this age and never read Hemingway?  I suppose there's lots of things I still need to do and experience.  Even at my age.  I'll let you know the verdict when I'm finished.

Remember your old boots?  The ones you swore you'd wear until they weren't good for anything but flower planters?  The ones you wouldn't replace after you'd took your vow of poverty when we moved back to Oregon?  I planted flowers in them.  That's all they were good for now.

Surprises That Make It Okay.

This week has been bad.  Really not nice at all.  And then this evening, little glimmers of light shined through the darkness.  I'm sure the ones who shared with me didn't even know how much their kindness lit up my tiny piece of this world.  Oh, but light it they did.

Empathy and kind words from an acquaintance at just the right time. Someone who I now consider a friend.

The gift of chocolate.  Just one small piece for no reason other than to share.  Simple.

Someone who took the time to offer advice and encouragement to my tenderest, quietest child.

Stinky little boys who live in the moment, not worrying about "later".

All who try to welcome, accept, and give friendship to our family.