EveryCookieCrumbles

I’m not really into Thanksgiving, probably haven’t been since I was a kid and even then, I don’t think it mattered too much. Thanksgiving is all about the meal and honestly, I’m not really a fan of the turkey. Give me the sides and pies and I’ll be fine. But those are things that I can have any time. Thanksgiving is a day to give thanks, that’s the point of it, but why should I feel any more thankful on a Thursday in November than I do on any other given day? It never made sense to me. Shouldn’t we be thankful every day of our lives for all that we have? That’s like saying your spouse or significant other should love you more on Valentine’s Day than any other day of the year. I call bullshit. I have never believed in that crap and I never will. I don’t need my husband showing me extra love on that day because he feels like he has to, because the world says he should. I want him to show me he loves me every day because he wants to. Most holidays don’t matter too much to me, I could take them or leave them. If we didn’t celebrate Easter or Halloween, I would be okay with that. But when it comes to Christmas, I’m all in.

There’s just something about Christmas. Yes, it can be stressful and hectic and crazy but there has never been a time when I didn’t want to celebrate this holiday. Not even in years past when circumstances could have easily crushed my spirit. My best friend’s mom passed away in early December 2010. Her health started to decline around Thanksgiving and everyone knew it was only a matter of time. I was there the day she died, and for two weeks after I stayed with my best friend to make sure she was okay. I was with her every minute of every day for those two weeks. I hardly saw my husband who was very understanding of the situation and knew where I needed to be. Not many men would be okay with their wife not being home all that time, no matter the reason. And he probably wasn’t totally okay with the situation but he respected my feelings and was supportive and I will always love him for that. It wasn’t easy for either of us to be away from each other. I would go home for a little while some days to make sure he had everything he needed for the week and to spend some time with him but it wasn’t always enough, and I didn’t realize that right away.

Until the middle of December snuck up on me and we were scrambling to get a tree and decorate the apartment so that it at least looked like Christmas, even though it didn’t feel like it because of everything we had been through in the previous weeks. I remember my husband saying that since it was so late, we shouldn’t even bother with a tree or decorations. I saw the defeat in his eyes and it got me so upset. I felt like I failed him in some way, like I pushed him to the side and forgot about us and our traditions and all the things we did together to get ready for Christmas. My tears weren’t just for the tree or lack of decorations, they were for us and the fact that I felt like I let us down. I remember saying we had to have a tree, we had to decorate and do our Christmas the way we always did. After all of the sadness we had been through we needed something good to look forward to. After talking about it and crying about it we got our tree that year, and we decorated and made that Christmas as special as we could. I can’t remember what we got each other that year, no idea what was under the tree, but I can say that Christmas was special in its own way.

In 2012 our living situation got turned upside down for reasons I don’t need to get into now. We were living in a basement apartment, much smaller than what we were used to. We had our bed, kitchen table and a futon as a sofa. Our living room furniture was in New Jersey at my parent’s house along with many of our possessions that we had to put into boxes and store at my parent’s and my sister’s houses. Life was a mess that year to say the least. But when December came around, I was determined to still have our Christmas the way we always did, or as much as we could with the space we had. There was no debate about a tree that year, we were definitely getting one, even if it had to be a Charlie Brown tree. After all we had been through that year, no one was going to take our Christmas away. We didn’t have the space for our decorations and I honestly can’t remember if we put anything else up besides a tree. It wasn’t the size we normally got and we probably didn’t put all of our ornaments up but it was there and it was beautiful and it made me happier than I had been in months. And we had our usual Christmas morning, we opened gifts and I think both of us could feel deep inside that this was the start of something better for us, and that alone made it a great Christmas.

When Christmas came in 2013 our life had once again been turned upside down, but this time it was in a good way. I got pregnant in the beginning of the year and our daughter was due in October but she decided to come two months early and be born in August. At that time, we were still in the basement trying to figure out our next move before she was born. That didn’t happen as planned so when she finally got out of the hospital, we packed up our stuff and moved to New Jersey to live with my parents. We had no idea what Christmas was going to look like and, it being our daughter’s 1^st, we wanted it to be special. I will always be thankful to my parents for opening their home to us, for turning their lives upside down to give us a place to live for the first year of our daughter’s life until we found a home of our own. And I will always be extra thankful for what they did for us that Christmas. My mother decorated the house with all of her stuff but instead of putting up their tree, they let us get our own and put our ornaments on it. I can still remember holding my daughter and having her little hand touch an ornament as she helped me put it on a branch. I know it’s just a tree, but they will never know how much it meant to me and my husband. It made us feel like it really was our Christmas instead of making us feel like a part of theirs. They gave us our own time on Christmas morning to open gifts with our daughter, to be a family, and a gift like that is priceless. That Christmas will probably forever be my favorite.

This past Christmas was all kinds of crazy. My sister and her whole family were sick which meant we couldn’t be together on Christmas Eve. This was the first time in my 45 years of life that I wouldn’t be with my family. To say it was hard is an understatement. We prayed and crossed all of our fingers and toes hoping that they would be better in time but it wasn’t meant to be. We were all angry at the situation and extremely disappointed. Tears were shed but we all knew that their health was more important and we would just celebrate on a different day when we could all be together. I made my fried shrimp on Christmas Eve, even made extra and brought it to my sister’s house, just so we all had a little piece of our Christmas Eve. But it wasn’t the same, how could it be? I made the best of it with my husband and my daughter and Christmas Day was just the three of us and it was actually very nice. We had quality family time together and it was great. We were all able to get together on New Year’s Eve and we celebrated Christmas and New Year’s together with everyone safe and healthy and that’s all that matters.

What makes Christmas so special? Is it the fact that the season lasts a whole month so the Christmas spirit is with us a long time? Is it buying special gifts for the ones we love? Is it the food we have once a year at this time? Is it the cookies and the baking we do together? I think it’s all of these things and so much more. But for me, the most important part of Christmas is the people you spend it with. It’s the laughter you share, the memories you make and the love that you feel being surrounded by those that matter most to you. And as I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately here’s what I’ve come to realize. The feeling I have on Christmas Eve with my family, the feeling I have on Christmas morning with my husband and daughter are the same feelings I have with them all of the time. When we are together, we are always laughing, there’s no drama or stress. Every time we are together, we are making a new memory. We choose to be together so much because of the love we feel when we are in each other’s presence. That’s how life is meant to be. Each new day with my husband and daughter is a blessing. Each new day with my family is a gift. And following this thinking it becomes clear to me; it’s always Christmas when you’re with the right people.

“Who are we after we’re gone?……We’re our children. Our grandchildren. Our great-grandchildren. We’re all the people who will go on to live, because we lived. We are our wisdom, our intellect, our beauty, filtered through generations, continuing to spill into the world and make a difference.”

I read this in a book recently and I thought of you. Truth be told, I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Some days that’s good, other days not so much. And I don’t say that in a mean way. It’s just that some days I think of you and smile, remembering some good time we shared. And other days I cry, missing you so much it physically hurts. But when I read this, I thought of you in a good way.

We had a family wedding back in June and it was the first time most of us had seen each other in over a year, which is not normal for our family. So, when we saw each other there were tears of joy at finally being reunited. And over the course of the evening, I found myself looking, really looking, at my family. More so my aunts, your daughters, then my uncles. And everywhere I looked I saw you. In their smiles, in their mannerisms, in the shapes of their hands or the lines on their faces. In the way they spoke, in the way they laughed, even in the way they cried. You were everywhere. And it was proof that you are all around us, you are a part of every one of us. In your 11 children, in your 30+ grandchildren and your 20+ great-grandchildren. We are you. And as I realized this it brought me great comfort.

If I’m being honest, I didn’t think I would need or want to write to you again. I thought the last time I did I said all I needed to say, and some things I didn’t know I needed to say. But life is funny that way. Things happen, memories creep up on you, and you just want to call that person but you can’t. So, I write about it because if I don’t, it never leaves my mind. I wanted to write to you back in March but I kept putting it off and maybe that’s a good thing because now I had more to say then I did then.

Your anniversary was in March and I have to admit that I forgot. Weeks before I knew it was coming, probably even days before I remembered, but on that day, I just forgot, until I saw someone else mention it on social media, and then I felt so bad. I don’t want you to think I would ever forget you or an important day of yours. Back in March my mind was very scattered, as it has been for a while. Someone could have told me it was July and I might have believed them. Skylar was finally back to in person school and I felt a little lost. Like I couldn’t get a grip on things. One day turned into three and I felt like I was walking around in a fog. And March 3^rd came and I didn’t think twice. I didn’t even look at the calendar that day otherwise I would have been reminded. But I didn’t, and I wasn’t and I’m not looking to make excuses and to most people this wouldn’t even be a big deal, but I’m not most people and it has bothered me. So, I’m sorry, Gram. You probably don’t need to hear that but I need to say it.

A few weeks after your anniversary Pat’s aunt passed away. She was buried at the same cemetery you are in and whenever we go to the cemetery, we make our rounds. Sad to say but Pat has lost a lot of family in his life and they are all buried in Long Island so when we make the trip, we go to two cemeteries and visit ten graves. It’s draining when we do it, both physically and emotionally. And I know our family doesn’t really believe in cemetery visits but his does and so I’ve gotten used to it. So, we made stops by Grandma Cookie, Aunt Mary and then came to you and Grandpa. At first, I couldn’t find you. I had to search for a good 5-10 minutes, getting frustrated and angry at myself. Turns out we were just parked by the wrong tree and you were further away then we thought. Or maybe my mind was just giving me extra time because right before I found your spot, I realized your name would now be there, it wasn’t there the last time I had visited. And it hit me like a fierce punch to the gut.

Seeing your name on the headstone made everything so much more real. Not that I’ve been living in a fantasy world where you’re still here but to actually see your name there was a new level of reality. So of course, I cried because I needed to. And I flashed back to the day of your burial and how numb I felt through the whole ceremony. I remember walking away in a daze, tears clouding my vision, and Tiffer hugging me saying it was ok and that you were with Grandpa now. But that didn’t help because I wanted to be selfish and have you still here with us. I never told anyone this but as we drove away after everything, I looked in my rearview mirror and your coffin was just there, by itself, nothing or no one around it and I started to freak out in the car. I didn’t want to just leave you there; it didn’t feel right. It was the worst feeling in the world to think you were all alone and we just left you there by yourself. Pat had to calm me down and remind me that this is what always happens, we leave, and that you were ok and after a while I relaxed and came back to reality. But I still remember that day, still remember that horrible feeling inside of me. I can still see your coffin there and it’s still the saddest thing in the world.

The last time I wrote to you I told you all of the things I wish I had done with you or said to you. And while all of that is still true, I’ve come to realize that my biggest regret is not talking to you about being a mother. Yes, we talked about the little things like potty training, which was a nightmare for me. Your advice for that was always, ‘give it time, no one ever started school in diapers’, and you were right. Skylar did it in her own time, on her own terms. But I wish we would have talked about the bigger things, the important things. Gram, I swear I struggle so much sometimes. I feel like I’m failing at the one job I’ve been given. And I only have one child. I can’t imagine how you did it all and got through it all with eleven. I could say things were easier back then but that’s bullshit. Things for you were just as hard as they are now, just in a different way. My problems are no bigger than any you might have had. How did you get through it all? Did you ever struggle with anything? Did you ever doubt yourself? I think with eleven kids you didn’t have the time to dwell on nonsense. You didn’t have the time to worry about the little things when you had so many other things to do. Were you ever stressed, anxious or depressed? Just because they didn’t label things back then doesn’t mean they didn’t exist. There are so many times I wish I had your wisdom on things. If I knew then what I know now I would have talked to you so much more. I would’ve had the deep conversations that I long for now. I would’ve gotten the best advice from the greatest mom I know. And I know that would have made me better than what I am right now.

I can hear all of the stories in the world from your children, but I’d probably get eleven different versions of the same one. I wish I could hear them from you. I hope you had a great life, Gram. I hope you felt, deep in your soul, how loved you were by everyone, not just family, but everyone who ever knew you. I hope you know that you were an amazing wife to Grandpa, an amazing mother to all of your children, and the absolute best grandma and great-grandma to all of us. I hope you had your dreams come true. I hope your life was everything you wanted it to be and so much more than you ever thought possible. I hope you are happy wherever you are right now. So long for now, Gram. Love ya, babe!

There was a cardinal in our backyard yesterday and my daughter asked me who I thought it was that was coming to visit us because she knows that we believe cardinals represent our loved ones who have passed away. I told her I thought it was Kari because yesterday was the anniversary of the day he died six years ago. We saw one again this morning and she said that Kari was back and I told her that today it was probably Pop, my grandfather, her great-grandfather. When she asked why it would be him, I told her that today is his anniversary of the day he died six years ago. My daughter is very smart for her age and in the silence that followed I knew what she was thinking. She said, ‘Pop died the day after Kari?’. I could only nod as I saw a little sadness on her face. I could only nod because I didn’t want to start crying myself. I felt off yesterday but it wasn’t my anxiety and there was nothing wrong that I could blame it on. I was just blah. And as much as I tried not to think about my little cousin or my Grandfather, my heart just felt heavy, just felt sad. And it continues today. And on Sunday I’ll be missing my Grandmother and wishing I could call her for Mother’s Day. This week in May is a tough one for my family. But we get through it and look for better days.

I wonder who came up with the whole cardinal thing. Did it come from some ancient myth a thousand years ago? Or did someone realize that you don’t see cardinals every day so they decided to make them a symbol for our loved ones? I’ve heard the same thing said about butterflies. I don’t think it matters where it came from. I think those of us left behind after we lose a loved one need something to cling to, something to believe in, some kind of sign to make us feel better, to let us know they are ok, even for a moment. We want to believe that our loved ones are visiting us in some way. It brings us peace. When we see them in our dreams, we need to believe that they came to visit us for a reason. When we find a penny randomly in our house, we want to believe that they left it for us. If my husband finds a dollar on the street, he always says it’s from his Dad, and it doesn’t matter whether or not it is, it’s just what he believes and it makes him feel good. If I hear a certain song that reminds me of someone, I think it’s their way of saying hello, because out of thousands of songs that could be playing, it’s a particular one out of the blue. I especially believe this when the day has meaning, like their birthday or anniversary. It makes me think of them which makes me happy.

When we lose a loved one, we just feel empty. We need something to fill that void. Seeing a cardinal is one of my favorite things and it has become something my daughter looks forward to, she looks for them all of the time. And when we’re lucky enough to see two together she always says they are her great-grandparents. And for those few moments we watch them fly around, chasing each other and we think about Gigi and Pop up in heaven, having fun together. And it makes missing them not hurt as much.

Six years ago, my daughter wasn’t even two yet so we didn’t have to explain death to her. Now that she’s older, and unfortunately, she has experienced loss more than once, she knows about death, or as much as she can understand. As parents we walk a fine line between saying too much and not saying enough. We want to explain things enough so that our kids understand, but not so much that they obsess over everything. We just never know if we are doing it right. And as our children get older the questions multiply and get more intense. And sometimes I just don’t know what to say out of fear of saying the wrong thing.

My daughter questions everything, she always has. I always ask, ‘why do you ask so many questions?’, and her answer is simple, ‘because I’m a kid and I want to know things’. And I can’t argue with that. Kids are curious and the only way they are going to learn about things is if someone tells them. I just wish they didn’t have to know about things so young. Her big question about death has always been ‘why?’. Why do people have to die? And I wish I had a better answer then ‘it’s just the way life is’, because that answer sucks, even for me. But it is the reality we have to live with every day. It just happens. And when we lose someone, she’ll always ask how they died. I remember one time when she asked, I just said that they were sick and she got such a scared look on her face as she said, ‘did they have a cold like I did that one time?’, and that led me to explain about cancer which I wish she didn’t have to learn about so young. When I was her age, I didn’t need to know about death because I didn’t lose anyone close to me until I was 14, and I could understand things better at that age. But my daughter has had to learn so much and deal with so much at such an earlier age. She’s been to more funerals in her seven years of life than I did in my first twenty years of life and it just sucks. There’s nothing else to say about it, it just fucking sucks.

And I’m sure there are times that she worries. She asked once if me and her Dad are going to die and we told her the truth, that everyone dies, but hopefully it won’t happen for many, many, many years. But the truth is that nobody knows, no one can predict that sort of thing, but I don’t think she needs to know that right now. So, I battle with the question of, am I lying to her or protecting her? And as much as I hate lying, I would rather protect her from some truths and just deal with things as they come. I don’t need her worrying about these things. I don’t want her getting caught in the trap of wondering ‘what if?’ all of her life. I want her to be happy and not worry about adult things until she absolutely has to. Many years ago, one of my aunts said to me, ‘if you worry about death all of the time, you’re going to miss out on life’. I still remember that and I say it to myself all of the time. I don’t want my daughter to have to think like that. At seven she should be thinking about unicorns and rainbows, not worrying about what might happen to the people she loves. And it’s my job to help her do that.

It’s my job to make things easier for her. To help her get through the shitty times in life, to help her find the best answers to the toughest questions. So far, I think I’ve done a decent job. But I know it will only get harder from here. She will get older, I will get older, and there will be a new set of questions with each passing year. And when those questions come, I will give her the best answers that I can, I will always speak from my heart, try not to sugar coat things too much and help her through whatever life throws at her. And in the meantime, we will look for our cardinals and know that our loved ones are all around us helping us get through the day.

Last Friday at my daughter’s school it was ‘hat day’. The PTA organizes this and, on most Fridays, they have some kind of theme to promote school spirit. Most of the time the kids just wear blue, the school color, but other times it will be pajama day, crazy sock day and other things. They posted the list of the next 7 or 8 Fridays on social media so people would know. I saw it and told my daughter what was coming up. Two weeks ago, she wore blue and last Wednesday we talked about hat day coming up so we knew about it. Until Friday came and I completely forgot. She did too, but she’s 7 and I’m the Mom so of course it’s on me. I realized I forgot when I got back into the house after putting her on the bus and I went on my phone and there it was, the first post on my Instagram feed and all I could do was sit there and yell ‘FUCK!!!’.

I couldn’t believe I forgot. We had just talked about it, maybe even the night before. And I sat there trying to figure out how it slipped my mind. And I could probably give a list of reasons but tops on that list would be my brain is fried and I have no idea what day it is from one day to the next. There was probably at least a minute or two that morning where I had no idea that it was even Friday. That’s the state of mush my brain is in, but of course the reasons or excuses I could come up with didn’t matter, I forgot and my daughter was going to school hatless, and I felt like a terrible mother.

When my husband called, I told him what happened and as usual he had his laid-back attitude and said ‘it’s no big deal, it happens. I’m sure she won’t be the only one, she’ll be fine’, which is infuriating sometimes because things that I see as huge are so minor to him, and I know he’s right, and I really wish I could be that relaxed about things, but that’s another story. As I vented to him and put myself down as being a shit mother and whatever other insults I could think of, which he absolutely hates that I do, I could feel the tears start to well in my eyes. I hung up the phone and cried. And I pictured my daughter in school being the only one without a hat, feeling left out or embarrassed, possibly crying herself, and my whole mind and body filled up with a huge amount of guilt. I felt guilty for forgetting, guilty for not being a better mom, guilty for letting the world around me totally mess with my head. Guilty for everything. And I wondered, does it ever stop? Do we ever not have Mom guilt? Or does it just start the day our child is born and go on until the day we die??

I told my husband he didn’t understand because he doesn’t feel bad about things the way I do and he doesn’t feel guilty about the things he does or doesn’t do and he said I was wrong. And maybe I am because I’m sure Dads feel guilty too sometimes but it’s nowhere near the level of what Moms go through. That’s just a fact. And as I’ve been thinking about this over the past few days, I’ve come to realize that I don’t think it starts the day we become Moms, it starts the day we are born as females. I’m sure plenty of women without children feel guilt about just as many things that have nothing to do with kids. So, is it really something we are born with? We’re girls so we automatically feel bad or guilty all of our lives?

I think the words I have said most in my life aren’t ‘I love you’, they’re ‘I’m sorry’. And that has definitely been true over the past few years. I find myself apologizing all of the time, and most of the time I do it because I want to, not because I have to, but that’s not always the case. As women, we apologize for not doing enough. We apologize for not being able to go to a party we’re invited to, or out with our friends. We apologize for burning dinner. We apologize for not making dinner in the first place. We’re sorry for being tired, or moody, or late, or forgetful, or for anything and everything in between. And basically, what it really comes down to, is that we’re apologizing for being human. We’re apologizing for things everyone else does to us. We’re apologizing for all of the ‘I’m sorry’s’ we never get. We put this pressure on ourselves that we have to do it right all of the time, no matter what. It’s exhausting, it’s unhealthy and it’s unrealistic. But we do it anyway. And we carry the guilt around on our backs and it just weighs us down more and more each day.

And I have to wonder, who started this shit? What female was the one to say this is how it has to be? And more importantly, why hasn’t anyone put a stop to it? I’m not sure we can stop it, it’s just who we are, it’s in our DNA. Or maybe it’s not, and that’s the problem. Females have X, X while males have X, Y. We don’t have our Y which may be the reason we always question ourselves. Why did I do that? Why didn’t I do this instead? Why can’t I be better? Why am I unhappy? Why, why, why? Always questioning everything we do, every step we take, every little thing about ourselves. Forever in search of our ‘why’. That’s just the way of the world, I guess. It’s never going to end, but we can at least make it better. We can give ourselves a break sometimes, we can just let things go, which is the hardest thing to do. For me, I might be a hopeless case, but I’ll be damned if my daughter grows up the same way. Maybe I can’t change myself so easily, but I can make sure she doesn’t become like me. She will know she is better than that.

When she got off the bus on Friday, I was prepared to feel her wrath and hear how I screwed up. I asked how her day was and she said it was good. I said ‘I’m sorry I forgot hat day’. She said, ‘it’s ok, Mom. I was sad at first but most of the other kids forgot too so not many kids had hats on’. And that was it, crisis averted. I laughed because at that point what else was there to do? I felt bad all day and it was forgotten about in less than a minute. I wrote down the next 6 Friday themes on the calendar so I’m prepared. This Friday is wear blue, next Friday is sunglasses day. It’s right there for me to see, I just have to remember to look at the calendar. And if I forget, I’ll have my apology all ready for when she gets home.

I read a book recently where the author, when describing a nurse that took care of her daughter, wrote ‘She wears heavy blue eye shadow and smells of Jean Nate perfume’. I sat in bed caught between smiling and having tears well in my eyes. This sentence is you and I couldn’t believe that it was there in print, in a book I had just gotten for Christmas. As I read that sentence over and over again, I saw a picture of you in my mind. You’re sitting on the couch in my Grandmother’s house, I think it was my Christening Day, not entirely sure, but you’re holding me and you’re wearing a blue floral blouse and your blue eye shadow is shining bright in the picture. And there’s no doubt in my mind that you were wearing Jean Nate as that was always your favorite.

That one sentence in that book was the last sign I needed to tell me it was time to write to you. I’ve put it off long enough and I can’t keep it in any longer. The truth is, it’s blocking me from other things because thoughts of you are front and center in my mind and they’re not leaving. So, it’s time. People always ask the question ‘If you could have dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?’ and for the longest time my answer would be you, my dear Godmother. And I wouldn’t need a whole night, probably not even an hour, because once I saw you, I think the words would spew from my mouth like a bad taste I’ve been holding in for way too long.

So here it goes. The words I haven’t been able to admit until recently. The words I didn’t want to say for so many reasons. I fucked up. It really is that simple. I. Fucked. Up. I let my pride, my stubbornness, my selfishness, my bitchiness, myself come between making things right with you. I let the anger win. I put up a wall that had no business being there. I felt I was right and that you weren’t taking my feelings into consideration so why should I try to understand you? That was the stupidity of me, the naivete, the bullshit I let win. I put up this facade of making people think I don’t care and nothing bothers me and the only person that really suffers from that is me. Because it’s 20 years later and I still feel so much pain and hurt and disappointment in myself. But one day, months ago, I finally admitted to myself that it’s on me, it was my own fault, and I took responsibility for our relationship crumbling. And that was my first step. And this is the next, and hopefully last.

As I sit here writing, the tears are coming on their own and that’s fine with me. I feel like it’s the cleanse that I need to get rid of the shit I’ve been carrying around. I can still remember the day you died. I remember that day so clearly. I can replay every moment. I heard the news and after that first moment of sadness, regret filled every piece of my heart and soul. You passed away in 2001, the year I was getting married and I told myself I had time to make things right with you before my wedding. Plenty of time to rebuild our relationship so you would be there when I got married. But I never got that chance. We had a memorial for you at my parent’s house and I can still see myself sitting on the couch, drowning my sorrows in raspberry vodka and 7-up, praying it would numb the pain. Cousin Patty and Diana were in chairs across from me and in my drunken stupor, with tears streaming down my face I remember saying, ‘I thought I had time. I was supposed to make things right’, almost pleading with them to give me an answer, to help me understand, but of course there is no answer. Shit happens when you least expect it, the train comes out of nowhere and knocks you on your ass, and you’re left here to wonder why. Why did I let it get so bad? Why did I let it go so far? Why, why, why? Only questions, never any answers, or at least none that are satisfying enough. You were just gone. No last goodbye, no final moment to say I was sorry or tell you I love you. Any hopes I had for a better future just disappeared.

I have so many fond memories of you. I used to love going to your house in Long Island. We’d take the train and as soon as we stepped off, I felt like we were in another world. Brooklyn is so crowded and everything is concrete but going to your house I saw nothing but grass and trees. Even the air smelled different and it seemed like the sun was always shining. I grew up in apartments so for me, as a little kid, your house was glamorous. My two cousins had their own big bedrooms, but the most glamorous part to me was your bathroom. I remember the big counter with the huge mirror. And laid out on the counter was your make-up and your Jean Nate powder, which was something I bought for you every Christmas. I loved that powder with the big pink puff to apply it with. I would go into your bathroom just to take a sniff. I would know that scent anywhere and I remember smelling it once in a store and it stopped me in my tracks. Just a tiny scent of it brought me back to you. I looked it up once and the powder is discontinued but you can still buy it for over $100, which is ridiculous. And it’s not even pink anymore, or maybe it never was and I just remember it that way. I thought about buying it but convinced myself that you’re not in the product and my memories of you wearing that scent are priceless. And it’s best when it hits me somewhere unexpectedly, those are the best moments. When just one scent, out of nowhere, can bring you back to a better place and time, can bring you back to me.

Christmas Eve has always been important to me but as a kid it was the best day. Everyone would crowd around two tables in a tiny apartment, and most of the adults sat together, but you and Uncle Tom always chose to sit with us kids. It always meant so much to me that you would rather be with us. That you preferred our company. And we would laugh with you and talk about crazy things. You would make fun of the other adults and treat us with respect, not just like we were kids. The truth is, both you and Uncle Tom were big kids yourselves. You never took life too seriously. You were always smiling and you would do anything you could to make us smile and laugh. No one else ever did that for us. Everyone else made it clear that we were the kids and they were the adults. But with you, we were equal, nothing separated us. And I don’t think you ever knew how much that meant to me, so thank you.

You had this beautiful presence and I remember that your laugh could light up the room. But as the years keep going by, I can’t remember the sound of your laugh. I can’t remember your voice. I search my memory for it but it’s always someone else’s voice I hear. I borrowed my sister’s wedding video just so I could hear your voice because I remember you spoke on it, but it still didn’t sound right. Something was off. And it makes me sad that I can’t hear it clearly in my mind. I hope there comes a day when I remember it again.

I still have the ring you gave me although I haven’t worn it in a very long time. I think a part of me feels that I don’t have the right to wear it, that I’m not worthy. But I’ll get there and wear it with pride as it is a piece of you I can carry with me. After Uncle Tom died, anytime we would play cards, you’d call yourself a ‘poor widow woman’, trying to get everyone to feel bad for you and let you win our money. Whenever I play any kind of cards, I think of you and smile. Any time I saw you, at some point, you would ask me to scratch your back. And not just a little spot, but your entire back. I would get so annoyed that I was the only one you asked. The funny thing is, I ask Pat to scratch my back all the time now. It’s as if that part of you got transferred to me, just like Uncle Tom’s love of 7-layer cookies, something I never liked as a kid, but years after he died, they became a favorite of mine. I feel the both of you with me at these times and it makes me happy.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of your passing. It’s been 20 years. I don’t know how that’s possible. Some days it feels like yesterday, some days it feels like a lifetime ago. Either way it’s been 20 years. And I think 20 years is long enough for me to be carrying around this weight of regret. I have to let it go. I know you would want me to, you would’ve wanted me to years ago. But I had to feel like I punished myself enough. I can’t do it anymore. There’s nothing I can do to change what did or didn’t happen. It’s been over a long time. The only thing I can do now is make sure I never feel this kind of regret with anyone else in my life. Make sure I do better and I think I’m doing that. I wish things had been different. I wish I knew certain things while you were still here. I wish I understood back then the way I understand things now. But all the wishes in the world won’t do me any good. I have to unhook myself from the anchor that has weighed me down for so long. I have to give myself permission to forgive myself, because I know you forgave me a long time ago. So I apologize to you and to myself. I am sorry for not doing better by you, I am sorry for any pain I ever caused you, I am sorry for not coming to your wedding, I am sorry I wasn’t a better Godchild to you. I am sorry I never told you or showed you how much you meant to me. I will still miss you more than you know and I will love you for the rest of my life.       

I have never been the type to rush the holidays. Don’t ask me in September what my daughter is going to be on Halloween, and don’t ask me if I’ve decorated for Christmas before I have taken a bite of turkey on Thanksgiving. If a Christmas song comes on the iPod before December 1^st it will be skipped over in our house. That has always been my opinion on these things. But then 2020 happened.

I was in Bath & Body Works a week or two ago with my daughter and my husband and as soon as we walked inside the store my mood shifted. The store was beautifully decorated, Christmas songs were pumping through the speakers and the smell all around can only be described as Christmas. Whether it was their Christmas Cookie candle, or the warm scents of soaps and lotions, it was Christmas everywhere. And I instantly felt happy. I looked at my daughter and her eyes were wide with amazement. She said ‘Mommy, can we stay here for a while?’, and I replied, ‘Baby, I want to live here right now!’.

And that was the truth. I wanted to stay in that moment of pure bliss for a lot longer than I needed to. I wanted the scents and the sounds to absorb into my skin and my soul and replace all of the negativity and shit that has been there for all of these months. And I truly believed it could do that. It was like a drug and I wanted to inhale as much as I could to keep that high for as long as I could. It really was magical. Stepping into that store was like stepping into another world where only happiness and sparkles were allowed. Who wouldn’t want to stay there for a while?

There’s so much negativity in the world right now. So much doom and gloom and I get it, I really do. Things just suck, it’s that simple. But we’ve gotten so accustomed to this shit that no one looks for the positive anymore. No one looks to find a bright spot. And with the stress of the holidays coming I fear it will only get worse. Birthday celebrations have been taken away from us, weddings have been postponed; it’s like we have nothing to look forward to anymore. Or we do but we’re afraid to get excited for fear of it being taken away. As an adult, I can deal with things. I don’t always do it well or in a positive way but I deal with it nonetheless. Kids can’t always do that. They don’t completely understand everything. All they know is that their routine, their little life, has changed in some ways, some bigger than others. As parents, we have tried to make their life as normal as we can, but it hasn’t always been easy.

At Easter no one knew if the Easter Bunny was going to come. We didn’t know if we could get to the store to buy the candy, or to decorate the eggs. In our house he came, I felt like he had to. I didn’t feel right taking that away from my daughter if I didn’t 1,000% have to, so we made it work. There’s not even talk about Santa not coming, about Christmas being cancelled. That is not an option, at least not in our house. Christmas beats out all of the other holidays and not just because of the gifts. My daughter even knows that’s not what it’s about. It’s not just one day, it truly is its own little season. It’s that time between fall and winter that has its own sights, sounds and smells. It’s magic and to see it through my daughter’s eyes gives it a new meaning to me. Kids just see the beauty in everything even when the rest of us can’t. We can complain about a million things and a child will counter that with at least one good thing and that is amazing. For just a second, if we all saw things through the vision of a child’s eyes, we would feel so much better.

When we left the store, I had come to a decision. Our Christmas season was going to start earlier than usual. Thanksgiving doesn’t even need to happen for me, let’s skip it and go straight to Christmas. Let Christmas be celebrated for an entire month. While I was cooking that night a Christmas song came on the iPod and we let it play. My daughter and I danced in the kitchen and now she can’t wait to hear her favorite Kelly Clarkson Christmas song. I also told her she could start watching Christmas movies and the happiness on her face made everything feel right in the world. Right now, she is watching The Santa Clause 3. And the TV has been on a constant loop of Curious George’s Christmas, House of Mouse, and Mickey’s Once & Twice Upon a Christmas, and I’ve never been happier to watch them with her. We told her we could decorate the house this weekend. The light in her eyes, the smile on her face, the happiness that pours out of her body is worth more than anything to me.

I don’t want to hear about numbers rising, I don’t want to talk about statistics, I just want to close the door on all of that. For my sanity, for my inner peace. I don’t know how things will be next month; a part of me doesn’t even care. If I’m locked inside on Christmas Day that would be fine with me. No stress, no drama, no negativity. Just me, my husband and my daughter. I have a roof over my head, clothes on my back and food on the table. I have everything I need. Blast some Christmas music in the background and it sounds perfect to me.   

I lost my shit tonight. Completely. Lost. It. Over tater tots. I got my pan out, put foil on it and sprayed it with olive oil. Put the tots on the pan and into the oven they went. No big deal. Halfway through, at the time you’re supposed to flip them, I took them out and it hit me. Tots don’t flip on foil. They stick and when you try to move them, they break apart and turn to crap on the pan. I realized this fact a long time ago after many attempts. Then I saw Rachel Ray put them on parchment paper and it changed my world. I’ve cooked them that way ever since. But tonight, because my mind is fried, because I don’t seem to know what I’m doing half the time, I automatically grabbed the foil and thought nothing of it until these little shits wouldn’t flip. And then I flipped out.

The curses flew, which is really nothing new in my house, especially since March. My daughter hardly flinches anymore, which I’m not proud of, but it is the reality right now. It wasn’t necessarily what I said, but how I said it, or more to the point, how I yelled it. It was primitive and I haven’t done that in years.

Imagine a tea kettle on the stove. When your water boils the kettle lets out its little siren letting you know it’s ready. And the longer you take to get it the louder and higher pitched that siren gets. And if you take a really long time that kettle sounds as if it’s about to jump off the stove itself and explode. That was me tonight. And after I screamed at the tater tots the next thing in my line of view was my husband and so I screamed at him. Not the right thing to do of course but he was there and I needed to yell some more. I won’t get into what was said and, while my points were valid, it still wasn’t the right way, time or place to address things.

My daughter used to play with her blocks and stack them as high as she could to see how tall the tower could get before it came tumbling down, which was her favorite part. And who knows if it was the weight of the blocks, or the balance that made them fall. Whatever it was, it just got to be too much, and the tower collapsed. As women, we teach ourselves, or maybe we learn it from the women before us, to deal with it all. No questions asked, we just deal with it. And we take it all on, we add it to our lists, the lists that keep us up at night because they never seem to get done. We just keep taking everything on and by the time one thing gets done five more things have been added. And we tell ourselves that it’s our job as the wife and the mother. And we don’t ask for help because we don’t want to burden anyone else with what we feel is something we are supposed to do. And just like that tower of blocks, as we add more and more things to ourselves, maybe to see how much we can take, we lose our balance and we collapse. And instead of admitting that it’s just too much sometimes, and telling ourselves that we’re only human, we instead feel guilt and place blame and anger on ourselves. And the cycle continues, over and over. We rise, we weigh ourselves down, we collapse, we tell ourselves we should do better so we get up again. Isn’t insanity doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? And we wonder why we feel like we’re losing our minds.

It’s only Wednesday but it’s already been a shitty week. Phase two for my daughter’s school was supposed to start on the 16^th. This meant that she could go back to school after being fully virtual all this time, our choice, and she was going to go four days a week. We were both excited, me more than her for many reasons, the top one being that she needs to be in school just so she can learn properly. But we got the call yesterday saying that date has been moved to the 30^th. And some moms are thinking that won’t even happen and we’re likely to stay virtual until the new year. And honestly, I don’t know if I will survive that, again for many reasons.

Then today during math her teacher was trying to teach a new lesson. And I could tell my daughter wasn’t completely understanding it, which upset her. And as I looked at the faces of the other students on screen, I saw the same puzzled look on most. And my heart just broke for them. And my daughter’s teacher is doing his best and you can hear the frustration, and almost sadness, in his voice because he knows this way of learning is hard for them and hard for him. And he knows that what he is teaching is something that should have been introduced to the kids last school year but it wasn’t because 2020 happened and they went remote in March and for the last three months of that school year they just did review work, not really learning anything new. And it hit me today how much it has affected these kids and no one can deny that their education has taken a huge step back.

And it’s so much more than that but these were the last two blocks to go on my tower before I collapsed. This was my last tea kettle warning before I exploded. I gathered myself together, I flipped the new batch of tater tots that were cooking properly on parchment paper, and I went upstairs to my bathroom and I cried. One of those really good cries into a towel so that I could let out some tiny screams too. It was the release I needed. We take everything in, we let it pile up within our heart and soul. And everything gets cramped up inside, all on top of each other, no room to move, no room to breathe. And our mind and our heart work on their own and they force us to let these things out. And it comes in the form of a scream, or a cry, or a string of curse words. It doesn’t matter what form it takes; the release is what matters most. It wasn’t the first time this happened, and it won’t be the last. Round and round we go.

When I went back downstairs the table was already set for dinner. My daughter said ‘me and Daddy wanted to help you’. My husband hugged me and apologized for not doing more, I apologized to him and my daughter for my outburst. I apologize when I’m wrong. I’m never too proud to say I’m sorry, especially to my daughter. She needs to know that grown-ups make mistakes too and her feelings are important. We had a family hug, which is my daughter’s favorite thing, and we moved on, because that’s what families do. Life is messy. It’s not all sunshine and roses. It’s laughter and tears, smiles and yelling, happiness and heartache. And this year has been extra crazy. More downs than ups but we make the best of every day and keep moving forward. It’s what we do; it’s how we deal. Tomorrow is a new day, and I’ll start at block one.

‘Look at me, Mom’, ‘Mom, watch me’. I hear you say these things to me so many times in one day. It feels like every minute you want me to turn my head to see what amazing thing you are doing at that moment. And you’ve always been like this, most kids are, but now that you’re older and doing more things, and learning new things, it definitely seems to happen more often. And every time you ask, I turn my head or look up from what I am doing and I watch you.

I watch you do the same dance for the 10^th time; I watch you jump rope, something you have gotten so good at recently, and count how many jumps you can do. I watch you do the hula hoop. I look at the outfit you have put together, the things you have your dolls do, your latest drawing. I look at it all. Even at times when I am in the middle of something. Even at times when I just watched you do the same thing five minutes before. Even at times when I don’t think I can look at the same thing one more time and act excited or amazed. And I try not to roll my eyes when you show me your 100^th drawing of a rainbow, and I try not to act annoyed when you ask me to watch you do something that isn’t new. And I fail at these things and I feel like a terrible Mom sometimes, but I’m only human and there’s only so much a person can take of the same thing.

I love everything you do and I am amazed each time you do something new. All through the summer I watched you grow into an amazing swimmer and every time I wondered how you did it and I felt such pride. But I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I am watching you all of the time. Even when you don’t know it, I am looking at you wondering what you’re going to do next. And these are the moments that I love the most. Every time you got into the pool you would call me so I could watch you jump in or go under. But I was also watching you as you gathered your breath and swam across the entire pool without lifting your head once. I watched your head come up out of the water as you reached the other side and I saw the pride you felt written all over your face. I felt that pride too. You didn’t need an audience, you did it for yourself.

I watch you through the rear-view mirror in the car as you sit in the backseat and sing along to the music that’s playing. I see the emotion in your face. I can imagine that, in your head, at that moment, you feel like you’re Elsa or Anna and you’re feeling how they felt in the movie. And you sing the words with the same emotion you hear them sing with. And I am in awe that at 7 you can have that moment with yourself. And I wish that I could go into your head and see what you’re thinking about as you stare out the window with such intensity. I see your emotional side in that moment.

I see you get so frustrated at times when things don’t go the way you think they should or you can’t figure something out. And that frustration brings you to tears sometimes which makes me sad because I think you put pressure on yourself that doesn’t need to be there. Nothing in life is perfect and no one is perfect either. And I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. And I tell you these things but the reality is that you need to figure this out for yourself. You need to learn that shit just happens sometimes and we just have to deal with it. And it’s not the end of the world if you get a math problem wrong or you pronounce a word incorrectly when you’re reading. I don’t care about these things. Making mistakes is how we learn.

The other side of that is I see how your face lights up when you do something you thought you couldn’t. You taught yourself how to jump rope in a matter of two days and now you can jump over 40 times in a row without stopping. I watch the smile form on your face as you count in your head and I know how proud you are of yourself. I see your creative side come out when you sit and draw. I watch you think of an idea and pause each time you’re not sure where you want to go next. I’ve been watching you grow as an artist for years. I saw your first little scribble and everything in between then and the amazing artist you are now. I see the fire in your eyes when you sit down with paper, whether it’s to draw or write your little stories. I know you don’t think I see you unless I’m right in front of you but I see the creativity you have all the time. I watch you from across the room as you dance to the music in your head and I know you are imagining yourself as the most beautiful ballerina on stage, dancing gracefully. And that view is magic to me.

I watch you play with Daddy and the love you have for him is written all over your face. It’s in the way you smile at him, it’s in the way only he can make you laugh. I see how you always want to be close to him, right by his side. I hear the little jokes the two of you share. I see all of the special moments you have together, I feel the bond you share.

I watch you play with your friends and I see how kind you are to everyone, always concerned about their happiness, never leaving anyone out. I see the way you look at your older cousin, wanting to do everything she does, trying to absorb all of her wisdom so that you can be just like her. I see how much you adore her and how you can’t wait to grow up so you can do the things she does. But I wish you would slow down and not want everything to go by so fast; things are already moving fast enough.

I see how much you care about your little cousins and how you want to teach them things. I watch you gently take their hands and lead them in the right direction. I see how patient you are when you don’t understand what they want or what they’re trying to say. I see the love and amazement in your eyes when you get to hold a new baby. I watch you softly touch their hand or stroke their cheek, being so careful not to hurt them in any way. I see you as the sweetest little girl in the world.

I have seen every smile on your face. I have seen every tear that you have cried. I’ve seen you at your best moments and your worst moments. I’ve seen every emotion written on your face and because of this I know how you’re feeling, sometimes even before you do. I see you baby girl, and I always will. Whenever you ask me to look at you or watch you do something I always will. But the moments I see you on my own, without you knowing, will always be my favorites.

I haven’t been myself lately. I think I’ve done a good job of hiding it but I can feel it deep within me, I’m not the same as I was months ago. And I wish I could say that something happened to me personally, or that I went through something, just so I can validate my feelings, but nothing like that has happened. It’s just the way things are lately and I get so angry that I have given the current situation so much power and control to put me in this state of mind.

For a while I was feeling sad and angry but lately, I just feel nothing. I can’t put a name to it. Maybe defeated? Maybe the world around me has gotten so heavy and I just don’t have the strength to hold it up anymore and keep it together.

It’s July, so I know that time is moving along and the days are passing by but most of the time I feel like no time has passed, like we’re all standing still while the world still moves around us. Every day is the same without much variation and since it has been this way for months now, I think I’ve accepted it as the new normal and I hate that. But then I think ‘what else is there for us to do?’. I almost miss my daughter having school work to do, which is crazy because it made me insane most days, but at least it was something to do in the day, something different, and it made a couple of hours pass without me having to think about how I am feeling. It was a distraction and even though we had bad days with it, it gave me something to be mad at. Most of the time I just hold it in now because the day is filled with just me and my daughter and I am doing my best to not let her see me the way I feel. So, I smile through the day, I play the games, I watch a movie with her when all I really want to do is break down and cry. And I normally take the time to do that but I’ve been holding it in because I don’t want to admit how much certain things are bothering me.

My husband has been working twelve-hour days, six days a week, with Sunday being his only day off. And while I am extremely grateful that he is working and we are financially stable when so many others aren’t, it has been very hard for me and my daughter. Mostly for her, but as time goes on, I’m slowly catching up to her level. It’s hard to explain to a six-year-old why Daddy has to work so much, why his job is important. She doesn’t care, and not in a mean way, she just wants to see her Daddy more. Most days she has a moment where she gets sad because she misses him, and at bedtime she cries because she wants to be with him and spend more time with him. And my heart breaks for her, and his is destroyed because there’s nothing he can do about it, this is just how it is right now.

But she’s only six. I’m forty-four and I can’t deal with it lately. He comes home, showers, eats dinner and whatever time he has left of the night goes to our daughter. And I understand that she needs him more than I do, but it’s going on four months of this schedule, and I realize that I need him too. Sometimes I feel like we’re roommates who occasionally share a meal together or see each other as we pass in the hallway. It’s a struggle. And I try not to complain because it’s not his fault and it only makes him feel bad. So, I hold it in and keep it together. It’s just the way it is right now.

My husband used to always tell me that what we choose to eat, what we put into our body, affects the way we feel, the way we think, our energy. And I never put much thought into what he said, I just listened and nodded. But when my daughter started the school year in September, I really made the effort to change myself. I started working out during the week, I got into a good routine, and I started eating better which led me to feeling better physically, mentally and emotionally. I could feel my energy shift to a better place, which made everything in my life better. But I have definitely fallen off the wagon with that and I can’t seem to get myself back on track. I justify having a drink at night by telling myself I’m stressed and I need to relax, and having a bowl of Cheetos for lunch is okay because I just don’t care. And these thoughts become toxic and mess with my head and my energy. And I feel the pull of who I used to be and it’s strong but I don’t want to go back to her at all. Something has to change before I lose myself completely.

Recently I was having dizzy spells and I wonder now if it really was all in my head or was my world around me spinning out of control? I feel tense all the time. My body feels tight and throughout the day I’ll realize that my shoulders are up, my face is frowning or my jaw is clenched. My body does this without me even realizing it, as if it is constantly on the defense waiting for something to happen. And this tension isn’t good for any part of me but I can’t seem to find a way to relax. I constantly feel on edge about absolutely nothing. And this feeling has taken my desire away. I feel like I have nothing in me. My desire to write has been so minuscule that it’s scary. The thoughts in my head are moving around so fast and I can’t concentrate enough to catch one. I’m good at making excuses for things not getting done and it’s worse than ever lately. My desire to do things, anything that we can right now, hasn’t been there either. I just want to read my books and silence the world around me.

I think I’m just tired. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally tired. I’m tired of the way things are for everyone and I’m tired of things that have nothing to do with that. I’m tired of texts that don’t get answered, of plans that don’t get made, of people thinking that their problems are worse or more important than anything I might be going through. I’m tired of always being the one to check in on everyone and them thinking that I don’t need the same concern. I’m tired of not having anything to look forward to because no one knows what each day is going to bring. I’m tired of people thinking they know me so well that they know what I mean when I say something or do something, meanwhile they are so far from knowing the truth. I’m tired of not getting the credit I deserve for something that is all mine. I’m tired of the shit that comes out of some people’s mouths. I’m tired of the negativity that I see or read or hear. I’m tired of social media. I’m tired of worrying what people might say or feel if I truly spoke my mind and just told everyone to ‘fuck off’ for a while. I’m tired of missing my husband while he sits right next to me. I’m tired of seeing my daughter cry. I’m just so tired of it all.

I normally try to end my posts with something positive but I just don’t want to with this one. The truth is, I’ve been burying these feelings deep inside and giving them too much power over me and everything around me. So now they’re out and I need to give them time to slowly leave my mind, body and soul. And that may take some time, but at least they’re out there for me to acknowledge and deal with. Writing frees me from my demons and I’ve held onto these for too long. And just now, my shoulders fell and my jaw unclenched. It’s a start.

It’s been a long time since I put pen to paper. Too long, honestly. Sitting at my desk I had to wipe dust off of my notebook which is never a good sign. Realizing how long it has been makes me feel everything from anger to sadness. Anger at myself for not having the discipline that is needed to be a good writer. Sadness thinking that maybe I have been fooling myself all of these years and I’m not as good as people say I am. Sadness thinking that maybe I just don’t have it in me anymore. I don’t have the words or the desire. But deep down I know that’s not true. I think about writing all of the time. I have so many thoughts in my head that they fight for my attention. I think lately, it’s just a lot of things at once.

I was doing good with my writing schedule. Nowhere near where I should be but better than I have ever been in my life. Starting my blog gave me a purpose, gave me a release. The last thing I posted was in February, a post for my Grandma which, I admit, was hard for me to write. Especially one of the paragraphs that seemed to have a life of its own and came out of nowhere because before I sat down to write, these thoughts weren’t in my head. And that’s how it goes sometimes. And mostly, when that happens, you write exactly what needs to be said even if you didn’t realize it at the time. The beginning of March was my fault. I knew what I wanted to write about, I still do, it’s all laid out in my head, but I kept putting it off because in that entry I might go places I haven’t been ready to go, say things I haven’t been ready to say. In fact, while writing it in my head a while ago I heard words I’ve never said out loud before, words I never admitted to myself before, but I will.

Then the middle of March came and my whole world changed, along with everyone else’s. Schools were closed and overnight I had to become my daughter’s teacher, something I never thought I’d have to do. Her education was put into my hands and, honestly, I didn’t like it at all. It has gotten better since then but those first few weeks were rough, both on myself and my daughter. My schedule got thrown off, my routine was disrupted, and realistically I was thrown off. I’m thankful that my daughter is only in first grade so her work is fairly easy but I just don’t have the patience for it sometimes. I’m the type of person who, once I get used to things being a certain way, I don’t want them to change. I had my daily routine of her going to school, me getting a workout in, doing things around the house, having time to myself, and getting writing done, and just like that, my routine was taken away from me. And I can be honest and say that it pissed me off and my attitude turned to shit most days.

I’m not scared about what’s going on in the world, I don’t have a need to be. My family and I are doing what we have to in order to stay safe. And when everything first happened and ‘social distancing’ became an everyday term I was like, ‘no problem, I’ve been social distancing my whole life, nothing new for me’. I’m definitely an introvert. I’d much rather be home then be at a party. Most of the time my response to an invitation to something is a solid ‘no’, but that’s always been my choice. Now that someone is telling me I have to do it; it’s becoming a problem. I’ll do it, but I don’t like it. I don’t do well with being told what to do.

My mother’s birthday was last week and we drove to her house and stood outside to yell Happy Birthday to her. We stood in her driveway, kept our distance, and talked for a while. But in the days leading up to her birthday all I kept thinking was that when I saw her, I couldn’t hug her. I couldn’t hug my mother on her birthday, even though she was right there in front of me, and that is some fucked up shit. My sister lives two doors down from me and so we do see each other, but she hasn’t been able to hug my daughter in almost two months, and I know that kills both of them. Try explaining to a six-year-old that she can’t hug her aunt who she loves to death; it’s not easy. My parents are dying to hug their grandchildren. They miss them so much that they recently came over, brought two chairs, sat in my driveway and played catch with my daughter, while talking to my sister’s two kids, from a distance of course. These are the things that mess with my head the most.

This situation we’re all in has messed with my anxiety and my sanity. It has made me feel such anger, such sadness, and some days, even a little hopeless. I have definitely been depressed over it, enough to want to just break down and cry. I have been so angry that the sound of a text coming in on my cell phone has made me want to throw it across the room and watch it shatter into a hundred pieces. It has made me feel so overwhelmed with so much emotion that I felt like I was going to explode at times. I let too much negativity seep into my skin and get to my bones and blood. I felt it coursing through my veins. I hit that bottom and writing was something I kept putting off. My writing got affected because that negativity made me not care, it took all of my energy, took away my desire. And I let that happen.

But today is a new day. Today was one of the better days I have had in a while emotionally. Today I laughed with my daughter, I learned with my daughter, I played with my daughter. And because of that I had the energy to get my ass in this chair and write. I am back to a starting point and I only want to move forward. Life is what it is right now, we can only accept it. I was texting with my aunt the other day and she said, ‘one day at a time, that’s our new normal’. And she’s right. But maybe this shouldn’t have been a new thing, maybe this is how we were meant to live all along. One day at a time. Today was a good day, and I believe more days will be like this one.