The Circle of Life

I realize that I'll probably end up with my head in the toilet most of the day because that's my body's MO when I have plans, but I have quite a busy day scheduled for tomorrow.  There's no way that I'll get everything done that I'd like to and I'll try my best to hit two of the events.  I have a baby shower to attend, was invited to two birthday parties, and will also try to attend a memorial service for two people.  Oh, and my parents are coming over to have supper tomorrow night.

It occurs to me that tomorrow afternoon's activities perfectly demonstrate the circle of life:  a baby shower to welcome the grandchild of long-time friends, celebrating the births of two friends' young children, and honoring the lives of a dear friends' parents.  We are all born and we all die, but not all of us live our lives to the fullest.  Heck, I know that sometimes I don't.  As I said a long time ago, make your dash count.

Why is it. . .

- that there is only one serving of noodles when I'm queasy and only noodles sound good?  Naturally, my son wanted noodles too.

- that my one month prescription contains only 50 suppositories?  How exactly am I'm supposed to use two each day when I only get 50 for the month?

- that cable shows are so much better than what the networks offer?

- that buying another house has turned into a never-freaking-ending saga that goes on and on and on?

- that beer is suddenly the absolute worst-smelling substance on the planet?

- that Braveheart was a bigger success than Rob Roy?

- that my back begins to ache after riding in my husband's car for a few hours?

- that my husband's house is pretty much looking exactly the way I've wanted it to look and we're selling it to someone else to enjoy?

- that my son is so sweet one moment and such a terror the next?

- that I'm screwing around on-line when I could be catching up on The Borgias?

Did I Just Say THAT?!

My hubs and I are currently watching Chinatown.  If you've never seen this modern-ish film noir (feels weird to call an over 30-year old film "modern"), I highly recommend it!  Director Roman Polanski is most definitely a creepy fucking rapist and sodomizer of severely underaged girls, but that midget sure could make a freaking movie!

Anyway, we were watching the scene where Jake arrived at Catalina.  His contact at Avalon harbor was driving a woody.  My husband said, "That's a nice woody!"  My response was a classic and one that I'm sure you can see a mile away. . .

"I'd rather ride on a woody than in a woody."

Yeah, I'm classy in that way.  I always knew there was something he liked about me!  I'm sure that my hubs found my admission tremendously amusing and enlightening.  At least, I hope he did!  haha

Happy 10th Un-iversary

Happy un-iversary to me!  Today would have been my tenth anniversary had I not somehow found the good sense to flee my first marriage.  I'm a little surprised that it has already been ten years.  I would have bet money that it was only a few years ago that I first walked down the aisle to completely give myself to another human being.  It really is true that the years seem to fly by as you grow older. . .

What about that marriage?  I went from being optimistic about the future with the person who is my ex-husband to having my spirit so totally crushed and broken that the only way to escape the pain was to drink myself unconscious every night.  I rapidly became the very definition of a highly functioning alcoholic.  I would think about drinking when I wasn't drinking and I started drinking from the moment I walked in my front door until I blissfully passed out at night.  There reached a point where I didn't even bother with a glass because it was just one more thing that I'd have to clean and it wasted time to pour.  Eventually, I simply disappeared upstairs with my booze and didn't go back downstairs until it was time to go to work in the morning. 

I did little more than work, laundry, housecleaning, cooking, and hard drinking.  More than hating him, and I burned with a furious hot anger toward him, I hated myself.  I hated my life.  It was only natural that my mind frequently dwelled in the darkest places one can go and my introspection only led me to one conclusion. 

I hated my own cowardice that all I could bring myself to do was fondle and mouth my cocked revolver.  How I longed for the guts to pull just a little more on that trigger!  I can still recall the weight of that gun in my hand, the fear that it might slip and I'd only receive a non-fatal wound.  That led me to snake the weapon down from my temple, across my cheek, and pushed firmly into my open mouth.  I'll never forget what that cold metal barrel felt like resting on my tongue, against my teeth and lips.  It's something that I hope to never taste again.

Being full of "her body, her choice," I felt it was my right to take a life that was in my control - my own.  Thankfully, there was another option - divorce - and I took it.  I've often referred to divorce as "the atomic option" and it really is. . .every now & then it's necessary to drop an atomic bomb.  Sure, it burns you too and leaves you suffering with radiation poisoning, but it beats the hell out of the casualties associated with fighting a more traditional marital war.

Interestingly enough, I knew from the wedding night that I had made a huge mistake.  And that is all I will say on that.  I realize now that it would have been easier to simply annul the marriage the following Monday, but I am not a quitter and I hate failing so I tried my best to stick it out.  I figured that I could make it work.  In my naivete, I didn't realize that it takes more than just one to make a marriage work.

I lasted until December 30, 2002.  That's the day I reclaimed my spirit and I filed for divorce.  I was so miserable being married that I swore I would never do such a stupid thing again.  I wasn't swearing off men, of course, I just wasn't going to tether myself to them and was definitely going to keep my options open.  That lasted exactly one date. . .that's all it took for me to know that my hubs was someone special, someone to cherish, someone to love.  Yes, I married my rebound guy.

I find it odd that I cried the day that the State of California recognized the dissolution of my first marriage.  I wasn't sad that I was divorced; I was sad that I had failed.  I sobbed in the arms of the man who I would marry just two short years later.  Hubs didn't judge me for my tears and he actually encouraged me to continue processing the grief that accompanied the loss of that marriage. 

I must confess that I do kind of have mixed feelings about this being what would have been my tenth anniversary.  That's not to say that I regret my decision to burn that marriage to the ground.  It's just that I realize my happiness with my hubs and our son would have never been possible had I not suffered through that dark and helpless period of time.  I don't think that I could have appreciated what a wonderful man I married had I not first married a less-than-wonderful person.  The years have allowed me to look back and give thanks for even that misery. . .it is so true that everything - everything - can be used for good.

How is Your Sex-Esteem?

A million thanks goes to my very good friend, who shall remain nameless (unless she chooses to reveal her identity), for coining the term "sex-esteem."

We all have heard of self-esteem and we know how we value self, but how do we value sex and our relationship with the act?  How do you truly feel about your sex life?  Is it good, bad, or indifferent?  Rockin' awesome or just adequate?  Have you ever considered your sex-esteem?

I'm far from being a sexpert and I don't usually think sex is all that difficult, but it really is a complicated thing, isn't it?  I mean, really, it is the most intimate expression possible between humans.  The physical joining of separate people can be deeply moving, to the point that tears of joy are shed over the wondrous experience.  Or it can be profoundly disappointing to the point that you don't even see the point.  I can say that I've experienced both situations and, even though crying during or after sex is generally discouraged, the former is far preferred over the latter! 

Sex is odd, right?  It can be an expression of the highest and purest form of love, freely giving everything you can offer to someone else. . .so wonderful and so touching.  Yet it can also be a base and animalistic response, completely detached from our higher thinking and any sense of reason. . .so wonderful and so hedonistic.

Sexual compatibility is important in a relationship.  I think so anyway.  That's not to say that I think simultaneous orgasms are necessary to have compatibility.  It's very nice, of course, but certainly not necessary.  I think it's more important to clearly communicate desires and reach an understanding of sexual expectations. 

I'm sure this shocks no one reading this, but I like to do it a lot.  And, if that's not happening, I have no problem taking matters into my own hands - if you catch my meaning.  But I damn sure would have a problem if my husband wasn't willing to at least try to accommodate me or be respectful of my desires.  It would hurt my sex-esteem! 

I'd begin to feel unloved, unwanted, and undesirable if my partner's actions (or, more accurately, lack of action) were injuring my sex-esteem.  Even more detrimental to the relationship, I'd begin to feel judged.  Nothing kills the glorious blossom of true intimacy more completely than harshly judging your partner's desires.  Nothing!

You know, I basically just described how I felt throughout my first marriage and that was a sad, sad chapter in my life.  My self-esteem was wounded and, more painfully, my sex-esteem was battered.  His rejection and ambivalence damn near did me in.  Just when I was dejectedly sprawled out at the brink, the smoldering rebellion that never was fully snuffed out somehow reached full flame and I burned that marriage, that entire relationship, to the ground.

I walked away and never looked back.  In doing so, I rediscovered who I am and I found that I really like myself.  I am a bit of a horn-dog, but that's okay.  I'd wager that my husband thinks that's more than just okay - ha!  I learned a lot from that dark time, most notably that a person is a complex tapestry of feelings, moods, and emotions.  And that self-esteem and sex-esteem are often fully intertwined. 

As I relearned to value myself, I learned to value my pleasure.  I realized that my sex drive is as much a part of me as my kindness, loyalty, or generosity.  All of those things are good and so is knowing who I am from a sexual standpoint.  My sex-esteem was built up and restored through my relationship with my husband and my self-esteem naturally rose with my joy and personal satisfaction.

Have you ever considered your sex-esteem?  Is your partner respectful of your desires?  Are you happy with your relationship from a sexual standpoint?  If you've answered "no" to the immediately previous two questions, you really should have a heart to heart talk with your partner. 

Are you shying away from having that potentially dangerous conversation?  I can understand that it may be uncomfortable and possibly lead to an argument or even a dissolution of the relationship.  But please realize that honesty is always the best foundation for any relationship.  It's like faking orgasms - you should never do it because then you are always compelled to fake it.  And, at some point, we always will tire of faking it and we'll want to feel something genuine.

We were all meant to live a real life and it's my hope that you're living yours to the fullest.  Leave pretending to actors and be real in every aspect of your life!

My Midlife Crisis - II

Have you ever felt like life is giving you the finger?  I have felt that way at times and I'm pretty sure that everyone else has as well.  I don't know if my coping skills have totally gone out the window or what, but I have felt that life is completely screwing with me lately.

I don't recall the last time I was asleep before 2:00 am without being medicated.  Even easy tasks require monumental effort and I find myself unable to perform all but the most simple jobs.  Since feeling so crushed, I don't even recognize myself anymore.  I'm having trouble remembering the last time that I haven't felt overwhelmed by life.  I know I felt differently at one point, I must have, but I don't know when that may have been.

I've been pondering something that I said a week or so ago.  I've actually been tormented by it.  I said, "I used to be somebody.  Who am I now?"  I only meant to say the last line, but the first slipped out before I could pull it back and stuff it back down to that deep, dark place I don't want to acknowledge.

Now that I've verbalized something that shouldn't have seen the light of day, I've been thinking of it nonstop.  Isn't that what's really bothering me?  I miss who I was and I don't particularly like who I am now. 

I used to be important, at least I felt I was, and now I'm what?  A mom?  A wife?  That's it?  Yes, that's really it.

Who was I?  Why do I miss who I was?  Because I was someone who could handle anything!  I took on life's curve balls and knocked those bitches right out of the park.  Like a cat, I always landed on my feet; I may have landed hard and it may have hurt, but I didn't stay down and I kept moving forward.  I knew that I was one of life's winners.  I believed that I could make anything happen by my own determination to make the magic.  I think that who I was wouldn't have much patience with who I am now.

I was listening to Joni Mitchell's haunting River and I can sure identify with the desire to skate away.  I'm sure it's just the perfect storm of my midlife crisis, the exceptionally painful losses suffered within the last twelve months, and the incredibly overwhelming pain in my ass (and to my wallet) that my condo has been since November, but I am exhausted with it all.  Just completely and totally spent.

If I weren't a responsible wife and mother, I'd be sorely tempted to shake off the dust off and move on without a glance backward.  I won't, of course, because I am who I am - a responsible wife and mother.  I'm a lot of things these days, but I'm not a quitter and I certainly wouldn't abandon my family.  Oh, but I remember having the freedom to skate away on a river so long. . .

Censorship is More Dangerous Than Freedom

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Flashback to 1975

My husband and I just had a long conversation about the importance of the year 1975.  As it turns out, 1975 was a pretty freaking spectacular year.

Why were we obsessing about a year that occurred, ahem, 29 years ago?  Because we were watching a documentary of sorts about the movie Jaws.

Jaws hit theaters in 1975; my husband saw it in the theater.  My husband turned 18 in February of '75.  He graduated high school in June of that year.  He started college and met the woman who would become his ex-wife in September of '75.  Uh. . .

I was born in October of '75.


I'd guess that if you had told my husband back in October of 1975 that he would marry the woman who was to become his ex-wife, he wouldn't have believed you.  He would have laughed you out of town if you said that his future wife was only newly born.  Indeed, he probably would have said that you were a sicko for even insinuating that his future wife was only just welcomed to the world and sucking at her mother's tit.  And, yet, I was a breastfeeding newborn in October of 1975.

1975.  Farkin' A.  It was a pretty spectacular year!

There is Always a Silver Lining

I probably won't be able to make a post tomorrow, so here's one a little early.

Liars and thieves are truly the scum of the Earth.  Their character is deplorable and honest and upright people rightly despise their behavior.  This post is about a liar I once had the misfortune to know.

I guess you can tell from my tone that I don't like liars.  No, that's not entirely accurate.  I detest liars.  I prefer that my relationships are built on trust and I don't see any point in suffering a relationship of any sort with a liar simply because you can never tell when they are being truthful.

Even worse than an ordinary liar that you might run across are the liars who are so committed to their fraud that they intentionally make statements that are easily proven false.  These people tell such blatant lies that it is almost embarrassing to hear their nonsense spew forth like verbal vomit.  Much like a peeping tom or a flasher, I think these sickos get some sort of perverse pleasure from their disgusting behavior. 

There exists a person on this planet who is, quite possibly, the biggest liar I've ever met.  One might go so far as to say that you could tell they were lying because their lips were moving.  At one time, this person was a family member.  I can never convey just how difficult it was to be in their presence because their non-stop lying was a continual insult to my intelligence.

This person's lies were so outlandish that I can only conclude that it was some form of attention whoring.  That leads me to conclude that they just didn't get enough love or attention.  It sucks to be them if that's the case, but lying only brings negative attention and it certainly doesn't encourage affection.

Perhaps they felt the need to feel better about themselves because they were pretty much a life-long loser?  It seems to me that they would have felt better about themselves if they had actually done something with their life rather than made up ridiculous stories, but I guess that kind of thinking is just too logical.  And, I suppose, it requires too much hard work.

Upon reflection, I realize that I had two stock responses to nearly anything they said.  "Hm, that's interesting," and, "That's nice," are what I say when I'm bored or when I think you're full of sh*t.  With this individual, both reasons were usually applicable. 

I had family over a couple of weeks ago and, while straightening the front room, I realized that I still had a photo of this jackass on my wall.  So I grabbed a sticky note featuring Big Bird and Elmo and I covered up their face with beloved children's characters.  Why not remove the photo?  Well, only because of the other person in that photo.

Long story short, due to a specific event, I never have to listen to this individual's lies ever again.  The event that led to this outcome was sad, very sad, but the silver lining is that a complete buffoon is out of my life forever.  Oh, silver linings, you can make even the most bitter events well worth any initial pain!  My one regret with regard to this person is that I never called them on their horsesh*t.  I was raised better than that (unlike some people, obviously - heh!) so I politely listened to their ridiculous falsehoods and wanted to put my head through a wall after 20 minutes in their company.

But, oh, how I wish I could grab ahold of them now and tell them that I know, and I have always known, that they are full of sh*t.  It wouldn't make them become an honest person and it wouldn't stop them from being a bully or a con-artist or a general piece of excrement (great person, eh?), but it would feel so delicious to unload on them after biting my tongue for so long.  I don't think this person reads this blog, but it feels damn good to get this off my chest.  Damn good, I say!

Children to Grandchildren

My husband and I tried for months upon months upon months to conceive our son. It took nearly a year. By the time that my pregnancy was confirmed, I was delirious with joy. I was so happy that a future baby was firmly ensconced in my womb that I didn't really give much thought to gender. I cleared my mind during the ultrasound, willing myself to not want one or the other, but to be thankful that I was having any child at all.

I do have to confess that I wanted to have a daughter. Until I had my son. I truly adore my son. His smile warms me more than the brightest sunshine ever could. I give thanks for him (and my husband) every single night and I'm so blessed that I was chosen to be my son's mother (and my husband's wife).

I delayed childbirth until I was in my 30s. I had a serious plan with my life and I wasn't going to let kids get in my way. That's how I felt toward children - they stopped progress and killed dreams.

In retrospect, I sometimes wonder if I made the correct decisions with my life. Logically, I know I made the correct choices. But emotionally. . .emotionally I rip myself apart every month for the choices I've made.

My husband and I have been trying to have another baby for over one year. No one obsesses over their underpants like a woman trying to conceive (or hoping not to!) and each month I am crestfallen when my baby dreams are dashed once again. I get angry and, once my fury subsides, I cry bitter tears and feel sorry for myself.

I spent many, many years fearing and preventing childbirth. I find it so completely unfair that having a child is my fondest dream now and that I'm denied my joy each month. Why did I wait so long to start a family? What was so damned important that I kept putting it off?

I've been wondering what I'll tell my son when he is interested in starting a family. Luckily, he's a boy. From a biological standpoint, it isn't all that big of an issue to hold off. He can follow in his father's footsteps and have children as late in life as he chooses. Well, that's assuming that he also marries a significantly younger woman.

I have to say that I'll advise my son to wait as long as possible before starting a family. He can have a solid career, own property, and have significant savings before even thinking of children. He can sow all of his wild oats before he has to settle down and get saddled with life's responsibilities.

Of course, he won't procreate on his own. There will be a woman carrying his child, my grandchild. I hope that my son will faithfully remain with the mother of his child(ren) and I hope that she'll be a wonderful wife to him.

Does it sound impossibly crazy that I already pray for my son's future wife? Well, I do. I pray that she'll be raised in a loving home, that she won't be harmed or wounded (physically, emotionally, or sexually) as she grows, that she'll adore my son and stick with him through all of life's storms. I pray that she'll love my son the way that I love my husband. My son will be a very blessed man if he has such a loving and devoted wife.

My husband and I talked about the differences between having a daughter and having a son prior to our son's birth. With daughters, you worry about every dick on the planet. With sons, you only have to worry about their dick. Of course, that's not entirely true. . .with sons, you have to worry about every predatory p*ssy on the planet. And that scares me so much. I hope that there is a reliable and safe male birth control pill or shot by the time my son is engaging in sexual behavior.

I'm in my mid-30s. I hope not to become a grandparent until I'm in my 70s because I think that would be the best life choice for my son. However, it's not my choice when I become a grandparent. I hope that, whatever my son does with his life, that he does it well and that his actions make his parents proud.

Always Share that You Care

Today is a special day in my household. A couple of years this family was on Cloud Nine. We were completely blissed out on May 17, 2008.

A Facebook status reminded me that this same date holds an entirely different meaning for some friends. On May 17, 2008, their family was plunged into the worst pain I can ever imagine. While we were celebrating, they were grieving.

It's sobering to think how quickly life can change, for better or for worse. One knock on the door, one phone call, one e-mail. . .they all can hold the power to change everything. You can't predict when your life will turn upside down and you generally can't stop it from happening.

Today is a special day. Every day is a special day. Let your loved ones know you care by your actions and words. You don't know if you'll be able to do it tomorrow, so please take the time to do it today and every day.

Living Well is the Best Revenge

I've been idly following the Phoebe Prince case. For those not in the know, Phoebe Prince was a young girl who was bullied by a group of vile kids from her high school. The harassment was so unbearable to her that she took her life at only 15-years of age.

A group of six teens have been indicted on various charges related to the case. I'm doubtful that any convictions will be reached, but I'm glad that her tormentors are being held accountable for their vicious behavior toward a fellow human being. And I hope that they are forever tormented by the tragic result of their despicable actions.

Tone doesn't come across very well with the written word and in case you didn't pick up on it, I was a major misfit in school. I wasn't well-liked by many kids and I never really fit in with any clique. I didn't have many friends or acquaintances. I was called all sorts of ugly names by nasty kids who seemed intent to make me pretty f*cking miserable in school.

It's sad that a group of kids bullied another kid so severely that she felt suicide was the only way out. It's even sadder that a 15-year old child was so miserable that suicide seemed to be the only way out of her torment. The saddest thing of all though is that this petty high school bullsh*t probably wouldn't have mattered at all to this girl in a few more years.

Generally speaking, the only people who really give a rip about high school once they hit true adulthood are life's losers who peaked in high school. Not everyone can make it in the real world and some precious little snowflakes melt when the heat gets too intense. Sucks to be them.

Being hassled in school inspired me to succeed at life. I accomplished some pretty impressive things at a relatively young age because I was intent to prove that I was better than my tormentors. I look back with a tiny bit of gratitude toward those who were so cruel toward me because they pushed me to be one of life's winners. Living well has been the best revenge.

What could Phoebe Price have accomplished had she been able to hang in there for a few more years? I hope Massachusetts throws the book at her tormentors.

Savor Life's Moments

A friend posted an interesting story on Facebook today. The moral of the story is that we miss many delightful experiences because we are too busy rushing through life. Isn't that the way it is though? We spend our childhood wishing to grow and we spend our adulthood trying to reclaim that youthful spirit. We never seem content with our current stage.

I've been pondering this all day and I wonder what I've been missing. There is very little that is fresh to my eyes and ears, but many experiences are still new and novel to my son. If my son wants to explore a park, I'll let him enjoy the beauty of nature. If my son wants to cuddle, I'll make the time to cuddle. If he wants to inspect a flower, I'll let him check it out. If he wants to dance to some music, I'll let him dance.

The joy of life isn't just found in big events, it's in the small and typically forgettable moments. I don't know what I've been missing as I go about my day, but I think it's time to take it easy and enjoy the beauty that surrounds me every day.

What are you missing by rushing though life?

Baby, Don't Grow Too Fast

Life passes altogether too fast. I've spent so much of my life wishing that I was in another stage of growth. No, no, I didn't spend that time, I wasted it. I wasted it because I didn't allow myself to fully appreciate my life in that moment. I wish that I could relax and enjoy, but I just can't. No matter how content I am, I'm always seeking and looking forward.

My desire to move forward has often meant that I've passed up wonderfully valuable opportunities. In my haste to "grow up," I've made poor decisions that yielded negative consequences. In my youthful arrogance, I used to believe that having regrets was a waste of time. As I've matured, I can definitely admit that I have plenty of regrets.

Suddenly it seems like my son wants to grow up so fast and I don't like it. He's not sneaking out of the house or talking back (that I can tell!), but he's clearly trying to move forward. He refuses to allow me to feed him and insists on feeding himself, however messy it may be. And it is very, very messy. He's talking a little (or a lot!) more each day. He's stretching his physical limits and can easily accomplish tasks that he couldn't just a few short weeks ago.

Why is he trying to grow up so quickly? Perhaps it's a genetic condition, passed on from mother to son, or perhaps it's just part of the human condition. I wish that I could tell him that this is the best time in his life and it will never be so easy again. I know that he won't be my sweet little baby forever, but he will always remain my darling son.

Even When Life is Long, It's Still Too Short

Some days I think that I'll go back to work and put my son in a daycare facility, but not for the reasons you might think. I don't need additional adult stimulation, I don't want to talk about things other than diapers, and we don't particularly need the money.

But I crave the thrill of the sales process. I loved helping people see that they needed what I was offering. And, for those who didn't agree right away, I also loved the follow up. On more than one occasion, I captured a student more than two years after they made the initial contact.

As much as I'd like to sell ice to Eskimos, I feel that staying home to raise my son is important and it is a gift. Infancy and toddlerhood don't last long and I just can't choose my own selfish desire for my career over my son. You only get one shot at raising your children and I don't want to miss out on doing it the way that I think is best for our family.

I've become very aware, sometimes painfully aware, of missed opportunities as I've aged. My life is full of plans that I wish I had made, trips that I wish I had taken, words that I wish I had said. . .

Where am I going with all this? Why am I so pensive tonight? I guess I'm considering life and the choices we make because I lost a very dear friend last night.

Edna Frazier had style. I don't know her age, ladies of a certain age don't discuss such matters, but I would guess somewhere in the late-70s or early-80s. She was always impeccably dressed. Her nails were always neatly manicured and her hair was always attractively coiffured. She always looked beautiful and put together.

She was a wonderfully kind woman. I can't think of a single time that I didn't see a smile on her lovely face. She was very generous and giving. She always complimented me on how handsome my son was, how much she liked his short hair cuts, how cute she thought I dressed him.

Edna holds such a dear spot in my heart because she and her daughter, Cindy, were the only two people at the hospital on "my" side on the day that my son was born. Sure, my husband and his entire family were there. But, for various reasons, no one from my family came to the hospital that day.

My son was scheduled to be born around 8:00 am and he didn't arrive until just shy of 6:00 pm. I have no idea how long Edna and Cindy waited, but it was around 8:00 pm when I finally came out of recovery and they were there.

Though I have two pictures of the first time I met my son in the OR, I don't recall the event. In my memory, the first time I met my son was when my husband brought him to my room. I held out my arms and began crying with joy at the sight of my darling boy. My MIL and my husband's youngest brother were there for just a few moments and left the three of us for the evening. I felt a tremendous rush of love in that moment.

That's when Edna and Cindy walked in my room with balloons, flowers, a personalized welcome sign, an outfit (the one he ended up wearing in his first pictures) & a football (!) for my son, and a baby bootie necklace for me. Perhaps it's because I was in the warm hormonal afterglow of childbirth, perhaps it's because no one else bothered to come, but I always think of Edna, Cindy, and my MIL when I think of that most joyous moment between my husband, myself, and our son. It was a magical moment and I'm glad that they chose to be there and share our joy.

I never told Edna just how special she was to me and I have no choice now but to add that to my list of life regrets. She was so well-loved by her family and friends and she will be sorely missed by all who knew her.

Cindy is an only child and my heart just breaks for her tonight. She was very close to her mother and I know that she must feel devastated. Edna had been ill and spent quite a bit of time in the hospital toward the end, but we're never really ready to say goodbye. Even when life is long, it's still too short. . .