The Last Day

I've never spent much time on the computer.  It used to be that nobody could email me because I wouldn't check it for weeks.  Over the past few months I've changed.  It's my most comfortable mode of communication.  I can express words without my puffy eyes and if I can't answer immediately because there's a catch in my voice, I can wait an hour or a day.   In learning how to blog, I've browsed.  I've even found some blogs that I think are witty and interesting.

Well, tonight I was reading a blog I've been following--anonymously--I always follow anonymously, and found myself commenting.  http://thecraigreport.blogspot.com/2011/02/carpe-what-now.html.  

It was all about living like it is your last day.  I remember living like it was Ian's last day--for years.  Making every second count.  Laughing.  Taking lots of photos.  Celebrating.  I remember his last day.  It came with no warning--no recognizable warning.  No way to say and do all the things we did a decade earlier.

Maybe the message in Carpe Diem--Seize the Day is:  Live like it's those you love's last day.  Don't leave out anything you should do or say.  Don't substitute teaching for loving.  Don't trade time for money. (Duh, I know you have to make a living.  You know what I mean.)  Don't leave yourself with the burden of regret. 

I understand all the things that the man is saying in his blog and I realize that it's supposed to be entertainment.  I also know that jobs and energy bills and mortgages are important.  I know weighing 500 pounds and irritating family members isn't appealing.  But, and this is a big one, I know losing your house or your job or needing a diet or family counseling are problems I would take on every day I have left, if I could have the last days with my son back.  I'd live them differently.  So differently.

Unexpected Wisdom

As much as I loathe the self-aggrandizement of Hollywood, I understand why my 13 year old daughter likes to watch award shows.  They're fun.  People wear cool clothes.  They say stupid things.  It gives her something to talk about at school.  So tonight I sat watching with her, never thinking anything profound could come of it.  When they did the tribute to all the people associated with movies who have died, the final photo was of someone I admire--Lena Horne.

I love listening to her on the old vinyl albums we inherited from Keith's dad.  There's so much class in her voice.  Smooth, and all talent, not synthesized in a studio.  I imagine she had quite a life.  Great and Terrible.  After Halley Berry talked about her, they put a quote from her on the screen:

"It's not the load that breaks you down;  it's how you carry it."

That's pretty smart.  I feel I'm carrying a load.  I know I have help, but I hope I'm lifting with my legs and not doing permanent damage to my back, because  I know it won't be the last burden I'm ever asked to haul around.

Christmas 1997

I miss

that arm

on my shoulder

for balance.

I wish

he was here

to steady me.

Riviera Paradise

After sleeping really late this morning, I decided I needed to accomplish something before the day was over.  Mikey and I went and got the paint for his new bedroom.  After trying to steer him many times in a neutral, conservative direction, I finally decided it was wrong to be such a control freak.  He  picked the brightest blue I've ever seen--Riviera Paradise.  I'm fairly certain that even the water on the Riviera isn't this blue.

I had flashbacks of letting Ian pick the present color of the room--his room--the room that has been all but empty for a couple of months.  He wanted a sports room.  We had a wallpaper border with all different kinds of sports balls on it--vintage balls in muted colors.   He picked the lightest highlight color on the basketball.   It was a good choice we both liked.  We found old Red Sox and Raiders pennants.  We hung antique badminton racquets on the wall with a tattered birdie.  The rod across the top of the window was a hockey stick.  There were baseball cards framed on the wall--Pete Rose and Johnny Bench; Jim Palmer and Steve Garvey;  even Hank Aaron. 

 
Ian was almost 9 when we moved into this house.  He decided that it would be fun to share his room with his 3 year old brother.  They picked the smaller bedroom because it had a walk-in closet they could play in.  It was the first room in the house to be painted and decorated.

About a year and a half ago Mikey moved out into the gameroom.  They were having a hard time and we figured Ian "the teenager" needed some privacy.  Mikey also needed some time free from his third parent.  So, even though there was no door on Mikey's space, it did give them both some distance.  Pretty ironic now that they needed distance.

It was obvious to Mikey that mind was elsewhere today.  He asked at Home Depot why I was getting so tense.  We brought the paint home and dove in.  He was a great helper.  I wish I could've kept my mind off what we were really doing--covering up Ian.  I thought (and still do) that it will be much easier for Mikey to move back into the room he shared with his big brother if it looks completely different.  It will be like a totally new room with no memories--visual ones anyway.  I hope bright blue makes Mikey happy in there.  It just made me blue.

Going Back

I must be completely out of my mind.  In about 30 minutes I'm leaving to go to a Prince concert.  That only takes me back about 25 years to a place I  probably should never revisit.  When I graduated from High School I listened to Chicago and Journey and even a little Air Supply. 

When I left home, listening to Prince was just naughty enough  to overcome the Wonder bread image I projected and I liked that.  I guess that means every time I tell Lucy that she can't download music with the parental warning on it, I'm a hypocrite.  Could there really be music nastier that Prince?  I actually do see things differently now.  I can see additional messages in songs like 1999, Sign O' the Times, and Thieves in the Temple.  That's probably rationalizing on my part though. 

We'll see.  Maybe when I come home tonight I'll have something really profound to say.

Put Up or Shut Up

So,  I've been saying for about 3 years or more that I wanted to be part of a book club.  I don't know why.  I think it's to feel like I'm still smart--still learning.  In high school I never read the assigned books.  I skimmed and faked and did OK.  I remember my senior year I made a goal to actually read the things I was supposed to.  In college I read more.  I think I was interested in more.  I had to take a lot of literature classes to get a communication degree.  Being a missionary got me reading reading.  Yes, there is supposed to be 2 readings there.  Gospel reading is great. 

That's all been so long ago.  It's been forever since I felt like a student--like I was progressing.  Keith reads like he just can't get enough.  He can block out the world if he's reading.  I've never been able to do that.  I can't block.  I'm a little autistic in that sense.  I've always wanted to be a veracious reader like Keith.  I've always felt like I'm not nearly as book-smart as he is.  It drives me wild.  I don't really think I'm all that competitive, but I want to be as smart as my husband.

Tomorrow night is the first night of my book club.  We'll see how it goes.  I'm afraid people will come just because they feel sorry for me as the pitiful grieving mother who needs support.  Like I need a project to distract me.  (Distraction is the title of a post I just can't seem to finish.)  I do need about 70 projects to distract me.  I just don't want anyone to know that.  So, anyway, I think tonight, I'm terrified.  I can't concentrate long enough to plan the food.  The house isn't as clean as I want and what if something sets me off in front of a roomful of women and I bawl?  Once again, I've taken on something that I'm not all confident I can pull off.  But, (I know, you can't start a sentence with but, but these are just my thoughts.)  I finally need to put up or shut up.  If I want to be part of a book club, then I better make it happen for myself.

Thou Shalt Not

I know I'm not supposed to covet.  It's a sin.  I feel bad about it.  Having said that, I spent a short time tonight with a family--a good family, a family I care about--and I couldn't help wishing. . .

Maybe it wasn't coveting.  I didn't want their family.  I didn't want their kids.  I wanted  my family.  I wanted my kids.  Not only do I want Ian back, I want 3 or 4 more.  I want a new baby like they have--not theirs.  I want a couple of preschoolers like they have--not theirs.  I don't know, maybe that's not it.  Maybe I just want my house to be full--full of laughing and playing and happy people. 

The idea that some families are blessed with 7 or 8 kids is enough for me to handle, but for them all to be whole and healthy and alive--yeah, alive is the big one--I can't stand it.

I wasn't just any family.  It was the family of a girl Ian adored.  It was incredibly hard to see them.   It's hard to see all the people Ian was close to.  I don't want it to be.  I'll make myself get through it.  I don't have a choice unless I want to lose more people I care about.  This coming Sunday Keith is going to ordain Ian's best friend a priest.  That should be fun.  I'm sure I'll feel more like I do tonight.

I hope this isn't coveting, but it is wanting something I can't ever have so it feels as bad as sin--every bit.