Broken Heart, Will Travel

I decided to dive into thirty headfirst.  More and more I find myself scheduling us to the hilt, as if we stay busy enough I may not remember how sad I still feel; remember that another month has dragged me forward, at times kicking and screaming away from the brief moments we'd had with Jack.  But forward I move nonetheless.

I finished up my first month back at work with the annual field trip to the amusement park.  Chaperoning 16 eighth grade kids in jeans and black polo shirts in the ninety degree heat could be viewed as cruel and unusual punishment but truth be told it's not as horrific as it sounds.  It started out with a hiccup as a girl asked me, "what did you name your baby?"  Instantly I couldn't breathe and my heart skipped a beat.  She didn't know; the news hadn't trickled down the way I'd hoped.  What was I supposed to say? I wanted to run out of the room.  Instead, I remembering I had to "adult" while at work, I simply smiled at her and replied, "Jack," and walked on.  I found myself amazed and relieved.  Why was I so worked up over such a small and basic question?  I did in fact name him Jack.  Him dying doesn't change that fact.  Did I omit the truth? Yes.  But she didn't ask for truth, she asked his name.  Regardless of how sad I am, speaking his name aloud soothes my hurting heart, even if only for a beat.  The day marched on quickly and, by the grace of God, a little breeze too.

When the school day ended, I was instantly relieved that I got to stop being Mrs. Doyle for a week and let my brave, put together face relax for a bit.  Sean, persisted as he is, talked me into celebrating thirty.  For weeks he asked me what I wanted to do, and would not take "nothing" as an answer.  I gave in and settled on some girlfriends over for dinner.  I figured since it was a bigger birthday I'd dress it up a little, put on a dress and call it a dinner party- how grown up of me. If I'm being honest, planning something else served as another distraction for me; the result may have been a little over the top, but everyone seemed to get a kick out of it.  We had a great time; good food, lots of wine, lots of smiles, and no candles.  Success. 

The next morning I got up, got my run in, we packed the car, and headed up to one of my favorite places in the world with one of my favorite people in the world. My friend Jen's family camp house is the kind of place that makes you feel like you can sit, take a breath, and feel like all is right in the world.  Her family always welcomes me and mine like we belong there.  This year being there was needed, even if it was only for a night.  We'd planned to get there earlier but decided to save on boarding the dog for an extra night, but the moment I stepped out of the car, heard the brook babbling its song, hugged Jen and her husband, Andrew, two people who mean more to me and my family than they probably know, I instantly regretted the decision; I would gladly have spent fifty extra dollars to feel the peace I felt in that moment for another day.  Luckily, with no cell service or television, time moves nice and slow so we were able to make the most of it while we were there.  It was a great visit, small leech incident aside! The next morning, we woke up early, helped close up a bit, said our goodbyes, and headed to the next leg of our travels. 

We made our way to the tiniest little airport you ever did see and traveled to Calabash, North Carolina to visit Sean's parents for a few days, yet another place that soothes the soul. It must be something about the Spanish moss hanging from the trees, the way every person you pass waves in a truly sincere way, or the way the evening breeze convinces your brain that even though there's about ninety percent humidity it's more than enough to cool your skin.  Kennedy couldn't get enough of the beach, making me smile once more that she seems to have the same salt water running through her veins that I did as a child.  It was almost enough to make me forget there could be sharks lurking near by, as there had been another attack not too far from where we were a few weeks earlier.  Almost.  As she begged to go further out in the water she was thrilled to be able to stand in, I had to figure out how to tell her that we couldn't without scaring the life out of her and ruining her fun. So I did what any parent would do and told her that was a lot of fish poop out there. The next day at the pool she made a little friend, two years older than Kennedy, who talked all about her little brothers, one a baby.  It was enough to send me into a panic because I knew what would come out of Kennedy's mouth soon enough.  Now this is a shameful parent moment, this I am well aware of, but as she said, "Our baby, Jack Holden, died," and her little friend asked Kennedy to repeat herself, unsure of what she'd heard, I splashed my kid.  Right in the face. She was so pissed at me, she forgot what she was saying, and I'm pretty sure her friend told her grandpa what I'd done.  Again, parenting fail, I know- just put it on my tab I have running over the last seven months.

As Sean and I rode bicycles around his dad's community, I found myself wishing we could just stay there forever; never go back to our lives in New York.  The thing is though, my broken heart will come with me wherever we go, there is no escaping it. While that makes me feel unbelievably sad at times, it also means that, as part of me has always believed, Jack will always be with me; I keep him close by in his place in my heart. No matter where we go he will come with us.

Getting ready to board to the plane and return to reality.  Summer vacation coming to a close, we will soak up our last few days getting in some local fun before school starts back up and I send my baby girl off to preschool; I'm bracing for impact and inevitable mommy tears.

So This is Thirty

Could someone please explain to me why happy birthday is quite possibly the hardest song for people to sing? Seriously.  It was written in a key that I don’t know if any human being can sing on without sounding like they are literally in pain.  Yet birthday after birthday, we sing this song to each other, wishing a happy day to people we love and care about.

I turned thirty yesterday.  I’m old.

I hate my birthday.  I hate my birthday on a good year but this year being what it was and turning thirty on top of that made it a bit harder and crappier than most years.  I’m not like most people that claim to hate the day but secretly love the attention.  I am the person that refuses to let anyone leave the table when we are out to eat at a restaurant in the event they try to get sneaky and alert the wait staff to the fact that it’s my birthday. 

Yesterday was tough.  I gave myself a pass on my run that morning because I could see the day going badly so I figured maybe if it didn’t start with exhaustion and a sweaty back I stood a fighting chance of making it to work in one piece.  It didn’t happen.  I accepted all of the “happy birthdays” from my awesome co-workers and friends while trying not to think that I just didn’t feel very happy.  Another friend, who has been there for me in way I could never thank her for, gave me a beautiful card,some much needed hugs, and words of love and encourgement absorbing my tears on her shirtsleeve. 

The thing is, I just couldn’t help feeling really sad.  So I cried.  I cried tears of sadness because I am missing a huge piece from my heart and my family and so I feel so incomplete; I may never have the sense of peace that comes from knowing things in your life are as they should be.  Some people never feel that, but I did, and so I feel that loss as well.  I cried tears of relief because this awful twenty-ninth year of my life finally came to a close.  And still, even with all of that, there were tears of joy that I have so many people in my life that love me and have stood by me, even when I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. 

When I got home I cried.  I cried but then I wiped my eyes, put a smile back on my face, a bright pink lipstick I probably have no business wearing but do anyway because, hey, I’m thirty, and headed out to dinner with my little family that loves me in a way that soothes my broken soul.  We made a pit-stop at Jack’s spot where I did my best to hold it together as I replaced his old, dried flowers with some pretty purple and yellow ones and told him I loved him.  Now, it may just be my wanting it to be so but as I said, “I love you,” the little pinwheel we leave at his place began to spin; it spun so fast on a day where the heat could just about kill you and there was little to no breeze.  And so, I’ll take it.  He was telling his mama he loved her on a day where she needed something to help carry her through it. 

Dinner was great and we made it through with no “happy birthday” from strangers that only sing because they are hoping for a larger tip.  I felt a little guilty because I know Kennedy wanted to sing and eat dessert, but we said we were full and left it at that.

Truth be told, I didn’t want to blow out any candles.  I didn’t want to make a wish.  In my mind I know the one thing I would wish for can never come true, but my heart can’t help itself.  So, for a while at least, I will forgo candles and wishes.  I will continue to hate birthdays but will try to do my best to get on board with the “happy” part of it.

Dear Thirty,

Please be kind to me.

Sincerely,

Tricia

Summer Magic

I really think summer is the stuff magic is made of.  If I could bottle the ingredients, which I believe would consist of long days, warm breezes, the chimes of ice cream trucks, orange and pink sunsets, and the smell of sunscreen on toddler skin, to be sprayed during the long dark months of winter; I would call it “Summer Magic” and become a millionaire.  Seriously.  I know I’d buy it anyway.

After what I like to call a fast-long week back at work with only the younger grades, I welcomed a weekend to relax a little bit.  These days I feel like I am sometimes wound so tight trying to anticipate what a day could bring that exhausted is just an adjective that doesn’t do me justice.   Saturday, after ruining a dress and pair of my pants (granted the beautiful soul was doing the laundry), Sean suggested a trip to the outlets.  After a semi quick drive over the Massachusetts state line, the man, God love him, set his girls free to buy what we wanted.  We’ve raised quite the clotheshorse so I’m not sure who was more excited by this, Kennedy or me.  An exhausted Sean humored me for three and a half hours, giving his asked-for-opinions that were often ignored, before he said uncle.  We had a late lunch and turned in early in preparation of a busy Sunday we had planned.

I woke up far too early for a weekend to go for my weekly half-marathon training group run; seven miles this week.  I got it done, convincing myself not to stop and walk for a good two miles of it, and ultimately breaking a few of my records when it was all said and done.  I felt good but way too tired to have a whole day ahead of me.

This is where the magic of summer comes into play.

Some of my family rented a house not too far from our house on a big lake; big summer spot up here, and they invited us up to spend the day.  Kennedy adores their children so she is always more than entertained when they are around.  Sean got in some golf with my cousins, and I got to spend some quality time with a couple of ladies I really love.  We took the kids for a spin on the boat, swam, I even gave in to their request for me to go down the water slide into the lake- once.  Kennedy “fished” after receiving some expert instructions from the big kids (don’t worry, no hooks, worms, or anything else that could result in me having to attempt to set a fish free), and she showed, once again, how good a big sister she would have been to Jack.  Overall, a great day where, more than once, I found myself wishing I could freeze-frame these bits of summer, simple but special, and utilize them when the going gets tough. 

In some regards I did.

Today was a day I have been anxious about coming for quite a while.  The 7^th and 8^th grade students- my kids, returned to school today.  I haven’t seen any of them since January.  Only the 8^th grade students were told about Jack dying last year and so if any of the new 8^th graders or 7^th graders knows, it is due to a trickle-down-effect.  I was terrified to go in today and have them ask questions or, maybe worse, have to explain what happened.  You see, I just don’t have a party-line ready yet.  I’m still at a loss of words when I have to explain, out loud, what has happened to my boy.  So, I got myself good and worked up on the drive in to work today, and was thereby grateful to have forgotten to apply any mascara (even waterproof doesn’t stand a chance to my waterworks anymore).  I put on my sunglasses and a brave face as I walked past a group of kids waiting outside the building, dumped my stuff in my office and made a beeline for the coffee pot in the kitchen.  I must have looked rough because as I walked by my friend, whom I love dearly but is clearly nervous about female emotion, he asked if I was all right, I shook my head no but squeaked out that I would be and it took only a moment for him to register that a may have needed a big ‘ole hug.  It was enough for me to take another deep breath and collect myself, bracing for the entrance of the kids. 

As they came in I gave out pounds, smiles, and “welcome backs”, ushering them to morning meeting and homeroom.  One tougher girl, who was not my biggest fan last year, came in.  She had been retained the previous year, meaning she would be repeating the seventh grade this year, and was understandably upset to be arriving to her second first day of grade seven.  I directed her where to go but my super-sharp-counselor-radar kicked on (it’s a thing, look it up).  I could tell she was going to cry and the second I asked if she was okay the tears flowed freely.  I had her wait in my office for a few minutes as I braced myself to absorb someone else’s emotions, something I never thought twice about doing six months ago.  As I walked in and saw her with her face buried in her shirt, it became very clear the kind of morning she was having.  I was having the same kind.

I asked her to look at me.  I told her I got it.  She was anxious about seeing these kids, about facing them and being so vulnerable.  Then I did something I swore up and down for months I wasn’t going to do: I let a kid in.  A little bit anyway.  I told her I was scared about coming back today too, facing all of the kids, and that, truthfully, I had a good cry in the car before I could get myself in the building that morning but we both had to face the day.  I told her that the day was going to keep moving forward and it certainly wasn’t going to wait for her or I to decide if we were ready to face it.  There was a chance it was going to suck but an equal chance that it would be okay, all we had to do was make it through today.  We could worry about tomorrow when we got there.  I told her to take a deep breath with me and we walked out of my office and down the hall to start the day.  I realized, walking back to my office, it was as much a pep talk for myself as it was for her.  But it did the trick; we both made it through the day in one piece.

See?  Bottled up summer magic.  Place your orders today (while supplies last).