Two life events; one week

It's the morning of Saturday, July 9. Aria is moving to Kansas City on Monday. It's hard to believe it is already here. It came too fast.

I'd like to think that I have been handling it fairly well. I think I have just been pretty numb, with the exception of a couple of nights ago, when, as I lay in the darkness squeezing my pillow like a child it hit me full force.

I want what is best for her. If moving to a larger city with more diversity, more commerce, etc. is a good opportunity for her then I have to let it be. She wants that experience, who am I to tell her she can't at least try it?

I've spent the last couple of days going through all of our photos, picking out some of the best ones of family and all of our trips. We went to Mount St. Helens, Astoria, Oregon, saw the Goonies house, then Seaside and Cannon Beach, Oregon.

We've been to West Yellowstone and Old Faithful, Redfish Lake, and of course Lagoon.  My family's cabin up at the Blackfoot Reservoir has always been a favorite. I am going to print them all out and put them in a photo album for her. Today I am taking her out to lunch, just she and I. I am trying to squeeze as much time in with her as I can.

I think my biggest fear is that she does not miss me when she's gone. I know she does not completely understand, but I've done so much for her and protected her from more than she'll know. I guess I will just have to let the knowledge that I have done my best be good enough, but that is so hard.

My surgery has been scheduled for this Thursday, July 14 at 9 a.m. It should be fairly simple unless there are complications (knock on wood). They are going to put me under and everything. That terrifies me. Anesthesia is just one of those weird fears for me. That and parking garages. I freaking hate parking garages. I don't know how long I am going to have to take off work and all of that, but honestly I am not really thinking that far in advance right now.

The nurse told me that the chances of this happening (the reason I need the surgery) are one in a thousand. Lucky me. The doctor said he has not performed this procedure in five years. Should I buy a lottery ticket? Are you feeling lucky, punk?

I went in for my pre-op on Thursday. They had me fill out all the paperwork, you know the "you understand the risks" crap. I've been surprisingly calm, even I thought I would be freaking out more than I am. The doctor commented that "you are handling this surprisingly well, my dear" and I told him that I know that it could be much worse. I mean, it's not like I have cancer or something, so I am grateful. He laughed and jokingly asked if he could make a YouTube video of me saying that. He's a funny guy.

But, I have learned that there is no sense worrying about it too much. I need to be grateful for all the good in my life and accept these bumps in the road, they add character. And I am going to have some kick ass scars. Scars tell stories of trials and remind you that you've survived this far. Have no fear of what the future holds, you're a tough cookie.

I'm scared, I mean, I would be crazy not to be. But Mike is taking some time off work to take care of me and my boss is very understanding. I have a great support system.

I really wish I could tell everyone in my life how much they mean to me, but I fear that they would think I was being weird if I randomly called and said, "you've changed my life, thank you." Maybe next week when things calm down. Maybe letters. I am much better with the written word than spoken. I kind of sound like Foghorn Leghorn from the Looney Tunes when I try to get sentimental when I talk to somebody. "I say, eh I say boy!" Remember that guy? The big rooster?

Complications

I have so many thoughts and ideas, beautiful poems and prose that bounce in my head, and yet, sadly, they rarely make it into something tangible, either because of my time schedule or my own crippling fear of being vulnerable. I wrote a poem just the other night about what the night does while we sleep. Is it jealous of the day because we pay much more attention there or is it content to watch us while we dream? I'm weird, I know this. 

Some things going on:
Aria and her dad are moving to Kansas City in the next few weeks. I have known that they were going to move there eventually, but I did not know it would be this soon. He really wants us to move there too, so I am torn over moving to be closer to my daughter or staying here and being close to the rest of my family. If I move there I will be separated by everyone and everything I know, but I will be able to see my daughter. Life's choices are NEVER easy. It builds character right? Remember the poster with the kitten barely gripping the tree branch with the words "Hang In There" at the top? Yep. I need some of those cheesy motivational posters around me. 

I have not posted on social media about the move because I wanted to tell my family about it in person, I don't think Facebook is where someone should read about that. And, because it involves my daughter, and because I don't want to risk someone in his circle taking what ever I say and twisting my words. 

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow and Next Week walk into a bar . . .

Yesterday told me that I could have done better. Her visits always seem to go by so fast. It seems like she was just here and now she's gone. She'll be back.

Today is in my living room, sitting up straight, watching me to see what I'll do next. She's tall, patient, simple, but satisfactory. She's calm and has an air of meaningfulness and wisdom. I should work on paying better attention to what she says.

Tomorrow is knocking on my front door, excited to show me what she's brought. She always rushed my visits with Today. I welcome her visits, but it seems there's never enough time for Today. Just give me one more hour, I'm not done with her yet. Tomorrow is giddy and impatient. She thinks she's better than Today, I know she does. 

Next Week is calling me long distance. I'm not sure what she's like yet, I haven't met her. I think she'll be kind. I'll be optimistic this time. She tells me that she'll be here soon, probably sooner than I think.

I have treated them badly. I have shunned their persistence. I have pushed them all away, told them flat out that I did not care to see them anymore. And yet the continue to visit. Perhaps they see something in me that I don't. 

At times each one has been very unkind. But on others they're nothing less than sweet and full of life. 

Though our relationships have been at times strained, each has taught me something and helped to form who I am now, who ever that is. Maybe I'll meet her next. 

The passion of fear

Franklin D. Roosevelt once said "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself -- nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance."

Fear is a natural part of life. It keeps us alive. Without fear we wouldn't wear seat belts or life jackets and a lot of knife-throwing circus sideshow acts would have to find new professions.

But fear is too often paralyzing, debilitating. It takes more than it gives. Fear convinces you you're not good enough, that you shouldn't even try. People who achieve their goals have somehow learned to silence this fear, or at least calm it enough to be manageable.

Fear has taken too much from me. 

I need to take it back. 

I want to learn Spanish and I want to learn how to play guitar (I'm working on both, by the way). I want to write a book (I've been doing research and writing a rough draft). I want to know who I am (I've traced my family history all the way back to the Mayflower). 

As challenging as those things are, the things I struggle with the most are not seen and are rarely spoken of. We shouldn't fear fear, but what if you fear yourself? There's a movie plot for ya. 

It's 10:51 on a Friday night. I'm pleasantly sober and clear. I enjoy these fleeting moments of clarity. Having open eyes does not necessarily mean that you truly, really see.

I'm more than what I allow myself to be. It's there. It's what's kept me going. Passion is more powerful than fear.

The Art of Childhood

Back at the beginning of the school year, a flyer came home with parents asking for anybody and everybody to volunteer to teach an art lesson to the class once a month. 

As I was dropping Devin off at school the next day I stopped and chatted with his teacher about the art lessons — what a great idea it is to have art offered to the kids, especially at such a young age, how important it is for their developing minds to be creative, etcetera and so forth. 

His teacher approached me a few weeks later and told me, in a  bit of a panic, that no one had volunteered. She went on to say that if there are no volunteers there would be no art lessons for the kids. And, since I was the only parent who had expressed any interest in it, would I please, please volunteer to teach art. 

Well, yes, of course! Children going without art in their lives breaks my heart. 

I am not one for getting up and speaking in public, even in front of kids, but I remember my mom coming to volunteer in my classes while I was in elementary school. I remember that it meant a lot to me. And, I had volunteered in Aria's kindergarten class too, helping kids learn how to read and count. I certainly want to carry on that tradition with Devin. 

Death and forgiveness

Warning: Long post ahead

I am a firm believer that everything that happens in your life is meant to teach you something. It may be a major event, the worst or best day of your life, or something that does not make sense until decades later.

This last week was very emotionally trying for a lot of people. Death is difficult for anyone to deal with -- the ultimate unknown and finale in a life that you want to keep forever. When it happens suddenly and seemingly without reason to a person who seemed so happy, so talented, so fun -- it seems impossible to rationalize. You begin to hear that person's voice in your head, remember the last time you spoke, become tempted to call him just on the slight chance he'll answer, wonder what you could have done to stop him from making his final decision.

This last week I spoke with and hugged people I had not seen in 17 years, Death brings people together, reminds you to tell people you care about them, It makes you question your own mortality and reminds you to never take anything for granted.

Everyone has a mortal enemy, someone whom they'd wish would just fall off the face of the planet. Mine happens to be, ironically, the best friend of the person whose death brought everyone together. This person, who shall remain nameless here, was obnoxious, arrogant, spoiled and just all around mean. He made his dislike for me very well known. Whoever made up the phrase "sticks and stones . . " was never publicly degraded nearly everyday for four years.

He never really did give me a good reason for hating me, though I know that a large part of it was the fact that I was a little different, I wore Marilyn Manson shirts and put blue streaks in my hair (back then putting color in your hair was not cool), and he, being very, very LDS, thought that meant I was a devil worshipper and should be made to feel as inferior as possible. I don't think he knew that I am actually, technically  LDS, it's just not something that I bring up in typical conversation.

Words left unsaid

It is hard to describe how I’m feeling right now. Sometimes I just need to pour my thoughts out onto a page with no rhyme or reason. It does not have to make sense, I just have to have this release. It is the best therapy I’ve found thus far.

The last few days seem to have stood still, or perhaps I’ve been asleep and I’m about to wake up. There’s a numbness that I can’t seem to shake. An old high school classmate decided to leave this earth last week. We were not really friends in school, but we did not dislike each other either, we just spun in different circles. He was artistic, I remember that about him, and he was a class clown, always making people laugh and just generally being a goofball. He got along with everybody because he was nice to everybody.

He became a very talented artist. He had a unique style and method that I’d not seen before or since. A couple of years ago he emailed me and asked if I would write a news story about him to try to get a sponsorship to exhibit at the Eastern Idaho State Fair. I agreed to write a story, but told him that I had to focus on his art rather than the sponsorship.

We chatted by phone, it was great to sort of catch up. I interviewed him, got to pick his brain a bit and ask him about his inspiration. I don’t know if he liked the article, I never heard, but that year at the state fair I did stop by his booth to chat and watch him paint.

His death is stinging more than it should, I know. It’s not like we were best friends. I wrote “happy birthday” on his Facebook timeline every year, I watched the time lapsed videos he made to show his paintings come together.