Dear Pam,
Just want you to know that I am honored to be your second Mom. I never had a daughter, but if I did, I would hope she would be just like you. You are a kind, honest, considerate, intelligent and loving woman. I am so proud of you, and I respect you for how you have adapted to a new city, job, and home this past year. Not an easy task !Pam, you are very special to me.Love,S…
I called someone late yesterday afternoon to ask if I had done something to offend, upset, or make them mad. I thought long and hard before I made the call. I had been wondering and worrying about this for over a week. I navigate my way around a lot of personalities on a daily basis. I have a 17 member board of directors and six standing committees of 10-20 members. Each person has their own agenda. I have learned to be careful not to jump to conclusions. Minor upsets, trespasses, and personality conflicts have a way of burning themselves out. Ignorance, or the illusion of ignorance, prevents most personal confrontations from even taking place. Sometimes, though, it is necessary to step into the landmine of personalities. Continue Reading »
The year was 2001, and my 12-year-old son had been in a coma for over a week. He had recently been airlifted to a university hospital for another surgery, his third in the past week. This was going to be a delicate surgery. His eye muscle was trapped in an orbital fracture. His nose was broken, too, and needed to be repaired. While these repairs would ordinarily be complicated, the complications were compounded by my son’s skull fracture and significant brain swelling. The surgery posed a risk of further brain damage. Without it, his eye would forever be “sunk” into the socket and cease to function. These were horrible choices for a parent to make. I wouldn’t wish this kind of life-altering decision on my worst enemy. Continue Reading »
Late on Christmas day, while our house was still full of people, my oldest daughter and I retired to the living room. T had made mochas with his new milk frother (awesome!) and Emily and I snuck away to a quiet spot to spend few moments together. When we sat down, my daughter told me that she had been prepared to give me a “talking to” that day. Sadly, I wasn’t shocked. My poor daughter has been my watchdog and my rock, but on Christmas day, she was proudly smiling at me. She went on to tell me that she had been prepared for me to be upset that Andrew hadn’t been able to be home with us and that my parents were gone. She had been prepared for me to wallow in what was NOT instead of being grateful for what WAS. I smiled. She was right to have been prepared with that talk, and I was ridiculously proud that she didn’t have to say those words to me. Yes, I have changed. The changes have been subtle, and they have been a long time coming, but here they are. I made the most of the moment right in front of me. Best of all, I made my daughter happy and proud. Continue Reading »
Today someone yelled at me. It was at the end of the day. I am sick and exhausted. My energy was already depleted, and the yelling sucked away whatever remained. Even now, hours later, I am shaking. I didn’t deserve to be yelled at. While I spoke in a calm, reserved voice, this person blamed me for causing their lack of control. No. No person deserves to be yelled at, and no person can be the cause of another’s lack of control. Hang up the phone. Walk away. Table the discussion. Mentally healthy adults do not yell…..under any circumstance. Yelling is a selfish, weak, self-absorbed way to handle a difficult situation. Yelling is cowardly. Continue Reading »
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about the terrible breakdown I had in my therapist’s office. In the two years that I have been seeing her, the day of the breakdown was probably the most honest moment I have allowed myself to have during our sessions. I freaked her out. Heck, I freaked myself out! I took her advice (for about four days) and began taking antidepressants again. I could have continued to numb myself into a state of calm. I did that before. I’m not saying that there isn’t a time when medication is necessary and beneficial. I’m not saying that those who choose to go that route are wrong. However, at this time and place in my life, antidepressants are not what is needed. I don’t need to be numbed. Instead, my breakdown was cathartic. It made me ultra-aware that the changes that are needed in my life must come from within myself. Instead of numbness, I need strength. As painful and as difficult as that day in my therapist’s office was, and the days that followed, I have come out on the other side with a new awareness and sense of self-protection. The breakdown forced me to face lingering issues. After all, something caused it. Something was WRONG. I could either numb it, and in my opinion, deny the problem, or I could begin to look for causes, answers, and potential solutions. Continue Reading »
Our mud room is full of stuff once again. Almost as soon as we loaded all of Luke’s belonging into the car for the trip to Milwaukee, Andrew started hauling his boxes down for the trip to Chicago. Tomorrow is his last day home. Of course, he will be back to visit and for holidays, but I wonder if he will ever call this house home again. No, this won’t be easy, but it is time. I am excited for him. I envy him the experience and promise that lies before him. What a lucky kid! He is following his dream, and I hope he hangs on tightly to that dream.
I have always known that Andy had a solid purpose on this earth. I’ve never known what that purpose is. I still don’t, but that’s not what is important. Of course, we ALL have a purpose here. We are all meant to be, but as Andrew’s mother, I have always known that Andrew was meant to be born. Hard to explain…
Grace Elizabeth was born 12 weeks early. She was beautiful and perfect, but she was so tiny. She fought for her life for 17 days until pneumonia entered the picture, and the fight was over. She was born quickly. I gave birth to her suddenly and at home. We weren’t expecting her for weeks. We weren’t ready, and she wasn’t ready. None of it made any sense. What purpose did this fulfill?
A month or so after Grace’s death, I found out that I was pregnant again. It was Andy. It was a miracle. After trying for two years to get pregnant, I was suddenly and unexpectedly going to have another baby. So soon. Maybe too soon the doctors said. It wasn’t an easy pregnancy. I was grieving. At the same time, I was excited. As the difficult milestone of Grace’s due date approached, I was already pregnant. It was a mind-twisting mix of emotions. Nine months after Grace’s death, my healthy baby boy was born.
Many times I have wondered if Andrew and Grace passed beside each other on their way from one place to another. He floated in as she was floating out. Anyone who has ever held a newborn baby has seen the sweet “involuntary” smiles they make in their sleep. I have always thought that it was the voice of angels whispering in their ears that are responsible for those smiles. As my sweet baby Andrew grew, there were times when I wondered at his existence. If Grace had not been born early, Andrew would never have been conceived. It would not have been possible if I had carried Grace to term.
Twelve years later, he was almost taken from me. One of the most powerful moments I ever experienced in my life was on the day of his accident. Andrew had been wheeled out of surgery. The doctor had come into the “Special Horrified Family Room” to talk to us. Andrew was in a coma. The doctor said things I didn’t understand. Frontal Lobe Injury/personality changes. Profuse bleeding. Orbital fractures. External Fixator. Respirator. Echo cardiogram. The doctor said that Andrew would probably not live. If he did live, then he would most likely be profoundly handicapped.
No, I didn’t think I was going to let that happen. I walked away from it all, my husband, the doctor, the crying grandparents, the friends who had gathered for the death vigil. I walked away. I went into the bathroom and stood in a stall behind a closed door. I was furious. No-Fucking-Way was my son going to die. No way was my son going to be damaged. No-Fucking-Way. It was unthinkable. I had lost Grace. Andrew wasn’t even supposed to be here. His birth and conception should not have happened….but they did. No one was going to tell me that at 12 years old it was all over. No. For once, thankfully, I was right. If it was the only time my hard-headed belief was ever right, then that’s OK.
I could write volumes on what came next. Yes, Andrew’s recovery was a challenge. It was a struggle and a fight. Andrew and I fought together. I pushed. I advocated. I demanded. I made him mad. I made other people mad. It was all worth it. ALL OF IT.
Ten years later, the accident and the fight and work of his recovery is in the distant past. If you met Andrew, you would see nothing unusual. If you didn’t know, and no one chose to tell you, you would never know that he was injured so badly that the doctors were ready to give him up for dead. What would you see if you met Andrew? You would see a young man who is excited about moving out of his parents’ home to attend his “dream school,” as he calls it. He is well-spoken and well-read. He’s a fantastic musician. He talks a lot. He has a wonderful sense of humor…just like my Dad. He is so much like my dad.
I love all of my children with all of my heart. They are my joy and my life. But Andrew is something else, too. I’m not sure if I can explain it sufficiently. He was born out of my loss. He brought happiness into my time of grieving. He saved my life more than once, but that is another story. Would he be here if not for my determination not to allow him to die? Maybe. Maybe not. That isn’t what is important.
In two days, I will let go. This time, I will allow him to leave to find his way on his own. He will find his purpose, and I will be left behind with a smile on my face and a heart full of joy. I have been honored to have this young man in my life. I have learned so much in life by being his mother. Even before his birth, when he was nestled beneath my heart, he brought me joy and a strength that I never knew I could possess.
I am excited to watch as the next chapter of my son’s life unfolds. This time I am not holding him or holding his hand, but the bond of our hearts remains.
We left the Gulf Coast, and our three days of relaxation and sun, to continue our trip. Like most of my life this past year, this trip has been (unknowingly) about revisiting the past and happier memories, but first we headed to a new place to make a few new memories. We left Biloxi and headed through the bayou toward New Orleans. It was an amazing drive. I was awed by the evidence of hurricane damage. Lot after lot was left with only driveway and foundation remaining. Wooden platforms stood alone where they once supported homes. We loved the wildness of the bayou drive. Oh, how I wished to have a canoe or kayak to explore the waterways. I understood why the locals refused to uproot to safer, higher ground. This was certainly a place that would get into your heart, your blood, and your soul. The bayou has a wild beauty that I have never experienced. It was quiet and haunting. I admired those who knew this beautiful land as their own.
We spent the day in New Orleans in the French Quarter, and I know it is a place where I will return to again and again. One day wasn’t nearly enough time. There was something to see at every turn. The architecture was delicately beautiful. The stench was overpowering on a hot day and reminded me of plagues of yellow fever with black swags on doors announcing death. It was the oldest, most beautiful untamed city I could ever imagine in this country.
We had our destinations in New Orleans mapped out. We parked our car and headed for Cafe Du Monde for cafe au lait and beignets. Delicious! A hot beverage wasn’t really what any of us wanted in the heat, but it was delicious nonetheless.
At Cafe Du Monde
After our snack, we headed through Jackson Square. It was a beautiful park with an incredible mix of musicians, artists, tourists, locals, homeless and crazy people, and performers. I could have planted myself on a bench in the shade for the rest of the day to simply watch the people passing by, but we had a destination. We were heading to Pirates Alley and William Faulkner’s New Orleans home. The home is now operating as a tiny book store.
Faulkner House Books ~ New Orleans
Faulkner House is where my journey began to take on different meaning for me. I LOVE, LOVE William Faulkner. This certainly isn’t my first Faulkner pilgrimage. For years, I have considered myself to be a student of Faulkner and Southern fiction. That is to say, I DID. At one time, I was knowledgeable about the latest offerings in Southern Fiction. Larry Brown, Eudora Welty, Rick Bass, John Dufresne….on and on, I could endlessly list my favorite Southern authors. At one time, I could tell you the exact release dates for upcoming Southern literature. Back in 2003, I was so afraid of missing the release of Larry Brown’s Rabbit Factory. I was pregnant with Lola, and I feared that if I died in childbirth, I would never get to read his latest. I emailed the publishing house, and they sent an unedited copy of the book which I was asked to review. It is/was one of my most treasured possessions. Larry Brown died shortly after the release of Rabbit Factory at the young age of 54.
I keep a picture of Faulkner on my desk at all times. I’m not sure exactly what the draw is, but his writing and the style of Southern fiction speaks to me. In Faulkner’s former home, I felt ashamed. Where had my passion and love for Southern fiction gone? When was the last time I read a REAL book? I stood there in Faulkner House and let his spirit berate me for my neglect. I gently touched the wooden door frame. I placed my hand on the banister. I let the spirit of Faulkner nourish my soul once again. I bought a book written by William Faulkner at Faulkner House Books, New Orleans Sketches. It was written in that very house. It practically vibrated in my hands as I carried it out of the building.
As much as I wanted to sit down in Jackson Square and read the book from cover to cover, there was not time. T and the girls had exhausted their patience with me and wanted to be on out way. We moved down the street exclaiming over and over as we went. There was so much to see! Em dragged me into Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo, and I bought a voodoo doll. It is made and blessed by a “local voodoo practioner.” This voodoo doll is supposed to be made specifically for “Conquering Obstacles.” Well, hey! It could not have found a better home!
Voodoo Doll
I was sad to leave New Orleans, but I knew it was a place already dear to my heart. I would be back, and my next visit would not be so brief.
The voodoo doll is now hanging in my room in Illinois. Pepper the Wondercat is suspicious of the new presence in our space. I caught him sitting on the dresser (which he never does!) and glaring at Voodoo Queen from across the room. Maybe that’s a good sign. She is already making her presence felt. I am ready to begin conquering the obstacles in my path. I’m ready to find that engaged and passionate woman I once was, and I can use all the help she can offer to me as I continue on this path.
Pam's Planet 