Inspiring.

I had a discussion with Chris on his Just Talking podcast the other day, part of which focused on the idea that I am an inspiration.  (You can find it in its entirety, HERE.)

I wasn't able to articulate my feelings the way I wanted to, so I thought I'd turn here to try to explain my take on this.

I'm often told I'm inspiring, and it completely throws me.  Is "enduring" inspiring?  Is muddling my way through, inspiring? 

Ask my family...I'm no big deal.

What is it about surviving that is inspiring?

I really feel like everyone is inspiring.  That is why I encourage everyone to start a blog, or at least find other peers to connect with.  Your story means something, and will effect others.  Everyone is going through something.  Everyone is fighting against the odds of this world, does the fact that I live my life out loud on this blog really make me more inspiring than the next guy?

I'm laying it out on the table.  YOU are inspiring too.  You.  You who has "only" one child with diabetes.  You who got up this morning even though your spirit begged you not to.  You, who works a job that you don't love, or can't find a job at all, or stays at home and is completely underappreciated because of it.

All of you.

I see people with many years under their belt who walk down the street, with obvious wear and tear written all over their face.  What is their story?  I bet if you sat down with them for an hour you would be blown away.  Their tales are powerful, as are yours.  Putting your story out there can make a difference in someone else's life.  We all know that there isn't such a thing as a simple life.  Why do you try to labels yours as such?

Is it the fact that I didn't fold and give up on life?  Is that why I'm inspiring?

 

I don't fold, because I take one step at a time, just like you do.  Looking at my life in front of me is daunting.  I have a dear friend named Dov who has just celebrated 5 years of survivorship with terminal cancer.  He has endured treatments for those five years that seem unfathomable.  But yet in every sense of the word he LIVES, and he is called an inspiration by all because of it, (me included.  Which is funny/ironic to both of us that we see the other as inspiring, but don't see it in ourselves.)  In his own words Dov says, "We had no idea what was before us.  A true gift in many ways.  Had we known, would we have had the strength to continue forward into the pain that awaited?  I would like to think yes.  I would like to believe that I would still have the determination to step forward down the path that lay before me, but I fear that would be nothing but a pleasant lie to feed my ego.  In truth, I think I only...I think we only, found the strength to deal with each step as we made it.  As we told each other early on, reciting lines from a book we read to our 3 year old: Can't go over it,  can't go under it,  can't go around it,  gotta go through it.  We don't do it out of courage, we do it out of necessity.  We don't do it out of strength, we do it out of dogged determination.  We don't do it to inspire, we do it because there is simply no other choice." 

 

Like Dov and his family, I feel like I have no other choice but to move forward and rise above the aching and the hurt.  When hard things are put in your path, you do the same too.

 

Maybe I'm "inspiring" because I always try to see the good in things.  I wonder if I'm hardwired that way, or if it is simply a coping mechanism.  I'm not sure why I try to spin everything towards hope...maybe it was Ryan's influence, maybe it is my faith, but if that is why I am inspiring to you, then I will own it.

If I help you look for the better?  If I help you to look up  at the sky?  If I help you look at your day a little more brightly?

Then, like a boss...I'll accept I'm inspiring.

But here is the thing...

You can be just as inspiring as me.  Not only CAN you be, you already are.

I know you are going through things.  Or have been through things.  Or will go through things.  Life is freaking hard.  But you get up, and do what needs to be done.  And for that I give you a standing ovation.

You are a fighter.  You wouldn't be here right now if you weren't.  You wouldn't be checking in here if you weren't trying to find something to connect with.  You are reaching out to the universe, even if it is silently.   The thing is, your presence needs to be felt beyond your front door...you are valuable. 

"But I'm just coping," you say.

"But I'm just doing what has to be done," you say.

I say those things too, friend. 

We are no different.

I'm inspired every day by people just like you.  Don't underestimate your wonderfulness.

Don't hide your light.

You are freaking awesome.  I'm sure of it. 

You walk through life thinking you haven't accomplished much, but when was the last time you turned around and really looked at how far you've come?  How far you traveled?  How much you have overcome?

So stop pointing your fingers at me, and start looking in the mirror.

You are an inspiration.

And if you haven't heard it in awhile,  I want to say thank you for being so.

Anatomy of a high.

He walked into the room, his face ashen white. 

"Mom, I'm 578."

My mind began to race, tracing our history for the last few hours.  We had taken a three hour tour of the coastal shores.  L had peed three times in that amount of time, and sipped contentedly on two water bottles from the cooler.  We dined on sandwiches while watching the magnificent sunset, but since he was high and feeling it, L decided to pass on them until he came down. 

Except he hasn't come down.

Blood Ketones: 4.7

Though these days are few and far between, we both knew the sick day protocol and sprung silently into our collective roles.  He changed into his pajamas and grabbed a bowl and a large water bottle from the cupboards.  I grabbed a big soft blanket and arranged the ketone strips and One touch strips within reach.  He lay next to me as the miserableness began to slowly creep into his stomach.

"Mom, I'm going to throw up."

I rubbed his back until the feeling passed.  He sipped purposely on his water and I rechecked his blood sugar, noting the sorry state of his fingertips.

600.

Crap.

"Sorry babe, we have to pull it."

As I peeled back the infusion set I find the culprit of our woes, the cannula is bent in half.  I changed this set at 2:30.  It was now 9:00, and he has been without insulin for a full 6 and a half hours.  I smile at L and walk casually to the cupboard, deliberately trying not to scare him. I can't remember the last shot I had to give him by syringe.  He isn't going to be happy.

As I explain to him what must be done, a set change and a shot of insulin, I see firsthand where the saying, 'stiff upper lip' comes from.  He closes his large round eyes, lifts his chin and wills his bravery to take over.  I slip the needle smoothly into his arm and he says, "Tell me when you do it."

I had already done it.  Win.

And then he throws up.

At this point the fear begins to creep up my back, but I wink at him telling him the worst is over.  I take the bowl away to clean it up and in an instant I'm taken to that dark place.  The place where worry reigns and your body is paralyzed from the thoughts of what could be.  The hospital?  No.  I will not take him there unless I must.  Taking him there would mean I give up all control.  I shake those thoughts away...don't get ahead of yourself, Meri.  We aren't anywhere near there yet.

A recheck shows we are in the 400's.  Ketones are descending...we are going in the right direction.  The light of hopefulness fuels me to keep up the work.   Insulin.  Fluids.  Insulin.  Fluids.

It took four hours, but I got him down to 140 with .4 ketones.  It was 1 am when I allowed myself a nap. 

The alarm relentlessly gawked an hour and a half later, until I succumbed to its cry.

48 with 0.4 ketones.  I took a deep cleansing sigh, grateful I passed on the sleeping pill tonight.  I've slept through too many alarms as of late, I knew tonight was too important. 

Apple juice, apple juice.  Deep down I knew the apple juice would bring him up, and not keep him up.  I've always known it.  But I talk myself into thinking it will be fine.  Hundreds of families treat with apple juice only...and look!  An hour later he is 136!  I will set my alarm for another hour and see what happens.

But as happens when you are deliriously exhausted, and don't have a husband to nudge you out of bed...I somehow slumbered through my gawking alarm.  Vivid dreams took over.  Fear can try to keep me up all night, but faith that everything will be ok makes one fine pillow.  I was carried away in the happiness of my dreamy state and didn't wake up until 6am.

Where he was found to be 56 with 1.7 ketones.

He opened his eyes and smiled wryly at me.  "How many times did you check me last night?"

"Just a couple times my sweetness."

He pulled his legs under himself and swung his arms lovingly around my shoulders, causing me to almost lose my balance on the edge of the bunk bed.

"I'm so lucky to have an angel mom.  Thank you for taking care of me."

As I breathed in his genuine expression of love and thankfulness, all the worry from last night melted into adoration.

"You're staying home with me today, handsome.  You are the king of the castle.  Name any breakfast and it's yours."

And as he poured his own cereal with his hands still dimpled from the last breaths of babydom, I witnessed true love in action.

We faced our fear last night.  Though it seems facing fears has become part of our normal these days.  I won't allow the fear to turn our life into one of self pity...in fact I vow to use it to make us stronger.  There is a quote, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but the mastery of it."  That is our quest.  To master our fears and conquer each one.  One at a time.  One day at a time.

Though when ketones are present...one minute at a time.

Ode to sleep

Oh, sleep.

Oh, solitude for my weary soul.

Oh, peaceful hideaway for my swelly brain.

Oh, comfort for my buzzing body.

Oh, how I miss thee.

Your warm embrace and kind face.

Your soft welcoming when I need a friend most.

The host to my party of calm.

The right that fixes all the wrong.

Oh, sleep.

Why must your tethers of understanding be just out of my grasp?

Why must diabetes rob us of our reunion?

Why must I stand by your side unable to partake in your goodness?

Why do you wink at me so?

You know  how I long for you.

You must know you are always on my mind.

You have to know it is you I would run to if I could.

Oh, sleep.

Reach out your hand and take me in.

Envelope me in your kindness, your warmth, your justice.

Let the dreams swirl around me and take away the reality.

Drown the hurt in your melody.

Soothe the scars with your restful salve.

Let peace reign.

Let me rest.

Rest.

Rest.

Oh, good sleep. 

One day I will be in your arms again.

One day I will partake.  I will drink in every last ounce of your goodness.

One day.

Until then, adieu.

Think of me too?

Pray for our reuniting.

I will soldier through this day, and relish my glimpse of you tonight.

Oh, sleep.

Oh, how I love thee.

I will brightly endure the middle place a bit longer. 

Not awake.  Not asleep.

Until our time together comes...

Wait for me.

48 Questions: Getting to know Meri

Cherise over at DSMA suggested the DOC get to know each other better by answering these 48 questions.  I'm down with that.  Get to know little ol' me, and consider answering them yourself!

 

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

 

I was named after a character on a Soap Opera.  Because anything other than that would have been normal.

 

 

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

 

The day before yesterday, midnight, in bed, during a very one-sided conversation with Ryan.

 

 

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?

 

My handwriting is pretty freaking awesome...for the first three or four words, then it's all downhill from there.

 

 

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?

 

If I'm at the deli, I'll most always choose chicken breast.  At home, I'd go with the honey ham.

 

 

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

 

I have four boys around here somewhere...

 

 

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?

 

Depends on who I was.  If I was another mom at school, sure.  I'm nice enough.  If I was a D Mom, sure.  I'd pick my brain.  But if I was the woman that cut me off in front of drugstore today, then no...because I gave her the look of death, and if I was on the other side of that look, I'd be scared....and wouldn't like me at all.

 

 

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?

 

No, I'm perfect.   Ok.  Maybe yes.

 

 

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?

 

Yup.   Though I wish I didn't .  They have caused me all sorts of trouble.

 

 

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?

 

Hell to the no.  I love roller coasters, but that first giant drop...you know, the one where you climb for 20 minutes and then drop straight down at?  That feeling in your stomach?  THAT feeling is my worst nightmare, and I believe bungee jumping is all about that feeling.  So again.  No.  Hell no.

 

 

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?

 

I'm a Crispix fan.  I also will dabble in the occasional Fruit Loop a couple times a year.  My favorite childhood cereal was Halfsies.  Do you remember those?  They were seriously the bomb.

 

 

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?

 

I work really really hard NOT to buy shoes with laces.  I don't have time for that.  But my work out shoes do tie, and I do untie them, and retie them snuggly so my foot isn't  rolling around them when I'm doing my thing.

 

 

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?

 

In some ways I'm Hercules.  In others I'm Olive Oyl.

 

 

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?

 

I'm a Baskin Robbins fan:  Mint Chip and Gold Medal Ribbon.  Otherwise at home I'm a vanilla kinda girl.

 

 

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

 

Their eyes.  People with kind eyes are my favorite.

 

 

15. RED OR PINK?

 

Hands down, red.  I'm not a pink girl, though I am trying to embrace my inner girl these days, which means a little pink here and there.

 

 

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?

 

My extra poundage.

 

 

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?

 

There is this guy.  I miss him every minute of every day.

 

 

18. WHAT IS THE TECHNIQUE THAT YOU NEED TO WORK ON THE MOST?

 

Whatever technique it is that will get my boys to aim properly.

 

 

19. WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?

 

I am not wearing shoes, or socks.  And that is just how I like it.  A big problem as of late has been having cold feet at night.  Ryan used to warm them up for me, and now he can't.  Wearing socks to sleep isn't ideal either.  My uber sweet friend April gave me an electric blanket for my birthday last week to fix this very problem.  She is currently on the top of my favorites list.

 

 

20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?

 

Popcorn.   I wish I could say chocolate chip cookies, but after taking out all the ingredients to make some, I realized we are out of milk.  And cookies without milk is a big fail in my book.

 

 

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

 

Eric Clapton:  Wonderful Tonight.

 

 

22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?

 

Red, true Red.  There just aren't enough true Red crayons in this world.  There are a million of those purpley red ones though.

 

 

23. FAVORITE SMELLS?

 

The perfume Ryan gave me for Mothers Day last year, Eau Tendre made by Chanel.  Also, the smell of onions sautéing...or just dinner cooking in general.

 

 

24. HOW IMPORTANT ARE YOUR POLITICAL VIEWS TO YOU?

 

I'm smart enough to have views, and smart enough to have them from either side of the aisle.  Politics are the last thing I need to worry about right now.  Besides, politicians are at the bottom of my list right now.

 

 

25. MOUNTAIN HIDEAWAY OR BEACH HOUSE?

 

Both.  If there is a view of a sunset, or a sunrise...I'm in.

 

 

26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?

 

Back when I was a teenager I was a basketball fanatic.  Jordan was the air that I breathed.  Now, I don't watch basketball as I learned the entire game is determined in the last two minutes.  San Francisco Giants baseball, however...I am a big fan of.  I even know the players names.

 

 

27. HAIR COLOR?

 

Blond and light brown.

 

 

28. EYE COLOR?

 

Green.  My mom says they are blue.  My mom is wrong.

 

 

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?

 

No.  My vision has always been pretty awesome. 

 

 

30. FAVORITE FOOD?

 

Homemade chocolate chip cookies.

 

 

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

 

Happy Endings.  Always.

 

 

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?

 

Les Miserables.  I didn't know anything of the story, and was enthralled with the entire thing.  Once Russell Crow pinned that medal on that dead boy's jacket...I was a complete wreck.

 

 

33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?

 

A chocolate brown sweater.

 

 

34. SUMMER OR WINTER?

 

Summer.  But Summer here in Northern California.  Not Arizona summer.  Not Florida summer.  Only CALIFORNIA summer.

 

 

35. FAVORITE DESSERT?

 

I already answered this under favorite food.  What kind of questions are these?  Are chocolate chip cookies not considered a food?  What the what?

 

 

36. STRENGTH TRAINING OR CARDIO?

 

Cardio.  Just because I haven't been taught the proper way to strength train.  I'm hoping to learn this year.

 

 

37. COMPUTER OR TELEVISION?

 

I've all but given up on TV.  My computer on the other hand is my BFF.

 

 

38. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?

 

I have Think Like a Pancreas sitting right next to me, waiting.

 

 

39. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?

 

I don't own a mouse, and if I did I wouldn't give it its own pad.  I would kick it out on the street.  Mice are not welcome here.  (And I own a laptop.  Not a desktop.)

 

 

40. FAVORITE SOUND?

 

The sound when you break open a fresh bottle of insulin.  Ahhh...life.  That's the stuff!

 

 

41. FAVORITE GENRE OF MUSIC?

 

I like all music.  But right now I'm digging the Eagles Channel on Pandora radio.

 

 

42. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?

 

Germany.

 

 

43. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?

 

Yes.  :)

 

 

44. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

 

I was born in the same town I live in today.

 

 

45. WHERE ARE YOU LIVING NOW?

 

In the same town I was born in.

 

 

46. WHAT COLOR IS YOUR HOUSE?

 

Beige-y, yellow-y

 

 

47. WHAT COLOR IS YOUR CAR?

 

Light brown.

 

 

48. DO YOU LIKE ANSWERING 48 QUESTIONS?

 

I like blogging.  And since I am blogging this, I will say yes.  But really, this question is all kinds of insecure.  "Do you like me?  Do you REALLY like me????"  Now I'm ending this mean, and I hate that.  New answer:  Yes, 48 questions.  I like you!  You are ah-maz-ing!  Call me! 

 

(Man, I really do need to work on #7.)

 

Dear 42

Dear 42,

Hey.  W'sup.  When you showed up on our doorstep last week I have to admit I was taken back a bit.    I am sure we hadn't exchanged any kind of correspondence regarding a visit.  In fact, when I first saw your face I wasn't entirely sure who you were.   You looked very familiar...I just couldn't place when or where our paths had crossed before.  Since then I have come to terms with the fact that I probably blocked out our last meeting to save my sanity.  My swelly brain freely stores information, but sometimes it must dump the unpleasant to survive.  You're previous visits, I'm sure...we're duly dumped.  Well anyway, since you showed up last week, I can't get you off my mind.  So I am writing you this letter to clear the air.

Let me begin by saying, I'm really a nice person.  Seriously, people like me...and even more than that...I like people!  I don't generally judge anyone as a rule. I am polite, and pleasant, and courteous.  Sure, I'm a little sassy too, but when I speak to those that are all but strangers to me, I hold it as a general rule not to "call them out" as it were.

But in this case, I must make an exception.  In fact, your visit has been on my mind so much, this letter is an absolute necessity.

All of the above written as a caveat so I can say what I really want to say.  And that is this: 

You suck. 

If you ever show your face around here again, I will juice you.

Try one more time to touch one ounce of blood in my boy's body and you will wish you were a 330 eradicated by insulin.

I have glucagon, and I swear I am not afraid to use it.

Crawl back into your cave of hypoglycemic woe and live a long miserable life alone like the vermin you are.

Do not try to be our friend.

Do not call.  Do not write.  And with all the trueness and genuineness in my heart I say:  Wanna stop by?  OH HELL NO!

Call me an anti-low-ite if you must, but your kind is not welcome here.

I am your worst nightmare.  I am a D-Mom.   And I will win any confrontation you begin.  I will rise my son out of the ashes of misery created by your fire.  Together we will turn you into a completely different figure altogether.  A figure so far off than yourself, you won't even recognize who you are in just 10 minutes time.

You will be shamed by the other low numbers.  You will bring no honor to your 42.

So beat it.

Scram.

Go on.  GET OUTTA HERE!

Find a bowling alley to cause misery.

Or a highway somewhere in Iowa.

Tack yourself on the end of our already sky high gas prices for all I care.

Just don't come here, into my son's day.

Ever.

You think you're scary? You don't want to meet me alone at the bedside late at night. If you were to find me there, you would find out the real definition of scary. That's all I'm sayin'.  Sorry to be so harsh, but it is my job to protect my son.  You understand.  Right? 

Sincerely,

P.S. Did you do something new to your hair?  It looks like hell.

The accidental patient.

The littles started group therapy at Hospice on Monday.  They were nervous, but ready to meet other kids like themselves.

Out of all the Moms in the world, they have one that truly gets the power of "same"...so I encouraged them, and routed for them...and they enthusiastically said they would give it a go.

They loved it.  I could hear L's group laughing and running around the room from two walls away.  Music to my ears!

I on the other hand, was in the kitchen having my heart ripped out.

Dramatic much?

When the therapist told me about the boys' meetings, she casually mentioned that the moms meet in the kitchen to talk while the kids are in their groups.  Since I didn't want to just drop the boys off and drive away, (they may have needed me!) I decided I would talk to the moms in the kitchen to pass the time.

But as I walked into the kitchen, I found a group of woman sitting around a table, with nametags, and a candle lit...and two moderators running a MEETING.

"Oh, I'm sorry!  I must have the wrong room..."

"Oh no!  Aren't you Meri?  We've been waiting for you."

Sure enough my eyes focused in on a nametag waiting for me.  This was no casual meet-up.  This was therapy.

Yeah...I had absolutely no intention in participating in a therapy session.  Ever.

Regardless, I couldn't just run away...although the thought certainly did flash through my mind.  I sat down like the responsible adult I am, and went along with it.

Two professionals.  A rundown of the rules and goals, who was here, who wasn't here and why.  A talking stick.  This was real, people. 

And the kicker was...they were expecting me to come back.  This was a 5 month thing and it was just taken as fact that I would be attending each and every week.

So there I was.  A deer caught in the headlights.  At a table of woman who had lost someone important in their lives.  All the "same" that I have been touting to the boys was sitting right in front of me.  It was comforting and horrifying all at the same time. 

One of the themes discussed was that my children's success in processing their grief depends completely on me.  Studies show if I handle it well, they will.

And this is supposed to make me feel better, how?  I have to hand it to them though.  It guilted me into agreeing to attend next week.  I want my babies to be happy and healthy.  Walking away would be totally arrogant...I can't pretend I have a handle on this grieving thing.

I know it is good for me to attend.  I know I will glean valuable insight if I listen to these woman.  I KNOW these things.

It's just so much easier to write it out on my blog than to hash it out in person...with people that have the same hurt in their eyes as I do.

Crap.

I'm in therapy.

 And I'm not happy about it.  At all.  They boys were told in their groups that I was in a group too, and they think that's the greatest thing ever.   

What have I gotten myself into?  If Ryan is responsible for any part of this, he's getting a stern talking to when I see him again.

There is no use fighting it.  It's on.  I can only hope that the power of same will heal me the same way it has done in the Diabetes Online Community environment.

Now I just need to look into having my tear ducts removed before the next meeting on Monday.

 That's totally feasible, right?

We grew old together.

I posted a link to my last blog post on Facebook and my sister commented, "Dude, your year sucked!"  God bless her.  I had to laugh...I love my sister so much, and she is probably the only person in the world who could have wrote that and made me smile instead of cringe.

But as I thought about those words, and how true they surely must be, I can't find it anywhere in me to agree with them.

I honestly can't say that last year sucked.

And here is why:  For most of last year, I had Ryan here with me.

Looking back I don't see pain and heartache all year.  Yes, it is true that the last three months of the year sucked, but before that I see Ryan and me, side by side...and nothing sucked about that at all.

In fact, we endeavored to do what we had wanted to do from the beginning: We were able to grow old together.

Ryan's diagnosis made us slow down.  Physically, emotionally and spiritually.  Physically, right off the bat, Ryan didn't have the energy he used to.  He was tired all the time, and since we were connected in so many ways...I slowed down too.

He only had the energy to go see his customers for a few hours in the morning, so he was usually home before noon.  We would have lunch together every day.  It felt like he was retired.

We were able to gain a perspective that is generally only afforded to those that are later on in years.  We saw what was important, and we saw the beauty in the world through the glasses of thankfulness.

I remember Ryan's friend Jason flew in to visit us, about a month before Ryan passed.  He rented a mustang convertible and he picked us up for lunch.  Ryan and I greeted him at the door, pasty and pudgy, like the retired couple we were, and we visited awhile before departing.  We uncomfortably got into the sports car and headed to the restaurant.  It was a hot day...and Ryan and I looked at each other, feeling so completely out of place.  Despite the 90 degree temperatures, we both wore sweaters and sunscreen...and hats.  Honestly, it felt like we were 80 year olds.  We had slowed down so much that when Jason asked us what we wanted to do afterwards...what adventure, what trouble could we get into, Ryan and I said we just wanted to go home and sit.

I look back on that day and it's hard to wrap my head around it.  Today I would say, let's go to the city!  Let's go to the beach!  Let's have an adventure!  In fact, if it was just a month before Ryan's diagnosis, we both would have been ready to party.

But last summer it was like we were stuck in slow motion.  And all the thoughtful nuances that come with old age, came to us.  Seriously, if we had rocking chairs out on the front stoop, we would have been rocking in them looking at the sky for hours and hours every night.   We appreciated everything.  In fact, here is a text exchange between Ryan and I two weeks before he passed:

Losing Ryan sucked.

Yes.

But last year I had him.  Last year his hand was in mine.  Last year we experienced something magical.  Amongst all the chaos that cancer brought to the table...we were able to find peace and hope in every hour.   We appreciated the little things, the small moments that generally wash by you like a quick breeze.  We found a deeper and more profound love for life, and in doing so, we felt older and wiser.

We grew old together.

Slowly, the last couple months, the hands of time have drawn backwards, and I'm feeling younger than I have in years.  I have energy, the extra pounds are dropping and there is pink in my cheeks once again.  I'm ready for adventures again.  I feel like Brad Pitt in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.  Even though I'll be 40 next week I feel like I'm growing young.

So sorry sis, no year sucked that had Ryan in it.  There is a reverence to 2012 that will stay with me forever.  I am thankful for every minute, every second I had with him.

2013?  Now that remains to be seen.  I'm not even going to venture a guess on how it's going to go.


But I'm hopeful it won't completely suck.