The Dreaded Late Hour Call

My father and I share the same eyes, hair color, and the family pre-disposition to poke fun at everything, no matter the situation, regardless of social etiquette.  So it seems fair that in this morning's conversation I jokingly accused him of attention seeking while he referenced Monty Python's Holy Grail with a slurred holler, "Bring out yer dead!"  Normal banter, but bittersweet today as he was flown by helicopter to Yale New Haven Hospital in the wee hours of the morning with an aneurism.  I missed the frantic overnight call from my Mom but I was relieved this morning to hear everyone alert and as calm as one can be given the circumstances.  I have never been so painfully aware of every mile between Texas and Connecticut.  To end the call knowing I am at least 24 hours of travel away from home, hollowed like an internal sink hole of desperation.

The seconds between noticing that out of place missed call at 12:39 a.m. until hearing my Mom's voice felt like slow motion running in mud.  It's like a nightmare being chased by all the negative outcomes and fears of what she'll say, how her voice will sound, or even who will answer at the other end.  With every phone ring  I found myself saying, "no, no, no,no,no!!!" Louder and louder, my dogs bewildered at my feet.  And then the huge relieved sigh when I hear her: voice steady, matter of fact, with that barely noticeable trace of panic (my Mom wears stress like everyday shoes!), "Yes, your Dad is stable, awaiting surgery and complaining because he can't have a snack or a cigarette."  Yep.  That's my Dad!

Over the past weeks, I've watched my friends go through long hospital scenarios with their husbands, mothers, and even one dear friend who unexpectedly lost her father just a few days ago.  People in my family tend to stay healthy well into their 90's, so I have had the privilege of avoiding such heartaches until now.  It's a very different empathy today than I had yesterday.  The understanding of potential loss, things left unsaid, minutes and hours taken for granted.  All the memories floating in like an old-timey snapshot slideshow as we wait for the doctor's next words. 

 So to all my friends that have struggled over long hospital hours, for the ones still fighting for their loved ones, for a special mouse-maker who continues to be a champion for her husband, and my dear friend who sadly will attend her father's funeral today; I reinforce my hugs, strengthen my prayers for you and understand with a fuller heart.

 

LOVE  &  PRAYERS!

18 Years In The Blink Of An Eye

 Eighteen years ago a little baby was about to make its way into the world.  Expecting our first child, we had spent months picking out just the right name for a little boy.  Using my full nesting powers I hand stitched enough tiny fish to string a border around the entire nursery.  Though baby would come a week before the due date, Hubby and I were ready.  And as the final push passed, and  we waited for little Ethan's arrival announcement, we heard the doctor exclaim, "It's a healthy baby GIRL!" 

Though her birth is about the only time she has been early for anything ever- she hasn't stopped surprising us, amazing us, and making us laugh nearly every day of the last 18 years.  Looking back to my journal entry on the day she was born I wrote, "Part of me is sad because she has been all mine for the past 9 months, and now I have to share her with the world."

As fate would have it, she turned out to be our only child and in ways more than she will ever know, she taught me to relax, to play, to heal, and to walk with the most certainty against the strongest currents. I now understand why so many people tell new moms, "It goes by so very fast", because indeed time gathers its moments and slips forward in a hurry. 

 

In the next few months, she will graduate high school and go to college.  In the afternoon, when she is not at home, I listen to the silence.  I try to imagine what this house will sound like without the whirr of a hair dryer, Nikki Minaj wars with her Dad, and her voice as it sings above her guitar strumming.  I smile thinking of her in September, venturing 300 miles away to a new chapter in a big city chasing after her dreams.

 I find myself stealing time back to those selfish lines of the day she was born. I am so overwhelmed with happiness and pride, but yet I am sad.  I am not yet ready to share her with the world.

  LOVE  &  HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Home Visit

Home for me will always be those drafty walls of the rambling 1759 colonial in Norwich, Connecticut.  It is where my life began, where I played with life-long friends, and where I grew up with the boy who became my husband. It is a simple yellow house that contains more memories than any photo book can hold.

 

When I go home to visit my parents I know that my house will look the same today as it did when I left 25 years ago. The floorboards still creak out a welcome and baskets my Mom has made throughout the years hang from low beams scraping the heads of anyone taller than 6 feet.  

 

In my childhood bedroom many of my toys remain for my nieces and nephew to play.  The stencil I loved so much as a little girl still graces the walls.  I remember the summer my mother painted each simple stroke, patiently, precisely, until the room was ringed to match the quilt she and her quilting bee friends just finished for me. 

 

I am one of the lucky few who can still visit my childhood any time I want with a simple flight from Texas.  Where others have photos and stories, I have the real thing to touch.  I can take my own daughter into the time warp of what my childhood looked like.  She can look out my window and see the house where her Dad grew up, and we can walk the memories her Dad and I had as kids. I can take her to the old graveyard where the hand of Bela Peck still rests atop his sea scroll stone. She can understand the artistic influences of her grandparents and marvel at the one room school house next door. 

 

I treasure these trips home.  I can't imagine life without this house.  My greatest hope is that my daughter will be able to return here 25 years down the road and touch her own childhood memories of this grand old place.

 

LOVE  &  HOME VISITS