Dig Deep

Recently someone considered that though I might believe myself to love two children I didn't birth, that in actuality, they know that I don't.

When anyone poses an opinion with such resolve, I can't help but envision myself a student of Socrates.
Well? DO you love them as though you hefted their fetal weight around for 9 months and then upon their first breath, forgot you ever cursed the heavens for their foot in your rib cage?
How do you KNOW that you do?
Should you have to choose between them and your children, would the scales tip even minimally in your biological direction?
Are you sure?
Dig deep. Can you be honest with yourself?

6 years ago I wrote a letter to a little girl on her 1st death anniversary.

I told her about how I met her parents. How I thought her daddy was a woman (you'd have to read the original post), how her momma sat beside her as my world stopped and said:
Pay attention to this sleeping child. Pay attention to this moment in your life.
How she looked to me like a pleading cherub, tiny and delicate, palms open to the heavens and bowed head as she slept off chemo.

You can read in this letter how many times I referred to myself as a selfish heart. Keening with my youngest daughter in my arms thinking, 'it could have been my child!'.

From my very first sight of Jasmine, I loved her. In her there were atoms pulling at mine, reminding me that we all came from stardust and are intertwined in ways we cannot ever entirely fathom. That once we acknowledge and accept this, we cannot help but be anchored to each other for ever. While my mind thought selfishly about how SHE could have been MY child, my heart began to work on teaching me that I loved her as though she WERE my child.

Unfortunately this is a story that in order to imprint its lesson, had to end tragically.
Jasmine Uhl never actually spoke. At two and a half years of age she had more surgeries and hospital stays than most adults will have in an entire lifetime. While At/Rt stole from her the ability to communicate verbally, in no way did it rob her from speaking to those who knew her.
Grunts, facial expressions, screeches, giggles...smiles. She'd pat my face and turn it to her. Jasmine liked to look at you like she could see through you. Without asking, you knew she understood your words.
Somewhere on Facebook there's still a page to commemorate Jasmine. There's her own Facebook page too. I see her tagged now and again by one of the hundreds of people that heard her story or knew her in person. She touched each of them wordlessly.
But she changed me entirely.
She taught me to love things you cannot ever own.

I was nervous meeting Clara and Henry. They were the small children of a man I knew I would never be apart from. Loving him, I would automatically love half of each of his children. They deserved to be loved independently of their father however and I would watch them at their worst and at their best wondering: Can I love them? Am I sure? Dig deep.
Clara, green eyed Clara. She was so shy. She hid from me behind a recliner and her peeking face is still with me to this day. It would take me some time to learn that in her most blunt commentary she was simply genuine.
"Oh I see what you did! Instead of using REAL equipment you used TRASH to make those! It's so creative!" She stated after she saw me curing fondant over (CLEAN!!) pieces of foil and paper towel rolls.
Some days she is grumpy. She's not a morning person. She's not even a night person. Once she's too hungry or tired, she breaks apart pretty fast. I've picked her up and carried her to her bed, laid down and sung her to sleep when she's been too tired to go and too sad to do so alone. She's a lot like my Aeva, sometimes people confuse her. It's like Aeva, and not Iris, has a twin that somehow grew somewhere else in a different time.
Henry is ever joyous and loud and loud (did I mention loud??) and also he is loud! As a daddy's boy I didn't anticipate him being the most difficult of the two when it came to acceptance. He vies for daddy's time and attention like no other. Henry idolizes Ian in the sweetest of ways. Ever the right hand man, if Ian is working you can find Henry right next to him.
Or next to me. Learning Henry meant speaking his language. Letting him help in the kitchen endeared him to me. And perhaps... it endeared me to him. We work together on chores and he never tells me no.
"Some people aren't as lucky to have both a mommy and a daddy---"
"And a Sherlin!"
What began as a conversation about children in the adoption world became one of the sweetest interruptions I might ever know.

Jasmine lived a short short life. With the ending of her life, came the ending of my own phase in life.
A painful and prolonged divorce came on the heels of a vial of Jasmines ashes being placed in my hands. I endured. I let go of what wasn't meant to be.
Invasive surgery robbed me of my ability to walk for 6 horrible months. A year of therapy. Facing my 4th surgery in mere weeks I remember what sustained me during the last: Jasmines strength through all of hers.
The note her mother wrote on behalf of Jasmine that I've kept all these years.
If a child can smile after so many surgeries, why can't I?

And if someone can love a child they adopt, or a child they watch fight for life....
Why can't I love two children who bring me new light?

I've written about Jasmine many times.
Sometimes I go back and re-read the first time I did.

My ex husband abrasively told me to stay away from Jasmine when prognosis was dim.
"Why attach yourself to someone who ISNT going to live? You know it's going to hurt more in the end."
Selfish.
But my own selfish heart refused to let go of hope and it threw itself into the push and pull match of fighting Cancer. It wrung itself out when Hospice came into sight. Even as Jasmine lost the ability to find clarity and slept away her days, my selfish heart hung on to her. I wanted to be there as often as I could so I could gather into my being all the snap shot memories of her little hands and feet, of her wispy curls. I would hold my breath when hers caught and I would return home aching and tired.
Do you want to do this?? Are you sure? Dig deep.
I'd return again each day.
While the time grew shorter, the roots grew deeper.
And the fear grew stronger.
What would the world be without Jasmine? What would her parents do? What would *I* do?
How does someone exist one moment and simply not the next?
Would I want to be there when she left us?
What right did my selfish heart have to ask any of this that didn't belong to ME.
Can I bare to be there when she's gone?
Am I sure?
Dig. Deep.

6 years ago today, in a mere few hours, Jasmine ascended to the heavens while the world crashed around so many of us in that living room.
Someone new broke open in me as I helped her mother wash her scarred and yet tiny body. Brush out sweet curls. Someone who loved Jasmine like she loved the children she carried, watched Jasmines father hold his daughter one last heartbreaking time.

When she was walked out and handed to the morticians, this new person felt as bereft as though she'd given over her own child.

A year ago today I married the man I love more than myself. A man of unprecedented strength, loyalty, gentleness and kindness. I tethered myself, more than willingly, to a life as his wife and a life with his children.
My children.

A child can only have one biological mother. One biological father. There is no way around that.
But a mother, any mother, can have more than one child and love them. She can split her heart up infinitely and each part be as strong as the others. Their atoms stretching and entwining with the children she belongs to.

Do you take this man and his children? Do you promise to love always, in sickness and in health?
Are you sure?
Dig deep.

Yes. For she taught me.

Bolt

Is it an irony that for all that I endeavor to keep my life a little on the natural hippie side of the tracks, I am also counting down to the day that I become more metal than I already am? 

Pun totally intended, in case you were wondering. 

Last week we met with my ortho-surgeon Dr. Hoover, to officially mark myself ready for cyborg initiation and start the paperwork. In typical fashion I both blotted a sudden leak from my eyes and laughed nervously as I asked every possible question from my oh-so-patient surgeon. We looked at scans of what my joint looks like and he explained the difficulties of slicing through a graft, the possible complications, how his method of entry varies from my previous surgeries, how we will prep in the last 3 months leading up, as well as what recovery could look like. 

I mostly want to know if the pain will stop and if I can get him to preserve the cut ball joint in a jar for me. Morbid I know but cmon. Would YOU feel comfortable with a discarded piece of your body just getting put in the incinerator?!? 

"So we can get you booked today if you want."

"We're still waiting on Bolt"

"Ah that's right! Good. My secretary can book you when he's ready."

Bolt had his own pin removed the day prior. I got to see him being led off to surgery after waiting the better part of 2 hours for a decision. When his vet met with me and Bolt's foster, he mentioned PT and a concern with limited movement of the injured wrist as well as a 70% healed fracture. It short: It's gonna be a while. 

"When you check out, we'll give you some reading material and lab work papers."

What he really meant was:

I'm basically assigning you to scrub in as my assistant so you've got 6 years of Med school to catch up on in this 300 page 'booklet'. 

Oh. And a little workshop put on by the hospital for Total Hip Replacement patients where you'll basically be the only one there that isn't retired since forever ago. 

I asked Ian to remind me what the surgeon expected me to attend at the hospital and he said: Surgery. Good thing he remembers so well otherwise I might have sent someone in my place. 

GRAND. 

Sitting through the labs the surgeon ordered for me I get a sense of relief knowing that it's official. For the last 10 years I have been facing this procedure and likewise avoiding it. 

There are a few medical concerns to be ruled out through blood work and a good deal of mental processing to be done so in anticipation I asked Ian if I would be allowed to volunteer at the D.C. Temple in the gardens. Through a little bit of networking, I find that there's a group traveling up from Virginia to work in the garden the same Saturday Ian has scheduled for his own Temple trip and sign myself up. 

Ian and I, though vastly different in our religious views, are both deeply spiritual. Worship brings us both a sense of calm and centering. For Ian, the most holiest of places for communing with his God is in the LDS Temple. If you're from this area and traveled through 495 outer loop towards silver springs, you've seen the white castle-like structure that seems to suddenly arise from the horizon with its golden spires and singular Angel, trumpet at the ready. 

When I first moved to Maryland it intrigued me but I could never figure out what it was. There was no cross. No signs. No visible way to make it to the palace in the sky. I have since learned that the Angel is called Moroni, always facing east to the sunrise as though he calls it forth. The Temple, a holy and sacred place for the Latter Day Saints and a building I will never enter whilst it is sealed 

See I am not Mormon. Nor do I plan to be. 

My church surrounds the temple in the greenery and plants and soil that make up the beautiful Gardens that LDS Temples are also known for. Being the beginning of spring I looked forward to planting flowers or bulbs.  

Brother Amaya hands me gloves....and  giant hedge clippers. 

"Today we will prune the trails!"

Brother Amaya is excited about pruning away months worth of growth and collected dried tree limbs because alas...it's not yet time to plan the flowers. 

First he sets me to break down large limbs that will be taken to the dumpster on little gator-trolleys. When he sees me struggling with bigger limbs he hands me a saw. A nasty curved thing that eats at wood like it's nothing. I cut limbs and branches and large logs. Each time thinking: This isn't what I WANTED to do...

Which is quickly followed with the Buddhist idea that manual labor is a chance to meditate. Quiet the body and open the mind. 

"Why don't you move over here, and help me prune away the bushes? There are plenty people carrying and breaking down sticks."

Brother Amaya is originally from El Salvador. So is Brother Castillo. He's further up the trail spraying down stumps. I suspect Brother Amaya enjoys speaking Spanish with someone new for a change. 

"Am I to cut down even these lively bushes??"

"Yes. There are not needful here. They choke up the tree that we want growing big and strong."

I'm not one for pruning because I am not one for culling away the plants. 

Children do not see a weed when they pick dandelions, they see a flower. 

I still see a flower. Each plant, is still one to keep. I silently chat with the Earth and thank the bushes for their temporary greenery. 

And I wonder why Brother Amaya keeps pushing me to prune more varied things. 

"You see this offshoot branch on the tree? It's unnecessary. It does the tree no good. Cut it with the saw, close to its bend up and diagonal."

I slice away a limb off the tree we are clearing space for and I run my finger over the jagged slice I've made. 

"It's a good cut for a starter! In time the tree will heal over this cut, and it will not even show a scar."

As we continue down a hill, cutting away and stacking bush and upon bush, thorns through my gloves no longer bothering me, Brother Amaya talks to me about Immigration, the Book of Mormon, and difficult but righteous choices. 

He's aware I am not a member of the church but I am a member of his clan...Hispanic immigrants. 

"Your family made a difficult choice in order to ensure your prosperity and in order to do what is right. They left their lands and risked a long voyage to a new country. It is sad that many of the new generations forget the sacrifice."

"I don't. I honor them as I can, always choosing what is right although it is hard.  Standing up for others who may not have that voice."

"It reminds me of Moses. Do you know his story?"

"The Prince of Egypt. I do."

"Before they knew he was a Jew they took him in and he was like them. He was a Prince. But when he found out who his people, his ancestors were...he gave up his inheritance so as to do what was right. Can you imagine giving all of that up??"

We pruned away a while longer before Ian made his way down from the Temple and caught up with me. As he and Brother Amaya chatted down the trails, I hung back to watch the small swarm of caterpillars cling to the side of a sappy tree. I stooped to run my fingers through baby ferns and dewy moss. In the nursery I read the labeled on what would become jasmine and what were the different types of Japanese Maples, a tree I favor. A variety of which I have many in my yard at home. Their leaves are soft and supple, they change colors and become vibrant for their summer.  

In the gardens I can hear the steady heartbeat of Gaia and the humming of the green things that grow. I can listen to the universe and Deity best in this temple of earth and it was whispering to me while I strayed behind the men. 

I met with the Trainer that will be helping me certify Bolt as a service dog that same afternoon. 

I pulled out my journal with all my notes on Bolt from when I've seen him at the vet and then closed it again. 

The whispering became clear. 

"With what we know about Bolt, his need for recovery, and the training he is facing with you.... do you think that it would be more harm than good for Bolt? I want to know now, before I further fall in love with him, if this is the best kind of home for him. Bolt deserves the best family, one that will let him grow fat and lazy and not require him to work. As much as this family loves him...this would be a home where he would have to work. A home where he would walk more than most dogs and be less able to seek out the petting of all the humans he encounters. I want to know, now, sooner rather than later if he would be better served in a home where he is not a service dog."

See while I was out pruning away live things striving to lean into the life force of those trees, I was being given a lesson. 

Those vines and those bushes love that big tall tree. They love the safety of its embrace. But they stifle the tree, and they're kept from much sunlight. 

Keeping Bolt I would have been the vines and bushes keeping Bolt from his best life. 

So, because I love him so, I let him go.

He deserves so much that I cannot give him. Even if he has my whole heart. 

Sometimes I wish the gears were in my heart and not my hip and when it hurt to turn and chug I could just oil it instead of waiting for it to cry it all out. 

Being Bionic sometimes doesn't keep you from being wholly human. 

42

Let me warn you now. This post is a lot like the Impossibility Drive from the Hitch Hikers Guide to the galaxy. It jumps around and things pop up that hardly should exist in the same paragraph let alone sentence. It's basically what happened when I myself looked up at my apartment ceiling so long ago and yelled to the universe:
What is the meaning of my life?!?

It did not reply with 42.

3 weeks ago I received an unrefrigerated blob resembling a chicken cutlet via Amazon. So I stuck it in the fridge and 2 hours later rushed to get it out. How did I know Scobys weren't meant to be refrigerated??
Currently it's free loading in my laundry room where it digests organic cane sugar dissolved in organic green tea that was steeped in filtered water gather from the rains of the first full moon and boiled to exactly 103 degrees for 10 minutes and 2 seconds.
Sadly only the origins of the water are a fib created out of self imposed frustration.

I'm making Kombucha and quite frankly as it grows....I am less and less inclined to drink its fermented bath water.
But I'm also cheap and the stuff is good for me so the inner hippie is still in the running for bottling it in the next however many days this thing requires.

I don't know. I rarely read instructions all the way through.

I'm mostly self taught and entirely self-to blame for all the troubles I get myself into. Luckily, however, the one thing that DOESNT come with a manual is also the thing I seem to do ok with: keeping multiple kids alive.

Did I tell you I've sprouted 2 more?

It was a buy one husband get 2 kids free deal and boy was I sold. They're the long lashed, light eyed models and they came next to fully potty trained (ask me some other day why I say it that way).

Oh. The husband was a pretty sweet deal too. I seem to be doing ok at keeping him alive so far.

So there's 6 of us now, and 3 fridges, a NOTminivan SUV with 3rd row seating, one nutty dog and more calendars than my iPhone can track.

I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing about 99.9% of the time.

I have no idea how to dress a boy. I've never stared at a clothing rack as long as I have since Henry became one of my tribe. So far I know that if it's red, has a sport or a Pokémon on it, he will wear it. I'm never sure if he's matching but I have been informed that bow ties are not appropriate. Nor is the word: cute.

I've also figured out that yelling is basically the way children in excess of 2 communicate. What they haven't figured out yet is that yes. I certainly CAN hear you whispering to your sister that you plan to tickle your brother even though I just made it a crime punishable by last row seating delegation.

Then there's the teenager.
Anyone want to take on a capstone project? She's pretty smart. And in the full throes of teen-hood.
I don't know that I'll need a haircut until she's 21 and I have stopped pulling my hair out in frustration.
Honestly I always wanted to be a blonde but God has a funny sense of humor and instead of granting me the genes, he simply sent me my own image with the golden locks.
Good one Big Guy. I see what you're saying.

Speaking of the Universe and its sense of humor, I was recently matched with a service dog.
Remember years ago how I had that Tetris operation where my bones were re arranged and I likened my recovery to climbing a mountain? Well. The apex of that mountain involves a full hip replacement. As you all well know I am simply THRILLED at the prospect of surgeries that involve bone saws and staplers.
Doc says the joint must go.

Anyways, while I'm trying to figure out how to grow Kombucha in a jar without it escaping and eating my laundry on its way out and keep 4 kids (3 of which resemble triplets) alive and socially well adjusted, I am freaking the hell out.

Here I am, about to undergo yet another surgery. The 4th in 10 years since that fateful day and I don't know how to process it while I laugh at the sheer irony of it and cry because I am genuinely scared of the OR and recovery.

Then I get this message from my friend who has recently founded a canine rescue. There's a grant for a service dog. And there's a dog recently identified as a candidate for training.

Except that he's been shot. And he's got two pins, a bolt and wire keeping his bones together so they don't have to amputate the leg.
Would I consider him?

I remember looking at my own elbow, wrapped in titanium, screwed together with a bolt and two pins and thinking: God? Is that you? Are you freaking kidding me?!?

God and I, we chat a lot. Prolly in a way most would find to be far too informal.

Anyways. Here's this dog. And he's like the male 4 legged version of me. I ask for pictures and I ask to meet him.

He was in an X-Pen but he saw me and he was scrambling to reach me over the top of his gate. I knew then he was meant for me.
I've fostered so many dogs and never failed and here is this under-weigh Bionic dog fighting to keep his leg and I want HIM to be the one to walk me through the OR doors and spend too long at Target with me and come nudge me when the anxiety is reeling and it's time to let him do his job while I focus on breathing.

I have no idea what it's like to have a service dog, or care for one that will set off metal detectors with me for life. He seems to think it starts with my holding his bad leg every time I visit him at his fosters house while he mesmerizes me with his soulful eyes.

I've named him Bolt.  Because he and I are both quite literally screwed.

Apparently this is a huge win with the kids. I've become popular amongst the tiny dictators for choosing to bring home a huge dog that is supposed to work with/for me. And can go in the car. I've been told he will sit in the back where there's more space for him. Clearly meant for his comfort and not their enjoyment.

So I have a million things going. None of which I was fully prepared or trained for. But for all the improbabilities out there, I got kids and a husband I love, a dog that might be my spirit animal and possibly something resembling an octopus growing in a jar.

Recently someone explained the theory that '42' is computer language for 'asterisk' (*) which denotes 'anything you want it to be'

Seems like maybe that was my answer after all.
But someone forgot the instruction manual.....

Push Pause

Let me share a picture with you.



This is our Christmas Tree.

We woke up in a rush on Friday morning and counted the hours on our fingers, designating events to time slots.
One little is sick. That takes priority and so we slide off one event from the day's plan.
The medicine gets divided up into two bottles, instructions and diagnosis documented.

We drive to the local nursery, 15 minutes away because we wont make it to the farm an hours drive away today. Theres no fuss however. We're all used to the compromise here.

No taller than anyone can decorate themselves.
No more than $40.
All 4 littles must unanimously decide.

This one. This is the one. Quick, lets take our picture.

Its our first tree as a family. Our first living tree in more years than were willing to unpack from memories.

Can we look at ornaments?

1..2..3...sure. Sure theres time. Lets look.

At home we let the littles cluster around the television together while Ian and I assemble lunch plates. Theres a lot of Thanksgiving left overs but this is the last time they will all eat it together. We periodically glance out the front window at cars that slow by our drive.

We move a little faster.

"Clara, Henry....Jackets...say goodbye."

I glance at our Christmas tree still in its orange netting leaning against the wall where it will stand, and I move quickly to zip a jacket; tuck a strand of hair.

"Do you have your medicine? Dont forget it! Have fun! We love you!"

In the foyer we take a moment. From here they cant see smiles falter.

Iris and Aeva are next and they have the longest stretch of time. Holidays are often unforgiving in how they parcel out the minutes. They will be gone a week and a half.

"We're meeting daddy at the Px! Cmon, lets get in the truck littles!"

They know the way it goes. Iris shelves her books and removes the scarf I gave her. Aeva fishes out the beat-up black shoes and returns her new snow jackets to the closet. She pulls on a hoodie. Sometimes things do not properly return for a season or two. Sometimes theyre not allowed to move items back and forth.

"Will I see you Monday?"
"Yes. But not this coming Monday."
"Why? Why today?"
"Because its Daddy's turn"
"oh."

We arrive 2 minutes early. I use them up, carrying Aeva down from the truck. Nuzzling her nose and kissing her furrowed eyes. I hold Iris close and breathe in her hair. Kiss her cheek and she watches me silently. She never really speaks to me when she goes. Like the volume gets turned off on my favorite radio station. She simply looks back and walks away.

"I love you. I will see you soon. You'll have fun. Call you tomorrow?" I call out until theyre gone from ear shot.

I smile so they will see it if they watch.

We stayed out late.
We bought every Little an ornament. We bought lights and christmas gifts.
Ginger bread houses and craft decorations.
We lugged home bags of things to store.
We got a tree stand.

Stood up the evergreen and watered her.

And left her bare.

Because that is OUR Christmas tree and this month we will only have all 4 of our children 11 days.
In those 11 days we will transform that naked tree into a thing loved and hung with all our lights and colored orbs.

Until then we push pause and we wait.

That is how its like when you share your children. You count minutes and days and leave things waiting in the eaves until they can be there with you again.

Its a hollow thing.

Quantum Physics and Puzzle Pieces

I was dragging my feet. 

"Where are we going??"

"Its around here. I just want to show you something I found the other day." 

I had been led past the practically empty playground and into the wooded area beyond. Turning my head I glanced a teen so deeply into his phone he'd likely be useless to forensic artists here shortly. 

"You're going to kill me and dispose of my body in the woods aren't you?"

In almost 5 years of dating, I'd had a lot of practice sorting through profiles and messages to successfully find every ripe jerk in the DMV. Sometimes I would be so skillful I could find them as far as Pennsylvania. 

Those dating app algorithms have NOTHING on me. 

Nor for me really. 

I had made it through the wringer. 

I'd just lost a very dear friendship I could have sworn would survive a nuclear meltdown. Walked away from one of the most toxic relationships I could have kept. 

From the spot on the ground where my shattered pieces lay I decided I had spent my last shiny effort. I was a lone jagged puzzle piece.

The dating scene was a cesspool and all decent men were either married or chronically attached to women whom I was ashamed to share a chromosome with.  

This guy? He had two words on his profile. Strike one. 

And neither word appealed to me. Strike two. 

But he had one picture of him imitating his crazy looking dog and I thought: 

"That's a cute pup!"

About now he was waiting to hear me tell him I was on my way. I was going to grab dinner at Panera and he had the option to join me. 

But I was dragging my feet. Twice I had told him I was moving the timeline. Twice I sat down on my bed and wondered what the point was. 

'This isn't a date. It's you going to grab dinner and he either shows or he doesn't. You pay your tab like you always do and you come home.'

I grabbed my car keys and strolled out. 

Almost a year ago I was at this very park with Aeva. 

Before the trees swallow them up I can almost see me pushing Aeva on the swings. Her golden hair flying behind her. She leans back to look at me with that open mouthed smile and I know her little heart is full. It's her birthday and we are holding on to our tradition of spending the day as she pleases. 

We had started out at the Crofton archery range I could be found at most every Sunday. 5 minutes down the road we found a bowling alley tucked away in a quiet neighborhood where Aeva reigned supreme granny bowler. When Aeva suggested a park, there was one just another few minutes drive from there. It was the kind of little town one could raise kids happily in. 

The familiar tune of an ice cream truck permeated the playground chatter and Aeva pleaded: "Can I have one momma??"

The late afternoon belonged to her dad and it was quickly approaching. 

"Sure thing kid."

I was dragging my feet. 

He showed up. 

I had nothing left in me. 

We'd spent a good hour or so talking. Two kids, divorced, likes picking up heavy things and putting them back down again. Plays a guitar, speaks Spanish and is Mormon. 

I suck my teeth. 

"I'm Buddhist. Not a religion, but it is my spiritual lifestyle."

Smiling he tells me it's fine by him. 

I spent a few years studying different religions and their sects for the purpose of interfaith discussion. My brain racks up what I learned about the Church of Latter Day Saints. It's tough. This guy? He's being real nice and I didn't even have motivation enough to shave my legs. 

Panera closes at 9pm. It's a convenient way to transition into goodbyes. I'm good at those. I know the routine. 

"It was great meeting you. Thank you for coming out."

To which hell say: Yea thanks, I had a good time. 

He smiles, "Can I see you again?" 

Wait. What? That's not in the script. 

"Sure...Sounds good." 

I turn and start walking away. 

"When?"

Before turning back around I could feel the weight of the question. 

His smile was the same but his eyebrows were knit together like he was worried he was losing out on something thin and wispy. 

"When can I see you again?"

I can't remember the last time I was asked that like it mattered. I can't remember *ever* being asked that like it mattered. 

Years ago I read about a theory concerning atoms that link over incredibly vast distances, vibrations traveling the distance between them instantaneously.  Correct me on my quantum physics but I think it's called fuzzy atom theory. Scientifically it can explain some seemingly magical correlations. Romantically it sounded to me like the physical proof of the way souls might weave into each other. 

And to me at that moment it looked like a tendril of light specks speeding from Ian's heart-space to mine. The air around my face buzzed like it does sometimes right before something big happens. Like when Universe wants me to pay particular attention to something because it will matter and so each detail should be taken in. I wanted to ignore it but the feeling stole in through the air into my lungs, rattling my hollowed out chest before settling heavy in the chasm. 

I met Ian in the Winter of my life. In the endless darkness my eyes had grown accostumed to the absence of light. They had learned this landscape of shadows on the wall. 

He too was a jagged puzzle piece. 

Clearing the last of the trees bordering the park, the merciless sun bared down at me and ignited a glen. 

It was unbearably hot. We had been on our way to the zoo and I was already regretting wearing anything more than gauze. Or portable air conditioners. Or skin. 

The way the sun cut across my eyes, it took me a moment to see the bench Ian was asking me to sit at. 

The same atoms that pulled me by the hand now had also been dragging their feet. 

We had lived and traveled to many of the same states. Missing each other by hairs. 

I had spent years frequenting the range he drove by daily. We worked an exit on the highway in distance. 

Nearly a year ago, Aeva and I had circled three sides of Ian's block. Driving past him to the park. 

He could have had his children there that very day. 

But it wasn't the right time. So they dragged their feet in the wrong relationships. In the wrong circumstances. Bidding time. All so that we would meet at precisely the moment when the orbit of our atoms could successfully reach out and say: 

'There you are. I've been looking for you.'

Our jagged sides interlocking perfectly. 

By that bench in the sundrenched glen he took a knee before me. 

So you know....I said yes. 

Hello It's me Mom

Iris     9:23am

'MOM?! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! WE HAD TO EVACUATE THE BUILDING!'

My eyes barely scanned this message when my phone lit up with her name and I answered. 

She was running. 

I could hear kids screaming in the background. 

"Mom?!? Mom I'm scared! They told us to run for the forest!"

I started running back to my office from where I had just been handling an issue for a customer with my routing team. The  tone in her voice spurring me towards my keys. 

"What's going on?!"

Iris's reception was bad. "The principal---Not a dr----gun??--what's going on mom?!"

"I'm on my way!"

She cut out. 

Do you know what that feels like? Do you know how quickly your mind can cycle the sweet face of your child before your eyes, her every tumultuous and every joyous moment?

Let me tell you. It's fast. 

Last night Iris was upset at me.

She is in a play at school and rehearsals run until 6pm Monday thru Thursday. Most nights, I can accommodate picking her up from school. Most Wednesday's and Thursday's I am far from home by 5:30. 

On my designated Wednesday's her father picks her up for me and I pick her up from him on my way home. On my Thursday's I was going to have to pick her up a whole hour early from practice. 

Obviously I was ruining her life and role as Simba. 

One does not cross the King over measly things like life and responsibilities. 

As I stepped out of the bathroom after my shower, she confronted me: 

"Mom. I need to get something off my chest. I cannot rest until I do."

I apparently cannot get dressed until then  either so I wrapped my towel tighter and nodded for her to go ahead.

"I cannot miss rehear----"

She paused ever so slightly and I could see the tiny readjustment going on in her tween head as she made a slight pivot in her argument slightly too late.

"--- I miss spending time with you. We're always busy and rushing about and I don't get lazy days with you anymore."

"Yea? And what days were you thinking you'd like to hang out besides the weekends?"

Blink. Blink. 

"Um. Like... Wednesday's and Thursday's...."

Ah. Hello teenage manipulation. I was wondering where you were. 

The last time I vividly remember adrenaline coursing through my veins like it was replacing every red blood cell, I was staring at the headlights of the car about to impact me and change the course of my life forever. 

If I remember A&P correctly, adrenaline is an accelerator for fight or flight reactions. 

I don't think my body remembers that part of science because much like in my car accident, everything slowed down. 

As I ran for my car I felt like I was running through jello. I was fainting I think. I wouldn't know for sure as I've never done it. But my mind was not racing. It was analyzing every next step and guiding me there safely. 

I reached my car and while driving out I tried Iris's phone again. 

Straight to voicemail. 4 times. 

No. No.no.no.no.nononononono. 

I try again. 

"Hello?! It's me mom!"

Those words! Oh those words!

"Where are you?! Are you ok?!"

"Mom please. Hurry. We're being told to go through the forest to Aeva's school! Please! Please come!"

"I'm coming! I'm almost there!!"

I wasn't. Truth of the matter I was still far. Truer still? I had no idea what the hell to tell her or what to do except be there right now. 

That's all I've ever done for my kids: be there in whatever capacity they need and want from me. 

Move across the country. Get a job. Get two jobs. Make it to all events. Smile. Throw epic birthdays. Bring the clarinet. Bring the clarinet again. Pay for all the activities. Play nice. Make all the costumes in the damn play. Get up early, go to bed late. Be fun. Be serious. Be selfless. Be here now. 

So naturally when I didn't tell Iris I would figure out a way to make sure she was there that last CRUCIAL hour at rehearsal every OTHER Thursday that I had her... She reeled. 

How dare I?

No seriously. How dare I?... 

As she laid in bed crying for me to hear, mumbling whole sobbing sentences because I had ended the conversations and her ploy to mask Broadway aspirations under quality time with mom.... I wondered if I knew what I was doing. Was I doing what was best for us? Or just simply what I wanted for myself? Dare I choose my own agenda first this one time? How far from my mark was I really?

"Stay with me baby. Stay calm ok?"

"I'm scared mom!"

"It's ok. It will all be ok. No matter what. No matter where you are or where you run to I will find you. Ok? You know where safety is. You go there. I will find you."

I was the first parent to arrive on scene besides those that had been there prior to the threat as was apparent from the visitor badges on their shirts. 

I parked my car far. In sight of all the officers and administrators lining the school entrance. Walking up the middle of the road, I was watched. 

The school secretary called out for me to stop. 

"My daughter is out there. I know I can't go in. Can you tell me what's going on? Can I wait here and see her after?"

It's not what my panicked heart wanted to say but it's what my brain, jogging through jello, knew was right to ask. 

Sometimes you can't be the hero. Sometimes you can't do what you want. 

Sometimes you have to let others do their job and not get in the way. 

Two hours I stood outside the school with an officer who could see the panic I was trying so hard to conceal. I traded texts back and forth with Iris who was somewhere on the far side of the school in the tree line between the junior high and elementary school. I could see the specks of trees and children. I knew the teacher that was placing herself between the school and the children. 

'Is Aeva ok mom? Did you go check on her?'

'Yes. I called the school. They're safe.'

I heard the all clear come through the officer's radio and he smiled at me. 

I started for the school but was met by a teacher. Ms. Reynolds, one of the two Lion King production teachers.  

She hugged me. I told Ms. Reynolds about my argument with Iris while we waited for the office to call her up. 

"I see you. I see what you do for her. You're always there. But you need to start stepping back. An hour will not harm her. You have a life too and she needs to learn that. She's not used to it but it's important. You have to take care of you too. I'll have her ready by 5."

Today there was a gun/bomb threat at the school. The details are still not certain nor released and I couldn't care. 

I stood outside the police perimeter for two hours because the only thing I cared about was seeing her face, in real life, telling me she's ok. 

An hour after I saw Iris safe and sound, Aeva fell and skinned her knee pretty badly. The nurse down played the incident and I thought nothing of it until I saw the jagged wound still bleeding through the fully torn knee of Aeva's uniform pants. My momma guilt felt at its highest. While I made it to one child, the other got hurt. Sometimes I'm not sure I'm doing my job right. Sometimes I feel so far from where I think I am. 

Yet isn't that how it goes? 

How dare I think I can always control risks? Outcomes? 

You think you've been doing the right thing all along but like Jon Snow, you know nothing. 

Aeva was delayed first aid an hour and yet her knee didn't suffer for it as she romped around the living room with her two newest best friends. 

Iris will not suffer for the hour she will lose from rehearsal as we spent that hour cooking together and figuring out Math homework. 

I never ever want to be reminded of my children's precious lives again in this frantic way. 

There is no way to protect them through and through. No way to mitigate every single threat possible and impossible. 

My life paused today. It brushed such a large fear in my world as a mother. 

That pause made a difference for Iris and I. Funny how much difference a pause can make. 

Iris's face broke through the crowd of middle schoolers rushing to classes and she buried it in my neck:

"I'm so sorry momma. I'm so sorry I was selfish. I was so scared!"

"Hello baby. It's me, mom." 

If and when

6 days before a scheduled C-Section, I found out my step mother (my momma) had 2-3 weeks to live. As much as she thought it would be her heart, from the years of living and yelling at my father, it would be cancer to do that fierce woman in.

3 days later I hid all signs of labor in order to dilate in peace and avoid a c-section that not only petrified me ...but delayed me two weeks of travel. 

3 days after Aeva was born, we were driving 13 grueling hours from Augusta Georgia to Miami.  

In the first few days I shut down to anything that didn't relate to learning the little being nuzzled to my chest in her Moby and drinking in the last I would see of my blonde green-eyed mother.

It was when I was standing in the shower at the end of the first week, hot water raining down on me, that I broke apart. 

I felt torn wide open physically and emotionally. I pushed too hard in labor, I had stitches where no one wants stitches, I had an empty swollen womb that still didn't comfortably allow waistlines. My boobs were raw from the first awful days of nursing a child with a bad latch, and tight from engorgement. I hadn't slept. I hadn't eaten. I both ached to hold my infant even then but wished my arms would hold just themselves up a little while. 

Instead my shoulders sagged and my world crumbled. My momma was leaving this earth and it grieved me, but I had brought my Aeva into this world against so many odds and for that I rejoiced. One tinged the other.  I cried hard for all the destruction in and out of my body and wondered if I would ever be able to come back from this desolation. If I would ever not feel like I had just been ripped from the middle up. 

I wondered if I could mend. 

Nearly 4 years ago a decade long marriage ended and I was suddenly irrevocably on my own with two small girls and zero answers. The only thing I knew was that my daughters needed proximity more than I needed pride or protection. I drove to Maryland from Texas. I wondered if the drive would ever end. In Maryland I quickly scrambled for a job after 3 years of being a stay at home mom. I hadn't finished college, I didn't have much money, a reliable car or home, nor much sanity left to speak of. I wondered if I would ever get hired. I wondered if I would make enough. How I would afford lawyers for two court cases.how I would manage two children full time as well as a job and mounting legal concerns. I wondered if I would survive. 

2 years ago I had massive orthopedic surgery. 

I'm pretty sure that if I wasn't so thickly drugged up when the nurses at Ellwood City hospital tried to wake me after surgery and I had some control of my tongue and lips I would of been yelling:

I REGRET IT!!

Instead all I got out were unintelligible moans of pain and discomfort. My whole left leg had been jigsaw puzzled and I think they tried jamming the wrong pieces together. 

To think the night prior I had promised myself I would run a 5k. Right then I doubted if I would even walk. 

The first time I met Steve I was 3 weeks post op and had just had two sadistic nurses clip and yank 60 steel staples from my two incisions. 

I was not a happy camper. 

Steve was way too chipper. 

What's more, he looked entirely fresh out of school and eyed my chart like a geek with a brand new science kit. 

'Fuck,' I thought. 'he's never seen this kind of surgery'

"Well, I've never seen this kind of surgery but I did a little research!"

Nailed it. 

Day one was full of measurements and briefing. 

While Steve ran me through range of motion measurements, or lack there of, we talked about time lines. 

How long on zero weight-bearing on the op leg?

When can range of motion be increased? 

When will partial weight-bearing be allowed? 

How long will you need to be on crutches? 

And then a new one: 

"What's your end goal?"

No one really asked that up until then. I mean, I had surgery in order to treat and cure AVN (avascular necrosis) in my femoral head. It's not really something you come out of with a goal. That's kind of the surgeons thing. You know: My end goal is to not cut up the wrong leg and manage to stitch it all up the right way. 

"I want to run a 5k."

I remember Steve unflinchingly nodding his head and smiling. 

Dude is way too damn positive. 

I wondered if he'd realize how absurd my goal was. I wondered if he forgot how torn up I was. 

The days that therapy was its worst, I sat in the shower at night and cried with self pity. Then self loathing. Then exhaustion.

I wondered if this roller coaster would stop. If I would feel normal and able. If I could overcome. 

"Not if, but when."

Steve always said it to me. 

"A 5k is not a matter of IF but WHEN you run it. And when you do, I want to see it"

July 2015 14:55 minute miles 

October 2015 12:53 minute miles 

Today I ran my 2nd race. In the cold rain with the wind saying "NO" and the ground proving difficult. 

I ran along side my childhood friend Evelyn, having flown to see me..whom I had wondered if I'd ever see again. 

I walked and ran and pushed through doubt and pain. 

I ran thru the Finish Line and straight for the can.

Each time I've had sight of a race's finish I get so excited I spontaneously gag and dry heave. I'm sure the camera man in my face caught me diving into the crook of my elbow hoping to staunch any mess. 

Like an overexcited dog, I get so worked up I hurl. While everyone around me thought I had simply pushed that hard for time I had merely pushed so hard for my When. I laughed between heaves and sank to my heels with simple happiness. 

Two almost feels better than one. It feels like continuity. Like healing. Like surviving. Like overcoming. 

Like...when I drove out all the if's.