I promised a blog in my Christmas card post, then realized I could literally smear shit on a piece of paper and that would just about cover it.
But since I have an aversion to bodily excrement of all types (except pimple popping and ear wax), this will have to suffice.
I’ll start with saying that by month three of last year, I was preparing to shed the skin of over-stressed marketing exec and was starting to manifest my lifelong dream. We had built a writing studio in the backyard and I’d let Martha loose on growing starts for the flower garden I could see from my desk inside.
I could already picture myself sipping herbal tea with the french doors thrown open wide. Taking mental breaks walking around the newly planted flower beds. My view of the mountains changes with the seasons, but is miraculous even with a power line obstruction.
We had celebrated Lucia’s 21st birthday together at heaven on earth. On the way to her birthday dinner, we ran smack into a MOOSE. And work had bubbled up like a sulfur burp on day one. Thereby cementing my decision to move on and implement decompression. I happened to have had one kick ass boss up until right before the very end, so I was feeling self-back-patty for finally having a boss for more than five minutes.
So after picking up the last box of belongings from the newly vacated job, I was settling in and ready to roll.
The bean, Kenny and I departed a few days later for spring break in Cali. As the sushi, seafood and sun fest was drawing to a close, our phones started lighting up with news of a fire starting less than two miles west of our house with flames visible. Given that only three short months prior, over 1,000 homes were lost in fire that started 1 ½ miles southeast of our house with flames visible, we started making calls. Our primary concern was that our house sitter and dogs were out of harm’s way. Amazing friends jumped in and items were grabbed, dogs absconded safely to a sleepover and we headed to the beach knowing that there was nothing more we could do but wait.
Ours was a happy ending fortunately, but returning home to the view of charred hills so close by was extremely unsettling.
About a week later we got the news that Martha had taken a turn for the worse and would be flown home from her trial in Boston. She arrived at Children’s Hospital via a private medical flight, but not before sending me video birthday wishes. Something I will treasure always.
My cousin, her daughter and two of her grand daughters arrived the next day for a few days of Colorado time. And this is about the time when everything became a blur.
The hospital was letting Martha come home under hospice care. Margaret and Ned called asking if I would take on a 48-hour backyard renovation challenge. Martha wanted their backyard to look like ours where she’d spent so much time over the last couple of years since COVID. I accepted and my cousin and I flew into action.
We made the backyard deadline, Martha was transported home and even had a chance to sit outside before she left us on April 15th. At age 20 after 7 years of showing us all the most kick ass strength imaginable and leaving us all broken and shattered.
Aunt Anne and I became inseparable over the next few days as we worked to put together the celebration of life – and we obviously had Martha pulling some strings from the other side because we fucking did it. And it was beautiful. April 24th at Boulder High Auditorium with a reception afterwards at Rayback. So many gorgeous souls showed up and poured their hearts into it. There was so much love.
By May 3 I was back in SC to attend the bond hearing of the asshole who sold Sarah the fentanyl that killed her. Emotions on overload. Everyone was a bundle of nerves and my uncle Jimmy spoke with such heart. I was so thankful to be there in spite of the stress, but once it was all over, couldn’t wait to get home.
I was so tired. So overwrought. So freaking sad.
Then more company came. Company who was in crisis. Company who was here in crisis for 10 days. Company who left for a hotel the day before we left to return to SC.
The hubby and I ‘whirlwinded’ our way through our home state: a couple of nights in Charleston for my cousin’s retirement from the FBI, then off to DeBordieu for a couple of nights with the in-laws, then on to Santee for a night or two with mom and Boone, then Chapin for the niece’s high school graduation and ending with the nephew’s Citadel grad party in Lake Carolina.
The bean almost beat us home… with COVID…acquired during her softball tournament weekend in Oklahoma City. Sooo quarantine. Followed by Lucia visit to finally get an MRI for her knee she injured the weekend Martha died.
Dropped her off to fly back to Texas with the new fractured tibia diagnosis and a PT plan. Waited at the airport to pick up the hubby from his work trip with a bloody mary while fighting back tears over the Roe overturn news flooding in.
He meets me. Tired. Stressed. And we find out the next day… with COVID.
*COVID Sidenote: I weirdly am the last woman standing of almost everyone we know.
Luckily we were in the clear in time for the Avett Bros at Red Rocks — just so you know the whole year wasn’t tears. And our friends, who weren’t yet COVID clear, cancelled, meaning we went with the Brents… who asked again why we’d never gone to their Cabo house. Thereby planting a seed.. leading to…
Teary bean, fresh from no summer to speak of and staring down junior year, says, “I want to go somewhere to rest.” So.. CABO! Another huge summer highlight. So last minute and Lucia couldn’t finagle it… so the three of us went and it was the first time of real relaxation we’d felt all year.
Which was lucky because. August. Hubby rescue mission to Texas where Lucia was struggling. Her lease was up and we were done subsidizing. It broke our collective hearts for her to move home. But move home she did with her DOG in tow. So now we have THREE dogs in our very minimal-sized house. And the new one is HAIRY and weighs 90 POUNDS.
Life as we know it is changed. In so so many ways. Everyone keeps asking about Jack. They are making it work long distance the best way they can. But it was so clear to us all that things had completely unraveled and it was time for a new path.
So. Here’s what that looks like:
- Move Home
- Establish Rules Appropriate for 21-Year-Old Living at Home
- Set Up Physical Therapy
- Drive to Every Therapy so Child Doesn’t Skip Appointment
- DON’T FORGET ABOUT BEAN!
- Psych Eval
- Neurodivergent Spectrum Diagnosis
- Scramble Scramble Scramble
- Research Research Research
- Start Psychoherapy
- DON’T FORGET ABOUT BEAN!
- New Diagnosis: Borderline Personality Disorder*
- Scramble Scramble Scramble
- Research Research Research
- New (Very Intensive) Therapy Plan
- Freak Out
- DON’T FORGET ABOUT BEAN!
- Cry Daily
- Calm Down
- Enjoy Holidays
- Start Job Hunt to Pay for Said Intensive Therapy
In between it all, I dug deep and have taken on a weight loss journey that as of today has me down 56 pounds. I’m hiking again. My back pain is gone. And I feel like a better me than ever.
Lucia and I also tagged along with Kenny on a work trip to Europe. Finally made it to London. Got to have a nice visit with Carla who I’ve known since I was four. Then cured my 35-year obsession with the Chunnel (yep, it’s just dark) by taking the train to Amsterdam. We stayed in Utrecht and got to visit a functioning windmill in Isselstein. We also learned that Americans (mostly us) are stupid because we all thought windmills generated power… [face palm].
We met new friends. Reconnected with old ones. Lucia was in a documentary, My Sister Liv, that premiered in NYC then Denver. College roomie and her hubby shared Thanksgiving with us here in Colorado.
We’ve also found joy in the small things like a new cocktail recipe sipped by the fire pit or a home run score by now sweet sixteen bean. We laugh SO MUCH. We get outside as much as humanly possible. We say yes more and no less. Our house is full and hairy (SO.MUCH.HAIR.), but there are so many stolen moments over morning coffee or late at night when one or both girls come and crawl in bed.
The moral of my story is, don’t cry for me Argentina. We are going to be fine. (“I’m fine. Everything’s FINE.”)
Just let me have my clichés and my cocktails and we are all good.
TODAY’S THEME SONG: Phoenix. A$AP Rocky. Now I’m walking on my own, y’all, wish me luck.
*Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is a condition affecting 1.4% of the US population. If you are interested in learning more, please visit nami.org or download I Hate You – Don’t Leave Me on Audible.
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