The C-word

Nearly every single person you know has been touched by cancer. 

Honestly. 

Everyone knows someone who has fought it. 

Knows someone who has beaten it. 

Knows someone who hasn't. 

Let's keep it real for a second. 

The C-word is a bitch. 

There's a reason that eff cancer is a hashtag. 

It's awful. Devastating. Crushing. 

Curable for some. Fatal for others. 

It was announced yesterday that President Biden has prostate cancer. 

It's aggressive. 

It's scary. 

But they're hopeful. And that matters. 

As expected, social media is FULL of people who are sharing their stories. 

Whether their own. That of their loved one(s). Of someone they knew but never met. Of someone they may have met once. 

Of someone who touched the lives of their loved ones. The friend of a friend.

Their friend's mother. Aunt. Sister. Brother. Father. Child. 

Their own mother. Aunt. Sister. Brother. Father. Child. 

You see what I'm saying, right? 

So. If you, like me, are finding all this talk about the C-word to be a lot? 

Protect your peace. 

Scroll by. Put the phone down. 

Don't get me wrong, share if you want to. 

I did initially. And I posted how thankful I was that my feed included so many positive thoughts, prayers, comments about the President. 

And then today, I realized it was so so very much. 

Never mind the stupidity that you'll see out there. Whew. The eyeroll emoji belongs everywhere. 

But the stories where people share how quickly they lost loved ones. How unexpectedly. How diagnoses are reported out of the blue. 

You don't have to read them all. 

It's not disrespectful to monitor your intake. 

To protect your peace. 

It's okay. 

Scroll by. Put the phone down. 

Take care of you. 

Just like Joe and Jill and their family and loved ones will do for themselves. 

It's okay. You're allowed. 

xo

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Eleven Years.

Eleven years. 

How is that even possible?

Eleven years.

The math doesn't work. 

It only makes me angry.

Sad.

Hurt. 

Heartbroken. 

Eleven years. 

Without you. 

Momma is with you now. 

You are whole again. 

Complete.

I'm still angry. 

Sad.

Hurt. 

Heartbroken.

Eleven years. 

Can feel like forever. 

And then forever times two.

When she's gone, as well. 

It's not supposed to be this way. 

I'm supposed to have you both. 

Here. 

With me. 

To lean on and into. 

To laugh with. 

To hold me when I cry. 

Eleven years. 

Feels like a lifetime.

Without someone who was so very much of your world. 

I miss you, Daddy. 

Love you always. 

And forever.

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Passover 2024

Passover hasn't been the same for my family in years. A decade - to be exact. 

This year is even more difficult. I don't host a Seder. I don't attend one. But still, I miss the ones we grew up with. The ones where my father sat at the head of the table and he and my mother maneuvered around the kitchen throughout the night - serving and plating - and welcoming. 

Over the years so very many of our friends and loved ones attended Seder at my parents' home. Having a dad who could make most anything from scratch meant we never went elsewhere. A dad who cooked so well that other people bought his food for their holidays (it wasn't his store but we know who did the work!).

And though my dad did most of the cooking (minus the pot roast or chicken - cutlets or barbecue), my mom did everything else. And I do mean everything. 

Not having her here to reminisce with hurts something awful this year. To laugh and cry with. To send pics of matzo balls and ask if they looked even close to my dad's. 

My heart hurts and my memories help me grieve and heal, and I watch as another holiday comes and goes.

Happy Passover to those who celebrate. 

May yours be blessed, may our hostages be returned home safely, and may we each witness the strength of the Jewish people as the days go on.

Zeissen Pesach.

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Nothing Feels the Same

*source unknown*

Nothing feels the same. 

It's been nearly two weeks since you left us. 

I hear your voice in the silence.

I feel your presence so strongly - it's truly a part of me.

But nothing feels the same.

Even as I write these words it seems as though I'm speaking about someone else.

It can't be you.

Not my mother.

So full of life. 

So full of love.

So not ready to go.

Each day you opened your eyes meant another day you could love us. 

Love your children. Your grandchildren.

Even your furry grandchildren.

So many left me ahead of you. 

I always knew Dexter was with Daddy.

But the cats. 

They liked you best. (Even when you weren't sure about them!)

They won you over. 

One left us this week. 

I am trying to take comfort that he has my Momma to hold him. 

But that's not enough.

You're supposed to be here. 

We're supposed to be holding each other.

Our last days together kept me from holding you the way I would have.

Kept me from combing your hair myself.

But you squeezed my hands with a strength unlike many I've ever felt. 

I knew it well. 

And I knew it was still in you. 

And I know it's still there. 

But nothing feels the same.

Because it isn't. 

Will never be. 

Nothing will ever be the same again.

I love you, Momma. 

I miss you so. 

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I Will Always Remember

Always so much to say, and never enough, never the perfect words. All these years later my eyes still fill with tears. 

I hear the voices of the people I love, reacting to my telling them I was safe, or learning that they were. Me telling their loved ones for them. 

I hear yelling in the street as we left our offices. 

I remember the smell as soon as we stepped outside.

I see the bluest of skies and hear the sirens before I knew.

I remember the shoes I wore that brought me across nearly an entire city. 

The hug goodbye with a friend as we went our separate ways after walking together for hours.

I hear the silence. And then the sound of the subways running again.

I feel my body collapsing into bed as I looked out my window at a skyline forever changed.

We'll never forget. We'll always remember. Those lost. Those who gave of themselves to save others. 

May those who lost their lives that day, and in the days and years after, be remembered always. May their memories forever be a blessing. 💗

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Feel All The Things.

Good day, internet friends, and happy holidays.

'Tis the season for love, laughter, baking, drinking, eating, happiness! And, of course, decorating alllll the things.

But it is also the season for pain. Grief. Loss. Reminders.

And. Of course. Tears.

Allow yourself these tears.

Whether you realize it or not, you need them.

Tears are a catharsis of sorts for the body.

I'm not a doctor and I don't play one on TV, but I know that a good cry is healing for us all.

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Making Memories

I wrote this piece several years ago to be published somewhere else, but today, today I need to share these same words. I'm lacking anything more - I'm missing my father as today it is six years to the day that he left us, and it hurts as if it were mere moments ago. 

Last year I shared why October hurts so much.

Six years ago I shared the immediate pain, the instant grief, the heartache. And then I talked about this very experience, the one I share below.

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For The Single Parent: Children and Transitions

When parents and child(ren) live together in one home they're a family unit.

Regardless of how the day plays out, the child(ren) knows that they will return home to that family unit - together - whether they go to work, school, travel, whatever they are out and about doing, that child will - at some point - be under the same roof with his / her parents. Two parents. Whatever the combination of parents that may be.

When couples divorce, it's a brand new world for them. And for their children.

Brand. New.

These kids, they're learning that what they trusted. What they expected. What they thought would last their entire lifetime and beyond? Is no longer there.

And boy, it hurts. It stings. It's freaking confusing. Painful. Head-shaking.

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Defining Family.

When a couple has been together for a long long time - their families intertwine.

His family becomes her family.

Her family becomes his family.

I use his-her because that is the couple I was a part of.

But know that this applies for his-his relationships, and her-her relationships.

And yes. I know. It does not happen all the time.

Sometimes families remain divided. Separated. Distant.

But. Not always.

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Hatred.

My posts appear to have but one word titles these days.

Am I lacking creativity?

Or am I struggling with words?

Or is it the force of the world that has taken them away?

Hatred.

For all that is holy and good in this world, there is so so much hatred.

So very much.

I know.

You know this.

You're nodding along with me.

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Another October

Let me tell you what it feels like.

To be so so ready for fall.

Let me tell you what it feels like.

To know that at the end of this month I'll turn another year older. 

What it feels like.

Knowing that before that.

Before then.

I'll face the anniversary of the worst day I've ever lived through.

Let me tell you what it feels like.

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Twenty-two Years

Today is a very difficult anniversary for my family. It's a day we experienced a double-dose of loss over the years. And so, finding the words isn't always easy.

I've tried before. Shared my January Reflections. Repeatedly.

But tonight, before I tuck myself and my kiddo into bed, I'll be borrowing some that I used last year, and yes, admittedly, a few from the year before and adding a bit to them as I continue to grow in my grief.

My grandmother left us 22 years ago today. Twenty-two years. How is that even possible?

It's a lifetime. And yet, I had barely lived so much of my own life. Barely seen the world. Barely knew what the future would hold.

But I knew love.

I knew love because my family showed it to me. Showed me heart. Showed me just how important connection was and would always be. Showed me how to take care of those I loved. How to show up. How to be there, even when they barely knew we were. And how to hold on. My father was the strongest example of this you'd ever see.

I remember the second I found out she was gone. Remember it like it was moments ago. Losing someone who loved you with their entire heart - unconditionally - is a loss like no other.

Since that day my family has experienced more loss. More pain. More sadness. And my only solace is that they're together again. My father, his parents, his sister. A family unit that traveled the world to create a new life for themselves. A life unlike what they would have experienced had they stayed. A life that led to my own. Such a blessing that they made that trek. Such history there that I hold onto - even when some of the pieces are missing.

I love and miss them so. Parts of my incredible family together again. And me, us, their loved ones ... here, carrying them in our hearts always. I hope they are listening, on this beautiful and peaceful snowy day, and that they hear me as I whisper softly to them ... I love you.

If you'd like to find out more about my grandmother, I'd love if you'd head over to this post I wrote oh-so-many-years-ago: What I Remember.

And if you have a family member you've lost and would like to take a moment to honor and recognize, I hope you'll do just that in the comments. Say their name. Let me know who they are to you. Let me share in your memories and moments, as you have here in mine.

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A Brand New Year

I'm sitting on my couch with my daughter.

She is playing a video game.

I'm on the computer.

That last part is obvious - no?

This really isn't that much different than last year.

My daughter and I welcomed in 2017 with her asleep on the couch. I even recorded the moment the year changed on Snapchat and their year in review popped up with a reminder that made me giggle.

She fell asleep and just missed it. This year she is determined to stay awake.

So.

That's different.

We've got a new cat we're snuggling with.

We had a new one last year, too.

Last year we had two dogs, this year we had to say goodbye to one.

July ended with lots of weeping and sadness.

We knew it was coming - but couldn't prepare for it - how can you prepare to say goodbye to such an unconditional love?

It broke our hearts.

We miss him terribly.

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Three More Months

Three more months before we sign a piece of paper and wait for word.

Three more months before we've lived separately for an entire year.

Three more months before I look forward and likely think - what now?

Three more months before ...

What?

Before what?

Today is the nine month mark.

I'm not pointing that out as the premise for this post, because nine months seems like forever in the scheme of things. And three seems as though they'll fly by.

Three more months before I have to truly decide, do I want to maintain the same last name as my child for a while longer, or am I ready to go back to who I was before?

I'm still me.

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I Should Be Asleep But My Mind Won't Let Me

Image from Pexels

I'm not asleep.

I know. You already knew that.

Why introduce this post with such a simple, unnecessary statement?

I don't know. But here it is again.

I'm not asleep.

But my child is, and that's what matters most.

For the moment.

I'm sitting here like I'm 90 years old.

I literally just put some Icy Hot on my left knee.

I have no idea what the heck is wrong with it, but I probably slept funny.

And of course, I have an actual occasion this coming weekend and might even dance a step or two - and NOW I'm walking around smelling like my dad after he played ball all weekend.

Actually, he used Ben Gay more than Icy Hot - but it still makes me think of him.

Maybe that's why I'm still awake.

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I Woke Up Sad Today

I woke up sad today.

And it would be easy to say I didn't know why.

But I do.

I woke up sad because of many things.

I woke up sad because a short bit ago we had to say goodbye to our dog Dexter.

Our dog who we loved since he joined our family in 2003.

That's a really long time.

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Summertime and the Livin' Ain't Easy

It's officially summer.

Ask me how I know.

It's not because of the higher than high temps.

North Carolina has had those for months now.

And it's not that big ole bright ball in the sky.

That thing comes and goes as it pleases.

But it's time to pack.

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It Comes Again

I am a girl without a father.

Father's Day is tomorrow and I am, currently, a girl without a father.

A woman, sure. But when I think of my dad I am and will always be a girl.

A young girl at that.

I had a father.

Don't get me wrong.

I had him for forty-one years of my life.

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Nostalgia.

Once upon a time there was a teenage girl.

That teenage girl started high school in tenth grade, which was the norm in her neighborhood back in the day.

What this meant for this girl and her friends was that there was already a group of students at the high school who knew one another. Who had already had the awkward first year of connecting. Who had already formed their alliances and the like.

But no worries. This teenage girl was very friendly. Not always secure and self-confident, but friendly, for sure. This teenage girl also arrived at her new school, the high school, with her entire graduating class.

So - you could say she brought her own arsenal. Her own posse? Her own peeps.

Though back then, in the late 80s? Peeps would not have been used. Ever.

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My Relationship With Fall

This morning I'm extremely weepy.

I'm not sure what it is, exactly.

Possibly because fall is coming. It's not here yet, believe me (it's still in the 90s here in NC!), but it's coming.

And fall doesn't hold the love and luster for me as it once did. Cooler temps would be great. They would certainly make my walks easier, because, HEAT. Man. Seriously. HEAT. Whew. HAWT.

But back to fall and my mixed feelings.

Many moons ago, 9-11 took away the joy of September, and so every year I find my way through it. I lived much of it, the native New Yorker I am, walking through the streets of NYC on that day. I'll refrain in describing. This post will take on a tone of its own soon enough.

But a few years ago my father passed away unexpectedly in October (the 11th, no less), and the month lost it's glow. Much as my life did in many ways.

So, this morning I make my way through my second cup of coffee and sit down and write.

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