12 September 2024

 On September 4, every parent's nightmare came true in Winder, Georgia. Again. 

Trusting parents dropped their children off at school to learn, to see friends, to be safe. Spouses probably said, "Love you, see you tonight." 

Two children and two teachers did not come home that day. 

Maybe I am overly empathetic, maybe overly dramatic. Potential labels don't really impact the way I feel. I feel the anguish of every mother when I think about those moms. They planned to see their kids after school. Maybe they had soccer practice, or needed a haircut, or had a birthday party to attend. Maybe they were going to sit down around the dinner table together as a family. Now there is an empty chair at that table. I legitimately do not know how one navigates that blow. I do know that when I became a mother, a large part of my heart went to inhabit my children, and that part of my heart walks around in the world, at risk. How does a parent heal when part of you is taken so unexpectedly, so violently? I think, though I hope to never know first hand, that you never really do. So even though I don't know these families in Winder, they could easily be me. If my child, or my husband did not come home from the school where they spend so much of their days, I can not imagine that pain. In these moments, I weep for the heartbreak of these other moms; my heart aches for their despair. There are too many of these moments.

On September 11, social media started spreading chatter about a shooter planning to hit our high school. OUR SCHOOL. Looking through my kids' text messages with their friends that afternoon was devastating:

"I'm not going tomorrow." 

"I'm afraid."

"There is no way I am going to school."

"My parents will probably make me go, my grades are more important than my life." 

The fact that 14 year-olds are even having these conversations is... wrong. Just... wrong.

I had to sit down with my children and my husband and have a conversation about it all. How do you even begin to weigh those risks? The feelings they have? We talked about how these fears are valid. About trying not to let fear rule our lives, how trying to live in the world will have some risks, how we should not have to let others dictate how we go about our days, how fear gives those who threaten an outsized perception of their powers over us. And yet, this mama's heart fluttered with fear that entire night and all of the next day as the 13 year old who started the rumor was eventually arrested. And then, my mama's heart hurt for that child's mother. How their life will be forever changed over a Snapchat or Instagram post. 

As a boy mom, I've watched a lot of superhero movies. There is a scene in the Avengers where they need the Incredible Hulk to show up to help with the fight. 

“Doctor Banner, now might be a good time for you to get angry,” says Captain America. Bruce Banner calmly turns to him, and before he transforms into the Hulk to take the beast down, he says, "That's my secret, Cap: I'm always angry."

I wrote some in 2020 about how I was tired and angry of all the people who weren't willing to be inconvenienced in any way to potentially protect my children from a virus we were learning about. And how I was tired of being angry. Now, apparently, I am just Bruce Banner. I'm always angry or sad or both ~ so often I can't decide which is in the forefront. I am SO sad that my children are sometimes afraid to go to school. I am SO angry that my children are sometimes afraid to go to school. There needs to be a new emoji, because I usually have to use the sad AND the angry face. 

I am not okay. 

I am functional, and I am doing my best, but I am 100% broken in fundamental ways, and these are fractures that are not healing, not going away. I cope, but I carry the hurt of this fear, heartbreak, and anger - for my family, and for all the families with that empty chair at their table. When does it stop? How did we get here? How do we leave here? 

I am not alone, and there is power in the strength of angry parents, but it doesn't currently feel like enough. Which makes me sad. And angry. 

What I can do is talk about it, try to make changes locally, connect with other people who feel as I do and above all, sow kindness in every possible moment. I really do believe that love and kindness can conquer so many of our problems, that it makes a real difference. I would probably do it better if my heart were not so heavy so often. 

 

September 2023 - "Mom."

 At the end of this month, you have been gone for seven years. 

Almost half of each of your grandson's lives. 

They have now lived without you almost as long as they had you in their lives. Their memories of you are thin and far away. When the oldest one sings with his vocal ensemble, I ache knowing how much you would have loved hearing his voice. "Danny Boy" simply unravels me, the tears that would have shone in your eyes fill mine. When the youngest dances with his trombone line in the jazz band, I know you would have been dancing along. I miss your love of music, the way it filled you; watching you listen and feel song was joyful and infectious. 

I could use your advice now, that I mother teenagers ~ looking back I try to remember how you handled us. You seem unflappable in memory, though I know we tried you. You are my measure for motherhood, which may not be wise, but is hard to avoid. I have so many questions about this job that I would love to ask you. There was never a time when we did not feel loved. We were secure, solid, entirely confident that you were there for us, always, without question. Do my boys feel that fortress of certainty? God knows I try. And I miss you. Every damn day.

I can feel some gratitude that your expansive spirit and unlimited capacity for love are no longer frustrated and restricted by the failings of your earthly vessel, as it was hard for you near the end ~ to not be able to do and go in all the ways you wanted. But the weight of your absence is heavier. Selfish, perhaps, but for my children to not fully know the ferocious pride and unwavering support of their grandmother's spirit cannot help but make my heart heavy. Every concert, every graduation, any celebrations that may come will all have a hole where you should be - with your enormous heart brimming with joy for them. They will never really truly know you now. I will try to be as much like you in all the good ways I can, since I had the unshakeable love of a powerful mother's heart to guide me... but I miss you, Mom. 

__________________________________________________________________________

After a cathartic cry, I am looking for a different perspective for these feelings.

In so many ways, you are still here.

You are part of the way I feel music.

I see you in the sense of humor of your youngest grandson.

Your smile is in the face of my oldest son, he favors us. 

Your July 4 birthday spirit is part of our family's patriotism, and we celebrate you still.

Your heart is still part of our family Christmas. You were the one who made it magic.

Even though you are no longer here to see and to hold, there are a thousand things around me that are part of who you were, that mean you are still part of our lives. Sometimes these reminders bring tears ~ but they are your memory, your legacy, and those parts of you that are alive in all of us who loved you.

September 2021

 September 1, 2021

What is wrong with this world? The kids went to school for 3 weeks, with no mask mandate. The contact trace quarantine was downgraded to "suggested" after Gov. Lee passed an executive order to prohibit school districts from instituting their own mask mandates. Memphis and Metro did it anyway. Then there are SO MANY SICK PEOPLE that Wilson closed for a week. That should fix it, right? 

Here is my main issue with the current lack of leadership, and the letter I sent to every elected official in the county and state.

"My “rights” should include the “right” to send my children to public school, funded by my taxes, with the expectation that those I elected will take all reasonable measures to make that a safe place for them to learn. We prohibit peanut products, as they might make some children sick. We prohibit drugs at the schools (you have to fill out two forms just to have Benadryl on hand for kids with allergies) in to protect the children from access to inappropriate substances. We ban smoking and vaping on campus, because they are bad for the health of the students.  There are speed limits on school campuses and the zones around them, with people in the road to enforce them. We don’t permit weapons of any kind, again, to protect the kids while they are at school. All these things impact a small fraction of the student population ~yet we all accept these limitations to our “freedom” in the best interest of student safety. ALL of these examples demonstrate that our “right” to do whatever we want actually ends the moment those choices become a threat to someone else. So, how can you allow people to shout about their “rights” when they pose a DIRECT risk to my child’s health? Why do those of us who are willing to be inconvenienced (which is NOT the same thing as oppressed) in the interest of protecting ALL the kids have no "rights?”  Where is our “freedom” to have the right to have our kids be safe as possible at school? How did this ever become about anything other than protecting those without a voice, our children?  The Governor keeps saying parents know what is best for their children - Why do other parents get to choose for me that they can expose my family to a highly contagious virus? Where is my “choice?” I don’t even have a virtual “choice” thanks to the current policies. Sick children are not learning. Terrified children are not learning. You are creating both, and it is not helping them with the dreaded “learning loss” you keep harping about. It is making it worse and if you don’t change course, your legacy will be an object lesson and not an example of leadership.

We need actual leadership. In lieu of that, we need a virtual option NOW before more health care workers and school employees end up in mental crisis and leave the professions when we need them most. It is already happening. Fix it. Now."

It probably won't help. But I have to believe that there is some power in words. I feel so defeated as a parent trying to teach childrent that we have a responsibility to our fellow humans, to teach them kindness and compassion when they are surrounded by so many selfish adults who only care about what THEY want that they can't see (or just don't care) that what THEY want and what THEY do actually has the potential to directly harm others. Constantly looking to demonstrate and find examples of good people so the children don't feel as hopeless as I do. 

July 2021

 Looking back at the post from January, I am struck by how little things have changed. This was my summer of hope. Going back to living. Letting my boys have fun, have friends. Seeing family. Except it isn't really. 

Things are better ~ some ~ but not better enough. I had such high hopes that we were turning a corner. Vaccines and masking that was working, preventing. But it isn't working. Because not everyone is willing to participate. Not everyone is willing to protect my kids. The not-so-low-level-mom-rage that simmers inside of me ALL the time now makes me cranky. Impatient. Short tempered. Exhausted. We gave up more than a year of "normal" life, and if my loved ones get sick now ~ after all we sacrificed ~ because someone has been fed a line of bullshit about the efficacy of masking or vaccines I AM GOING TO BE PISSED OFF. It's like the HIV epidemic all over again. Fear, misinformation, judgement, the average human being unwilling to make small behavioral changes to prevent sickness and death. I cannot fathom how this works. How people can just be cavalier about the lives of others. How they sleep at night or look in a mirror. How many preventable deaths is too many? Oh, wait. One. 

Apparently I'm not actually ready to write about this yet. 

 January 2021

This may be a post I never publish. Maybe I just need a place to vent, to talk about my feelings, to dump my tears. 

I am tired. Exhausted. Not so much physically, though I am not sleeping all that well without assistance. But inside. Tired of being afraid. For my family. For my country. I want to just lock the world out and huddle my boys around me and stay safe. 

But I don't want that. I want to go and do and see the world. See my friends. My brother. My father. I want my kids to see their cousins and their grandparents. Their friends. I want them to have birthday cake and nerf wars and sleepovers. It's selfish, I know. And they won't have that right now, and I am sure they will be just fine. But I have stress cracks in my heart. 

There is so much loss. Two people I know lost parents to Covid this week. How do we even grieve right now? All the traditions of gathering together to support and shelter one another are limited. It's all so damn scary. So unpredictable. And, for whatever reasons, there are people - people I know - who feel like masking and distancing are somehow about ANYTHING other than keeping others safe - or it is too damn inconvenient to actually DO anything for our fellow humans? Why is looking out for one another in such a small way somehow so freaking hard? I'm tired of being angry. 

Did I mention that I was tired?

2020 (November, if you are keeping track...)

 So... 2020. 

Miraculously, I posted in March of this year, so it looks like I will get TWO blog entries this year! 

This summer, BB was supposed to go to an academically gifted camp for two weeks. He was going to stay in a college dorm and take cool classes. He was going away for Scout camp for two weeks. Hubby was going to be giving the Army his usual 5 or so weeks and it looked like LB and I would be doing a lot as just the two of us. 

None of that happened, of course. Everything was cancelled. We went skiing in Vermont in very early March, where I sanitized everything constantly and we spent most of our time outside. Skiing for the first time with the boys was amazing fun. There were a lot of falls, but they were very game about it and say they can't wait to do it again. Flying from Boston to New Hampshire in a 8 seater plane was certainly a highlight for all of us. I am glad we did that, since it feels like we have not left the house since. 

All the cool camps were cancelled. LB turned 10 with no fanfare. BB turns THIRTEEN this week, also without fanfare. He does get to choose the place from which we order takeout... but these milestones are gliding by without the celebrations I so long to give them. I am crystal clear that these are very first world disappointments. I have come (finally) to a place where I feel like I can weep and mourn and rage and cry for all the bitter sadness in our world right now; all those without safe housing, adequate food, loss of jobs and income, access to health care ~ all the people who are losing loved ones every day... and still allow myself to feel my small sadness for the little(ish) things we have also lost. My missed opportunities are not life threatening, but I have gotten to the point where I have to acknowledge that my hurts are valid; even though they are so infinitesimally small compared to so many. In truth, the things for which I feel sadness are not for myself as much as for the things the boys are missing. These kids are, however, amazing me. They have adapted to a world that is so different remarkably well. (Possibly better than I have?) They have done online school with a great deal of grace. They have ridden their bikes A LOT and mastered wooden swordplay in the back yard. They miss their friends, going to the pool, going to camp, going to birthday parties; well, just... going. But, they don't whine about it (much) and seem to truly understand why masks are important and that this is just our world for now. 

I would be remiss if I didn't take a moment here to say how insanely grateful I am for their teachers. Holy cow, these humans are amazing. They have had to adapt to entirely new platforms, had to try and engage kids through a screen and online portals, had to literally figure out completely new ways to do their jobs - WHILE doing the job. It's like building an airplane mid-flight. I feel sure these teachers are not sleeping enough and spend SO much time trying to help their students that they have to be so burned out... and yet they keep showing up for these kids. As a nation, I am entirely certain that this entire profession needs a pay raise. A big one. 

I am beyond grateful that my employer has figured out how to let us/help us work from home during this crisis so I am not leaving two pre-adolescent boys alone in our home all day. (What could go wrong?) So, silver linings: More time with my babies. No matter what, when we go back to a life outside the house, I am going to miss that. (Pretty sure the dog will, too.) My commute is awesome. We have played more games together, eaten better (Shoot, I have even cooked some! Branching out!) We have made new friends online, who I hope to spend time with in real life some time. Every day, there is some act of kindness that gives me hope and faith that we can be our best selves when the chips are down. I have spent more time with some of my girlfriends on the phone, or having Zoom happy hour ~ it is, sadly, sometimes easier to "get together" from the living room on a Thursday than to carve out time to actually travel to a friend's house, get child care, etc. So, that has been a nice surprise. The opportunities shared by talented artists has been unbelievable. Truly. the kids have gotten to see ballet, concerts at the Ryman, Patrick Stewart reading daily Shakespearean sonnets, and Andrew Lloyd Webber playing piano in his living room. These are amazing things we might not have afforded in normal times. In particular, there are two singer/songwriters who we were lucky enough to see a few times at the Seay's Music Room who have been playing twice a week since the world shut down. Georgia Middleman and Gary Burr have given so selflessly of their time and talents to brighten these dark times. They are talented and funny ~ but here is this awesome other thing ~ the group of people who get together to watch them online have become like friends, too. When you go to a live concert, there is no matching the emotion and energy between audience and the creators of music and magic... but we also don't really get to know the people in the front row. We don't wish them happy birthdays or mourn their losses or make them feel connected to us as a crowd. The people who tune in to the Middleman Burr shows do those things. We all feel a little less alone for the time we get to spend together listening to amazing songs and bad jokes (sorry, G ~ some of them are good...) and we talk with one another. We are making connections with friends we haven't met yet. That is a silver lining. Maybe gold. 

So grateful for so many things; in the same breath as all of the sadness, anxiety, and fear. 

Breathe. Call your mom if you can. We are all in this together, even when we feel most alone. 

2020, April 3.

On March 2, BB called from Middle School, he wasn't feeling well. I took him to urgent care and got a positive test for Influenza A. That night, tornadoes tore through middle Tennessee leaving a path of damage over 50 miles long. Two Wilson County schools were completely destroyed. Businesses, buildings, homes, churches were flattened. There was no more school that week. The following week, which was spring break, our schools scrambled to figure out a way to keep these kids in schools, without their buildings. A plan emerged that the displaced kids and teachers would share ~ MJMS kids would use their school from 8-12, WWMS faculty and their students would use it from 1-5. Practices and matches and rehearsals were being rearranged, extended care being discussed, and a plan emerged.

Then, the spread of the virus causing COVID19 exploded globally. People stopped traveling, many stopped going to their offices (including me), grocery shopping became anxiety inducing, and school did not start back with their new plan. The schools here are closed until April 30, officially, but I will be surprised if they go those 13 days of May.

So, effectively, Summer break probably started March 2 for my 4th grader and 6th grader. First year on the tennis team. No games. No TaeKwonDo testing and advancement. No Scouts, no camping. We have a full summer planned with new and exciting opportunities. Will they happen?

I am so very fortunate that I can work from home, as I don't know exactly what I would do with my family if I had to go in every day. There are so many families facing so many hard choices. Livelihoods lost or diminished, fear everywhere. Birthdays, graduations, class trips being missed, memories rearranged. People dying. Mistrust and misinformation sowing seeds of anger, doubt, and fear. I have to both explain this to my boys and shield them from parts of it.

Our silver linings: I am getting to spend so much more time with my boys. Yes, they drive me nuts some of that time, but I am so, so glad to have this time with them. Musicians and artists who are stuck at home are sharing their talents and their gifts so freely online to help us all navigate this locked down life. We have seen so many acts of kindness and generosity.

Robert is still working in health care, and that causes me a lot of worry, but I am grateful that he still has a job to do. But this post is not about those fears.

Grandma

My mother left us one year ago this coming Saturday.

It seems impossible that it has been a year. A year of wanting to hear her voice. A year of firsts without her. Her grandsons' birthday parties with no Grandma. Her Fourth of July birthday. A Mother's day without sending her a card, or getting one from her. Christmas. Thanksgiving. A year of catching my breath and either breaking into a smile or unexpected tears when I come across a photo of her without prepping myself. Intentionally looking at more photos. Knowing how much she would have loved hearing her grandson singing Danny Boy at a concert. Trying not to think of all the things we won't have her for in the coming years, the graduations, weddings... And trying SO very, very hard to be the kind of mother she was.

The boys sometimes ask in their prayers that God tell her "Hello" and that our beloved dog Gnash is snuggling in her lap in heaven.

She would have adored seeing my boys in kilts for the Highland Festival. Or hearing my oldest read a poem for the Veterans on Memorial Day at the National Cemetery. Seeing my youngest in his Cub Scout Uniform reciting the oath. I believe, in my heart, that she does see these things; I guess I selfishly miss seeing her see them with me ~ with my family. Dear God, I miss her every day.

February 2017

School. Cub Scouts. Soccer. School play. Honor choir. Bookworms. Legos. 10 Years together.  Grandma is gone.

Apparently, my moments to pause and reflect are few and far between. Truly, moments are few. I feel as though I am constantly in motion, never get enough sleep, never have enough time with my husband ~ or my boys.

BB is almost 10. LB is almost 7. They are kids now. People. With opinions, personalities, individual talents. We argue. I constantly wonder if I am doing this right, with occasional flashes of validation.

A Personal Best

So, over a year since the last post.  Clearly I am terribly serious about my second career as a writer...

It has just hit me, today, that after this summer, both my boys will be in school. Ride the bus, I have no control over what they are exposed to, exciting, learning, big boy school.  Kindergarten and second grade.  Wow.  No more grabbing LB to rush him to day care on my way to the station.  I will leave the house alone every morning.  I truly wonder how that will feel.  I already feel a bit odd whenever I get into the car alone to go do... anything, really.

They are both so interesting, so individual, so smart, and yet so much still babies.  This is the start of the time where it will really start to show if we are teaching them the important things they need to know to get on in this world.  Kindness, patience, empathy, confidence, independence.  I cannot believe that these little people are so very grown up already.  Our family has changed in so many ways, and I feel like a dreadful historian.

Both of them played soccer last fall, which was great fun, if a bit hectic.  I don't see how people manage running around, spending any time together, commuting, working, and keeping the house inhabitable as well as multiple sports or clubs.  I can just barely keep my head above water, most of the time, and there are never enough minutes in a day to feel like I am teaching my children, or appreciating my husband.  Perhaps I need a bigger washing machine.  Just do it all at once, when their drawers are empty.

This mom thing is the coolest gig ever, though.  No question.  Man, I love those boys.