The World Keeps Spinning

January and I are still on bad terms.  This week, a friend's mom passed away very suddenly and so did the dad of one of my brother's friends.  It's also the anniversary of this wonderful man's death. Dying, Death, The End.  I don't like any of it, in fact, I hate it.

It's not as if my world has stopped spinning because of the loss of these people- and that's the part I can't wrap my head around.  For some people, the world as they know it is over and it will never be the same again- but for me, nothing has really changed.  Yes, I'm sad, but my life is going on as it normally would.  I hate that we can't avoid death- I mean I really hate.  We hear of someone dying and it causes us momentary pause before feeling the sense of relief that it isn't happening to us.  But the thing is, it will happen to us one day.

Maybe it's because I lost so many people close to me in such a short period of time, that I'm keenly aware of the life altering that happens when someone you love dies.  It doesn't seem fair that your life is forever changed while the person in the car next to you is oblivious to the fact that world has stopped for someone else. Death turns life into a before and after.

I Hate You, 2011

My dog died on New Year's Day- the first freaking day of 2011.  He was 10 years old.

I guess technically he was my brother's dog, but for all intents and purposes, he was mine.  Shadow was a Scottie dog- they can be a little bit aloof and they like their alone time.  But he loved me and earning his love meant something because he didn't feel that way about most anyone else.  When I was pregnant with Spencer, it was as if he could sense I needed him and he slept beside me every night.  He didn't really like to sleep with anyone because he was afraid of heights, couldn't jump very high, and liked having his own space to stretch without touching anyone.  But during those months he'd jump up beside me and settle in the crook of my bent legs, never leaving my side.

When we first brought him home, I was ridiculously allergic to him- so much so that I went on allergy shots- 12 injections a week for 52 weeks.  I loved that dog so much, I went on allergy shots for him!

He'd been really sick recently, but it looked like he was getting better.  Since my brother was at school and my parents both work during the day, I did the majority of taking care of him.  And he was getting better.

But then something just stopped working inside him.
 
And I wasn't there.

And he died.

When I needed him, he never left me, but when he needed me, I wasn't there.  He died and I wasn't there and I should have been. 

My eyes are swollen into little tiny slits because I can't stop crying.  

I don't like 2011; it stinks.  I guess the only good thing is that it has to get better, right? 

I am going to miss you Shadow, my little Stinky Stinkerson, Little Man Boy.

The Circle of the Drain of Life

This week(end) Spencer had Backyard Bible School.  In my day, we received stickers, Smarties, Dum-Dums, and candy bars (if we said the Theme Memory Verse), for doing things like bringing our Bible, bringing a friend, saying our memory verse, or doing certain art projects.  I can't begin to explain the excitement for me as a 5 year old at the prospect of getting a king sized Hersey's chocolate bar.  In some ways, not much changed- little toys, pieces of candy, and art projects, etc.  And then came the Carassius auratus auratus, aka the Goldfish.

The kids were learning about Jonah and the Whale when I saw a friend of mine, and fellow parent, walk through the door holding a large bag of water.  As she got closer, I thought there were little plastic fish in it.  And then I it all became clear what was inside:  real, live, swimming fish.  Slowly, realization poured over me- Spencer was going to bring home a goldfish. 

It was actually kinda funny, because all of us parents pretty much had the same reaction. We were going to bring home this fish, buy it supplies, while our kids fell in love with it, and then in 48 hours it would most likely make it's way to Goldfish Heaven.  My first inclination was just to keep Spencer away from them and she would never know the difference if we didn't bring one home with us.  And then I thought about how excited I would have been about bringing home a REAL LIVE FISH from Bible School: it made a king size Hershey bar seem like a Tootsie Roll.  So as much I was not looking forward to being responsible for "killing" a fish, I didn't want Spencer to miss out on it.  And so, the goldfish, who was black, came home with us in a little water filled baggie.

I would love to tell you that after spending $18 at the pet store on a bowl, special de-chlorination and de-chloramination water drops, flaky fish food and pink and gold rocks for the bottom, that we are still the proud owners of a fish. I would love to tell you that even though Spencer pointed and said "Mama, look at that man!" in regards to the very large, fully clothed in leather, bandanna wearing, tattooed all over motorcycle man in the fish food aisle, that we are still the proud owners of a fish.  I would love to tell you that even after the aforementioned comment and the motorcycle guy came up to us and recommended the best water drops and fish food, that we are still the proud owners of a fish. I would love to tell you that I didn't spend two hours setting up his/her future humble abode, making sure he/she had acclimated to the water before releasing it from the baggie, and watching as he/she ate the food- just to make sure it had eaten, that we are still the proud owner of a fish.  And I would really love to tell that after making sure he/she had made it through the night before leaving for church that I didn't come home from church two hours later and find said fish floating on top of the water: the poor thing didn't even make it 24 hours. 

Here lies the problem- do I use this as a "life lesson" on death or do I replace the fish without Spencer knowing?  I've managed to keep her away from the fish bowl all day, but eventually she's going to see it. I don't really have a problem with getting another fish and having her be none the wiser- I just don't want to keep buying fish only to have them die one day later.  Any recommendations about low maintenance, cheap-ish fish that have a longer life expectancy?  Would a goldfish be happier if he had a friend swimming with him?  Did I do something wrong that inadvertently killed this one?

Even though this was a bit of a fish debacle, Spencer had a really great time at Bible School and she hasn't stopped talking about it or the fish.  I also really love that my Sunday School teacher told the Backyard Bible stories and will now be her Sunday School teacher (yesterday was promotion Sunday and Spencer moved up an age group).  It does make me feel super old, though, haha!

 Okay, so fish ideas, please!

Go Go Go and Stop

By 11:30am this morning I felt like I'd just ran a marathon.  We got up and went to the grocery store, the drug store, McDonalds and the gas station.  Then there was the making (more like assembling) of two separate dishes from my grocery store purchases, getting showered, appropriately dressed and made up, then doing the same for Spence, loading up all the food into the car, driving twenty miles to drop off Spencer and then back in the opposite direction towards my final destination.  All of that by 11:30am.  I was so focused on getting everything done in time that I never even stopped, never even paused, to think about why I was actually doing all of this.

I walked into the building and found a place to sit- which was difficult because it was jam packed full with people.  I couldn't even find my mom, so I just sat down in one of the arm chairs they put out since all of the regular seating was full. As I sat there catching my breath the cloying scent of too many flowers in a confined space wafted over, tickling my nose and snapping me back to reality.  I was at a funeral.  The second time in two weeks that death had visited someone in my life.

The man who passed away is (was) my best friend's father-in-law.  But he was more than that- he was a family friend and The Best Man to my Maid of Honor.  One week before Sara's wedding, her soon to be father-in-law received the news that would forever change their lives.  He was diagnosed with an extremely rare neurodegenerative disease.  It was similar to ALS in that it would rob him of his ability to move and speak, all while his mind worked just fine.  But ALS has a life expectancy of 1-2 years after diagnosis, while his was 4-7 years.  That might sound like the better of the two deals, but trust me, it's not. All it meant was that he was trapped in his body longer.

A few days before the wedding they gave me the news.  It wasn't something they were ready to share with anyone yet, but I needed to know.  I was the maid of honor and he was the best man- he would climb the steps to the alter and then escort me down them and out of the very large church.  He was worried that he might trip, stumble, or fall in front of everyone- he didn't want to embarrass his son or do anything that might take the focus off of the bride and groom. To the untrained eye it might have looked like he was escorting me, but I was there for him.  As we linked arms on the alter stairs I could see the nervousness in his eyes, I gave him a little nod and squeezed his arm- I wanted him to know that I wouldn't let anything happen.  And it didn't.

He was a good, kind man.  At the viewing last night, the line to greet his wife was over an hour wait; over 500 people came to pay their respects and it took over five hours.  The service today was beautiful, filled with pictures, loving anecdotes and eulogies.  As I sat there in that arm chair all by myself, tears filled my eyes.  I had been going, going, going and now that I had stopped, the sadness of it all just become so real to me.  The unfairness.  He was a very active man- played tennis, ran every day, an avid skier, world traveler, dancer, and a successful owner of his own business.  He was a man's man, a gregarious Southern Gentleman, a devoted father to his son. It's a terrible disease for anyone to have, but it was particularly cruel for a someone like him.  Everything he was, everything he loved to do, it was all steadily taken away from him, with no hope that it would ever get any better.

Sara's son was born a few months ago and I had the privilege of taking some family photographs of them.  Sara's little boy was named after his grandpa, but it was going to be a surprise. In the hospital room I stood to the side as a son introduced his newborn son to his father.  I watched as he told him what his grandson's name was.  I took picture after picture, the flood of tears spilling out of my eyes made it a little difficult for me to see. It was a beautiful moment.  And even though he couldn't move, couldn't speak- the love and pride he felt shone in his eyes.  This is the picture I took the moment he found out the name of his first grandson.

They truly were the only windows into his soul, and they spoke volumes. 

After the funeral was over I was in charge of collecting all the food and driving it over to the post-graveside lunch reception.  I started feeling the urge to Go, Go, Go and accomplish my task.  But then I said to myself, Stop.  Life is so short and so much of it is spent just running through the motions and getting to the next thing all on autopilot. It's hard for me to press pause and savor the moment, but it's something I'm going to try to do from now on.  I don't want to miss the important moments or breeze right through them without realizing that I am.  Sometimes you just need to Stop.

Helpless

My friend who died ended his own life.  I found out today.

From the outside looking in, it appeared as though the world was his oyster.  He had a beautiful, intelligent wife, a house, and a loving family.  For what more could you ask?  I was looking at some of his pictures the other day, before any of this happened, and I thought to myself that he looked so happy, so loved.  He was one of the last people I would ever think could make such a decision;  to choose death over life.  

As sad as I am for him, all I can think about is his wife.  They were supposed to have a lifetime together- to grow old with each other.  And now she's alone; left by herself to pick up the pieces and somehow move forward.  It makes me queasy to think about the helplessness she must feel.  What must she have gone through when she went home and found him?

I've experienced depression before.  Shortly after my Mema died my dad was diagnosed with Small B-Cell Lymphoma, specifically Small Lymphocytic Lymphoma.  Within four months my world was turned upside down and I was devastated.  Months later I no longer recognized myself and my parents were so worried about me.  I got help, went to a psychiatrist and was put on an anti-depressant.  After awhile things began to look brighter and I was slowly weaned off of them under my doctor's supervision.  It was a painful time in my life, but I never thought about ending it.  That's why I know he must have been in such tremendous despair.


It's taken me five minutes to write the word.  Suicide.  It takes my breath away like a punch to the stomach.  I don't know if he reached our to anyone or if he kept it all bottled inside.  What if someone I'm close to is experiencing the same thoughts and feelings?  How can I help?  I hope I'm the kind of person that someone could turn to, but maybe I'm not.  I don't know, what are the right words to say?

Tonight, I'm feeling helpless.

Fleeting

I just found out that a friend of mine from high school passed away last night.  We weren't the best of friends, probably more of acquaintances in actuality.  But he's dead now.  Alive yesterday, dead today.  I just can't fathom that.  He was such a nice guy, incredibly smart, and was only 27.  I can't even imagine the pain his wife his going through right now.  I'm even more reminded how fleeting this life is; how we have no idea when our last day is in fact our last day.  It sends shivers down my spine to think of it.  But right now I'm just thinking about the break dancing guy from high school- the one who always had a smile and a hug for everyone.

Bye My Friend

My computer has gone to Electronic Heaven. It's with the Geek Squad now, as they recover all of my pictures and documents. Luckily, they said I won't have lost anything stored on my hard drive. My dad has graciously donated me his laptop (he has a desktop too) until I can buy a new computer. My math class is online, so I have to have a computer. But I have no pictures on this thing and it's too big for my hands. I know I shouldn't be complaining, but I feel like I've lost my friend! I'm such a drama queen.


Yesterday I had class from 8 am to 4:30pm, so I'm pretty wiped out. Hopefully I'll get used to this thing and be in a better mood tomorrow :)

A Long Short Goodbye

This is going to be/is a pretty stressful week for me, as Spencer's birthday is Friday and her party is Saturday. Everything's been ordered, invitations mailed, now it's just implementing all of it. Of course my house needs a good cleaning, but it's not that bad. But when you have an almost two year old, and a Great Dane puppy, you can't clean too far in advance, or else you'll just be doing it twice, or thrice, and what ever the -ice version of four is.

You can't do anything in advance really, just order, buy, and wait for the horrendous day when you know you have to do everything at once. It's just hanging over my head right now, and I've never been all that great at implementation. I'm a much better planner than doer. Almost every paper I've ever written that received an A was done in an all night marathon. When I spent days or weeks trying to write one paper, I'd write a few pages, come back the next day and maybe decide to go with a new theme, or the flow was off, the tone different. I'd second guess, rewrite, re-edit, waste loads of time, and erode my self-confidence in the process. For me, long term projects lack coherency- I'm a sprinter, not a marathon type of girl.

Of course this leads to a great deal of stress and is probably not the smartest or healthiest way to handle anything, but so far, it's the one that produces the best results. But I'm open to suggestions, always!
So today, while I was taking a break from my mental party preparations, Spencer and I went with my aunt to my Grandparent's house. It's finally been sold and the closing is tomorrow. I'd already said my goodbyes to the house and I really didn't want to go, I felt like it would be having to do it all over again. But my aunt really wanted someone to go with her, so we went. And I'm so glad I did.

I didn't go in again, but I got out with Spencer and walked around. It's the weirdest feeling to be somewhere and know that you'll never be there again. Even though it's only 15 minutes away and I could drive by anytime I want- I won't. I won't be able to go in the backyard or sit on the porch. This was it. I walked to the edge of the backyard and memories came flooding back. There's this concrete drain type thing in the back, that runs through the entire neighborhood- on the other side is just woods.
When I was a little girl I thought it was a real creek, because water was always flowing through it, and I used to dare myself to jump over it. My Grandpa built a plank for me to cross it, like a pirate, and then I'd be in "the woods" which was very scary for me. It's where I saw a deer for the first time, and I'd put out treats for her so she'd come back and visit. I can remember my Grandpa telling me to be very quiet or else she'd get scared and run away.

The "Creek"

As I got older, I rarely headed into the yard and the creek became more overgrown. When I saw it today, it looked nothing like my memories of it, but it still brought tears to my eyes. I have a very difficult time letting go of things/feelings, but I've done a really good job with it in terms of Grandparents. Not forgetting them, but knowing that they needed to be together to be happy and if that meant they'd have to be in Heaven to do so, well, okay. But going back there reminded me of a much happier time with them, it made me forget their last awful days, and it was tears of happiness that I quickly brushed away from my face. (Spencer does NOT like it when I cry).

My Grandpa was my only grandparent who got to meet to Spencer. My parents initially tried to hide my pregnancy from everyone but my Grandma died when I was 6 months pregnant, putting an end to that. My Dad told him shortly thereafter and when I saw him the next day, he gave me a long hug and said "We lost our girl, but God's given us another one." I'll never forget that- his words, his expression, his embrace. He was so loving and supportive of me.

I thought I'd already said goodbye, I sprinted right through and tried not to look too far back. But Spencer's upcoming birthday has really made me very reflective and emotional. I decided I don't need to say goodbye, I have two decades worth of fabulous memories and stories to keep my company. So much of the grieving process is spent on the final days, probably because the good days are too hard to remember. But going back to their house today reminded me of all those wonderful times and cherished memories. It wasn't a goodbye today.

Memory Lane, Penny Lane

Today would have been my Mema's 80th birthday. My mom, Spencer, and I are going to the cemetery to put the pink and blue hydrangeas that she loved so much on her grave. Well, actually in the vase on her grave - such strict rules these places have now!

While I still am shaky on my faith (but I'm working on it) I have always believed that when I'm talking to her she is listening. I miss her every day. I don't think it's just a coincidence that her dog we inherited is Spencer's best non-human friend. But then again, I'm always on the look out for "signs" from her, something that shows me she's watching over us.

I'm the brat in my family- everyone else is mild-mannered and obedient. Even though she got on me for my smart mouth, she was also my ally. She loved me and she was proud of me. She's been gone for three years now, but there are still so many times that I say to myself "I need to call Mema, she'll know the answer," only to remember that I can't.

She taught me how to sew, how to knit, how to crochet and even how to properly iron pockets inside of the pants. I never had a store bought Halloween costume because each year she always made mine and they were AWESOME! I always won best costume at every party.

She was a proud breast cancer survivor, a generous donor, an unfailingly loyal wife. She was June Carter Cash's BFF in high school, she was my BFF for always. When my Papa first moved to Richmond he saw her walking down the street as he drove by. He stopped, rolled down the window, and said "I'm gonna marry you one day." She thought he was crazy, but by the time she got to her house, he was already there, asking her father if he could court his daughter.

She was beautiful. She was also smart. Even though she never went to college, she was excellent with numbers. While working a full time job she also did taxes for many people. She saved her money and was an excellent investor. She firmly believed the only safe way to invest money was long term and low yield. All of her stocks were blue chip, because she preferred earning only a penny rather than losing a dollar.

She took care of my Papa for four years while he became a shell of his former self due to Alzheimer's Disease. When she finally had no other choice but to put him in a nursing home, they told her they had never seen another patient as far along as he was being admitted for the first time. She hated having to leave him there, even though she spent every day, hours upon hours visiting him. She did his laundry, ironed all of his clothes (even his handkerchiefs) and cut his hair. When I asked her why she spent so much time making sure there were no wrinkles in his pants, making the crease perfectly even, and the handkerchiefs in four perfect squares, she said "Your Papa would be mortified if he knew he was walking around in wrinkled pants! And it's just good taste to have neat handkerchief!"

 

She was a Godly woman, a virtuous woman. She read the Bible everyday and never missed, or was late to, any church service. I sat beside her in church every Sunday, from the time when she gave me Werther's Originals and let me draw on her bulletins, to the time when she let me takes naps on her shoulder, shielding me so my mom wouldn't see me asleep, to the time when she would ask me what chapter of the Bible we were on because she couldn't hear what the Preacher said.

I'll never forget the time she gave me Ruth Graham's autobiography as a random gift one day. She was so nervous because she didn't want me to think she was giving me the book because I was doing something wrong in my life. She had read it and thought it was a great example of a Godly woman who was also strong and independent. I still have the book, it's always in my nightstand drawer.

I don't think it's humanly possible for me to convey how much she influenced my life, how much I love her, or how much I miss her. Her death was so sudden and so shocking, and for some terrible reason that day is one that I can't forget. I'm pretty good at blocking out bad memories, mostly because I'm not good at dealing with them, but everything about August 28th is etched into my brain. It's the day I lost my ally, my friend, my problem solver, and in some ways, my faith.

Every year I go to her grave on her birthday and sing to her. I tell her how I miss her snarkiness even though she would have no clue what snarky meant. I ask her to try and make sure I don't forget her stories and her life- because I want to share them with Spencer. Every year I cry a bucket of tears and wish I could hear her say "Get a hold of yourself! A lady doesn't weep in public!" Then I laugh and think about how lucky I was to have her for 23 years, how grateful I am for all she taught me.


Not a day goes by that I don't think about my her. Spencer has her middle name and when she's old enough, I can't wait to tell her all the stories about her Great-MeMa. So Happy Birthday, I'm sorry I shared with the world your real age! I Love You Always.

Life and Living

Friedrich Nietzsche once asked:

What if a demon were to creep after you one night, in your loneliest loneliness, and say, 'This life which you live must be lived by you once again and innumerable times more; and every pain and joy and thought and sigh must come again to you, all in the same sequence. The eternal hourglass will again and again be turned and you with it, dust of the dust!' Would you throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse that demon? Or would you answer, 'Never have I heard anything more divine'?

I know for sure that I would do it again again, gratefully. (well, I wouldn't be to keen about the demon part!)

It seems to me that I'm constantly aware of how quickly life is passing me by and how fragile it is. Natasha Richardson died yesterday as a result of a fall while skiing on the bunny slope. The effing bunny slope! That just seems wrong.

I keep thinking of Liam Neeson (her husband) in Love Actually. Do you remember him in it? He played the recently widowed father who struggled with this own grief, but ultimately found comfort in helping his son heal. I remember watching him in that role and thinking in the back of my mind "this is only a movie, Liam Neeson is happily married to Natasha Richardson, don't start blubbering or people will stare."

My father is a neurologist (brain doctor) and when I was a kid (0-7yrs) he was completing medical school and his residency. He saw hundreds of freak accidents involving children that caused irreversible brain damage and death. He was originally going to be a pediatric neurologist, but once I was born, he felt like all the kids that came in were his children. Every single case had a name and a story and he brought them home with him. All the freak accidents he saw - these became my litmus test. There was no diving into pools, jumping on trampolines, ice skating, gymnastics, skiing, riding in a convertible (or any another vehicle that had a soft top) even a pogo stick was off limits!

As I got older and he switched to adult neurology, the forbidden activities list became a little less stringent. But somethings were still off limits- especially skiing and gymnastics. But I wanted to be a gymnast, so I practiced flipping, etc., at my house, in the yard, on the jungle gym. My mom finally convinced my dad that it would be safer if I took some lessons rather than trying to teach myself. I guess you could say that was the beginning of the end for me- when I started doing forbidden activities on the sly.

The first time I went skiing, I was in the 4th grade and it was with the Girl Scouts. And when my dad found out that my mom was going to let me SKI, I don't think my he spoke to her for an entire week. He was so mad, but he was more afraid. When you see bad things happen all around you, it's so easy to envision that happening in your own life and you want to do everything you can to prevent it. I get that now.

During my dark and twisty, dramatic, and tearful adolescence, (I'm being a drama queen) I found a lot of comfort in quotations. I would put on my bathroom mirror, my car visor, the front of my notebooks- they reminded me that other people struggled with the same things I did. There is something very powerful about written words that we pass down over time, that mean something when they're read.
I think this one is appropriate for my mood today:

We cannot banish dangers, but we can banish fears. We must not demean life by
standing in awe of death.

~David Sarnof

While I would love to put a protective suit around Spencer and keep her in a padded room, safe from all harm- I realize that she wouldn't be enjoying life, but fearing it. I can't keep her in a bubble, and that scares me, but I guess that's how life works. You have to realize that you are living every moment of it and try to create something lasting- because for sure- one day we won't be here.

A life of purpose and passion, that is what I want for Spencer. And if some freak accident were to happen to me, that's what I hope people would say about my life. But for today, Spence is asleep, safe and snug in my arms without a care in the world- how great is that?

Happy Birthday Grandpa

Today is my Grandpa's birthday, he would have been 86 years old. He passed away last year, right before his 85th Birthday. We were dealing with funeral arrangements, etc.; we were so immersed in thoughts of him, that it didn't feel like it was his first birthday without him here.So to me, this is the first time February 26th feels sad.

My Grandpa was a very intelligent man that loved baseball. He LOVED the "Cubbies," as he called them, and anxiously awaited baseball season every year. He played the snare drum in the Army's "Drum and Bugle Corps.," and still remembered almost all of the French he learned while stationed in Paris in WWII. He voted in every election and befriended every dog he ever met. (My Josie dog was his favorite and she was crazy about him!) He would called me "Bu-fee-ul" because I started calling him "Beautiful" when I was two, only it came out "Bu-fee-ul." He read the newspaper every day, even as his health declined and it would take him almost all day to do so. He cried the day that he took me aside to tell me my Grandma had Alzheimer's Disease.

My Grandpa's death was different than any of my other grandparents because he was ready to go; he wanted to be with his Honey. When my Grandma passed away, nine months before Grandpa (5/05), the light in his eyes left, his purpose for being here, gone. Each week that he could, he would buy three perfect red roses and set them by her chair.  Red roses were her favorite.

When my aunt was very young, my grandparents brought her with them to the mall one day. Somehow they got separated and they had always told her if that happened, she should stay put and they would find her. She was scared and sat down underneath of a circular clothes rack. My grandparents were searching for her when all of a sudden they heard a little voice saying "Honey, I'm here Honey," and "Honey, Honey, Honey!"

She was just a little girl and she thought her parents real names were Honey, because that's how they always spoke to each other. They held hands, he always got out and opened her car door, she kept the red dress she was wearing the night they met. They were married for 60 years, (60 years!) and I never remember them fighting. He loved her; loved her in the way all women want to be loved.

My Grandma died when I was six months pregnant with Spencer. She had Alzheimer's Disease, and at the end her mind was locked in the past. She spoke to her Honey like they were still newlyweds living in New Jersey. She never knew I was pregnant, but my Grandpa liked to think that primordial Spencer and my Grandma got to know each other then, in Heaven.

I knew that he was going to die and I was at peace with that. He believed his Love was waiting for him, was anxiously anticipating his arrival, and he had never- could never- disappoint her. My Grandma was one of the luckiest ladies in the world- she was loved for 60 years by a great man who spent his life faithfully devoted to her.


Happy Birthday Grandpa, I Love You!

Patrick Swayze, Barbara Walters, Weeping Katie

I don't know if anyone watched Patrick Swayze's interview with Barbara Walters, but I did, and it's gotten to me. I think I cried through about 70% of it, especially when they got to talking about his relationship with his wife.

They've been married for 33 years and you can still see the love they have for each other. I think it's amazing for any couple to stay married that long, but I think it's so much more beautiful when that couple's love is apparent to everyone who sees them. I've only ever seen it a handful of times, but they've stayed with me, they've become what I aspire to have one day.


I think a lot of people in my situation, the ones who marry the father and the ones who don't, get married to the wrong person just because it will make things easier. It's hard to be a single mother, it's hard to see families together and it's hard to not be jealous of them. But I have to be an example to Spencer and any relationship I have will effect her; I'm not getting married to anyone unless I see us as an "always." I'm not going to settle for anything less than a love like that because that's not the example, the lesson, I want for Spencer to follow.

When I watched Patrick and his wife together, as they face the knowledge that their time with each other will be cut short, it amazed me how grateful they were. Yes, they were sad and angry and all those feelings that go along with a terminal prognosis, but their commitment and love were already rock solid before that. They didn't look back and see years of their relationship they wished they could change, and they were thankful for that.

It was so moving and I was a crying a mess. On the other hand, it made me think about all of this and really gave me the perspective I've been needing recently. Sometimes I get all "woe is me" but I have so much for which I'm grateful. I never want to look back on these years and have regrets about not appreciating them, or wishing they were easier, or wishing I could go back and redo it all differently. If you haven't watched it, I'm putting a clip at the bottom, but it should be up on abc.com pretty soon.

Oh, and have a few tissues on hand, I double dare you not to cry!