The Finish Line

Again!

It wasn't easier.  But I trained less this year.  And I gave myself permission before the race to walk if I needed to.  But I guess I never really needed to, because I never stopped to walk.

It was different this time.  I wasn't doing something for the first time.  I wasn't at the brim of tears for achieving something I worked so hard at.  It wasn't as emotional.  I didn't have as much riding on it.  I was just doing something that I now do each year and am really proud of myself for doing.

I shaved a couple of minutes off of my time from last year, but I am not really concerned with time.  When I am running the 5K, I only care about finishing.  (Said like a true slow runner.) 

And, as always, there is no better feeling than the one that you feel when you see Mile Marker 3.  Because that means there is only .1 left.  And that .1 is the easiest running you'll ever do.  It's the type of running that you can do while holding your daughter's hand and smiling.  It's feel-good running, and I wish I could capture that feeling and bottle it and use it in other aspects of my life.

This year has been different than the past few.  I can't say it's been great, but it's been better.  Life without my mom has always been a journey, I've said that before, but there have been times where I've seen the metaphorical Mile Marker 3.  Where it's not only no longer a burden to go on, but a joy.  There have been times where I've been living in the .1--me: pessimistic, sarcastic Dana, seeing mile 3, moving faster, grabbing my kid's hand, smiling, smooth moving for the last bit of the race, happy to finally cross the finish line.

We Found Love In A Hopeless Place

Yellow diamonds in the light

And we're standing side by side

As your shadow crosses mine

What it takes to come alive

 

Shine a light through an open door

Love and life I will divide

Turn away cause I need you more

Feel the heartbeat in my mind

 
 

Ugh

Not a good week.

Life Goes On

I left home at 17 and went to college in Boston.   It was there that I wore baggy jeans and Simple sneakers, gave up red meat for a year, stopped believing in God, questioned authority, and realized that if you don’t like something in your life it’s up to you to change it.

I returned to NJ after graduation and moved in with my parents.  My dad expected me to follow his rules, after four years of following my own, and so I moved out at 21 and got myself an apartment. 

It’s been my way or the highway ever since.

Don’t like my job?  Get a new one.

Don’t like my weight?  Change it.

Don’t like my house? Move.

Losing my mom has been the only thing that I have not been able to change.  I don’t want to be motherless.  I don’t want to raise children without their grandmother.  I don’t want to not have her here when I need her.  But I can’t change any of that.

That’s why I started this blog.  I was looking for a way to cope with something that I could not change.  All of my life I’ve been lead to believe that I am in control of my own happiness, and here I was, not happy and not able to change it.  I felt stuck.  I wanted my mother here and there was no way to make that happen and therefore, I would never be happy again.

I was wrong.  But I didn’t know it.  It took time.

For the first few years after her death, I felt like I was walking through a dark tunnel.  I was trying to get to the end, walking aimlessly with my arms out, reaching for anything that felt familiar, trying to figure out how to get out of this dark hell.  Every once in a while I grabbed a hold of something that brought me comfort-- a hobby, an achievement, a memory, a good time—and I thought, “Ok, Dana.  Move towards that.  That’s the right way.”  But then there were times when my eyes refused to acclimate to the darkness, and I lost hold of that good feeling, and I continued on my dark trek through the tunnel. 

Lately, however, the tunnel hasn’t been that dark.  It’s actually well-lit.  There are paintings on the wall and friends at every corner.  The ground is carpeted and the bathrooms are spotless.  The tunnel isn’t even a tunnel.  It’s a wide residential street with large leafy trees.  It’s a sunny day.  It’s jacket weather.  My daughter is riding her bike next to me.  My husband is holding my hand.  My dog doesn’t want to eat other dogs.  My daughter doesn’t have a potty mouth.  Greg isn’t lecturing me about leaving my purse on the kitchen counter.  I make a stop at Weight Watchers-I’ve lost 10 lbs this week!  How awesome.  Suddenly I’m jogging down the street.  I’m waving to people who are here to cheer me on.  My family is holding up signs.  My dad is smiling.  My sister is running next to me.  I’m the winner of the race.  The ribbon breaks against my stomach and I get a trophy and I’m laughing and we all break into a flash mob to Jessie J.’s Domino.

Maybe I can change this situation.  Maybe bringing my mother back is not the only way to be happy again.

We Had A Time

Over the weekend Aunt Abbe and cousin Stacey came to visit.  We talked about Weight Watchers and the trials and tribulations we've been experiencing.  We gave each other exercise tips and discussed new recipes.  We talked about our feelings: how it feels to be overweight, how it feels to lose weight, how it differs from how we thought it would be. 

We discussed the next Turkey Trot, and I convinced Stacey to do it with me!  Stacey and Leah went swimming for a bit.  Aunt Abbe told me she send me some of her old pants that are now my new size. 

We had a good weekend, and, like you could imagine, we got to the part of the conversation that talks about how you were not there to talk with us.  How you would have been making this weight loss journey with us; how you would have been interested in the 2 point zucchini muffin recipe; how you would have resisted doing the Turkey Trot but ultimately would have tried.

The fact of the matter is that you should have been there.  But you aren't.  YOU gave up.  You looked for an easy out and you didn't find one.  And, therefore, you missed out.  We had a time.  And you weren't there.

Weight Watchers

I’ve been following Weight Watchers since May 17th now. As of this past Tuesday, I am down 12.2 lbs, which means I’m averaging 2 lbs a week. I am happy with this pace, yet I fear I won’t be able to hold on to it for very much longer.


I thought by this point I’d have the new points plus system down better. I don’t. I am nothing without my tools to tell me how many points foods are, and I dutifully find myself entering meals into the system with no idea of how many points they’ll turn out to be until the screen blinks out a number.



I have not been able to exercise regularly, and I feel that exercising is the only thing that will enable me to hold on to that 2 lb a week loss pace. I am switching jobs (again? I know.) in a week which will give me some more free time. I plan on integrating running back into my life.



Other people on Weight Watchers see the plan as, “Oh I can eat anything I want--just in moderation,” while my outlook isn’t as cheery. If I could eat in moderation I wouldn’t be here. Clearly, that’s an issue for me. I look at Weight Watchers as the way I have to eat, with restrictions on foods and portions, forever, if I want to be lighter and healthier. I see it as a war that I’ve lost and my punishment is a very tight rein on my diet for the rest of my life; something that I need to comes to grips with and accept. I’ve tried to live my way with regards to food, and it didn’t work out, so now we do it someone else’s way, and succumb to the fact that I’ll need to track, report, weigh in, and attend meetings in order to curb my eating habits for the rest of my life.



It’s almost like someone in a drug and alcohol treatment program--someone who tried to handle their addiction on their own but failed and is now accepting the fact that they were wrong and need help. Quite often we see certain behaviors and objects as benign, and those who struggle with them as enigmas. When I realized that overeating and poor food choices were issues in my life, and made an effort to change that, I began treatment for my addiction.



It’s incredibly difficult to sit in a room with women who are strong enough to make a life change through diet and exercise, which, with all the fast and easy ways of losing weight this days, can be described as the long and hard way. I look around at these women who know that this is the right way to do it and are fighting the good fight, despite the uphill battle ahead of them. It’s not difficult to handle because I’m one of them, and can glimpse 10, 20, 30 years in the future and see myself still needing this program to stay healthy. No, it’s difficult because of the one person who gave up on this. The person who introduced me to Weight Watchers so many years ago, and who went back time and time again. Who saw results- although meager and short-lived- after her hard work. But then who gave up. Who succumbed when the battle became too much. Who saw a light off to the right, rather than through the long tunnel, and went to it.  And then got burned.

.

No Reason

Things are good. So good. Yet I am still not right.

There are milestones and careers and success stories and new schools.

There are open windows and open doors.

There are anticipations, excitements, and things to look forward to. But I have started reaching for the phone to call her again.

I began running again. Running makes me think of my mom. Dieting, eating well, being healthy, being unhealthy, seeing grandmas, reading about people dying in their 50s, pregnant women, shopping, cleaning, lipstick, the vacuum, and the Gin Blossoms. Everything. It’s disgusting, really.

My anxiety is out of control. I can’t stop thinking about how Leah is probably dying every time I’m not with her.

Songs that have nothing to do with moms that have died make me think of my mom that died. I mean, songs that are clearly about other things I think were written with me in mind.

Never mind, I’ll find someone like you

I wish nothing but the best for you too

Don’t forget me I beg, I remember you said,

Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.

 

~Adele

 

It’s just a minor setback, and I’m sure I’ll come out of it, but it takes a lot out of me and it wears me down.


God, I hope I lose weight tonight at Weight Watchers.*

Here we go again.

*My priorities are warped.

 
 
 
.

On A Day, In May

It's her day, and it's my day, and we never got the chance to celebrate together.

And today I'm spending the day with Adriana.  As per the usual.  At the crappy nail salon that we are forced to go to because it's the only one that's open on Sundays.

And, I've decided to turn over a new leaf and bring Leah with us.  Up until this year, I've felt like Mother's Day is my day to do whatever I want, however selfish, even if that means not spending the day with my daughter.  But this year I realized that wanting to spend the day without my daughter is exactly the opposite of how I want her to feel on this day.  When she's older, I hope that she wants to do special things with me on this day, and how horrible is it that I want to be alone?  Just because I no longer have a mom to spend the day with?  God, Dana, you're such a brat.  So, today, Leah gets her first pedicure, Dana will undoubtedly need an early glass of wine, and Adriana will most likely take extra birth control tonight...but, we'll spend it together like we would have done if my mom was still here. 

 I choose to have Leah with me today because I love her and I want to spend Mother's Day with her.

And because I totally don't have a babysitter. 

.

The Healing Corner: Abbe's Story; Part Four

It was Thanksgiving 1983. We had just purchased out first home 4 months prior. The week before I found out I was pregnant with our second child.



Ray III was 3 yrs old. Because I grew up in a Jewish household, I just loved all the Christmas holiday things. The family, the food, the gifts - meaning the shopping, the wrapping and cooking ~ alot of things people thought a chore I thought was fun. Since I was new to all this I also over indulged in shopping and planning.



A few weeks before Christmas I started spotting. I went to the doctor and he told me to stay off of my feet as much as possible.



I did, but it was the holidays and I also had a toddler at home and a husband who worked long hours. Anyone who lived nearby was busy in their own lives.



As usual we were planning to go to North Jersey for Christmas. It felt like one of those changes was going to get the best of us within the next couple of years because we were the only family members that lived down the shore at the time. We could still travel with little Ray, but we felt in the near future we would want him waking up in his own home on Christmas to share the excitement.



It was a bitter cold winter. I mean bitter. Below freezing wind factors.



Christmas Eve day I started spotting more. Then the pain started.....and continued. I couldn't/shouldn't leave my bed. I was hoping I wasn't miscarrying.



Uncle Ray stopped on the way home from work on Christmas Eve, picked up a roast and some fixings that he could put together for us for Christmas dinner at the last minute since we couldn't travel. I told him to go up north with Ray and spend the holiday there. He wouldn't go.



5:30 that morning I woke up in extreme pain and just knew from the depth of my soul I just miscarried. Here is was Christmas morning. I had to call the doctor. He said maybe not, just stay off my feet. I knew differently because the pain stopped out of the blue.



I cried for the baby I just miscarried. I cried because I pulled my husband and son away from the extended family for the day. I will never, ever forget Ray's words to me at that moment....."Abbe, you and Ray are my family. We are here together. This is how it's going to be from now on as our family grows."



That was the turning point in us running up north on Christmas. We realized that our immediate family was important and we had to alter tradition. We found our way over the years how to visit a day or two later. It's was all ok.



Later into the morning I called my friend Colleen to tell her what had just happened. She invited us to stop by later in the evening for dessert with her parents and family. It was the start of a new tradition. Now 27 yrs laters I still stop by late on Christmas night. Through that 27 yrs, she's divorced and has a new segment to her family, Uncle Ray died, her Dad died who always made the plum pudding Uncle Ray craved for every year, the kids have grown, sometimes one of our kids are there, sometimes not....however it falls, it works.



The next morning I went to the doctor and the ultrasound confirmed what I already knew.



.

I Have A Dream

The other night I had a dream that I was picking my mom up from the airport.  She had been on vacation for 3.5 years.  She came out of the terminal with a straw hat on, so I guess she was in the Caribbean.

When I got to the airport I texted her to let her know I was there.  And then, when she was coming out of Customs, she texted me that she was almost there. 

When we finally met up, I kissed her on the cheek and asked her about the trip.  Then I nonchalantly told her about everything she had missed since she had been gone: the birth of Leah, Marco's marriage, Bella.  She asked questions about the events and we laughed over what she would have done if she were there.

And then I woke up.  Because my damn alarm clock goes off at 5 freaking a.m.  Instead of shooting the sh*t with my mom after she went on a three and a stinkin half year vacation, I had to wake up and brush my teeth.  Whatever.



**Happy Birthday Marco!!  Hope you have a wonderful day!

.

Today,

she would have been 58.

she would have known her two granddaughters.

she would have been helping Adriana get ready for the purchase of her first home.

she would have witnessed Marco marry.

she would have been dancing to her heart's content.

she would have been able to prove to this girl how wonderful she was, rather than just have me tell her.

Today would have been a good day.

 
 
.

Three Whole Years

Four months and seven days after the anniversary of my mother's death, which goes down as the worst day of my life, we celebrate Leah's birth, which goes down as the best day of my life.

In my 34 years of living on this planet, I have a few accomplishments.  But NOTHING makes me prouder than when I look at what Greg and I brought into this world on March 26, 2008.

Happy Birthday, Leah.  I've said it before, and I'll say it forever, you truly saved my life.

Now, go pick up your shoes and fortheloveofgod stop throwing your crayons.

Steel Magnolias

I have a friend who, at 33, became a widow last week.

I have a friend who is 7 months pregnant with her second child and found out earlier in the week that her husband has leukemia.

I have a friend who is separated from her husband, has two children, and was just laid off from her job.

There are women in my life who have experienced death, disease, miscarriage, debt, infertility, drugs and more. 

There are times I look at any tragedy I've suffered, and I think, it could be worse, Dana.  It could be so much worse.  You may not have your mother, but you have your husband, your daughter, your family, your health.  Be thankful that it's not worse.

We often look at other people who have endured a horrible experience and think I could never go through that and live.  I could never handle that, and then something devastating happens to us, and we find ourselves automatically handling it, going through the motions, making it work, dealing with it, and before you know it, we've lived through it.  Through something we never thought we'd be strong enough to endure.  And we're still alive.  And at times perhaps thriving.  And we're stronger than we've ever imagined.

We will all go through our own tragedy.  And it will be something that we never thought we'd be able to handle.  And we will do it and surprise ourselves. 

To the women in my life going through these tough times: You can do it.  That's all I can say. 



.

Dear Mom...

It's been a long time since I wrote you a letter.  It's not because I've forgotten about you.  Believe me, I still think about you all the time.

We are chugging along in life, replacing hot water heaters, buying new cars, watching Angelina Ballerina, making an occasional BM in the toilet (you'll appreciate the use of "BM"), shoveling snow on a weekly basis, spending an exorbitant amount of money at Kohls, using Bed, Bath, and Beyond coupons (we must--Linens and Things went out of business after you died--two events that I'm sure are related), getting extended bedtimes, vacuuming on a near-daily basis, getting a new stove, non-stop food shopping, making new friends, drinking lots of wine, creating new recipes, seeing shows, facebooking (you wouldn't get it), "working on the 'puter", paying bills, complaining about bills, making new bills, celebrating birthdays, yelling at Ruby for eating diapers out of the garbage, trying to keep Penny from scratching every piece of new furniture we bring into this house and anything and everything else involved with life.

But, please don't let the above paragraph make you think that I don't wish we could do every one of those things with you.

 

Raising Dana

Growing up, one of my favorite things was going down the doll aisle at toy stores.  I would inspect and study each and every doll--what she looked like, what she wore, what she came with, what she could do, if she pooped, everything.  I would get so excited to visit toy stores because a trip always, always included a stroll down the doll aisle.  I would jump from doll to doll, narrating my moves: This one has diapers!  I saw this one on TV!  Oh, I love this one so much!  This one comes with a potty!

And, if we're being honest with each other, I still enjoy perusing the doll aisle.  Even before I had Leah, if a store I was visiting contained a doll aisle, I always made sure to take a glance before I left.

I don't know why it surprises me, and delights me to no end, but Leah is obsessed with the doll aisles, too.  The first few times she begged to be let out of the cart once we reached the aisle, so that she could get a better look at the merchandise, I thought it was only a fluke.  But it's been happening now for a while, and this characteristic, along with a few other select ones, are so similar to things that I did as a child and it just amazes me each and every time I see them.

Dis one has a ba ba!  Dis one has siddy hair!  I wike dis one!  Dis one is cwying for a ma ma!

I am so grateful that I had a daughter first.  I know you're not supposed to say that, but I don't care.  I am.  I feel like it was a blessing in disguise.  Having a daughter so soon after losing my mother taught me to not take for granted one single tiny minute in this life with her.  I will never be accused of not teaching her enough, or speaking to her enough, or giving her enough, because I know how important it is to create the mother/daughter bond, because I know what it's like to lose it. 

I am in a position where I can give her things--whether material or experience-based--and I do that as much as I can.  I don't care if other people thing she's spoiled, or that I should share the wealth with a second child, or if I am doing her a disservice.  Because I know what a daughter remembers about her mom when she's no longer around.  I know what a daughter is grateful and thankful for from her mother.  I know what a daughter cherishes and holds close to her heart about her mom when her mom has passed.

It's things like sharing the experience of walking the doll aisle.



.

Complain Away

I have a friend, and I won't post her name but she'll know who she is, who feels that she can't complain about her mom in front of me.  And that's just so silly.  Because I can assure you that if my mom was still alive, I would be complaining about her all the time.  And, I can also assure you that I am not thinking in my head, "Harumph! Here she is complaining about her mom and I don't even have one!"  Because, believe me, I am not!  In fact, I find an odd comfort in hearing about the crazy things your mom does.  I honestly loved hearing about all of the things she's doing for your new baby that you asked her not to do.  It makes me laugh, because I think my mom would have done that too!  And in this weird way, I'm living vicariously through you.  And I could tell that about halfway through your rant, you started thinking that what you were saying was hurting me somehow.  But, it wasn't.  Not at all.

So, please, keep complaining. 

The Life I Signed Up For

If my mother had died before I was pregnant, I probably wouldn't have had a child.  I wanted a baby, and my mother was going to help me raise it.  Package deal.

If my mother hadn't died, Greg and I would have probably taken several weekend trips by now, and maybe even one that lasted five days.  Instead of no weekend trips, and nothing close to five days.  I don't trust anyone to watch Leah; there's nothing like the trust you have in your mom.   We would have been able to do more things with each other, without Leah.  Maybe go out to eat more...Christmas shop together...take more trips into NYC.

If my mother was still alive, I probably would have had more children by now.  She would have been my house every day in the summer, when she wasn't working, and probably would have used up more of her sick and personal days to spend time with her grandchildren.  My nights wouldn't have been parenting solo while Greg worked, and my weekends would not have been attempting to run an errand with a toddler and feeling like I got nothing accomplished.

There would have been more gifts and treats and a lot more spoiling.  My children would have run to her when they saw her, got excited when she arrived, and threw fits when she left.  They might have even liked spending time with her more than with me.

I never would have been stuck with no sitter.  Never would have had to say no to something that I wanted to do because I felt guilty leaving Leah.  Never would have felt that all-too-familiar hesitation when I dial a number to request some babysitting. 

I never wanted to be a mother if I didn't have my mother with me.  I never would have entered into what is the most difficult job I've ever held without her.  Never would have created this situation while living 40 minutes away from my closest family, with only one parent who's my dad, while my in-laws live several states away.

And I would have never written this post.

If I seem different to you, uncomfortable, unhappy, and unsettled, you must forgive me.  I'm not living the life I signed up for.



.

A Contribution From a Friend

A few month's ago my friend Rob sent me a poem.  I read it when I received it, and then it sat in my Inbox for a while.  Every so often, I'd open it up and read it.  It's a great poem and I thought I'd post it.

Now, this poem is quite well known, and so when I read the excerpt that Rob sent me, I knew that the last verse was left off.  The last verse is very religious, and while Rob is also very religious, I'm not.  And I'm not sure if Rob left off that last verse because he knows how I feel about religion or not, but I like to think that you get the jist of the poem just fine without that last verse.  And if you find yourself needing more god after you read this poem, then you should google it, and get your god fix.

If Tears Could Build a Stairway

If tears could build a stairway

and thoughts a memory lane

I’d walk right up to heaven

and bring you home again.

No Farewell words were spoken

No time to say good-bye

You were gone before I knew it

And only God knows why.

My heart’s still active in sadness

And secret tears still flow

What it meant to lose you

No one can ever know.

But now I know you want us

To mourn for you no more

To remember all the happy times

Life still has much in store.

Since you’ll never be forgotten

I pledge to you today

A hallowed place within my heart

Is where you’ll always stay.

.

.

.

Patricia Ellen Grieco 4/6/53-11/19/07

You took my hand

You showed me how

You promised me you'd be around

I took your words

And I believed

In everything

You said to me

 

Remember when we were such fools

And so convinced and just too cool

I wish I could touch you again

I wish I could still call you friend

I'd give anything

When someone said count your blessings now

'fore they're long gone

I guess I just didn't know how

I was all wrong

They knew better

Still you said forever

And ever

Who knew

I'll keep you locked in my head

Until we meet again

And I won't forget you my friend

What happened

If someone said three years from now

You'd be long gone

I'd stand up and punch them out

Cause they're all wrong and

That last kiss

I'll cherish

Until we meet again

And time makes

It harder

I wish I could remember

But I keep

Your memory

You visit me in my sleep

My darling

Who knew

I miss you

Who knew

My Number's Up

Over the past few weeks, I've won two raffles that I've entered and two tricky tray prizes.  This is very unlike me.  I usually have no luck whatsoever.  I never win anything.

Lately I've been having a tough time with life, in general.  Work is stressing me out; there's never enough time in the day; I don't get done even half of the things that I want to do.  I feel like I am running after a train that's going a little too fast for me to catch it, but I can't just give up and find another way to travel.  I'm stuck in this station, and I'm missing my damn train.  Over and over.

But, these four silly things that I've won have given me some hope.  Maybe it's a sign that good things are coming.  Maybe it's a sign to not give up.

I'm not big on signs.  I don't believe those people who say things like my dead mom gave me a sign that she was watching over me when the picture fell off the wall and landed on my head! mainly for two reasons.  One, I just don't believe that the dead can send the living signs.  But more importantly, if they can, then that means that my mom knows she's dead and she is aware that she's not here.  She's seen me struggle over the past three years.  She's experienced every tear that I've shed.  She's watched me miss her.  And if that's the case, then she's probably struggling, crying, and experiencing at the same time.  And I don't want her to.  I would never want her to know what she's missing. 

There is a good aspect about dying suddenly, rather than being sick for a while before passing.  When you suddenly die, you don't know what you're going to miss, or that you're going to miss anything, actually.  You don't know what you're never going to see again.  You don't know how everyone will get to go on living together, while you won't.  And most importantly, you don't feel the guilt that you might feel knowing that family and friends are going to mourn you for months, years, decades maybe.  When you just up and die one day, you don't even know what just happened.  That's sort of a good thing.  I guess?

The 19th is a tough day. It's hard for me, my family, and my mom's friends.  I don't know if I'll be able to adequately show what the day means to me because I'm not sure how I'll feel on it.  I just hope that my luck continues.  That my number keeps getting called.  That I never give up hope.