Through My Eyes

It's not that I don't think of my mom anymore.  I do.  I think of her daily, as I always have.

And it's not that I don't feel the need to speak with her anymore, or write down the stories that I want her to know.

It's that I choose to feel that she's with me.  Not staring at me or watching me from above, just a part of me.  She's gone; she's not coming back; and I've known all along that "talking" to her through this blog was just a gimmick.  I just pretend that she's part of me and sees things the way I do.  Through my eyes.

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.

Thoughts

I think of my mom every day and probably will forever. Sometimes it stings and sometimes it doesn’t. I know that they say that if something doesn’t hurt then it no longer means something to you, but I don’t care. I’d rather be able to think of my mom and not have it hurt. I’d rather it just be a thought in my head, along the lines of “buy pull ups” and “dvr Glee.”




Marco, Adriana, and I took my dad out for brunch on Sunday. Afterwards everyone came over to my house to swim. Marco threw everyone in the pool. The family raft was a big hit. Bella fell asleep in the stroller. I made pastina and then ordered pizza. We sat in the shade. Greg kept changing the station. Leah screamed “god bless America” like a mad patriot.



And I didn’t really think of my mom. And it was such a good day.



Yesterday was a good friend’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Gabrielle. Sorry you missed out on your birthday party.

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.

 
 
 
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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!

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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.

 
 
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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.



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Where It's At

We've got a lot of anatomic talk these days.  Lots of "penis", "gina" and "butt" and who's got what and who doesn't have what.  There's a bunch of "I see you naked!" and there's the self-taught "butt dance."

There's music requests: Soul Sister, Like a G6, and Muffin Man are most frequently asked for.  She dances in slow motion during the slow parts on Dog Days are Over and then speeds it up on the fast parts.

There's a lot of blowing drying hair, and applying lip gloss, and "I need eye shadow" and "Let me go do my hair before we leave."  There are attempts to put hair ties and barrettes in.  There's a lot of hair brushing.

There are requests for showers, not baths.  There are requests for the blue shirt and the crocs, NOT that purple dress!  No, the blue one.  And maybe with the rain boots.  Definitely not the winter coat!  But, perhaps the vest.  NOT that vest, god, mom.

Oh, yes, there's a lot of MOM.  Not Mommy, but MOM.  But, there's also "What's that, Mama?"  And when she wakes up in the morning, it's always "Mommy." 

"Oh my goodness!" never gets old.  And "yes please" when the answer only needs to be yes.  

~Leah, are you in your bedroom?
~Yes, please.

~Leah, do you think I should wear my black flats with these jeans?
~Yes, please.

There's drama.  ALWAYS so much drama.  Everything is so cool! Or so sad! Or so nice! Everything is such a big deal!

There's a lot going on.  Lots of changes.  Lots of baby, but lots of big girl.  Lots and lots of big girl.

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I DID IT!

We all did it.

Thanks for all the support and encouragement. 

Without you, I would not have been able to do this.

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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.

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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

The Worst 10 Days of My Life, Annually

Three years ago today, the worst day of my life happened.    For the next nine days after the 10th of November in 2007, my life ran on autopilot as I attempted to figure out a situation to which no figuring out could fix.

I realized something bad had happened when I overheard the lack of conversation between Greg and my dad on the phone while I was in the bathroom.  And I felt a strange wave of doom float over me as I sat in the car on the way to the hospital while Greg filled the tire with air that told me that I didn't want to know what my future child's name would be.  I received the worst piece of news I've ever received when Gwen the nurse told me there was no hope while I was holding my mom's hand as she lie in bed in a coma.  I ran in and out of the room throughout the first night holding hands with my dad and sister as the code blue lights and beeps would sound, while the staff would run in past us to work on her. 

I am so happy that Isabella wasn't born during these 10 days.  These horrible, devastating, torturous ten days.  Days that were so bad, that when we finally made the decision to pull the plug, we were actually relieved, because these days were coming to an end.  These days of limbo, uncertainty, and the most painful pain one could ever endure, were finally going to be over.  We were finally getting the hell out of purgatory...

Today I did what I like doing best in my job:  I went to the job site and spent a lot of time there.

Today I did something that took my mind off my mom:  I tried out my first zumba class.

And, today I did something that reminded me of my mom: I bought some Tupperware.

These 10 days nearly killed me three years ago. 

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They Say It's...just another day. Please.

Tomorrow I turn 34. 

I hate the way that sounds.  THIRTY FOUR.  THHHHIIIIIIRRRRTTTTYYYY  FFFFFOOOOUUUURRRR.  Ugh.

It sounds so mom-jeans, sensible flats, short-hair cut, right?  I'm a 34 year old mom.  I wear spanx.  I have random grays .  I have to pluck a chin hair that shows up inexplicably every three weeks.

When I was young I never really thought about my 30s.  They were old years--years that I didn't need to worry about--because they were so far off into the future.  And, now, I'm planted firmly in the middle of them, and, strangely enough, I spend a lot of time worrying these days.

I spent the day I turned 30 alone.  By choice.  I took the day off and spent it hanging around in my house.  Probably doing laundry.  I had told Greg that I didn't want any fanfare; I just wanted to quietly coast into the decade.  And then in November of that year, he totally ignored my wishes and threw me a surprise party.  The following June, we were married, and then in July, found out I was pregnant. 

30 was a good year.

I was 4 months pregnant when I turned 31.  My family took me out to dinner a few weeks later when we could all free our schedules on the same day.  We ate at an Italian restaurant on the boardwalk in town that didn't have fried calamari.  (Can you believe?)  Greg's mom was up visiting from Myrtle Beach.  Later on, back at my house, she took a picture of my parents sitting on my couch.  The last one.

My mom died a month later; I was in a car accident in January of '08, and then Leah was born in March.  I rallied through what I now know was a slight case of post pardum depression mixed with mourning that would just not go away.  I tried to be the best mom I could be, but there were some days that I didn't think I would make it.

32 was more of same.  I finally came to grips with the fact that my mom was NEVER going to meet Leah.  Despite the fact that I don't think of myself as all that dumb, I had the hardest time processing that my mom would never meet Leah, even though she was, you know, DEAD.  I don't know why.  I mean, I knew my mom had died before Leah was born, but I just couldn't accept that she would never see what I made.  Never meet this kid. 

I realized in year 32 that life was going to be very different now that we had a child.  We would have to, you know, always care for her and spend a lot of time and money on her and she was going to be here for a while.  And we didn't want it any other way, but it was a reality check of the kid kind.

33 was sort of a reality check of the adult kind.  The economy was uncertain and so were our salaries.  Greg's field was no longer a sure thing while mine was growing.  So we tried something new: he would spend more time at home with Leah with his flexible work schedule while I would continue to work full time, putting in long days, and attempting (sometimes badly) to not resent him for getting to spend more time with our daughter. 

I still thought a lot about my mom and couldn't understand why I wasn't getting over her death.  I started this blog; I joined Facebook; I found support and kind words from more people than I could ever imagine.

And now, 34. 

34.

I feel like I'm this work in progress and I'm never going to finish. 

My goal for 34 is to find some balance and contentment and a little more happiness. 

My goal for right now is to find some potato chips.

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Phone Call

Over the past two weeks, every few hours or so, I’ve had this weird feeling that I want to call my mom. Maybe it’s because I’m at a new workplace and the last time I started a new job my mom was still alive to listen to me talk about it. Maybe because it’s nearing the three year anniversary of her death, and that’s been on my mind. Maybe it’s because I still really miss her and I’m never going to get over her being gone.

To be honest with you, up until a couple of weeks ago, I was thinking that I was over her death. That while I would never forget about it, it was no longer effecting my daily life.  At least not in any negative way.  I was contemplating ending this blog, with an explanation to all that it had served its purpose. When I started it, I thought a lot about my mom and was sad. And, now, I don’t. And I’m not. But, that’s not the case. I’ve had a relapse, so to speak, and I’m painfully aware of her absence and it’s making me sad again.

So, I’ll continue on with my story. I’ll keep writing my open letter to her. I’ll update everyone in my life on what’s going on. I’ll talk about my family, my daughter, my life, my mom. I hope this relapse is short, because life was really good when I wasn’t always depressed and thinking about my mom and I could focus on everything else. But, now, in addition to all the minutia of regular life, I also have the thoughts of my mom’s death in my head again.
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The View

This picture hangs in my home office in direct view of my desk.  When I am dealing with a particularly sticky issue, I sometimes look at the picture and pretend that my mom is there with me, lending moral support.  When I'm on the phone with an unsavory customer, I will roll my eyes at this picture, you know, to try to get my mom to laugh.  When I am having a bad day, she's there to make it less-bad.  When I am having a good day, she's there to enjoy it with me.

Every time I enter and leave the room, I pass My Mom. 

It's no where as good as the real thing, but it's all I've got.

Have a wonderful weekend.  I should have some good stories and pictures for you next week. 
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Still

What’s so strange is that I still sometimes forget that she’s gone. I still find myself thinking about calling her or think about what her reaction will be when I tell her a story later on.



After the initial raw pain of losing my mom subsided, I thought that I would be done with the worst pain. It wasn’t until she was gone for a year and a half that I found myself really missing her. And the pain came flooding back.


It’s normal to not see your mom for a few months—did that when I was in college. Or, let’s pretend that I had a big argument with her and for some reason we didn’t speak for a year, maybe a little more.



But, when the year and a half mark hit, that’s when I really really missed her. That’s when I hit the point where I would have made a special trip home to see her, had we lived in different parts of the world. That’s when I would have called to patch up our rift, had we been in an argument. That was my breaking point. That was the amount of time that was too long for me not to see my mom.


That was the time when I started to conceive this website. When I had so many things to tell her. When I needed her to be there to listen.

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Running On Empty --NOT a running update

I just love this picture of my mom. 

I know that look on her face.  Both what it meant to her, and what it means to me. 

I am pretty sure that I have had this look on my face several times this week.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the summer, but I just don't understand why everyone must hold some sort of event on the summer weekends. 

Ok, I guess I understand the whole point of hot weather = good BBQs.  And graduations happen at this time.  And if your birthday occurs during a summer month, you are going to have a party then.  And, if you have a swim party, then chances are, you are going to throw it during the summer.  And, oh, forget it.  I get it.  Summer weekends are a hot commodity.  Therefore, they are going to fill up with events and the weekends are going to feel like work days too, what with the preparing, and the hustling to get to the event, and the running after your child at the event.

Anyway, my look these days resembles my mom up there. 

I call it HARRIED.

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Something's Always Wrong

I was trying to think of what to write about today and the usual suspects popped up.

My kid? Been there, done that. Ad infinitum.

Working mommy guilt? Think I’ve touched on that enough for a lifetime.

Running? Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

My dead mom? Not everyone needs to cry every day due to the epic writings of my overinflated ego.


Honestly, I think I need psychiatric help. When I think about things, I mean, really think about things, I have a great life. A good marriage, a supportive husband, an intelligent kid, a nice house, great friends, a good family, a secure job. Yet, I am always looking for something to complain about. Always searching for something that might be wrong, or off, or needs improvement.
Rather than focusing on all the good in my life, and just enjoying it, I find myself only able to see the imperfect things, and then I harp on how I can’t fix it, and how hard it is to deal with it, and waaaahhhhhh. Seriously, I don’t know why more people don’t tell me to STFU more often.

A couple of weeks ago my dad told me, in so many words, that maybe it was time to get over my mom’s death and stop being so angry and sad about it. I was all bent out of shape when he said that. I thought, “Well, he’s not in my head! He doesn’t live my life; doesn’t know what I go through! He’s so insensitive!” But, maybe he had a point.

I mean, if I spend all day thinking about how cruddy life is now that my mom is gone, I might miss something important.  Like how GOOD life is despite my mom being gone. If I exert as much energy on trying to enjoy time with my family as I exert on being aware of the absence of my mom, I would probably see that things are not that bad.  Maybe even quite good.
Yes, I miss my mom and wish she could have met and known Leah. Yes, I wish she could have been here for when Marco’s baby is born. And I really wish she could be here for when Adriana gets married.

But I still get to experience those things. Those are really great things that I will get to live with and know. And it’s okay to be happy for the fact that I get to have those experiences even though she doesn’t.

Maybe it is time to stop dwelling on something that I can’t change. Something that will affect me forever and that I’ll never forget. But, it doesn’t have to negatively impact every other aspect of my life. My mom’s death doesn’t have to ruin my future.

Quit your bitching and go make this leaf into some rhubarb pie!

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Big E

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that my dad is crazy. He was born in Italy in 1949, came to America in 1969, married my mom in 1974, and became a dad in 1976. And again in 1980. And one more time in 1982.

And god help us all if that list ever continues.


I’m not sure what made my dad crazy exactly, but it could be a mix of his heritage, his upbringing, and good old fashion love. At least, that’s what my dad claims. He loves us all so much, that his children and their antics are responsible for making him nuts.

My mom would work a few nights a week when we were young. I will never forget the way my dad would sing “We’re Off to See the Wizard” pulling both my sister and I on each arm up the steps on our way to bed. You know how kids sometimes laugh so hard they can’t even control their body and they fall to the ground? THAT’S what would happen to Adriana and I when he would sing that song.

I’ve written before that my dad was quite strict with me, and I wasn’t permitted to do much on my own growing up. I went to ONE high school party where alcohol was served, and when I was caught, I got in trouble. I wasn’t permitted to go down the shore for Memorial Day weekend my senior year of high school with the rest of my class. When I returned home after college I was expected to follow his strict curfew rules that hadn’t really changed much since high school, and it caused a LOT of problems between us. So much so, I moved out when I was 22 and got my own apartment.



Since it’s been quite some time, I think I can say this, which I’ve been holding in for a long time. Dad, when I moved back home after graduation you expected me to be home by midnight on most nights. This in itself was tough because I had just spent four years living in Boston making my own curfew rules. I had graduated with honors and all of my limbs still intact. I thought I had sufficiently proved to everyone that I was a pretty good judge of being my own boss with regards to returning home at night. HOWEVER, what made following the curfew rule so difficult was that Marco was sneaking out of the house every single night and taking the bus to NYC to skateboard and, when I caught him leaving one night, he asked me not to tell you and I promised to keep his secret. So, while I was expected to be home and asleep by midnight, Marco was gathering his quarters and taping his sneakers, or whatever stupid things skaters did, preparing for his night out.


There. I feel better.


The aftermath of me moving out and years and years of strife could possibly have been avoided if I had ratted my brother out. But I didn’t.  Ah, who am I kidding.  I still would have moved out and Marco would have gotten in trouble.  It wasn't worth it.


Anyway, once I moved out, the relationship between my dad and I had its ups and downs. It was a tough few years where I was upset for being kicked out and he was upset for feeling that I abandoned him.


Suffice to say, we had a time.


But time heals, and today, I am proud to say that we have a good relationship. I mean, I still think he’s nuts, and I am sure he thinks I’m a pain in the butt, but we have been through a lot together and we’re in it for the long haul. And now, I’ve got Leah. And it’s important to me for both of them to be in each other’s life.


So, on Sunday, I’m going to spend some time with my dad and show him how much I love him and appreciate him. He’s a good dad and he provided for us in every possible way.

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