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

 
 

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.

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.

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. 

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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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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.

Growing Up Gulino

I can't believe that it's been just about three years since Leah came into our lives.  Gone are the days of babyhood.  I look at her now and see such a smart beautiful little girl who is independent and inquisitive and precocious.

Everyday is so challenging, but so worth it.  Just like life.

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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.



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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

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. 

Some Good Advice

I have a friend from college whom I recently got back in touch with.  We have an email relationship and have become pen pals.  This friend has insight, and I cherish it, and when I spoke of the three year anniversary of my mom's death coming up, this is what my friend said:

Do something good with your own daughter.

Not necessarily that day, but soon.

Something that your mom would have either enjoyed

or at least strongly encouraged you to enjoy.

I like that advice.  And I'm going to try to take it.
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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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The Healing Corner: Abbe's Story; Part Three

Pat and Me

We didn’t become friends as kids playing ball or dressing up dolls. We didn’t become friends as teens, giggling about boys. We became friends and in-law status in our young adulthood.

Ironically, we were pulling at opposite directions from the same nucleus. She was about to get married and learning to establish herself as a wife and learning to navigate away from her parents, and I was involved with her oldest brother Ray meshing into the family.

I met Ray in July 1974. We fell in love pretty much from the get go as we found ourselves on the same page on just about everything. Within a few weeks we knew we would one day get married and even imagined our children. Pat and Enzo were going to get married on August 25 and he wanted me to not only attend the wedding but come to meet his family for the very first time. Now mind you this was the 1970’s…I was a different religion and cross religions were just starting to become more accepted at that point, but still worth taking a few gulps about how we were going to be viewed by family members.

So here I was looking forward to my journey with Ray and his family and Pat was looking forward to moving into her new household with Enzo.

A few months later I moved to North Jersey. While taking a few weeks to plant myself to find work and an apartment, Pat and Enzo opened their newlywed home to me for a couple of weeks until I was able to get settled. Pat guided me the way to the right doctors, the right hairdressers, all her own personal connections.

The four of us started going out socially. We went to dinner, we went to plays in NYC, we went to concerts as young couples do.

The fight…..oy vey.

Every Sunday night all the brothers, sisters and any friends came to Mom and Pop’s for dinner. There was always a full house and full tummies. Football added to the excitement. After football season every Sunday night we all went bowling, ice skating, or somewhere of fun.

One Sunday night we were all there as usual. Let me preface that as much as I love Ray and he was goodhearted, the man could be one stubborn obstinate soul. Enzo, oh yeahhhh very much the same way. Pat went over to the toaster to heat a sandwich. Ray was waiting his turn to heat is when Pat snuck in. Ray tossed out some words just as a sibling would do, part in jest, part meaningful cause he just didn’t take crap from anyone, including his sister. Enzo resented how she was spoken to. The next thing you know these two stubborn, obstinate pigheaded men started pushing and shoving. Pat and Enzo went home. Typical family scenario, and everyone was buzzing about the fight.

Pat and I spoke the following day and worked it out between us about our stubborn, pigheaded obstinate men. However, the guys didn’t quite see it the same way. They didn’t speak for three years, no matter how we pleaded with them.

In some crazy way, now that I can look back, I do admire those stubborn, pigheaded obstinate men (have I mentioned that yet?) Why?? Because no matter how pigheaded and stubborn and obstinate they were, they still accompanied Pat and I to family affairs, dinners and dances, even though you could cut the tension with a knife. They did this because they believed in family and understood the importance of it no matter how much this silly argument rocked their pride.

Then one day when we least expected it one of them asked the other to pass the salt at the dinner table. Pat’s eyes went to mine, mine went to hers and we didn’t dare say a word of what we noticed in fear that we might ruin this Hallmark moment of two pigheaded obstinate stubborn men that we loved with all our hearts. Eventually after a few more occasions of us being pushed together conversation started to become easier and eventually the residue of the argument was non existent.

Pat and I rejoiced ~~ our families were growing and we were feeling comfortable around each other again.

We continued our friendship even though we had move down the shore. We compared notes of child bearing , the new Osh Kosh’s that came out. She would call me in a panic that she couldn’t find a particular toy for the holidays and I would find it down the shore and bring it up.

We shared a friendship. We shared a family. Gosh how I miss that woman!
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He's So Little!

This past Sunday night I was lying in bed flipping through channels trying to find something good on TV to fall asleep to.  I know that sounds funny, but I get that from my dad.  When it's time to fall asleep we put something boring on the TV, rather than what a normal person would do, which is turn it off.  No, we need to be lulled into slumber by uninteresting entertainment.  Works like a charm, too.  My sister can't even stay awake past opening credits. 

So, I was flipping through and there on the TV, late in the evening, on a randon Sunday night, was RUDY.

DAMMIT!

I cannot ever allow Rudy on the TV without watching it until the end.  No matter the time or situation.  That's just the way it is with Rudy.  Because of this fact, I have seen the last scene of Rudy approximately 869 times. 

Other movies that fall into this category are The Cutting Edge, Dirty Dancing, and 50 First Dates.

College friends reading this will wonder why I didn't list Sing, and the reason is because Sing will never be on TV.  I am quire sure that I am the only one who thinks Sing should have won an Academy Award.  The club scene? Come on!  Pure cinematic genius!

Anyway, I caught Rudy as the teammates were each surrendering their Jerseys to the coach in order for Rudy to dress for his final game.  By the time he was on the phone begging his brother to come to the game my face was soaked in tears.  Do not even get me started on when Rduy realizes they are chanting his name or when the coach tells him to go on the field to play.  And I was on tissue #8 by the time he made his famous tackle, and then they carried him off the field. 

I don't even like football.  Like at all.  But this movie is one of my faves.  I am not made of stone!

That little Rudy!  Gets me every time!
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Batarseh, Doctor

I miss joking with my mom.  She always got my jokes; she always laughed at my jokes.  I knew she'd never take something I said the wrong way even if it might had been at her expense.  She knew it was all in good fun.  She was great at laughing at herself.  She reminded me of my friend Adele, who still to this day, despite being 145 years old, still loves to laugh at herself.

It's difficult to not have that one person who you can say anything to and know it's going to be all right.  Not taken the wrong way.  Not thrown in your face three months later.

It takes a lifetime to find someone like that, and it takes a lifetime to get over losing that person.

One day several years ago, I was having an incredibly busy day at work.  The phone was ringing off the hook, and my mom, who was a school nurse, and often had a lot of-how shall I put it-downtime, at her job (leg shaving, anyone) called me at work in the middle of all the hoopla to discus my doctor.  My PCP was (is) a great guy and I recommended him to everyone.  My mom was thinking of switching doctors (or maybe it was for my sister; I don't remember) and she wanted to discuss my doctor at length at that particular moment. 

The conversation, which went on for about five minutes, went a lot like this:

Mom:  Hi Dana!  Can we talk about your doctor?

Me:  Ma, I am so busy right now.  Can you make it quick?

Mom: Ok!  So, does he accept all different insurance companies?

Me: I don't know. Call hi-HOLD ON, my other line is ringing... ... ...ok, I'm back.

Mom: Do you think he's taking on more patients?  Is the wait to see him long?

Me: I don't know and no.  Ma, I am really busy!!

Mom: Now, where exactly is his office?  Oh hold on, a kid came into my office.  Yes, Michael, what is it?  A headache? (Heavy sigh) Just get your own ice pack and sit down; Mrs. Grieco is on a very important phone call.  Dana, is he good looking?  I seem to remember you saying that.

Me: !!!!!!

Mom: Hello?  Well, is he?

Me: Mother!  You have got to be kidding me!  I am swamped and you're asking about my doctor's looks?!  Please just call him yourself.

Mom: What is his phone number?

Me: I DON'T KNOW.

Mom: Fine.  I'll look it up. What's his last name again?

Me: BATARSEH.

Mom: Ok, and what's his first name?

Me: DOCTOR! 

CLICK.

My mother says she laughed for 10 minutes after that phone call.  She made me tell the story over and over for years. Each time I exaggerated a little more how busy I was and how little she had to do at work.

From then on, whenever I mentioned going to the doctor she would ask, "What's his first name again?  DOCTOR, right?!!"  She loved that story, and I loved telling it.

I haven't told it in three years.  No one's asked to hear it.  I guess it's not as funny as it was to those involved, either. 

I don't care.  It's our story.

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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