Because She Needs to Hear It

    While the house burned, I sat on Pastor's couch thinking that nothing would ever be okay again. His words to me were, "Do what you have to do." No anger, no excuses. Just get from here, a bad place, to "okay". Point A to point B. Sometimes we really cannot set our standards any higher than going from point A to point B. It seemed like an uphill battle. Along my way I took out some people, clung to some people, and had a few breakdowns.
   A year later, I anticipated the anniversary of the house fire with dread and remorse. That week Walt died. I sat on Pastor's couch and he said, "Do what you need to do." I did. I spoke at my father's funeral, not because I was asked to, but because I needed to show people that I, my family, and Marsha were okay. We had walked from point A to point B. We ended up at a funeral home. Along the way I took out some people, clung to some people, and and had a few breakdowns. But I was there. And I had a lot of people to thank.
   I returned to Pastor's couch and said, "What a great gift Walt gave me."  Pastor look confused. I explained...I lived in fear of this week. I have been dreading the confusion, the anxiety, the horror that I was sure would replay in my head come the 13th of March. Walt gave me a beautiful opportunity to to forget my own troubles, my own fears, and put it behind me. How could a fire in a house compare to the fire that Walt created throughout his life. The burning embers of friends who still call and still want to speak with him. The bright shining lights that do not belong to fire trucks, but to beautiful people who sit by his headstone saying, "Man I wish you were here." I saw a different fire that week. I saw a strong fire that cannot be put out with water. I saw that I was strong, brave and "okay". The house was no longer the center of my attention, people were. My people.
     I walked along 15th  Street  in DC each day I was there. It was my path from point A to point B. Each day I was greeted from a doorstep by an elderly man who held up his hand and said, "Hello family." His smile , his open arms. When I said, "You are a happy man." he responded with, "I'm alright. Everybody should know they alright." Then he smiled. He was homeless and he was at peace with where he was.
    When you have walked through your fire, learned how to go from point A to point B, been given a second chance, you need to embrace the fact that you are "okay".  We will have easy days, but on your hardest days don't you ever believe that the universe is after you,  it's after all of us. Together.  One day you will figure out how to live fully, completely. One day you will sit and know that you are alright, until then, do what you have to do. Take out some people, cling to some people, have a few breakdowns, but always know that there is somebody out there willing to give you a break, a reprieve from your nightmares and let you focus on your strength. When you have that opportunity, grab it and let go of a little of your pain. Replace the burnt wood with some seasoned  people. Replace the water soaked clothes with some baptism in your own pool of beauty. Give yourself a chance to let go of a little anger. Walk your path and make peace with wherever you wind up. You are going to be alright.
 
        Start walking beautiful. You are on your way to "okay"  ~Mama Shey

Dear Lilli: Mom's Dead LOL

" I am telling you how I came to die. It took 40 years. You don't die all of a sudden."~ Rilke.

    I do not care if I die the day before the ballgame: Play it.
    I do not care if I die hours before opening night: Take the stage.
    Your life is yours and it only belonged to me for awhile, I enjoyed every minute of you. Enjoy yourself.

 Respect, in life as in death, has nothing to do with good times, grand times, or harsh times. It has to do with the everyday. My death will be just another day to most people. It should be to you also. There is no lack of respect for me if you take care of yourself. I  will still be there. I will still be there in that moment when you lose your keys, break a plate in anger, are tempted to buy Jonas a pink cheer leading uniform for Christmas. I will still be there in your sarcasm and when you forget where you left Michael. Respecting me, in death, means knowing that we are okay and have always been okay in our relationship.
   As you come together for whatever type of funeral you have arranged  the phrases, "She was crazy.", "I thought she'd never die.", and "Do you think I was adopted?" do not need to be shared out loud.  Just remember to laugh. Death, though serious, is not a depressing, lost-cause sort of state. It is as natural as smiling. As natural as child birth. It is what happens. My only real request is that you make it seem as if I died in a great and nonsensical way. I would love to be a Trivial Pursuit question.  The phrase, "She spoke in an odd fashion and dressed in strange clothes" should be on the bulletin. And try to work in some Bob Marley. Maybe you can collect some cool people to play "Morning has Broken", reggae style.

   When it is all over I hope you break bread together, have a good meal. Drink, talk,, laugh and eat ice cream. It's what we do. I'm still there.  Cremate me. Spread my ashes in the woods beside the nature trail. Just let the physical me go. I am not a shadow in the kitchen any longer. I am not sitting beside you trying not to spill my drink while you drive, I am not in the rose bushes trying to deadhead the flowers. I am in Tika's tiny hands. I am in Jonas' cartwheels, I am in Michael's hugs, I am in Samuel's sprint, and I am in Lilli's anger.
   Respect me in death by letting each other be individuals. Nobody ever has to meet any one else's expectations in this family. Be yourself and show kindness, especially to those who are most angry and most lost. And if you ever need to explain to someone why you aren't "sad enough" or  pensive enough, all you need to say is, "Did you know her?" 
   We don't feel guilty in this family for things said or unsaid. We are a family that says shut up as much as we say I love you. We mock one another's fears, but always have room in the bed when the piano plays alone in the dark. We are honest above all else. The one thing I will always remember is Sam saying, "I like it when Lilli's angry because I know she'll protect  us." In anger and fear we turn to protect each other. This is no different. Protect each other and I will still be there.
 
   I know that you are okay. A parent gets very few years to help mold her children, I got those years and then watched. You all are okay. You all are capable of making decisions and living decent lives. The world is hard, you don't have to be. The world is fast, you don't have to be. The world is full of selfishness, you don't have to be. Be who you are. Share. Listen to music. Take time to drive for fun. Color. Create. Cook. Find a charity and stick with it.  Buy blankets that make you happy. Send birthday cards. Treat people as if they are going to be somebody some day. Treat yourself like you are somebody. Hold a stranger's hand in their time of sorrow. Practice every religion until you find your truth. Baptise yourself in the water at South Mountain.  Spend the extra money and stay in town. Walk, don't take the subway. Take the subway, don't take  a cab. Leave the country at least once. Keep a journal. Take pictures. Collect something. Don't sleep in a house with people you don't like. Don't sleep with the TV on. Keep the refrigerator full of food you love. Money is fluid, you'll get more. Be humble in your greatest moment, be proud in your least. Don't ever be someone else's drama. Make friends then  make time for them.

   I don't care what you grow up to be, just be honest about who you are. See people and yourselves for what you are capable of being: the hero and the bad guy. Just don't be the victim. Allow yourself  a day of grief, not a moment and not a year. Stick up for the underdog, especially when it's you. Find a mentor. Be what you wanted to be when you were little. Then change jobs and be something else. Be as many things as you can be. The library is your best friend. If you can't be good, at least be an interesting character. Cheer loudly. 
Dear Lilli: Mom's dead, Lots Of Love. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.
    Lillian: " As I lay me down to sleep, yes I pray, you will hold me dear. Though I'm far away I'll whisper your name into the sky. And I will wake up happy."

    Michael: " Oh, I love you the most always giving up the ghost in your own private conversations. You're a sweet mystery and there's nothing in between you and the Mona Lisa."

   Samuel: " Where it was dark now there's light. Where there was pain now there's joy. Where there was weakness, I found my strength. All in the eyes of a boy"

    Jonas: "It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time. It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you had the time of your life."

    Alice: "I am Rosemary's granddaughter. The spitting image of my father. And when the day is done
My mamma's still my biggest fan ."


May you not need this anytime soon...but when you do, I have left little bits of me all over your world. I will always be right here.

This Space Reserved for Tolerance

    Lilli: So, today at school one of the cheerleaders walked into our class and started screaming at his ex-boyfriend. The teacher actually had to call for security because he wouldn't calm down.

    Me: I hope one of you people got that on video.

     Lilli: Uhhhm, no.

    Me: I can't believe nobody at your school is in the closet. What is that like? Not to have to hide anything?

    Lilli: We don't have closets at our school, unless you're talking about the janitor. Nobody wants to hide out with him.

At the Corner of I-40 and "Please Wear a Condom"

   Right now in my daughter's 3rd period class there are 18 kids. All are under the age of 18. Three  of these kids have babies or are pregnant. This does not include any girl who had a miscarriage  or an abortion. Can you fathom the statistics I am speaking of? As a breeder, let me say this.
   Dear heterosexuals: How about we work out our own problems before we start pointing fingers. We have failed as parents, Christian or not. We have failed at raising children that respect their bodies. We have failed at protecting our children against, not just pregnancy, but STDs of all sorts and sexual abuse. We have raised men and women who have all sorts of sexual dysfunction, not because of biology, but because of the mental games we have played with their heads about when sex is wrong and when it's really really wrong.  I think that it is odd that we teach our children about brushing their teeth and gum disease, but bodily functions are taboo. Sex is about your soul. It is not just about pleasuring the body, it is a relationship with your soul. Sex and love should go hand in hand, but what if it doesn't?
   What if our daughters are at the mall and get pulled into a car? What if they are raped? What will we teach our daughters about their bodies? What will we teach our daughters about STDs? Will we make them feel dirty? Will we  find a way to tell them that their jeans were too tight or their  hair smelled too good? Will we  belittle them  for something they  have  no control over? Will we tell them not to  marry because they are  dirty? What if the government stepped in and called them dirty and told them  they  could never marry or have children? What if the government called them a minority? What if the government stripped them of their personality and pain and called them a statistic?
    What happens when we become the statistic? What happens when white middle class  Christian Americans are the minority..oh, wait. Welcome. Are you new here? Because if you do not stand up for the oppressed, no one will stand up for you. ( better write that down and put it in your pocket for later or else my high pitched cackling may confuse you)
     What we don't need is more rules and more governmental control over the policing of our bodies and how often we have sex. What we are in dire need of is some education that comes with a little empathy and a lot of heart. What we are in dire need of is a little reasoning that comes from the study of the human brain, i.e. genetics. What we are in need of is to explain to our children why we react lustfully to some people and not others and why true love isn't really based on lust, but respect.
   When the government backs a plan to promote drug free and disease free heterosexual marriage and allows an amendment to the constitution that states that no party shall be allowed to enter into the marriage contract without proving that they can live, without  being sustained  by governmental monies, for no less than 2 years without bringing an offspring into the world, then I shall, as a heterosexual breeder,  listen to the governments charge to the gays that they are not "good" enough to marry.  When the government backs a plan that states that no male or female having committed 3 felonies or no male or female having been convicted of child abuse, sexual or otherwise, may marry or be allowed to reproduce, then I may consider the NC governments stand on gay marriage. Until the NC legislature can provide a safe haven for women by stating that no one ever convicted of  domestic violence may marry then I really don't need to hear anything from said legislature. Crimes against nature are not solely limited to anal sex, in my opinion. Crimes against nature involve any type of sexual deviance that makes one partner feel as if they are being manipulated, enslaved or victimized.  If the government cannot control the population of breeders that it openly endorses, then I fear no sort of legislation will force the gays into submission. (insert smiley face).
  
    I don't need or want the government in my bedroom. (I actually don't want them on my property or in my car. I don't- especially- want them monitoring what music I listen to.)  And if I don't want them in mine, then I probably should learn to help you keep the government out of yours too. It's not just about loving your neighbor anymore. We are on the edge of a precipice where WE are the neighbors that nobody wants.
    
You have no idea what your child will grow up to be. What if your child grows up to be the minority? Show your children right now that they are worth more to you than a statistic. Fight for what they COULD be, not what you hope and pray and believe they will be. ~Mama Shey

Love Me, Love My Eating Disorder

   During the last week of Walt's life, I was visited by a very special person. Someone I love but never get to see.  I spent a lot of time sitting in the car with her. If you know me then you have probably sat in a car with me and talked. A car is better than any therapist office. So me and my lovely friend talked.....about food. Death makes you deal with things. Sometimes it makes you talk about weird things. Sometimes it makes you face things. During this week  food was not on my mind so maybe that is why it was so easy to talk with her. Anyway, I spoke with her again last night. After almost an hour of  "talk", we finally got into the food conversation again. I am so glad that I  have her. I am so glad that she understands. It may be a familial disorder that we deal with, but  that fact that I can tell her my deepest food secrets is a big deal. I think maybe it's time that I come clean.
    I am not a foodie. I would rather watch Man V. Food than Paula Deen. I don't want to watch you cook, I want to watch you eat. And don't try to sell me on expensive or fancy. I want quantity...or at least I did.
Growing up I was an only child and there was not a worry about going hungry, but I was very attached to food. It was my best friend in so many ways. As I got older and moved into my own places I began to hide food. I began to deny knowing the existence of said cheesecake that we just bought. I also would drive home from work plotting my every minute: Off work at 2.00 means Bojangles at 2.20, means home at 2.35, means eating alone until I have to pick up kids at 2.50. Oh, and Bojangles consisted of 2 adult meals. I despised getting caught, and I despised having to share.    At some point I realized that if you arrived at the Buffet at 10.00 a.m. then you could have a late breakfast, watch the workers change over to lunch, then get the really good food.
    I am not at all obsessed with food today. I changed at some point. Perhaps I became happy with my curvy body, perhaps I became happy sustaining myself. Perhaps I just found a comfort zone in something else. Maybe it was just being able to talk to someone else about how guilty I feel all the time about something as simple as food.  I don't know. What I do know is that food still makes me somewhat happy. Laughing at it and about it makes me incredibly happy.
   I am glad to have come from a family of big eaters and big talkers. And no, there isn't a plate in front of me right now,  because I  came from a family who would never make a plate of hot food wait just so we could finish a sentence.

~ Love who  you are and what made you, you. Love even the dysfunction and the disorder, because without those we would have no beauty, no individuality, and no secrets   to share in locked cars. ~Mama Shey.

I can probably fix your computer too.

So, Jonas is sick. Sick, like, I have a headache and need to throw up sick. I am overwhelmed. But not in a bad way. I am the only thing close to an adult in the house tonight and although that has its privileges (Paul Bettany movie marathon til 3.00a.m.) I have no one to blame when the house gets too hot, or the dogs bark, or the kids get sick. I like scapegoats. I do not have one right now. If anyone is available, please leave me your number.
     I also would like some tea, but I refuse to touch ice.  Ice freaks me out.

    So the boys left for Atlanta on Thursday morning and so far I have been managing.  everybody wants to know what is in Atlanta that some of us go to each year. It is Dragoncon. Sci-Fi crazy, let's dress up like stormtroopers and get everything we owned signed by  Tom Felton:  Dragoncon.
   The kids went to school on Thursday and I remembered to pick them up: Point for Mama Shey. I fed them...see I am on a roll! On Thursday night we were honored to be invited to the Newton Playhouse to see The Wizard of Oz. If you live in or around Newton and you don't go see this....why? 
    I made it through Friday, although I realized I really wasn't doing too much. I did visit with my aunt and uncle and then I went and bothered my Yoda for a few hours. We tried to play board games, but we talk waaaay too much to ever finish anything. We could never work together. She is super smart and I like to hear her talk. She is also very patient and shops at the Mexican bakery. I might love her.
     On Saturday...I guess that's today, I took the kids to the bowling alley. I do not know why my children bowl. I  find the bowling alley only slightly less germ infested than the roller skating rink. Nerds bowl. Are we really that family?  I signed everyone up for bowling except our fearless nerd leader who is a band geek and has his calender filled for the next two months. The baby is even bowling. (Do cheerleaders bowl?)
   So, Labert answered the phone today with a resounding:" Wait, can I call you back? I'm talking to Wil Wheaton."  AS IF!  My only reply was, "No, I would like to hear the sound of his voice."  The next word I heard was "Hey!" .......Maybe I can make this nerd fest of a marriage work after all.   

dear 40: shut.up

  40 is harsh. When you're 40 sometimes your back hurts. Sometimes your back hurts because you fall down stairs. You fell down those stairs wearing shoes made for 17 year olds. Sometimes you are a parent of a 17 year old. 40 is harsh because it's hard to lose that "baby weight" that you gained from that 17 year old. And then somebody is  like, "Oh are you pregnant?" No, angry bitter white girl, I am not...but I can tell you're pushing 40 because you have angry and bitter written on your forehead. Oh, and your shoes are out of your league. 40 is harsh because we as women understand our bodies now...finally...only to be told that we will lose them sometime in the next 10 years to something called men-a-pause.  This will be a turning point in our lives. This is  when we finally know we don't want to get remarried. 40 is harsh because we're not 20 and we're not dead. How awkward.  40 is harsh because we now realize that size "medium" is a nice way of saying "Please try again". 40 is harsh because our hair begins to turn an odd color of blond, and people, like those 17 years olds, get really rude about it. I am stunning in my new hair color. So stunning that I bought a new pair of silver heels to match it.
    So my advice to myself in the few short years I have left before I turn that magical number is: From here on add 7 years to your age...they will be in awe. (and quit buying mediums).