It was one year ago today that I saw my Grandfather alive for the last time. Although most would morn his passing on the 21st, I find today to be so much harder than the next.

Three hundred and sixty eight days ago my gut told me something big was about to happen. It told me to visit my Grandfather at home with my family to celebrate his 92nd birthday before being admitted to the hospital the following morning for an experimental procedure. After years of bitterness and resentment, this visit felt so very important to me. So, we went over with all the kids to give him a special birthday card.

This visit was so much more memorable for my kids than they had had before. My Grandpa hadn't felt well in the last few years and couldn't handle company for long. He'd get short of breath and tired out not long after our arrival. What I anticipated would be a brief visit turned into an hour long play session on the floor with Dzia Dzia. His eyes were big and warm and he was delighted to see them. Everyone had such a great time. I left that night with a sense of unrealistic hope that once he got home and recovered that we could continue to rebuild our strained relationship.

For the next two days my Dad called in a few times with updates. To this point all seemed to have gone well and he was slowly recovering. My kids had made him homemade pictures to put up in his hospital room for something to make him feel better. My Dad had brought it to him to show him, but he wasn't quite with it enough to really look at it just yet. Thanks ok, he can see it when he's feeling better, right?

8:00 a.m. on the 20th I got a phone call from my Dad. He didn't even have to tell me, I could tell by the sound of his voice that it was serious. I jumped in the shower and ran out the door to get downtown to the hospital. When I arrived there was a somber tone that lingered in the air. When I asked to see my Grandpa I had no idea what I'd be walking into. There laid a man, so strong who fought everything life had given him, helpless. I held his hand and stroked his hair letting him know that I was there. On the wall were my kids' pictures that he hadn't even seen. I begged him to wake up to see them with no response. I stood there next to him praying he heard me and told him everything I felt he needed to hear from me. Still to this day I have no idea if he did and I battle the guilt of my tardiness.

I spent the whole day there. I didn't want to go anywhere. I felt like I owed him that much. I talked about the kids, his visitors, we even watched the Tigers game. This is my last memory of him. I was asked to leave the hospital shortly after. It was getting late. I knew I shouldn't have left, for he still had not woken up.

I shot up out of my sleep at 1:26 a.m. with a sense of horror. I called my Aunt who had stayed behind to see how he was doing. I was just minutes too late. Calling my father was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I'm not sure if he knew already or not, to be honest I don't remember anything that was said. That's probably a good thing.

Life has continued on for one year and I still can't seem to shake it. I never thought I'd be as broken as I feel still to this day. I still dream of his voice, so vivid it's shakes me to the core in the middle of the night. I still think about it every day and still battle holding back the tears at the mention of his name. I selfishly wish I could have gotten further with my apologies and had just a little more time like we had our last vist. I've come to wonder if he knew that night would be the last time he saw us. Part of me hopes this wasn't true, for if it was I wish he would have prepared me. The last year has just tore me apart, and no miracle can ever fix it to change that.

Dear God,
Please tell my Grandpa the kids say "hi". Please tell him I love him and miss him so very much. Please tell him I'm sorry. Please tell him today like I asked you yesterday, the day before that, and for the last 362 days before that.

Fate over Failure. Homebound.

The year 2012 has been one of many blessings; I married my soul mate, I fulfilled my dream of horse ownership, and we're expecting the last of our broad in December. If you would have asked me a week ago if I could be any luckier, my answer would have been "no". Everything in my life has seemed to work itself out. Well, except for the whole house hunting thing...

Since my first born emerged in 2006 I promised her I'd make sure she had the best that I could give her. One of those things I took to heart was the promise of moving to my home town where they have excellent schools and is the safest place I know. I've been trying ever since with nothing but failure. Sure, I've found dozens of homes I wanted to own,  just none of them have ever worked out. After years of searching I was starting to get so discouraged. Why was it so much harder for me to go back to the island? Why couldn't I give my kids a house like the one I grew up in? It was an amazing home that has haunted me since the day I left it. I yearn all the time for it. I dream about it almost weekly. I have nightmares that I'm finally back inside and it's being taken away from beneath me, or that I get it back and the inside has been so jacked up it's unrecognisable. For that reason I drive by it all the time and wonder what it looked like inside. For 20 years I've let it consume me. I'd love to give them that. I've day dreamed and lately seriously considered having my real estate agent walk up to their door and hand them an offer. It's just a dream, those people will never leave that house. Their boys grew up there, it's their home now. I'd love to give them a home we could spread out in. Six people crammed in a 1,500 sq. ft, 3 bedroom ranch on 0.15 acres just isn't enough anymore. You definitely walk out of here with a complete understanding of what it feels like to be claustrophobic.

As Kellan approaches Kindergarten I've been antsier than ever to get myself in gear. Luckily, the school district over there has given her a temporary district approval to get her started. We have one year to move or she goes into the lotto for school of choice. On top of that, I've been given professional advice that one year is not enough, that she needs to be waiting for the school bus the first day of school and continue to do so from here on out. I've been stressed to max trying to get myself together to make this happen. It was now June and I had no leads. There has been nothing on the market in our price range to even attempt to purchase. Everything that goes up comes down and sells within a week. I've been so frustrated and nervous and have avoided even bothering to look online to see what's on there. I already knew what I'd find. Nothing.

But a week ago I had a couple extra quiet minutes and thought I'd look once more. I don't know why I bothered, but I did. What I found shocked me and momentarily left me with goose bumps. All my hair stood on end and I froze. When I finally processed a thought again my face was soaked. I picked up the phone and called my Dad screaming and crying, for hell had just frozen over. I had the hardest time spitting the words out and he could barely understand me over the hysterics. I finally got the words out that I need to get out: "Daaaaad! The Lowrie house... it's for sale!" I wasn't sure what act of God had just happened, but I immediately understood what this meant for me. After years of searching and everything falling through, after quietly wishing for this house instead, fate had stepped in when I needed it the most. Maybe.

I hung up the phone with my father and called my agent. I had stopped hysterically crying, but was still screaming like a teenage cheerleader. I had even talked about this house to her before, so she knew the importance of my call. Within ten minutes she had called me back and was on her way to the house. We all made a mad dash for the car to get there as fast as we could. As we entered the front doors I went weak in the knees. I was overwhelmed with a sense of comfort. Walking around to all the rooms I knew every nook and cranny in that house. I knew what exactly had changed and what remained the same. I knew that house better than any write up you could have handed me. My piece of heaven, my utopia was still basically the same. As I walked around in awe I noticed my kids doing the same. Normally they are balls of anxiety just like me looking in someone else's home and trying to figure out how we'd adapt. It wasn't anything like that this time. They were just as calm as I was. Jim seemed at peace too, and truly liked the home as well. I could see the wheels turning in his head with all that property and space. My own wheels were at super speed. I had visions of Kellan waiting for the bus on her first day of school there just as I did. How perfect. It's perfect.

I cried the rest of that afternoon into the night. It was so unbelievable I could barely hold it in. I was so taken back and yet so scared. Until this point nothing had worked out for us, not in the least bit. I knew that either this was fate, or the meanest trick life could ever play on me. If it were the latter I knew I was in for a serious emotional breakdown. Watching another family move in and lose the chance to myself would kill me. I barely slept that night.

Call it fate. I put an offer on it. As of this morning it was accepted. We close August 16th. I'm packing up my family and I'm going home.

Scratch One Off The Bucket List

Over the last 20+ years I have had a passion: I love to ride. I did everything I could to get the chance. It was never easy having the opportunity to do so. I took lessons here and there and went to a couple riding camps. I never freely rode, did 4H, or placed in any show. In fact, I've never been to a show. See, to become a great rider takes years of commitment and diligence. I never had the stability growing up at home to follow it how I should have. For years I ached all over for a horse.
One of my fondest memories of my Grandfather is sitting in the living room of the most happiest place on Earth watching the horse channel. We'd sit and watch the horse auctions for HOURS, commenting on every horse that came up for bid, eating bowls of ice cream and worrying about absolutely nothing. My Grandpa would give me the classifieds from the local paper and have me check the horse section. He used to tell me how bad he wanted to own one again, but deep down he knew he was too old and nothing ever came of it. Before I understood life and it's responsibilities I'd get so hurt that it never happened. I wanted one so bad. Still to this day I daydream of being up at Grandpa's, free riding his acreage on a beautiful horse in the sunlight until my heart's content. Years ago it felt like such a possibility, at times so close I could feel it. I loved it up there, it was my safe haven. These days it's nothing short of a pipe dream. My favorite place has also become my Achilles tendon, a place of vulnerability and hurt.
Months ago Kellan started asking me if she could take riding lessons. When she turned 5 I got her started. Her very first lesson went so well. She's a good rider. She had absolutely no fear. The more I watched her ride the heavier the yearn got to be back in that world again.  So I made a decision that I was going to look into owning. I know that I only have so many good riding years left myself, and the kids had a whole future ahead of them to. I knew that if I didn't do it now I probably never would. I started looking around and could not find the right horse. That is, until I found Booker...
Meet "Booker T.", a southern gentlemen straight from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Georgia. On the outside he might be a 16.1 hands Tennessee Walker mix, but on the inside he's a gentle giant and part lap dog. The first time I saw him I was smitten. Until now I've never actually gotten close to any particular horse.When you jump around riding facilities you ride whatever horse they put you on, and to that animal you're a dime a dozen. I've never felt a horse as smooth and soft to the touch as he is. I bear hugged him and didn't want to let go. I could spend all day just touching his face and playing with his mane. The kids love him and he seems to be fond of them too. He already seems to know us. As you round the corner to enter his stables there is a long row of horses. When they hear you coming they all stick their heads out to see who's the lucky one to see its owner. There is a sea of brown and black horse heads hanging out and at the very end peaking around is this beautiful, big, white and dappled creature with excitement in his eye to see us. It utterly leaves a lump in my throat.
How exciting it is to finally achieve this life long goal. I'm rather proud of myself for making this happen. I was so nervous and anxious waiting for him to arrive, and now I can relax and enjoy my dream. I so badly wish I could pick up the phone and tell my Grandfather all about it. Unfortunately, that number is no longer in service.

Introducing......

Hyvää Syntymäpäivää Busia!

Happy Birthday to You,

Happy Birthday to You,

Happy 90th Birthday our Dear Busia!

Happy Birthday to You!

 

This year would be my Grandmother's 90th birthday.

The sun is shining, the temperature outside is perfect, and the smell of fall is in the air. I'm trying my hardest to make this day the happier of the two days that seem to weigh so heavy on me, but it's proving to be more difficult than usual. Not only is it my Grandmother's birthday today, it is my Grandfather's birthday as well. He's 92. Unfortunately this morning he was admitted to the hospital in preparation for an exploratory heart surgery scheduled for tomorrow morning. In fact, he's in surgery now getting a temporary pacemaker for the procedure. Not only does he have to spend this day alone without her, he has to do it utterly alone in a hospital room. He didn't get to visit her. This really bothers me to the core. Happy Birthday to him too, huh? What a crappy birthday present. This year is far from normal. You can just feel it.

Regardless, I brought my usual single stemmed red roses over to my Grandmother and wished her a happy birthday with the kids. We cleaned up her stone for her special day as Colin "fluffed" up the heads of our roses. Kellan of course had her usual laundry list of questions to ask about her Busia and needed to once again be shown where heaven is. "If she comes back to us you won't have to miss her anymore. I know you really miss her Mommy, I do too. Maybe we should leave her a picture of our house so she knows where to find us."

Here is our home Grandma. Feel free to stop by any time you'd like. Our door is always open for you. I wish it were as simple as Kellan sees it. I'd love to have a visit.

Arlene Elaine Taurence

September 18th, 1921

"Happy Birthday to You! Happy Birthday to You! Happy Birthday dear Colin!

Happy Birthday to You!"

 

Chapter 3: "Mama! Bu-yoon!"

Today marks the end of the second chapter in the Story of Colin, and we're well on our way into the third. As I've watched my son grow and develop this year I'm truly amazed at his abilities. He's fearless, fun, and so very intelligent. He's made some wonderful discoveries in his world. He's figured out how to drive, what outlets are for, and the marvel that are "poley poleys!"

By year's end Colin definitely has his own likes. Of course there's Mater, McQueen, and the awesome Finn McMissle. He'll tell you how "cool" they are. He's a dipper like his big sister and loves cheese. His favorite book is "Pout-Pout Fish" and sleeps with it at night. In fact, he's worn the binding down to nothing. The boy is a water magnet. He's become such a brave swimmer. He loves speed and will jump on anything to take it for a ride. He'd sleep "ow-si" all night if it meant he didn't have to come inside, ever. Bubble Guppies is his favorite show. His sisters are his best friends. He'll point out every bird, plane, and cloud in the sky. When he's excited he points for "Mama! Mama! Mommy! See?", especially when it involves BUGS! He'd have a "poley poley" farm if there was such a thing. He's happiest when they're crawling all over his hand and intertwining through his fingers. If spotted in the wild he hunkers down like an ostrich and gazes at them in their natural element, our driveway cracks.

I love my son more than words can say. Each day when he wakes up I can't wait to smooch him. He never ceases to amaze me. The smell of his hair is one of my favorite scents. I adore my little boy. Happy Birthday Big Boy Colin!

"A Day Late and A Dollar Short, But Hey, Who's Counting?"

There are two days during the year that I tend to get overly sedimental on. It's not that I scratch these dates out on my calendar with huge sad faces to remember the day is to suck, it just happens. No matter how good my intentions are I seem to remember the date the moment I open my eyes. I find that strange since most mornings I can't remember what day of the week it is.

This weekend was my Grandmother's 89th birthday. Well, what would have been her 89th birthday. No matter how much I tell myself that of my two days this is the happier of the two, I still carry a small lump in my throat until I finally fall asleep at night. Even though in theory I celebrate this day, I mourn it as well. Truth is I miss the woman and feel very cheated that we aren't sitting around eating some cheap box cake from Krogers with a large load of candles on it. I wish I was taking video of my kids clapping to "Happy Birthday" on her lap. I'd love to buy her the most mushy card Hallmark had to offer. I wonder what that would be like.

As this day passes I know the next one nears. Thankfully it's not until snow starts to fall that it starts to swallow me whole.

I'd love to give my Grandmother on large, loud,  Happy Birthday from myself and my children. Even though you have passed you are loved, missed, and cherished each day.