From My Heart

In A Certain Light

I can see you sitting there.  Your face all lit up.  That mischevious look in your eye that you passed down to my sister and my daughter.  You were a troublemaker.  In the best kind of way.  You loved me best.  I know that is a fact.  When I walked in a room your eyes changed and the corners of your mouth went up.  You didn't put up with any monkey business.  That's for sure.  You'd always say, "Horsefeathers," if I tried to sell you a bid of goods.  I didn't get a way with much.  You put my hair in rollers.  Made me cinnamon toast for breakfast.  And goulash for dinner using that Franco American Spaghetti out of the can and a pound of ground beef.  I can remember the pot you cooked it in.  Aluminum and heavy with the real wood handle painted black.  You signed all of my cards: All My Love, All My Life, GaGa.  You let me dress the dog up in baby clothes and drag that poor dog around the neighborhood in my doll carriage.  You yelled at me when I twirled the cord to that ugly beige wall telephone in the kitchen.  When my conversation reached your fifteen minute limit you suddenly expected an important call and I had to get off.  You bought us Atari so we could play pong like the rest of the kids in America.  You kept me well-dressed and my Mother before me.  No child of the Depression was going to let her loved ones walk around in rags.  We were dressed to the nines.  You worked through my Mother's childhood.  You were a career woman before it was cool.  You gave up your career to stay home with me so I didn't have to go to daycare while Mom worked and Daddy was away in the War.  You taught me to read and write at the age of four.  You took me to church and taught me Jesus Loves Me.  You took me on roadtrips and let me by that basket of candy everytime we stopped at a Stuckey's.  You didn't order a dinner plate when we dined out because my eyes were bigger than my stomache.  You just ate what I didn't.  You built a strong sense of family in me.  You spoke of your loved ones with tender affection.  Aunt Kate and Uncle Tug and your sister, Thelma.  Your Daddy who was an old man by the time you came along.  You loved them all.  I felt like I knew them too even though they were long gone by the time I arrived on planet Earth.  You taught me a love of gardening.  When I see purple orchids or a peony bush in full bloom I mentally fall down on my knees and weep.  It transports me back.  I'm your little shadow and you go about your day with me trailing behind you.  We do laundry and hang it on the line to dry.  We weed and we water.  We got to the market.  We make dinner.  We sit on the front porch.  A lot.  At the time that about drove me batty, but I'd give an arm and a leg to sit with you on the porch while you wondered who the guy in the green truck was that dared park in front of your house on a public street.  We tried to simmer you down.  It was a public street.  He can park anywhere he wants.  You were a feisty ole thing with your bright red lipstick.  I can still remember how the point wore down as you liberally applied it.  I loved you then.  And I love you now.  It wasn't perfect, but it never is.  Looking back one has a tendency to see through rose colored glasses...  But please know this: you were the best Grandmother.  I respected you.  And I loved you.  And I appreciated you.  I know that's all you truly wanted back.  And I miss you.  Especially today.  On your birthday.  Today the light was just right and I thought back and thanked God above for you.  Helen Henrietta.  My grandmother.  My Gaga.  Happy Birthday.

Good Memories Indeed

Mother's Day is always a little bittersweet.

I have to visit my Mother here.

On the brighter side...  It was an absolutely beautiful day here today.  Blue skies for as far as the eye could see.  So many people came out to the cemetery to pay their respects.

I came to visit my Mom.  JUDY!

Judy, Judy, Judy.  Or as her Mom called her Judy Pie!  She hated that...

She left this earth way too early.  And she lives on in my daughter's dimples and my son's old soul and in my quick wit and in my sister's loyalty.  She was all Texan.  She loved a good deal.  She was thrift store shopping when thrift store shopping wasn't cool.  She was a collector like someone else I know.  She drank enough diet coke in her lifetime to fill a small ocean.  She didn't have a patient bone in her body.  She drove to fast.  And she cursed like a sailor.  And I miss her so much my bones ache.  I would love to call her up and make her laugh so hard she started cackling like a chicken.  I don't have anyone to tell about my my inability to cool off naturally.  She can't tell me why the heck I'm so hot!  I sure would love to have one more of our marathon shopping trips that always included lunch and a stop somewhere for dessert.  I'd love to stay up late watching hours of "I Love Lucy" reruns.  Just one more time.  Another trip down memory lane so she could show me where she use to hang out, where her first job was and where she met my Dad.  She was loud and brash at times.  And humble and kind and insecure.  Loving and thoughtful and sometimes thoughtless.  She was human.  And she had the biggest heart.  And I'd give the world to hug her.  And never let go.  I know she left this Earth knowing I loved her with every ounce of my being.  Every ounce...

I miss you Mom.  Every day.  Every hour.  Every minute.

Remembering my Mother is always the first thing I want to do every Mother's Day.  This is my 5th without her.  And I'm doing so much better.  I really enjoyed my day with my family.  We did all of my favorite things: antique shop, go to the garden store, LAUGH, and eat.  I'm usually the one behind the camera (and I prefer it that way...), but we got a few shots of today.

It's all about the laughter.

WARNING: Serious Post Ahead

Today I felt like a balloon that someone pumped full of too much helium.

On edge.

Ready to burst.

Fearful of the loud P-O-P that sounds like a shotgun has gone off.

The moment when someone/something scares you out of your own skin.

That out of control feeling that throws you into a tizzy.

A friend of mine was recently diagnosed with breast cancer.  Full mastectomy within days of the diagnosis.  One day fine.  One day fighting the fight of your life.

I didn't know what to do with all this emotion so I put it in my art journal.

Please, add J to your prayers.

And bless all the folks who have been affected by cancer in any way whatsoever.

We're doing the breast cancer walk/run next weekend.  The whole family.  It seems like such a tiny thing, but I had to do something.  Anything. 

Happy Birthday Mom

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.  She never existed before.  The woman existed, but the mother, never.  A mother is something absolutely new.  ~Rajneesh

My favorite memories of my Mother always involve my own children. 

When I found out I was pregnant for the first time, way back in 1995, I kept it a secret for quite some time.  The first sonogram picture we got I put in a frame and drove straight through to Denver in a snowstorm to present this carefully wrapped gift to my Mother.  It was a winter wonderland.  The world was covered in glistening white snow.  Mom was having breakfast at a restaurant near her home.  I nonchalantly walked in and sat down at her table and handed her the small wrapped gift.  Mom was never lacking for words, but this day she just sat there speechless and gently unwrapped the gift.  Emblazoned directly onto the sonogram (courtesy of the tech---thank you!) was CONGRATULATION GRAMMY!  IT'S A BOY!  She cried.  I cried.  We hugged.  My husband just stood by with a mile wide smile.  And the restaurant cried as she went table to table telling strangers our good news.  That was one of the best days of my entire life thus far.

Grammy doted on her grandson.  Her firstborn grandchild.  He could do no wrong. 

She was there the first time he was genuinely sick.  She held him in her arm as he experienced his first fever.  He slept there for hours in his little red footy pajamas and she never moved a muscle.  His sweatly little head plastered against her cheek.  He was 10 months old.  She reassured me he would be fine.  He was.

The day she died was a literal hell on earth.  The hardest part was having to tell my son his Grammy had gone to heaven.  I told him sitting in the middle of our driveway.  He was 6.  He put his head in his hands and sat motionless for the longest time.  Then he looked up at me with crestfallen eyes and asked me who would send him care packages now.  I knew what he meant in his innocent 6 year old question.  He meant:  Who will love me the best from now on?  Who will perk up every time I walk into the room?  Who will be my number one fan?  Who will love me unconditionally?  Who will buy me a package of gum every time we set foot in a retail establishment?  Who will cover me in kisses?  Who will cry the entire 12 hours on her way home as she drives from my house back to her house?  Who will be my Grammy now? 

She died on his first day of first grade.  My boy colored with brown, black and gray crayons for the entire year.  He refused to use any other colors.  Any other colors...

His brown eyes were sad for soooooo soooooooo long.

Grieving is a continual process.  It's never ending.  Thankfully time provides some measure of comfort. 

So on this special day I wanted to write about my Mom.  And her grandson. 

He's 12 now.  A musician.  Acoustic and electric guitar.  The euphonium.  He's a math wizard and just made the top spot in the traveling math team for his school.  He'll compete all over our state in the lead position on his team.  He brought home his report card yesterday.  EXCELLENT!  He's cute with his ridiculously long hair all the girls love.  The middle school girls nicknamed him "Little Rock Star" for obvious reasons.  And more importantly, he's solidly rooted.  Sure of himself, kindness personified and loving. 

You'd be so proud Mom!  And I know that's the best birthday gift of all.

Watch over him always please.  Be his very own personal angel.

For Juan

We had been home from our trip to Colorado long enough to check on the pets and sleep a few hours when the phone rang.  The home phone.  I don't pay much attention to that phone as it is generally for the kids or solicitation calls.  This time Meg arrived in my office w/ phone in hand and a serious look on her face.  She whispered, "It's for you Mom.  They asked for Cami."  A chill ran down my spine.

"Is this Cami?" someone asked.

I swallowed.  Took a breath.

"Cami, this is Cathy.  Juan's wife.  He thought so highly of you I wanted to call you."

I stopped breathing.  Completely.  Frozen in my tracks by her past tense sentence.

"Cami, Juan died on July 4th.  He had a grande mal seizure."

His wife of 19 years sounded okay.  No quiver in her voice.  No tears.  Resolute.  Probably in deep shock.  And I kept thinking "hold it together Cam"...  "Just hold it together"...  I kept trying to detect some hint in her voice that she wasn't okay.  And she wasn't.  How could she be?  Yet she sounded so strong.  And she has to be.  She has 3 teenagers.  Twin sons going into their freshman year of High School and a daughter who will be a senior next month.  And I ache for her.  And for her kids.  And the loss of one of the nicest men in the whole wide world.  Juan Gonzales. 

He was one of my BFF in High School.  Best, best, best.  We lived through his first serious girlfriend.  My first serious boyfriend.  Parties.  Plays.  Dancing.  High School stuff.  He was a skater.  I was me.  Kinda alternative I guess.  He helped me move into my first apartment.  And out of that same apartment when my roommate went psycho.  He was a big brother.  He was dependable.  And responsible.  And loving.  And we kept in touch all our lives.  20 years since High School.  He served in the Gulf War.  He was a military policemen on the K-9 Unit.  After he got out of the service he moved back to our hometown with his wife and children and bought a house near his parents.  Total family man.  He did security for sometime and most recently taught special needs children @ the Middle School level.

Dead at the age of 37. 

Yet he lives on.  I know he does.

I went straight to bed after learning of his death.  Didn't get up for 36 hours.  And even now I find it hard to concentrate.  I feel scattered.  Like sheets of paper blowing in the wind.  I have this overwhelming desire to chase the paper.  Frantically trying to grasp at each piece and save it.  A piece of it.  Anything.  Just a tiny bit.  Yet it all blows away leaving me behind.  Left alone in a wind storm.