No One Wants to See a Messy Puddle of Goo

I have a husband, two kids, 52ish fish, two hermit crabs, I am trying to start a business, I work part-time, coach soccer, take care of my home, fundraise for pancreatic cancer research, my mom, friend and cat died (all had the same thing) and now I have added a puppy. My pile is growing. It is supposed to be getting smaller but I keep adding to it. 

Before I get to my analysis of myself, here is Sidney.

She is the only puppy my daughter will get close to. My other dogs are 50+ pounds so I am pretty sure Sidney is the world’s smallest puppy. We will have to adjust our way of thinking now. 

So, back to my pile. I know what I’m doing and I’ll get to that in a minute. Recently I have been discussing the need to simplify my life. I bought a rain barrel, compost bin and we are growing tomatoes and cabbage. Never mind that I don’t eat either, we are trying to simplify and leave less of a footprint. The past year has been so stressful and I have felt like I could either deflate at any moment or explode. I decided that simplifying my life would help. I wanted to get the worry and stress out and this is the only way I could think of to do that. Instead, I am adding on. My bubble is getting crowded, but then the additions are of my choosing. That’s right; I am choosing to add to my pile. I bought the hermit crabs and fish, I volunteered to coach and I chose to set a goal of a million dollars. I am doing this to myself and I know why. Again, I will get to that shortly.

When my mom left, I felt like my family left. They didn’t, they were just grieving. I have relatives, but immediately, I have my dad and a brother. My mom held us together and the day she died felt like the three of us were miles apart. She did everything and suddenly, we had to do it while we grieved. The three of us are what is left. Yes there are others, but again, immediately it is just the three of us. As the only girl, I really felt alone and to some degree, I still do. I am the emotional one. I can’t remember the last time I saw my brother cry and I don’t think I ever saw my dad cry. No criticism here that is just their way. Now, I see, hear and feel the sadness in my dad. His tears are hard. My brother has his own way of dealing. I guess what I am trying to say is that the three of us are all equally sad and heartbroken; we are just grieving separately in our own ways. That has been hard because what I want is for us to sit and cry together. That isn’t going to happen because that is not how they grieve and I realized that the other day. It made sense and now I think I understand that part of my sadness a little better.

Last Friday the headstone was put in place. My brother sent me a picture on Saturday just as we were getting in the car to go to Home Depot for a kid’s workshop. I looked away as soon as I saw the picture but not before I saw the name. Tears came and that brief glimpse was burned into my mind. I knew it was going to be placed soon, so why did it bother me? It’s real now. No matter how much I hope and wish. No matter how many times I close my eyes really hard and tense up my muscles, my mom isn’t coming back. My mom is gone and that headstone says so. It is official. I know, “silly girl, she’s been gone for 5 months.” But for five months there hasn’t been a marker on her grave. I know she isn’t there, but without that official bronze marker, I could pretend that nothing was there. No, my mom’s shell is there. She isn’t but it is and that stone says it is true. 

My dad called that night to ask if I looked at the picture. He sounded disappointed when I told him I couldn’t. I tried to explain, but at that moment I felt like I let him down. How crazy is that? All he wanted was to share that picture with me and I couldn’t do it. I didn’t sleep well after that.

Late yesterday afternoon, I looked at it. I really don’t have any words. Sculpturally it was well done, but I hate it. I hate what it means. I hope that sounds the way I am thinking it. To me it means that the final step was taken. Pancreatic cancer won. It victimized my family. It robbed my family. Without that horrible beast, that marker wouldn’t be there and I wouldn’t be writing this and I wouldn’t be feeling the way I feel.

Back to my pile.

I am sitting here at my desk, all alone and I am missing my mom, hating pancreatic cancer and feeling sorry for myself. Alone; my enemy. That is where the pile comes in. As much as I want to simplify, I can’t. If I don’t keep going, if I don’t keep piling it on, I am going to be a messy puddle of goo that cries all the time. The more I take on, the less time I have to fall apart. I don’t know if that is healthy. I don’t think I am repressing anything, I think I am just trying to keep moving in a direction. Hopefully I am going forward with the occasional sideways stray. Time will tell. 

So, I bought the world’s smallest puppy. I said it was for my kids, but really she is for me. I don’t know why. I don’t want any more animals. But something happened when I held her. I think my heart melted just a smidge. I love that puppy and I think she loves me. 

One more thing on my pile. It will keep me going until………

Don't forget to click on the link and donate. Don't let pancreatic cancer win.

 http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

I Am Tumping My Bucket Over and Yes Tump is a Word

There are two events that take place over the course of a life that are “officially” recorded; our time of birth and our time of death. We live and die by the clock. I think that was a line from a movie. It’s true though. I don’t know what time my mom was born, but I do know what time she died, 4:30am. “Officially” it has been recorded at six-something. 

 I don’t know why I am thinking about that this morning. I’m not feeling super sad, I just think that time, at times, is the enemy.

Time to get up, time to eat, time to go, time to go to sleep. The clock never stops. I can stop the timepieces in my home, but the clock of the world keeps ticking. 

Where does the time go? We all say it. We also say, “Time flies and before you know it…” Even when we think time is moving at a snail’s pace, it is still moving. We hear, “time of birth…” and “time of death…” Time may stop here for the deceased, but we still have to hear the tick-tock. 

Why are we in a hurry? What do we think will happen when we hurry up? All we are really doing is wishing our time away. I do it all the time. We all do. 

Time seemed to stand still when my mom called to tell me her diagnosis. It didn’t, but because I was alone and the house was quiet, I felt like it did. I bet she felt like she was in a tunnel going 100mph. Someone told her that she had, at best, three years. She held on to that. What if someone told you that? What if someone told you that at the most, time was going to stop for you in three years? Well that just isn’t enough time. I’ve said that a lot. She said that a lot.

I’m really sounding depressed here. I’m not. I just get tired of looking at that clock and wondering what’s next. Hurry and get to work because if we aren’t on time, someone else is waiting to take our place. Hurry home so we can spend as much time watching television or whatever people do. Everything has a time frame. Why is that? Why is 10 minutes the magic time on my hair color touch-up? What happens if I go 11 minutes? I know what happens if I bake a cake too long. That time seems sort of important (I like cake, a lot). What happens if that show doesn’t come on at the pre-set time? What is the worst that is going to happen? It aggravates me too, but I don’t watch much TV anymore so I just move on. Ballet starts at 10:45 and when we run late, something tightens up inside me and the stress escalates. It doesn’t matter if we are a few minutes late, I’m paying for it anyway.

I rush, do you rush? Why? What do we think is going to happen if we hurry up? My kids love to be first. I’m not sure how it has been etched into their minds because we have always tried to let them know that we all get there at the same time. It doesn’t matter who crosses the line first. But…it does, doesn’t it? Second is the first last place. That may be from a movie too. My daughter plays soccer. Well, she chases the ball with a bunch of other kids. She plays for the YMCA and we don’t keep score. Uh, excuse me; I think we all know which team scores more. It seems important to us. Being first seems to be important.

I think that we are just rushing through life, marking the places (first, second, third). I wonder if we are just going to get to the end of our life here and say, “Boy, where did the time go.” I don’t want to do that. Oh sure, some live life to the fullest, whatever that means. Some have bucket lists. I am guilty of that. Why? What makes me think that here in this life is the only place I can do those things? 

So, I think I need to tump my bucket over and focus on living each day. (Just so you know, I believe tump is a word that has just not hit mainstream vocabulary yet). During the past year, I have watched the clock. I stopped time, so to speak, for my life. My focus was on the clock my mom was carrying. That clock has stopped. Mine is still going. Amazing how life works. I stopped living for me. That is my biggest problem. Time is ticking in my life and I am watching the clock. I need to stop watching, simplify and start living. Yesterday my kids were being born; today they are in school and learning to write. I’m missing it because I focus on the tick-tock. 

People with pancreatic cancer are watching the clock. Their families are watching it as well. What will happen tomorrow, what will happen next week? How much time do they have? We don’t have the insight to know any of that. Their time is ticking and they are running out of it. If we don’t do something, if we don’t raise more awareness, more money for research, more people will be watching their time slip away. I wish I could explain, I mean really explain, how not donating is actually hurting people. I wish I could really paint a picture of what my mom went through. I have tried, but if it had been spot on then your heart would be breaking and you couldn’t get to your wallet fast enough. Time is running out for so many families. They hear the tick-tock. If we can raise enough money, get enough research done, then that clock won’t be as important to them. I am in a hurry to find a cure; I am in a hurry to make a difference. The clock is ticking. 

Personally, I am going to stop looking at the clock. I’ve watched it too long. Who cares if we aren’t on time? What matters is did we enjoy our ride?

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

http://purplestride.kintera.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=1026438&lis=0&kntae1026438=6BB0854474794D55AE9943C0FD97A720&supId=0&team=5138804&cj=Y

My Kid Barfed All Over My Husband. Kind of Sums Up this Post. My Apologies.

I am drawing a blank today. Ever have those days? As I sit here I am thinking I have said everything I need to say and it could be time to retreat back into my bubble. 

Maybe an update is a good start.

We don’t have 52 fish anymore. We think we have lost five babies and one of our adults left about a week ago. I do have homes for at least half. Still, if you are in need of a fish, let me know.

My neighbor, Rerun, still mows all covered up. He told my son the other day that if he, my son, touches the grass clippings he will get worms. I think that was a strange thing to tell a four year old. 

I tried to go to Purple Light last night in honor of my mom and all those who have been victimized by pancreatic cancer. My son drank a lot of water. I don’t know why. Clearly we weren’t watching him as closely as we should. He leaned over and told my husband that his tummy hurt. He stood up, burped and then puked all over my poor husband. He rushed our boy to the restroom. Meanwhile, my daughter was upset because her brother “gotted wet all over her shirt.” We left. My son was happy because his tummy didn’t hurt anymore. A little tiny part of me was glad we left. I felt like I did at my mom’s final gala.

I’ve started a small hobby business with the hopes of it becoming a small business. I am sewing custom pajama pants. I have no other way to put this but to say, if my mom knew what I was doing, she would die. Once she told me not to sew any more. I agreed because at that time I was sitting with a tiny piece of thread running through the side of my finger. I sewed myself to my curtains. I have her sewing box. It just sits in the corner though. 

Her headstone is being delivered and placed. For now, I will just let it get used to the space. Someday I might go see. I had an offer from a fellow fundraiser, who has turned out to be quite the online friend, to go with me to see it. That’s a year away. Maybe by then I will be able to do it. We are all still too sad.

I am thinking of moving. I know, I just moved a year ago. I think there are too many memories in this house plus I’ve been promised a pool. It will be my forever home, until the kids grow up and get settled in their own homes. Change is overwhelming. Change for the better, change for the worse; it all causes me to get the Pepto. 

I still live in my bubble with my family, Pebbles, my giant weight, two dogs, two hermit crabs and 40 something fish. We have been doing a lot of baking. We do venture out occasionally, it makes me nervous. 

Clearly I had a few things to say in a rather unorganized way. After rereading, I have decided that I am living somewhat of a dysfunctional life. If it gives someone a smile then I guess I will keep on living it. 

I do feel like I am hanging in there. I don’t have all sad days, just sad moments. Sometimes just talking to my family makes me sad. They are doing okay. My dad is turning out to be a little baker. Who knew? He visits my mom’s grave a lot. I think it gives him comfort but I wonder if it makes him a little sadder. He is surprising me in a good way. 

Yep, looks like I’m not finished airing my grief. I know I have a long way to go. I know the magic grief fairy isn’t going to come and make everything go back to normal. Normal isn’t normal anymore. I’m not sure what normal is right now. We are sort of playing it by ear.

I am still hoping for a million people to donate a dollar each. Pancreatic cancer is on the rise and that is the only way I know that we can make a difference. We are going to Purple Stride in November as Team Emmy. My kids call it the purple parade. They think it is a big party for their Emmy. I tell them it is.

I apologize for the choppy post here. Today was just an off day. Tomorrow will be better.

Please, take a moment to click on the link and donate. There are two ways today. If you keep reading my blog then I think that means that I have flipped a switch on inside you. You read every post but you haven’t donated. Why not?

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

http://purplestride.kintera.org/faf/search/searchTeamPart.asp?ievent=1026438&lis=0&kntae1026438=6BB0854474794D55AE9943C0FD97A720&supId=0&team=5138804&cj=Y

Do I Really Have to Go to WalMart?

Memories. 

I’m flooded with memories. I think that is normal, everything else points to my need for medication or a stiff drink. Nah, I’ll keep writing.

I have been waiting for four and a half months for that dream. You know the one. It’s where the lost loved one appears and tells you that everything is going to be alright. The one where the grieving person finds peace and can move on. Well, let me tell you, I had a dream the other night only I didn’t wake up thinking “boy, I feel better. Now I can conquer the world.” I can’t really tell you much about it because the part where my mom enters the room and speaks is the only part that I can remember. She was there though. But then, she is always there. 

Regardless, in the dream, I was standing in a room and my mom came in and said, “Do you want to go to WalMart? We need to get some paper for this easel.”

I’ll give you a moment to ponder that…………..

What the heck does that mean!

A little background is required here. 

I understand that WalMart is a store that many frequent. I even go on rare occasions. It has everything. Need groceries, clothes, toys, tires, go to WalMart. I happen to be one of the few who avoids the store if I can. I can’t explain it but I have been known to have mild asthma attacks by just entering the store. I have witnesses I assure you. Strange I know, but then WalMart isn’t actually on the approved list of stores that I allow in my bubble. The point is, I don’t care for the store and my mom knew it.

So, why after all these months did she appear in my dream and ask me a question that she knows the answer to? After all of this time, I have waited to hear her speak words of wisdom and this is what she chose? (I know, dreams are our subconscious expelling the stuff that fills our minds over a period of time).  For my own insanity, I am going to say that my mom appeared in my dream to speak to ME.

I am confused. I see her face more and more. It doesn’t upset me as much, but still I wish it was her real face and not just a memory. I love the memories, but sometimes I feel like I am running from them. A year and a half ago, I moved. I wasn’t able to actually do the moving, so my mom stepped in. She set up my house. Every room has her fingerprints somewhere. She made my curtains, she organized my kitchen, and she put in the shelf paper. My mom is all over my house and sometimes it bothers me. I don’t know if that is normal. Sometime I just want to get away from those memories. Now that can’t be normal. I have some of her things, a sewing kit, a quilt she made me, a scarf and some other stuff. I don’t like having them in my reach. I can’t even explain why. I miss her so much yet I can’t get the quilt that she made me down out of my closet. I see it every day; I just don’t want to hold it. Why? Maybe I am afraid of how I will feel if I do. I’m not getting it down because I just don’t want to test that theory yet. 

Is this normal? Does everyone who has been through a death of a parent feel this way?

Why did she ask if I wanted to go to WalMart? That is so ordinary and un-profound. Or is it?

Could my mom be telling me to stop trying to analyze everything and stop hanging on to everything in the hopes that she will come back? Was she telling me to move on? Was she telling me to stop crying over her and get busy living my ordinary life? I know how I am going about things isn’t how she instructed me, but then I never did everything she told me to do. I don’t think she would like that I have plastered her picture all over Facebook and I know she wouldn’t like how I have described her in her final days. Given the fundraising circumstances, I think she would give me a pass.

  

I know, my mom wasn’t really asking me if I wanted to go to WalMart. What she really said was it is time to move on. I am an artist and she was my biggest fan. I am almost positive the whole “we need to get paper for the easel” was that making art was my outlet and I need to get back to creating. I need to get back to enjoying life. 

I know that, but how?

Oh how I miss my mom. My kids miss their Emmy. 

I love memories. They make me feel warm and cozy, most of the time. I have a lot of memories with my mom. I am sure they will make their way to print at some point. But, my mom was practical, I am a dreamer. We clashed. I think it is time that I let her speak. It is time that I take that step forward and start making those great memories with my family. I mostly feel good about saying that too. I’ve made progress.

I have to say that I am a little sad though. Pebbles just shrunk….but only a little.

By the way, have you donated yet? Everyday people are fighting for their lives because of pancreatic cancer. One dollar is all you need to give. My mom could move mountains. She isn’t here to help, so I need you to help me move this one. It will be the most important donation you could ever make. 

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/evamckinney/KeeptheMemoryAlive

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBq1E1gbPhY&feature=share