I Serve Snacks At All My Pity Parties, Just In Case You Were Wonderin'

I traded my boulder for an orange safety cone. How many of you figured that our already? Funny, it took me a little while.

I have been hanging on to the boulder because I felt like if I let it go then I let go of my mom. I know in my heart that is not true, but my head isn’t on the same page. Last Sunday was Purple Stride. Last Sunday I walked three miles for my mom. I crossed the finish line for me. 

As you already know, I have acquired an orange cone. We have given him a personality, agreed to take him on our journeys and include him in our efforts to raise awareness and research donations. We are having fun and that is something we haven’t had in a long time. Our cone is bringing fun back into our lives. Who knew that is all it would take? 

After the race, I felt like my boulder had shrunk. My weight just didn’t seem so heavy. It kind of made me sad. I can’t explain it but it did.

I still miss my mom. Today I was trying to do something new to me but not new to her, make a buttonhole. Two of us work for a long time and we just couldn’t get the machine to do it. My mom could do it. I wish she was here so she could show me. No, I just wish she was here. I know the people who know her all feel a great loss. I know because they have told me. I can’t help feeling that my loss is the biggest. That is too silly and selfish and I am embarrassed to even type it. Maybe I need to explain.

My mom and I were the only girls in a house of boys. My dad traveled for his job so he was gone most weeks but home most weekends. Every water heater issue, sickness, errand, meal, homework, and prayer was handled by my mom. My mom was with us every second that was possible. My mom was supermom. She often said that she had to be both mom and dad to us. I don’t blame my dad, he had to provide for us and when he was home, I couldn’t be around him enough. He taught me how to hammer a nail, change my oil and mow a yard. But still, Mom was Mom. When will the tears stop? Will someone please, please tell me? When will this pain that I have inside my chest stop? No, I have to be stronger. I have to be the mom. Sometimes I just can’t do that, sometimes I want to just be the daughter. But I’m not. Daughters need moms. It is just that simple. Moms just know, at least mine did. It was like when she had us, someone filled her head with every solution, remedy and general fix-it plan available. She could do it all. She kept us together, she was our family.

Silly blubbering girl. That’s what I feel like. The truth is, I am sleepy and I don’t feel good. I think I have a cold. It’s my first cold since she left. I need my mom. I know that sounds like I am dependent on her, but really all I need is for her to say, take this or that, lay down and you will feel better tomorrow. No one says that anymore. I wonder if they even know that I am needing to hear those words? Doesn’t really matter. They won’t come and I can manage.

I can do this. I can make it through…I hope.

This is my cold talking and I know it. I happen to be one of the dysfunctional ones that can’t take anything to help either. So when I get sick, I have to suffer through. Oh woe is me, right.

I am struggling with this entry and I just don’t know why. The words aren’t flowing. Must be the cold. The good thing here at my pity party is I have snacks. You are welcome anytime

It’s funny because as I type I am chatting with someone I have had the privilege to get to know via Facebook. I know, “she hates Facebook.” Still do but everything happens for a reason. He is my age and his story is similar to mine and so many others. The difference, he didn’t get to live his life with his dad. I have so many memories of my mom and yet he has so few of his dad. That’s not fair. He is walking across America to raise awareness and money for pancreatic cancer….twice. He just said that each day he will wake up and dedicate that day to a particular person who has been victimized by this disease. He is giving my mom a day. Who does that? Who thinks of others that way? I am moved.

So, on a day where I haven’t felt well and I have needed my mom, a person, a friend, has picked me up. He will honor so many, but the one that means the most is the one he honors on September 4. Thank you. You’re message to me tonight was, I think, really from my mom. You may not know what it was, but I do.

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

I Am Not a Thief, Just an Emotional Girl

Sunday was Purple Stride in my area. Sunday we walked for all those who fought and lost, who are fighting and those who will be fighting pancreatic cancer. Saturday I didn’t want to go. There are only three other times in my life, so far, where I felt with my whole self, like I didn’t belong. Kind of this isn’t my life sort of thing. The first time was our first appointment at the oncology office. We walked in and it was almost standing room only. So many people in various stages of their fight. So many people at the beginning and end of their journey. We didn’t belong there. That is silly because no one is immune to cancer. I knew that, but on that day I told my mom that this couldn’t be our life. The second was the visitation that was set up the night before my mom’s final gala. I felt so strongly that I didn’t belong that I never went in the building. I stood outside with the best friends a girl could ever have. That wasn’t my life, couldn’t be. The third time was at her gala. I don’t know if I have ever really written about that day specifically but on that day, I wanted to run. That wasn’t my life and I didn’t belong there.

Saturday I felt the same way. I just didn’t want to go on Sunday. I went last year, we all did. My mom was still alive and we were walking for hope. This year, we were not going to have that hope. I know what the big picture is, but this is about me and what is running through my head. 

We woke up early on Sunday. The weather was not predicted to be dry so we had a lot of accessories to pack for the two of us and our two babies. Not to mention that we promised them that we would stop by the donut store on the way. We were out of the house by 7:30am and the sky opened up on us. Dark clouds and rain. Fitting weather for a fitting day. At least that is what I thought. As we drove, I prayed that God would make the rain stop until after the race was over. You see, even though I didn’t want to go, even though I didn’t feel like this was my life, I was going. I was going to make every step of that walk.

We drove on and just like that the rain stopped. It wasn’t even wet. The clouds were still dark, but there was no rain. We arrived and to our surprise, there was a bigger sea of purple than we though there would be. Purple hair, purple pants, shoes, socks, shirts and even make-up. It was a purplepalooza. Suddenly, I felt I belonged. I wish I didn’t belong but then I bet not one person there did. Here we were all knowing the same thing about this disease, all in the same place, all fighting the same fight. WOW!

So many people, dogs, wagons and information were there. It was small in comparison to other walks, but bigger than last year and oh so mighty. Yep, I belonged.

Time ticked by and we made our way to the starting line. We had a wagon with close to 100 pounds of pure love and an ovarian cancer survivor with us. There were more but these are pivotal to the story. I have to say, the race sort of started late and my kids were getting grumpy. They are 4 what can you expect. We decided early that we were only going to walk the mile. I thought my kids could only handle that and my friend’s mom, my hero didn’t need to push herself for three miles. She is cancer free, but this time last year she was fighting her fight. 

We walked, my kids rode. I pulled. I was mostly quiet, which is unusual. I was thinking of my mom and trying not to get in the way with my wagon. My son rearranged the orange cones as he rode and he even wore one. It became our third child. Also important to the story. 

We walked a long time and then someone said, “Where do we turn around for the mile?” There wasn’t a marker so we kept walking, I pulled while my daughter, son and our new pointed child rode. We saw the mile marker then the two mile marker. It became clear that we were walking the whole 5K. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem. I have walked and even run a 5K, never pulling a wagon and never worrying about a specific participant. I was hot, my feet hurt, I was thirsty and I was pulling a wagon. I was walking for my mom. Each step, each pain, each hard to breathe breath was for my mom. I ran into my foot a few times and even ran over my son’s hand (he is “all better” now). I looked for my friend’s mom, she never looked tired, she kept walking. We were nearing the finish line. The end. My kids got out of the wagon and ran with my husband. They said they were running for Emmy. My friends gathered around but as we got closer, I found myself off to the side pulling an empty wagon and hating that finish line. What was going to happen when I crossed? What was it going to mean? The end for sure, but the end of what? I didn’t want to cross because I didn’t want to know what was on the other side. The tears started and I couldn’t stop them. I walked up to the line and hesitated, but I crossed. More tears and then arms surrounded me. I survived and nothing happened but still, it was over. My mom was still gone and it was over.

A day later, looking back I realized that on one side of the finish line was me with my grief and my terrible sadness. When I reached the finish line, I looked over and saw my family. My wonderful husband, my beautiful daughter, my loving son and our new pointed child. They were clapping, waving and jumping. They were cheering me across the finish line. They were welcoming me home. It was the end of the race, it was the beginning of my life with my family. Does that make sense to you? Well it does to me and right now that is all that matters. More tears. 

My friend’s mom walked the whole way and never complained. She said she was proud to walk for my mom. She wore a hat with a pink ribbon for her mom. She is my hero, she is surviving cancer.

The crowd thinned and my kids played on. They were at the “best playground ever.” I sat off to the side with my pointed child and thought of what I just experienced. It was a good day, my mom would have been proud.

The race was over and the tables and tents were being taken down. It was time to go and I knew it. We realized as we were making our way to the car that all of the orange safety cones were gone and ours was still riding in the wagon. My husband and I looked at each other and simply said, we have to take it home. I am sure there was some sort of law or ordinance  that was broken, but we didn’t have a place to drop it off and it had made the journey, it had come so far that we couldn’t just leave it. We made the decision to adopt Pointy and return it next year. I would like to take this moment to apologize to the city, organizers and all Purple Stride folks for stealing the orange safety cone. I am choosing to believe that we are just holding it until it is needed again next year. I am not a thief, just an emotional girl.

Back to my story. The race was over and we were leaving. As we approached the parking garage, the wind turned cold and the leaves began to blow. The cold front had arrived. No sooner had we settled into our car when the rain began. God answered my prayer, but then he always does.

I am tired now, my feet hurt and my kids said it was the best purple parade ever because it had a great playground. Pointy is in the garage. I think I will bring him in. He has been through a lot with me.

I needed this walk whether I knew it or not. This walk was as much for me as it was for my mom. She isn’t here and that is still unfair and I hate it. I however am still here. My kids and my husband are cheering me on. I have the best family. They love me.

Well that was my second experience at Purple Stride. I wonder what next year’s walk will bring. One thing for sure, I will be there, I have to bring Pointy back.

On a side note, my kids think they won the race.  These were their words. Don’t tell them otherwise. They aren’t ready for that.

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

If the Light Bulb Flickers All You Have to Do is Screw It Back In, Right?

The other night we decided to go out for dinner. We were getting ready and my son asked if Emmy was going. He asked if Emmy was going.

I told him no and asked if he remembered that she lives in God’s house. He said he did and then went to play. I went to another room and cried. For that one little second, Emmy was here. But she isn’t. I wonder how many times I am going to have to keep “breaking” the news to my kids. Sometimes they look sad, sometimes they just say okay and move on.

What a horrible thing to have to keep going through. Not for me, for them. They don’t have the deep emotional connection that I have to her, but over and over again I am going to have to tell them that she isn’t here. I know over time that the questions will stop. Their memory is fading. I can see it. It is almost like there is a giant eraser that is rubbing away at what memories they have. That’s not fair. 

I’ll say it again, THAT’S NOT FAIR! I can’t change that and that hurts. 

Those two babies, whether they understand or not, have lost so much this year. First their cat, then a lot of fish (by the way did you know that the potty water goes to the water treatment plant and then directly to God’s pond?) It makes sense to them. They lost their Emmy and they are about to lose one of their dogs. They have had to adjust to my sadness. I wish I could hide it better. This isn’t their fault. I have great kids and they help me more than I ever thought they could. My son gives the best hugs and he seems to see exactly what is going on. He will sit in my lap on those bad days and talk about the things he loves to talk about. He can move me on. May daughter brings me Kleenex and a blanket because to her, a blanket fixes everything.

Luckily, those days are getting farther and farther apart. I am glad because laughter is starting to come back. It has always been here, it is just that things haven’t been as funny. 

Yes, my kids are my gifts. Where would I be without them? They yell, scream, cry, laugh and talk their way through their lives. They are passionate babies with very distinct personalities. They are peas and carrots but occasionally they are oil and water. At school the other day I was reading what my kids said they were thankful for. My son said his family, his two dogs (he has three) and his weather books. My daughter said she was thankful for her dogs and cats (we don’t have any cats) and her brother who she loves more than ice cream. Isn’t that just sweet? The catch here, she doesn’t like ice cream. It made me laugh.

My daughter is the singer and can turn any sentence into a song. She has the sweetest voice I have ever heard. My son is the comedian. He thinks it is neat to pee in the backyard, pretend he is a cheetah baby and he loves to dip all of his fruit into ketchup. He likes to get a laugh out of people. His memory is amazing. He can tell you something that happened last year but he can’t remember to put his underwear on with the tag in the back. My daughter lines up her shoes, tries to match her clothes and loves to give instructions. She is a girly girl. They have my heart. 

I have been searching for something that can lift me out of this ditch I feel like I have been in for so long. I have looked everywhere, thought of everything but I just haven’t been able to come up with any solutions. I have been looking too far away. I believe that the answer has been living in my house this whole time.  My kids. 

“Be a good mother.” That’s what my mom told me to do. I heard the words but I have lost sight of them. I’m not saying that I am a bad mom. I actually think I am a little better than average. What I am saying is that my focus hasn’t been on fulfilling my mom’s wishes for me. I have been too wrapped up in my own misery to see anything outside. Sure I beg you for donations, I am working on a hobby/business, I cook and do all the other stuff I normally do. I think those are all things that I do partly because I have to and partly because I need to. I have been so self-centered that I am failing to do those things because I want to. I gotta change that.

My babies don’t deserve to have a mom who goes through the motions. They deserve a mom who is doing it because she is honored to and because she realizes what true miracles they are. I want to be that mom. I think my mom would want that too.

All of my life I have loved hearing my mom tell me she was proud of me. I can’t say that I have accomplished a lot, but my mom knew that each thing I did was big. She didn’t always tell me she was proud, but I knew it. She just had a way. She isn’t here to give me that look or to tell me how proud she is. That’s ok, really it isn’t but I am going to keep telling myself that it is. It is my turn to step up and let my kids know how proud I am of them. I do it often, but now that I have slapped myself, I see that I need to let them know that I mean it. 

I have made some progress here I think. The real test will be to see if I can carry out my revelation. That is always the hard part because when I write, the solutions seem clearer than they do in real life. I’m trying though. 

Is this how most people get through tragic events? Or am I just making a mountain out of a molehill? Whatever the answer, this is the path I have chosen to go down and as long as the light bulb keeps flickering, I’m going to keep going. Someday that light is going to shine bright and steady. That will be a great day.

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

I Hope I am Better Than My Washing Machine

Several years back, I bought a front load washing machine. It was all the rage. Supposed to clean my clothes in less water. The bit was that it was energy efficient. The original belief was that this was a high-end, sleek machine that was going to wash my clothes and help me save money. (I don’t know how to blow raspberries in type so just imagine the sound.) This machine doesn’t do what it was originally believed it could do. This has been proven by the fact that my clothes are not coming as clean as I think they should. I was wooed into believing that less water could do the job. This machine was not what I thought it was.

Sometimes we draw conclusions based on a few bits of information and overall look of something/one. Is that wrong? Or is it just the way we have been taught? 

The other day someone said something that made me evaluate how I might be perceived through my blog. I can’t stand fakers and I don’t make it a habit to present myself as something I am not. The statement made was kind and funny but it did make me ask myself, who am I in person and who am I in my blog? The simple answer is, I am the same for both. The difference is, in person I feel less cautious about myself and you get to see the mouth move and the eyes widen and the hand gestures that just won’t stop. My husband says that my blog sometimes breaks his heart. I asked why and he said because I know you best and I know how you would be saying these words. He knows how torn up I am over the events of this last year. He knows me. He gets to hear my words.

You however, don’t. That is by choice. I’m kind of sure why.

By the way, all of these entries reveal much more than you think. You are just reading the words. If you were in my head, if you were hearing me speak  then it would make better sense. Sometimes the written word just doesn’t cut it. Sometimes you need to hear the words spoken. That isn’t possible, so I will try to get my point across as best as I can.

I don’t think I am all that complex, but I have been told that I am a little hard to read. I have also been told that if I don’t like something, you will know it. I agree with the last statement. I am ordinary, sort of middle-of-the-road. I try not to make waves but if I have to, I will. My mom called me a bulldog. She said if you need something done, get me on it. I don’t know about that but I do know that I speak my mind sometimes too much. I do stand up for what I believe in and if I annoy you then you should just walk away. 

I am a simple, silly girl who has just experienced the most traumatic events of my life. Now, I am left to put myself back together. I didn’t choose this and sometimes that makes me angry. But on good days, I know I will make it back to my old self. I wear my heart on my sleeve, wish I didn’t. I am emotional and sometimes that clouds my logical thinking, wish it didn’t.  I believe what you see/read is what you get. I am who I am and I don’t hide behind a blog or a Facebook page. Because you have your own imagination, your own preconceived ideas, your perception of me may be a little off. Nothing wrong with that. Your idea of who I am is probably better that the reality. Please though, make me a little bit thinner, no gray hairs, and not so sleepy. Oh and I would like to have a good singing voice.

My goal here, at least in the beginning, was to write a little about what I have gone through in the hopes of drumming up donations. It has turned into my little way of analyzing myself. Maybe it is my way of staying sane. Some have told me I am normal, but it hasn’t sunk in yet. I write because it is my little tiny outlet. I have never had such a huge, catastrophic thing happen in my life like the death of my mom.  I am devastated and I will be for a long time. Writing, whether good or bad is my way of looking at myself. I’m not writing for donations really, I am writing for me.

For this blog and my real life, I am an average girl who has lost one of the single most important people in my life. I write about that and sometimes my personal life seeps in. I am nothing special, I am just heartbroken like so many other daughters are. I hope I haven’t presented myself as anything different. If I have then I apologize and I hope that if you ever meet me you aren't disappointed.

My washing machine isn’t what I thought it was. I plan on getting a new one. I hope I have presented myself exactly the way I see me. I would hate to be replaced with one that does a better job. 

I don’t know if you learned anything here and I’m not sure yet if I did either. I do think it is important that I look at who I am and what I am doing. I want to move on and I think this blog is helping me do that. I am looking for the old Carole, the one before my mom died. I’ll let you know when I find her. 

BTW, I don't live on the prairie but I do have a garden.

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

I Just Don't Think the Carrot Gets Enough Exposure

Halloween was very quiet in my neighborhood. I don’t know why. There were trick or treaters, but the air was still. It just didn’t seem like Halloween. Here it was in the 80s, but then it usually is. I hope this was just unique to my area and not everywhere. 

Nothing insightful or profound here today. Just a Halloween picture of an EF5 tornado, fairy princess (without her wings) and a giant carrot (I am the carrot). This may be the only time I post pictures of my family. I hope you enjoy.

Sorry it is our backs. This is the best I can do right now. Just a side note here, the picture taker was a giant yellow angry bird. He is the best dad.