Every year I feel some obligation to write this post and every year I make some half-assed attempt at being poetic and powerful. Every year I fail miserably because, if I'm being honest, I am still too raw. And what I'm writing is not deeply personal or even all that inspirational to other Angel Moms because I still haven't found enough distance to impart some great wisdom. Basically, I just don't want to talk about it. Or think about it. But all of that avoidance hasn't gained me any great comfort over the past 6 years. I still feel like we are living a lie, this family of 3.
How many children do you have?
One. Just the one. (No, two. I have two children. One runs, one flies....Man, that looks so much better stamped on a necklace than it sounds aloud to a complete stranger.)
So, I don't say it, of course. I say one. The nosier ones ask when we will have more. If you press me hard enough, I will tell you that we actually have two. And I will make you feel like horse poo for saying anything at all.
I'm clearly not in my happy place.
But I don't know if I will ever, on this earth, find my happy place. Last year, I heard of a couple who was in the process of adopting a newborn. Adoption is competitive so they created a book to show the birth mom how important adopting her baby was to them. In the book, they explained that their dining room table has 4 chairs but they are only a family of 3. They felt incomplete. It was proof to me that their family was serious about expanding and would endure any heartache if it meant they would, one day, be whole. They were able to adopt and complete their family shortly thereafter.
It's a beautiful story and speaks to the life-altering potential of adoption, but I feel like the opposite holds true for us. To me, our family is always incomplete and will only be whole again when the 4 of us are in Heaven (OK, I'm assuming we will all be in Heaven...I need this hope, even if everything goes sideways and we end up in Hell...or it turns out there is no Heaven or Hell just worms. But I've placed all my bets on Heaven). Having another child, biological or otherwise, will not change my feelings about our family. It will not complete us or make me feel less guilty about ignoring one member of our family every time I'm asked. It won't erase this date from my memory or make me wonder any less about what life could be like.
The whole thing just sucks. And that's as elegant as I can be today. Ask me tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will tell you about time healing open wounds and being a light to those in the darkness. I will tell you your angel is always near and that God has a plan. But tonight, the open wound and the darkness and the angel and the plan don't make any sense. And I don't want to be poetic or powerful. I don't want to be wise or inspire. I just want to hold my family of 4.
This afternoon, as Blue and I were leaving the house, headed for the nursery to buy our annual mums, he spotted a black and blue butterfly in the grass. "Look! Mommy! A butterfwy!" Blue has a keen eye for butterflies and can spend hours chasing them. I tend to let him because I've always felt butterflies were Shep's way of communicating with us. And when Blue takes off after one, it's just 2 brothers playing tag. Today, Shepherd, you're it.
Showing posts with label Shep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shep. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Two-Word Wednesday: Birthday Week
Today is 1 September, which, for those of you playing at home know, is the first day of Birthday Week. Neal tried to argue last night that, technically, a week is 7 days and if you count Wednesday to Wednesday, that is 8 days. Therefore, Birthday Week should not start until tomorrow. I had to explain to him, using small words and speaking slowly, that Wednesday to Wednesday is one week and therefore Birthday Week starts today. He finally relented, mostly because he fell asleep mid-sentence. If you are a Birthday Week hater or you would like to argue Neal's case for him, I will kindly point you in the direction of his blog, as your kind are no longer welcome here. Birthday Week starts today. Period.
And to prepare for such an event, I have located birthday pictures from the past 3 years. I'm not sure where the others are stored, but they aren't on the external hard drive and since I'm supposed to be packing and not blogging, it will just have to wait. Without further ado, the last 3 years:
This is me, Curly Sue, and our waitress at Don Pablo's. Apparently said waitress was a carrying a small case of the Bubonic Plague because sometime around midnight, I began to feel like I had been run over, backed over, and then run back over by a semi. Two days later, as I stumbled into the UTC, wheezing, sneezing, and leaking from all of my holes, I ran into Curly Sue sitting in the waiting room. There are not that many illnesses/injuries that will push you to the head of the line at a UTC. Low oxygen count is one of them. Come to find out I had pneumonia.
Actually, it was double pneumonia which, as it turns out, is not double the fun. Breathing treatments are the pits, especially when they refuse to give you a dragon face for your inhaler because you're "too old" or some such crapola. Happy 29th Birthday to me!
The next year, I fared better....
Dinner at The Black Tulip, before it met its untimely demise. Curly Sue and Mama Virgo and not pictured: Army Dad, Suzy Stepmom, and Grandma Gaga.
I was also treated to fondue with the girls. Any reason to eat at The Melting Pot seems like a stellar reason to me. The food is so good, we had out-of-body experiences, apparently. Neal is noticeably absent from these photos as he was in Kuwait for that year. So, double pneumonia last year, husband at war this year.
Neal thinks this photo is HI-LAR-EE-US....at almost 17 weeks pregnant, I was feeling a little like a beached whale...although Motherhood Maternity does a pretty decent job of selling clothing that makes you look less like one. We took a week trip to Philly and Baltimore to celebrate my birthday and our first stop was this Museum of Sciences in Philadelphia. As soon as I stepped in front of the fat mirror, Neal was firing off photos. Such a loving husband. Exactly 7 days later, Shepherd was delivered. If I had known then what I know now, I would have never made it past the state line.
I am infatuated with my birthday. I don't get hung up on numbers or what it all means to be "in my 30's." I'm often mistaken for someone 5 years younger, so what does it matter how old I am when I am not pegged for being in my 30's? Aside from the whole "biological clock" thing that has gone from a windchime to Uncle Ben in the past 6 months, I'm pleased as peaches to be turning 32 next week. I can't imagine being any other age. Besides, now that the average life expectancy has exceeded 70, I still have more than half of my life ahead of me. And what better day to start celebrating than today? Oompah! It's Birthday Week!
And to prepare for such an event, I have located birthday pictures from the past 3 years. I'm not sure where the others are stored, but they aren't on the external hard drive and since I'm supposed to be packing and not blogging, it will just have to wait. Without further ado, the last 3 years:
This is me, Curly Sue, and our waitress at Don Pablo's. Apparently said waitress was a carrying a small case of the Bubonic Plague because sometime around midnight, I began to feel like I had been run over, backed over, and then run back over by a semi. Two days later, as I stumbled into the UTC, wheezing, sneezing, and leaking from all of my holes, I ran into Curly Sue sitting in the waiting room. There are not that many illnesses/injuries that will push you to the head of the line at a UTC. Low oxygen count is one of them. Come to find out I had pneumonia.
Actually, it was double pneumonia which, as it turns out, is not double the fun. Breathing treatments are the pits, especially when they refuse to give you a dragon face for your inhaler because you're "too old" or some such crapola. Happy 29th Birthday to me!The next year, I fared better....
Dinner at The Black Tulip, before it met its untimely demise. Curly Sue and Mama Virgo and not pictured: Army Dad, Suzy Stepmom, and Grandma Gaga.
I was also treated to fondue with the girls. Any reason to eat at The Melting Pot seems like a stellar reason to me. The food is so good, we had out-of-body experiences, apparently. Neal is noticeably absent from these photos as he was in Kuwait for that year. So, double pneumonia last year, husband at war this year.
Neal thinks this photo is HI-LAR-EE-US....at almost 17 weeks pregnant, I was feeling a little like a beached whale...although Motherhood Maternity does a pretty decent job of selling clothing that makes you look less like one. We took a week trip to Philly and Baltimore to celebrate my birthday and our first stop was this Museum of Sciences in Philadelphia. As soon as I stepped in front of the fat mirror, Neal was firing off photos. Such a loving husband. Exactly 7 days later, Shepherd was delivered. If I had known then what I know now, I would have never made it past the state line.I am infatuated with my birthday. I don't get hung up on numbers or what it all means to be "in my 30's." I'm often mistaken for someone 5 years younger, so what does it matter how old I am when I am not pegged for being in my 30's? Aside from the whole "biological clock" thing that has gone from a windchime to Uncle Ben in the past 6 months, I'm pleased as peaches to be turning 32 next week. I can't imagine being any other age. Besides, now that the average life expectancy has exceeded 70, I still have more than half of my life ahead of me. And what better day to start celebrating than today? Oompah! It's Birthday Week!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
My Pick for Time's Person of the Year
....is totally Y'ALL!! You know how sometimes you feel illogically and unreasonably peaceful? Especially on a day that you should be popping Xanax and washing it down with a gin and tonic? Yeah, that's how I felt Monday. Calm. At peace. I mean, don't get me wrong...I'd see a baby or a pregnant woman and seize up for about .7 seconds. But really, in the grand scheme of things, that is a HUGE step forward. Do I expect it to be all daisy picking and frolicking in the field from here on out? Uh, no. I'm a realist...if not a glass half-empty kinda girl. But I felt your thoughts and your prayers (and actually continue to feel them) and that has been the difference between me laying in the bed watching Olympic coverage all day and actually getting in this zippy little Mustang the rental agency gave me and exploring Phoenix. The power of prayer is awesome and often understated. So...to my readers, my prayer warriors, my kind thought queens: you are the wind beneath my wings. You better click out of here now before I start singing The Rose...which is bound to happen. Next up: Kiera of Imperfect Daisies (speaking of which) with a lovely little public service announcement for a delish little coffee joint (or so I've heard. We Kentuckians don't get this creature comfort). Kiera writes exactly as she speaks (or so I imagine) and really it makes for the most entertaining reading. You can almost turn to her and comment back...she's like right there...in your office (or your living room, or sitting on the toilet...wherever you do your best blogging). She has graciously agreed to give me a little guest post so that I can do some gemstone shopping in the city that is home to a place called Bead World. If I leave now, I can be there about 15 minutes before they open so that I can get the full 8 hours. Enjoy Kiera and leave her some love!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
On Being Mommy and Daddy
I am usually so good about sitting down and jotting out a little poem...I have millions of them from high school (all that teenage angst and all. I counted once...my world ended approximately 463 times. And that was just my freshman year.). But I've got brain block. All I can come up with is "You were just two thin blue lines"...and then...crickets. And a bullfrog. I think when I get past today, it will come. Probably while I'm standing in line at KMart and I will have to scribble it furiously on the back of a People. Oh...who am I kidding? I don't shop at KMart. But definitely Trader Joe's. And then it will be all over some biodegradable pulp-less receipt, which will disintegrate before I even get out of the parking lot. But it's not here now and that's what matters. So, I'm going to borrow from a stranger because he seems to kind of get it. And it's a he. The he's never get it. And the record of our son's delivery on September 15th, exactly one week after my 31st birthday. Exactly one week after that is our wedding anniversary. September has suddenly become a very bi-polar month for me.
I can't even tell you how badly I've missed blogging, reading blogs, blog-surfing and commenting on blogs. This week was crazy because of all the jewelry sales...which should not in any way sound like a complaint. But writing is like oxygen for me and it feels like I've stayed under water just a little too long. So, tomorrow night it's back to business as usual. And blogging as usual. I have to tell you, I've been saving up some gems...there is a 911 operator out there who thinks I'm off my Cracker Barrel rocker and I can't write down the Neal-isms fast enough. If he doesn't want to be a featured character in this blog, he sure doesn't act like it. He's got diva written all over him. All he's missing is the tiara. Well, and the hair to hold on the tiara. Also? Guest post coming on Wednesday! Hold on to your days-of-the-week underwear! So, back to our regularly scheduled tales from the fark side and harrassment...er...commenting tomorrow! And now...a message to our son...
"Little One"
by Gary Winters
We had wanted you for so very long,
Or so it must have seemed at times.
Now we know we'll have forever,
To keep you in our minds.
On that joyful day when we learned
That you were on your way,
We opened our home and hearts,
And planned for a permanent stay.
We never saw your smile.
We never held your hand.
You never had your birthday.
How can we understand?
To hear you laugh, to dry your tear
To share your life each day
To see the wonder in your eyes
As you find your rightful way.
We're told we should forget you,
"You'll have another someday,"
Don't they see the pain we feel,
Is bruised by what they say?
We never saw your smile.
We never held your hand.
You never had your birthday.
Someday we'll understand.
Nolan Shepherd
End of May - September 15, 2010
You will always be loved and missed, but we will see you again someday. Until then, Papa and Granny - please take care of him for us.
I can't even tell you how badly I've missed blogging, reading blogs, blog-surfing and commenting on blogs. This week was crazy because of all the jewelry sales...which should not in any way sound like a complaint. But writing is like oxygen for me and it feels like I've stayed under water just a little too long. So, tomorrow night it's back to business as usual. And blogging as usual. I have to tell you, I've been saving up some gems...there is a 911 operator out there who thinks I'm off my Cracker Barrel rocker and I can't write down the Neal-isms fast enough. If he doesn't want to be a featured character in this blog, he sure doesn't act like it. He's got diva written all over him. All he's missing is the tiara. Well, and the hair to hold on the tiara. Also? Guest post coming on Wednesday! Hold on to your days-of-the-week underwear! So, back to our regularly scheduled tales from the fark side and harrassment...er...commenting tomorrow! And now...a message to our son...
"Little One"
by Gary Winters
We had wanted you for so very long,
Or so it must have seemed at times.
Now we know we'll have forever,
To keep you in our minds.
On that joyful day when we learned
That you were on your way,
We opened our home and hearts,
And planned for a permanent stay.
We never saw your smile.
We never held your hand.
You never had your birthday.
How can we understand?
To hear you laugh, to dry your tear
To share your life each day
To see the wonder in your eyes
As you find your rightful way.
We're told we should forget you,
"You'll have another someday,"
Don't they see the pain we feel,
Is bruised by what they say?
We never saw your smile.
We never held your hand.
You never had your birthday.
Someday we'll understand.
Nolan ShepherdEnd of May - September 15, 2010
Love, Ally and Neal
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Sometimes
Sometimes things are not funny. And sometimes days are much harder than you thought they were going to be. Sometimes you think you're fine...and then you're not. Sometimes no amount of boxed wine or sweat on the spinning bikes or shopping at Kohl's will make it any better. Sometimes you just have to spin around and face it head-on. Sometimes you have to take it like a man. Sometimes you have to feel it like a woman.
This is one of those times. Monday is my due date. In my quest to block it from my mind entirely, I've been stringing beads and creating rosaries and drowning in Olympic coverage. I haven't been blogging and sad to say, I haven't been reading your blogs, either. I miss them profusely and as soon as these pieces go in the mail tomorrow and we welcome home 5 heroes from Afghanistan, I'm back to stalking you. As a heads-up, I'm posting Shepherd's record of delivery on Monday. I feel like if I let the day pass without any mention, it would be unfair to his memory.
It has his tiny little footprints on it.
Monday is not for the faint-of-heart.
You've been warned.
Until then, please enjoy a rosary I created for Deborah's Place, an organization that provides transitional and permanent housing to homeless women in the Chicago area. It will be auctioned off in a few weeks with all proceeds benefiting Deborah's Place.
Photo Credit: Tinny Anna Photography
And to the 3 women who've deleted their blogs in the past month...I miss you like John Edwards' mistress missed her period. I understand it...but it still sucks.
I'll be back in full blogging form after the 22nd. Sometimes work is all that will save you. And love. But love won't wear my pendant necklaces to Kroger. He said they draw too much attention to his chest hair. So, I'll work and sell and watch Americans in funny pants skatebump their way down a big hill. And I'll be reading you. So, don't talk about me.
This is one of those times. Monday is my due date. In my quest to block it from my mind entirely, I've been stringing beads and creating rosaries and drowning in Olympic coverage. I haven't been blogging and sad to say, I haven't been reading your blogs, either. I miss them profusely and as soon as these pieces go in the mail tomorrow and we welcome home 5 heroes from Afghanistan, I'm back to stalking you. As a heads-up, I'm posting Shepherd's record of delivery on Monday. I feel like if I let the day pass without any mention, it would be unfair to his memory.It has his tiny little footprints on it.
Monday is not for the faint-of-heart.
You've been warned.
Until then, please enjoy a rosary I created for Deborah's Place, an organization that provides transitional and permanent housing to homeless women in the Chicago area. It will be auctioned off in a few weeks with all proceeds benefiting Deborah's Place.
Photo Credit: Tinny Anna PhotographyI'll be back in full blogging form after the 22nd. Sometimes work is all that will save you. And love. But love won't wear my pendant necklaces to Kroger. He said they draw too much attention to his chest hair. So, I'll work and sell and watch Americans in funny pants skatebump their way down a big hill. And I'll be reading you. So, don't talk about me.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Turning the Corner
When I started on this blog journey, and more specifically, when I started the post-Shep years, I mentioned something about how this blog was for me. And while I love readers and followers and comments like Victoria's Secret models love a lemon wedge for dinner, in the end...it's all about me. (And now as I type that, my mother's voice is echoing in my 13-year old brain: Allyson, everything is not always about you!" Clearly, she was confused). I have such a spotty record with journaling (it has to be the perfect journal and the perfect pen and the perfect time of day with the perfect spot on the couch...that sort of thing) that very rarely do I actually capture the moments that would provide insight into my life later down the road. Instead, I end up writing about how Oprah had Chris Rock on and he made a really funny Joe Biden joke. Or how, for the first time in my entire adult life, I did all of the laundry without forgetting any of it in the washing machine for 3 days. These are not life-altering events. They really don't even give a clear picture into how my life is right now so that in 20 years I can crack open that journal and recall the smell of mildewy laundry and laughing at our VP's guffaws. What I would really like is to have a scene straight out of Bridges of Madison County where I die and our children are packing up the house when they discover my journals and read about the life I had that they never knew about. Although, that life would never include sleeping with a photographer from a famous nature magazine. I promise, Neal. Swearsies. Actually, I'm a pretty open book so I have no idea what it would include, but surely there would be a juicy tidbit, revealed only after my death. Surely.
All of that to say that my blog is my journal now and I've done better at keeping up with it than I ever have with paper and a pen. And so, this is one of those days where I put it all out there for me. Want to comment? Go right ahead. I love them and I get all new-pink-purse-giddy when I read them...but please don't feel obligated. I just need to have this documented so that I can look back in a year or 5 and say "that's right. That's how I felt then. I remember it now."
I can't believe it, but I seem to have turned a corner in dealing with Shep's death. It's only been 4 months, but I can actually conceive of the idea of getting pregnant again (oh I made a pun! Almost as good as irony). Two things happened this week that have convinced me that I am moving forward, even though I still have days where it feels like I took 3 steps forward just to take one giant leap backward. (Red light, green light...red light....green light. Although, a more accurate description would be: Red rover, red rover, bring Allyson's sanity over).
1) I went to our new, super-snappy, 24-hour gym in the middle of the day for a nice long workout. Days of Our Lives was on and, honestly, nothing makes the run go by faster than to see if Bo is going to choose Carly over Hope. Plus, it keeps me abreast of all the latest hair and clothing trends since Kentucky remains hopelessly behind. Anyway, as I was walking in, I ran into a former colleague of mine who asked how I was doing, where I was working now, y'know...former colleague chit-chat. I said that I was making and selling jewelry online now, that being pregnant and doing massage was not going so well. She nodded eagerly...like too eagerly...like she completely understood. Then she raised her sweatshirt and VOILA! She's pregnant. "I'm due in March! Can you believe it?" Um...no...actually I can't. "When are YOU due?" Yeah, I'm not. Anymore. Now you ask: why do you have to bring up the whole pregnancy thing all the time? It makes people who ask about it feel like dog poop when they get the answer. Especially pregnant women due almost exactly one month after you were. And to you I say this: If I deny Shepherd's existence in this world then, in effect, I am denying him. I am denying a human life. My human life. And I absolutely, flat-out refuse to do that. Last summer, I knew 5 pregnant women and now, there's only 1. Miscarriage (and I HATE that word. I didn't "miscarry" anything. I didn't "lose" anything. Something was taken from me. Somebody. If I could find an appropriate synonym, I would coin it immediately) is common and we can't just sweep it under a heavy wool rug and hope it never crawls back out. I'm not saying it to make you feel sad or bad or any of the other 1584 emotions. I'm saying it because it happened, like "I drank too much espresso yesterday" happened and "I hit the garage with the car" happened.
But something else happened. After we parted ways, I did not get back in my car, drive to the first bar and drink my emotions from a shot glass. I did not go into the bathroom and throw up from jealousy and fear and anger. I went into the gym, got on the treadmill, and ran 5 miles, knowing that I will not be able to do that when I get pregnant again. And when Lightening Crashes streamed through my Blackberry, I did not switch it over to rap, nor did I sit down on the treadmill and cry until my head throbbed and my heart splintered. I kept running.
And when I got home that night, I did not pour a double with my favorite redneck bourbon. I made dinner and sprinkled it with bleu cheese...something else I forbid myself to have when growing a fragile being.
2) Neal and I don't have Showtime, and yet we are consumed with the wit, irony, and hellagood writing on Dexter. So, we watched the first 2 seasons on Netflix streaming. Now we are so caught up that we're relegated to waiting for the mail to arrive every 3rd day so we can watch season 3 on DVD. (Read: we have the 1-DVD-at-a-time plan. That fact alone makes me wonder just how long the USPS can survive). If you're a Dexter fan you know that season 3 is where Rita, wife of creepy-but-somehow-still-hot Dexter, gets pregnant. If you're not a fan but wanted to become one, well...whoopsies. Is it too late to post a spoiler alert? Anyway, sometime around her first trimester, she starts bleeding and her new friend (the wife of Jimmy Smits' character - who I cannot watch without thinking about all of his nekkidness on NYPD Blue) rushes her to the hospital. She's fine and they all go about their business; Rita being hormonal and whiny, Dexter stalking and killing people in his own clever way. The point? I did not turn off the TV, yank the DVD from the player (which is much less dramatic with DVDs than VHS tapes. Isn't that annoying? I can yank a VHS tape from a player with every bit of the scorned-woman-fury I can muster, but it is just not the same with a DVD), and haul it off to the mailbox. Nor did I get up to pour myself a double so that I could finish the second episode. I watched. I enjoyed. And I took a deep, cleansing breath. I'm not sure I can say the same for Neal, though. He's so protective. *Kiss*
These are not, for most people, reverse-the-spin-of-the-Earth revelations. For me, they are huge. HUGE. I know I still have a long road ahead. I refuse to get pregnant again until I have appropriately grieved for my first child. But this just shows me that I am moving forward and through the grief process. It's slow and it's painful and some days I do hide in the house and eat Nutella from the jar. But those days are getting fewer and fewer and for that, I am exponentially grateful.
Thanks for letting me put this out there. I know I have a lot of new followers and I don't want you to think this blog is all death and dying and taxes, but sometimes you just gotta let it all out. Tomorrow will be better. I almost punched the Gym Manager in the throat on Wednesday. Doesn't that just scream Situation Comedy Hilarity? Yeah, thought so.
xoxo
All of that to say that my blog is my journal now and I've done better at keeping up with it than I ever have with paper and a pen. And so, this is one of those days where I put it all out there for me. Want to comment? Go right ahead. I love them and I get all new-pink-purse-giddy when I read them...but please don't feel obligated. I just need to have this documented so that I can look back in a year or 5 and say "that's right. That's how I felt then. I remember it now."
I can't believe it, but I seem to have turned a corner in dealing with Shep's death. It's only been 4 months, but I can actually conceive of the idea of getting pregnant again (oh I made a pun! Almost as good as irony). Two things happened this week that have convinced me that I am moving forward, even though I still have days where it feels like I took 3 steps forward just to take one giant leap backward. (Red light, green light...red light....green light. Although, a more accurate description would be: Red rover, red rover, bring Allyson's sanity over).
1) I went to our new, super-snappy, 24-hour gym in the middle of the day for a nice long workout. Days of Our Lives was on and, honestly, nothing makes the run go by faster than to see if Bo is going to choose Carly over Hope. Plus, it keeps me abreast of all the latest hair and clothing trends since Kentucky remains hopelessly behind. Anyway, as I was walking in, I ran into a former colleague of mine who asked how I was doing, where I was working now, y'know...former colleague chit-chat. I said that I was making and selling jewelry online now, that being pregnant and doing massage was not going so well. She nodded eagerly...like too eagerly...like she completely understood. Then she raised her sweatshirt and VOILA! She's pregnant. "I'm due in March! Can you believe it?" Um...no...actually I can't. "When are YOU due?" Yeah, I'm not. Anymore. Now you ask: why do you have to bring up the whole pregnancy thing all the time? It makes people who ask about it feel like dog poop when they get the answer. Especially pregnant women due almost exactly one month after you were. And to you I say this: If I deny Shepherd's existence in this world then, in effect, I am denying him. I am denying a human life. My human life. And I absolutely, flat-out refuse to do that. Last summer, I knew 5 pregnant women and now, there's only 1. Miscarriage (and I HATE that word. I didn't "miscarry" anything. I didn't "lose" anything. Something was taken from me. Somebody. If I could find an appropriate synonym, I would coin it immediately) is common and we can't just sweep it under a heavy wool rug and hope it never crawls back out. I'm not saying it to make you feel sad or bad or any of the other 1584 emotions. I'm saying it because it happened, like "I drank too much espresso yesterday" happened and "I hit the garage with the car" happened.
But something else happened. After we parted ways, I did not get back in my car, drive to the first bar and drink my emotions from a shot glass. I did not go into the bathroom and throw up from jealousy and fear and anger. I went into the gym, got on the treadmill, and ran 5 miles, knowing that I will not be able to do that when I get pregnant again. And when Lightening Crashes streamed through my Blackberry, I did not switch it over to rap, nor did I sit down on the treadmill and cry until my head throbbed and my heart splintered. I kept running.
And when I got home that night, I did not pour a double with my favorite redneck bourbon. I made dinner and sprinkled it with bleu cheese...something else I forbid myself to have when growing a fragile being.
2) Neal and I don't have Showtime, and yet we are consumed with the wit, irony, and hellagood writing on Dexter. So, we watched the first 2 seasons on Netflix streaming. Now we are so caught up that we're relegated to waiting for the mail to arrive every 3rd day so we can watch season 3 on DVD. (Read: we have the 1-DVD-at-a-time plan. That fact alone makes me wonder just how long the USPS can survive). If you're a Dexter fan you know that season 3 is where Rita, wife of creepy-but-somehow-still-hot Dexter, gets pregnant. If you're not a fan but wanted to become one, well...whoopsies. Is it too late to post a spoiler alert? Anyway, sometime around her first trimester, she starts bleeding and her new friend (the wife of Jimmy Smits' character - who I cannot watch without thinking about all of his nekkidness on NYPD Blue) rushes her to the hospital. She's fine and they all go about their business; Rita being hormonal and whiny, Dexter stalking and killing people in his own clever way. The point? I did not turn off the TV, yank the DVD from the player (which is much less dramatic with DVDs than VHS tapes. Isn't that annoying? I can yank a VHS tape from a player with every bit of the scorned-woman-fury I can muster, but it is just not the same with a DVD), and haul it off to the mailbox. Nor did I get up to pour myself a double so that I could finish the second episode. I watched. I enjoyed. And I took a deep, cleansing breath. I'm not sure I can say the same for Neal, though. He's so protective. *Kiss*
These are not, for most people, reverse-the-spin-of-the-Earth revelations. For me, they are huge. HUGE. I know I still have a long road ahead. I refuse to get pregnant again until I have appropriately grieved for my first child. But this just shows me that I am moving forward and through the grief process. It's slow and it's painful and some days I do hide in the house and eat Nutella from the jar. But those days are getting fewer and fewer and for that, I am exponentially grateful.
Thanks for letting me put this out there. I know I have a lot of new followers and I don't want you to think this blog is all death and dying and taxes, but sometimes you just gotta let it all out. Tomorrow will be better. I almost punched the Gym Manager in the throat on Wednesday. Doesn't that just scream Situation Comedy Hilarity? Yeah, thought so.
xoxo
Friday, January 1, 2010
Auld Lang Syne
My, my, my...the bloggers that I follow have been a busy bunch these past couple of days. When I took a few days off for Christmas, I came back to see that I only had one post each, if that, to catch up on. I awaken from a Nyquil coma on New Year's Day to find that everyone has been writing, writing, writing! Sheesh! Shouldn't you all be parked at Sonic, ordering double bacon cheeseburgers and chocolate milkshakes and taking 5-hour siestas to make up for the alcohol-persuaded nap of last night? Apparently the draw of packages wrapped in shiny bows are more alluring than blenders of limencello martinis and games of Bandu. So, I shall take a break from your blogging prose (which has kept me from accomplishing anything except a short jaunt to the gym and a lunch of leftover pizza) to give my own summation of the year we just kissed off. And YES, oh faithful ones, Coach is included. Whoah, you all are whores for Coach..but I love it! So without further ado...2009: A Year in Pictures...
This is how January kicked off. It looks like fun...but that's about 2 inches of ice under 2 inches of snow. Cue falling girl in impractical shoes, spinning tires in impractical car, and the sound of cracking...from above. I'll pass, thankyouverymuch.
February: NEAL CAME HOME!! For having the least amount of days, it was the best month all year! And yes, Mommy Dearest actually put this picture of us at the airport on the cake. The picture was taken the day he flew out of Bluegrass Country, headed for Camp Atter-ice for training. The Kentucky Girl in me thinks this cake was a groovy act of celebration...the Chicago girl in me thinks all we needed to complete the look was a double-wide on concrete blocks with a statue of the Virgin Mary in a 1/2 bathtub in the front yard.
March: We attended the Army Chaplains' Strong Bonds retreat for returning soldiers and their spouses. And lucky us! It was held in Hilton Head! So, although it was a whirlwind trip, we did take a couple of hours to hit our favorite spots: Harbour Town, Guiseppe's Pizza and of course Camp Hilton Head. Sidenote: the mysterious disappearance of John and Elizabeth Calvert, owners of the Harbour Town Yacht Basin, and the even more mysterious "suicide" of their accountant rocked the community. The couple was never found but their boat remains moored at Harbour Town, directly behind Neal, actually. And yes, I'm totally a Kardashian.
Oh Keeneland Spring Meet...how we love thee! What a *won*derful way to spend a crisp April day!
Auntie retired in May and we catered...er...caddied...her party. We will caddy any party, as long as an open bar and free food are included. Neal reserves the right to wear a different pair of the 10 plaid pajama bottoms that he owns, though. And yes, both hats are mine. But my shoes are his. We're practically the same person.
This is the only picture I have from my June trip to my sister's in the Sunshine State that does not have the family in it. To protect the identity of Queenie Jeanine (not to be confused with Queenie Jeannie who is not my blood sister, but I deem to be one from another mother anyway) I will post only this. (Although I'm sure none of you are stalkers...but I've seen Dateline...and 20/20..and To Catch a Predator).
Destin in July. No margaritas, only morning sickness. But I did have a great book and GREAT company. Three cheers to the women in my clan. We sure know how to vacation!
August? August was a blur of saltine crackers and ginger ale and crystallized dried ginger and Sprite and white bread. Lots and lots of white bread. Shep was not making life easy but we still managed to take this trip to Philly and Baltimore in early September. Happy 30th to me (yes, again, shut your piehole!) and Happy Anniversary to us. We are so hip...what better way to celebrate than touring every historic ship in the Inner Harbor, feasting at the Reading Terminal Market and getting an all-access pass to the Baltimore Orioles Stadium?? (Not in that order, of course, with the market being in Philly and the other 2 in Baltimore)...
We lost Nolan Shepherd on September 15th and so in October, we went to the Dedication to the Unborn Child, a memorial in my hometown cemetery. When it is completed, there will be a wall of bricks (yep, Shep will have his very own brick) to remember those we lost too soon. Every yin must have a yang so...
Back to Destin for Beach Vacation 09. Less Boost for breakfast, more wine for lunch.
And in the interest of anonymity, this is the only picture from Thanksgiving at Chez Miller that does not show my entire family, engrossed in Wii and slightly intoxicated on the grape. But we bowled and golfed and boxed and played tennis until we were all crippled the next day. Wii: it's not just for tweens anymore...but they do recover a lot faster.
And finally...the one you've all been waiting for...
A girl and her pink Coach fabulousness. And her leopard-print Snuggie. And her pink diamond-encrusted tshirt from Aeropostale. Those eyes are squeezed shut in genuine girl glee. No, it is not the pink patent leather goodness that Coach now offers, but a girl sometimes has to take what she can find at the Silver Sands Outlet (or, more accurately, what Mama Claus is willing to buy from said outlet mall). But it is pink and divine and almost makes me want to trade in all of my purse party D&G knockoffs. Almost.
So, that was a lot of work. And now the girls are walking across my laptop in a defiant act of hunger and there is shrimp to be cooked and mojitos to be drank because..hallelujah...it's only Friday! And I am NOT hungover like everyone else so the thought of alcohol does not repulse me. In fact, I am overdue for a frothy libation!
Happy 2010!
Ally
This is how January kicked off. It looks like fun...but that's about 2 inches of ice under 2 inches of snow. Cue falling girl in impractical shoes, spinning tires in impractical car, and the sound of cracking...from above. I'll pass, thankyouverymuch.
February: NEAL CAME HOME!! For having the least amount of days, it was the best month all year! And yes, Mommy Dearest actually put this picture of us at the airport on the cake. The picture was taken the day he flew out of Bluegrass Country, headed for Camp Atter-ice for training. The Kentucky Girl in me thinks this cake was a groovy act of celebration...the Chicago girl in me thinks all we needed to complete the look was a double-wide on concrete blocks with a statue of the Virgin Mary in a 1/2 bathtub in the front yard.
March: We attended the Army Chaplains' Strong Bonds retreat for returning soldiers and their spouses. And lucky us! It was held in Hilton Head! So, although it was a whirlwind trip, we did take a couple of hours to hit our favorite spots: Harbour Town, Guiseppe's Pizza and of course Camp Hilton Head. Sidenote: the mysterious disappearance of John and Elizabeth Calvert, owners of the Harbour Town Yacht Basin, and the even more mysterious "suicide" of their accountant rocked the community. The couple was never found but their boat remains moored at Harbour Town, directly behind Neal, actually. And yes, I'm totally a Kardashian.
Oh Keeneland Spring Meet...how we love thee! What a *won*derful way to spend a crisp April day!
Auntie retired in May and we catered...er...caddied...her party. We will caddy any party, as long as an open bar and free food are included. Neal reserves the right to wear a different pair of the 10 plaid pajama bottoms that he owns, though. And yes, both hats are mine. But my shoes are his. We're practically the same person.
This is the only picture I have from my June trip to my sister's in the Sunshine State that does not have the family in it. To protect the identity of Queenie Jeanine (not to be confused with Queenie Jeannie who is not my blood sister, but I deem to be one from another mother anyway) I will post only this. (Although I'm sure none of you are stalkers...but I've seen Dateline...and 20/20..and To Catch a Predator).
Destin in July. No margaritas, only morning sickness. But I did have a great book and GREAT company. Three cheers to the women in my clan. We sure know how to vacation!
August? August was a blur of saltine crackers and ginger ale and crystallized dried ginger and Sprite and white bread. Lots and lots of white bread. Shep was not making life easy but we still managed to take this trip to Philly and Baltimore in early September. Happy 30th to me (yes, again, shut your piehole!) and Happy Anniversary to us. We are so hip...what better way to celebrate than touring every historic ship in the Inner Harbor, feasting at the Reading Terminal Market and getting an all-access pass to the Baltimore Orioles Stadium?? (Not in that order, of course, with the market being in Philly and the other 2 in Baltimore)...
We lost Nolan Shepherd on September 15th and so in October, we went to the Dedication to the Unborn Child, a memorial in my hometown cemetery. When it is completed, there will be a wall of bricks (yep, Shep will have his very own brick) to remember those we lost too soon. Every yin must have a yang so...
Back to Destin for Beach Vacation 09. Less Boost for breakfast, more wine for lunch.
And in the interest of anonymity, this is the only picture from Thanksgiving at Chez Miller that does not show my entire family, engrossed in Wii and slightly intoxicated on the grape. But we bowled and golfed and boxed and played tennis until we were all crippled the next day. Wii: it's not just for tweens anymore...but they do recover a lot faster.And finally...the one you've all been waiting for...
A girl and her pink Coach fabulousness. And her leopard-print Snuggie. And her pink diamond-encrusted tshirt from Aeropostale. Those eyes are squeezed shut in genuine girl glee. No, it is not the pink patent leather goodness that Coach now offers, but a girl sometimes has to take what she can find at the Silver Sands Outlet (or, more accurately, what Mama Claus is willing to buy from said outlet mall). But it is pink and divine and almost makes me want to trade in all of my purse party D&G knockoffs. Almost.So, that was a lot of work. And now the girls are walking across my laptop in a defiant act of hunger and there is shrimp to be cooked and mojitos to be drank because..hallelujah...it's only Friday! And I am NOT hungover like everyone else so the thought of alcohol does not repulse me. In fact, I am overdue for a frothy libation!
Happy 2010!
Ally
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