April

So, today was my daughter's birthday. 11 years old. No longer does she wear a party hat; she's much too old for that. This is the first birthday without her dad here. I missed him a lot today. I asked her if she did, and she said, no, that he never really participated anyway. That made me even sadder. I remember when she was born. It was really scary. She nearly died.

This week was also my oldest sister Ann's birthday and my only brother Sam's birthday. Born the same day, 16 years apart. Both are dead from the same kidney disease. And, I forgot the heaviness of the day on April 7. I felt alive that day, totally in the moment, totally awake or alive or aware or whatever was going on that day. It was a wonderful day. I leapt into the air when I found out my son was accepted into a school he wanted to go to. My happiness was not tinged with sadness, nothing. It was full blown happiness. It felt new and real and wonderful. Then, messages on the phone brought me back to my reality of family.

But, I felt like that day, with all the real feelings and real reactions, there was no 'filter'. I didn't have to water down my happiness like I used to for my husband, who seemed genuinely disgusted with happiness for the sake of happiness. I didn't censure myself on April 7. I felt it, all of it, and it felt really good. Is it possible that my sister Ann and brother Sam were sending me this perfect vibe? I mean, aren't their feelings now, perfect and pure? If all this heaven stuff is true, it would make sense that it is. Is that possible? Or, are feelings that originate in heaven just from the top dogs?

I tasted that feeling though. And, were Ann alive and Sam, too, I'd be on the phone sharing that with them. And, what was neat is that they would listen and share in my enthusiasm. Ann would want me to explain more, to paint the most vivid of images (she was an artist) and she'd be encouraging and supportive. She was a superb sister. I mean, superb. She would strive to do those things she felt passionate about, extremely well. But, all that energy would go to that one particular thing. That meant a lot of other stuff was ignored.

Sam was just a kid. He was 17 when he died. My husband and I carried him to our car to take him to the hospital. He was dying, now that I look back. And, that death behavior, whatever, I've seen a few times since. Disconnected conversations... I've had them with my mom, my husband, my sister. They were preoccupied with something or someone else. Sam was perfect as far as I was concerned. He was my baby brother. I loved him so so much. I was not yet a mom, but Sam taught me how to be a mom. My relationship with him was a primer for how to be a mom now. I learned how natural being a mom was for me. And, it was a shock that that was the case. I felt awkward talking about building a family, when mine was such a wreck. But, with Sam, it felt so natural and felt easy. He could do no wrong.

So, what the heck does it mean then for me, to no longer be able to draw from that pool of support and these exceptional people? I feel unsteady on my feet, a little hesitant at times. Gosh, what a treat it would be for me to call Ann or Sam and tell them about this extraordinary day, April 7? Or, to let them know that the following day, April 8, was the day one of my other sisters received a successful kidney transplant? I'd love to talk about that now to them. Full unbridled happiness. I could share that with them.

I spoke to Ann's best friend today. When I hear her voice, I hear Ann's in there, too. Her voice and her hard drive of memory include some of the same stuff I have in mine: Ann. Ann, Ann, Ann. They were best buddies. They lived together, grew up together. They were the kinds of friends that could shriek at one another and then be just fine a few hours later. I have a friend like that, too, Lori. Marge sounds, too, like she misses that rock she could rely on, Ann. She loved Ann as much as I did. Ann was this totally interesting woman! Ann taught me how to pluck my eyebrows and how to put on makeup; she taught me how to make a white sauce and how to write a letter of complaint about anything. She taught me how to pour a perfect glass of coke. She taught me that it was so ok to do something for the sake of it being for yourself. She always did. Ann came first, but she'd deny that. It sounds so..... selfish. But, she had that down. And, I appreciate it. Ann took care of Ann if she wanted to.

My daughter is out playing hard with friends tonight. My son is meeting others to 'jam'. My dogs are eating the pizza that was left unattended in my son's room. Living life means right now, doesn't it?