Six Months of Separation

At 11:08am, on July 11, 2008, this fabulous bundle of boy became a new fixture of joy in the world. This is the first moment I held him. The first moment I took in the beauty of his being. You cannot see them, but my dear Mother and my dearest friend are standing by me. I cannot thank them enough for being a part of that experience.



This, is said darling boy being cute as he can be, lounging in his car seat while I share some musical magic with him. We are together at for a time I never expected to be granted. His head moves to the music, his hands open and close, showing me that he remembers hearing these notes singing to him, right outside his watery room. Days later, I weep, because I forgot to kiss him one last time.

I have started to leave the building, and I can hear her weeping, too. Behind me, the couple I chose with a full heart to be his Mother and Father, have found a bit of peace during a stormy season. Days later, they will fly him to my homeland, a few short miles from where I was born, to be raised with a foundation I could not build.



So grown up, yet still small enough for me to wrap my arms around and give those kisses that time has stolen from us. Dapper and oh, so strong he is showing me what I can look forward to one month from now. I have watched him change from newborn to infant. Quiet boy who steals your heart with a smile, even though he's only tooting,grows in to a chatty adventurer who laughs like the sun is shining at night. In pictures, he has transformed before my eyes. In pictures, my heart has stitched itself back up, finding acceptance that all is well. He is home.

Today, I am scared, elated, nervous, impatient, apprehensive, confused, sad and happy all at the same time. If I allow myself more than a second of time to pass in thoughts of traveling through the sky to see him again, I get lost. I am no longer sitting, in a chair, in a room. I am floating, in a panic, in my heart. These six months, I have wanted nothing more than to hold him again, while he is still a baby. And now, as that dream is so close to becoming a reality, and I am being forced to face that reality, I am entering uncharted territory. Like the first day at a new school, I am not in control, I have no way of knowing what will happen.

That is not entirely true. I know a few things that will happen: I will cry, I will smile. I will say thank you, I will say I love you forever. I will smell his skin, I will feel his heart beat. I will leave, I will cry.

Winston Churchill

"Never, never, never give up."

How Freudian that I just deleted a question mark from the end of that quote. It actually goes like this:

"This is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy."

Either way, I'm having a little trouble really hearing him right now. Oh, I'm listening. He's got a big billboard of himself chanting to me on the side of the road. But, it's just not working.

I've taken a few steps back. Revisiting those wonderful stages of grief, landing gracefully back in Anger. While writing an email to my best friend the other day, I found myself using the word "hate" no less than twelve times. Not so good. And that was before I got the wind knocked out of my sails.

I do not enjoy confusion, complication and tension. They throw my Libran sense of balance in to a destructive tailspin. While I yearn for freedom and spontaneity in my life, I also need a clear path ahead of me, a relative awareness that all is as it should be. The path does not need to be make of solid concrete, but if there are potholes, at least give me a rope to hold on to.

Cryptic enough for you? I 'm just struggling with finding my way in this post Z world. One day I think I can see a few feet ahead on that path, and then all of a sudden one of those potholes sucks me in. And there is no rope. The "talking about it" rope doesn't work. The "avoiding it" rope is a little frayed. The "move on" rope has thorns in it. The "close the door" rope seems so final and honestly, a bit callous.

I would so enjoy a soft chenille rope to wrap itself around me and just hold me. Give me a big hug and not expect anything from me. Silent, constant, unconditional, true. I want someone to understand me.

1000 Words

Obviously, I did not take this picture. But, when I scanned it this weekend, while digging through old family photos, I knew it needed a few words.

This is Ryan and me at my Junior Prom, 1993. Ryan is a year younger than me and I had a crush on him from the minute I saw him. He was my seminary teacher's younger brother. I remember him being pretty quiet, but not shy. Had a fun sense of humor and as with all of my crushes, I idiotically followed him everywhere I could. Oh, I'm embarassed just thinking about it. But thankfully, he was just clueless enough to my shenanigans to not be turned off.

One day, as I was leaving seminary, Ryan's brother, Eric came up to me and said, "How do you feel about going on a date with a younger guy?", ahhh what? I had an idea where he was going and tried not to jump out of my skin before I could say "THAT WOULD BE GREAT!!! WHEN? NOW? I'M READY NOW!!!" Not really but the ticker in my brain sure was trying to spit that out. I got ahold of myself and answered that I would be juuuust fine with that. And as is Eric's style, that's all I got. Just sit and stew...and wait....

I'm waiting tables at Western Steer one night and all of a sudden I see Eric and Ryan walk in. Heart sink stomach. Brain losing function. Scared out mind. Yeah, I was not well when I saw them. The fact that Ryan was holding flowers did not help matters. Eric asked if I could take a break and since it was a quiet evening, I could. He asked me to go sit at a table in the back and said someone would be with me shortly.

Ryan walks up, smiles, and sits down. Hands me the flowers and points at the envelope. On the outside is written "Open Me". Heh. Told you he had a fun sense of humor. Gets better. I open it and it says "Don't say a word. Would you go to the prom with me? Blink once for yes. Blink twice for no." It took all of my power to make sure I only blinked ONCE. (I still have that card. You know it.)

Fast forward to prom night. Can't you see the excitement on our faces????? We were scared to death! Neither one of us had dated very much and I was older than him. He didn't even have his license yet, so I had to drive. Add all of that together and we were quite a pair. Didn't know what we were doing, he didn't know anyone at my school and I was driving him around. Getting ready for when he would come to pick me up, I was so nervous I got a lovely breakout of hives. His family arrived, we took some pictures (with my hair UP, I might add, stupid clip broke after we left and I was not too happy about having it down the rest of the night) and we drove off in his sister's Ford Tempo. Niiice.

We went to dinner at Darryl's, and then on to the prom. I couldn't even tell you if we danced. The whole night is a blur. I'm sure we left before it was over and drove around for a while, not knowing what to do. We ended up going back to his parents house and hanging out with his brothers until everyone fell asleep. I woke up the next morning on the living room couch and he had gone to get us biscuits for breakfast.

Needless to say, I screwed it all up eventually and he was gone. I ran in to him a year or so later and man, was I jealous of the new girl. He was still cute as ever, wonder what he's like now.

Setting Up Shop

Ok, I'm jumping in. I'm going to start selling my photos. Yup. I'm just full of surprises this week. Oh, by the way, my seziure inducing decision? I'm going back to church.

So anyway, I'm getting my shop ready over at Etsy.com. The more I look at the pictures I will be putting over there, the more excited I get. And, proud. Several people have commented lately at their appreciation of my point of view. I had never really considered it, you always see what you see. It is an interesting concept to consider that others don't see things the same way you do, even though you are standing at the same viewpoint.

Having said that, I would like to take advantage of your viewpoint. I don't believe in overly photoshoping a photo. I find great joy in looking at a photo and knowing that what comes from the camera is the memory I wanted to capture. Changing it is devaluing the memory. But, some photos need a tiny bit of help to bring out their character.

This iris grew in my Mom's garden, this spring. When adjusting the color and contrast, I couldn't decide between pre color adjustment or post. Please tell me what you think...

1000 Words

I had a strange imagination, growing up. I guess all kids have some things that they just think of a little differently. On road trips, while watching the sky go by out the window, I used to watch the clouds and think that my Grandpa Fritts was sitting on the biggest and puffiest of them all, looking down on me. I guess it was my way of getting to know him, since I don't really remember him. (I also used to pretend there was someone living underneath the eucalyptus tree outside my bedroom window. I'm beginning to sense a theme here.)

The clouds have recently been capturing my attention again. I'm unsure if they are exceptionally beautiful lately, or I just haven't been giving them the credit they are due. The sky seems to have an ethereal texture, kind of takes my breath away every time I look out the window. The clouds hold on to the sun's light and turn it in to that cliche of painted light.

I'm frustrated, because it seems to be one of those instances where I am unable to capture the moment they way it is happening in front of me. The picture is never quite as beautiful as real life. But then, what is ever as beautiful as what you have in front of you. That is one of the things we tend to forget, to be in the moment and be grateful for what you have. Lesson learned.

Back To The Future

Scanned some old photos yesterday, to prepare a package to send to Z. Reminded me of a PostSecret postcard I saw a few months ago "I often miss the little girl whose dreams had no barriers, who believed in a world where anything is possible, with a heart that was full and unbroken." I look forward to trying to start my life anew, creating a fresh path. I have no idea how to do that quite yet, but I'm willing to be open to the possibilities.

We Will Not Be Bargaining

In the book On Death and Dying, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross introduced the five stages of grief. It is important to be aware that she notes that not all persons enduring grief will go through all of these stages, nor are they always experienced in order. She did state though, that a griever will always experience at least two of these stages. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.

I am going through an Anger stage. I think I started off with Depression and in the past few days I have been a mixture of the two. I also feel that the depression will maintain a low hum in the back of my head, and heart, for quite a while.

But right now, I have a large swarm of stings pricking me from all directions. Why does that girl waiting at the bus stop with her child get to keep him and I don't get to keep Z? Why do T&N get to be so happy, gaining everything, and I have to be depressed and feel like I am lost and empty? Winners and losers. Why did I have to go through nine months of growing this human being, be cut open to allow him to enter this world, and then not get to benefit from the pay off of holding him, loving him, and seeing him grow? Did I make the wrong decision? Is it too late to change my mind? Why do I feel forced that this is the only right option because of a fool on the other side of the fence? Why can't I hide from reality and avoid going back to any sort of life I had before he was part of the world?

Thoughts of frustration and indignation. Staring off in to space, I wake up forgetting where I am. I look around me to readjust to my surroundings and always feel something is missing. I watched some of the videos of Z's time with us and he feels so far away. It has only been 11 days since I last held him, but it feels like an entire lifetime. I want to sit inside of someone, to be able to feel something. Realizing that I will never hold that baby, ever again, breaks my heart again. How are there still pieces left to break?