Saviors

This pic was taken in the front row of the Paddock. A place that changed my life because of a band that changed my life. Mr. Greengenes. They transformed me. Or maybe I transformed me but it was in part, due to them. In the beginning of the summer of 2008, I was angry, newly divorced, frumpy (ok, super fat), and insecure. My dad and my brother and I went to the Paddock on a Monday night to see this band that we'd heard was an awesome cover band. They were indeed, pretty freakin' awesome. They did The Pot by tool. THE POT!!! I fell in love.

JP and I started going to as many of their shows we could get to. OCMD, downtown, western maryland, philly, aston, wherever. At first, I stood in the back. I was intimidated by the front. So many beautiful thin girls looking like they belonged there. But JP wasn't having it. We threw bows and mushed our way to the front.  We started seeing regulars. I friended the band on Myspace (hey remember Myspace? heh).

Then two things happened. First, JP and I went to a show at champions bar somewhere west. Frederick or Cumberland or somewhere over there. It wasn't super crowded and the stage wasn't really a stage but just squared off area where the guys set up. JP and I went right into the "front" and it was kinda awkward because the band wasn't elevated so we were basically standing right in front of them. And Bryen knew my name. He said, nice to see you all the way out here Saragirl. I was dumbfounded. I felt like I was someone. At that time in my life, I felt like less than nobody. My husband had left me for another woman, I hated my physical self, wasn't too fond of my mental self either and couldn't fathom that someone like Bryen would ever know my name. This guy who took the stage in front of crowds of people, who had energy like that bunny, whose band made me forget that I was unhappy and took me to another place, knew who I was. Made it a point to know my name. Incredible.

Then second thing that happened was the rain. We went to a power plant live show. It was raining and this was before they had that handy roof thingy that they have now. There was hardly anyone there. But the boys played on. And there, in the rain, soaked to the bone, standing up front, I forgot myself. Instead of humming along under my breath and keeping my arms tight at my sides, I sang along, loud and strong. I jumped and fist pumped and never, not once, remembered that I was whale sized or lonely or jacked in the head. It was probably one of the best times I've ever had in my life.

It became my outlet. My escape. My fun. Being in a crowded bar, a noisy messy drunken pack of people while those boys sang those tunes was like a drug. It was wonderful. I met those regulars. I made friends with amazing people. I became part of a group. Part of something. They accepted me and liked me even if I was huge, off kilter, too loud, too abrasive.

And poor Joe. Everyone has their favorite Mr. Greengene. I fixated on Tutlo. Oh that poor guy. His air of indifference and scorn for the drunken hot chicks spilling their beer on his feet, and that head of hair and those hands, MAN! those hands. You would think, just to have a favorite would be enough. Just to mark your territory directly in front of him at every show would have been enough. Oh no. You see, I had just had this huge life altering event happen to me and my daughter, and I was a wee bit insecure and perhaps a notch off the crazy scale and it was clear I needed therapy. But what I got instead was a Tutlo. I sent that guy messages just SPILLING my GUTS. I don't remember half the stuff of what I said to him but I promise you after every myspace private message I sent, I felt a hell of a lot better. I probably owe him a lot of money because I seriously treated him like my own personal therapist. WHO DOES THAT?? He didn't respond, he never acknowledged me, but I'm sure he was terrified of me. That poor fella had to stand on a stage and watch me, watch him, like my own personal little dumping ground of all the crazy shit going through my brain. It's amazing he didn't block me or just come to me one day and say, look, just stop coming to our shows ok, you're WEIRD. Eventually I started to like myself a little bit more, realized I was a bit raving and finally, became mortified that I'd tormented the guy like that by giving him torrential downpours of the inside of my brain. Instead of being a normal person who would apologize or just leave the man in peace however, I tried to talk to him after shows when I was annihilated drunk and did things like, brought him a box of cereal to the band house (yeah, no gray in that at all, just nutso). Ah well, sometimes you never make up for the stupid things you do when you're...well, stupid.

Joe Tutlo stalking aside, I LOVED (love!) this band. These guys have the most incredible stage presence, every one of them giving something different. And they sing what you know and love and they are GOOD at it. So you have these five guys making a huge difference in my life and then BAM! my sister gets sick. And you thought they couldn't have made more of a difference than what they already did.

The thing is with Kate is that she ALWAYS wanted to be a follower like JP and I. She loved them too. But her social anxiety and inability to handle extreme crowds well, meant she didn't come to as many shows as we did. But she always wanted to, always pumped me for info after shows. So when she was so sick she needed a wheelchair and those guys invited her in for a sound check at the paddock, set up a couch with blankets for her to lay on, and sang directly to her....they did something I will never EVER forget or be grateful ENOUGH for. I hope, beyond hope, that they know what they did for her. It was SOMETHING. And when she was only a week left for this world (although of course we didn't know it), Bryen came to her house with his guitar and sang to her in her hospital bed in the living room. She was too weak to fist pump or or sing along, but she mouthed the words and signed I LOVE YOU with pointer, pinky, thumb. What Bryen did is something only a selfless, incredibly big hearted person would have done.

He sealed our fates together forever, and not in the scary Tutlo stalking way I had tried to do. He gave of himself, just like all five of them do every single time they take the stage. And there's magic in that. It changed me, and I'll forever be grateful.

Magic Soakin' My Spine

It's been a year. Today makes one year since our girl left this world. Of course I've been reflecting all morning. And what I've discovered is a little bit off putting. It's this: I'm not as sad as I thought I would be.

That's not to say I'm not sad. But that tearing stabbing in my heart now feels more like a ripple of goosebumps passing directly through it when I think about Kate. Time (you sly minx), as they say, DOES, I guess, heal all wounds. And I'm not so naive as to think it was Time alone (no, you don't get all the credit you slow moving sonofabee). I think we did it right. We grieved right. I say we because I think our grief, not just mine, but my parents and my brothers and my Chip and my Hanna and my Mary Jo and my Becki, we were relentless. We talked about Kate every chance we could.

At family dinners, an outsider would think we're all nutso. We talk about Kate so much that our stories are fairly repetitive but we don't care and we never tire of them. We don't hush up our sadness. We don't try to hide it anywhere or save it for later. We cried together and we reminisced together and we HEALED together. And it wasn't just us either. We had so many beautiful tributes to her that I think also helped us heal.

Thanks to sweet Jessica Monaldi Vocke, we have a plaque and a tree in the 8th floor rooftop garden with Kate's name on it. And there was a little memorial service when they unveiled that. And Derek still comes to dinner sometimes and what do we talk about of course? Our girl. And Bryen and Mr. Greengenes sing songs for her, for us. And people walk for her in cancer walks and light candles for her and all of those things, each one is like a tiny little sliver of tape on our shattered hearts, and slowly putting it back together.

And when I first woke up this morning I was laying in bed thinking about my own loss. I was feeling sad for what I will never get to experience again, the joy (and sometimes complete and utter frustration) of having my sister Katie in my life. I felt sad for me. And for Hanna. And all my family. But it doesn't feel so acute anymore. But then I thought about Rikki. And that's when I started to cry in earnest for this day.

Rikki is JP's girlfriend (they just moved to Texas for 13 weeks for travel nursing ya'll!!). Rikki is so wonderful and amazing and I really truly feel luckier than all the people on this planet, who don't know her. And she never got to meet Kate. Her and JP started dating shortly after Kate passed away. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure she feels like she knew Kate. Because of our constant talk of her every chance we get. But of course it's not the same.

And suddenly my grief, which felt small-ish and contained, now looms large again, like a giant balloon expanding inside me and my breath catches in my throat and I think, It Isn't Fair! I have all these wonderful memories of Katie but Rikki has none. It isn't fair that she will never meet Kate, never get to learn first hand what an amazing, wonderful, scary, beautiful, thoughtful, temperamental, giving, loving person Katie was. And that makes my heart have the stabby feeling again for a little while.

But crying is so good and it gets all the bad stuff out and clears my head so that I can remember the good stuff, like the fact that Rikki can at least enjoy our memories of her. And that even though Kate isn't here physically in our life anymore, she'll always be a part of us. And for that, I am so grateful.

Facebreak

Taking a break from Facebook. I have to. It makes me crazy. I have the worst love/hate relationship with it and one of us needs therapy (NOT ME!). It's something to do while I'm bored. It becomes a malediction. I want to eye gouge people. And before anyone loses an eye, it's best I back away slowly.

I love my friends. I don't want to wish ill will upon anyone, though after reading this, some of you may wish ill will upon ME. The thing is, I DON'T CARE. I don't care how badly you crave attention and make emoticons your status, I'm not going to ask what's wrong. I don't care how many miles you ran or calories you burned or what you ate or how god awful your life is because you're stuck in traffic or you have a hangnail. I'm tired of hearing about your ailments and your drama and your reposting of pics of Donna Reed-esque women calling each other bitches and drinking martinis.

I keep news feed blocking people so I don't have to see their games and what articles they read and pretty soon the only person I'm going to be able to see is my friend Deb Silverman (She always posts cheerful little statuses and corny little anecdotes that ALWAYS make me smile or giggle).

It's just too much. It's too much stimulation. It's too time consuming, because no matter how many times I tell you I don't care, when I have an active facebook page, I CAN'T NOT LOOK! DAMN YOU FACEBOOK!!! I do love looking at people's pics of their kids (although I know a lot of friends find this annoying, I'm ok  with it) and I like being connected to people that I rarely see, and I love bragging about my own life and my own child (yes, super double standard, heh), but I need a break.

And I'm pretty much just talking about all my friends who DON'T read this blog. HA! No, seriously. For those that read my blog, and let me know it, like it, comment it, you are truly appreciated and I honestly am not referring to you guys. I swear I'm not just saying that to get you to keep reading and not send me hate mail. It's that facebook is just too big and too open now. My news feed has stuff on it of people that I don't even know. Because a friend comments on something and there it is on my news feed. Even if I don't know the person whose page was commented on. Or someone likes something or a page or whatever and there it is on my news feed. I'm drowning in information and it's overwhelming and makes me tired.

So a little break. Which is very hard, you know. When you disconnect from Facebook, you pretty much take yourself out of the loop from, well, everything. It's almost a little scary. But also liberating. And don't get crazy, I'm not staying away forever. Because checking facebook every hour is one extreme and never getting back on again is the other extreme, and you know, I'll find that middle ground. That Gray.

PS-since I can't post the link to this blog on my page, for any of you (the whole 2 of you) that I haven't just offended, feel free to post this on facebook ;)

Find The Gray: A Whirlwind of Emotion

Find The Gray: A Whirlwind of Emotion: Sometimes you think the whole world is bipolar. Not each individual person, but the world as a whole. Nature, Karma, God, whichever you ...

A Whirlwind of Emotion

Sometimes you think the whole world is bipolar. Not each individual person, but the world as a whole. Nature, Karma, God, whichever you prefer. How can someone you know and love, die, on a day when others you know and love are getting married, the happiest day of their lives? How can you celebrate the birthday of a dear friend, when another friend is being told words like hospice and decisions?? How can you celebrate the pregnancy of a friend's brother's wife, when the other brother is in the grips of a brain tumor that just won't quit? Why is life so unfair? Why is death so unfair?

How do you know which way is appropriate to act? Do you celebrate at the wedding? Dance, drink, laugh? How could you do such a thing? Someone is gone forever. Do you grieve and moan and cry and clutch at the people who are hurting the most? How could you act that way at a wedding?

How do you celebrate the birthday? How do you show joy that someone was born on this day and you love her and are grateful that she is in your life, and you want to buy her drinks and stand next to her and watch her enjoy this day. Is that callous? Someone is suffering. Someone is facing the end. Do you skip the birthday celebrations altogether and sit somewhere alone to cry and ponder the unfairness of life and death?

What's appropriate? Who cares? Life will go on no matter what you do. And then it will not. And those of us still here, will be confused, ache, rejoice, feel guilt, shame, glee, confusion again. Because you can't live every moment celebrating only the good, fun, feel good things. And you can't shut down and mourn and grieve every moment of every day. You have to match the world and give it right back to it. Bipolar-it-up.

You do both. A little bit of both. And some days you will be on the joyful side, and you'll notice how beautiful the sky is when the sun is just gone to bed, leaving the most unlikely of pairs, hot pink and deep sapphire blue, mashing together in the horizon. And you'll feel so grateful. And then you'll think of those you love that can't enjoy the show anymore and you'll feel angry and sad. But you will feel. And that's how you'll know you're doing the right thing.

You'll think of the one extreme, with the giddiness and the joy, and you'll think of the other extreme, with the dark clouds and the sadness. And you'll remember the gray, the in between meeting place for thoughts wildly disparate and it will calm you. And you'll chuckle. Because you know, in this bipolar world where it's wonderful and unfair and jubilant and desperate and gorgeous and hideous, that, that's all you can do. Find that gray.

Something different

NATIVE AMERICAN PRAYER

I give you this one thought to keep --

I am with you still – I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

I am the swift, uplifting rush

of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not think of me as gone –

I am with you still – in each new dawn.

This was a Native American Prayer that was read at a bereavement camp Hanna went to last weekend. This blog is not my own, I cannot take credit for this, but it's so beautiful and wonderful, I just wanted everyone to have the privilege. Stay tuned for a new blog about my middle finger to corporate america (ah what a lovely image after that heart wrenching prayer) and a glimpse into the madness of the mind of the girl that is Sara :)

Estrogen is the devil (uh....adults only?)

I wish we could inject men for a 30 day stretch, with the ridiculous amount of poison, I mean estrogen, that flows through our poor souls throughout the month. And it's not because I want to make them suffer (although honestly, a teeny little, most likely estrogen soaked, part of my brain says, yeah, suffer you lucky SOB).
But it's more so that they could UNDERSTAND, the reason why women are so utterly complicated, crazy, loving, moody, giving, bitchy, horny, frigid, weepy, giddy, possessed of the insane urge to scrub every surface with a toothbrush, lazy, manipulative, and SCARY.

Chip says I only want men to experience it so I can have an excuse for all of the above behaviors. So I can say, well now you know WHY and you have felt it and you get it, so it's ok for me to be this way. What he doesn't get is that if he did have the 30 day estrogen experience, he would scream, OMG THE EFFING ESTROGEN IS BACK, DO WHAT YOU WANT!!!!  But as he hasn't experienced it first hand, yeah, it sounds like an excuse. So be it. Whatever gets me cleared to be Sybil for 7-14 days a month.

Just having the brain, thought processes, chemical makeup and hormones that us women have already makes us slightly crazy. But when the egg starts creeping down the tube....it's intensified....like a million times! Normally commercials can make us cry. During certain times of the month, blades of grass blowing in the breeze can make us cry. There is no rhyme or reason!!! It's miserable and confusing and it sucks. Where the hell is the gray in that???

What we need is a little patting up, but not too much. Some alone time but not a lot. Definitely chocolate but not mountains of it (well.....) and tons of validation. Validation is so easy. So this is a little guide for men, to help YOU wonderful people who put up with us scary ladies who turn into hagravens for a week a month, this is to help YOU find that gray, and by gray I mean compromise because you could never ever give us what we really need because we have no idea what that is, thus the crying for no reason and the obsessive mind changing.

I've made a little reference guide to help you out.

If your lady is crying for no reason, don't try to figure out why. She has no effing clue. Just hug her, but not too hard because her boobs hurt like hell right now.

If she's in the kitchen opening every cupboard, drawer and possibly doing it in a frenzied state, give her chocolate.  And make no mention of the extra calories because she WILL burn them off in the next segment.

If she is snuggling you while you're trying to watch family guy, stroking your arm and nuzzling your neck, in a chair that is obviously too small for the both of you and you cannot understand why the hell she's squeezed herself in this tiny space just to suffocate you: TAKE her. Even if you have to go in the bathroom and lock the door because the kids are awake. A. of all, she NEEDS you to do that and I promise you will not regret it. and 2. of all, in 2 or 3 days time, you'll be banned from below the belt for a week, so get it while you can.

If she is going off on a rant, it doesn't MATTER what it's about; work, friends, the stupid lady at the bank, the asshole who cut her off, any rant, doesn't matter: listen, then validate. And by validate I just mean saying with real or at least passably faked honesty, "Damn, that really SUCKS." That's all you have to say. Really.

Finally, don't approach her with any outrageous requests during this time. Such as: Could you pass the salt?
No we cannot pass you anything because it is all one hundred million percent about US right now and I'm so tired and I want to chop my boobs off and shove a whole jar of pickles and bag of potato chips in my mouth and if the food I so lovingly and painstakingly heated up for you in the microwave isn't salty enough, get up and get your own goddamn salt!!! 

So as you can see, I have been taken over by the estrogen demons and I feel so sorry for Hanna and Chip (who honestly are very wonderful at dealing with the estrogen Sara Monster) and every person that has to interact with me and hopefully this little vent helped. And if not, I do have some chocolate covered donut holes downstairs.....