I can’t look at my FIL without thinking of my Dad. When I reached out to him for a hug, I remembered all those Saturday mornings they went golfing together… or the nights they’d drive us all the baseball park for a game. In a little while, I’ll be climbing into his van, for a long ride back down to Oregon, and dang it… I think I’m going to cry. Having my in-laws here seemed horrible, when I first thought of it, and now I’m glad. Chris’ parents are as welcoming and soft as I remembered, especially his dad.

I keep calling him Rodney, because I desperately want to call him Dad. I spent enough time at his house as a kid, he took care of me just like mine did.. And he was so close to mine…but I haven’t. I don’t know where that line is with in-laws? I know a lot of women who call their in-laws Mom and Dad, but I don’t want to push it… you know?

All of my stuff is packed (almost), I just have to put together some gluten free biscuit mix to take to my Mom’s… and I’m gone. For some reason I’m putting it off. I don’t want to leave Chris for a week…I don’t want to wave goodbye to my little house, annoying dog, and wonderful husband. Until this moment it wasn’t clear to me where home was. Part of me still wanted it to be my Mom’s house… but it’s here. I am going to miss it, all of it. But damn if vacation isn’t going to be wonderful.

I’ve had entirely to much to drink. My eyes are heavy with sleep and wine, my fingers coated in butter, and mouth full of the lingering taste of arepas. Some stuff with cheese, some with butter, the last with jam. Licking my lips bring each of those tastes back into the lime light. Reliving the wine, my eyes close and I struggle to open them again. Cooking while drunk left the tips of my fingers burnt. Who needs a spatula when moving things from the frying pan to the baking sheet? Not me, not me.

Skidding across the floor on spilt oil has left my ankle wrenched. Delicious pangs of pain shoot up my leg every time it shifts in my flip flop. I was racing to the living room to get Chris’ phone as his alarm went off. My beloved fell asleep on the couch, after a long night of talking, and driving around aimlessly. We went far, windows down, the radio pulsing, and silence between us.

Earlier in the day we had his Uncle over for lunch, grilled chicken, cabbage, and watermelon… with a side of Whiskey yapping and strolling around the house next door. You see, Uncle M, who is only a few years older than us… will be renting the house next door starting June 1st. At first I was upset, didn’t we just escape this fool? But a few times now he’s been over for dinner. So kind and quiet, bringing me beer, which made me sick, and complimenting my cooking. Away from his family, he is no fool. Chris smiles a bit bigger with him around, and it is good… I will admit, to have someone we know near.

Days like today, and nights, sleepless as it was, like tonight.. Remind me of just how full my life is. The ache in my back from the gluten I ate by mistake earlier is ok. There is so much more to focus on. The sleepy smile Chris gave me when I inquired as to what time he needed to be up to go fishing. The soft whimper of the puppy as I shoo him into the crate.

The wonderful love from my friends. Mary Dawn, who messaged me out of the blue, Kelly, who for the past months has been a voice of clarity amongst the confusion that has become my life…Linda, who always has something positive to say… Honey, who says thank you, and asks to help… Bobby, the man I so rarely hear from. Random voices and words, each reminding me of how much I am loved. My mother, calling just to talk… Becky, who is so entangled in her plans for the wedding of the year in August… Nicole, expecting her first baby, pictures of ultra sounds and swollen stomachs found on my phone.

I take in every bit of kindness from these people, and my heart swells. So impossibly full of things I can’t believe I have the chance to feel. Tears, perhaps they are red, like my wine…roll over my cheeks, itchy and hot from cooking over a hot stove… reminding me of the blessings I have to count. Two hands and two feet just won’t do, I am afraid.

At the end of the month I am going to the coast to see my Mom and sister, and even Bill. My heart awkwardly beats, when I realize why. Two years, you know. May 31st. At this time last year I was still so empty, so desperately alone in a sea of people who cared to much. In the shower the other day, watching the last bit of dye from my hair run down the drain… I breathed, and felt whole. My spirit has knitted itself back together. There are still days of incredible emptiness, and despair, but most days I pull air in, and it stays… before it leaked out, slow, and so subtle I didn’t realize just what I was missing.

This new healing, I have to reach out every day and poke it. Hello, hurt, are you still there? Yes, comes the faint reply… I’m here, but you’re forgetting me more with each passing moment. Hurt, he’ll always be there, but instead of being a frozen stone in my belly, he’s becoming this warm, living part of me. Small, inconspicuous until I need to be reminded. Reminding that nights like tonight, days like today, weeks like this week, so full of ups and downs… are not to be taken for granted. Because that lovely, understanding man in the living room, he won’t be here forever. Neither will all of you. So I tickle, hurt, and say thank you. What I would do without him, without you?

At the beginning of this post, I had a point. My apologies, for losing it. When I finish the end of my glass of wine, I’ll stretch and ponder some more. But no, it’s corked and away…the last thing I need right now is more. I have enough. So much. Call me lucky, darling, who else is so blessed?

I managed to stay awake until about 7:30am this morning, when I finally crashed out on the office floor with the puppy. Couldn’t go sleep on the bed, I knew I’d never get up! The floor got hard and hot, so I got up around 10:30am… and have been going ever since. To bad it was snowing today, it would have been a perfect time to garden. Instead I cooked, and read, and did laundry…not much of anything, really.

Being tired always makes me sort of morbid. All day I’ve wandered what my Dad and I would have talked about if he’d had the chance to say goodbye. Would it have been easier if we knew he was going to die? In a few days it will be exactly 2 years since I’ve seen him. Somehow this “anniversary” is more important than the day he died. I actually blogged on the last day I touched him… so I can never forget the date. Sometimes I want to rewind time and do it all over. To have a chance to say I love you, one last time… to know what he would have said to me… the if only is plaguing me today.

Not saying goodbye makes it feel surreal. I can’t remember the last conversation I had with him. Most likely it was from work… the phone in the break room had free long distance so I’d sit up there and skip eating so I could call my parents. I’m sure he answered the phone and passed me off to my Mom, because he hated talking on the phone as much as I do. My Dad was a quiet person, unless he had something he needed to talk through, or a reason to yell… he always said the most when we fought, which happened a lot. He told me sometimes things just don’t sound right out loud… so it’s ok to keep them inside. We understood each other, in a strange way I can’t explain.

Would he have passed on some wonderful, life changing kernel of knowledge? Would I have apologized for being such a brat? I can’t help but wonder if it would have hurt less… to be prepared, to say goodbye… instead of getting that phone call. The phone call I knew I didn’t want to answer. Reconciling the man I saw 2 years ago, with the empty body on the table at the mortuary… it just doesn’t add up in my head. The last time I hugged him… he was getting healthy, losing weight, there was a new spark to his eyes… the weariness that used to weigh down his shoulders was fading. And the next time I saw him, he was lifeless, gray… despite their attempts at make-up…and so cold. I don’t understand how you can go so abruptly from one to the other.

Strangely, instead of feeling empty today… like a part of me is missing, I feel so overwhelmed with emotion, so full of tears and woe that I can’t breath. It’s a strange feeling, I am so used to that hole…My Momo (maternal grandma) held me as I talked to my Mom on the phone that morning…afterwards, while I was waiting to go to the airport we sat outside together and she told me not to cry in front of my Mom. Her boys never cried over their Dad when he passed in December 2005, and I shouldn’t burden my Mom with my tears either… she said to be strong for her and Becky, to grieve quietly.

I still hear those words when I go to pick up the phone and call my Mom… I did cry in front of her, I couldn’t help it… but I felt guilty afterwards. It was the same with Becky. There are still days when I want to curl up with one of them and just sob. Instead I write here…trying to talk to Chris about it is difficult… he hasn’t lost anyone he was close to…my blog is my outlet, more so than the grief counselor I saw ever was…but days like today, it just doesn’t feel like enough. Especially with the new way it feels…I’m not ready to say goodbye, but I regret that we never did.

I lived in a small town the year I started 8th grade. So small we had one stop light. Right between the primary school and downtown grocery store. That’s right, our sleep bedroom community had a downtown, we were cool like that. Eventually they’d install a second stop light near the freeway ramps, safety first and all… but the town folks were one stop light people at heart. And how we respected that stoplight. Red meant stop, yellow meant stop, green meant drive annoyingly slow.

On the side of that old downtown grocery, which didn’t actually sell anything more than Coors Light, and Snickers, was always a big billboard type advertisement. Most of the time, despite the protests of the community, it was a sexy girl with some sort of beer. Around the time Britney Spears became popular one of the big beer lords found a look a like and put her in short shorts, laying on her side, her mouth open, a beer in hand… and wouldn’t you know, that billboard ended up on the side of our quaint little red bricked building.

Before I go on, I want to remind you of just who I am. My father was a respected Southern Baptist Minister in this tiny dairy town. He pastored a small church, worked as a chaplain with the local fire and sheriff departments, and was heavily involved in the Lions Club, a civil organization. It was safe to say he was a well know, much loved man. He followed the letter of the law, and as snarky and mean as he could get within our own walls, in town we were good, kind people. A example family.

It was a typical Saturday morning, we were out in our little beat up red Geo, Becky and I in back… me behind Mom, Becky behind Dad, because I couldn’t sit still and would kick his seat while he was driving. Plus she was short and I wasn’t, not by 14… Mom was short, so I got more leg room behind her. We’re driving around town, thinking about going out into the country… it’s a misty day, nothing is going on… we near that store, and luckily it’s on my side of the car! I can’t wait to see what’s up on the wall this week. My sister sees it before me though, remember she’s short, I had to sort of slink down to see out the window… and she’s pointing and asks… “Rachel, what’s that going into her mouth?”

I’m all twisted now, so I can see up the street… quick to answer, not thinking about the fact I’m in the car with my 11 year old sister, and fuddy duddy parents. “It’s a cock! There’s a cock in her…OUCH!” Before I could finish my second sentence my Dad’s hand was off the wheel and firmly on my cheek. I was crying, my Mom was staring back around the seat at me flabbergasted, and my Dad is running a red light while shouting. “WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT WORD?”

He stops in the middle intersection when he realizes he’s running a red light, backs up… and has to sit there, waiting by that advertisement for the light to turn green. I was grounded from books for two weeks, and the computer for one, and had extra chores for the day. A few days later a friend who had been downtown at the same time asked my Dad what had happened, to make him break the law like that? And my dad, the honest, upstanding citizen that he was told them… “My oldest called her sister a brat. I had to punish her.” Because god forbid, someone find out I knew the word cock.

When Chris came home from work tonight I fell apart. In that sobbing my eyes out, helpless, and painful kind of way that leaves your eyes swollen and nose clogged for hours afterwards. This has been the worst period I’ve had in a long time. It was bad enough that last night I was running a temperature, and per my instruction sheets, I called the on call doctor. Yeah, pointless. I didn’t expect some re-assuring words of comfort, nor did I hope for alarm… but the passive “just go to bed, you’re fine” without a goodbye tore at that fragile part of me that felt stupid for calling to begin with.

There is a lot I’m behind on at the moment, and I feel insanely guilty, and at the same time completely justified… it’s been an insane month… moving, puppy, family drama, sick, company, period, coupled with the recent news that Chris may be laid off for 4 to 6 weeks because of a legal issue between the company he works for, and the company that owns the building they are contracted too… well, it just seems so overwhelming. I want to go get a job though, so maybe a layoff for him will mean work for me. That would be fantastic. Strange, huh? The one thing I wanted for so long was to be a stay at home wife, and now that I am… I’m spastic.

Another strange thing is the collection of plastic ware I’ve managed to put together. Old sour cream jars, those little bowls you get the famous layered meal in at KFC, Blue Bunny ice-cream containers, and worst of all… washed and re-used baggies. I had vowed to never be that woman. Now I am, and frankly, it’s funnier than I thought it would be… and I don’t mind. There are some nice, Lock & Lock containers hanging around for my flours, everything else can go in the reused stuff for all I care.

Whiskey is basically housebroken, but he got to one of my Vicoden today (just chewed, nothing missing from it) and hasn’t shown any symptoms… but of course, I am secretly freaking out inside that he’s going to roll over and die because I didn’t take it and knocked it off the desk where he could get to it. My head is pounding, on top of the period I’m having some allergy issues, and gawd, I feel like such a whine bucket… but my incisions itch and the steri-stripes are peeling, which makes me want to pick.

Of course, all I want to do right now is sleep, but that’s been awkward lately too. It’s just hard to stay asleep. I’m not in any huge amount of pain or discomfort… I just can’t keep my eyes shut. And Chris was in the bedroom hacking up a lung as I write this, he just came out to the kitchen and got a glass of milk… in a new glass, which makes his grand total of drinking vessels used for the day since he’s been home something like 3. Plus milk isn’t good for coughs, but he doesn’t care… he doesn’t do the dishes or have to listen to himself whine all night about how awful he feels (which has been happening every night since I’ve been home… I understand he’s sick… but damn it)… to top it all off, the insurance may not pay because I didn’t inform them before I had surgery, and the hospital isn’t sure it can be charged retroactively. Benefits kicked in on April 1st. I was admitted on April 2nd. Our cards didn’t come until April 4th…

I’m just irritated with everything and everyone and I want to cry again because the dog hasn’t pooped all day, but he just did, twice, in the living room… and Chris is still up and awake enough to bitch about it. I guess he isn’t fully potty trained, but you know… he never has accidents with me.

Ugh. Ok, off to cry and whine and bore someone else with this pity party.

Before the blog my favorite place in the world was Metro North Mall. It wasn’t the stores, although I was always happy to stroll through the pet shop… and it definitely wasn’t the crowds, I despised them from an early age. It was the magical center courtyard. Hot hair balloons floated above pools of water you could wade into and collect pennies from. We were never allowed in the water (I doubt you were actually supposed to get in it), but I could stand on an upper level and watch those balloons go up and down all day long. When I was in Kansas City in 2006, my parents came out for a visit, and we went to Metro North Mall to watch the balloons. Unfortunately we arrived late in the day, and they had already been deflated and were simply hovering over the water.

I realize then they weren’t hot air balloons at all, instead they go up and down on wire, and they captivating quality of them seemed to have faded. These pictures of that evening were recently developed, and I sort of smiled…I wanted to see those balloons so bad when my Dad was in town. We went to the mall, and I was excited, bouncing almost… like the child who’d strolled through the store, hand tucked securely into his so many years ago… and it just wasn’t the same.

Funny, looking back… I had to take a moment to understand it was just a growing up thing. We could walk over the same tile, still hand in hand, look at the same balloons… and be two completely different people. The knowledge that I was changing struck me hard that day. I’m glad we went, that I got to see those balloons, deflated, and non-magical, once more… with my Dad.

He died shortly after, and even if I someday take my own children to see those balloons, I won’t forget that day… when it became clear it wasn’t the magic of the balloons I missed, but the magic that came from walking hand in hand with my Daddy, secure, safe, and loved… and that was what made Metro North Mall my favorite place in the world when I was 10.