To Mattie

21 years. I blinked and 21 years passed me right by. How did that happen? When adults would say that kind of thing when I was a kid, I know I rolled my eyes on more than one occasion. So, Mattie and everyone under the age of 30 reading this, go ahead and roll your eyes now. It’s okay. Adults kinda expect it. I know I do. 

Today is Mattie’s day. Today she celebrates 21 trips around the sun. There’s a large chunk of that time that is missing from my memory, and for that, I will be forever sorry. But, let me tell you some of the things I do remember. 

I definitely remember Mattie came into this world yelling at the top of her lungs for the entire first year of her life. Babies cry. As a first time parent, I knew this. No one prepared me for Mattie. I distinctly remember a time during those first couple of months when I had pulled her Pack ‘N Play into the bathroom with me so I could lay her in it and have five minutes to shower. 

She. Did. Nothing. But. Cry. The. Whole. Time. I cried, too. 

What no one realized at that point was that Mattie was tongue tied to the point that she couldn’t stick her tongue out. Like at all. And, so she wasn’t nursing effectively. Mattie’s crying had everything to do with the fact that the poor kid was hungry and a whole lot less to do with her being a difficult baby. We’ll chalk up my missing that point completely during those first few months as a parenting mistake. The first of many. It happens. 

Her pediatrician and I finally figured out what was going on, I started feeding her baby cereal, she gained weight, and all was well. The crying stop and emerged a cheerful, beautiful, smart little girl with the longest hair, big round blue eyes, and a charming smile.

Another memory... When Mattie was a little over a year old, a uniformed City of Springfield policeman showed up at our door. Unbeknownst to me, Mattie had gotten ahold of the cordless phone and called 911. The officer said something along the lines of “I can tell by the look on your face that you’re fine and you didn’t call.”  No, sir. It wasn’t me. It was my 14 month old. Apparently, her fine motor skills were on point. 

Shortly after that, we moved to Canton, and Owen was born. My mom would watch the two of them while I worked. On one particular occasion, Owen was inside napping at our house, and Mattie and my mom were outside looking at the flowers. Mattie saw one of those black, hairy, jumpy spiders, and said, “Look, Grandma! A f*cking spider!” She was 2 1/2.

The week before I had been leaving to run errands with Mattie and Owen in tow buckled in their car seats in the back seat. In my haste, I had taken the mail out of the mailbox, skipped the step of banging it on the side of the mailbox to remove all hairy spiders, dropped it in my lap, only to have one of those little suckers pop out of the stack of mail. I exclaimed, “F*CKING SPIDER!,” immediately realized what I had said and in front of who, and looked in the rear view mirror at Mattie to see if she was going to react. She continued to look through her picture board book and appeared oblivious to the whole situation. Apparently, she was listening. So, I hold the distinct honor of teaching her the f-word. Not Papa Turkey who cussed like a Marine (I mean he WAS a Marine, after all) or a kid on the playground at school. Nope. 100% me. Parenting mistake #2 for anyone keeping track, but there were definitely several others in between.

From the time she was small, my mom and I would walk with Mattie and Owen in their BOB stroller, up and down Canton’s Main Street . Mattie would flip the sun cover back when we met someone on the street, lean forward, wave, and say, “Hi!”as loudly as she could. That friendliness carried over when she went to kindergarten and she’d walk straight up to other children and ask if they’d like to be her friend. Or, the time she got into trouble in elementary school for helping another child pick up the pieces of paper he had strung all over the floor. Mattie has always been the kid you wanted to have in your corner.

Like any child, there were some hiccups along the way... some kids who weren’t very nice as kids can be. When she was in 6th grade, her school counselor called me and said there was an issue with some girls bullying Mattie. She said that she had called Mattie into the office to talk to her about it and she had asked Mattie what she thought about the situation. Mattie told her that if they continued to bully her that she would get new friends. It’s that kind of inner strength that Mattie exhibits that amazes me daily. 

It’s also amazed a few others along the way. Like the time that she confronted a hockey player from the opposing Chicago team who had delivered a couple of big hits on Owen. He came strutting out of his team's locker room only to have Mattie walk right up to him with her chin in the air, fists balled at her side, and tell him exactly what she thought about those dirty hits. He was speechless. That was a whole different kind of inner strength, but inner strength, nonetheless.

Or the father who was screaming obscene names at Owen during a different game. Mattie marched right up to him and gave him a piece of her mind. I turned to the dad I was talking to at that time, and said, “I’m just going to let her handle this.” He responded, “I would. Looks like she’s got it under control.” She did. That man didn’t utter one more word in Owen’s direction the rest of the game. 

And, that’s completely Mattie. The first defender of her brothers coupled with the little girl who decided she’d find new friends if the old ones didn’t work out.

When I think back over the last 21 years and all we’ve been through, I realize one very important thing. My girl is resilient. She perseveres. She is still 100% that little girl who walked straight up to other kindergarteners and asked if they wanted to be her friend. But, she pulls no punches and she will not back down if the situation calls for that. She defends and she supports, especially the people she loves most. She is sugar AND she is spice all rolled up into one beautiful, fierce package. 

So, today, on her 21st birthday, I would like to wish my baby girl, Mattie Alexandra, a very happy birthday. I love you more than I could ever begin to say and I’m more proud of you than you’ll ever realize. I hope you continue to reach for the biggest stars and remember that no one can stop you when you put your mind to it.

I love you so very much, Mattie. Happy birthday! 

To Ryan

A year ago I never would have thought that meeting someone like Ryan was possible, but I listened to my dear friends, Jessica and Jen B, and I gave the whole online dating thing a try. I had been pretty content in the days and weeks leading up to taking the online dating plunge to tackle life solo. My kids and I live a pretty great life, and as I’ve said before, they all plan to live with me forever, so I figured my life would continue to consist of an endless stream of them and their friends, in and out of my house, feeding most of them chicken and noodles along the way, hearing about all their day-to-day drama, and thoroughly enjoying their company, antics, and humor. Being alone meant that I’d get to choose what I wanted to watch on TV and not have anyone looking over my shoulder. I could focus on my career and my friends. No jealousy. No one demanding my time and attention. There would be no one to argue with. No one to have to “work on it” with. And, I was pretty okay with all of that. But, after a whole lot of urging from those two gals, I decided to give online dating a whirl. Life’s short. Why not see what I was missing? 

It was kind of fun at first looking through the profiles, maybe taking screenshots of some of the more colorful ones, and giggling with my friends about them. I messaged with a few guys, and quickly realized that the whole thing was seriously AWFUL, and there were no promising prospects with the free, anonymous account.

At that point, I couldn't muster the courage to take the leap to post pictures. I just could not find the inner strength to put myself out there. People would KNOW that I was on an online dating site. They would think I was desperate. I wouldn't be able to survive that humiliation. So, I would whine daily to Jessica that there just weren't any great guys out there. Stick with it, upload your pictures, and pay for the subscription, Jessica told me. She promised me that's where it was at, and that even though it was scary that I'd find better options. After all, she had met her boyfriend on Match, and he was awesome so she was confident there were still great guys out there. So, I paid for the subscription, gritted my teeth, uploaded the pictures, and waited. 

It seemed like my luck went from bad to worse. 

I messaged with some guys, I got stood up, I was ghosted, I met one or two decent ones that for whatever the reason just didn’t pan out, and I met psychos that had unwritten rules that apparently I didn’t psychically know about. True story there. “Tom” wanted to write paragraph-long texts to me asking why I hadn’t known to text him the day before we were to go on a date. Sorry, Tom, we weren’t ready for paragraphs here. You’re deleted and blocked, buddy. No date for you. 

I was defeated and done. Give it one more try, Jessica and Jen told me. Jen was having the time of her life with online dating, and said I had to keep trying. She had met a great guy who she really thought could be the one. So, once again, I mustered my courage and I did give it another try, but not before, I asked all my ornery Facebook friends - all of you - to post something funny as a reply to one of my threads. You all may not realize, but over the last few years, when I’m feeling down I’ve asked you all to do that and you never disappoint. Like ever. I’m not sure where you find these things, but find them you do, and post them you must when I request it because they are my favorite posts ever, and to this day, I will read each and every one of them again and again when they come back up in my memories.

The next morning, exactly one year ago today, after I’d laughed at every crass thing you all replied with and you had pulled me out of my blues,  I stumbled upon Ryan’s Match profile. He was handsome, and I really liked the fact that he said he was looking for someone who is laid back and enjoys life. I’ve got those two things down to a science. There was the small problem of him living in the Quad Cities and me in central IL, but I figured that a detail like that could be worked out fairly easily and it was only like an hour and a half from my house. No problem! And, did I mention his age? There might be a slight difference in ours, but what’s age except a number? Right? Why not! I’ll give this one my last best effort. 

So I liked his profile, and almost immediately, he liked mine back. 

We were off to the races. 

I sent him a message right after that, he replied, and we have, at least, texted every day since. Little did I know a year ago, that I was embarking on a relationship with someone who was so similar to me in so many different, big and small ways, whose story was so similar to mine, that it would be like we were of one mind, at times. He was someone who was easy to talk to and who put me at ease immediately. From almost the beginning, we would text each other almost identical texts at the same time. I think I realized pretty quickly that the Universe had conspired to put each of us in the other’s path. I truly believe we were meant to meet and to be each other’s soft place to fall. And isn’t that what most people are looking for in a relationship? Finding someone who is your person? And the age thing? Turns out it wasn’t any bigger deal to him than it was to me. His exact words were “I’m okay with it if you are.” I was. 

About eight months after we started dating, Ryan and I went to STL so he could meet Angel. Over the years, Angel has been very vocal with me about my boyfriends and what she thought about them. The words “dump him” and “it’s not going to work” have come out of her mouth on more than a couple occasions, and though I’m stubborn and it generally takes me far longer to heed that advice than it should, she has never been wrong. About any of them. Not once. Ryan and I had been in STL for less than 24 hours when Angel pulled me aside and said, “He’s a keeper. This is the one.” 
The thing is that I already knew it before she said it. He is awesome, and I don’t intend on letting him go. He is definitely a keeper. 

So.

On the anniversary of the day our profiles matched, I’d like to say happy anniversary to my handsome, Ryan. You treat me better than I deserve, and you are more than I ever thought possible. You have lifted my spirits and shown me that having a lifetime of memories with you is a dream come true. A dream I didn’t even know was possible and one I almost missed with my generally fierce independence. Every thing each of us has been through has pointed us in the direction of each other and for that I am exceedingly grateful. Thank you for all you have done and continue to do for me and my family. I said in the beginning that I’d just keep talking if you’d just continue to act interested in what I had to say. To this day, you continue to do that. I rattle on with every random thought that comes to my mind (like now), and you listen, smile and offer up your opinion on my ramblings. To steal a line from my mom, you are the most selfless, giving man I have ever met. I thank my lucky stars that we found each other and that I listened to Jen and Jessica and gave it one more try. Otherwise, we never would have met, and I can’t imagine Life without you.

I love you, Ryan. Happy anniversary, sweetheart. Here’s to many, many more to come. 

Lucy Got It Right

I’m not funny. What I am is brave. -Lucille Ball

Lucy meant that her comedic talents didn’t come from a place of being funny per se, but from a place of being vulnerable and facing the possibility of rejection. 

But, it has always meant something a bit different to me.

Allow me to explain.

When I was a child, my dad died. He went to work one day and he didn’t come home. 

He was 47; I was 5.

Nothing at all funny about that. I don’t talk about his death much for one main reason. It makes most people uncomfortable. 

Particularly a tragedy like that.

You try telling someone that your dad died because more than 4000 volts of electricity from the 950B strip mining shovel he was working on arced to the welding rods in his back pocket. Or, that his friends and co-workers tried to resuscitate him. Or, that the ambulance got lost on the unmapped, man-made roads for the mine on the way to get him. Or, that it wouldn’t have made a difference even if they had gotten directly to him. Or, that you remember every detail of your mom sitting you down and telling you that something had happened to daddy and he wasn’t coming home again. Or, any of the other details burned into your five-year-old brain from that day or the days following. His funeral. Sitting with your cousin outside the closed funeral home doors with your babysitter because neither of you were allowed to see him because bodies that sustain that type of trauma don’t look like they normally would and your mom didn’t want you to remember him that way. Watching your grandma walk out of the funeral service, through the closed doors crying like you’d never seen anyone else cry before or since. The graveside service, sitting in the limo with your mom and uncle. The funeral director plucking a rose from the bouquet on his casket and bringing it back to give to you. A rose you still have pressed in a book somewhere. The family and friends at your house after the services. Your cat - his cat, Figaro - getting spooked and bolting out the door, only to return later when things had calmed down. 

Try carrying that story and those memories around with you when your age hasn’t even come close to hitting double digits. Imagine explaining that to people who have no idea how to respond. 

Simply put. Most people don’t have the first idea how to handle that kind of information. 

I get it. More than you realize. 

From the time my dad died, my mom explained to me what happened to him. 

Exactly. 

She sugarcoated nothing. She is nothing if not a realist. That’s ok with me and always has been. I’m a realist, too, and I sugarcoat nothing. Just ask my kids. 

But, she waited until I was much older - only a few years ago - to give me the paperwork from the investigation into his death. I’m glad she waited. I wasn’t ready to see any of that until I became an adult. The interesting thing was that she gave it to me at a time when my personal life was falling down around me although she didn't know that at the time. 

So, I waited, too. 

I waited to read all the details of what had happened to him. One day when I was feeling particularly low and didn’t think that Life could get much worse, I finally did take the paperwork down from the box on the top shelf of my closet and sat on the floor with my back pressed against my closet door so I wouldn’t be disturbed and I read everything. I read the report by the mine’s safety inspector who would years later become my stepdad. I read letters from attorneys. I read sympathy cards from friends and relatives and people I didn’t know. I read the statements from eye witnesses - my dad’s coworkers and friends. I read the autopsy report. 

And, I cried. I cried a lot. Not for me or for him, but for the men who had been there and witnessed it. For the men who tried to help but couldn’t. For the men who lined Graham Hospital’s waiting room hoping that by some miracle he had survived. For the men who must have suffered all these years with the memory of that awful day. I cannot begin to fathom what that must have been like for them.

As I grew up and the story of his death became my story, I always felt a certain amount of trepidation if I ever dared to talk about what happened. From early on, I knew it upset most people, but I wanted others to know that I had a dad and I didn’t want him to be forgotten. I wanted to show that I could bravely tell his story. And, so I sometimes tried to tell the people closest to me about my dad and what had happened to him. Some were sympathetic. Others treated me like I was seeking sympathy and attention. It was that latter group that made me feel ashamed. 

Ashamed that my story was different and uncomfortable and complicated. And, ashamed because I couldn’t wrap it up with a neat, little happy ending. It’s not an easy story for people to hear, and it can stop a conversation mid-sentence. But, I get it, and it’s ok. It’s hard to know how to respond. There’s no rule book for how to handle tragedy. Especially tragedy that isn’t your own. 

Tragedy is a strange catalyst though. Over the years, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and my theory is this. Tragedy can do one of two things: it can harden you or it can open your eyes to the world. 

And, that’s the funny part. 

Some of the funniest people I know have dealt with some of the biggest tragedies. Divorce. Losing a job. Losing a parent. Losing a child. Financial ruin. Dealing with a loved one’s addiction. Terminal illness. Suicide. And, every other life-changing tragedy in between.

But, tragedy, in a way, is a gift. It teaches you empathy. It teaches you compassion. And, in the best of cases, it teaches you to see the humor in things because when you’ve seen the absolute worst of Life, I think you begin to understand that the worst of times must pass. 

Go to therapy and sit in the pain. Work through it. By all means, do not ignore the tragedy. Don’t try to mask your pain with a smile when you feel anything but cheerful or a substance to numb yourself to fill the void. But, when it comes right down to it, you don’t have to take up permanent residence in the pain.

Tragedy can teach you to see the silver lining. It can teach you that during life’s biggest storms the clouds will eventually part and the sun will shine again. It can teach you to persevere. It can teach you to be resilient. And, it can teach you to look for that tiny sparkle of hope, no matter how small, even when the world is falling down around you. It can teach you that if you cannot find the light then be the damned light. Spread happiness everywhere because it is a whole lot more fun to bring a smile to someone’s face than to make them uncomfortable. 

After my dad died, it was just my mom and I and a big gaping hole where his presence used to be. My mom has been asked before how she dealt with the devastation of it all. Her answer was and still is perfect. She has said that she pulled herself up by her bootstraps and she carried on because she had five-year-old me depending on her. 

I guess I was her ray of light. Her hope. Her choice. Simple as that. You take a deep breath and you keep putting one foot in front of the other and looking for the glimmer along the way. 

Many years later when I faced a personal tragedy as an adult, I finally understood what she meant. I did not behave as gracefully as she did, but I eventually took a deep breath and carried on because I have three humans whose spark lit my way. They were and continue to be my hope. My purpose. My choice to fight on.

The people I know who have been touched by the biggest tragedies know to do that. They know to keep on keeping on. They do it with grace and beauty. They bring joy and light in the darkness.

They are brave. And, they are funny.

It may not have been what Lucy meant, but that’s what it will always mean to me.