Smiley Face

As many of you may have seen, I recently changed my facebook profile photo to a very young and very smiley Connor.

Connor did not smile in the traditional sense very often. So when it happened in front of you, it felt like the clouds had parted and sunshine was streaming all over your heart. He didn't have a lot of really dramatic facial expressions, so this one was always so huge in intent it just made life amazing.  As he grew, it became harder to make him smile. The guaranteed smile-inducer was to bounce him, big time, on a bed or sofa. If you went on long enough, he's also laugh, another thing that rarely happened. As he grew, it became really hard to safely bounce him.

I miss that little chuckle.

One thing I've found out recently from his brothers, though, is that in their minds, he was always smiling. I showed them the photo, and they said, "Yeah, Mom, of course he was smiling," as though it was a daily occurrence and I was crazytown.

I am not crazytown. But I love that in their minds, this was his norm.

Then yesterday, I received a card from the parents of one of his former classmates (and her mom), and it was so touching. I opened the card, and written in childish handwriting at the bottom of the card was this: We remember Connor! Love from (name redacted) (but it was his classmate). Her mother had traced out the letters and his former classmate had written them herself. This student LOOOOOOOOOOVED Connor.  I mean, the showers of love he got daily from her made the notes in his book most days. When she moved up to another school, we wondered how they would both do as they were in effect besties. I miss seeing her smiling face, and remember being in class with him and her constant and devoted attention to him. I think she would have done everything for him - fed him, given him something to drink, helped him with his school work.

I am thrilled to see that she's learning some writing, even if it's still with support.  We can do a lot with support. Look at me, remaining a functioning human being thanks to the support from all y'all, even in this horrible month of February.

So I'll wrap this up with another smile from Mr. Personality. See how alight his face is! THIS is what I remember and miss the most...those brief seconds when we connected in joy.

Anniversary

It's back. That dreaded day is back.

I spent the weekend with my family, enjoying where we grew up and watching a new life unfold onstage in the form of my mother's latest "baby." It was a lovely way to spend the weekend.

But today still came. I woke up. I read in bed. I got up right around the same time as I did two years ago. But today is different, of course. Today, I didn't have to rush down the stairs when Lee came to tell me what he's discovered.  But he is at the forefront of my mind. I drank a cup of coffee and thought about him. I moved the laundry along and thought about him.  Etcetera ad nauseum.

And so I've been contemplating all the wondrous ways you all reached out to me (and us) on this day and in the days after. As I closed my dresser drawer having pulled out some clothes for today, about 3 sweet seconds of music box tinkling occurred.

I don't have a music box. I opened and closed the drawer again. No response. I looked through the drawers a bit in case there was something in there that would produce that. Nothing.

So he sent me a song, and I treasure it. Rest on, little man.

Because it's DULL, you twit. It'll hurt more.

This week has not been kind to keen artists from Britain who are 69 and who secretly had cancer. This week officially TOOK away some pure creative geniuses.

My reaction when I woke up, awfully early, on Monday morning when I saw the news on David Bowie was a surprised "Oh, my God!"

This morning, after getting up awfully early again (it's been a busy week, professionally), I settled into the driver's seat of my car and before I could do anything but pull the English muffin out of my pocket to eat (foreshadowing???) my phone chimed with a text message. I hit the screen and read "Just heard snape died..." from my best friend.

I sat there, and just chanted, "No! No, no, no, no, no!"  Left the breakfast on my lap, which bled butter into my newly cleaned trousers. So much for a professional appearance. (I later determined that Alan was telling me it was time to replace those 15-year old trousers. And because he is British they were trousers, of course.) I called Lee, reported this, and headed out. Things had to get done. I couldn't sit around and bemoan the loss of someone I don't even know, nor would have ever had the chance or circumstance to meet.

So here's the thing...when I think of him of course I think Severus Snape. I love Harry Potter. I loved reading the books, and when they said that Alan Rickman would be playing Professor Snape I had such hope for the films, and the whole series was perfect. You can't convince me otherwise, so please don't waste time trying.

When I was 16, my sister Shannon and her bestie Sarah and I used to go see movies all the time. When they were home from college, a call would come from Sarah, "Hey, this amazing/stupid/creepy/whatever film is playing. Let's go!" and Shannon and I would peel out of our house, screech to a stop briefly in front of Sarah's, and then practically Italian Job park in the movie theater parking lot. Sarah called one day and said, "Truly Madly Deeply - let's do this." So we did. It was the first work I'd seen of Alan Rickman's. (Of note - I didn't see Die Hard until much later - just not my thing as a teenager) If you haven't seen this film, do so if you can. It's lovely.

Then a year later, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves came out.  I was 17.  I saw it 5 times in the theater. You can judge all you want. I was SEVENTEEN. And whenever I saw Alan Rickman, from that year until he became Snape, when I saw him I would occasionally say when someone referenced a spoon, "Why a spoon, counsin?"  I really wanted the other person in the conversation to Alan Rickman me.  I don't know why. I'm weird. Who cares?  Either way, I loved it especially when they would say the whole response, "Because it's DULL, you twit. It'll hurt more. Now sew! And keep the stitches small."

Then Sense & Sensibility. Then Love, Actually. Then all the roles. And then Snape. To take on a character reviled for almost 4200 pages of the series, only to find out at the end his true motivation was love, and to work so closely with the author to relay that spirit and that resolve and remain an enigma to the very end? Genius, people.

Drew recently finished the series. I will be telling him when I pick him up from school. Snape belongs to him and me. Lee hasn't read the books, and Tucker only knows Snape as a bad guy. This is our thing.

As I chewed on this in the back of my mind today, I began to think about the artists we lost this week. They were both sublimely talented and multi-faceted. Then I thought more...aren't we all multi-faceted? Doesn't the loss of two well-known artists call to us to remember that we all have talents, and sharing them is the BEST way to relate to people? To make connections? To last in this world?

Be your art. Let it come out of you. GIVE it, to counteract the taking of them. Don't stop. Alan, and David, and all the others whose work moves you will celebrate.

A little gift

On Christmas morning, we had the traditional raucous early morning shenanigans with the boys. Joy was delivered. Fun was delivered. 

When the dust settled some, Lee went out to ride his bike, the boys spread out to build new Lego sets and play new video games, and Lee's parents headed to our next destination, Richmond. I sat in my pjs in the living room, drinking coffee and contemplating Christmas, and in my peripheral vision I saw an ornament fall off the tree and float down. It was a school special - foam casing and holiday photo, so no breaking occurred.

It was the last Christmas ornament made by Connor which fell. In it, he is wearing a Santa hat and beard.

I carefully picked it back up, said hello and Merry Christmas, and put him back on the tree. Then I sat back down and contemplated visits from heaven, and was overwhelmed with all the feelings one should have when your windless living room has an ornament fall off a tree when I am there, and sipped my coffee and managed not to cry.

Overall, it was a magical Christmas.

Happy Jackaversary!

A year ago, we were approved to adopt a dog. We emailed the foster family, and got back an email once we set a time that said, "I'll pack up his food and find the shark."

I mean, could this dog be ANY more suited to our family. He loves sharks, like Lee! The first weekend was a raucous and joyful time, and at the end of each day he curled up on the sofa, exhausted from learning his new home.  

We've given him a bunch of nicknames this year.  Here's a brief list:

Fortypaws

Commodore Snorington

The Pooh

Jackie-poo

Within the first week, he managed to open the garbage and consume a chicken carcass and then get stuck under the deck, in the dark.  Now we always take the garbage out as soon as dinner is done when we have a rotisserie chicken, and we have a lock on the cabinet where the trash is. And he remembers not to clamber under the deck

Also within the first week, he snookered us into letting him sleep on the bed with us. Very occasionally, he sleeps with one of the boys, but most nights he's curled up at my feet, and when I wake up in the morning he has stretched up alongside me. He goes out, but then comes back up and snuggles with me, as if he knows that getting up in the morning is always the hardest thing I have to do every day. I can coast once the day starts, but getting out of bed, facing that I have to get through another day when I'm just not feeling it. He puts his head on my chest and looks at me like I am the greatest thing he has ever seen (including a chicken carcass.) He is my dog. Our prior dog, Shadow, was Lee's dog, despite me being the one who adopted her. Jack picks me, every time. I very selfishly love it.

We have an unknown number of years left with this dog, who is energetic and sweet and gentle and snuggly and a scavenger and smart and an absolute perfect fit. We're going to make every single moment of those years count. Someday, I'll be laying my head on his chest, and looking at him like he is the greatest thing I have ever seen, because he will be old, and frail, and fading, and I need him to know that he helped us become stronger as a family when life was really, really rough. 

Anchors

Sometimes, if you think about it, the world is a pretty tumultuous place. I mean, we are barraged nowadays with bad news. Paris. San Bernadino. Politicians attacking citizens, Americans, because of their faith.  It's easy to feel rolled over.

This past weekend, I headed out to sit around and watch movies and commiserate with one of my oldest friends. She's an anchor to me, and as I drove the three hours home I started thinking about anchors as a positive thing. Because if you are really, really lucky, like a large ship or even a supertanker, you have multiple anchors. When you need those anchors, you reallyneed them. They steady you in the storm, and keep you from getting as battered as you would if you were bobbing along.

So with all the tumult going on, let's remember where our anchors are, and let them know we are their anchors as well.  The parent or parents you rely on. The siblings you don't live with or near any more. The friends in your particular village. The friends from your history who remember who you were and how you got to where you are.

Find your anchors and take care of them.

Baptism

Recently I had something of an epiphany. Some of my friends are religious, some are not. Lee and I aren't particularly religious, but I think it's fair to say that I am more spiritual and faith-interested than he is. When we were expecting Connor, I wanted to join a church so we could have him baptized. Long story short - we joined a church, a Lutheran church where we liked the pastor.

Now see, in my family, baptism was an early-in-life event. We have a baptismal gown that came from my side, and I wanted my son to wear it, which required a certain timeline to be established. We picked a day that worked for the church about 6 weeks after Connor's birth, ensuring he would still fit the gown. We made all the arrangements. Family, godparents, friends joined us at the regular service and he was baptized. At the end of the service, he was paraded up and down in the arms of the pastor to be greeted into the church, which I liked very much. Afterwards, almost every person in the church came over and touched him, greeted us, etc.

EVERYONE TOUCHED HIM. And a few days after all those people touched him, he developed a fever, his first.

I called the pediatrician's office, and they scheduled us to come in that evening. The senior member of the practice saw us and checked him out, and he said, "Anything else?" I thought about it, and then said, "You know...he did this really weird thing a few days ago..." and proceeded to describe a seizure to the doctor. He thought for a moment, then said, "You know, that's not normal. I think I'll ask them to do an EEG while you are at the hospital." We had assumed they would tell us to go home and give him baby Tylenol, so I was surprised that we were headed to the ER instead. Babies that young they don't mess around. They sent him to the ER to ensure he didn't have meningitis. So off we went, spent several days at the hospital, but never managed that EEG.  We had to go back, about 4 weeks later, for that appointment. In those 4 weeks, Connor changed dramatically and was mostly unresponsive to us. The test only confirmed what was essentially known in our hearts.

And I was so mad at that first visit to the hospital. What was wrong with me? Why had I let all those people touch him? Breathe on him? I hadn't protected him; I had let him down.

Now almost 12 years in the future, I realize that his baptism extended his life enormously. What if he hadn't gotten sick then, and the doctor hadn't thrown in that open-ended...anything else? Had we not intervened so early in his life, the likelihood that his body would have been so consumed with the seizures that their initial expectations of less than one year would have been most likely to be correct.

Having Connor baptized there kept him with us. And I have forgiven myself for letting everyone touch him.  I would gladly spend another 4 days in the hospital in exchange for the extra days I had to spend with him.

But I still waited until Drew and Tucker were 6 months old (or more) before having them baptized. I'm sad that they couldn't wear the family gown, but that sadness is outweighed by their good health.