Author: Spilling The Beans

Camp- Blair’s Perspective

Spilling The Beans

In 2010 my family and I went out to dinner. It was one of my last nights before I left to go to sleep-away camp. I didn’t end up going to camp until I was 12. (I don’t know if you can tell but on this blog I am very attached to my mom and dad). After dinner we decided to walk around some stores, in this one store I absolutely fell in love with this stuffed animal. It was a soft monkey that was pink with different colored flowers. I begged my mom for the monkey, in basic mom fashion she said “no you already have too many stuffed animals.” A few days later I headed to camp on the bus!

I arrived at the “blow-dryer” camp as my mom likes to call it. I was in the cabin unpacking with my other bunkmates. I opened my first big black duffel bag, that had neon green printed writing BLAIR BEAN to a very sweet surprise. I got the monkey!!! The monkey I wanted that my mom said I couldn’t have was waiting there in my duffel with a tiny note. I took the note and hung it on my bed. I named the monkey Cam like camp but without the P. This is one of the nicest things I can remember my mom doing for me. Not to mention my amazing packages. I carried Cam around all Summer and I have taken her with me to every camp year since.

I look back on my camp journey and although I only attended camp for a couple years it has been a huge game changer in my life. Camp over the years has been amazing yet also very hard. The first camp I went to the “blow-dryer” camp wasn’t the camp for me. I didn’t feel like I fit in with the girls even though some I knew since kindergarten. My mom thought since I was on the more high maintenance side that going to a more “luxurious” camp would be better. The next year I decided to attend camp with some other girls from my school and this time there was no electricity, two back countries and, the camp was way bigger. I loved this hardcore life! I also loved getting packages, I loved seeing my brother at camp and I loved my counselors. My biggest regret is not attending camp earlier.

For me though camp has been a lot to process, surprisingly. Thinking about camp truly takes a huge toll on me. I think about a very special counselor who is no longer with us on this earth. I think about the time they asked us if my brother and I were twins. My brother loved them (and so did I). They gave my brother his camp nickname Cool Beans. As I got older I worked at a different Summer camp it was okay but not my home. Right before I left for that camp I met my old camp counselors sibling, the one that passed away. After that interaction I could not imagine what it would be like to lose a brother myself. I use to think I had an over active imagination, it wasn’t until the last Shabbat of camp in 2018 though that I could not stop crying. I was at Shabbat services and I stepped out of the room and called my mom who was on a trip with my brother at the time. I couldn’t make clear sentences and I kept saying “Mom, Ethan!’’ She said everything was fine and about forty five minutes later I kept crying. In my head I was picturing a txt message from my dad about my brother passing away. The night went on, camp had ended and then about 2 weeks later my brother passed on. That is exactly how I found out he passed away, with a txt from my dad. A few years later I learned there is a difference between a Divine thought and a thought. There’s been a lot to process the last few years about camp and a lot of intertwining I did with my camp counselors passing and with my brothers passing.

I have felt a lot of feelings about this but my camp friends who I confided in assured me that I was not crazy and anyone who was in my situation would have a lot to process about camp too. Today, I realize how interesting it is that my mom and I both experienced loss after Summer camp. Today I look back on my relationships and know that my three closest friends that I’ve made are from camp. Today I have such a huge passion for camp that I have done independent research on Summer camp in college. Today, I am thinking about the endless memories of camp, the family fun days, the frozen lemonade by the lake, my monkey Cam and of course Legally Blair.

Camp- Stacey’s Perspective

Spilling The Beans

Every Summer as I see people post pictures on social media of their kids leaving for camp I am reminded of my camp journey and how deep it truly goes. At first, I went to sleepover camp for three weeks and I cried every single day of homesickness. At the first camp I went to roughing it was not my cup of tea, but I roughed it and left with souvenirs like bug bites and scabs. I found out later from my dad that the first year my mom actually drove up to camp one day with an extra blanket and she was told it wasn’t a great idea. My dad said my mom cried and missed me too. I really needed a camp that I now call a  “blow dryer camp.” A camp with some more amenities, the modern conveniences.

After that I went to a camp which checked off all my boxes as a blow dryer camp. I really could bring my blow dryer this time. In my day though the best part of camp were “care packages” which consisted of candy that you had to hide, magazines, comics, mad libs, and wait did I say candy? I got a package that had a lemon Jolly Rancher stick. Yes, back then they came in both sticks and individual pieces. The flavors of choice were watermelon, cherry, strawberry, or apple. All my friends were getting the good flavors and I couldn’t believe I was getting the lemon yellow flavor. My mom’s handwriting, which was usually very pretty, was a little off too. Something seemed strange.

I wrote a letter saying what’s going on? What aren’t you telling me? When it was time to go home, my mom was usually the first one waiting for me to get off the bus. This year (1976) I couldn’t see her. When I got off the bus, my dad and nana said my mom had been in the hospital and they would take me right there. We drove to the hospital and their I saw my mom right after camp. I remember my dad and nana gave us privacy and I sat on her lap and talked about everything while she laid in her hospital bed. She said she would go home soon. She seemed to be okay. The following week my mom and I were alone in her hospital room and I didn’t know what happened but she couldn’t breathe so I ran to get help. I remember hearing Code Blue or Code Red, I think it could be Blue. Whatever it was I can’t remember right now living this trauma over again. After that she was in ICU until she passed away Sept 13th.

Enter my kids. Blair did not go to sleep over camp until she was 11. As you can tell her and I were/ are attached at the hip and I am not sure she wanted to leave me. She finally decided to go to camp and I sent her to a camp that checked off the list as a blow dryer camp thinking she needed more amenities like me. Guess what? Silly me… she didn’t like it. The next year I sent her to a camp where they really roughed it. And she loved it. I was shocked. Although they loved camp, every time Blair or Ethan would get on the bus I would put my sun glasses on and just sob. I always ran screaming their names as the buses would pull away and then cry and miss them everyday until they came home. Then I wished they were back at camp. The idea of sending my kids to camp was hard with knowing that my mom passed away when I came home but I know camp was the best thing for them.

Always Dancing In The Moonlight With You

Spilling The Beans

We were always listening to the classic 60’s and 70s songs growing up in my dad’s car. If my dad had it his way we would also be listening to the 50’s too, but my mom put her foot down on that one because she didn’t want the kids at school to think we were weird (I say too late on that one). One may say my dad is stuck in the 70s, with my mom. (They are stuck together and it is a total time warp in our house sometimes and I am stuck in it too.) However, I am grateful for this culture and one of my favorite songs growing up has been Dancing In the Moonlight by King Harvest, the 1973 classic. This song was always on repeat in my Dad’s car and his ‘63 Grand Prix, named Trixie. This song really resonates with me and will always remind me of my past, present and future relationship with my dad. This is my dad. 

My dad has truly been so fun between going all out on halloween every year, growing up my personal favorite was Willy Wonka to making up games with me at the park. Whenever I would take a bath I had my very own spa entertainment of the Hokey Pokey and the Rubber Duckie song from Sesame Street. When my mom worked full time my dad stepped up to the plate and made sure my hair was blown out after bath time and my nails were cut and would also dabble with the pigtails in the morning. We always watched all the old television shows like Partridge Family and Family Affair. My dad would always watch my made up Broadway performances in my room of me singing A Chorus Line. Over the years he was very inventive one time he made my brother a Hot Wheels car garage on the computer using a shoebox and I decided I wanted something too, so he made me a pet store for my Littlest Pet Shop. 

Over the years my dad has been my voice of reason, my editor in chief on a multitude of essays, my personal photographer and someone there to call if needed. I know for a fact that I lucked out in the dad department, especially after I tell you this story. In middle school when the girls I was friends with were giving me a hard time and I they decided that I could not eat lunch with them anymore my dad picked me up Olgas my favorite restaurant signed me out of school and together I ate my lunch in his Ford Fusion in the school parking lot until lunch was over and he signed me back in. 

So relating back to the song Dancing in the Moonlight. This is the song I have chosen for my dad and I to celebrate, remember and cultivate our future relationship. I imagine us dancing to it at my wedding. I also imagine him playing it for all 19 of his grandchildren (winky-face, I do not want 19 kids). I also will always remember our memories in the old car, or listening to it while he picked me up from school. My dad will always be the shoulder to cry on, my editor in chief and the best dad to me in the world. Although his son passed away he wakes up everyday with a smile ready to contribute to the world. Even when I do not want to make small talk, or am not a morning person please know I love you so much! I do count my blessings everyday that I have him as a dad. Ethan and I both lucked out. Happy Fathers Day to all the dads out there but especially mine. Thank You!

Get Your Honey Roasted… The Series

Spilling The Beans

This series post we are writing together. Everyone knows that we  have a special bond. We are each other’s worst enemy and best friend all in one. We are very clicky in our home for this exact reason, sorry to everyone else (dad). We always have laughs and make jokes in my family. We are each others very own in home entertainment. Who needs cable anyways? Ever since I was little this has been our relationship with the jokes. It all started when my mom illegally dumps and it also all started when I started profusely cleaning the house. (what else am I supposed to do in my spare time anyways?) 

I love the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. I really just vibe with her character and have mega New York energy. So for my last birthday my mom decided to make that the theme (you know for Covid birthdays). For my birthday I got the Marvelous Mrs Maisel game of Life, her famous black gloves and a surprise microphone. All a surprise! My mom said “we want you to do comedy for us with the microphone?” Everyone always asks me to make jokes, since I am told I am funny. I have never done actual comedy. I am very shy but I thought “ok I will give it a shot tonight.” That night as already planned I had a few friends come over for a socially distant cupcake celebration and… The Marvelous Ms.Bean opened her very own downtown Greenwich village gaslight club.

The only jokes I felt I could actually make at that time were about my mom. I mean she did ask me to do comedy? So she basically asked for this, I thought she would not mind being the center of my first actual joke. This could be easy because we make jokes about each other everyday. I did not want to be mean and so thus the idea of the honey roast came to be. My jokes are meant to be taken with sweet and best intentions. Although some may say they punch you in the core. Our relationship with joking is pure entertainment and love,I think what we both have in common is that roasting is one of our love languages. 

So at the Honey Roast birthday celebration I took out my phone. You see I have a running list of Stacey/mom traits. The little things that piss me off  and of course the things I want to remember her for. I hope you all know my mom and I have a very dark sense of humor and so in real life I call this my eulogy list. I began to go on with the real  illegal dumping. Ever since I can remember my mom has illegally dumped. She knows all her friends’ trash days and on Mondays and Tuesdays we cannot have any trash in the house. They say I am the one with the cleaning problem? My mom is huge on taste testing and making brand new concoctions. Mixing salad dressings. She for the last 10 years has been hung up on this one salad dressing from this restaurant called Marios and always tries to replicate it and just cannot. It is like plankton trying to get the krabby patty formula. (That is for you Ethan, spongebob reference.) 

The next item on my list is the angel mugs. My mom never uses a travel mug and in her car every morning carries 100 degree coffee in an open mug (well she used to anyways). They don’t even fit the cup holder and I have discovered they are not angels but they are baby gymnasts. One time I got in her car and there was all this brown stuff in the cup holder and I said “mom you spilt your coffee again?” “No that’s melted chocolate” and then I said “oh yeah that’s any better.”  Hence once again why I am a cleaning fanatic. Another antic of my mother is she is in three book clubs. She always says “I can’t talk right now, I have 400 pages left of my book and the meeting is tomorrow.” So overall the list goes on and on, not to mention she picked the worst family movies. We revoked her movie picking privileges after the Hatchi incident. So even though the first time we had an official honey roast in September as I am always the Marvelous Ms. Bean every day. In our house with each other everyday is a Honey Roast. This is who we are and this is why we love each other. Don’t worry I need to be honey roasted as well now stay tuned for Part 2 of the Honey Roast series. 

Mothers Day Compilation

Spilling The Beans

Each Day leading up to Mothers Day week we wanted to take some time to remember moms who passed away when their children were young on our social media platforms, moms who are physically missing major milestones in their children’s lives. Although a made up Hallmark holiday Mothers Day is a difficult day for those that have lost their moms especially young. We are so grateful to those that have wanted to share with us and we hope this brings a community grief awareness and lets others know that they are not alone. This is what Spilling the Beans is all about.

Nikki and Lindsay

“Our mom was the best person to be around. She was always laughing, smiling, and talking to whoever was around. She could make friends with anyone and everyone and even introduced us to our now best friend by befriending her mom at the camp bus stop. She was also the life of every party, dancing until the lights turned on. People would even joke that she should be an adult startrax dancer at bar and bat mitzvahs. On top of everything, she was an amazing mom. She supported us in everything we did and also pushed for us to be the best we could be. She was not only our mom, but our best friend. Our fondest memories with our mom include laying out at our pool all weekend in the summers, spending hours at the mall looking for the best sales, and curling up on the couch to watch our favorite tv shows.”

Alyah

“I always felt like my mom had lived so many lives before I was born, so it also felt unfair when my life with her was cut short. She was a daughter, a sister, a friend, a student, a camper, a concert goer, a protester, an advocate, a teacher, a volunteer, my mom and now my angel.”

Rachel

“For what must have been my 6th or 7th birthday, I had an outer space themed party at our house. My dad dressed up in an alien costume for all my friends!! And my mom made all alien desserts – there was a green cake and donut holes covered in green frosting with licorice antennas and, I think, m&m eyes. I have vague memories of her preparing the dessert in our childhood kitchen. My mom truly made that sleepover birthday party “out of this world”. People often share with me how nice my mom was… I think I am now remembering that she was creative too. I think some of my creativity comes from my mom and that makes me feel connected to her. My mom used her creativity to make me feel special and I want to use my creativity to make others feel special too. Happy Mother’s Day in Heaven, Mom!”

Michelle

“Hello, I’m Michelle and I lost my mother to brain cancer when I was 17 years old. Even though brain cancer killed her. She never let it defy her. She fought to the end to fight it for herself and her family. My mom was one of the most considerate person ever and was friendly to all. She was the best mom, friend, and wife ever and she is missed by all. She was so many things to be but she was my TV buddy. We had the same taste as did my dad and sister. Now I get out numbered when we’re all together. Losing my mom so young has affected me in many ways and overall I do well but some days can be harder than others. Mother’s Day is hard every year. On that day, I cannot even log on to social media due to everyone’s Mother’s Day post.”

Owen

“To the rest of the world, my mother, Cass Elliot, was a rock star. Dressed in her custom-made Muumuu’s, and her fantastic Cartier and Tiffany jewelry, she was rock and roll royalty. Mama Cass was the charismatic, wise-cracking, internationally beloved singer in the Mamas and the Papas, the iconic band inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1998. To me, she was just Mom. When a small child loses a parent, it changes who you are. You treasure everything, even the seemingly everyday mundane items. The things we choose to keep are almost silly, like my mother’s old 70’s style eyeglasses with tulips and daisies on them. I have a bizarre collection of my mother’s possessions, both those that are significant to others, and some that are significant only to me. Everything means something.I was seven when she died, and the memories that I have are few. The ones that I have a precious to me, and I savor each and every one of them like small treasures to be kept. I miss her every day of my life, on some more than others… the births of both my children were huge moments in which I wished for her to be able to be with us and see her grandchildren grow. Although she wasn’t here physically on this plain, I know she was here with me on a psychic level. My 22 year old daughter is the spitting image of the grandmother that she never knew, so the connections go on today. Our souls are forever connected, no matter where our physical bodies reside…”

Wrapping it up we are so grateful to all those that have spilled their beans and we hope that these memories have provided some comfort. Wishing everyone a Happy Mothers Day in our hearts. XOXO

You and Me Against The World

You and Me Against The World

Spilling The Beans

Mothers Day is hard even though it’s a Hallmark holiday, let me tell you a hard one. After losing my mom I used to get so jealous and show resentment of those that had their mom. I always used to tell Blair when she was a little girl that all in all I may have only had my mom Barbara for twelve years, but having my mom, I was grateful. I was given unconditional love, she taught and showed me so much in such little time. 

When I meet my friends moms and other moms in general I used to be jealous but as time went on I learned all moms are not equal. My mom was the perfect mom for me. I learned that there are moms who yell, who scream, who lie, who cheat and steal. Who love bomb and use manipulation tactics. This for me rings true especially knowing what a true bad mom is after having my step monster and then my true genuine mother. I know there are many moms out there like this. I feel so awful for those that don’t have a good mom. I know we shouldn’t judge other moms out there but I don’t want to pretend that bad moms don’t exist. My mom gave me my own autonomy. 

They say you chose your parents as a soul and I am so happy I chose my mommy. My mom was 21 when she had me, and I am not sure our boundaries were quite aligned because she was so young.  One of my favorite stories is getting on her and her singing the children’s classic There Is A Monkey On My Back… On My Back. We would watch the television show Soul Train together. We would do lots of crafts on Saturdays, all the Decoupage, puzzles, paint by numbers, wax on bottles. My mom had a knack for cooking and loved it too. If something wasn’t right she would throw it out and start again. She instilled my palette, at a young age I liked artichokes, lobster, Duck, (oh wow I am hungry just thinking about it). We would sit down to an appetizer salad course dinner and then dessert. She loved entertaining for holidays. I guess that’s where I get that from. 

She was a quick thinker, one day she knew I was bothering our dog. So my mom asked what I did to the dog, and I said nothing of course. My mom knew how to motivate me with her tricks. She said “Stacey, I’m going to take the dog to the vet and he can talk to the animal like Dr. Dolittle.” I remember being scared and saying “I just shocked him a little” meaning choked. My mom had many friends and people tell me how smart she was and whatever she did she did so well. In our little time together so many memories were made for an eternity and not a minute goes by that I don’t think about my beautiful mom. 

Whenever Blair and I get into an argument I always feel like I don’t know how to be a mom to a teenager or to a young adult. Being a mom is hard but Blair assures me I do know how. I am a mom by showing unconditional true love in its purest form. I know how to be a mom because I am not controlling and let Blair make her own decisions. It’s always been my mom and I against the world and now it is my daughter and I against the world. You know the Helen Reddy song?  So this Mothers Day and every Mothers day moving forward we are going to love each other in its purest form remember my mom and make lasting memories for all eternity.

Self Portrait: A Reflection of Insensitivity

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A few months ago I was binge watching the Queen’s Gambit. No spoilers here but there is one scene since watching it all the way through twice that has really stuck with me. When she was having her first interview, the reporter brought up the idea of Beth having Apophenia. The reporter states “psychosis and creativity go hand in hand.” Those words haunt me, in a good way. Apophenia means you have a heightened sense to find patterns. When I was doing further research on this I learned that Apophenia is sometimes the beginning stage of schizophrenia. We see early on that having Apophenia did not stop Beth from being the astounding Chess player she was, in fact it may have given her a one up in the tournaments. Of course there wasn’t an official diagnosis and it is a Netflix show. 

Some people have asked invasive questions about my brother. “What medication was he on?” “What was his diagnosis?” “What method did he choose to kill himself.” “Did he have bipolar disorder?” Getting back to the Queen’s Gambit the show struck me right when it did. I usually don’t let these invasive questions or comments bother me. When I was watching the Queen’s Gambit it was almost perfect timing because I had heard the most insensitive of all comments. “Be careful having children because mental illness from your brother is hereditary.” This takes a bee sting to a whole new level. I mean if someone has allergies, cancer, a heart condition, should they not have kids? This comment has really been a challenge for me to cope with, I will not lie. 

When I was processing this I was talking to someone and they brought up this idea. Van Gogh had mental illness and he was brilliant. What does this say about Van Gogh and intolerance? I then began to research famous people with mental illness. The next person that popped up was Beethoven. Beethoven the composer had bipolar disorder and there is even a book he is featured in called Manic Depression and the Creative Life. So then I thought again about the Queen’s Gambit,“Psychosis and creativity go hand in hand”. Creativity from psychosis can come in all different shapes and sizes. Greta Thurnburg is on the autism spectrum disorder just like my brother was and she is doing amazing things for our world and getting creative in innovative ways to reduce her carbon footprint. 

My brother was hands down the smartest person I have ever met. At age 6 he was building the lego sets for ages 12 and up. He could take apart an entire computer and put it back together again with no instructions. He questioned evolution and creationism at the mere age of 8. He studied flight patterns daily, researched new and old car engines, makes and models and had a passion for trains. He could truly outsmart anyone in his path. When I reflect on his geniuses I am stunned that he passed away when he was 17 because he was beyond wise throughout his years on this earth. This month it would have been his 20th birthday and he had dreams of becoming a fighter pilot. 

So all in all I am not saying psychosis is a bad thing it is just how different people think. I wish I didn’t have to deal with these insensitive and cruel words but I do. I hope one day that the people who say these things know that they are crossing boundaries. I hope they picture a world without Starry Night by Van Gogh, how sad would that be? At this very moment the only person I can control is myself and my prospective. When it is time for me to have children I would want people to be happy for me and not worry about the potential illnesses of my child. I hope that one day whatever child I raise will inherit the wonderful geniuses of my brother, I hope they express themselves like Van Gogh and Beethoven. I hope they come up with innovative ways to do good in this world like Greta. Most importantly I hope if they don’t have anything nice to say they won’t say it. I will forever think of the positivity of psychosis and the effect it has on creativity and I pray for those who are intolerant and insensitive of unique thinkers.

2 X 2

Spilling The Beans

I have always been into spirituality and learning about different religions, the higher power, psychic and mediums. Hey, anything to get through. Right? My daughter Blair is into it too and this is where she gets it from. I would say that, that is one of our coping mechanisms, as it is for so many people. We started this blog just to share our experiences and some of our challenges. This week as Blair and I were talking about how I was really going to get started in sharing my stories more in depth I told her my goals are to share how I am surviving everyday. At times it is humor, and a lot of times it’s friends, therapy, and thinking of my future that I used to have and will have one day. I have always had strength to reach a goal. Right now my goal is to share my experience, strength and hope. In short terms right now that is me binge watching Netflix and being in 3 book clubs.

During this conversation we were talking about our last family trip as a family of four in 2017, we had the best time. We accompanied my husband on a business trip to Denver Colorado. During that trip the weather changed from an 80 degree Summer day to a 40 degree snow festival so needless to say Blair and I took advantage of some shopping. Our favorite stop was the Rocky Mountains and one day as we were walking around the city, we saw this sign on a church that said “Jesus had two dads and he turned out just fine.” My family and I were cracking up as they took pictures of me in front of it. Questioning “Mom also has two dads and we’re not sure how she turned out but she’s here.” That’s right I am here. 

I then began to think that everything comes in twos. Noah’s Ark animals traveled in two, there are two Kits Kats per package. Socks come in a pair of two. Eyes and Ears usually come in pairs of two. So at the time I had my own ark, my two dads, my two dogs and my two kids. All I was missing was two husbands, but my husband was on his second wife. So I think that covers it. I am very into tarot cards and my favorite tarot card is the ten of cups. Things on the card can come in twos as well. If you look at the card it is two adults and two kids and to me that is my forever family. When I look at the card I get a “yay we did it” vibe. 

A quick side story, I was taking my son for therapy a while ago and they asked me for our family history. I started with my husband and they said they didn’t even need to hear mine. When we got married we decided to start our own family because both of our families were chaotic and messy. This has been a staple mantra for our marriage whenever major decisions need to be made. For example plots at the cemetery. Again, a story for another time. We still talk to biological families here and there but, our real family is the nuclear family we made and of course our family of friends. 

I wanted to make a genogram for the blog. A genogram is a diagramed family tree without all the pretty leaves and need for ancestry.com.  I have shared it with you below so I could talk about the players in my stories with clarity of how they are related to me. Moral of this post is everyone has a genogram no matter what their circumstances are.  If your family is biological or friends or a little bit of both, like me. No matter how many dads you have you can turn out just fine. Please share below in the comments a little bit about who is in your family. 

Wearing Whats Impressive – Part 2

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It wasn’t until last year that I had this idea that I wanted to be a lawyer. I am so passionate about poverty, the American education system, and juvenile justice. Making things wrong, right. I could see myself in a Chanel tweed black and white suit absolutely ripping the wrong people to shreds. Shedding light and justice into what needs it. With the whole law school thing, I just kind of dived in come this fall. For the last six months, I have been studying for the LSAT and I can honestly say I wasn’t going to do terribly and then it hit me. I am not sure what but, it hit me and all this uncertainty came. Why was I doing this? Who is this for?

Then I realized that this career path was to impress other people. I don’t want to put myself in a box and limit myself to this career right now. I need to practice what I preach by being true to myself. Sure, I am passionate and could see myself doing this not to mention law school looks really impressive especially after all the challenges and loss I have faced in my life so far. It was almost a revenge for me. Revenge at the teachers who didn’t believe in me and revenge with my peers.

My parents and boyfriend have been very supportive with this decision and truthfully, I could care less what other people think. So for now the LSAT is on hold in my mind’s back stock until further notice. I realized that I don’t want to impress people. I mean shouldn’t I already get an impressive pass just for waking up and doing something every day after my brother took his life? Isn’t me breathing enough? I wanted to be this high and mighty lawyer for the acceptance of my peers and others around me then I thought who I am.

I am my authentic self and I am impressive enough by being who I am. I am changing the world already by being me and leaving a positive mark on this world. I am impressive because I am perfectly me. I plan on still helping people, I plan on going far, I plan on righting the wrongs one day. My success at being me is revenge enough. At the end of the day I am one tag on a clothing item and whatever item I am tagged to and or end up wearing will be utterly amazing, astounding, impressive all done with every single ounce of love and fire in my heart. 

“Birth is the Beginning and Death is the Destination” My Journey: The Series, September

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There is a poem, birth is the beginning. When I was young I knew I wanted a baby girl. I wanted a daughter to carry on the memories that I had with my mother who I called Mommy. My Mommy, Barbara was a unique individual, at times she was fun and other times reactive (that’s another story). My Mommy was both born in September and died in September. I wished for something happy in September. My beautiful baby girl was a planned baby girl born September 3, 1998. 

So, when I was thirty-three, I was pregnant with her. I was five months pregnant when I got put on bed rest for low amniotic fluid. It was the Friday of Memorial Weekend, my doctor said I needed to be on bed rest until the baby was born. That was a long and hot summer to say the least. I was supposed to lay on my side, most of the time. What side I don’t remember. Erik (my husband) was trying to complete a recorded video from a book he had written and was gone every Saturday and Sunday as he worked his salaried position during the week. He would pick up my five movies from the BlockBuster down the street that I had ordered, and he made sure I had enough Kraft macaroni and cheese. 

When my Birthday came in June, I asked the doctor if I could at least celebrate my Birthday. He said yes, but to keep it low key. Erik and I went to Bill Knapps so I could have my cake and eat it too. So here are my thoughts. My Mommy died when she was thirty-three a couple of weeks before her thirty-fourth Birthday. I kept thinking here I am pregnant and starting a family, and hers had ended already. It was such an emotional Birthday. To me when someone dies, they never have “heavenly Birthdays as most people like to say. To me they are not celebrating another year lived. It’s just the day they were born. My Mommy will forever be thirty-three even though she has been gone forty-four and a half years. So she would be seventy-eight today. How can the be that I have outlived her twenty- three years. 

Next line of the poem is life is journey and what journey it has been. So my journey is to follow.