getting back on track..kinda

Well, it's been a while..I know I know...but I have been busyyyyyyy...I have so much to talk about that I am not even sure where to start..so this is just a practice run blog for a killer come back...stay tuned..

into the void...

OK so since my "PS- i love you post", I have received a few: "I love you" texts and even one text giving me shit for not saying it back when they said it to me.. Fair enough! I never said I was perfect.. I am trying here people...

But receiving those msgs off this blog made me realize SOMEONE is reading this shit, and apparently some of you are relating to this shit... so, can you do me a favor?

Once in a while can you please leave like a high five or something on the blogs I post so I know what you enjoy for future reference.. and yeah.. it will also help the fact that I am don't feel like I am "writing into the abyss'...


ps- I love you... and I am may have had one too many drinks! Great.. thank you!! come again!

quote-unquote

"Out of suffering emerges the strongest souls. The most massive characters are seared with scars."- unknown

Read this somewhere and thought to myself : "ain't that some shit?"

ps- i love you

Last night I texted someone that I was thinking of them and that I love them.  Immediately, I received a response saying I love you too! What's going on?

Why is that? Why is it so difficult awkward to express your feelings of love and care to someone else, or be on the receiving end of those same expressions of love?   On the other hand, why does it seem so easy to sit there and bash someone, have feelings of hatred and disgust towards someone, the un-approval of someone?  Better yet, why are the I-can't-stand-your-guts", and the "go-fuck-yourself" and the "I-hate-that-fucking-bitch" expressions of well, a different kind of love, so much more acceptable to throw out there every day?  Crazy, right?

And why is it so weird to hear those words too? Why does it feel so abnormal to be told you are loved?

Feels like we as a society are much better haters than lovers!  This, of course, comes as no surprise.

Think about it...for those of you either married or in a relationship of some sort, how many times do you say I love you to your "significant other" (which is funny in itself), versus the times you say I love you to those people who have been there since you took the first breath of air?  Uhmm.. see what I am trying to get at? 

Now, I know there are instances where those people who were supposed to be supportive and caring, and SIGNIFICANT, and what not, were not. But for the majority of people out there, they can still pretty much stand their parents or siblings or friends enough to call them once in a while.   Why on earth would you feel so damn comfortable saying I love you to a stranger you met a couple of months ago, like a boyfriend, and you probably can't remember the last time you said it to your dad, or your brother, sister, or even that very BEST friend you depend on every day.

A couple of years ago, after a couple of eventful months that would change my life forever, I vowed to myself to be better at letting people know I cared... and let me tell you.. it's fucking hard as hell!!!
I am better.. much better. I am better than probably most, but yet I don't feel like I have done good enough.  It feels so damn weird sometimes to be able to say those 3 little words that, well, should mean a whole lot.  I say it to some people ALL the time. I say it to my husband, I now say it to my peanut, I say it to my mom... but that's just it.  There is a reason why I say it to my mom all the time.. the reason was that I thought I was going to loose her.

 Yes, totally cliche and you totally saw that coming. But even with those life lessons we have all the time, why the hell do we not learn from them and keep them in practice every day.  We tend to forget so easily and we go back to our normal selves after the storm has passed, but what about tomorrow? What about when the sun stops shinning and all goes dark...like pitch black?  How will you feel then, will you hate yourself for not "loving" more?

And, yes I know, there are so many things we do that show we care.  That sometimes you don't have to say those words to make it known how you really feel.  Actions speak louder than words. And show that you care, rather than telling you care. BLAH BLAH BLAH... how many times have you heard someone say : "Oh I wish I had cut the grass more often for my dad before he passed"  or "I wish I had taken my mom to the store to go shopping with her before she had the heart attack"... and yes, those are important.  I am not by any means taking credit away from showing people your love... but don't you normally hear people say "I wish I had told him I loved him"  or "I wish I told her how much I cared about her", You see? 

If you ask me, I personally think that actions and attitudes do go a long way, and most of the time I am satisfied with just that.  I know who loves me without them writing me love letters everyday, but there's got a be a reason why people always feel regret in not verbally professing their love to those they have lost.  It has to be because that's the only way YOU know that THEY knew you at least had the balls to say it out loud to them! Because again back to my initial thoughts... it's TOO DAMN AWKWARD TO SAY IT. 
Most never find the courage to say it to those they love the most.  Sometimes, it almost seems like there is a feeling of embarrassment, a feeling of fear of rejection.  Like you are afraid to say it and the person laughs in your face, or they will not say it back and you feel even more awkward than what you did before you said it.  But it's not about them... it's about your feelings.  Once you bring yourself to that point, you feel a sense of relief, a sense of accomplishment.  I DID IT.. I got over my fear and told my dad or my uncle or my stepmother I loved them.  I had not done that in YEARS... probably never. There is a sense of peace!

I remember expressing my love to someone about a year ago or so... I had a drink or two in me, of course, to help the process, but I remember starting something along these lines: "In case I have not shown you enough, I truly appreciate you. I love you!"

 It was hard.. it was so fucking hard!

 It was not the same three or four people I say it often too. And when it was over; yes cause it seemed like it lasted forever, I felt so relieved.  I was nervous, my heart was palpitating, I got a little sweaty, I think I may have been shaking! I felt like now I can die and this person has heard it first hand from my mouth, my heart how I feel about them. They would probably remember that forever. Mission accomplished!

So I challenge you.. think of that one person who you have loved for so long, yet it has been so hard to let them know in words that you do! Think about how you are going to tell that person...

See, not so easy!

Letters from Special K

My "son wrote" to me 24 times since the day he was born. He "sent me" email letters every day starting two days after he was born and continued until the day he came home. I have them all saved on my computer to add to his little book and show them to him one day. The letters were all about his progress in the NICU. Every morning, between 6 and 7, I would receive the letter and read it off my phone. Sometimes it was the highlight of my day. Most of the times I knew exactly what they would say because I spoke to the nurse half an hour before I was due to receive the letter, but still... I had just gotten mail from MY SON.

I received my first letter while I was still in the hospital recovering from delivery. He was just across a few halls and we (the parents) could go see him anytime we wanted, day or night! Receiving that first letter was such a happy/frightening kind of moment. The concept of updating the mommys and daddys with babies in the NICU with an email every morning was pretty neat, but the raw truth behind my son's condition was so damn scary. My peanut was just 3lbs 10.8 oz, he was on 25% oxygen, he was being fed through a tube. Get this...: 3ml a feeding for a total of 18 ml for the day.  That was only .6 ounces A DAY.   How on earth can any living thing survive on .6 oz of food a day??
He was also on IV Liquids which obviously helped with the fact that he was on such low food intake.
His lungs were not developed yet. He had jaundice.
 It was the forbidden thought, but I am sure it happened a lot between my husband and I in silence.. was he even going to make it?
The content of the letters were to let us know what,if anything, had changed from one day to next: such as getting off the oxygen, how much weight he gained or lost, etc.

And then, there was a sentence in that first letter... I will never forget it for the remaining of my days living on this earth:

Adios Mommy and Daddy. Keep a picture of me with you so that we can be "together" until I get home. It will make us both feel better!

And that's when I lost it!  I cried... I cried and read the sentence out loud in tears to my hubby who was laying on the chair next to my hospital bed...

How on Earth did we get here.. again? How can this be happening to us.. Again? and by that I don't mean.. How can we be having another preemie; I mean... how can such a painful, stressful, scary thing be happening... again! This time, to our most precious little human being that we had created, to the one who was supposed to bring you happiness and joy and make you forget all the worries in the world.  How can that much more worry and stress and anger and all kinds of ugly emotions come with him? 

The hardest part was by far, leaving the hospital. After 4 days of being there (including the labor and delivery), we left..with a shit load of bags, flowers, balloons, clothes, paperwork, hospital shit you need to get better at home, etc... I mean, we even had help carry stuff out  to the car by a friend who came to visit... Yet.. we left EMPTY HANDED! 

Our peanut was staying behind, for who knows how long.  He was going to stay alone in the long nights, in the dark, connected to all kinds of beeping machines, with strangers changing his diapers and putting his food into a tube... he was going to stay behind to fight his battle...alone.

And us? how about us? how the hell are we supposed to fight our battle at home? without our peanut to keep us going strong?  We had no nurses to assist us or change our tear wet sheets, or cheer us on while we found the courage to even take a shower to go one with our every day lives. 

While most parents go and get things done and come home with their bundle of joy a couple of days after delivery, that wasn't us! 
I passed those mothers every DAMN DAY leaving the hospital in the wheelchairs carrying their own peanuts, while I was coming in to go sit in a chair and put my extremely sanitized hands through two holes in a plastic box to touch my peanut's super little hands. 
I passed the dads everyday in the parking lot who carried the balloons and flowers to get their cars to go collect their wife's with their babies to go home, as I was getting out of my car with a back pack with a bunch of snacks for the day and frozen breast milk to bring my peanut.
I passed the proud grandmas and grandpas in the hallways who came to see their new little sunshine, while I brought ONE person at a time into the NICU to get a good scrub up to their elbows and go see my baby through that clear box. 

Some days I could not even hold my peanut... I had to just sit and wait.. and wait and sit some more.. and just look at him... right there in front of my eyes within arm's reach.. yet so far away! 
Days in the NICU are like endless amount of hours of just waiting, waiting for something to happen, waiting for something to change, waiting for some good news about your baby, waiting to see who's nurse he's having tonight (for 13 hours in a row), waiting for visitors who want to come see the peanut, waiting, waiting... just waiting to wait some more!

And then you go home at night exhausted from waiting all day... and all night you wait!
You wait for that letter from Special K!

random baby stuff

Being a new mommy and all, figured that once in a while I will share some experiences, tips or discoveries I make during this new process. It may make you laugh (like if I get pissed on by the very accurate penis shooter), make you nauseous, remind you of your own mommy experiences, or who knows, maybe teach you something.
So, random thought of the day: Never understimate the power of swaddling! From crying to sound asleep in seconds..ok, maybe minutes. :-)

the skeleton in my closet

Two shirts, two handkerchiefs, a picture, a memorial card, and a newspaper.  All inside a bag labeled dionne-no idea what the name even represents, probably some type of business.  All the items belonged to grandpa. I brought them back with me after flying overseas for his funeral.
I have his picture in my house and other items that belonged to him (which also came back inside the same bag), but these are different.. these are the skeletons in my closet.

I opened my closet everyday to get clothes or shoes.  The bag stares me right in the face everyday and never really bothers me that much, well, at least until I open it.  I have been kinda in a funk lately, so I decided to do some closet organizing (thought it would make me feel better) and the bag needed to be moved to place items next to it.  I sat down on my bed with the bag next to me and for a few seconds contemplated whether or not I should open it.  Well, you guessed it.. and it was a bit of tear fest.

I was four and half months pregnant with Special K when I received the phone call that I dreaded the most.. Grandpa was dead! Just like that... dropped dead!  No signs of illness at all, no foul play, no hospital stay, no warning signs.  Grandpa was just plain dead.

Beyond all the unanswered questions, and all the whys, and all the anger... there was this immense feeling of unfairness.  A feeling of "but there should have been more"...more time, more laughs, more smiles.  A feeling of undone business.  A feeling of UNREAL! This could not be happening, this is all a bad dream... not this, not now!!  But he was maybe a month away from being here with us for Little V's 1st birthday and to meet her... But he was going to be here when Special K made his arrival... He was going to be here for the holidays this year!

I know everyone loves their grandpa and grandma, at least most people do, and their death is always very hard to accept.  Letting go of all the memories you shared is oh so difficult.  I, too, shared many MANY happy moments with grandpa. He taught me how to ride a bike, how to swim, he was there to hand me off to the doctors for my open heart surgery, he was there when I left to go live far away from him, he was there even when I wasn't.  Growing up living next to him was so much fun and back then it seemed so natural and so casual.  We played outside all the time and grandpa was always around, we spent many Christmas together, many Easters, many milestones.

I always had a "thing" for him.  He was so special to me even as a kid, never even knew why for a long time. He just was!  As I grew older and got to know him, to really know grandpa, then I understood.  I loved him for his generosity, his caring way, his ultimate fairness-with Everything and everyone, his cute smiling eyes, his determination, his energy, his work ethic, his smile.. oh his smile, the way he loved, and most of all I loved him for his undying will to live.  His will to live despite the worst of times, the cruelest of times. 

Life wasn't easy on grandpa.  Staying by himself to build a life, at 15 or so when his family(parents and all his siblings) left to seek a better life in another country. He stayed because he loved and wanted to marry this woman, the woman who would become my grandmother.  And the same woman who died tragically at the age of 40, leaving him behind with two kids to raise and his everlasting love for her.  Going through the loss of both of his parents.  Remarrying later to another woman who would give him another child.  That same woman who got sick and who also left grandpa way too early at the same time as his daughter who suffered a stroke at age 51 who is now partly paralyzed and a ton of other health issues, and all he can do was watch in desperation. That woman is my mother.

Grandpa left this world suddenly and in the most fucked up way.  He left behind three children, one of which lost his mom and dad within six months, three grand kids, one great grand kid- whom he had not met yet, one great grand kid who would have been born less than 3 months after he had left us, and yet another great grand kid who will be here soon as well.  He left all this happiness behind for us to try to deal with without him.  He left the happiness we all wanted to share with him so bad.  It was his time to see some good, some joy.  It was our time, after much pain and suffering, to share something so extraordinary.  It was what he always wanted.  But instead, it was just his time... to go.

I am now left with the shirts, the handkerchiefs that have his lingering smell still.  I am left with all the pictures, and other things that remind me of him. I am now left with a child that will never know how truly amazing his great grandpa was.  I am left with a whole lot of great memories... the same great memories that make this that much harder to accept.  Letting go of great memories knowing that the same memories will never be made again.  We are left with the everlasting pleasure of knowing grandpa, to have known such a wonderful person.  We are left with a small glass that he drank his own home-made wine from, probably every single day.  My husband now drinks from it.

I am left with a Ripped Hat that he wore since I could remember as a child... a ripped hat that would have many stories to tell if it could talk...stories I would never get tired of listening to!