30 Before 30

And with that I'm 29. It's weird because 29 means I'm almost 30. Which means I'm a serious grown up. Don't mind the fact that I have already been married for 5 and a half years and have a 4 year old and a 3 month old. But, I'm almost 30 and that feels strange. I guess that is how you feel no matter your age and it probably feels strange when you turn 60 and you feel like you just turned 30. Life goes by so darn quickly, it's crazy.

So I made a 30 before 30 bucket list. Not because it's the beginning of the end (like I've joked with all my close friends that are turning 30 this year), but because I want to gain more experiences and make a point to do it.

I have had some awesome experiences in my 29 years here. I have had some extremely difficult experiences. Everything I have been through, good and bad, has helped me shape who I am, and I love that person and her flaws. I didn't always. But that's just another accomplishment to add to my list. 

It took me forever to come up with things, but I wanted things on this list that I have been wanting to do or try. I wanted attainable goals. Goals that would help me improve myself, goals that would add to my life experience, goals that improve my relationships, etc Some are deep. Some are not. Some take more effort than others. All are going to be great!

I'm excited about every one of these things on my list and I am even more excited to accomplish them, because I am definitely going to try to do all of them and keep track of all the details of them too. 

1. Read 30 books
2. Save at least $1000 
3. Sew an item of clothing
4. Have date night once a month
5. Pay off Discover Card
6. Take a glass blowing class
7. Hike Kilgore Falls
8. Start writing a book
9. Visit a new state
10. Have 100 items in my Etsy shop
11. Declutter belongings
12. Volunteer at least 50 hours
13. Make a quilt
14. See a Broadway show
15. Maintain a regular exercise routine
16. Confidently walk in high heels
17. Pay it forward at least once a month
18. Try Yoga
19. Send birthday cards
20. Go kayaking
21. Family game night once a month
22. Blog post twice a month
23. Pay for a stranger's meal
24. Start savings accounts for the boys
25. Get family pictures taken
26. Try a new recipe every month
27. Refinish a piece of furniture and sell it
28. Surprise my kids with a fun activity each month
29. Purge my closet and create a flattering, smaller wardrobe
30. Make a point to do something for myself each month

And that's the shortest thing I've ever written...and this blog posts goes gets me down to 23 more blog posts for the year! :)

The Family I Never Had

Yesterday, when I was driving home from work, I called Mike to let him know I was on my way home, just like I normally do on Mondays and Tuesdays when he has off work. He greeted me, Griffin yelled "Hi Mommy!" in the background. We briefly bantered about our day. Mike said he was making dinner and it was a good surprise, which is what every pregnant wife wants to hear. The way to my heart is through my stomach and cravings these days and he knows how to make my stomach happy for sure. My phone battery was almost dead and I didn't have my charger so I told him I had to go and I'd be home shortly. I told them I loved them and got off the phone.

And then I started thinking about how different my own family is now from the family I grew up knowing. And I just started crying.

Blame it on the 35 weeks pregnant hormones and emotions maybe. Blame it on the realization setting in after a life that hasn't been what I would exactly call easy, in terms of family.

I'm damn lucky.

That's not to say we don't have our issues. Trust me, we do. Mike has his baggage and I have mine. We bring that to our marriage and relationship regularly. The thing is, we work on it. We support each other. We apologize. We both regularly admit when we're wrong. We feel bad for hurting each other or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time or letting stress about other things spill out onto each other. We always said we'd never go to bed angry...but sometimes we do because we are far from perfect. But it's all just so different...

My parents had the opposite of our relationship. My dad was abusive. No, he never drank. No, he never did drugs. From what I can piece together from random family members, it seems like his childhood was rough, but I think he has a lot of issues with mental illness that have unfortunately never been dealt with appropriately. My mom had abused woman syndrome. I remember her being pretty vibrant and having friends when I was younger. The older she got and the longer she stayed with my dad, the less vibrant she was. The meaner she got. Somehow it was easier for me to excuse her behaviour than it was for me to excuse my dad's. She put up with a lot. He said a lot of mean things to her and about her. He made her feel pretty worthless most days. He left bruises on her that she always had a weird excuse for their appearance, but it was never his fault. They would fight, about something meaningless; he'd twist her words and act like the world and everyone in it was against him. She wouldn't be able to keep straight what she said and didn't say and would end up being unable to say anything at all. My dad could never be wrong. Not even remotely. And he could always twist your words and make you question yourself. He never really came to school events, and if he did, he would talk about himself and his problems. He was never proud of anything my brother or I ever did, because whatever we did wrong mattered more. Always.

He never apologized. Not once. He would absolutely lose his shit one night, cussing, screaming, throwing things. He'd make her cry. I only ever called the cops on him once; though in retrospect there were probably several times I should have. Then the next morning, he'd take her out to breakfast and go to yard sales and spend a ridiculous amount of money that they didn't have on pointless stuff that they didn't need. That was his "apology" and she'd go along with it. I couldn't be mad any longer for what he put her through and neither could my brother. Even if we had all been up until 1 am consoling her and trying to convince her that things could get better if she just left.

No. The next day everything was fine and dandy and anger could be had no more.

My mom's piece of advice to my brother and I...keep dad happy and play the game. Yes, he could twist your words and make you feel bad, but you knew the truth. You knew you were right and that was all that should matter. Make him think that he's right. Appease him. It makes life easier for all of us.

Did it? No. It just made you feel like crap. And most of the time I didn't listen anyway. It wasn't because I needed to be right; I needed him to be wrong. I needed him to realize that he was mean and sounded insane sometimes. The problem was that he would yell at my mom for me talking to him like that. It didn't matter that I was an adult and could have my own opinions. He'd tell her to make me shut up.

And when he was "sick", which happened the year after I graduated high school, he made my mom wait on him hand and foot. Did the man have real medical ailments? Yeah, and it sucked. But the way he handled himself was weak and he drained the life out of my mom with his demanding needs and she never got to take care of herself. And he surely never took care of her. She was a type 1 diabetic and if she had trouble with her sugar going low, which she often did, he'd yell at her while it was low and yell at her for it after she would come out of it. He was never understanding of her ailment or her stress, but she ALWAYS had to be sympathetic towards him and all the unfair things that happened to him.

And when it came to money; he'd spend it all. On cheap costume jewelry from China. Random crap he'd find on Craigslist or Ebay. He'd spend and spend and spend on his disability income and then over into my mom's income. And then they'd have to scrape together to pay the mortgage or the car payment; all while the junk accumulated. Then he'd sell the things he bought; his four wheeler he never rode and his guns he never used to "help pay" for bills and blame my mom that he never got anything for himself. All part of his manipulation game.

And when it came to his kids; we were worthless. Zach wasn't into hunting and fishing; so they had no way to connect and he'd just complain about him endlessly. I didn't know when to shut my mouth and was not great with my own money sometimes so I was pretty terrible too. Definitely the worst. I can't even remember all the reasons why I was so terrible, probably because I've tried to block them out. But trust me, if you ask him, he could give you a list a mile long to this day I am sure of why I am a terrible person. We never did anything correctly. We could spend the whole day outside doing yard work and come inside and he'd look out the back window and say "You missed that spot over by the tree" and walk away. Or he'd give a thorough inspection of dishes after they were washed and if there was the slightest spot that you missed "What the hell is wrong with you? You can't even clean a fucking dish?" Everything was wrong; all the time. There was no way to appease. But if you ever said you're horribly mean and you're only ever negative; you got "Well when you were little I used to take you fishing" or "Oh yeah I'm never positive, what about the fact that I took you all out to dinner 3 weeks ago"

And the infamous, "I'm your father and that means you need to respect me"

Cool. You took me fishing when I was 4 and you took us all out to dinner 3 weeks to say sorry in your own weird twisted way for flipping out on Mom and everyone else the night before...and sorry buddy, but respect is earned, whether you're the parent or not, and if you want to treat people like shit and not ever realize it, no I'm not going to respect you. Not for being manipulative and mean and egotistical and self righteous.

I cried on my way home from work yesterday because I realize that my own family; the one I made when I married Mike. The one we grew when we had Griffin and that we'll grow more in just 5 weeks when Grayson joins us. This family is different. In such a good way. We love each other. We spend time together. We support each other. We laugh. We cry. We say the wrong things. We say mean things. We apologize. We fight. We apologize. We admit when we're wrong. Sometimes we lose our tempers and it always ends with an apology and a hug and realizing we're human. We don't manipulate. We don't abuse. We accept that we are sometimes imperfect. We realize the stress and try to recognize where emotions are coming from when we all act certain ways. We talk about things. We aren't one sided. We aren't self centered. We're giving. We're thoughtful. We are kind to others and each other.

My life is so different from what it used to be and what I'm used to. And I really wish that my mom would have gotten to experience life that way. Another day I'll tell the story of when I almost thought we had a breakthrough in that respect. I am sure she would be happy for me now. To see that my family is different and that my boys will grow up knowing how a dad is supposed to treat them and love them. To see that I know unconditional love and support from my husband. To know that I give that same love and support to my husband. Neither of us feels exhausted by the other or left out of our own marriage. In a way it makes me a little jealous that my boys get to have such a great dad; but it also makes me happy and proud and hopeful and encouraged. We're doing something right. Not all of it and not perfectly; but some parts. And it creates a kind of happiness I didn't know existed.

A Grief Journey: I Know I Make You Uncomfortable

Today marks 26 days since my mom passed away.

Every time I count it up I feel odd. That number keeps getting so much larger. And I don't feel any better. If anything I know that I'm going to feel worse before I feel better. And that so totally sucks.

And I know that makes people uncomfortable.

People are quick to send out their sympathies and condolences when they first learn that a person passes away. For about a week afterwards, maybe a little more, the outpouring of love is felt. The cards, the packages, the babysitting offers, the meals, etc. Then the outpouring slows down to a trickle. Then the trickle turns into more of a drop every now and then.

Don't get me wrong. We have had a tremendous amount of support and love and I could not thank people more for what they have done for us. And I love every single person that has been there for us throughout this and those that will continue.

But after almost a month, people don't know what to say anymore, and I get that.

It's uncomfortable.

The thing that people don't conceptualize about a person going through grief, especially after a traumatic, sudden, unexpected loss, is that, to that person, their faith in tomorrow is almost diminished. Your life is uprooted in a way that you never expected. Your sense of security is all but depleted, except for the small hope that you have that lightning won't strike twice. That you won't be befallen to another tragedy so quickly after the last.

But, when in one moment you are having a conversation with your mom about her yard sale finds for the day to the next moment not even 24 hours later you are sitting in a funeral home picking out a casket for her, it definitely messes with your mind and your heart and your faith in tomorrow.

I don't know that I have fully digested what that means to me yet. I'm working on it.

A good friend of mine and I are getting together next week to write out our bucket lists. This is something that I have considered doing before, but I haven't because I know the likelihood of me doing anything on it is slim to none. But, I've had a change of heart.

My mom was only 51 years old. I am positive that there are things she wanted to do in her life that either due to circumstances or what have you, she wasn't able to do.

For instance, one I know for sure, was getting a tattoo. Only a few weeks prior to her death I said something about wanting to get a tattoo to her. She told me that she had always wanted one too but she was too old and she'd never really actually be able to do it. I told her I was so petrified of needles I probably would never do it because I couldn't think of anything that meant enough to me to get permanently inked onto my body. But if we did, if we could ever get up the courage, we should totally get matching dragonflies.

My mom loved dragonflies. I am not actually sure what their significance was to her. They were different, I think. She liked collecting things and for the past few years those were her thing. She had shirts with them on it, antique pins, garden decorations, I even made her a purse with them on it.

So a day or so after she passed, I decided I wanted a tattoo. So I got one. The Wednesday before the funeral I got a tiny dragonfly tattoo on the inside of my left wrist. It was the perfect way to commemorate her and live life a little. Do something I always wanted to do but hadn't had the guts to do.

Losing her so quickly made me want to do the things that I want to do. Live with no regrets and do things that make me happy. Do things to make memories and leave some kind of awesome legacy for Griffin and any other future kids I have.

At the same time, I find myself being extra cautious. Taking more time than I need to in reality to make a turn in the car, making sure not a car is in sight, for instance. I don't feel like taking chances, even if they aren't actually risky chances. I couldn't bear to put my family through another loss. I can't bear to lose another person that I love so dearly.

I am so very cautious. And scared. I want everyone to know how much I love them. I don't want to go to bed angry at anyone. I want people to know how much they are loved.

Nothing will make you feel more like a child again than losing your mom. It has changed me. I'm not sure in what ways yet, but I know that my very core feels different. It has changed me as a daughter, as a sister, as a wife, as a mother, as a friend, as a person in general. I can't pinpoint it yet, the exact changes. But I know that I have and I know that those changes will reveal themselves as time goes on.

And I know that makes people uncomfortable.

What do you say 26 days later to someone who tragically lost their mother? Who still sometimes sees her lying on the floor of the bathroom before she falls asleep at night. Who is overwhelmed with so many life choices that sometimes it's hard to pinpoint where to start. Who varies from feeling very strong and protective of everyone she loves to feeling like she could crumble at any second despite everyone who loves her and supports her.

More than likely, you probably don't say much. And if you do say something you say that you love them and you're there and you'll listen to the same thing you've heard them say yet again because part of processing loss is repeating it until you believe it I think. Just be there and don't push me to feel better. I will laugh again. I already do every now and then. I will be happy again without feeling guilty. I will find joy in the little things more than I already can muster. I will do all of the things that a normal person does.

But on my own timeline and not just to make other people feel more comfortable.

As much as I know that my life will go on, that my mom would want me to be happy, that I have a lot of people that love me, that I have a great family, and that I will do things that will continually make my mom proud, there is a part of me that doesn't want to believe or do any of those things.

Why?

Because I loved my mom. Because she was my best friend despite the common mother/daughter battles. Because I miss her. Because I really don't know what I'm going to do without her.

And because I'm slowly realizing that she's gone.

A Grief Journey: The Beginning of Denial

   Grief: keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.

I'd say that definition sounds about right. And then when you look up the cycle of grief, you see that it starts with denial, turns into anger, bargaining, depression, guilt, obsession, and finally acceptance. I'm sure there are variations to the cycle and I'm sure people probably even hit certain points at different times. I like this cycle because it has extreme points, and it's honest, and it makes sense to me. 

I'd say I'm in the denial stage. I'd commit to that actually. I am in full on denial that 17 days ago, my mom suddenly and tragically and unexpectedly left this Earth. 

17 days feels more like 17 years and yet at the same time, I feel like I just saw her yesterday. The most surreal feeling was being at the funeral home on a Sunday at 4 pm planning her funeral, when at 4 pm Saturday, the day before, 24 hours prior, she was showing me the things that she got for Griffin at yard sales and she was perfectly fine. 

Try to process that. 

Best of luck. 

I still haven't.

Don't proceed with the next part of this post if you don't want details on what happened exactly. It's cathartic for me to talk about it, but it's not necessarily cathartic for everyone to read. 

I will never forget that day. May 23, 2015. The day that my world fell apart. 

Mom had gone to yard sales with my dad in the morning. She wasn't particularly happy. She cried a bit before they left. Who knows what it was about. I was so over the back and forth fights and disagreements that when she came over and rested her head on my shoulder, I gave her a hug, told her I loved her, and looked at her and shook my head. Sometimes you want so badly for people to want to be happy, but you can't make them make choices that lead to that...so you just have to be loving, but not be involved. It causes too much pain. It makes you feel too responsible.

They came home around 3/3:30 in the afternoon with a ton of treasures for Griffin and a ton of junk that probably wasn't needed...but it was free...so who could pass it up? (I could have, but ya know, to each their own) We chatted a bit. Then Mom said she felt sick. She got into her pj's and threw up a few times. Zach (my brother) and I had done yard work all morning so we were relaxing. I was on my phone playing some dumb game. Zach was on his computer. Griffin was up from his nap and watching a movie. I went out to go get a drink from the kitchen and heard my mom say "I just want to lay down! My chest hurts, I don't feel good"

That was the last thing I'll have ever heard her say. I wish I had known that vomiting was a sign of cardiac distress in women. But how would I have known? And even if I had known, would I have necessarily thought that?

All the rest seems like a blur. I remember hearing my dad scream for help. My first thought was, Mom is diabetic. She's been a Type 1 diabetic since she was 8 years old. If she was vomiting, there was a good chance that her sugar was very low. Possibly low enough to need her glucagon shot. She had fallen apparently up against the bathroom door and Dad couldn't get the door open. Her head was right in the way of the door to open. She wasn't responding to his pleas for her to say something or move. I yelled that I would call 911. I swear it felt like it took a year for the cops and ambulance to show up. In the mean time, my dad and brother were trying to get the door off the hinges. I started getting panicked. I don't know why exactly. It seemed odd to me that she was so unresponsive. It seemed different. 

They got the door off the hinges and I just heard them both yelling, my dad and my brother. Asking me if I could do CPR. I had been certified a long time ago and I couldn't remember how to do it. I couldn't think. The 911 operator told me that I needed to go check on her until the ambulance got there. 

I went into the bathroom and I saw her. Just lying there. Eyes glazed over. Not breathing. I started screaming hysterically. And I couldn't stop. What the hell was happening?! The 911 operator kept telling me to breath. To calm down. How could I calm down? She looked lifeless. I knew that. I didn't understand what was going on. Then I heard him tell me that I needed to do chest compressions. He'd count with me so I could do them at the right pace. I kept telling him I couldn't while I sat there and stared at her. Then I tried to focus. Maybe if I could do chest compressions until the ambulance got there, maybe I could save her. Maybe she'd take a breath, they'd get her fixed up at the hospital, she'd come home, and I could yell at her later for whatever had happened and for scaring us like that. 

1...2...3 

"Jackie you're not going fast enough, count with me"

1.2.3.4.5.6. Through my tears I tried to count along with him. I felt her chest come back up beneath my hands. It didn't feel right. She didn't look right. What was I really seeing?

My neighbor came over, said something about knowing CPR. I couldn't stop crying. I got up and let him take over. The police came. The ambulance came. People rushed through my house and I sat on the front steps. And screamed. Like a crazy person. Trying to keep it together. Another neighbor came over and got Griffin.

I walked out our gate and into our front yard. My neighbor's wife came over. They brought mom out onto the porch. She was hooked up to a breathing machine and had something hooked up to her chest. 

"Look! They're still working on her! Maybe she's okay. If they thought she couldn't be okay then they wouldn't still be working on her."

Right. Yes. That makes sense. Maybe they got her started back up. Maybe she's fine. Oh I'm so angry at her for scaring me like that but I'll worry about that later.

We got to the hospital after they took mom by ambulance. I was in a daze. I don't actually remember getting there. But I remember being shuffled into a small room off to the side when we did get there. I've seen enough movies and TV shows to know that wasn't a good sign.

I sat down. A doctor and a nurse came in.

"I'm so sorry...we did everything we could...she had a heart attack..." and then I didn't hear anything else she said. 

No. No. No. NO. This is not happening. She was fine. She didn't have any heart problems. What is going on!? I was just talking to her a few hours ago...

My brother and I sat with her for about 6 hours in the hospital room that night. I fixed her hair. It was so muffed up and she would have been so pissed to be in public like that. I rubbed her arm. I just stared at her for so long. My brother and I sat across from each other on both sides of her. Crying when someone new would come in...talking to each other to try to process what we were seeing. Was our Mom seriously gone? We went through the whole time line with the nurse of the day. We concluded that it was so quick that she didn't have time to feel pain. She didn't have time to call for help. It was so quick and such a massive heart attack.

1:30 in the morning rolled around and we both wanted to go home but we didn't want to leave her. I told Zach that this was our last moment to be with her by herself so that we needed to say what we wanted to say to her. We told her how much we loved her, how we were sorry for being pissy with her sometimes. How even if she didn't think she was the perfect mom, she was. She was beautiful. We'd miss her so much. 

I kissed her forehead. She felt so cold. I couldn't stop crying.

This is where grief begins. 

Denial. 

I saw her. 

I know the truth. 

But I can't accept it. Not yet. 

She's going to come strolling through the door and I'm going to be endlessly mad at her. For scaring me so bad. For testing my love for her. But I will hug her so tight and tell her how much I love her anyway.

Except that...I know that's not realistic. And I know that won't happen.

Even if it's what I wish with my entire heart.

My mom always told me that I was a beautiful writer. She encouraged me so much with it. I feel the need to document my journey through this horrible grief process. To be totally raw with emotion and tell you exactly what I'm feeling at the time that I'm feeling it. Even if those feelings change over time. My hope is to be able to help others that I wish never had to go through this pain, get through it.