Gladiator ... I Will Continue The Fight

On 12 July 2018, one of my chemo heroes went home to his Heavenly Father and my world ... the world, in general, lost one of the brightest lights. Yesterday, I listened intently to family and lifelong friends recount their lives with Todd.  I have made a concerted effort to include some of their words in this.

Three years ago, summer of 2016, I met a man who was tall, tan, the picture of health, wearing a Hawaiian type print shirt, perfectly groomed blonde hair and a wide smile.  In the course of a four-week summer school session, we talked about a lot of things...the weather, kids, life and eventually stumbled onto the topic of childhood cancer. We found that we had something in common, we were both childhood cancer survivors.  Specifically, we were both Hodgkin survivors. Todd was 4 years older than me. At age 11, he was diagnosed with Hodgkins. At age 12, I was diagnosed with Hodgkins. He could tell me his patient number at St. Judes (#4465). I was treated at St. Louis Children's Hospital.  We had an immediate bond and innate understanding about a number of things. When I spoke with his sister yesterday, she indicated that Todd and I probably talked a lot about our common bond of having had pediatric cancer, but we really didn't talk much about that. We didn't talk about how we felt being that kid in the family that everything stopped on a dime for because of a diagnosis of Cancer.  When his brother spoke at his service, he recounted the family traveling from Southeast Missouri to Memphis for his treatments at St. Judes. He prefaced his look into the family's journey by calling Todd an encourager, positive, a man of prayer, wanting a healthy life free of pain, and that "no matter how bad, don't quit." Then he spoke of the long drive to and from St. Jude with a container in the back seat for Todd to vomit in on the way home.  This, from first-hand knowledge, is an unwelcome side-effect of Chemo which in the late 70's and early 80's we were not offered an anti-nausea. We talked about kids, what we thought was wrong with education, and more importantly why we continued to teach.

Each day was a gift from God, not a given.

If it is best for kids, we do it.

God has a plan for us. We may not understand His plan but we follow with faith.

We understood that at our ages, we were part of only 2,521 survivors in St. Judes Long-Term Follow-up study and that made our lives so much more important.  On a larger scale, we were part of 14,361 original participants in the study. We understood that we were basically "lab rats" with our initial treatments being experimental and chose to continue to be "lab rats" with the belief that if we could make it possible for one child would not have to go through the hell that we had gone through.  We understood that our adult lives were just as important to the research being done. We understood the possibility of our adult lives being statistical with infertility, chronic health conditions involving the heart and lungs, emotional health, memory, thinking, stroke, menopause, breast cancer, poor sleep, denial of insurance coverage, and continued medical costs.  Ultimately, our unspoken goal in our lives was the same as St. Judes, to improve treatments to allow survivors to live longer with fewer treatment-related health issues.

Todd's Hodgkins returned at 19 and he returned to St. Judes.  Not only did he beat this battle with Hodgkins, he began to be a consummate fundraiser and motivational speaker for St. Judes.  He continued to encourage other children to continue their fight. I met his sister and mother in the hospital two days before he passed.  When Dana took me to the ICU room and introduced me, Todd (on a ventilator) increased his breathing. I told him that I know that he knows I am here and that he just needed to relax and let the machines do their job.  Karen, his sister, and I talked about my connection to Todd. We also talked about faith. When Karen spoke at his service, she spoke of Todd being a man of faith, that he loved to learn, that their mother called them "busybodies", and that he was all boy.  She talked about how as a teenager Todd rededicated his life to God. His brother recounted how with this second diagnosis, Todd moved more so into the role of a motivational man. Todd lived big and wanted "normal." Humbly, Todd became much more defiant and believed that quitting was never an option.  His brother touched on how cancer molds you, pushes you to be your best, and that this was a path set forth by God. Todd modeled how tough we can be, with faith, never quitting and never giving up.

Cancer does mold you.  It becomes an integral part of your being.  I was once told by someone that I wore my Cancer like a badge.  That comment hurt because it wasn't a badge that I ever wanted to wear, or to even earn as a 12-year-old girl.  I have had people tell me that they are sorry that I have had cancer when I tell them. My response has always been that I am not because it is my path that God made for me and it has made me the person that I have become and continue to evolve into.

Todd's Sig Ep fraternity brother talked of the man that I had come to know.  The man that had never met a stranger and when he listened to people talk, it had nothing to do with him but was all about that person telling their story.  Todd finished college and became an Industrial Technology instructor along with coaching football. His passion was motivating kids, through football and the classroom, to push themselves to their limits by modeling the same for himself.  He continued to raise money for St. Judes throughout his career.

At age 24, I was released from the care of Dr. Theresa Vietti at St. Louis Children's Hospital.  I wasn't released solely because I had been in remission for 12 years, but because Dr. Vietti was retiring.  It was then that my medical files, with my permission, were handed over to a long-term follow-up study in Wisconsin or Michigan which was eventually absorbed by St. Judes.

At age 37, I was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer and the first place that I went to search for information was the Long-Term Follow-Up Study for Pediatric Cancer Survivors at St. Judes.  I found that I was part of a group of women that when we reached the 20 to 25-year mark of survivorship that had a 99% rate for Thyroid Cancer when having had radiation treatments. The only other group to have a higher rate of Thyroid Cancer were the children of Chernobyl.  When I went to my childhood home to tell my parents, my mother responded with the comment that the doctors had told them that this was a possibility. My response was a "really?!?" This was not something that could have been shared with me. It was extremely different from being a child to being an adult being diagnosed with cancer.  

Todd was diagnosed at age 44 and had one of his kidney's removed.  His response was that he had another kidney, but he was also showed no signs of giving up, determination, relentless, and was called a "modern day gladiator."  Being a fan of the tv show Scandal, the phrase "Gladiator" has huge symbolism to me.  

Summer of 2017, Todd was the Assistant Principal for Summer School working with his close friend and mentor.  They were working to fine-tune a team of teachers that walked to the same beat. We were a team that believed if it was best for kids, we do it.  Most of us had been utilizing differentiated instruction before it became a buzzword. Most of us believed that summer school was not about punishing the kids but about letting them know that someone believed in them and that yeah it was going to be tough and we were going to give tough love but we could get there together.

Fall of 2017, our Gladiator was dealt a huge hit.  He was diagnosed with Stage 4 Cancer. He finally had achieved so many things in his life.  A career to be extremely proud of, on his way to his Doctorate degree, and was planning to marry the love of his life.  

This summer, I was blessed to be given an opportunity to teach for this amazing team of administrators. When we held our orientation day, it was the first time that I had seen Todd since the summer before.  I saw a man that was fighting for his life. My chemo hero, my Gladiator was not going down without a fight. For two and a half weeks, Todd came to school early and left late. Would go for treatments and doctor visits as needed and return to school.  He went from walking with a cane to pushing a sit walker. The middle of the third week, Todd drove himself to school and couldn't drive himself home. Todd and I lived in the same small town, 9 blocks apart. Our houses were built in the same year. For the last seven days of Summer School, I would pick up Todd and bring him home.  The rides to school were filled with conversations about education and what was wrong. It was stated by a friend of Todd’s at the service that Todd believed that the problem with society was that nobody wanted to work anymore. Todd and I had that conversation too. We both believed that when certain generations or people were faced with a challenge and that it was going to be work to achieve something, then they would walk away taking the path of least resistance.  We both believed that the harder it was, the more challenging it was, then the sweeter the rewards. I believe that we came by this mentality because of having been diagnosed as kids with Cancer. We didn’t see any other choice but to fight, to fight to the bitter end. Taking a path of least resistance just simply was not an option. We talked a great deal about the school district that we both taught in. We came from small, farming communities to the big suburban school district that had more students attending the schools we taught in than the population of the communities we grew up in.  We both struggled with charts and graphs and data and AP courses and refusing to become “yes” men just simply to avoid the uncomfortable conversations. We talked about the difference in the administrators that we had both worked for and how different our experiences were. He was able to admit that he could see how not just our ranking coworkers were in survival mode, but even those ranking above us were in survival mode. It made him sad that people, good people, who went into education to teach, to mentor, were being strangled by constraints of a system that no longer lives by the philosophy of doing what is best for kids.  Our rides home from school were for Todd to sleep and let his pain meds take the edge off before he gets home. When we got to his house, I would help him out of the car with Dana right by us. Behind the wrought iron gate was a small, fluffy black dog - Star and a large, black predominantly Lab - Damon. They watched us intently waiting for their dad to get to the other side of the gate to welcome him home. The last day that I drove Todd to and from school was the hardest day. I knew that God had given me an opportunity to serve a fellow survivor, of which this had not been the first and I am fairly certain it won’t be the last.  Dana was so gracious and thankful. Just like the previous days, her eyes were full of tears and love when she looked at Todd and watched him inspect the roof of the house. Being the perfectionist that he is about construction, he could point out what he would have done differently and what still needed to be done. Dana reassured him that all that was to be done to this point had been and that all the other things would be done. That morning on the ride to school Todd told me that the Cancer was everywhere including his bones. As a survivor, I understood what that meant medically and I also understood what that meant for Todd.  Him saying it out loud and, it could have been to anyone so much closer to him than me, to me meant that he had an understanding of the path God was taking him on. It was at that moment that my heart broke. The Gladiator was gallantly putting into place all the possible pieces he could to make sure that the love of his life was taken care of on this Earth in his absence. The picture that accompanies this post was taken on that last day of school before we headed home and yes, he knew that I had used a filter to put a flower in his hair. I felt it was fitting considering he wore a number of Hawaiian print-type shirts.

When I left Todd and Dana, he was sitting on his walker/chair with Star on his lap talking to her and Damon walking in circles around them occasionally whacking Todd with his tail.  The next day, The Gladiator and his damsel got their marriage license. On Sunday, they were married in the chapel at St. Luke’s Hospital between the ER and ICU. Todd was admitted to the hospital with continued complications from his treatments for the Cancer.  On 5 July, Todd asked to be intubated. On 10 July, I visited Todd in the hospital. I gave Dana a copy of the anonymous poem “What Cancer Cannot Do…” and she pinned it on the board in his small ICU room.  It was not how I wanted to remember my Gladiator. For about 5 minutes, I was alone with Todd.  With my hand on his arm, like I had done on the way home when he was asleep so that he would know he wasn’t alone, I reminded him that we don’t make deals with the Devil.  What we do is to talk to God, to look to him for guidance and to walk with Him down the path that He has set for us.

12 July 2018, The Gladiator went home to his heavenly Father.  I know in my heart that had it been his choice, he would still be here with his beautiful wife.  

In closing, Todd’s childhood friend and a pastor, summed up what Todd truly left with us on this Earth… the definition of Faith.

• Faith is not a belief that you get what you want.  It is the understanding that you get what God wills.  God is in control. Trust Him and He will direct your path.
• Be honest with God, keeping open the lines of communication.
• Proceed without answers because life is messy, complicated and hard.

At 11 Months...335 Days

At 11 months ... 335 days after ... I am sitting in the living room of my childhood.
It doesn't look the same.  The gold flowered all paper, brown paneling, and green shag carpet have been gone for about 27 years ... the same length of time I have been teaching.  I remember living through Pop doing the remodel himself.  Now, 27 years later, I have worked in spaces in this little brick house and discovered my father's handwriting and other methods of what I have called Fredification.  I would often come in, through the back door where I would immediately see her sitting in her chair.  Usually, she would be crocheting a baby blanket for someone that she most likely knew but then again, maybe my sister or I would snag it for someone having a baby that she would not know.  I would announce that when I get to heaven, Pop and I were going to have a serious conversation about home remodel.  She would laugh and keep crocheting.  

335 days later ... I still walk through that same back door ... there is no MoMo.  Since she left on her journey, there have been similar instances of finding things that have been the victims of MoMofication.  Though, most of that has been in the form of the "As Seen On TV" items that it has sometimes taken a few days, weeks, or months to figure out just exactly what it for.  

335 days later ... the two matching high back Lazy Boy recliners have long been sold. In the days following her leaving, my son and I could simply not handle seeing "the chair."  We moved the two chairs in her walk in closet for about a month and then took them to a resale shop.  Houses that were built in 1876 are very square and because most were built in sections, you can walk a complete circle through the first floor.  We came in the back door and there was "the chair."  We came down the stairs and there was "the chair."  You had to pass "the chair" to get to the front door to get the mail.  You have to pass "the chair" to get to the kitchen.  It didn't matter what direction (which was limited) we came, there was "the chair."  I replaced the rug in the living room within the week because it still just looked like it did that night we found her.  335 days later, I can look at the rug that is currently in the room and know that it will be replaced soon.  More for the reason that since my dog (who is 12, a lab and named Isis - and is also not a terrorist) is no longer able to always hold her bladder and or bowels when I have to pull long nights for Parent-Teacher Conferences because she no longer has her personal butler during the day.  You really cannot teach old dogs new tricks.  It will be replaced with an indoor/outdoor rug.  For the past two weeks, I have been very restless about the arrangement of the furniture in the living room.  While it is for the most part the same furniture as when she was here - minus the two chairs, something just isn't fitting.   

Today on Facebook, the memory that popped up was from a year ago.  A year ago, my son and I went to University of Central Missouri for one of their Choose Red days.  He chose Red that day.  It was exactly a month before she left that pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place to let her know that everything was good and she could go.  

A week ago, I had my first birthday without MoMo.  The card she gave me last year sits on my jewelry box in my bedroom.  It is my forever birthday card from her.

As my year of first are winding down, I find myself in an odd place.  My son is now at college and it is just myself.   Well, it is myself and Isis along with 4 cats inside.  I have Destiny and Lily still along with Gracie, MoMo's cat.  It took Gracie a good month and a half to let me touch her without her hissing at me, which was really not abnormal.  The problem was that she had not had any human contact because MoMo wasn't there.  In March, one of my student's grandmother passed away and had a number of furry creatures.  One that needed a home desperately was Oliver, a yellow and white domestic short hair cat.  I had to take him because he was in the same position that Gracie was, his MoMo had left too.  In July, Harry adopted me in the back yard.  Harry is a gray and black tabby cat that seems be displaced.  So, I have a fifth cat that owns me but hasn't made it inside yet.  So, technically, I am not alone and I am sure that if anyone could over hear the conversations that I have with the any one of the animals would think I was completely off my rocker.  

I am lost.  Lost in a way that I have never been lost.  It isn't dark but there is a sublime (like that for the addition of a little transcendentalism) light.  I walked around today looking at the crafts in the booths at our downtown fall festival and just felt I was wandering aimlessly without any particular direction.  

I am not motivated.  I have yet to work into my school routine daily trips to the gym.  I go to school every day but do not feel the motivation or that it is where I am supposed to be.  I go to bed at night, often at 7:30 on a school night because I simply am done for my day.  

I lack direction.  The only thing that I do know about the path I am traveling is that I am eligible for retirement in July 2021 with full benefits and I will retire.  See one of my previous posts about why I will retire.  Otherwise, I wonder just where I am going and what I am doing.  

I think of ways to make the house my own but not lose the sense of comfort and peace that I felt in October of 2015 when I moved back into my childhood home.  I know that comfort and peace came because of the security that came with my MoMo being here.  My sister recently came to visit.  At one point she made the comment that the house is so much work and that you may not be able to keep up with it alone.  In my heart and mind, leaving this house is not an option.  It is the only place that I feel I belong.  If I didn't have to go to school, the store, where ever, I honestly think I would become completely content to observe this world from the windows of this house or to sit on the patio in the back and listen to the cicadas trying to be louder than the noises of cars that pass by or the voices of people in the neighborhood.  I can sit with my eyes closed and know that this is the only place or thing I am sure about in this world, right now.  

On day 336, tomorrow, I will go to church and assist.  I will look out at the amazing family that I have at the little church on the hill and see MoMo's chair next to her best friend empty.  I will hold back the tears that I have been welling up for 335 days.  I will know that I am loved there.  I will come home and walk in the back door and see her reclined in the chair that is no longer there as if she were asleep.  I will see the paramedics pulling her out of her chair and laying her on the floor and the pop of each metal snap on her duster she was wearing.  I will see them working on her and Thomas helping them.  I will hear the gasp of my sister on the phone when I told her that I could not talk because I was waiting for the ambulance to come because I thought that MoMo was dead.  I will hear the sirens and see the neighbors come out of their front doors.  I will see Pastor Aimee's face when I arrived at the hospital and she met me on the parking lot outside the ER and told me that she was gone.  That has been the one constant in my life since October 23, 2016.  No matter the changes in my life ... that has been the one thing that has not changed.  

Ode to Single Parents

My childhood was that of the 1970's.  It was filled with anthems of the empowerment of women from Loretta Lynn's "The Pill" to Jeannie C. Riley's "Harper Valley P.T.A" to Helen Reddy's "I am Woman" to "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor.  Some were picked up as anthems for the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA).  The ERA was never passed and women along with the company of other minorities ... basically, anyone but white males, still make less income (in most industries) and fight every day to provide the basic needs and some wants to their children.  This is not going to be an essay proclaiming hatred for white males or males or what is wrong with our social system.   This is what it is going to be, it is going to be a celebration of how far this girl has come.  

In 1997, I was married to the father of my children.

In 1998, I adopted our oldest son (the result of his father's first marriage).

In 1999, I gave birth to our youngest son.  The boys are seven years apart.

From 1997 to 2012, I was what I termed a "firehouse widow."  This meaning that the man I was married to was a firefighter/paramedic on rotating 24-hour shifts full time along with working for a local ambulance service that more often than not left me at home with the boys alone.  

I stayed in the marriage for a number of reasons that are better left to when I actually write my book.  For this particular post, I can tell you one of the main reasons was because I did not think that I could financially provide for both of the boys and myself without a second income.  I have learned a lot about money over the past four years and the hardest but best lessons have come from having to live the reality of filing for bankruptcy.  My ex filed for bankruptcy without me and received a Chapter 7 (didn't have to pay back).  Almost two years from the date that we were formally divorced, I filed and received a Chapter 13 (you pay back).  I held out for as long as I did because I wanted to prove to myself that I did not NEED the second income and I did not NEED a man to support me.  I cannot tell you that I did not receive help from time to time from my mother because I did.  What I can tell you though is that I can sure as hell stretch a $5 balance in my bank account almost 10 days.  I have gone without many wants that in reality, I really didn't want.  I have also done without needs so that my son (our oldest was already out of the house when we divorced) would have everything that he needed and some of what he wanted.  Since the divorce, I have never relied on the child support that has been owed to me and my youngest son because for some reason, it never went through our state child-support enforcement system.  The amount of delinquent child support owed to our son is in the two-digit thousands.  I have previously written about moving in with my mother because I had proven to myself that I could stand on my own two feet and it was time for me to stop making my life harder, especially financially, than it needed to be.  For almost a year, both my mother and I cut some expenses and all three of us were able to enjoy a few more wants than in the past.  For my mother, it was the development of an addiction to the Bread Co. for lunch.  

In October of 2016, when my mother left for her journey, I rightfully and audibly made the statement on the way to the hospital, "Where are we going to live if she is gone?"  To date, I am still in my childhood home and paying the second mortgage and HELOC she left behind on the house. We do have weeks where there are no wants and only needs.  I still shop at re-sale stores, ALDI, and really struggle to even pay the sale price on something at Target, Kohls, or JC Penny.  For teachers, school districts close out their fiscal year as of June 30th.  There are no paychecks typically generated until the start of the following school year starts so the month of July and the start of August can be fairly lean.  The past two summers, I have worked as a teacher's aide for the high school credit recovery to pay legal bills and to be able for us to get a few of those wants.  I have worked in after school study halls and covered classes and at one time, I actually worked the front desk of a local hotel both Saturday and Sunday nights and netted a paycheck in the amount of child support we had not been receiving. 

I am not telling you any of this for you to be angry with the boys' father, to feel sorry for me, or to make people even think that she had it easier than I did.  I tell you this because it is my path that I have walked.  This is the pair of shoes that I have worn.  It also sets the stage for the validation that I received today.  I have been working my ass off since filing my son's FASFA using only my information to be told that the Expected Family Contribution (i.e....MY contribution) to our son's education would be $13,000.  Yeah, right is what I thought then.  I have completed financial aid forms, applied for scholarships, for assistance through Division of Vocational Rehabilitation, completed the form indicating that since I have filed for a bankruptcy in the past four years....our son is eligible for $4000 extra in unsubsidized national student loan, I have searched for scholarships and forced our son to sit and complete surveys.  The one thing that I have not done is to force our son to get a job because of the custody arrangement.  In the past few weeks, since his graduating from high school, I have been in a panic because I was not eligible to co-sign on a private student loan for $10,000.  He was not allowed to get one without a co-signer because he doesn't have a FICO score.  My thought was that he had just turned 18 and graduated high school, he should not have a FICO score.  After a conversation with my sister, we don't remember it being this difficult 30 years ago.  There are no family members on either side of the DNA pool that can co-sign.

Today, in the mail, came the first-semester bill for our son's education.  For someone that is still paying back her student loans from 30 years ago through her bankruptcy, teaching personal finance (that is irony worthy of a totally separate post), and teaching College 101...I know that there are three things that anyone who goes to college is guaranteed: death, taxes and student loans.  I had our son open the bill himself...yep, a little reality 101.  His response was "WOW that is a lot of money."  He looked at me and I basically told him now you know why I have been such a bitch about you applying for scholarships etc.  I reach out my hand and he handed me the bill.  I looked at the current term's charges and then the current term's payments.  I looked at the balance due and realized that there was not one of is awarded scholarships.  I also realized that with his funding from Direct Subsidized and Unsubsidized Stafford Loans, a foundation scholarship, and his Red/Black Scholarship and then subtracting the scholarship not posted, the balance owed for the first semester was what I netted in one paycheck.  

This showed me that not only can I stand on my own two feet period, I can do it financially and support my son.   Will I do without a few wants, if that is what it takes for my son to go to college, I sure as hell will and I will make sure that it is known that I did it.  I will have to be creative and will have to do without and I can do all of this knowing that my son's future is bright and no one person, no one man is needed for this single mom to make sure that her child or children have what they need and some of their wants and can get the life that they want and deserve.

Sometimes in Life, Endings are Completely Unsatisfying

Before choosing to read this, please note that I believe this to be a side of me that few have seen.  This post is very specific to recent events in my life and I have chosen to post it not out of spite.  By no means does this post provide for me a completely satisfying ending, but what it does bring is some form of closure and the ability to move forward.   To find my way back to that teacher/that person that I used to be...A journey that has been painful, loving, disheartening, hysterical, and at times with completely unsatisfying endings.  This post is done with the realization that I was not given the respect back that I had given.  You can say that this post is disrespectful if you choose, but know that this post does leave out some extremely sensitive information that, in it's own time, will fuel the fire known as Karma.  I don't have to be there or even know that it is has happened.  The reality is we are all accountable for our choices and if you do truly love someone, you hold them accountable.  And when you do that, know that if they are not able to hold themselves accountable for their choices, they will inevitably take the cowards way out.

No matter how old your children get, they will always say the most profound things at just the right time and have no clue that they have done it.  My youngest son, walked into the room at a friend's house the other day, and announced that he had been waiting for the last chapter of this online novel to post and then the ending was completely ... he gasped with frustration, "unsatisfying."  I responded with, "Well, there are a lot of endings in life that are completely unsatisfying."  The friend and I had been discussing the ending of my recent almost a year relationship with her foster brother and this impending blog post.  She looked at me and I at her and with that, I had the title for this post.  What I did not have, well I had it but it was all completely filled with anger and second guessing myself and trying to figure out what I had done wrong when I really already knew that I had not done anything wrong. History is extremely important in knowing how I arrived at this "completely unsatisfying" ending.

About a year ago, through the previous mentioned friend, I reconnected with a family from my childhood.  She was one of three siblings that were the last foster kids the family would have and lived two houses down from me.  The father had had a stroke and was in a local nursing home struggling with the effects of having had the stroke while sitting in his vehicle at a stop light and then coming to and putting the vehicle over a ravine opposite the stop light.  When we arrived at the nursing home, the father and mother were there with two of their sons and two grandchildren.  The father, who had been struggling to remember names and faces, remembered both her and I immediately.   We chatted with everyone for a while and during that time as I was speaking with the one son, that if you have read previous posts have come to know him as Thomas.  I asked him how life was.  With an very angry and sarcastic response, he stated that he had two ex-wives, both of which had lied and cheated on him and there isn't a woman that wants to date him.  I replied with something to the nature of  don't be a blast of sunshine and look at the positives.  I told him that any time he wanted to swap disaster relationships and divorces to just call or come by, I lived in my childhood home.  About a week later, childhood friends reconnected and re-established a friendship.  We joked that one of the reasons we where spending time together was because we were the only ones answering each other's texts.  During one of our adventures either doing work on my house or sitting by the fire pit at his house or building a queen size storage under the bed frame, that friendship evolved.  We both admitted to have the most fun that we have had not just in a long time but period with someone.  The relationship evolved, I imposed the 90-day Steve Harvey policy (if you don't know what that is then you need to watch "Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man), and the love-word bomb had been uttered first by Thomas.  It was hard for me to hear because I had not really heard it in a long, long time and it really meant something coming from the other person.  

The relationship was far from perfect and we had many ups and downs.  I struggled to separate home and work while Thomas struggled with the demands of a teacher and a girlfriend that had been a workaholic and used work as a way to escape.  I had been struggling to do that but felt that I was really close and then a completely unsatisfying ending happened, MoMo left for heaven.   Thomas stood by my side.  My world was in a tailspin.  Then almost six months to the day, Thomas's father left for heaven and his world went into a tailspin.  We struggled for the next six weeks to figure out what direction we were going.  Marriage had been discussed once his divorce from his second wife (previously mentioned during the ray of sunshine moment) a number of time between the journeys our respective parents and best friends had taken.  

I was being pulled in close and then pushed away through the form of a text message.  This became the norm for until Memorial Day, when we both finally seemed to land at one the same place, at the same time.  Thomas even said that he had talked to one of his confidants that while we didn't have it perfect, who does, we are making it work, we are working it through.  A week later, his wife had finally agreed to meet him at his bank to get their signatures notarized on their completed divorce petition on Monday and that she would be filing them.  He looked at me and smiled and said "So, babe, when are we getting married?"  I told him let's see how long it takes her to get them filed.  Everything was clicking, but while it was clicking, I was failing to see signs.  Signs that I thought I would never have to see again in my life because I had found my forever. I had found someone else that had been the faithful one in previous marriages.  I had found someone that believed "Don't lie or cheat.  You do, you are gone."  In hindsight, I can see the signs prior to receiving the confirmation but at the same time trying not to believe that it was all happening again.

As we were both falling asleep, I got a message on Facebook Messenger that indicated that she had been dating Thomas for two months and wanted to know why I had left my pillow at his house and why I thought I would be going to his brother's house.  I asked him and after he read the message and stated "She sent that to you?" had his back to me.  He did not look me in the eye when I asked about the extent of the relationship.  In hindsight, I can tell you that I should have right then kicked his ass out of my bed, my house and my life...but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.  We had been on and off, it was possible.  Within forty-eight hours, an ending that was unsatisfying in mammoth proportion had happened.   The one person that I thought would not cheat on me or lie to me had.  He had violated his own moral code.  He had done to me, what had been done to both of us by others.  I searched to figure out what I had done wrong besides love this man with all I am.  He would not speak to me in person, by text, a year's work of work and love and planning was done.

The queen size storage under the bed has become a symbol of a "completely unsatisfying" ending.  I have started to dismantle the bed to re-purpose the wood for the walk-in closet in MoMo's old bedroom.  The dismantle of this has become as "completely unsatisfying" as the ending to our relationship.  Is there irony in the fact that when we built the bed, Thomas labeled each side and we were not even "dating" at the time?

As I worked, it became more and more clear to me that this bed was built to withstand the relationship but I was not willing to let that be the case.  I worked for two days with little or no headway to dismantle Thomas's side of the bed.  It was as if in some one I was being mocked by the bed.  I finally gave up on Thomas's side after even the circular saw did not make a dent.  Then I started to work on my side of the bed...that labeled "Christa's side."  I struggled with screws of various style screwdriver tip styles...some square, some stars, some stripped.  Ugghhhh.  The way my children can tell that I am truly mad, is the increase of profanity and specifically the use of the F word.  I was able to dismantle my side but not without proficient use of the F world and some pieces not surviving.

And in the end, why is it always the last screw that resonates the most with you.  It feels like a dagger that twists between your should blades reminding you that you were foolish at giving your heart to someone that at one time was worthy but then in the end, they got the last screw.  But did they?

I am working on reading, thoughtfully reading Brene Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection.  On the day that I started the destruction of the bed, I read the following from her book and there was the start of an "Ah, Ha Moment."

But then there came this nudge into the next level of "Ah, Ha Moment."

Then what then took me to the next levels was the following title of a book located in our local library that is for sale for $1.00 to benefit the Friends of the Library.

At this point, being a person that has an excessive sense of right and wrong along with the belief that one must be responsible for their own choices and be accountable.  Seared into my brain, are the looks of empathy on Thomas's two sons that live with him because they knew what their father was doing and could not say anything because this is their father.  I am sure that they were seeing their father making their mother tell them why on Valentine's Day he was throwing her out of the house...and my struggle is with the lack of accountability.  Thomas has yet to face me to end this relationship while he continues to be with the (politely used term) individual that not only violated his privacy by going through his phone messages but also violated mine by doing so. 

While I know that to my son the ending of his book was "completely unsatisfying" and I don't want to make it seem trivial, because I know it was really important to him.  For me, the ending to what I thought was my forever was "completely unsatisfying" in a way, that when I am done "compartmentalizing" as an old friend told me this evening, will still be "completely unsatisfying" but in the end, I will have to let go and let God.  And should God not be able to complete any task, I am sure that he will call in the bitch, Karma.

Possible Titles for Blog Posts

I think that we all get those ideas that pop into our heads at the most inopportune moment and then when we need it the most, nada...nothing...gone...poof.  It is the same with that witty comeback that happens when you are no longer in the situation.  When I started the blog, I would put titles for potential posts as drafts but no posts ever evolved.  So, just as I have been doing purging my house, so I purge this blog.  Below is a list of draft post titles that I have saved:

1)  First Birthday In Heaven

2)  To All The Men In My Life (Past, Present, and Future)

3)  Observations from a Teacher's Celebration

4)  Some of Us Wear the Map of our Lives

5)  When You Realize That Your Life is a Series of Taylor Swift Songs (and You are Over 45)

6)  "What's so great about you is you are so unapologetically yourself." from Inherent Vice (2014) 
       Nellie(Gaby Hoffman)

I actually thought there were more than that...

It Makes It Personal

On Monday, July 10, 2017, I had the privilege to speak to a local county council about the naming of a new park after a local Marine that was killed in action.  The young man grew up in the area, graduated from one of the local high schools, and sixteen days into Afghanistan ... was killed in action.  I have had a number of people compliment me on my writing skills, well I also have speaking skills.  Below is what I spoke following an emotional presentation by the young man's father and before his mother's words.  Each speaker only had three minutes, which for those who know me personally know that I can speak for any length of time, so I tried to make my point very clear.  The family is that of LCpl Phillip Vinnedge, who was killed in action on October 13, 2010 as part of Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan.  He was a member of the United States Marine Corps Dark Horse Unit.  He was nineteen years old.  His parents are two of the most amazing individuals that I have been blessed to have in my life.  At the end of my remarks are some links to local news media stories, please take a few minutes to watch these.

"I am a quote person.
And though our arms are empty,
Our hearts know what to do,
Every beat of my heart says,
'I remember you.'

PFC Lucas Bregg
PFC Andrew Habsieger
Sgt Denis Kisselhoff
Cpl Donald Marler
LCpl Matthew Pathenos
PFC Michael Patton
SSG Bradley Skelton
Cpl Riley Baker
LCpl Drew Weaver
SPC Jeffery White
SGT Matthew Straughter
Seaman John Gomez
Cpl Travis Patriquin
SGT Zachary Fischer
Cpl Russell Makowski
LCpl Phillip Vinnedge

To you, these names may or may not have meaning or faces
To the students in my classroom, they are the faces and names of our fallen that hang on my classroom walls
To me, they are representative of a bigger picture - all ALL who gave their lives - the ultimate sacrifice for the ideals of our founding fathers and their families
In today's fast-paced social media driven world - without a name and face the reality of our Gold Star families and the sacrifice that they have given often go unnoticed
For them, as I have learned from witnessing their grief and the positive things they have chosen to do with their grief as the Vinnedges have done and continue to do --- all the Gold Star family wants is for their family member to be remembered.

To the Vinnedges, it isn't about just the naming of a park after their son who was killed in action.
It is ALL about our fallen from this era, their families and most importantly their children.
I don't know about you, but this is not an era that I want to have to repeat teaching.

Thank You"

http://www.stltoday.com/news/local/stcharles/st-charles-marine-killed-in-afghanistan/article_14b9a868-d80d-11df-9749-0017a4a78c22.html

http://www.ksdk.com/news/local/hundreds-helping-gold-star-mothers-effort-to-rename-park-after-fallen-son/453977503

http://fox2now.com/2017/07/04/mother-of-fallen-marine-wants-park-named-after-him/

http://midriversnewsmagazine.com/2017/07/12/66897/parents-ask-that-new-st-charles-county-park-be-named-in-honor-of-their-son-killed-in-afghanistan

http://fox2now.com/2017/07/10/mother-of-fallen-marine-presents-petition-to-st-charles-county-council-to-name-park-after-him/

http://www.kmov.com/story/35881195/woman-petitions-to-have-st-charles-co-park-named-after-son-a-fallen-marine

You can also check them out at http://www.fallenherosdreamride.org

What I Have Learned About Love...(edited 7/10/17)

This post actually started out with the title "The Truth About Love...according to P!nk."  I actually had printed off specific songs (approximately 40 of them) by P!nk (most of which she not only performed but also wrote/co-wrote), highlighted specific lyrics that in song title alphabetical order actually formed a very nice poetic response to "The Truth About Love;" but I met Roy today.   

I have been faithfully going to the gym five to six days a week for the past three weeks at varied times.  I am a people watcher and know no strangers.  Today, I was about thirty-five minutes into my sixty minute treadmill workout when this older gentleman came in wearing a World War II Veteran ball cap. All sweaty and out of breath, I thanked him for his service.  The gentleman smiled politely at me and said "thank you."  He climbed up on the treadmill next to me and asked how far I had walked and how long.  I told him that I was about half way through a sixty minute workout before I got on the bike for another thirty.  He smiled and laughed a little.  As we talked, I introduced myself and said it was an honor to meet him.  His name is Roy and he is 92.  His spirit was amazing and uplifting.  He also informed me that despite a pacemaker, he planned to live to 100. As I moved from the treadmill to the bike, I got myself a new water bottle and bought Roy one and told him that it was important to stay hydrated.

It was during this approximately thirty minute conversation that all the stuff I was doing before about the truth about love, really wasn't what I knew to be the truth about love in my life.  P!nk isn't wrong by any means.  Love is flowers, armpits, sweat, tears, fear, anger, and all the other words she has used.  I am a huge P!nk fan....yes, on my bucket list to meet her.  I think she is an amazing role model.  Yet, after talking to Roy and spending most of the past two weeks  on a major emotional roller coaster that I know for a fact drove some of my friends to the brink of insanity, if not tossing them over the edge when it comes to me.  

Roy talked to me about his wife of 72 years.  He was drafted into the Army in January 1943, served for six months and returned home on leave to marry the love of his life.  He was home for three months and then returned to active duty by landing in France and eventually fighting in and surviving The Battle of the Bulge.  He talked then about caring for his wife during her descent into Alzheimer's Disease.  How he cared for her as long as he possibly could - bathing her, feeding her, taking care of all her needs- until had to place her in a nursing home.  He said that he visited her every day and had breakfast with her.  This was down in Texas.  He still goes down there every November through March.  While he is down there, he returns to that same facility, he says because of the hugs.

Our conversation centered around God and blessings.  How it all comes down to He has a purpose for us and that we don't always know what it is or ever know what it is, we just do it.  Roy also told me that next week he will be having his pacemaker that he has had for 10 years replaced by a newer model by one of our local heart specialists.  He told me his name and I said, "God has placed you in very capable hands."  If you pray to any God, please add him to yours because I look forward to trying to be there everyday during his designated time, just to get my dose of what I have learned about love.

I learned today that we love with a heart that God has given us.  We are not perfect in giving that love but we love.  When we find that one person that is worthy of being loved the way that not only the way we love ourselves (because you can not really love another if you don't love yourself) but loving the way God loves us and we Him.  The truth is that if we are truly capable of loving ourselves, there is nothing that we are not capable of doing for someone that we truly love.  Like that love that was demonstrated by Roy with his wife and the Alzheimer's.  I can not even imaging watching the person that for over three-fourths of your life you have unconditionally loved die twice.  First, by the overtaking of the Alzheimer's that makes the person disappear and then the second, when her body goes. We talked about the emptiness that follows the passing of someone you love (Roy about his wife, Myself my MoMo) and that you ask God to not let you wake up the next day and that you just want to be with them where they are.  I said, "I keep waking up.  I figure that God has a purpose for me."  Roy said, "We don't even get to know that purpose most of the time.  Maybe your purpose today was to talk to me and I mine to you."  

I learned that love is sacrifice, it is hard work, it is beautiful, it is monogamy, it is dedication, it is a journey between two people that can be intimate physically and soulfully that breathes life into the individual and into the two, it is moments when you don't agree but you respect the other's opinion, it is knee deep in blessings of children and friends, it is the moments of silence that don't feel empty or strained, it is the laughter, it is the passion, it is accountability, it is responsibility, it is scars on the heart, but above all...it is that commitment to another person that becomes a promise that no matter what ... the good, the bad, the ugly, the sticky, the legal, the health or lack of health.  Love is forgiveness, it is messy, it is not just words that you say, it is shown through your actions.  Love can shatter a heart ... Love can mend a heart.

All of this is only possible through the twisting of a line from the P!nk song, "Free" "[...Why can't I just love myself enough?  Instead of looking outside. For what I should have inside myself." If you cannot love yourself...If you cannot see that you are enough...If you cannot see yourself worthy of love...then you cannot love another.  

Roy is all those things that I have learned about love...it is hope, it is giving my faith in God that I am capable of loving not just myself but another.  When it is right, God will let me know...Today reminded me that I still have a huge heart that is giving and capable of love ... what I need to do is find that love inside myself again...and then I will be free. I have been a fighter and I have been strong and yes, it is exhausting.  The minute that I gave in to letting myself walk the path less traveled, the one that I believe God chose for me...it is then that I will be truly capable of loving myself and loving another in the manner that Roy reminded me of today. That is the truth about what I have learned about love.