More Than A Chapter

I must say, I love being in my 50s. There’s something truly liberating about it. Like wisdom—there’s definitely that. 54-year-old me has a whole lot to say to 24-year-old me like choose the path you want to take instead of listening to what others believe you should do, or get out of that toxic relationship ASAP, also stop worrying about the way you look because women your age are always seen (maybe not listened to, but definitely seen). Then there’s the not caring as much about what other people think. That’s truly freeing, too. It’s nice to not give a fuck about someone else’s opinion. Whereas, in my youth, I cared what everyone thought of me. It was exhausting. But while both wisdom and being dismissive of other’s opinions are well-earned aspects of being 50+, there are also drawbacks. Such as invisibility. Now let me tell you, I like blending in as much as any other introvert on the planet. I want to do my thing and not constantly be evaluated for how I’m doing it or what I...

  I’ve never been one to resist change. I’ve always looked at it as an opportunity to grow and try new things. But when Zane died, I no longer embraced it.   Prior to my pregnancy, I had left teaching to go on the road for a year with my husband and two-year-old son. I fully expected to return to the profession once the road trip ended. Zane’s birth, diagnosis, and care altered that plan completely. I couldn’t teach full-time and take care of two young boys, especially one with developmental and medical needs. But I was all right with that. I accepted that change. I built my life around being a mom and picking up jobs as opportunities arose.   When we moved from Colorado back to Arizona, I started working in the schools as an instructional assistant, so that I could be near the boys and follow their schedules. I became a part-time (and eventually full-time) IA, mom, chauffer, CNA, organizer of schedules, along with all the other roles a woman takes on. I did that for ...

  It’s getting hotter out. The temperatures are skirting 100°, which means that the pool is warming up. I’ve already been in a couple of times—once with the pup and the other to swim laps. There’s something peaceful about being in the water. I’ve loved lakes, oceans, pools, and waterparks all of my life. I’ve passed this “bug” onto both of my boys. Summer time means pool time. The end of the school year and the arrival of summer was always exciting. Sure, part of it was because the daily grind came to an end for a month or two. But mostly it was because I had ample time with my kids. And a big part of that once included spending time in the pool. And since I worked in education, I kept the same schedule as the kids. The smell of sunscreen still evokes calming memories for me. Drifting beneath the surface makes me feel like I’ve somehow found an old home that I’ve been missing. And being in the water is yet another way to commune with Zane. We have a pretty large, diving pool, so it...

  This Memorial Day weekend has been tough when it comes to my mental health. It’s not the day itself, but the things that have happened around it. My husband designated this weekend as the one where we do spring cleaning, but it’s more like a deep purge. Now I will be the first to admit that I love to hang onto things that have sentimental value, and that includes things that belonged to Zane. And I’ll admit that it’s time to let some of them go.  Some of them.  Well, if you know my husband you know how obsessive he is about cleaning and minimizing stuff. So this weekend was horrible for me. I won’t get into the specifics right now, but I felt compelled to get rid many of Zane’s belongings that I wouldn’t otherwise part with. Having to sort through and compile his toys and personal items was emotional and taxing. Add to that a verbal “fight” my husband and I had that sent me bawling in Zane’s room for an hour and a pouting episode on my dad’s part that left me filled wit...

  Yesterday was surgery day for my older son. We were at the same hospital where Zane spent his last days of life. Shit, was that hard! All sorts of feelings surfaced, and I had to stuff them down throughout the day. The last thing my living kiddo needed was a mom bursting into tears while he was experiencing anxiety of his own. I had to throw the brave-face on. I’m pretty flipping good at it.  Yet there were moments of laughter when we joked about directing the surgeon into our room with one of those business-twirling arrows and then accidentally knocking him out with it, because we were so inept at twirling, that he couldn’t perform the surgery that day.  But then the sobriety kicked in.  During pre-op, when my son stepped out of the room, I turned to the surgical PA. “Be sure to take extra care of him during surgery,” I said. Then I back-pedaled a bit. “I mean, I know you’ll take care of him, but I lost my younger son three years ago, and he’s all I have left. So ...

 Tomorrow my older, 18-year-old has surgery at the same hospital where my younger kiddo spent the last days of his life. He and I were there for the first part of his surgery three years ago (only six months after Zane died). It was hard to go back then. But at the time, I was still existing in a fog-like state. I had only just received my latest cancer diagnosis, and the pandemic was only a mere four months old. I was pretty much out of body.  Not this time around.  This time, I’m feeling more anxiety than I did on the day of that first surgery. My oldest is feeling it, too. For him, some of it is due to the procedure itself, but that’s not the all of it. Yesterday he told me he hates the hospital: the smell, the colors, the fact that it’s filled with sick children. We had spent a lot of time there when Zane was alive. He was inpatient quite a lot. It became like a second home, and I never minded it when my kiddo was alive. And until the last admission, he always came ho...

  Lately I’ve been having a lot of memory flashes about Zane. There’s nothing in particular that sparks these remembrances; they just sort of happen. Sometimes they occur in a montage of the mind. I see the time spent on the second floor of PCH, waiting for a specialist appointment. Or…I revisit middle-of-the-night bedding changes. Some of the flashes make me long for day’s past while others make me wish I’d done things differently (i.e., regret).  This past weekend was Mother’s Day, so I naturally thought of the times when I enjoyed the holiday. The three guys were always so good about planning something for the day—a bike ride or a day trip to a cool part of Arizona. I cherish these memories and hold them protectively close. There’s no way of ever going back to them, so they’re all I have when it comes to Zane. Even after three years, that’s still a hard reality to face. I imagine it always will be.  Zane loved to move. When we lived in Colorado, he participated in adap...