Pissed

It really sucks when the one person you want to talk to about feeling so horribly sad is the person who is gone.

Today it is really hitting hard. All the chaos and commotion of the past week is over. I wrote and gave a eulogy at her funeral, and the sense of closure and peace I got from that has worn off. I watched some video, shot by Jerry last August, of Reagan's birthday party and it just socked me in the gut.

I am just so damn mad that this happened. I miss my friend.

Stupid light

Funny how death heightens everything. The smallest detail.

Today is the first day I've had some time to be alone. Really alone. I came home from dropping Wilder off at school, and I'm here by myself. Started listening to a song that Karen's husband, Eric, played for me last night. Such a pretty song — it's called "The Call," by Regina Spektor.

I sat listening to it, and was thinking about how Bree will get here tonight. Then, tomorrow, Sarah and Jess. In college, it was always the five of us: Karen, Bree, Sarah, Jess, me. I've had most of the best times of my life with these girls. I love them all so much.

I kind of lost it and had to lie down on the floor. I rolled over onto my back, and looked at this damn chandelier in my living room.



One light out.

I hate this.

For Karen

Memorial Day Weekend, Boulder, CO: Bree, Kris, Karen, Sarah

When I was in the first grade, there was a new girl who came to our school. Her name was Karen Nalezinek, and the teacher assigned me to help her out that day. Show her where the milk was in the lunchroom. That sort of thing. It was the first of many coincidences that would lead to Karen and I being lifelong friends. Somehow, no matter where we went off to, we always ended up back near each other.

It happened during college, when I moved back to Colorado and we both ended up at CU — roommates almost the whole time. A few years after we graduated, she moved back to Colorado and I lived in Apt. L. She moved in four doors down. Apt. P. She bought a house. Less than two miles away, Jerry and I bought one. This latest house we bought is a few blocks away from where Karen's oldest daughter, Reagan, goes to school. She and her husband Eric were thinking of moving over here. As it is, they are not that far away. Certainly close enough for Karen and I to get our kids together every few weeks. Close enough to try to have dinner together as often as our busy lives allow.

We always joked that we'd end up two old ladies, living together as widows, sharing one car. We joked about it, but I honestly believed it could happen. It just did happen that way with Karen and I.

I thought we would always be there, near each other. Watching our beautiful kids, who get along so amazingly well, grow up together. Crying together over our empty nests. Trying to good naturedly out-brag each other over their accomplishments. Continuing to go out for cocktails for decades. Always talking, always sharing, always feeling like we were soul-sisters. If not in blood, then in soul. When I wanted to talk to my mom and knew I couldn't, Karen was almost always the next person I would think of to call. I don't think I ever told her that.

This morning, at 7:21 a.m., I got the second worst phone call I've ever received, next to when my dad called me 11 years ago. Jamey, Karen's little sister, called me to tell me that my dear, lifelong friend passed away last night.

It is inconceivable to me that she is gone. Just a few weeks ago, we shopped together for our kids Christmas presents. She gave me hell about using the Toys R Us employees as my personal shoppers. She bought games for all her nieces and nephews, and was looking forward to many nights spent with them and her babies, playing those games. I told her I hated playing games with her when we were little because she wanted to win so badly. We laughed. Afterward, we went out for appetizers and a couple of drinks. We sat at the bar and raised our eyebrows at the lady sitting near us who was laughing so loud, so much. She told me about one of her contract employees, a young man who had been murdered over Thanksgiving weekend. We shook our heads at the way life can change in an instant.

An instant.

I will no doubt need to write about Karen much on this blog over the next few weeks. There are so many stories. There was so much history between us, so much future. She has been a constant in my life. And now she is gone. I am shattered at this. My heart breaks, not only for me but for all those who love her.

Karen. Oh honey. I love you so much.

Proud moment

Many of you know how our school year started. It was, um — shitty — to put it as succinctly as I can. That said, Wilder has been making great strides in learning to pay attention, follow instructions, etc. You know, all that stuff that opens the pathways to us eventually being beaten down adults who turn to one vice or another because the world expects so much from us.

What? It's true, isn't it? OK, it's not that bad ...

Anyway, as I waited outside the school today to pick him up, a woman's voice came over the loudspeakers outside the school. Presumably she works in the office, and presumably she may be brand new, because I'm pretty sure she pushed a wrong button. And, while I appreciated being able to hear the announcements (reason to come), I'm pretty sure the six-block radius around the school might not have. Just saying, the Boulder Valley School District is not scrimping on PA systems. That shit was loud.

So anyway, she starts listing off the names of kids who got "PAWS" today. That stands for something that has to do with good behavior. For me, it would be "Please Answer Without Sarcasm," a skill I never learned. For the little ones, it's something else.

Anyway, as I stood there listening, I dared to hope that I would hear my kiddo's name announced. Lucky for me, he doesn't have a name like Grayson or Jayson or Braden or Aidan or any of those names that seem so popular amongst little boys these days.

And, then, it happened ...

"blah blah blah Wilder, from Ms. Z's class, blah blah blah ..."

I swear the damn widest smile spread over my face. There were times at the beginning of the school year that, had you told me that THAT would have happened, I would have laughed, then cried, then found the nearest route to my refrigerator.

But it did. And I was so, so proud. Damn, kid, you done good.

And then there was ice cream. The end.

And he's a writer (of letters, anyway)

Over the holiday break, I taught Hunter how to write his name. We worked on it a few weeks ago, during which time he became convinced his name was spelled H-T-O, and I was so happy he was writing any letters that I became content to just let him believe that for awhile.

A few days before break ended, I knew that Wilder needed to get back on the academic horse lest he show up to the first day back to kindergarten drooling and holding his pencil like a caveman club, so I grabbed some paper and markers and set him down to practice.

Hunter sat down, too. He wrote an "H," looked at me and said "what next?"

So we went over it. How to spell his name. How to put one letter next to another, etc.

This afternoon, I picked him up from preschool. On the way out the door, I stopped to look at a piece of paper taped to the door. There, in Hunter's distinctive yet legible scrawl, I saw his name. I looked quizzically at his teacher.

"He came in, sat down and the first thing he did was write his name for Miss Deb (the a.m. teacher)," she told me. "So we taped it up."

#proudmamamoment :-)

Hard at work writing his name.

Music in the ears

For some time, Hunter has far preferred Jerry's company to mine. As in: "Go AWAY. I want Papa!" Over and over and over again. For months now, really. You can imagine how this must make me feel. Yes, there's hurt. But there's also that incredulous feeling of "you little ungrateful turd ... I carried you INSIDE MY BODY for nine months and let them CUT ME OPEN to get you out ..."

It could go on and on. I don't really say this stuff to him. Just in my own head. I might occasionally mutter "you shit turd" under my breath. It's my newest term of endearment. Mostly, though, I just feel defeated when he does that.

The last few days, there have been glimmers of Hunter love again.

And then this morning ...

I slept in kinda late for me. Wilder was up watching a show. Hunter had not yet emerged from his room. I peeked inside his door and he was just sitting up, stretching and yawning. I cracked the door open to say good morning.

He looked up.

"I want Pa________ ... I mean, I want you."

I don't think even he could believe the words had just come out of his mouth. And he's been following me around chattering at me ever since.

It's gonna be a GOOD day.