A Divorce in Wedding Season

In May of 2009, I had three weddings in the month of May. After attending the first, it was all I needed to confirm what I did not have and what I needed to do.

A week later, I told my then husband I would not be traveling to the next wedding with him. That I would never be traveling to another wedding with him. That I was leaving him. I started the month as a Mrs. and ended it as a Ms.

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Bookworm: Why Not Me? (Good Summer Read!)

I sat at my computer trying to conjure up my best Official Book Review voice.  Something worthy of the New York Times or at the very least my second grade book reports.  But it all sounded so unnatural and cliche.  Frustrated, I walked away from my computer and took a cue from Why Not Me’s best feature: the use of one’s own voice.  So here we go – my voice, with a few holdovers from the Official Book Review voice.

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Loving a Homosexual: We All Do

I met my best friend when I was 1 year and 361 days old. My best friend is loving, funny, caring, smart, thoughtful, loyal and a great runner. He is taller and much more attractive than me. We have had our differences, but don’t all brothers and sisters?

He has been gay since the first day we met. People wondered, they assumed, they questioned, but I never understood why. It never mattered to us and it should not matter to anyone else. But for some reason, it does, and today, we were all horrifically reminded of that fact.

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The Line on His Nose

It’s no wider than a string, no longer than a grain of rice.  Its faint red color protrudes from his right nostril.  No one else sees it.  If they do, they do not notice it.  I see it.  When I see it, I take a deep a breath.  I smile away the tears that threaten.  He was born six weeks early.   During labor, my doctor gently informed me that my delivery room experience would be different.  There would be extra doctors and nurses. There would be special equipment in the room to help them deal with potential complications or health concerns.  I would likely not be able to hold him.  Whether because it was my first labor, the fact that my husband was in flight on his way to the hospital, or the kind, warm demeanor of my doctor as he delivered the information or simply that I had never experienced the love of your own child, I could not appreciate the gravity of his words.

He spent the first month of his life in the hospital – constantly monitored to ensure he was breathing and that his heart was beating.  He would not eat. Or he was too young to know how – they said.  Despite our efforts, the only option was the small tube running down his nose.  “If not changed daily, it could leave a scar,” one nurse told us when we asked why it kept changing sides.  We learned the truth of her words in the days before discharge.

Initially I was angry about the scar from his feeding tube.  We would have a visual reminder of this experience for the rest of our lives.   In our time there we held our screaming, crying four pound baby as he was poked, prodded and tested for chronic conditions that would explain his distended stomach and impact the rest of his life.  We witnessed a mother and father as they were told that their baby was revived the night before, but that the episode would repeat and the child would not survive the next time.   I did not want a visual reminder of this experience.

We left the hospital with our son.  We know not all families have the same fortune.  It’s a responsibility we do not take lightly.  Slowly I began to embrace and love his scar.  Like his life, it is a blessing.  It drives me to live my days and stare down my fears.  It nudges me everyday when I forget to live my days and stare down my fears.  It reminds me of the urgency of life, its fleeting moments and fragile nature.

Starting a blog scared me.  I dreamed of it.  I dreamed of writing for a wider audience since I had my first diary.  This dream stuck with me as I scribbled in my well-guarded notebooks in high school, bound journals in college, Moleskins as my career began and finally urgent typing on my electronic devices.   For as long as I can remember as my thoughts circulate in my mind I try to determine how I would write those words to others.    How I would describe the sight I am seeing and the sensations I am feeling.  Every few years, I would mention my crazy and silly dream to write someday.  Supportive friends would say, “you should!”  And that was as far as it went.  His line makes me realize that my fear of failure and being judged is precluding me from following my dreams.  That realization coupled with the greater fear of looking back with regret for not doing this led me here.  Welcome, thanks for reading and hope you are having a good day.