Fat Lips and Easter Eggs

Now it's time to get back to writing about normal daily life, so let me back up to Easter weekend aside from the tragedy that plagued it.

I had Friday off so Punky and I were headed home for the weekend.  Her dad had to work straight through the holiday so there was no sense in us hanging around the house.

Friday morning I was busy packing so we could get on the road by naptime.  Punky was amusing herself nicely...playing with her toys, flipping through her books.  I was in the kitchen washing sippy cups for the trip when I heard a bang.  I had just looked at her five seconds earlier and she was dancing in the living room. 

By the time I got to her she was already standing up, so I'm not quite sure exactly how she fell or what she hit.  She was crying hard and I picked her up and tried to comfort her.  She put her head down on my shoulder and I rubbed her back, rocked back and forth, told her she was okay in that comforting mama tone... The crying eased substantially within a minute and she picked her head up and looked at me.  Cue the heart attack here...

There was a circle of blood the size of a softball on my shirt, and strings of blood running from her mouth to my shoulder.  I screamed, literally.  Her dad was still sleeping since he worked till three a.m. the night before, but he was in the living room in ten seconds flat.  I had no idea where the blood was coming from or what the hell to do next.  Yeah, I was in full panic mode...

At least Punky has one calm, collected parent to handle the situation.  Her dad quickly pointed out the deep gash in her upper lip, and the fact that it had instantly swollen to the size of a superball.  He got a soft, damp washcloth, wrapped it around an ice pack from the freezer, and actually got her to clamp down on it for about ten minutes to stop the bleeding and swelling. 

Da da da da...it's Superdad!  Able to stop the bleeding with a single washcloth!  Able to stop the swelling with a single ice pack!  Able to stop a panicked mama with a single word of reassurance!

But seriously though, if I was home alone with Punky at the time, we would've been on our way to the ER to see if she needed stitches.  It took a little while for the bleeding to stop completely but it did stop without medical intervention.  The swelling went down considerably with the ice pack but she still had quite the fat lip for a day.  By Saturday morning, a huge black scab had formed right in the center of her upper lip.  Just in time for Easter pictures...yay! 

I'm sure it was sore, but it didn't affect her eating or drinking and she was happy as could be.  By Monday night the scab was dangling and finally fell off before bed.  I was worried she'd have a nasty scar on her lip but thankfully it seems okay.

We made the drive without a hitch and headed to my sister's for some egg dipping on Friday night.  At fifteen months, Punky wasn't the least bit interested in dying eggs but my nephew seemed to have fun with it this year. 

On Saturday we had an Easter egg hunt in the backyard at Grammy's house.  My nephew found the hard ones and left the 'right out in the open on the grass in front of you' ones for his little cousin.  Punky had fun picking them up (of course, she thought they were balls) but she wasn't wild about putting them in her basket and finding more.  She just wanted to shake what she had and forget the rest.  With time and persistence she managed to pick up twenty-three eggs and got a nice mound of coins for her piggy bank.

On Sunday Punky was all decked out for the holiday in a six to twelve month dress that my aunt bought her last year when she was baptized. It's one of my favorites with matching bonnet, sweater, and socks but she never had the opportunity to wear it. It was too big last summer and when I put it on her to take a picture at nine months, she was still drowning in it. My mom wanted to buy her an Easter dress this year, but I was determined to get her in this outfit at least once. It fits perfectly now and I'm so glad she got the chance to wear it before it gets passed on to her new cousin on the way.

The Easter Bunny was good to her again this year.  We had given her our basket Friday morning at home.  We figured she could use some fun after busting her face.  But between her aunt, uncle, and grandparents she was not lacking treasures on Easter morning.  Books, bubbles, Gerber snacks, and pajamas were just some of the things filling her baskets.  And she got some candy as is tradition, but won't even be tasting much of it yet at her age.  She had a taste of a marshmallow peep and turned her nose up at it.  She's really not crazy about sweet stuff, probably because she hasn't had a lot of it.  I wasn't a sweets eater as a kid either so maybe she's taking after me. 

She really enjoyed Easter dinner at Grammy's though.  She had ham, potato salad, stuffed shells, paska bread, and a huge hunk of this bland, cheese ball stuff that I can barely say let alone spell. 

We left shortly after dinner and made the long drive home.  She slept the whole way.  I cried most of it.

Thank You

I had the opportunity to meet many of Rita's wonderful friends at the viewing last night, though I wish we would've met under better circumstances.  She was just as lucky to have each and every one of you in her life as you were to have her.

I wanted to take a minute to thank all of you for your kind words about the post I had written.  When I wrote it Sunday night, it was my way of coping and getting it all out.  I had no idea so many would read it and be moved by it. 

Life will go on, and I will continue writing about my life and my beautiful little girl, but the post will always be here in the April archives; it will never be deleted.  So whether it be a week, a month, a year, or ten years from now, when you hear a giggle off in the distance and think of Rita... When you see a sunflower and think of Rita... When you simply miss your dear friend... The post will still be here for anyone to read and remember, as well as any comments anyone adds over time.

I am so very sorry for the loss everyone feels now, but I'm so honored that my post seemed to help some of you reading it as much as it helped me to write it.

For Those in Search of Rita

It has come to my attention that the link to my blog has been posted on someone's Facebook page.  I am both humbled and honored that so many people have been dropping by to read about Rita and the beautiful person she was.  It also made me realize there is so much more I could've said, so feel free to leave a comment and expand on her life and spirit with memories of your own.

Please scroll down a few entries to find the post you are seeking, or simply click here.  Had I known so many would come to read it, I wouldn't have posted a poop post in between...but all those who knew Rita know she'd see the humor in that and is probably giggling right now...

A Surprise for Daddy

I still need to write about Easter, but after that last post I need to lighten the mood.  And I have the perfect tale to tell. 

Due to his work schedule, Punky usually has only one full day a week with her dad.  When we're home together she tends to cling more to me, so I'm glad they have that day together alone while I'm at work.  And I'm also glad she pulls her worst stunts on his shift.

Last week he needed to use the bathroom.  You can't ignore nature's calls even when you have to keep an eye on a toddler.  Usually she accompanies me to the potty, but he seems to manage a few minutes of privacy while she plays in another room.  He keeps the door open and will call her when one of those odd silences signal she's up to no good.

After a few minutes he no longer heard the music from the toy she was playing with and needed to know what she was doing.  He called her and she came trotting in the bathroom right away like she usually does.  Only this time, she had a surprise for Daddy.

Two patties full of crap.  Not junk.  Not stuff.  Shit.  The real deal.  Apparently she stuck both hands down the back of her diaper and pulled out two good handfuls, then proudly pranced in the bathroom and held them up for him to see.  So, in addition to cleaning her up of course, he also had to search the living room for anything she may have touched before showing him her treasure.

He he he...

In Memory of Rita

One of my mom's life long friends killed herself yesterday.  Committed suicide is too pretty a term.  Killed herself.  Hung herself in a stairwell.

During the whole drive home from our Easter visit today, I searched to find the right words for a post like this.  There simply aren't any.  Yet I feel like I need to say something.  I need to write something.  I have to get it out in the best way I know how.

How does a woman in her early sixties come to such a gruesome end?  I just can't wrap my head around it.  Especially Rita.  She was one of the toughest women I've ever known.

Life kicked her.  And kicked her some more.  And kicked her again for fun when she was already down.  But she took it in stride.  She played the cards she was dealt and always stole the pot.  Some how.  Some way.  This time she folded.  

She grew up in a mentally abusive household.  An alcoholic, nasty, miserable excuse for a father.  A submissive mother who let him get away with it.  A crazy bum of a brother.  And by crazy, I don't mean the fun way.  But she survived them.

She endured failed marriages and raising her son entirely on her own.  She worked hard, she ploughed through, and made it.  Taking shit from anyone wasn't on her list.  She would tell it like it was and spared no words for anyone who wronged her.  She stood up for herself.  She fought for all she had.  She struggled more than anyone should ever have to.

Bad luck was her only luck.  The hell with Murphy's Law.  It should be called Rita's Law.  Imagine the dumbest, craziest, most off-the-wall thing that you can.  I can almost guarantee it happened to Rita.

And through all this, anyone reading along would imagine a cranky, bitter woman who absorbed life's beatings and lashed back at all humanity.  But the exact opposite was true.

She laughed.  Actually giggled.  She had one of those infectious little chuckles that would suck you in to laugh along with her.  She smiled.  One of those sweet, natural smiles.  Never forced.  Always sincere.  She joked about her luck in life.  Whenever anything went wrong, and it always did, she picked herself up, brushed herself off, relayed the story to her friends in a manner that could've been delivered on a stand-up comedy stage, and she got back in the ring for another round.

She had a kind word for everyone in her company.  She never hesitated to give a compliment.  She told people how beautiful they looked, how smart they were, how nice they were... repeatedly and with sincerity.  Right to their faces.  Not many people can do that.  Not many people take the time to brighten someone else's day.  Especially when life is kicking them in the ass.  But Rita did.  And she wasn't just saying things to be nice.  She meant every word.

She wore her heart on her sleeve and would give you the shirt off her back if you needed it.  No matter what she was facing in her life, she never turned her back on a friend.  And she had friends.  So many friends.  A regular social butterfly she was.  She loved people and loved to talk.  Sometimes it was hard to get a word in with Rita, but when you did, she was listening and there to help.

Life dealt it's last fatal blows over the past few years.  She lost her job and her third marriage failed after thirteen years.  She was already wallowing in a deep depression when he walked out on her for another woman.  Normally for her, these things wouldn't have been more than minor speed bumps on the road.  She would've told him to screw himself.  Plain and simple.  She would've moved back home to be closer to her son and her friends.  She would've gotten another job.  She would've spent the next few months effing him up an down.  Life would've gone on.

This time it was different.  The depression that had been looming sucked her into a dark place and she couldn't climb out...  She lost herself.  Her fight was gone.  Her spunk was gone.  It took her sweet smile and infectious laugh.  All that remained was a shell of a person totally alien to those who knew her and loved her.

Friends tried to help.  They tried everything they could to reach her hand and pull her out of the hole that consumed her.  The truth is, nothing they did or could've done would've have made any difference where she was.  She was too deep to reach.  She heard their words, but couldn't understand their meaning.  She felt their love, but it couldn't warm her.  The boxing gloves were within reach, but she no longer had the strength to fight.

Her family history of mental illness left her terrified at the prospects.  She feared she would be locked up forever.  She was sick and needed help, but the system failed her.  She made several attempts in the last few months to end it all, yet each time she grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder before it was too late.  She had been seeing a doctor.  He knew the story.  He had the facts.  He refused to have her committed.  She had no insurance.

So the end came in a stairwell on a holiday weekend.  She found a way to escape once and for all, to the utter devastation of her son and friends.  

Rita, I will remember you as a firecracker.  As a force to be reckoned with... As a good mom who did all she could to raise her son on her own.  As a true and loyal friend that was loved by everyone.  I will never forget that smile.  I will always hear that giggle.  I'll never fully grasp the depths of you sorrow or all that led to your decision, but I hope you found the peace you so desperately hoped for and needed.  And I'll never forget the pain on my mom's face when she answered the call on Saturday.  And I'm not sure yet if I can forgive you for that.  Rest in peace.

Silly Things Saturday: The Gum in the Bush

It's Easter weekend and we are home visiting, so this will be a quick one.

Punky's aunt P was great at playing the annoying little sister role when we were kids.  Okay, she still has her moments...  Anyway, one story that has been retold over and over through the years involves bubble gum and a bush along the driveway.

When we were in elementary school, mom usually had supper ready as soon as we got off the school bus.  My sister was always starving and could eat grown men under the table.  Once when we had a snow day off of school, she decided to write down everything she ate that day and it filled two and a half pages in a spiral notebook.  Oddly enough, she was a tiny, little stick straight up until she had her son in her late twenties.  Prior to that, she had no butt, no boobs, no belly...just a bean pole with feet.

At any rate, the minute the bus driver opened the door in front of our house, she was salivating and ready to eat.  The walk across the driveway to the door took a whole five seconds.  For whatever reason, she couldn't wait to make it in the house before ditching her gum in preparation for supper.  The bushes along the driveway became her dumping ground, though I never saw her do it.  She was a quick little shit...

After a few weeks of her habit building up, my dad noticed the multicolored speckles that adorned the row of bushes.  He quickly determined it was chewing gum...and promptly sent my sister and I out to pick it all off the branches.

I knew I didn't do it and thought he was being totally unfair.  At the same time though, she swore she didn't do it, and since I never saw her do it I was gullible enough to believe my sweet, little sister.  At that age, I'm not sure exactly where I thought it was coming from...passing cars perhaps?  Boys in the neighborhood being jerks?  Adults said no, but maybe gum could actually grow on trees...

We were out there picking chewed gum out of the bushes more often than I care to remember.  Dad said that until one of us confessed, we both had to do it.  I felt so strongly that we were suffering a great injustice at the time.  One day the gum stopped appearing in the bush.  No more speckles.  No more gross gum picking.  All was forgotten for years.

We were in our twenties and out on our own when the 'gum in the bush' days came up in conversation.  My sister blatantly gloated about how it was her all along and I had to help her clean it up every time.  Little witch.  And to think I believed her back then.  I defended her and said it couldn't have have been her because I would've seen her do it.  Cleaning up gooey, chewed gum was disgusting.  She still owes me big time for that.  Brat.

I did cut all her barbies' hair though, so I guess maybe we're even.

Angel Unknown

This post will be long.  This post will be serious.  Unlike the post below, this will be one story Punky probably won't know until she reads it herself far in the future.

It all started two weeks ago.  As I was leaving work that day, Punky's dad called to ask if I had a preference for dinner that night.  During our quick conversation, he mentioned that his twenty year old son and his girlfriend were coming over for a visit that night.  My response was "Why?"  He said they just wanted to see Punky.

I immediately got the feeling that something wasn't quite right.  It was a Tuesday night.  They never come over on a week night.  They hardly come over at all.  And never just to see Punky.  That fact alone makes me sad because he seemed excited at the thought of having a little sister while I was pregnant, yet he hardly has time for her.  I know, he's twenty...

Anyway, during my commute something popped into my head and I felt like I was punched in the stomach.  The intense gut reaction to that thought made me sure it was fact.  I haven't had the opportunity yet to blog about my oddly accurate sixth sense, but over the years I've learned to trust my gut and it hasn't failed me yet. 

When I got home I boldly declared, "She's pregnant.  I just know it.  Don't ask me how I know it.  I just do."  Of course Punky's dad just scoffed and rolled his eyes.  No matter how many times I've proven to him that I have a knack for prediction, he chalks it up to luck and dismisses my insight as nonsense. 

His son and girlfriend arrived a bit later and stayed a few hours.  They brought Punky a new dress and ate dinner with us.  The evening was quiet and uneventful.  When they left without incident, I got another eye roll and a look that said "I told you so" from Punky's dad.

He got the same look back from me.  I wasn't buying it.  I wasn't convinced.  I had to be right.  There's no way such an intense gut reaction could be wrong.  So the night was quiet.  Nothing was said.  No obvious hints were visible.  It didn't mean I was was wrong.

Fast forward exactly one week.  It was the day we first took Punky to the doctor and I stayed home from work.  About mid day, he got a text message from his son's girlfriend that simply said there are things he needs to know.  I couldn't help the smug smile that appeared on my face.  After a few hours of phone tag, he was finally able to speak to her and confirm what I had told him a week earlier: she's pregnant.

She also went on to tell him that they recently broke up for a while and his son has been dating someone else.  We already suspected as much since he showed up at the house a few weeks ago with a girl in the car.  He didn't bring her in to introduce us and said she was just a friend.  You know how that usually goes, especially at age twenty.  His dad asked if his girlfriend knew they were hanging out since they are "just friends" and his reply was a quick "no" followed by an immediate change of subject. 

Anyway, she said she told him she is pregnant but he feels their relationship is over and he wants to continue seeing the other girl.  She was obviously upset...and nervous about the pregnancy...and wanted his dad to talk to him about all of this. 

His son came over that evening and we got to hear his side of things.  To avoid getting really long winded with the details, I'll just say that when comparing what they both had to say it seemed there might be a chance she was never really pregnant at all.  I still thought she was...of course.  But his son confirmed that he has no interest in continuing their relationship.  They had been dating since high school and she is a very nice girl, but even we expected it to eventually end.  They fight a lot, and it seems like they have different ambitions now that they have entered the grown-up working world.  They are young.  People change.  Relationships end.  It just happens.  And in reality, very few first loves end up together forever.

He also said he knows this baby is his responsibility and he wants to be a part of his/her life.  That's the main thing we wanted needed to hear him say.  Regardless of his relationship with the mother, it is his child and he needs to take care of it.  Period.  He was worried she might try to keep him from seeing the baby if they are no longer together.  He left that night with a lot of thinking ahead of him.

We didn't hear from him again until Sunday.  He came over and told us she had been to the doctor.  She is definitely pregnant.  They both feel they aren't ready for this step in life.  "We've decided to abort."

Abort...

Abort...
 
Abort... 

That last word echoed through the house as if we were in a canyon.  An awkward silence filled the room and I struggled to sort the thoughts swirling around my head.  We never saw it coming.  It never even crossed our minds that this would be how the story ends.  Not for one second did we think it was even a possibility.

Pro-choice.  I have always been pro-choice.  Proudly pro-choice.  Adamantly pro-choice.  I never doubted that belief.  Not once.

I fought the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.  "Don't kill your baby!  Please don't kill that inncoent little baby!"  I screamed over and over in my head using every ounce of strength to keep it from flying out my mouth.

My attention turned to his dad.  He appeared to be lost in a sea of thoughts himself, but then a definite hint of sadness and disappointment appeared on his face.  He will never have the opportunity to know his first grandchild. 

His son left soon after and we talked about it for a while.  Although we both had the same feeling about their decision, neither of us felt it was our place to intervene.  They are adults.  They are within their rights.  Why risk alienating him at a time when he needs support the most?  To save a baby's life...that's why.

I've been miserable the last few days.  I regret the decision I made.  I should've said something.  Anything.  Every time I look at Punky I think of that little baby about to die.  Or maybe it already has.  Neither of us thought to ask when.  On a subconscious level, I don't think either of us wanted to know exactly when.

They have a right to make this decision and they have to live with it the rest of their lives.  Someday, as they gaze into the eyes of any future children they go on to have, they will think of this baby they so quickly discarded and long to know what could've been had they chosen a different path. 

And what happened to me?  How can someone so sure of her pro-choice belief suddenly feel so strongly against their decision?  Can I still respect the right to choose without respecting the choice to do so? 

A friend of mine surmised that maybe it's harder to accept now that I have a baby of my own.  That somehow it's easier to be  pro-choice when you have no children.  When you haven't experienced pregnancy.  When you haven't fallen in love with a tiny bunch of cells the instant the second blue line appeared.  How can they not be in love with those little cells and the tiny heart beating away? 

The mood's been somber at home. Soon it will all be just a bad memory tucked away. It won't be discussed aside from a possible slip of the tongue from time to time.  I somehow need to organize my thoughts and get my beliefs back into neat, little buckets in order to move past this.  I don't function well in a sea of mixed emotions.  I seem to be stuck in mourning.  As strange as it sounds, that's the closest way to describe how I feel.  Mourning the loss of a baby I never knew.  A baby I wasn't even related to... 

But Punky was.  It was her nephew.  For what it's worth, my gut said boy.  And we all wish we had the chance to meet him.