In all things there is hope.

Recently I reconnected with a girl I worked with at a coffee shop in college. She is a nurse in NY and told me that she knew the path and journey Christopher and I traveled. It was nice to hear someone say they knew and know in my heart that she really did know what we went through. The emotional ups and downs and the drama (if you will) of it all.

In our conversation I made a statement that I think is the very point for and of this blog and for me and other out there on a journey that seems rough. That statement I made was: "There is hope in everything, even if you don't like the outcome."

The truth that follows through that is deeper than any ocean put on this earth. There is hope in anything (even in the bad things) as long as we remain open to it. For once we close the door on hope we put our selves and our lives in danger of floundering in a place that we could never get out of.

My hope in all of this? That one day, someone will come into my life that will love and care for Ethan as much as Christopher did and yet at the same time understand that he can't replace him and when Ethan asks about his dad - to respond, "I didn't know him, but I knew he was a great man." That they would love and understand where I have come from and that there will always be a place in my heart for Christopher.

I will always carry around the hope that Christopher's story lives on longer than my-self and that I will always be open to share his story with others going through something similar. I will try my best to give those who need it the most the hope that everything can be ok even in the darkest of circumstances.

What is it you out there hope for?

The Window

One day a woman woke up, made her morning cup of coffee and looked out her window across to her neighbor who was hanging her laundry out to dry. She commented to her husband who was quietly sitting at the kitchen table reading his newspaper, "Honey, I think our neighbor's washer must be broken, or that woman doesn't know how to clean her laundry!"

"Why do you say that?" asked her husband who didn't move an inch or look up from his paper.

With a crooked grin, his wife raised one eyebrow and said, "well just look, her clothes are fifthly and she just washed them!"

The next week, the woman woke up, made her coffee and positioned herself back at the window to see if this time her neighbor fixed her washing machine. And again the woman complained about her neighbor not knowing how to do her laundry or that their washing machine must be on the fritz and how they must not have enough money to fix it. And again the woman's husband never looked up from his paper to indulge in his wife's onslaught of how is the right way to clean one's clothes.

After a month of the woman taking her place at the window, spying on her neighbor and her neighbor's laundry, she was surprised on day to see that the laundry was clean! And not only clean but up to her standards of being clean! She was in shock! Someone must have told her that her clothes were dirty, no someone must have taught her how to do the laundry, or could it be that they finally could afford to fix their machine.

The woman couldn't wait to call her husband and let him know this new hot juicy bit of gossip! She quickly picked up the phone and called her husband and with a certain glee in her voice explained what she had saw. There was a pause on the other end. Was her husband not understanding what she was telling him? Her frustration with him increased and she asked her dear husband why he was not as excited over the news as she was!

There was a brief pause and then a large sigh. "Dear, I have listened to you talk about that poor woman for a month now. So this morning I went out and cleaned our window."

This was a story I woke up this past Sunday. I have a very bad habit of falling asleep with the TV on and this past Sunday I woke up to one of those church on TV shows. I listened to the story and then listen to the preacher talk about how we all have a film on our window that we need to remember to clean off.

This story stuck with me. I don't know why. I think because in my line of work I meet people who are very judgmental. "You're an artist so you must be off the wall, crazy, tattooed or have more piercings than the law allows." Or more recently, "oh your a single parent - couldn't keep the marriage together?" (no it wasn't said that way to me, but that's what it felt like on the inside). I'm not a product of divorce. And to be honest my friends that are going through divorce didn't DO anything to be there either. It's a fact of life that things happen and either way, what ever the situation, it's tough being a single parent.

We all carry around a window that has some sort of film on it and we need to make sure when we are talking to others we don't know - to make sure our windows are clean before making a judgement or making a comment. Every one's lives are different and complex more so than the next. Something I think most people forget.

Tests

Nine months ago I got a free upgrade (that I didn't really want and if you could really call it an upgrade) to a life I wasn't ready for. I talk about the mountains I have to climb and there will be some I hurdle over, others that take me a little longer to climb and some that no matter the grip I am never meant to make it over. This is something that I have come to terms with, or at least the best set of terms on "MY OWN TERMS" that I will allow it to be.

Life is different, to say the least. My choices are my own, for myself, for Ethan and the future that is set before us. I know that God will "test me" and while I'm not overly fond of pop quizzes, it's the way it is. Our journey in this life is filled with twists and turns, pot holes and sink holes, a gravel path and one made of asphalt; the important part in all of this is that we hold the wheel steady and keep going. Keeping one eye on the road and the other surveying our surroundings. It's a balancing act that I'm becoming quit good at.

Someone once sent me an email awhile back telling me what an inspiration I was to them. How I helped them through this blog to get through something similar, she had stage 3 liver cancer and was told the outcome was grim. I have to admit I was a little in shock that someone found me inspirational considering I feel like I founder more than soar; but then again, you all here have either Facebook'd, Twittered or sent me emails telling me the same thing. It's hard to see myself that way (my own personal flaw). When your the arms dealer to your own emotions through a blog that goes out to people across the US and even over seas, it's hard to see who you effect and on what levels.

This blog was started to get the word out about Christopher and has morphed into something that people find interesting, inspirational and book worthy. And no, I'm not going to write a book (at least not yet, not now, I have way too many things on my plate at the moment). I wanted to thank you all who have stood by side and gave me the inspiration to keep going. You all out there (friends, family and fellow blogger followers) keep me going. You are the positive outlook that helps make this journey seem easier than it is. Thank you. And for those going through something similar - I am glad that this blog is there for you to find comfort or at the least know that you are not the only one wanting to shout out at the heavens that "school is out for summer and we didn't sign up for summer school".

16 Months & 12 Inches

After we found out Christopher had cancer, after the initial shock of it all and we started to treat our new found journey with a new path. We changed the way we ate: less red meat, no processed sugars and way more fiber in our diets. We started working out again and most of all we changed the way we looked at things in our life. We wanted to take this new found information on cancer and that there were others out there going through the same things we were and do something meaningful with it.

One night Christopher put a challenge in front of me. It's no surprise as most of you who know me know, I change my hair when ever I can. I don't like to have the same hair style or color for more than 6 months. It's hair, it grows back. Don't like the color, that's what that stuff in a bottle they sell at Target is for. Anyway, Christopher asked me since I'm always growing out and then cutting short why didn't I do something with it other than just letting it be swept into a trash can. I have way more than enough hair for my self and it grows like a dang weed, so why not grow it out and donate it.

Interesting thought was the first thing that came to mind. So in good-ole-d fashion, on came the research. And I picked Locks Of Love as the place it my hair would go to. They take 10" of hair and make wigs for children and anything less that 10 is sold off to offset the cost of making the wig. It was perfect, the only thing - I needed 10 inches. I didn't think I had ever let my hair get to that point. But it was a good challenge and I was up for it.

My last "trim" hair cut was shortly after Christopher's first round of chemo (a July - this will come up again so remember it); it was symbolic that we started our journey on something new together. After a few months my hair got longer and longer; then it was time to get ready for the big cut. July (see it came back again) of last year my hairdresser and I sat down and choose October (2008) as the month that it would happen, by then I would have 12 inches of hair to donate. I was so excited of something so special.

Christopher passed away about 12 days before my hair cut. I almost didn't go. This hair was way more than 12 inches of long journey, a hard journey. Was to cut it off to say "eff-it" to what we had been through? I was numb from the whole thing, but I kept my appointment. After the first ponytail was cut, my hairdresser gave it to me. 12 inches. Like rings on tree I could almost see, "this is where we found out he had cancer, here was his first chemo, and here where we thought it would all be ok." I cried holding it my hands. What had I done? As I looked at my self in the mirror, I saw a different person staring back at me. My hair was my wall, a shield to hide behind and now there was nothing to hide behind.

But after awhile it was freeing. Knowing that our history is saved somewhere in a child's wig that gives them hope and happiness. So being July again (I told you it would come back), I made the choice to grow my hair out again. And in October 2010 I will donate another 12 inches of hair to Locks Of Love. This will be a cycle that will last awhile. My goal is to donate as much hair as Christopher was tall (roughly 6ft). This is something I know he would be proud of. So it begins, the growth spurt.

Happy Birthday Day Muppet!

Dear Muppet,

Today for you is like any other, we got up, I dropped you off at school and soon I will pick you up and we will do our nightly routine. Today for you, is like any Monday. Today for me is a little different.

Three years ago today I was three days over my due date, big as a house and couldn't wait to see what God graced us with - a little boy or a little girl. I personally didn't care as long as you were healthy. The night before you were born I asked your Daddy a question, "Love (that was my nickname for your Daddy), what do you think we are having?"

Your Dad looked off into space, his eyes glazed over and fought back the tears as he said, "I don't care as long as I am a good dad; I need to prove that to my self. That I am better..." his quiver in his voice took over and your Daddy began to shed more tears over the love he didn't even know yet had for you.

I gave your daddy the much needed hug that I think we both needed and told him he would. Then I rolled over and prayed what was at the time the hardest I had ever prayed; that God would grace us with a little boy. A little boy that would show his Daddy that he was, would be and forever always be the best dad any little boy could ever want or dream of having.

The next night you were born at 9:50pm. Your Daddy teared up again as he held you in his arms and told me, "Ethan is here". You, my muppet, were the most perfect little thing I had ever seen. You were and are the perfect mix of your father and I. You have his face, but you captured his soul with my eyes. Looking at the two of you look into each others eyes I knew from that moment that you two would always have a special bond - one that would transcend time and space. You were his boy. His "precious baby boy" as John Lennon puts it; a song that reminded him of you. A song he head close to his heart and listened to it often.

I don't know why God thought it was your Daddy's time to go, but know that you two had a very, very remarkable bond. One that I can only hope to live up to one day. He loves you Ethan even from the heavens above he looks down on you and smiles at the great steps you have taken in this last year. Your vocabulary is booming and you and I converse in the most Ethan-isc conversations that make me laugh and help gives me hope for our future and what lies ahead of us. You are our muppet and always will be our muppet, even when your 33 or 103. We are so proud of you and the years ahead, while your path might be filled with questions, know that I am here to answer them the best I can and those I can't; I pray that time and your resilience in character find them for you.

I love you Muppet, Happy Birthday!

The Past, Present & Future

Ok, so hunker down and grab a tissue - this will not only be a long post but might make you cry.

One of the things I have been working on with my therapist is how to "move along" in my life. Notice I didn't say "move on". Moving on to me means throwing caution to the wind, forgetting about Christopher and the love we shared for each other and feeling as though I have to replace him and that feeling he gave me. Something I don't ever want to do; EVER! Moving along to me means always carrying him in my heart and keeping his memory alive in everything that I do for my self and for Ethan.

So a little over a month ago when I thought I was turning a corner in my grief, I told my therapist I thought I was ready to "move along". To which he asked me what did that mean to me. Did it mean taking pictures of Christopher down? Ummm, hell-NO! Did it mean not going to visit him every Saturday and Sunday? Umm, maybe just once a week, maybe, maybe not? Did it mean taking off my rings? UHHH, hello, no-freaking way! So my therapist left me with the question, if I am "ready" to move along - then what sign do I do for my self to show the world that I am - other than posting it on a blog for the world to see?

I have to admit, I left his office exasperated. Why can't I just say it and it be real? Why do I have to do something? Is my spoken or written word not good enough for people? SO for a week till my next session I thought about it heavily and more so than I probability should have, but I went into my therapist office and was going to tell him, "Ok on my 8 year wedding anniversary, all the rings coming off." Then I looked down at them. Three little rings that meant the world to me, each with their own diary of us with pages filled to the brim with stories. I cried...allot. I didn't want to take them off ever. This was Christopher and I symbolized and summed up in three little bands that sat so nicely on my left hand. The totality of our past, present and future in three white gold bands for all the world to see.

I didn't want to take them off, they carried our story of life, love and us around with them surreptitiously locked away in the dents, dings and scratches. When people saw them they knew that there was someone special in my life that I cared for ever so deeply and if they were removed - no one would know (and I want the world to know about Christopher and his story). They also kept me safe from people who wanted my number (and sometimes it didn't matter if I even wore them - yes a dad had his kid ask for my phone number at the park one day, but we can save that story for another time.) I was conflicted to say the least.

Then one night I had a dream and awoke with a plan. A master plan; a grand one, one that made me feel comfortable and at peace with everything. This was the plan. On May 26th (our 8 year anniversary) I would take off my engagement ring and put it up for whenever and if ever Ethan has a daughter. So that she might choose to wear it one day and remember our past; that her daddy came from a great love that his mum and dad shared. On September 19th (the day the doctor told me Christopher would die) I would take off my anniversary band and put it up for the same reason, but with the meaning that this ring represented the future that has changed its course yet is still full of hopes and dreams. Then on October 31 (what would have been 17 years of knowing each other) I will take off the wedding band and put it up with the meaning that this was our present - a love that goes beyond the mortal plain.

May 26th passed and I took off my engagement ring. My finger never felt so naked missing just one ring and a great sadness filled my heart after I did it. There were several times in the morning that I debated wearing it "one more day for old-times-sake", but I told myself I needed to do this and I needed to do them on the dates I picked for them. I didn't want it to be some random day on the calendar. As an artist; there had to be a greater meaning for this moment in my life.

For one week I scrutinized my ring finger with two little bands peering back at me and all I could think of was - in a few months this finger will be exposed. Stripped of what made it and me feel balanced in this world. And most of all, I felt like without them, Christopher would leave me heart and while that was not only the most ludicrous thing I had ever thought it was also what consumed me daily. Then it came to me like most of my creative processes. And like most of my creative methodology, I knew it was right the moment it popped into my head and had to do it!

So less than three weeks ago I walked into my favorite jewelry store on a mission to help aide in my journey of healing. I explained to the woman across the counter what it was I wanted to do and she placed my order quickly and with a quiver in her voice told this was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard of anyone doing and she was happy to be apart of it. That for me was complete reaffirmation that what I was doing was right and needed to be done.

Today, I picked up my order I placed so many weeks ago and I knew what I had done was the right thing by the way my heart warmed when I saw them. So is it eating at you yet, what it is? I ordered three bands and had them engraved. My "new normal" bands if you will. One to represent the past, present and future; just like my other bands with a whole new meaning.

The ring that represents the future has engraved on the inside, "EWS 06-29-06". This is Ethan's ring and reminds me that mine and Christopher's future doesn't have to die; for it lives brightly in Ethan's future.

The ring that symbolises the past has engraved on the inside, "04-18-75 JCS 10-12-08". This is Christopher's ring; to remind me that while his life was short - it was full and beautiful.

The last ring, the present, my ring; engraved in it is, "JCS (the infinity symbol) DAS". Now and always we will and always be together bonded by a love that was as special as it is unique in it's own right.

So as I take one ring off, another will come on as a representation of my two lives inter twined in each other; what was normal and comfortable will be transitioned to my new normal and my new comfortable with my self, Ethan and single parenthood. So today I placed on my finger next to my wedding bands Ethan's band. It's so hard to describe how right it felt on my finger and how it made me feel whole. And by that feeling alone; I know what I am doing is right.

As the song goes, "there is always going to be a another mountain I'm going to have to climb". This was my mountain, and while I'm not over the peek, I've got a better grip and I'm heading towards the top....

Muppet

Yesterday, someone, whom I didn't know from Adam, asked me a what I thought to be a very odd question; "why muppet?". Huh? Why do I call my child muppet? Why does anyone really have a nickname? Why do some people talk about themselves in the third person? For that matter, why do some people don't even use their first names and only go by their middle name?

Ok that aside, I think the person's question threw me because right before she asked me with one eye brow cocked and looking at me over her sun glasses she called her daughter, and I quote, "sugga-bugga-buger-bugga-boo-boo". Say what? Why don't you just call her "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious"? But in all fairness we all as parents have odd nicknames for our children; I think her question just came out of the blue and I wasn't even talking to this person, so it sorta felt like a personal jab. But I digress and I'll get off my soap box.

But it's true, my nickname for Ethan is muppet and I know I have used that nickname here before and I thought I would explain the sweet story that lead to it. Christopher's schedule and mine were alway different and on his days off Christopher would stay home with Ethan, it was there father-son bonding times. (Christopher always looked forward to these days). Well; Ethan must have been about 3 or 4 months old and we were working with him to sit up on his own. One day I came home from work and sitting in the chair was Christopher with Ethan on his lap. As I walked in the house Christopher sat Ethan up, grabbed his arms and started moving them around while Christopher sang, "Hello my baby, hello my darlin, hello my rag-time gale..."

I cracked up laughing for so many reasons and asked Christopher if he enjoyed making our son into his little "puppet". And right as Christopher replied, "he's more like a muppet", Ethan opened his mouth and made what can only be describe as the sound Animal from the muppets makes. And the nickname was born. But we only used it when we talked to each other about Ethan; never to others. It was our pet name for us and us alone. However, after Christopher passed I remembered that story and I remembered the laugher that came from it - so I use it now as my nickname for Ethan. It reminds me of the bond Ethan and Christopher had, it reminds me of the belly laugh we had from it and most of all it was a time before cancer. Ethan is my muppet, but his nickname means so much more to me than just that.

So, you still wondering what I told that woman? I told her it was a family name passed down through the generations..... Ya, that got me an even stranger look. Sorta like the one your making right now. :}