Queenofphrump's Weblog

Well, here it is.  The day I have been waiting for.  And the tears just keep falling.  What a wonderful day.

Our adoption attorney called in the last hour and told me that we are going to be due in court next Tuesday, November 24th at 8:30 am.  The adoption is final one week from today.

And that is that.  The bullshit is over.

Can you now imagine what the Thanksgiving Dinner table will be like at our house next week?

Queen: “Princess Snoball you need to have a shower so we can get to your school work.”

Princess: “In a minute.”

(Many minutes pass)

Queen: “Princess Snoball you must go get into the shower so we can get this school work started.”

Princess:  ”Can I just read for hours while soaking in an endless bubble bath?”

Queen:  ”That will not work for you today because there is no reading left, just the essay to write.”

Princess: “Fine.”

(many minutes pass)

Queen:  ”Princess Snoball.”

Princess:  ”What!”

Queen:  ”Are you feeling sick or something?”

Princess:  ”No!  I just feel like yelling and screaming.”

(Queen then gathers sweet Princess Snoball into her arms and squeezes her tightly)

Queen:  ”Oh! You are becoming a woman.  Welcome!”

Princess Snoball:  ”I know!”

I love old men.  Not “older men” but really old, old men.  The ones that have lived so long their insides are showing through their skin.  The ones who eyes light up when someone has asked them to talk about the days when they were younger.  I love them and I love the stories that they tell.  My dad taught me to appreciate the old guys.

When I was young my dad introduced me to several old guys that he had taken an interest in.  Genuine interest that came from the core of my dad.  He would tell me, “This old guy is so cool.”  And we would go visit.

This week my dad drudged up some old sketches from the boxes of treasure he owns.  The boxes that seem to have no bottoms just endless treasure of the past that I crave to connect back to.  When I walked into his house there was a sketch that read, “To The Queen” from Mr Mahoney.  Strange how I had just been thinking about this old guy as we drove down the road that same day.

I was twelve when my dad and I took a little trip through the air in his little airplane to a place called El Mirage for a weekend fly in.  What an adventure to have!  We landed in El Mirage a day early and there was nothing going on.  Nothing to look at but desert valley floor.  Nothing to do but ask to drive the water truck.  So I did.  I drove that big old water truck around for a day watering the grounds that would soon be flooded with people.  My love of driving big stuff began that day when I was twelve.  It was the kind of weekend that lasts forever but ends too soon.  You know the kind.

When the people came and the greatest airplanes I had ever seen were flown in, it was magical for me.  I saw biplanes and triplanes and fast planes but mostly slow planes.  And the people were as crazy about airplanes as I was.  Especially the old guys.

This one old guy, Stan Mahoney, was the oldest human being I had ever seen.  He was the kind of old that even as a child I knew his days on this earth were numbered.  And he was cool.  One of the coolest old old guys ever because he took an interest in little twelve year old phrumpy me.  We talked to him and learned from him and our lives were made better from knowing him.  There he was camped with us in the middle of the desert at a silly little fly in where people mingled and the old taught the young.

And this week, after 28 years, I see his name and smile.  I see his art and smile.  And I can’t wait to get home to have this hand work framed and hung in my own house.  A remnant of a life that touched mine so long ago but left such a long lasting impression as I will never forget.

And this makes me miss both Fred and Dick in Seattle and I need to go spend time with them so that I can show my appreciation to them for all they have blessed my life with.  I really love the old old guys.

I would never in a million years pretend to think that I know what it would be like to be in a war.  I would tell you very honestly that war is at the top end of my scariest things list.  I am terrified of war.

I would never in a million years tell anyone that I know what it means to come home from something such as war and have those memories and experiences at the forefront of my mind while most everyone else around me hadn’t a clue of any of that as even being possible.

It isn’t until we stop.  Stop to take a moment to really think about what that must be like, that we get a sliver of a glimpse into that veteran’s mind.

When I was in the midst of The Stinky Story I felt as if everyone else’s life had gone on while mine had stopped, taken a grotesque turn, and then returned to something I was supposed to redefine as normal.  I would suppose this is to be the same as coming home from a war, especially an unpopular one, only magnified to the 1000th degree.

Today I raise my glass to Uncle Ron and all the others out there who did what was asked of them at the time.  Cheers to what life has been redefined as being, in the aftermath, with memories etched into your psyche and influencing your spirit forever.

The King spent one day last week in Hiroshima as a tourist at ground zero.  This so deeply affected him that he called to tell me that he wants his children to all be witness to what is left in memorium there.  He said, “All our kids need to come here because it can’t be explained.  I think everyone should see this and that would solve all the problems in the world.”  The incredible affect humanity has upon humanity and the toll of innocent lives lost to protect the freedoms we enjoy today.  Difficult decisions calculated to cost the least amount of lives made by our veteran’s who lived with that the rest of their days.  Cheers to the WWII Veteran’s who are a dying breed of men and women we cannot ever fully appreciate.  The Hiroshima experience has moved my King to tears along with the other grown men he was with and we are decades down the road.

I am not a fan of war.  I do not pretend to know much about war.  I just know that for a day it is good to reflect and take time to express gratitude to those who have come back with lives to put back together.  I also think it is a good day to remember those who have not been able to do that successfully and who need our compassion and love shown to them.  The most generous amounts of our compassion and love to all of them.

Girlfriends, God’s greatest gift if you ask me.

I began this day with breakfast.  Two friends with whom I had grown up with.  As girls we most likely took each other for granted because we were always “there” in the same classes doing the same things, together.  I loved them then, but, I love them more today.  It has been years, literally years since I have seen one of the two.  The other I saw in February but only briefly.  And as we sat down for a simple breakfast it was as if we were sixteen again.  Girlfriends.

The middle of my day was spent with Michelle and Nicole of recent posts.  Rebecca’s daughters.  Beautiful woman.  Absolutely stunning, both of them.  And for two hours I made mental notes of how much they were both like their mother.  In some ways the same and in other ways separately.  Michelle is Rebecca in looks and she carries herself in a similar way.  Looking into her eyes as she talked I saw Rebecca all over again.  I momentarily flashed back to my last conversation with Rebecca and felt okay with it.  These girls heal my past.  We compared some of our memories and although I get some of it wrong as far as numbers go, I am close.  So are they with what scatters through their memories too.  I was enriched by them.  They are strong, independent, loving, capable, clear minded, authentic women.  And I am so moved by their closeness as sisters.  We ended our hours together at Rebecca’s gravestone where I was still shocked to see her name on a headstone.  I felt like bursting into tears and mourning the loss of her but instead I chose to focus on what was happening in the present, my standing there with her amazing daughters.  I will have my time to go back on another occasion where my conversation with Rebecca can take place in private.  On another day.  Today we celebrate the fact that I have replaced memories with two new friendships of women who I already love.  Girlfriends.

My mom, my daughter and myself played a half hearted game of cards and while there were many distractions we tried.  People in and out, Stinky trying to help, people texting and phones ringing, but we played.  Three generations of women with me in the middle.  It is a cozy place to be.  Then my sister arrived.  My one and only sister.  And we spent an hour just being silly and spending time together as a family.  The boys were there too but it was the girls that made me smile tonight.  Girlfriends.

It is the love between friends that makes the world a stable, happier place to reside.  The strength we get from one another as girlfriends is where it is at.  It never fails, ever.

If you don’t believe in an afterlife you might want to reconsider.

There is nothing more powerful in my bank of knowledge than the fact that we exist beyond this body and life experience.

In 1991, I was going about my day when the phone began to ring.  Rebecca had been in a terrible accident and she had lost her life.  The three kids were in the car with her but would survive.  I remember Ann’s call the most because she was working in the E.R. and the information had come across the EMS radio some information so she knew that it was Rebecca.  Ann told me that she thought I might need to know firsthand from her that Rebecca had been killed but that the kids were going to be okay.  And then the phone kept ringing as other people called to tell me the news as they heard it.  I listened over and over as each person told me “Rebecca has died in a car accident.”  Then I would let them know I appreciated their call and go back to lying on my bed.  How could this be?

To say it wasn’t a good few days would be such a complete understatement not worth the letters to type.  I was devastated.

The family asked that I go down to the Children’s Hospital to be with Nicole during the funeral.   Nicole had suffered terrible injuries and would be undergoing surgery on her broken pelvis that morning.  Of course, that is where I belonged.  I belonged with Nicole and I wanted to be there for her.  I was momentarily calmed by such a solemn request of Rebecca’s husband.

Then I was angry.  I was angry at Rebecca for things I needed to talk to her about but never would have the chance now.  I screamed at my own mother because I needed to be angry at something that wouldn’t budge.  I was angry at how cruel life could be.  Somehow I missed getting the information that I would have needed for the viewing services the night before the funeral.  My sister called to tell me how sweet the viewing was and that was when I realized I had missed it!  I screamed and cried as if I was a small child, scaring the neighbors in our apartment complex.  I was not myself and I was out of my mind.  My mom told me she thought I knew there was always a viewing service the night prior to the funeral.  Somehow I had completely lost that in my processing the loss and I had missed the opportunity to say my own good-bye to Rebecca.  I was 90 miles away and would never make it in time.

The morning of the funeral service my mom called early and told me that I should pack my dress because the surgeon had scheduled Nicole’s surgery for the hours during the funeral.  She said if it worked out she wanted me to have what I needed with me.

I drove down to the hospital and found Nicole’s room.  I remember not knowing how to prepare myself for her.  She was alert and seemed as peaceful as she had always been.  She was eleven years old.  Nicole has a very light energy and she smiles easily.  Nicole’s easy energy was just like her mom’s.  She put people at ease with simple effortless grace.   For some reason this shocked me that day because I was a blithering mess until I arrived at the hospital.  Nicole made me feel calm and I will never forget her bright countenance as she lay in her hospital bed.  We talked a little and she told me a little about her mom’s funeral plans.  She wasn’t a little girl who was outwardly suffering but I could not imagine what this day was feeling like for her on the inside.  We talked about what injuries Michelle had and what hospital she was in.  Nicole was just sweet that morning.  Sweet. Sweet.  Sweet.  I admired her and in my state of emotional hangover the drained feelings I had were helped by a child who had lost much more than I.

The nurses came in.  We then began the pre-surgical portion of her day.

I was with her until she was pushed into the surgical room.  I had been assured I had plenty of time to go to the funeral.  So I left.  I jumped in my car and I drove.  I changed my clothes in the church bathroom as the other mourners arrived.  Then I exited the bathroom and I stopped thinking all together because my best friend Vonda was there and her mom Ann had told her that they were bringing Nicole’s older sister, Michelle by ambulance to the funeral.  They would be arriving shortly and we waited.

You can not believe how many flowers had been sent.  There were flowers from the Governor and there were flowers from the guy who had washed Rebecca’s car at the local car wash.  She touched everyone who had worked for her or with her the way she had touched me.  Everyone there felt the loss as much as I did.  And then a miracle happened.

Vonda told me they were still holding viewing in one of the rooms outside of the chapel.  So I got in the reception line and I made my way toward Rebecca’s husband Ray.  The words that came out of my mouth are lost to me but I remember he hugged me and thanked me.  I can only imagine he made it through that day on valium because Ray was standing there and with gentlemanly charm, greeting those mourning the loss of his wife and he was offering comfort to them.  I suppose I would imagine myself in those same circumstances curled up in a ball in the corner somewhere.

Then I saw Rebecca in the casket and cried my eyes out.  It was real.  This horrible nightmare was real and I had not had the chance to make things right with her.  I spent a minute with her body and then we went and sat in the chapel.

The funeral was beautiful and I kept looking at my watch and calculating how much time I had before rushing the 50 minute drive back to the hospital.  Michelle had been wheeled in for the services and I was so overwhelmed by how many people she had that were going to take care of her.  I knew that Rebecca would be so thankful toward them.  Family and friends who were concerned about Rebecca’s oldest child.  Family and friends who were looking after her little son who was almost or barely 8, I cannot remember now.  And then I left out the side door and got into my car.

I arrived at the hospital well before surgery was over.  The surgeon came out and sat with me explaining what had been done while the rest of his team finished up her final sutures.  I remember thinking while he talked that I was being spoken to as if I were Nicole’s parent.  Somehow I didn’t expect to receive respect like that.  Then someone took me back to Nicole WAY before I had expected to be allowed back.  Special circumstances grant special privilege.

I was standing in a post op room before she was wheeled out of surgery.  I was surrounded by machines and complex and intimidating medical apparatus.  And when they brought her bed out she was in such bad shape.  It took her a while to stir and I remember how dry her lips looked and how much I wanted to put salve on them.  It was the only possible thing I could do to help her feel better.  I cried.  The nurses earned my immediate respect for how much they did for her and I was overwhelmed by their medical expertise.  Nicole began to stir more and it was explained to me that she had an epidural in place and wouldn’t have much pain or discomfort when she woke up.  I couldn’t calculate that into what I was seeing.

Then I felt a warm, deep to my bones, calm.  It was as if someone poured really warm water into the marrow of my bones.  And I suddenly knew Rebecca was in the room.  Tears were streaming down my face because I was so overwhelmed.  A nurse took a miniscule moment to rub my back and offered comforting words.  Rebecca was there.  She was there and I felt her.  While other’s were placing her physical body into the ground, her baby Nicole was coming out of surgery and she was here with her daughter.  I was just a bystander to the most significant mother moment I have ever known.  And when Nicole opened her eyes long enough to look at me her first words were, “How was my mom’s funeral? Was it nice? I’ll bet it was nice.”

The next hour I spent with Nicole as she lay in the recovery room.  Her aunt arrived and then her dad too.  I faded to the background and knew when my responsibility was over.  Nicole was going to be okay.  Her spirits and her family support were in place.  I left the hospital.

That time in recovery when I recognized Rebecca as being there established more for my own knowledge of life after death than any other experience I have had since then.  I know as a mother that is exactly where I would choose to be and I know that Rebecca loves Nicole from where she is today in that same powerful way.  It was my honor to be witness to that and I hope to never forget the way my own body felt physically in Rebecca’s spiritual presence.

There is a life after this life on earth.  We were born to learn through the experience of a physical body but we go on after this.  I am witness to that.

I ask forgiveness from Rebecca.  My silly young girl weaknesses and faults haunt me to this day.  If I can take one lesson from that it would be to make amends with those we care deeply for before the chance has passed.  I think that I will get my chance with Rebecca and I think I already know she will smile at me and embrace me for my worries.  I just wish I had taken the time to sit down with her before she went away.