A T-Shirt from the Other Side (Dad)

I'm not really religious, I don't believe in fate or destiny, I'm not sure about ghosts. But this weekend my family received a t-shirt from the other side....

This weekend we got together for our first family trip in ages. It had been at least 10 years, probably more, since we all went somewhere together. Even when we are all in the Dallas area at the same time, we never seem to be able to get everyone together. So this weekend my mom, my sister and her family, my brother and his girlfriend and Jade and I all went to a rented lake house on Lake Travis. Despite the fact that we are in one of the worst droughts ever in Central Texas and the lake is about 40 feet down, we had a great family weekend. I could tell you about how hot is was, or that they didn't allow adult beverages at the pool, or how our boat rental went all wrong. Instead, I will tell you about my family receiving a t-shirt from the other side. Here's the story...

Jade and I were sleeping in the living room on the sofa-bed. The first night was not great. The mattress left crazy imprints on Jade's back.




So as I was making the fold-out-sofa-bed on the second night, I unpacked the sleeping bag Mom brought for the kids (they didn't need it) to add as padding to the non-existing mattress. When I turned the bag the sleeping bag was in upside down to shake it out, a little plastic shopping bag came tumbling out with the sleeping bag. The shopping bag was marked with the unmistakable branding of Harley Davidson. In it, a red t-shirt folded into a tiny square. We all just looked at each other. I asked mom, "Who was the last person to use this sleeping bag?". I knew the answer before I asked the question.

Very quietly, she replied "Dad...on his trip". We all knew what she meant by that - the trip he went on and didn't come home from. I opened the bag and unfolded the t-shirt.




This t-shirt was from the Amarillo Harley shop. The receipt read 8/5/06 10:13 a.m. Two days before he died. It was a piece of the puzzle none of us had previously known. We all seemed to have the same silent reaction at exactly the same moment...the realization that he had bought this on the way to the place he lost his life. The realization that he was painfully missing from our family trip and that we would trade this "t-shirt from the other side" for another minute with him in a second. The realization that maybe, just maybe, he was on this trip with us after all.

It was really, really cool to find this shirt, buried in the sleeping bag he had with him on that last trip almost exactly 5 years after we lost him. We all smelled it, hoping to to smell him. I realize that sounds weird, but we all just did it like it was normal. If you've lost someone close to you, then you get it. By the way, we also realized my mom is clearly not a camping/sleeping bag kind-of-girl since it took 5 years for her to need to use that sleeping bag again :)

While I sit here and write this (and cry), I can't help but hope that I don't forget the details...like how he smelled. I'm terrified I'm going to forget the details, the small things that made him who he was. It seems like yesterday and it seems like a lifetime ago.


D.E.T.A.I.L.S
It's been 5 years since I last saw his mustached face, grinning from ear to ear.

It's been 5 years since I last heard his gleeful he-he-heeee when something struck him as funny or when he was up to something sneaky.

It's been 5 years since I've heard, "Let me ask you this....".

It's been 5 years since I've sat in the driveway, listened to music and drank beer with him.

It's been 5 years since I heard stories about the pranks he'd pulled at work.

It's been 5 years since I've rolled my eyes at his dorky denim shorts or well-worn Wrangler jeans.

It's been 5 years.

Mommy Wisdom

I for sure don't know everything but here are a few things I've figured out in the last 2 years of mommyhood

• At some point you stop separating the lights from the darks - just getting it all washed is a miracle. 
• You also stop sterilizing pacifiers.  Whatever...a little dirt won't hurt.
• Those failed pregnancies got you to your current reality and it is good. So very good.
• Multi-tasking is what keeps it all together.
• Multi-tasking is an inherent female trait.
• You want to be the best hippie, organic, essential oil using, all natural mommy - but you draw the line at cloth diapers.  Because eeewwwww. 
• You will become OK with congealed applesauce becoming a permanent part of your floors and cabinets. You have accepted a new level of clean and it's much, much lower than you ever imagined you'd be OK with. 
• You will freak out over a fever,a fall or blood the first time.  Then it's no biggie.
• Even when they sleep through the night, you never sleep the same again.  Some part of your brain is always awake, aware and worried about them. 
• Going back to work is hard.  So is staying home. You want to quit work but then you'd be home with them.  All day.  Every day.  Every. Single. Day. 
• You question everything - the food you feed them, the products you use on them, the cleaning products, the sunscreen...the safety of literally everything comes into question.   
• Along the lines of questioning everything, you question everyone!  At some point, you realize the doctors don't know it all. I mean, they are smarter and more educated than you all day long but they know a little about a lot.  They don't know everything.  They can't possibly be specialist in all areas.  And they certainly don't know your kids better than you.  Like when they tell you childhood eczema isn't caused by or affected by foods so go ahead and give them the dairy....and then they flare up. Every. Single. Time. And then they still tell you that's not the problem. Excuse me doc, your text books may tell you that, but my reality tells me otherwise. 
• The best part of my days are when they smile at me for no reason. And when I get home from work and they yell "mommy, mommy, mommy" while looking at me through the baby gate.  And when they let me snuggle them - they won't always fit in my lap so perfectly and I don't take that for granted.  Nothing else matters when they want to snuggle with you. It all can wait. 
• You give up on the dog's allergies because you can't catch everything the kids throw from the highchairs and for the love!  Doesn't this dog know he will get an ear infection by now?  Gah!
• For some reason your friends that have babies after you will ask you for advice.  This makes you so proud of the faith they have in you.  And also wonder if they realize you're making this shit up as you go. 
• You will ooze with emotion when you see the way they look at their daddy.  You love him impossibly more than you thought possible for that. 

The First Night (For Kim)

There are lots of firsts in life....first time you ride a bike, first time you drive a car, first time you fall in love, first time you get your heart broken.  They are all memorable, but by far one of my most memorable firsts was the first night after my dad died.  A friend lost her mom yesterday and it hit me hard.  Stupid cancer.  I couldn't even send her a message about it yesterday because I couldn't compose myself.  And this morning I decided a text or FB post or message wasn't enough.  Neither is this blog but I feel compelled to write for her

Last night was her first night without her mom.  I thought of her all night.  I remember that first night, afraid to fall asleep because that would somehow make it more real.  As if I stayed awake, it would somehow make it impossible to begin the second day without my dad.    That first night I laid in bed all night and clutched a framed picture.  Somewhere in the wee hours, I dozed off.  When I woke, I was angry at myself for falling asleep, allowing the second day of my life without my dad to begin.  I thought of her doing this, or her version of this, with her newborn and 2 other small children, already in survival mode and sleep deprived and now wading through the fresh sorrow. 

The first days are a blur....so much activity yet everything seems to still.  You're frozen in emotion, yet the world is whizzing by.  Somehow you keep your shit together and keep yourself from crumbling to a pile on the floor (you will do that later in a bar, after a few drinks and your friends will carry you home).  During all the services and ceremonies and visitors and whatnot, you're a stone - playing hostess with the mostess.  You even console others that are overcome with grief in your presence.  Seeing you makes them so sad for your loss, they can't help themselves.  They will say things like "she's in a better place", "at least she's not suffering anymore", "you'll see her again some day", "now you have a guardian angel"....all of it will secretly piss you off.  They say these things because they don't know what else to say.  Allow them this.  They need it.  But you can talk with your sister about it, because she feels the same way.  Your dad too.  Y'all will shake your fist at God, at the universe, at the asshole known as cancer.  I recommend throwing cheap plates against the side of your house.  It is incredibly therapeutic. 

Kim - all I will say is I'm so damn sorry.  Because all that other shit about a better place and guardian angels and no more suffering doesn't help you right now.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so fucking sorry you have to walk this walk.