How To Live Without a Heart.

I'm pretty sure I no longer have a heart.  I mean I can still feel it beating in my chest but I think it quit working.  I think it completely shattered when Bill died but it still lay there in pieces, probably waiting to be slowly put back together with time.   There were a few pieces that seemed to still fit together, not neatly like the pieces of a puzzle, but more like the rough, irregular pieces of a mosaic.  Lots of cracks and empty spaces but still held together in the the shape of something recognizable.

And then it got broken some more and that's why I think it's beyond repair now.

It's funny to have this awareness.  It's like I know I'm alive because I breathe and move and function.  But I do it all without feeling.  Well, if indifference can be considered a feeling then I do have that.  I just don't care.  Those pieces of my heart are lost or don't fit together and aren't able to create a vessel to hold feelings anymore.  It's empty.

But I'm indifferent to it now.  I can watch myself like I'm outside my living room, looking in through the window and observing what's going on.  And my mind can tell my outside self (let's call her my representative) what I should be doing and I just kinda autopilot things.  Get out of bed and make breakfast.  Check.  Go to work or work at home.  Check.  Laugh at a funny story told by a kid.  Check.  Feel empathy for some one's sad story.  Check.  Drink water because it's good for me.  Check.  Try to have a hobby and appear normal.  Checkerooni.  I totally do it all but I don't feel any of it.  Weird.  But yet fascinating.

I'm not sure why I'm sharing this thought.  It's kind of more than I usually like people to know about me.  But I figure that if I'm trying to write with honesty then this is brutally honest for certain.  Plus, maybe I'm not the only one who feels this way and my confession will give someone else the words to explain their own feelings.  Or maybe not.  Maybe it's just me who is deranged enough to admit it.
Either way, it's the truth.  Ugly as it sounds, it is my truth.

No Adulting Today, Please.

I'm done being an adult and doing adult things.

Really, I would love a day where I did not have to do anything adult-like.  No cooking or cleaning or working or anything where I was responsible for another living thing.  A day where someone else had to take care of me.

And then I realize who I am.

Just for the day I don't want to worry about a failed furnace.  I don't want to shop for a new wood stove or place an ad on Craigslist to sell the old one.  I don't want to talk to repair people or salespeople or Craigslist people.

I don't want to be the only person in my house to remember that the toilet paper is almost gone or that there is no more bread.  I want someone else to worry that it's 6:00PM and no one has eaten dinner.

Just for the day I don't want to sweep the floor after someone tracks mud in, wipe the toilet seat because some one's aim was off, or pick up a pair of boots that are blocking the door for the 100th time.

I want to wake up to a warm house, one where there's already a fire burning.  And a wood box full of dry wood that I did not have to split and haul by myself.  And a cup of coffee would be nice too.

For just one day I don't want to worry about things like braces and baseball cleats and retirement accounts.  I don't want to think about leaking roofs or incompetent math teachers.

I don't want to spend my day driving people around.  Or trying to remember when and where everyone is supposed to be.

My mind needs a break from identifying "teachable moments" for my kids and being the only person to implement appropriate discipline for their crap behavior.  I'm tired of worrying about not having control of my family or life (I'm not entirely sure that's true but someone said that to me and now I'm paranoid other people think that as well).

I want a day where someone else pays the bills and worries about money and the future.

I know that I'm an adult and that I really cannot pretend otherwise.  I know that responsibilities are just a part of life and they are completely unavoidable.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I got it.  But being an adult is so much more fun when you're adulting with another adult!  It's nice to have someone to complain to.  It's nice to have another person to share these responsibilities with.  It's nice to know someone else is worrying about the same things that you are.  And it's just nice to know you're not alone in this life.

Another Year.

Dear Bill,

Well, it's been another year.  I'm not going to write this letter on "the day" because I really don't think it's a good idea to recognize a date like that with too much attention.  First of all, if you do something more than twice it becomes a tradition of sorts and I don't want anything associated with this to become a tradition.  Second, I don't want the kids to feel this foreboding sense of dread that sneaks up on them as the date approaches.  Personally, I start feeling doomed near the end of November and it doesn't let up until baseball season begins.  No one needs to suffer along with me.

The past year was far worse than that first year without you.  I spent most of the first year in a state of shock and bewilderment.  And then slowly I started to "feel" again and along with the discovery of some nice, happy feelings I was also slammed with a confusion and emptiness that I did not expect.

In the last year I learned that people lie to each other.  So very easily and with little remorse.  And that people are selfish and self-serving.  I learned that people who you put your trust in can abandon you without even a glance backwards.  I learned that respect and commitment are just words that carry little meaning.  I also learned that people can just be plain cruel and then try to make you feel responsible and stupid.   I think you ruined me.  I trust too easily because I trusted you.  I don't lie because I had no reason to deceive you.  You were committed to me even when you probably didn't want to be.  You listened to me, you accepted me, and you respected me.  Always.  That's the only way I know and it is, unfortunately, not the way of the "real" world.  I was lucky and now I'm handicapped by my own experience.  You should not have left me to learn this lesson.

Ok, but on the other hand, I have learned about acceptance and friendship.  Yes, I've definitely learned about that!  I have baseball friends and school friends, football friends and neighbor friends, running friends, old friends, young friends, serious friends, goofy friends.  I have had some unlikely folks love me and the kids with no judgements or motives.  Just plain old love and acceptance.  That has been the bright part of the past year and I am so thankful for those people.  No one can take your place but it helps to know that there are a handful of good people who understand me enough and who are willing and able to walk beside me.  I have a hard to finding the right words to explain to you how amazing these people are, Bill.  You would love them though.  And you'd want to tell them how much you appreciate them loving the kids and I.

Parenting by myself is hard, Bill.  Really hard.  The big kids are getting older and more independent but their problems and obstacles are exponentially harder to parent.  It makes potty training look downright easy!  I'm trying--and failing, not doubt.  But I'm still showing up and trying to be that steady, consistent presence in their lives.  And the little kids are growing and changing every day I swear!  I just wish I had some help teaching them all the stuff that YOU were supposed to pass along.  Gosh, I try, really I do, and you would not believe some of the stuff I have had to do by myself!  But bottom line is you would be proud of them all and what they're accomplishing and who they're becoming.  They're good kids and I see glimpses of you in each of them every day.  You really would be proud of them.  And please know that I am trying my hardest.

Another thing I have learned in the past year is that you won't actually die from drinking Gatorade or eating Doritos.  I have found that the world will not stop spinning if the gutters don't get cleaned out or there is a sink full of dirty dishes left unwashed overnight.  No one will die if they cuss.  There is no shame in having cereal and scotch for dinner (no scotch for the kids--I have some scruples.)  Spending money on frivolous or unnecessary things does not make me a bad person either.  I have found that an unweeded garden can be just as productive as a perfectly tended one.  There's a lot of old, silly ideas that I have found to be untrue and unnecessary and letting them go feels so good.  Don't think that I'm forgetting my true values and ideas about life because I'm not.  I'm just learning that there is beauty in imperfection and that not fighting the changes that life presents me are both inevitable and to be appreciated.  It's all about the process and I'm trying to live it every darn day.  But still, the irony of eating $11/gallon raw milk on Captain Crunch is definitely not lost on me.

I sat at a basketball game the other night and despite being surrounded by hundreds of people I felt totally isolated and alone.  No one there, not one person, could understand me like you did, and the thought of that made me sad.  I don't want to turn into a cynical, untrusting person but I'm afraid that is the direction I'm headed right now.  That thought makes me sad too because that is so contrary to my personality.  The magic I once could so easily see in the world has disappeared almost completely and that makes me saddest of all.  I saw one of those sunrises this morning, all pink and orange and full of light, and the little bit of joy it gave me just seemed to slip away before I could grab on to it.  I think that's a good description of how I feel now.

I'm not going to list the details of everything I did last year.  I don't want to think about a lot of that stuff anymore.  I just want you to know that I miss you and hate trying to do this life stuff by myself.  It was always so much more fun with you--even the bad stuff we were able to make fun.  All I know is that you took care of me and made sure to protect me and now I have to face the ugliness with no shield or filter.  I pretty much think that I just want to hide for the next 40 years.  I wish I could ask you what I should do and I wish you could laugh at my stupidness and tease me about how I over think everything.  I would give anything to be able to have the one person who I could always trust hear what's really, truly in my heart and know that my words would be understood.

I suppose that now I'll just wear overalls and rubber boots and have a handful of cats--all with special
names.  I'll be oddly eccentric and smell like chocolate chip cookies and lavender.  I'll probably talk to myself in public and drink whiskey out of a mason jar every afternoon at 5:00.  Little kids will be warned to stay away from "that crazy Widow Pennick."  There will be no sparkle left in my eyes and that is why they'll think I'm crazy.

Life Lessons for an 18th Birthday.

Dear Jack,

I remember the morning you were born.  It was cold, like REALLY cold, and I was sure your Dad would slide off the road as he drove us to the hospital.  And then he passed the cop doing 95 and I told him not to slow down or you would be born along the side of Highway 22. You were born quickly and with little effort on my part but you weren't real happy to be crossing over into this world.  Took you a while before you settled in and found your place.  But you did and you grew and you loved trucks and your hammer and tightening loops.

I wish things were different for you (but really that's not for me to decide) and you had someone better equipped than me to help you navigate your life.  I'm not so good at trucks and engines and smelly socks.  I can't play catch with you anymore and you know how afraid I am of driving up on logging roads.  I can't teach you to fly fish and I'm not a very good shot with a shotgun.  I get confused between a log loader and a shovel (is there a difference?) and the maintenance of power saws is beyond me.  Oh sure, I've spent many an hour around 18 year old boys, but that's kinda the problem--I remember all too clearly what you guys are all about.  Your Pop broke me in on all things boy.  And I'm still scared by y'all.

But I can share with you a few lessons I've learned about life:

1.  Don't be an asshole.  To anyone--animals, little kids, stupid people, old people, people who truly are assholes.  Treat everyone (everyone) with respect and kindness and take any opportunity that presents itself to do something nice for another person.  No good deed goes unnoticed by the universe.

2.  Know your boundaries.  And stick with them.  Don't let anyone else determine your path or your value.  Know when you need to walk away from situations or people who don't want to understand you.  Those are the kind of people who only listen to you to reply not to truly comprehend you.  Your values and ideals belong only to you and as long as you don't hurt anyone else with your choices, stick by them and know where your margins are.  Keep those boundaries well-defined.

3.  Take the time to have fun.  You have the rest of your life to adult.  Life is about the memories and experiences you have by yourself and with others.  I know your Dad always wished that he would have played more baseball and went on the hunting trips and stopped to fish the little streams along the way.  Take all the opportunities for fun that present themselves.

4.  Be a good friend even when it's hard.  Put your friends before yourself.  Remember who was there for you when things were rough and try to do the same.  Those folks are your people, your tribe.  Cherish them.

5.  Work hard and always do things the right way.  Don't be a half-asser.  If you commit to doing something follow it through to completion.  Even when it totally sucks.  Remember Grandpa Bill's words of wisdom:  "What we have here is a half ass job."

6.  Be patient.  I'm still learning this one and it's hard.  But don't rush things or accept less than you deserve out of impatience.  What is supposed to come to you will come in the right time.  Sit back and trust the process.

7.  Clean up after yourself.  If you get something out, put it away when you're done with it.  Replace what you use up.  Fix what you break.  Wash what you make dirty.  Try to leave things nicer than you found them.

8.  Never underestimate the power of a few honest, well-chosen words to make some one's day brighter.  And never forget that everyone appreciates a special little treat once in a while.  That's why your Dad always brought me a Skor bar when he came home from the grocery store.  It wasn't so much the candy as it was the thought and effort that went into it.  Listen closely to people's words and remember those little things for down the road.  (I gave someone some Clorox wipes one time bc they said they made life easier for cleaning up a boys' bathroom)

9.  Never stop learning new things and never be unteachable.  You will never be too old to learn something from another person.  Be open to those opportunities.  And don't let pride get in your way either.

10.  Remember that you were created to be on this earth by something bigger than yourself.  Be humbled by that thought but always remember that you were created to be the only you, and you are here for a definite reason.  I'll say it again--be humbled by this thought.

I'm sure there's a few more I could tell you but these 10 will have to do for today.  I love you, bud, and I know you'll make your Dad and I proud.  Happy birthday!

Love, Mom