A Little Longer.

Yesterday I had to say good-bye to a friend.

I knew it was coming. I've been counting down the days with sadness and trying to prepare myself.

Good-byes are normal for us. It's just part of this life we've chosen. Moving every couple years. New friends. Old friends. Here today. Somewhere else tomorrow. It's always something new, but always the same old thing.

This one was different.

This was the closest friend I had on the island. The first person in our shop to try to include me and be my friend. The only person that cared whether I walked into work with a smile on my face, and if I didn't, made it a point to put one there. The only person to talk to me when my baby died, to acknowledge my baby, to talk to me like I was still a normal person when I returned to work.

I thought I was ready for it. I even made him some chocolate chips cookies for the long drive across the country with his dad, wrapped up with pretty tissue paper and ribbon.

I text him in the morning to remind him that I had something for him before he left. He was supposed to be dropping by work, so he was supposed to text me so I could meet him there after I left the gym. It just so happened that part of the base was on an unexpected shut down, so the gym was closed. I went home after work, determined to stay awake until I got the text that he was there. Around 11, he text me saying that he was back at his house and was leaving in an hour. I told him that I could just bring them to him, to make it easier on him, or that I could meet him on his way out. He has to come past my house anyway. But he insisted that he didn't have enough time.

He didn't have time for me or for cookies, and I felt like an idiot for wasting my time making them when I should have been sleeping. I tried to not let it get to me. I tried not to think about it. But I was super bummed. And when Bryan asked me what was wrong, I started crying. And then I got mad that I was crying. And then I got mad because Bryan didn't understand why I was crying about cookies and why I didn't want to talk about it because talking about it only made me cry more. So the afternoon ended with throwing the cookies across the room and crying myself to sleep.

Good-byes are normal for us, but that doesn't make them any easier....


On a brighter note, I took the dog for a walk this morning. Crunching through fallen leaves and chasing birds and bunnies in the early morning was so calming, especially after such a hard day and long night at work.

                                                              (I got those feet from here.)

                                                             He was watching the leaves fall from the trees.

You see that hydrangea up there? Those are one of my favorite flowers. I had some blue ones on our front porch after we lost Brake in April, so they remind me of him when I see them. When we moved to this new place in August, I was sooo happy to see these blooming outside our front door. They make me smile. If you notice in the picture, there's a huge blue one and the rest are all faded pinks and purples. This little guy has hung on for so long, through some really nasty cold nights, and it doesn't look like his color is going anywhere anytime soon. I noticed it one night when I was very exhausted and dreading going into work. I smiled when I saw it, and somewhere inside I heard this tiny little voice saying "Just hold on a little longer."

Yesterday when things were so bad and all I wanted to do was lay in bed and cry because I was so mad about crying in the first place, I found this laying on my front step in a pile of pretty yellow leaves:

And once again I heard that tiny voice, "Just hold on a little longer....."

Everything My Mother Taught Me.

My parents didn't have a lot of money when I was growing up. What they couldn't give us in money or things, they made up for in things that really mattered.

Like teaching us to read and fostering huge imaginations. Like teaching us to have dreams and never stop reaching for them. Like telling us every day that we were loved and that we were beautiful. Like teaching us about sharing. And compassion. And humility.

And one of my personal favorites, self-respect.

Looking back at it now, we didn't have the fancy toys and expensive clothes that our friends had, but I honestly believe we were a lot better off than a lot of them were.


Self-respect isn't something that just happens. It's not as natural as my dark brown hair or my thick Southern accent. It's not as natural as liking sweet tea or the color green. It was learned.

Yes. Learned.

My mother grew up watching her mother be beaten and threatened. She vowed that her children would never have to live through that. My parents have had their arguments, like any couple, but they have never fought in front of us. They have never raised their hands in violence toward each other. They taught us that we were better than that. Better than allowing ourselves to be taken advantage of. Better than allowing ourselves to be beaten or humiliated. Better than allowing ourselves to be overcome by peer pressure. Better than allowing ourselves to feel like anything less than what we really are.

Because we are strong. Because we are beautiful. Because we matter.


If you don't respect yourself, chances are others probably aren't going to either.


When my marriage went downhill, my pride didn't want to admit there was a problem. My pride didn't want to deal with people's comments and looks and gossip. My pride didn't want to hear all the "I told you so's" and "That's what you get for marrying young's". My pride wanted to hold its head high, pretending there weren't fist marks in the bathroom wall or guns hidden in the couch cushions.

My respect for myself...as a person, as a sister, as a daughter...told me to run. Because I am strong. Because I am beautiful. Because I matter. Because my parents taught me that I don't deserve that.


There is a woman I know.

She lives with a boyfriend that beats her, with anything and everything he can pick up. She stays because she says she loves him...and because she loves the high she gets from all of the drugs they do together. She says the bruises are okay because the high makes them hurt less. She says the cuts are okay because the sex is great when they are fighting. She says the pain is okay because no one else will love her as much as he does.

She has two beautiful young daughters.

Two beautiful, young, impressionable daughters who are watching her every move, watching to learn how to act and grow. Watching. Learning. Mimicking.



Everything my mother taught me as a child helped define the woman I am now. Everything my mother taught me, I would be teaching my own daughter, if she were still alive.

Everything their mother is teaching them will help them define the women they will become tomorrow. She doesn't even realize that, and it completely breaks my heart...

Home, In Pictures.

 

 

My visit home was...refreshing.

After 12 hours of traveling, horrible jet lag, low blood sugar, and just about every thing that could possibly go wrong going wrong, I made it back to WA. Oh, and a 3 mile walk from the shuttle stop to my house. In the cold. With 40 pounds of luggage. In wooden soled cowboy boots. After being awake for 24 hours. Traveling for 12 of those hours.

My feet were so swollen, bruised, and beat up that they were bleeding. And I now have a hole in my boots.

Real post coming soon.