Toot Toot (the sound of my own horn)

 When I started this blog it was August 2016 and I was trying to figure out to how move forward from a time when my child had been mistreated abused for months by his daycare provider and I, a single mom, chose to quit my job and stay home with him.

Today it is June of 2025 and let me say: time flies whether you are having fun or not!

That 3 and a half year old little boy who was hurt and had huge trust issues and a penchant for striking out when scared (or running away) has become a 13 year old man-child, who excels at Karate, at musical instruments, who loves nature camp, who has a PLAN for high school and dual enrollment at WPI and a goal of attending MIT.  He has friends, teachers who value him, supportive and encouraging adults that show up for him, he can have a hard conversation and can stand up for himself.  He can mow a lawn, do laundry, clean a bathroom, and cook a meal.  He is ok. I repeat: He is OK. 

I had help of course - therapists and sacrifices and prayer, my friends who listened and loved, and his never faltering big sis - but I did it.  There were dicey moments, scary moments, so much worry and doubt and fear and some of that was recent but... he is ok, and I did that. I've had 6 different jobs since then, working around his needs, but I did it.  I kept us in our same apartment, kept him in the same school district, kept him with the same friends he's known since kindergarten, prioritized a routine to see his father regularly and include his father in every big moment, taught him to love and care for pets, encouraged his older siblings to stay close, and gave him every opportunity to explore his interests and to meet his needs.  I'm tooting my own horn cuz baby? No one else is gonna do it.

In the grand scheme of all that is 'life', there will be mountains to climb and valleys to traverse, and therapists to see still... but what was a terrified and locked down challenge of a hurt small boy has become an evolving and open and forward thinking young man... with a loving and dedicated and consistent momma.  

And now maybe it's time to approach life in the way everyday normal people do: with trepidation and caution and openness and hope instead of sweat and tears and painfully considered double guessed  choices.  Maybe now we can just... live?  No, not "maybe now" but... Now.  Now we can just go out there and live without a shadow over us, without over thinking and doubt and second guesses.  Because he is ok... He is OK... and I did that.  I made him ok after all.

This past weekend we went on a scenic train ride.  We rode outbound on a track to a specific stop, the engine unhooked, moved around or 'switched' position, rehooked, and we came back the same way we had come.  The scenery was different on the way back, the way the air came into the windows and ruffled our hair was different.  The sound of the train horn was different because all of it came from a different position, even though we traveled the same exact track.  Same train, same seats, same track, different view.  Toot Toot...

Listen; life is hard.  The challenges we face are different for each of us and the way we approach and overcome those challenges is going to be different.  Same train, same seats, same track, different view.  Toot your own horn when you need to.  Congratulate yourself.  Appreciate yourself and your efforts.  You did good... toot toot!

Dear Jenni; 2022

 Hey Lil Brev!

Hakuna matata!

Wassup!??

I can sign that question in ASL now, ‘Wassup’; ASL is something I always wanted to learn and now I am starting to: in small bits and pieces, courtesy of Tik-tok and you-tube.  It’s been a long time coming.   “I” have been a long time coming if that makes any sense… it’s been a long two years and I’m slowly starting to come out of it.

Some W1 peeps (and me!) are getting together on Monday at The “local place we go to” for a dinner, in honor of you.  It’ll be 2 years since you left us. (And I’m still pissed off about it!)

Believe it or not, it was “Marty” that reached out and asked if we could meet.  He’s such a good boi! Remember Martin used to be nervous of me? Me!! No one is ever really nervous about me!  But I yelled at him when he was brand new to W1, on a snowy night, when I followed him into the parking garage and he hadn’t cleared his suv of snow and it blew back onto the windshield of my little car - I was so mad and yelled at him like he was my own son - “dude! That’s literally illegal! You have to clear your roof of the snow cuz it’s dangerous for people behind you!”  He was shocked - not to mention it was just the beginning of Covid and he was a brand new baby nurse.  He turned out good Jenni - can you see him?  

You were the one that started calling him “Marty”…  no one else does - but I still think of him that way. Our boi… he actually gave me an attitude check recently - tables turned 100%!  He’s a good one Jenni.

Thomas was also nervous of me for awhile too.  He said it’s the quiet ones that are dangerous and because I was so quiet it made him nervous.  He’s not wrong - but I’m not scary, I’m a doormat! LOL - sometimes when I get all riled up tho, I say, “I’m channeling Jenni!”… no one ever stepped on you without a little comment! I’m working on my “inner-Jenni” lol!

You never made anyone nervous Jenni - scared maybe, lol, but not nervous! You were always out there, loud and up front and keeping your anxieties quietly deep inside.  I’m glad I got to see the inside of you, the whole of you, the real you.  You have some secrets of mine that I told you, and only you, because we had some shared experiences.  You took my secrets with you.  I’ll keep yours with me.  I promise.

I still have our last text - from that night you flew away.  I asked you if you needed a ride to work the next morning… you texted back: “nope! not working!”

I can’t delete it.  How true it ended up being….

Two years babe… no one asking, “so, lemme ask you a question..” in that special tone that said “I know I’m right but can you validate?”… no one to help me with these GD plants and the GD gnats.  No one to drive to or from work, no one to sing Hakuna Matata with, no one to gripe n bitch with… at least not in the same way as I could with you. I miss you Jenni. You know I’m not the only one.

As far as W1 goes, Covid is different.  Working on the floor is different.  All the newbies are different.  But hey - Jojo and Dot are the same!! That’s something I guess.

Since you’ve been gone I changed jobs twice.  Yep - I left W1.  Can you believe it??  Sometimes “I” can’t believe it.  

Donna lost her husband and her heart is shattered. And there is nothing anyone can do to heal her heart…but we try.  Britt died too… as Donna said, “now THATS bullshit!”

Nick left… and there is no one original left on the desk but Donna.  It’s so weird and foreign, the way life just keeps going on even when people are crashing and burning, or taking flight and thriving… life and living is all just so mind-boggling!!

Sometimes I think you are cheering us on in your own way: “dude, wh’the  fuck!” And “Get over it!” And “lemme ask you a question.,, do ya really think that’s ok?”

I hope I always hear you lil brev…  in my own way, in OUR own way… and every time I spill ice cream on your hoodie I will know it’s you.

2 years babe… gone but not forgotten… 

Love,

D

It’s Been 6 months…

 The organization that I work for has a “6 month” policy wherein if you change positions, you have to stay in that position for a full 6 months before leaving.

In September of 2021 I moved into a new position, a position that better suited my family and challenged me a little more.  It wasn’t an easy adjustment and I struggled from the start. I sought input from my previous manager, from my current manager, from friends… I whined and bitched and complained, I prayed and meditated and soaked up all the gratitude I could.  I defined my boundaries and held to them.  Through it all, I was consistently shown that it was never going to work.  A few weeks ago I finally threw my hands in the air and said, “All Done!”  I could no longer work in a toxic and unsafe culture.  I couldn’t watch other coworkers be demeaned and dismissed and couldn’t allow that for myself either.  

To be afraid of repercussions for complaining was offensive to my soul - I realize I am a privileged white woman in the USA and I admit it: and it’s also my RIGHT to work somewhere safe and somewhere that follows the organization’s guideline for basic respect.  I believe in the organization I work for - just not this particular situation.  So I started looking for a new position to move into.

I am so blessed and grateful to be able to say that in two weeks I will be out of this toxicity and into something...different.

I was torn about leaving, afraid that a new position would be just as bad - leaping from the frying pan into the fire so to speak... but as one wise person said, "well, it might be bad but at least it will be a different kind of bad! It certainly can't get worse..."  and I took that advice and ran with it.

I'm excited and anxious and nervous and uncertain - but I am mostly grateful, in light of the current economic status here in the US, that I will have a job that is, once again, considered essential to our public.  My income is stable still.  I have balance... still. 

In between the Marsh and New York City

 Today I registered and checked in a handful of patients who were showing up for their very first pre-natal appointments.

I also held a woman in my arms as she wept and said, "my baby... I lost my baby...".

I heard a pregnant woman curse a medical assistant, in Spanish, to her partner, presumably thinking that the MA wouldn't understand her language.  Well.  She did.  

I attended a meeting where the manager shit on every single person's ideas for improvement.

But hey.

I get every weekend off,  AND I don't have to pick up extra shifts just to make ends meet.  So there's that.

A couple of year ago I was pondering, with my soul mate, the concept of living in the middle of a marsh in New Hampshire vs living in a big city.  I didn't want either one - I wanted something in the middle.  

The marsh was "in the middle" of the ocean and the land.  Not good enough.  

The big city was in the middle of strangers and dangers vs isolation and alone-ness.  Not good enough.  

Maybe it wasn't "in the middle" that I didn't like, but the concept of being stuck between what I wanted vs what I needed.  The whole "being in the middle" was uncomfortable to me.  And it's not wrong, it's just who I am.

Yet, here I am, here, in the middle.

In the middle, in a new job, and wondering if I've made the right choice.

Excitement and Loss.  Comradery and disconnect.  Support, and disregard.  Kindness, and coldness.  I am so very much "in the middle" that it sometimes hurts my heart, makes my soul fall into puddles at my feet, makes tears fall from my eyes as I drive home from work.  It keeps me awake, late at night, or wakes me from a sound sleep and makes me ponder choices in the soft light of dawn before my alarm rings.

I don't like this middle ground I'm in.  I don't like the choices on either side of it tho.  I am floundering - and it's a dangerous place to be where I might make a decision based on "feel" vs "fact".

I "feel" distrustful, sad, worried, disappointed  but I also have every weekend off, holidays off, and don't need to pick up extra hours just to make ends meet.

I'm perfectly imperfectly balanced in the middle right now.

So uncomfortable.  So shaky and worried and imagining the bright, safe lights of the big city while stuck landlocked uncomfortably and peering at the marsh, warm and soft and protective.

I'm in between and I'm not very good at sitting here in the discomfort.

The Sweet Bitterness

On Sunday, my previous coworker Rose texted me to say that Sunday's just weren't the same without me.

I might have shed a tear or two.  She told me that I would never be forgotten because I had a beautiful soul.  I definitely shed a tear or two.  

On Monday, another previous coworker, Jill, texted me to ask how I was doing.  I definitely ugly cried after I told her how lonely I was and how there was no one to hug or touch or be vulnerable with.

Over the past few days, an entirely different coworker was  talking about her own mental health struggles and I monopolized the conversation to focus on my needs. She asked me if I was "happy"... 

... and that is where the sweet bitterness floods my mouth, my words, my heart, my mind... and my soul.

I am many things - and right now one of the things I am is an ADULT.

I work a job that pays the bills... 

I work a NEW job that pays the bills that have inflated due to Covid and Life and These Times.

Am I happy?  Do I even have the right to be?  The luxury of being?

no.  no I don't.

So am I happy?  

I am grateful, dammit.  Grateful. 

I am a grateful ADULT.

That has to be enough right now, because I'm grateful for so many things...

Grateful to work a job that has me indoors, sitting, and face-to-face with consumers, and challenges my brain and creates new synapses; I'm grateful to have a job that is more than the one before, that offers me potential.  I'm grateful to be employed, with security, and to be able to provide consistent income for my family, as humbly as we live.

But am I happy?

I WAS the cheerful one, the one who spoke encouragement and support, the one who rubbed their tense shoulders and told them they were amazing... I WAS the one who told bad jokes and announced silly happy announcements over the PA.  I WAS the one who listened to Worship Music on Sundays with my Rosie... I WAS.... and now I ....  I am.

I am not yet a part of the puzzle, the group, the foundation.  I am not yet the cheerful one who holds your secrets and your vulnerabilities.  I am not yet the one who goes to the manager to protect you, to protect our unit, to protect our family... I am ... "now"... and I am unsettled... but still searching for my place.

It is this sweet spot, of "was" and "could be"... and the bitterness within it, where I currently balance my soul and my heart and my emotion.  I don't like it... this bitter-sweet spot... but I will swallow it every moment of every day until it finally becomes just... sweet.

If you pray, please pray that the "sweet" comes soon because the bitterness is hurting me, its hard to swallow, its making me cry and wallow and argue against the joy that is hovering, potentially, for me to embrace.

If you don't "pray" - then send me your vibes, your energy, you thoughts and wishes and hopes... I need them all.

The Beginding, with Jenni

 Hey Jenni...

Today is the "day before my last day" on W1.  

I'm having a hard time leaving W1 because it is my only true connection to you.  I have your plants, your advice, the memories of you... but being around the other people who also feel the loss of you, who remember what it was like to work with you, hang out with you, and who remember the day your dad called to tell us you were gone, the people who mourned and grieved side by side over losing you - I feel like I need them to keep me tied to you; so... leaving them is really hard, but I'm doing it anyway.  

We all battled Covid together, Jenni, on W1. 

In the beginning, we were all of us, on W1, terrified and stressed and battling this fucking virus together in masks and gowns and gloves, slathered in sanitizer and fear.  On W1, we parented together, cried and cursed together, we told inappropriate jokes together.  We survived together.  We were all connected and bonded in ways no other coworkers outside of a hospital ever could be because of that fucking virus.  Until you died.  

Then we did it all without you; because we didn't have a choice.  We battled on without your wit and wisdom and care and sass and sarcasm.  We missed you, your stories about Lyvie, we still miss her now even... and tomorrow is my last day to be surrounded by all of the people who loved you and grieved the loss of you.  After tomorrow, I will grieve you on my own.  I'm not sure I'm cut out to handle it alone, but I will do it anyway because that kind of strength is an honor to your own srength.

Today I played with my/our plants.  I repotted, I refreshed soil, I watered and sprayed and wiped Neem oil on leaves.  I brought the indoor plants that I put outside, back inside.  I talked to and sang to and made promises to ever single one.  I planted newly rooted cuttings I had growing in water in my windows.  I embraced the growth and life and propagation.  I felt you, Jenni, in the funny way I referred to bottom watering as "butt chugging", and in the way I named the few little gnats I saw flying around, and how I named my most dramatic plant "Karen".  That plant is the one I bought from you as a gift for my son and his wife (um, now she's his ex but thats a whole different story friend!) but that I loved so much I kept.  She's pretty dramatic tho Jen, she likes to pretend to die randomly, and then return to full glory only after I've done EVERY SINGLE THING so I'm never sure exactly what it is that she wants.  Heh... maybe I should name her after myself?? 

If you were here, you'd tell me to suck it up, to move on, to do what is best for myself and my family.  Except, you'd say it over a glass of wine while Lyv bossed Griff around in my yard, or while we were talking late late at night while everyone else was asleep.  Then we'd laugh and laugh and tell stories about work and vent about life and exchange info about plants, about budgeting, about ex's and moving forward... until we had to hang up.  I guess I'm hanging up Jenni... for now.

I'm leaving W1 but only in body.  My heart and soul will always be there, with yours, and I hope they keep remembering you and your life and your joy and ethic and sass.  

Tomorrow is my "beginding"  the beginning and the end of something soul shattering and life changing and forever impactful.  Thank you for being part of it all my friend...

I Love You, and your toes...

 My firstborn son is 25 years old.  He is almost half of my age.  

When he was born, he was big.  I mean... BIG.  It was a surprise, just how big he was, but throughout his life, his personality has been just as big as the day he arrived, surprising all of us with his size, and he continues to surprise me still today with the way he continues to grow BIG into his own soul.

This isn't about his birth though.  Or his growth.  It isn't about his long curly hair or his almond shaped deep brown eyes, or his physique, or even his tattoo's.  This is about his life... and mine... and life and death and all the stuff in between.  It's about all my children.

Tonight I came home after work and ran an errand with my little son.  We then came home and did our own separate activities: him on a google meet with friends, and me cleaning my ever-messy bedroom and prepping dinner and getting ready for tomorrow and another day of work/home/parenting/life.  What did my firstborn son do?  I dunno... he was probably also working. He works a lot - he works hard and works a lot of hours and works a lot of days:  last count was 80 hours in one week.  My boy, my son, Mijo, I'm proud AND worried....

While I cleaned my bedroom tonight: the room that is the depository for all the detritus of life in our small house; I turned on a movie to occupy my mind.  It was one of those indie films full of all the feels, deep and dark and inspiring all at the same time.  Maybe a little less inspiring and a lot more "feels"... with a whole lot of "dark/deep".  It kept me occupied alright; it kept me sooooo occupied that my bedroom full of detritus did NOT get cleaned.  At all...  

Well, honestly, I did manage to move things from one spot to another, and then sort the spots into categories... but then somehow time was warped and I ended up piling it all back up into one big pile while the end of the movie played out musically in sharps and minors and half beats of time.  I might have cried.

In the movie, the main character was a single mom who was mentally revisiting the suicide death of her adult son.  In one soul wrenching moment of the movie she recalled seeing her dead son's toes curled tight in a spasm, and how she tried to straighten those toes, the toes that she'd grown inside her own body, the toes she'd kissed when he was a baby, the toes she'd tickled and covered up and protected and loved... and how those spasmed curled toes she could no longer kiss, tickle, cover, and protect. 

I DEFINITELY cried.

A lot.

I have an adult son... and I also have 2 adult daughters... and another young son.

I fear for all of them, every day, and I fear for my own heart also, the fear of "the fear of losing them".

This movie had me praying, and cursing, and biting my tongue, and hoping, and praying even more.  This movie had my stomach clenched, my jaw set hard, tears streaming down my face; and also had my soul set free and lifted up to the God I believe in and hold onto and take comfort in... and I prayed that my own children would hold the same belief I have - and be able to rest in the same comfort that I hold onto... or that they would find their own comfort and belief, even if it isn't' my own.  We all need something outside ourselves to believe in and hold on to.

I have family members that have lost their own adult children, friends that have lost their own small children. I've lost my parents, and in-laws, and other family... I've lost friends that ARE family... I've lost friends that feel like my own children but yet... aren't.  I know what it is to lose a parent, to lose a loved one, a life mate, to grieve for someone else's grief... in real time... but I have not lost my OWN child to their OWN demons, and God, oh God, I stay on my knees and pray that of all the losses I've had, and have yet to have, losing a child to their own demons is not a loss I have to face this time around. 

Perhaps my turn will come, in this huge life, this karmaic adventure of love and experience; of surrender and battle all at once.  Maybe in another life it has already happened and now I am making amends?  I won't discount anything I don't know about.

Perhaps in THIS life tho,  I will lose a child to demons I have no control over.  

Perhaps its is a ridiculous farce to think my love will protect the children I have now in THIS life.  

Are you laughing at me God? 

I love you, all of you, my babies...but I know my love is not enough.  I pray that you don't leave me yet. I still need your tiny (and not so tiny) kissable toes that I can uncurl and hold flat against this bumpy life...even if it's only in my heart.  I still want time to uncurl you.