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.  

Dear Jenni

 Dear Jenni; 

I wish you'd told me how expensive and time intensive these house plants are.  I might have turned away the first few that you gave me if I'd known all there was to know about keeping them alive and thriving.  I certainly wouldn't have taken in more! Too late now.  

Are you there somewhere laughing at me? You are, aren't you? Telling me to 'suck it up buttercup', giving me that sassy grin, and walking away saying, "sucker!" over your shoulder.  God how  I miss your laugh.

Today I think I might have finally conquered the battle with the fungus gnats.  Ever since you talked me thru repotting some of my own plants well over a year ago, and I was stupid enough to buy the cheap soil that was pre-infested with those damn gnats, I've been fighting them off.   I did all the things you told me to do.  I bought the Neem.  I used the soapy water.  I watered from the bottom instead of the top.  I let them dry out well.  I used your mom's fertilizer recipe.  I took pictures of my wilting listless plantlings and sent them to you.  I sent you video even.  You loved it when I did that while you were working a double, it helped pass the time for you.  Nothing was working though.  You told me to hang in, that we'd figure it out.  Then you died.  You bitch.  I'm still pretty pissed off at you for doing that you know.

After you died, which still feels like yesterday, I inherited a few more of your plants, courtesy of your lovely dad and some of your plant friends when we were all together, packing up your apartment.  *sidenote* damn, you loved that apartment... it was so pretty and so full of  your beautiful soul:  your soul displayed like art with your own handmade macramé and the bajillion plants in their tiny perfect planters and the cozy furniture and the peaceful colors.  You did good kiddo.  You did good.

Anyway.  I inherited a few more of your plants Jenni, and they came with gnats.  Of course!  My gnats loved meeting yours, and they all had a kick ass party going on in my place throughout Christmas.  I even bought sticky traps and had to change them every couple of days because they were so covered by those tiny evil assholes.

Finally I dug into the interwebs and the tik toks and the instagrams and I decided to forge ahead with my own plan.  Today was the finale.  If I see a garsh-darn gnat in the next few days, or the next few weeks even, I swear to God Jenni, I will die and come find you and... well... I really don't like confrontation so I probably will just flip you off, from a safe distance of course, but so help me baby cheezits, if I see a gnat, I WILL make good on this threat!

Today I took all forty-eleven plants, which includes all the little propagations I've done (toot toot! look, I'm tooting my own horn!), and the few that I snipped from your aloe at work, and I got rid of the top two inches of gnatty soil on every single one of them, replaced it with new, fresh, UN-gnatty soil, and then covered it with a solid inch of decorator sand.  Every single one, Jenni.  Every single one. Now, its not just as easy as all that though - I had already potted a bunch of the propagations in teeny little cups so it meant totally repotting those ones all together, and I had to change out a few pots that didn't have drainage holes (duh, you didn't mention the importance of THAT!) for pots that DID have drainage holes, and I also made some little climbing poles for one plant and a few support stakes for a couple of others, and I had to replace the grow lights and reposition everything - sheesh!  Afterward, my kitchen looked like the swedish chef muppet guy had just finished making a mud pie.  Then I had to clean up.  

Damn I'm exhausted.  I'm also victorious tho kiddo, and it's the first time I've felt that way in a very long time, and I also feel a deep sense of peace which I haven't felt since you died almost 3 months ago. So thank you for that Jenni. I wish you were here to talk to about this, to ask if you felt that way too when you cared for all your plants.  Instead I'm carrying a part of you in my heart, and in my hands.  I just hope you weren't being carried in any of the gnats...

I miss you Jenni.  There is a you-sized hole at work my friend, and a you-sized hole in my heart too.