Days & Dreams: July 2013

The day has crept away from me and it's now 1:17 a.m. and my baby is so peacefully asleep beside me and I just can't follow suit- and I am adding to what I have written before which I now realize began in the same fashion. I would delete this now, but I think there is meaning in it.

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Sometimes, it's 2:45 a.m. and everyone is sleeping but you, and you lay awake thinking about things that you can't do now or maybe ever and you know you should probably go to sleep, but you just don't. And sometimes that happens a lot.

Several weeks ago, my Grandma Gloria passed away. And it was a strange thing, because I hadn't seen her in so many years, and so suddenly I began to sink beneath the present day into the thick musty nostalgia of my childhood. This my friends, is a dangerous thing, because there you will feel so flooded by the warmth of innocence that it becomes frightening to return to the surface. After moments of thinking and remembering, I felt so sick with regret that I wanted to puke. I wished I would have visited with her more. I wished that I knew more about her.

When my dad called to tell me she was not doing well and that it wouldn't be long, I planned to bring Sunnie to meet her. It was important to me that this happened. My heart needed it, and so did my soul. She passed away the night before we were going to visit her. I found out that morning.

I never knew much about her and I don't know why, but I just didn't. My dad told me that she wanted Sunnie to have a quilt that she had. We found the quilt in her room, along with a scarf and a photo of her with my dad at the beach when he was just one year old and we took these things and left. And when I looked at the quilt, I saw that ironically, it had little suns all over it. I don't know how, or why, or what made it happen, but on that trip my dad told me about her and about his childhood and about things I had always wondered about but had never really asked. And suddenly, my soul felt whole, and I became aware that something had been gone from it all this time. And on the ride home the sun was setting, and it was so giant and orange that I almost felt as if I were breathing it in.

My Grandma Gloria weighed one pound when she was born and her parents brought her home in a shoebox. She struggled physically and mentally her entire life because of it, but she lived. A one pound baby in 1938 and she lived. It all made sense. Sunnie was here because my Grandma Gloria lived. There is absolutely no reason that she survived such a circumstance other than the fact that Sunnie was supposed to be here. And so was I. And so was my dad. And so was every single person that is, has been, and will be here in this strange spinning world. And I felt the presence of God so powerfully as I thought this. I just knew that she was important. That she HAD to be here so that I could as well. And this made me feel important and I felt purpose and purpose for all.

I think that one of the most valuable things this life can offer is hearing others' stories. When I was young, I read The Bell Jar and it changed my life. And The Catcher in the Rye. It changed my life too. And I would think to myself, if I never would have read this story, I would've robbed myself of part of who I am. Do you understand what I mean? I feel like we need to know about what others go through and about their lives and what broke their heart and what filled it. We are not just one person that is so completely untouched by the moving and grooving of all the other people in this world. In this life, we float by others and the dust from their worn and weathered beings brushes off and onto ours and sometimes we chose to pat it off, and sometimes maybe still some remains upon us, and then sometimes we choose to let it be. I am so grateful for the lives of others that have inspired mine. I am so grateful for knowing that I am not just me- that there are people whose dust rests on my shoulders, and for their stories which help me to see beyond my own world. And I hope that I won't be too proud or too busy so often, and forget that. That Sunnie is here, because somebody else was here. That my life is meaningful because somebody else's was.

And by her three months here, Sunnie:

Has laughed. One of the most beautiful wonderful moments I've been a part of on this Earth. And she has only done it one and a half times so far, but I was so grateful that Jordan was able to experience it with me. Truly, truly a blessing.
Is completely aware of me. She really knows me and looks for me and interacts with me and likes me.
Finds entertainment in kicking her hanging car (which she prefers over the hanging keys), looking at herself in the mirror (usually brings smiles, sometimes tears), playing in "Jungle World", and oddly enough diaper changes.
Is a hand sucker.
Grabs and holds onto things
...especially Giraffey
And even more especially, her foot. She is maybe in love with her left foot. She, by some unnatural force/desire, is able to pull her foot to her mouth and has even made mouth-to-toe contact. I am both puzzled and impressed. This is her thing.
Ditched the mullet for a semi-bowl cut. I mean, it makes sense in the historical order of style though. I suppose curled bangs and crimping is just around the corner and then probably the "Rachel" from friends.
Is now sportin' size two dipeys. And depending on her mom's ability to make a decision and quit being a fence-sitter, maybe cloth dipes soon instead. (I just can't freaking decide okay? Sue me.)
Wants to talk. She makes so many noises now and I can tell she's got somethin' to say.

So guys, maybe this is what being adult is- making doctor appointments for someone else and getting rid of (almost) all of your band t's. Sure, sometimes I eat cheesecake for breakfast...at 12 p.m. and yeah maybe I still self consciously feel that people think I'm a teen mom when I'm at the grocery store and wearing my kid brother's basketball shorts, and most of the time I don't know how to properly operate Netflix and have to call Jordan at work to walk me through the steps, but you know- I think I'm really starting to believe I'm an adult. I always thought of my mom as "a mom" you know- like as a grown-up- but I'd bet money that she didn't always feel like it, in fact I know she didn't. I guess that's what's important though, that you do what you can for your kids so that they see you as the "grown-up"- the one that's got it together. Kids need that. I guess that's all you can do. Give it your all. Get rid of your Jimi Hendrix tee shirt and stick it to your phone-anxiety and just make those appointments. And when you eat dessert items for breakfast in the late afternoon, you'll remember how much love you have for that baby and you kind of just feel okay about it. And you remember that there are millions of other almost-twenty-six-year-olds out there eatin' cheescake for breakfast too, and if they're not- they are doing something else they feel insecure about and they have their story too.