I have two sons. My oldest is twelve. My youngest is ten. It is most definitely time to check back in and have the updated and age-appropriate SEX talk. Because we have boys and because Dave is the adult male of the family, I always hoped he would be the one who took the lead in all sex-related matters. However, knowing my lovely husband as I do, I also realize that I am the one who has to get the awkward-conversation-with-your-child ball rolling. I will be the one that says, “Hey Dave, it is time to talk to the boys about [insert uncomfortable topic here].” When I have asked him to talk to Kyle & Eli he always does. He sticks to the facts and I think the boys respond well to his line of reasoning. In contrast, even the mention of words like, “sex, girls, or babies,” makes them squirm, look away and say things like, “Are you done yet?” I must admit as Kyle is a little older her is less squirmy and seems more interested in what I have to say. I does not hurt that the school held the “maturation” class with Kyle’s grade last year. He seems more confident and less freaked out.
Today I did want to test the waters and see what my younger son knew. He has always asked my about kissing and girls and has always seemed aware of what’s up or so I thought. Even though I knew he might cringe (and he did) when I brought up the subject, I decided I would try to bring it up anyway.
I went downstairs. Eli was chilling and watching TV. Oddly, the TV room seems to be a place where we have had a lot of these “uncomfortable” conversations. I grabbed the remote, paused the television and casually asked Eli, “Hey, do kids talk about sex at school?” (Wait! Before I blurted out my question, I warned him that I wanted to talk to him about something important. I needed to ask him a big question and I was ok with his answers.)
I was pregnant here. You can see the beginnings of my pregnant belly. 6.17.06Dave & Me. Thanksgiving 2011
As I crawled in bed late last night Dave, who was already in bed, said, “I read what you posted. Wow! That was a lot. That was really good. You are a good writer.”
Thinking he was talking about the post I had just written on Overweight Women, confused and perplexed I said, “Well, thanks, um, didn’t you edit that post earlier?”
“No. The one you posted on Facebook.” He responded.
“Oh. My Fix-You Post.” I said and because I was tired and caught of guard by his thoughtful comment, I mean, (I don’t think Dave would feel especially compassionate about the overweight woman who was smoking while carrying her catheter bag into her dialysis appointment), I continued, “I am working on my archives. That was one of the last posts I wrote before I quit blogging and it was one of the first posts I was able to recover from the sever-back-up Vortex. It was always a favorite. I didn’t read it today. It is too sad.”
I turned over, smiled and was grateful that he had read it. Dave’s feedback meant more to me than almost any other feedback I have ever been given. Go Dave!
The “Fix-You” Post was so sad because I was so sad and right after that I quit blogging. I quit blogging because my heart was broken and I spent the next five years trying to put my heart and the rest of me back together. It was more than blogging. I stopped and changed everything. I put my two feet on the ground and pointed them forward.
It is estimated that since Eli was born (he is 10) that I have had at least twenty miscarriages (I stopped counting). I could have chosen to adopt. I could have talked Dave into using a surrogate (probably not) and even now that I am much older, every single month I still ask myself, “What if I am pregnant?” It never leaves. It just does not and so it is what it is. What I want you to know is that I use my pain to see opportunity. My heartache has morphed into gratitude and my lack of control has taught me to let go. And yes, getting here has been anything, but easy.
Opportunity.
Opportunity is what it was and opportunity is how I spin things now. The one opportunity I did walk away from was my daily interaction with wonderful people who came to Crazyus.com. Without a word or an explanation, I unplugged and I walked away. Bloggers and readers alike were always kind and good to me and believe me, when I left, I missed all of them. As I sit here and type I know that I would be over the moon if I ever could have that same internet connection again (get the play on words . . . internet & connection . . . he he he). Seriously, it would be beyond my dreams!
The opportunities I did have way back in August 2006 were my late miscarriage and imminent mental crash. It was time for me to accept the fact (or at least start accepting) that I may never give birth again and this was a not-exactly-how-I-had-envisioned-my-life opportunity to stretch.
Peggle
Here is how it went. We sold our house. We moved into a tiny tiny condo in Park City, UT. Dave would go to our land, work on our new house everyday, Kyle would go to school and Eli would go to pre-school. I, well, I would sit home and sleep or play Peggle. I spent hours and hours every single day playing Peggle. I played Peggle so much that I finally confessed my Peggle Addiction to Dave. He already knew. He mentioned an article he had read about combat soldiers who play Tetris. “They play it to help with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” That was all I needed to hear and I kept on playing. I played Peggle for months and months and months. I loved my high scores I loved watching where the orange ball would go.
Eventually and still in my Peggle fog, we pulled Kyle out of first grade because he was so far ahead. He had gone to an accelerated kindergarten the year before and in October when the Principal at his new school told me it was fine for Kyle to “hang out” until the end of the school year (doing absolutely nothing, except getting in trouble), Dave and I knew something needed to be done. Because I was on Peggle-Auto-Pilot Dave took the lead and found a Homeschooling group (I was not about to Homeschool), which led him to this Hippie Montessori School. Dave went over to the school and loved it. I resisted for a few weeks until he finally dragged me over to check things out. Miss Diane, the long haired sixty-five year old director was wearing leggings, Uggs and a denim shirt. The school is in a house-slash-barn and I saw lots of feathers, Indian gear and Dreamcatchers. Because nothing is ever completely ideal, the school would end up being this crazy, dysfunctional, magical-talking-stick-duct-taped together Fairyland, but in that moment Miss Diane grabbed my sad sad face, kissed it, then looked me right in the eyes and said, “You will love it here. I know you will.” She hugged me and welcomed me into her crazy-Hippie-Montessori-Planet. As confused as I felt, I knew and to this day know, that Miss Diane loves and accepts me, crazy parts and all. We paid our overpriced deposit, filled out our paperwork and signed Kyle up.
Miss Diane & Kyle
In late 2006 Diane and the Another Way Montessori School Community was everything this Adams Family needed to heal our broken hearts. No one knew anything about us. We had a clean slate and I loved it. We were simply the weird family, who was building a house up the street. And really at Another Way, everyone is a little weird and outside-of-the-box. Because of this we all fit into this little Park City Island of Misfit Toys. I loved it! I loved getting caught up in fundraising. I loved learning about Yellowhawk, the Indian. I loved that Sausha’s dad is Bart The Bear’s Trainer. I did not love that the dog-wolf hybrids came to the school, but my kids did. I loved learning about the Talking Stick and I loved that Another Way was NOT Peanut Free. I sent my kids with their Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches to school and I loved that I could.
Miss Diane is a world renowned ski instructor and we love that she taught our boys to parallel ski. No snow plowing allowed. I love that the boys learned to ride and groom a horse and I loved that the horses were at the school. It was not very long after we signed Kyle up that Miss Diane convinced us that Eli needed to be there too. It was easy. It was safe. If I needed time to breathe, the boys could stay late. As Dave and I continued to do infertility treatments I always knew we could leave the boys with Diane. I really believe we found our very own Modern Day Hippie Commune. It was disorganized, unpredictable and I loved it. The friends I made there are friends I will have for life.
As I was talking to one of those friends earlier today I was mentioning how our choices take us to where we need to be. I mentioned my second act, the-what-I-did -after-my-miscarriage-broke-my-heart act. My friend is my very same age and has had similar struggles and I said to her, “You know how you always tell me to put my feet on the ground and point them forward? Well, when I moved to Park City, that is what I did. I had no idea what would happen. I was so sad. And then I started opening my heart ever-so-slightly and there you were, a better friend than I could hope for. You got it and understood this crappy infertility road and since the moment we met at Another Way, you have always been willing to travel the road with me.”
Grateful.
Grateful is what I am. I am stubborn. I desperately want to control all outcomes. When I let go, when I point my feet forward, people and places always come into my life that heal me and are so much better than anything I could have imagined. Because I got out of bed and put my feet on the ground, I could begin to heal.
from Sara. [I write and edit this while eating a giant piece of gluten free chocolate cake]
Dialysis Lady
Seriously? When I asked for topic suggestions Sara was the third person who offered a topic suggestion.
And here is how our exchange went:
Me: Give me a topic and I will write about it.
Sara: Overweight Women.
Me: What would you want me to say?
Sara: I want you to say what you think without worrying about stepping on toes.
Me (Thinking to myself): That will be impossible, absolutely impossible! It’s a trap!
And then I started thinking about the time I took my father-in-law to dialysis at the University of Utah. When my in-laws came to town a few years ago we knew that for Darryl to travel we had to line up a place where every other day he could go and get his kidneys cleaned out. He was so fragile and weak. It had been snowing and if anyone has ever driven up or down Parley’s Canyon during bad weather, you know it is not the most forgiving stretch of highway. I offered to drive. We wound are way down the canyon and into the Valley. We headed North-ish towards the University and to get to the actual dialysis place we had to travel through some back-parking-lot-through-connecting-parking-lot labyrinth. I could tell he was anxious to get there and to get the blood cleaning over with. We found the building. I pulled up to the door as close as I could, I put the car in park and through the corner of my eye, we both saw her. Standing to the left was the only overweight woman I have ever truly judged and my judgement, wether right or wrong, was extremely harsh. (Ok, truth be told, have a hard time not being critical of the overweight folks I see using the scooters at Disneyland. Shame one me.)
Context. It was about context. Sitting next to me in the passenger seat was a man who was half the size he used to be. A long-term illness had destroyed his body. He was so weak we could not let him drive down the canyon himself. He did not want to be there. His kidney failure had been a byproduct of treatment for heart disease. He did not want to be living this life that was utterly dependent on dialysis, but here is where he sat.
We both could not help ourselves as we watched her step out of the car and stand there. “Did you see her?” I said. “Yes.” He responded as he lowered his head and shook.
Yes. I judged. Not only did I judge, in that second, I hated her. She was huge, I mean, she looked like an enormous pissed off peacock! In what seemed a sort of a Fuck-You-World stance, there she stood in her flip-flops, with her short, greasy hair, wearing some sort of thin nightgown while holding her urine-filled catheter bag in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It was disgusting. She spit. She swore. She tossed her half smoked cigarette on the ground and walked into the building.
Darryl got out of the car. He was so thin and frail. It was difficult for him to move and then he slowly walked into the building behind her.
I have been overweight more than once. And when I was twenty-three (after breaking up with my boyfriend) I believe I was underweight. I have seen peoples’ lives taken over by food or their need to control food. It is horrible. It makes me sad. And the more time I spend on this earth the more I know that there is more than meets the eye. We are not what we eat. And what I mean by that is I should not judge because I do not walk in your shoes.
Hostess Ho Ho's
And then, there I was, taking my father-in-law to dialysis. As I looked, I was completely blind-sided by her girth and apparent lack of care. It was that moment when my dying father-in-law sat next me. Her crappy attitude was just the in I needed and without hesitation it was the in I took. My father-in-law needed that dialysis so he could see his grandchildren. He needed the dialysis so e could live one more day. She, on the other hand, did not seem to care if she was here or trapped in carton of Ho-Ho’s. In that one moment, I hated her. I was angry, angry that this gigantic woman was taking up space on this planet and so I judged.
I have been to all three festivals this year (kind of). I still need to see a Sundance Film. That should be solved soon because I am on my way to get my Townie Tickets for Townie Tuesday. Before I go I need to post. In the back of my mind I have this goal to post Monday through Friday. So far it has been difficult. Today I thought I would at least post something and then come back later — I hope.
The Dominos Pizza has been delivered, the kids are settled in babysitter mode, my hair is combed, my teeth are brushed and I am on my way. I cannot wait to tell you about my very favorite OUTDOOR RETAILER Show and how super cool X-Dance was. Utah has been bringing some really amazing events to town, especially this time of year.
I will take pictures of tonight’s adventure and will be back soon to post. Forgive the random commas and misspells. I know I need to edit.
11:08 PM
Townie Tuesday
We are back. The wait was just over an hour. I began our night by driving to Dave’s office, which is in downtown Park City, We bundled up, went outside and took the Free Park City bus to Main Street. We walked into the Gateway Park City building, found the end and stood in line until it was our turn at the Ticket Counter. The wait was about an hour.
We chose the 7PM Showing!Dave on Main Street Park CityDave eating giant dessert at Reyes AdobeMe and Rachelle
Please forgive this most lazy post. I have so much more to tell and after I wash that grey right out of my hair and go read with Eli’s class, I will.
I have not watched ABC’s The Bachelor at all this season. That being said, who am to say that I won’t. See, in those moments when I am drifting through the channels, if I land on The Bachelor, I promise you, I will stay on The Bachelor. I have completion issues. Even if I start watching an episode half way through, I will watch it to its end and if it is some delicious-Bachelory-reality television, I tell you now, I will finish the season. Bachelor Ben, there is still time.
This season, however, I really do not have to watch. See, early on The Bachelor came to town. Not only did it come to town, but the Bachelor People stayed at the hotel just down the street from me. Not only is it the hotel down the street, it is also the hotel where I have a gym membership. Celebrity sightings are a plenty. Hillary Swank nearly saw me naked in the Spa last year, for instance. No big deal, right? Right. We live in Park City, otherwise known is Little Hollywood. Ok, I have no idea if Park City has ever been referred to Little Hollywood. What I do know is that not only is Park City a major ski and vacation destination, it also hosts the Sundance Film Festival. And somehow over the years, Park City is a magnet for all sorts of Hollywood folk. As I type, the 2012 Sundance Film Festival is in full swing. Even before the festival blazed its way into town, celebrities of all different shapes and sizes were knocking at our door.
It was a really weird, last-minute-holiday-shopping type of day. I was buying Christmas and Kyle’s Birthday presents. With the Winter Solstice staring me in the face, it was dark early and I must admit that I let the darkness creep inside too. I was hungry, needed some sugar or caffeine and wanted to get back to Park City.
I waited and waited to make a lefthand turn out of the 33rd South Salt Lake City Red Balloon, and the holiday traffic was not letting up. Tired of waiting, I took a right instead and found myself trying to navigate a different route back to the highway.
It was really no coincidence that as I drove West down 33rd South, then made a righthand turn at 2000 East and saw La Puente Restaurant sitting there on the Northwest Corner, that I started thinking about Kyle’s pre-school friend/cousin, Sam Williams. La Puente was the last place I saw Michelle, Sam, Ben & Ana. Kyle & Sam are the same age and Ben & Ana were roughly the same ages Kyle and Eli are now. Back in 2007 it was the Williams Family and their tragedy that nearly brought me back to blogging. I have wanted to write about this, but it never felt right until now.
My Boys Today
It all began when Kyle was in pre-school. He came home one day, excitedly handed me an eight and a half by eleven lined sheet of paper with the name Sam and a phone number written so big the letters filled the entire sheet. “Mom. Mom. You know Sam?”
“Yes. I know Sam.”
“Guess what?”
“What, Kyle?”
“Sam says we are related and that we are cousins. Here is his phone number. We need to get together.”
Sure enough and as crazy as it may sound, Sam and Kyle are most definitely related and yes, they are second cousins, depending on which side you are coming from. A few days after Kyle brought home the phone number I saw Michelle, Sam’s mom, at Pre-School pick-up and as she stood outside with the sun glistening on her face she said, “Beth, did Kyle tell you the news?”
“I believe he did.” I replied as we both laughed.
“It is true. We are related. Beth, your mother-in-law, DeAnne, is my first cousin. Last weekend I was at Aunt Jean’s in Saint George . . .”
“I know Aunt Jean.” I excitedly interrupted and blurted out.
Michelle continued, “Well, I was at Aunt Jean’s and I asked her why she had a picture of Kyle’s parents on her piano. She told me, ‘well, that’s Davy, you know, DeAnne’s son.’ Then she told me how we are all connected, how Dave’s mom lived with my parents a long time ago and that she knew you and Dave. It is such a small world.”
“So small that sometime you find out that you are related, right?”
“Right. Sam thought it was really great and could not wait to tell Kyle.”
With this new piece of information Kyle’s friend, Sam instantly went from pre-school buddy to Kyle’s family.
Kyle & Zeke
As time and life goes, the pre-school year ended and I was not great about staying in touch. And then one evening, as we often did with them back then, our friends Kat & Alan asked if we wanted to go out to eat. Because we were burned out of Rubio’s and Cafe Rio, they suggested La Puente and we were on our way. Once seated, Michelle and and I almost immediately noticed each other. She and her kids were sitting close by. Once Kyle realized a fellow family member was sitting so close he burst out of his seat to greet them. Then Eli, Kyle, Sam, Ana, Ben & Zeke (Kat & Alan’s son) made their way over to the “Arcade” (the entryway of the restaurant that has a few video games and gum ball machines. Kyle and Sam quickly retold their story, proving once again even to Ana & Ben, that yes, we are related. “Sam told us about you. We are cousins, right?” Ana said making sure we all understood that she and Ben knew that we were family. The kids had a blast. We literally had to drag them out of the restaurant with apologies that it had been so long and promises that we would see each other soon.
Shortly after that, we moved to Park City. And if you know anything about Utah, once you move to the other side of Parley’s Summit, you might as well live in Antarctica. It is strange how a half hour drive over a high mountain pass transports you into another world.
. . . Several months later found Dave, the boys and me in Hawaii for the very first time. We were there for nearly a month. Our trip magically began in Oahu and ended brilliantly in Kauai. By the end of our trip I was convinced that we would somehow find a way to move to this island paradise. The sunshine and ocean waves were the Natural Xanax I needed to conquer my seasonal Winter Blues.
Our last day arrived much to quick. We had to check out of our condo hours before our flight departed. With our bags packed, I did the one thing I always do in the morning and that is read the online news, especially the local news. I saw the initial article: Pregnant Woman and Two Children Killed in an Accident. With no other information, I needed to check the news again because somehow in the back of my mind I knew it was Michelle. I know the area well. I know the underpass the family was driving under. I knew she was pregnant. All the facts were adding up.
We had to check out of our condo and I had to wait to find out. As my boys spent their last day in paradise I knew a family back home was hurting.
Lydgate Park. Kauai.
At the same time I was reading the news the behind-the-scenes communication was happening in the Dorny family (Dorny is my mother-in-law and Michelle’s maiden name) and I received an email from my Mother-in-law with a link to an article telling us the very sad news.
I remember the weirdest things from the funeral. Dave and I were very tan. I was wearing a new Apple Green shirt I bought at Banana Republic. The line was long and I was surprised to see so many non-related people I knew. As we came closer to the caskets, we saw pictures and trinkets. The closer I came to the three caskets, the smaller I felt. My throat was tight. We stopped by Ben and Ana dressed so beautifully. We stopped and I thought about my own boys. I thought about loss. I thought about how childish I am and how short life is. We moved along until I stopped at Michelle’s casket. Of course I am crying as I write this. I was a small space in her world and I was overcome. She lay there. It was obvious that she was pregnant. I stopped and I could not move. She is a mother and she was gone. I could not stop thinking of all the times we met at pre-school. I liked her before I knew we were related. She was cool, calm and kind. I see the sun shining on her face as we talked outside the preschool. I stop and catch my breath.
I wanted to pull her up. I wanted to walk her right out of that room and tell her, “You can’t go. Not yet. Life got busy and we drifted apart. We are family.” And then it was our turn to say hello. Thank goodness. Michelle’s mom grabbed my hand, welcomed and thanked me. How can she be thanking me? And as Dave stood by Michelle’s dad it was eerie. Dave is physically a younger version of her dad. They are tall, thin and broad shouldered. Thank goodness they look so much alike because within seconds we were ushered over to the rest of the family and yes, they all look like Dave. We talked with all the aunts and then it was time to go.
And this is how they died.
On a quiet Salt Lake City Street a drunk 17 year old boy was driving alone, driving on the same road I found myself on, 2000 East. Somewhere around the I-80 underpass this boy lost control of his car. The Williams Family had no time. In a flash their life was forever changed. Almost immediately, Sam’s dad watched the last breath leave his mom’s body and in that moment he decided to forgive and then he moved forward.
Let me tell you, Kyle, Eli and I visited Sam after the accident. We knew it was not easy, yet Chris took a breath, forgave and allowed his family to heal. I admit that on sunny days it is much easier to move forward. And on dark days, I still fight not to slip back. In my life I have been an idiot. Things that roll off will sometimes creep in. In those moments especially, I am aware that it is not always easy to heal or forgive. As I think about standing there wanting to desperately pull Michelle back into this world, I know I have to keep trying and keep healing. That is all we can do.
Then because I was not able to make a lefthand turn, I found myself turning right on 33rd South. I turned on 2000 East right by La Puente. A few moments later I found myself driving under the same highway underpass. I was so focused on finding my way back to the highway, I was not sure how I got there until I was there. And then I thought about Michelle and healing. Seriously, it was like she was sitting right there next to me. In a drive under a dark highway underpass, I knew it was time to share my space in this. It was time to remember how grateful I am that I met Michelle, how grateful I am that Kyle survived his ordeal, how grateful I am that I was able to have children and how grateful that somehow I am healing and the only way I heal is by forgiving and forgiving myself. Really! Life is way too short not to heal and let go.
——
Because I myself, am not sure where I stand with religion, I struggled with wether I should post the following video link. I guess you can take it or leave it. This being said, I want honor the Williams family and so I am posting it. Chris tells the story of his loss and healing like no one else can. I think it is pretty cool. The message of forgiveness is amazing!
