Year End Review...

     As 2014 comes to a close I can't say I am sad to see it go. This has honestly been the worst year of my entire life. What started off so promising instantly deteriorated into a hell on Earth.
     January brought about a job change for me. Actually, it was a return to a position I had held for years in the past, prior to my stint being a site-based school administrator. Not that I did not enjoy my time as a site administrator and assistant principal...I just came to the conclusion that the culmination of these positions, the Principal's chair, is not a place I want to sit. So I returned to a district level position with the exceptional student education department and have never looked back.
     Life was good, no... life was great. Lauren had returned to school and was reaping the rewards of her hard work the semester prior. She was now a recipient of a full softball scholarship which covered all classes, books, and even a meal on campus everyday. All I had to pay for second semester was her dorm.
     February and March were spent attending as many games as possible including those in Bradenton and Gainesville. I really hated to miss even one. Her team was struggling a little but Lauren was really coming into her own on the mound. Her confidence was growing and her skills were improving.
     Then Lauren Michelle, my step daughter from my past marriage, gave birth to a sweet and healthy baby girl. Lauren Elizabeth was so excited she could hardly stand it. She couldn't wait to be an aunt. Just one more thing going her way.
     Until 12:14 am on March 28. At that time it was all over. No more softball scholarship, no more school, no meeting her niece, no degree, no teaching kindergarten, nothing. In an instant it was all gone.
     And so the rest of the year continued on. Nothing seemed to matter. The new job lost its appeal, but so did everything else. It is a struggle everyday now. A struggle to care...about anything. I sometimes question why? Why work so hard, why try to get in better shape, why sleep, why wake?   
     As a parent you become accustomed to doing what you do for your kids. To provide for them and take care of them. I still have my stepdaughter McKenzie, but she has her dad and mom, I am really just a bystander. She doesn't need me, her parents are great.
     But here's the tricky thing...what option do I have but to go on? I have to continue to act like it's all OK. I have to force myself to get up everyday to go through the motions of what is expected of me...with work, family, friends. So I will ring in 2015 and gladly put this life altering year behind me.   
     My new year's resolution...just get through another year.

Merry Christmas to All

     It is 7:12 on Christmas morning and I am sitting on the couch alone. Kevin is in the kitchen puttering around, making French toast casserole and humming from time to time. Everyone else is still asleep. So I sit here and sip my coffee while looking through pictures on Facebook of friends and family celebrating this wonderful day.
     Yet my heart is heavy. I long for the pitter patter of little feet. I yearn to see my babies as little ones, slowly rubbing the sleepiness out of their eyes as they approach the Christmas tree. To see the look on their faces as they begin to register the treats that lay about, near and beneath the tree.
     See, if I could go back to when my babies were little, my Lauren would be here too. She would snuggle with me on the couch. She would say "Thank you mommy" for whatever prize I had surprised her with this year. She would laugh, and play, and eat and laugh some more.
     It seems so surreal...this first Christmas without my daughter. Peripherally, little has changed at all. Traditions continue. The processes and procedures that we just do, because we have always done them. All of the motion moves on...never pausing, never ceasing.
     And here I sit. I wish I could remain perfectly still and simply allow everything else just to go on around me. Can't I just be a silent observer this year? Isn't it ok for me to sit this one out?
     No, I can't just skip Christmas. That would not be fair. Not fair to the rest of my family, or to me. I will just have to push through. I will smile and I will laugh. I have become very skilled at appearing happy on the outside while broken on the inside.
     I will miss my Lauren today...I miss her everyday. I will close my eyes from time to time and picture Christmas mornings from the past, when she was here with me. I thank God for the times we had and the memories I keep forever. Happy Birthday Jesus...please give my baby girl the biggest piece of cake, she LOVES cake.

Christmas Cards

     Shortly after Kevin and I got married 2 years ago on September 1st,  I was so excited when December came around and it was time to take a family picture for our Christmas card. I was so proud of my new little family...Kevin, Lauren, McKenzie and me. We even let our pooches in on the fun. They are family too after all.
     Year one, 2012, we decided to all dress in jeans with red and white tops. Lauren did not have a red shirt she liked and asked if she could wear black instead with a white shirt over top. "Sure...no biggie. Your hair can be the red part of your outfit."
     We donned our Christmas apparel and my sister Beth came over to our house with her fancy camera to take the shots. After I insisted on many poses and multiple shots, everyone's patience with me was spent and the photo session was over.
     I ordered our Christmas cards from Walgreens. When Kevin and I picked up the copies, we laughed and laughed. Apparently the dogs both had shiny eyes from the flash. The answer was to apply a black-out application to cover up the shine. Well...that worked fine on KC, our Rhodesian Ridgeback mix who has big, beautiful brown eyes. But our yellow lab, Nellie, has pretty, light gold eyes. There in the middle of her light eyes sat a black dot. It made her look like a crazed beast. Considering she can be a bit rambunctious and a little crazy, we agreed to send the cards anyway.
     Year two we decided to be a little more formal. Red was the main color again for our tops and black was the agreed upon bottom color. This time it was McKenzie who asked to be a little different. She didn't have black pants to wear but had white. No problem...a little variety is the spice of life.
     Beth came again and this time everyone was well prepared for how neurotic I can be about taking enough pictures to chose from. Therefore they were a little bit more cooperative...a little. Even the dogs did better this time and no shiny eyes occurred requiring correction. Another beautiful Christmas card was created and sent to family and friends. And again...I was so proud of my family.
     Now Christmas time is here again. But my family looks very different. It is missing a key member of the group. Without Lauren, it just isn't the same. I originally planned to plow straight ahead and take pictures anyway but the closer it came to setting things up, I just couldn't do it. I even tried ordering ugly Christmas sweaters, thinking that if I made it funny it might help.
     It isn't that I am not still proud of my family...Kevin, McKenzie and even the pooches. But I don't think I am ready for a visual representation of Lauren's absence. I don't need a picture that puts the hole she has left in our family on blatant display.
     No...this year I will be sending traditional cards to my family and friends. The pictures may happen again in years to come. But this year we are going to sit it out.

Christmas Card 2012

Christmas Card 2013

Staying MADD

     I have now attended two MADD sponsored events; a fundraising walk in Jacksonville and a holiday candlelighting vigil last night in Tampa. As I sit and observe the participants in this rather unique group of people, I have drawn some conclusions. I call them the "D"s of drunk driving.
     One, drunk driving does not discriminate. Families, friends, survivors and victims of drunk driving come in all shapes, sizes and colors. All walks of life are represented here. Drunk driving is not some back alley, secret, stigmatized issue that only effects a certain group of people and therefore is ignored by others. No...it can, and does, impact everyone.
     This horrible act, drunk driving, dictates. It unwittingly dictates which individuals will enter into a group of fellow survivors and this group is like no other. We are actually quite a pitiful sight...with so much discernable pain, easy for even the most casual observer to see. We cry. Some of us are angry. But above all, we are broken. Broken hearted, broken in spirit, broken in life. Some have repaired the brokeness to a certain degree while others wear their's on their sleeves...open, raw, obvious.
     Drunk driving also devastates. I listened last night with tears rolling down my face as a survivor recalled her accident and the life she has "lived" for the two years since it took place. She spoke of the mulitude of broken bones in her body, most of which are now replaced with metal rods. She spoke of the inordinate amount of time and energy she has had to dedicate to learning how to walk again, talk again. She has endured 32 surgeries...and isn't done yet. And I sat there in my church pew and thought..."Did God spare my Lauren from all of this by taking her home to His side swiftly?" While another part of me wished that could have been my Lauren up there talking to the crowd. Last night's speaker said it perfectly when she informed the crowd that although she survived, she lost her "life" the night of her accident. And it drastically changed the life of her family and friends, forever.
     These are the reasons we must designate a safe driver every time we consider getting behind the wheel after drinking. Drunk driving is not some disease for which researchers are feverishly working to identify a cure. There is a cure...don't do it! Call a cab, call the many programs available through organizations like AAA. Call a friend, call a family member...call ME! Just don't get on the road.
     In order to reduce the injuries and fatalities caused by drunk driving, we all must continue to disseminate the message. Talk to others about options to ensure everyone arrives home safely. Increase training of vendors and stress the important role they play in saving lives. They cannot continue to serve alcohol to inebriated patrons and look the other way as they leave. Encourage them to get a ride.
     If we all stick together, we can save lives. We will always remember those who have already suffered great loss. But to create a world where this group of ecclectic, sorrowful mouners slowly becomes smaller over time because no new "members" are required to join...that would be a wonderful place to be.
    

Giving Thanks

    

     As the first Thanksgiving without Lauren has come and gone I am humbled. Despite the extremely obvious deficit in my daily existence without my daughter here with me, I still have so many things to be thankful for.
     I am thankful that I met a man 3 years ago and fell in love with him. I am blessed that he fell in love with me too and asked me to be his wife. He has been such a support to me these past eight months. I honestly could not have kept moving forward without him.
     I am thankful for a wonderful career and awesome coworkers. I am thankful for a nice vehicle and the capability to always fill its tank with fuel when necessary. I am thankful for my beautiful home, sweet and loving pets, and refrigerator full of food. I am thankful for my great health. Although I need to shed a "few" pounds, I am still healthy.
     I am thankful for the best family around. Even though we fuss at each other at most holiday events, we love each other deeply. I am thankful for parents who loved my Lauren completely even though they were not thrilled with the manner in which she came into our lives. I am blessed to have two sisters who also loved and cherished my daughter as if she had been their own child.
     I am thankful that God blessed my Lauren with a talent that she loved and I enjoyed watching...YEA SOFTBALL!! I am thankful that I was able to provide for my daughter through some really lean years financially. I am blessed that I was able to manage to make it work for her to attend college away from home, she loved it.
     I am thankful that God placed His healing hands on my little girl when she had meningitis when she was only 4...it gave me more time with her. I am blessed that he helped guide me to keep her safe through all illnesses and close calls in her life.
     I am thankful that although disaster struck, it came at a time when Lauren and I were in a "good place" and not in the midst of a petty argument or irrelevant spat. I praise God that my daughter said "I love you mom" not once but twice the very night of her fateful accident. I am eternally thankful that I raised her to be a hugger and therefore I got two sweaty hugs that night too.
     I am thankful that God blessed me with the precious gift of a healthy baby girl 20 years ago. I am thankful that I was the mother of the funniest, most charming, tenderhearted, generous, beautiful, gregarious girl I have ever known. How lucky was I? Because although she is no longer here with me, I was blessed to have had Lauren at all...some are not so fortunate.

If he had survived...

     I often wonder just how far my compassion would have gone had the drunk driver who killed my daughter survived. Could I have forgiven him? Do I still need to even though he is gone?
     I am fortunate, strange to say I know, to have been spared a long trial hearing detail after detail of the worst day of my entire life. I wasn't subjected to looking into the face of the man who ripped from my life its purest joy. Never once did I have to hear his voice as he made some feeble attempt to defend his actions of that fateful night. Although I never have and never will desire for anyone to lose his or her life in a tragic way, I thank God that I was blessed to avoid additional torment and misery that would have come from the aftermath had my daughter's killer lived.
     My heart goes out to any family that must live through such a traumatic experience. I believe it would be extremely difficult to feel that any consequence could ever be harsh enough, any sentence long enough and certainly any amount of monetary compensation large enough. What could ever replace the loss of my precious daughter? Nothing.

Boots with a Bonus

     So, I decided to wear my cowboy boots to work today. They are super cute, tan with brown hearts in the design. I planned to wear them with a tan maxi skirt, gold top, and brown cardigan. I had the entire outfit laid out on my bed, including jewelry. I hadn't worn my boots in a while because Lauren had borrowed them.  I retrieved them from her dorm room after the accident.
     I took my shower and started getting ready. I applied moisturizer, minimal make up,  put my hair up in a pony tail and twisted my bangs into place (they are too long to wear as bangs but too short to blend into the side of my hair do, so I pin them up for now). I sprayed perfume on my wrists, rubbed them together and then sat down in the chair by my bed to put on my boots.
     I shoved my left foot in first. It's my fat foot. I remember taking Lauren to buy shoes for Easter a couple of years ago. She wanted some really cute high heels but had struggled a bit to put the first one on. I asked her "Is that your fat foot?"....."I don't know"..."What do you mean you don't know, you always have to know which foot is your fat foot and try the shoe on that foot first. If it aint gonna fit your fat foot, then move on sister"...we laughed and laughed. Just one of the many practical life lessons I passed along to my daughter. So I always put shoes on my fat foot first and this morning was no exception.
     Everything worked out well and I went to put on the other boot. When I put my right foot into the boot I stopped. Something was in the boot making it impossible to fit my foot inside.  I pulled my foot back out and turned the boot upside down. Out fell a pair of panties...Domo panties of course.
     I had to pause, and smile. Leave it to my child to have a pair of Domo panties shoved inside a pair of cowboy boots. Then I cried a while. I wish the quirky surprises of Lauren could go on forever but I know they won't. I realize that eventually I will have discovered all the little surprises Lauren unintentionally left behind....just by being Lauren.
     I decided to keep the Domo panties...since they feature the Domo wearing glasses. I figure they can represent my intellectual side. I suppose keeping a pair of panties may be an odd way to honor my daughter but hey....this is my journey.

Frozen in Time

     It is truly sad to think about all of the future stages of life I will never see Lauren go through. I look at the beautiful pictures of her and I can vividly remember everything about her at the age she was when she died...but that is where it ends. She will be forever frozen in time at 19...almost 20 years old.
     I won't see her at 25 and graduating from college. Maybe in love and planning on getting married soon. I won't see her at 30, having taught kindergarten for five years and now married to her college sweetheart. I won't see her at about 33 pregnant with her first child and loving every aspect of it. She will never be 40, a mother of 2, happily married, teaching, and running her kiddos around town to little league and piano lessons.
    I will never receive a phone call from my 45 year old daughter seeking my advice because HER preteen daughter is driving her crazy. I will never get to chuckle into the phone as she rants about her daughter's messy room, lazy attitude, and social drama. But I would have loved to listen.
     I won't get to commiserate with my 50 year old daughter as she struggles to find even one thing she likes about her 15 year old son's girlfriends.....just ONE. She would have reminded me that all of her boyfriend's parents loved her. She would have been so exasperated with the whole thing. And again I would have laughed a little.
     I will never sit by her side at her children's sporting events, high school dance photo ops and graduations, or weddings. No, because in my mind and heart Lauren is only 19....forever 19. Seems like such a short amount of time compared to what she had left to do. No words can describe my disappointment.

Not Enough

     Now that my daughter is gone, I think of everything I wish I had more of. More pictures, more hugs, more times I told her "I love you", more laughs. Even though we had a ton of each of these, it's not enough.
     It is hard to have the foresight when you are in the moment (can't see the forest for the trees) but take it from me, you can never do too much. Never say wonderful things enough. Never hug too much and certainly never take too may pictures with your loved ones.
     I am so blessed to have many pictures with my beautiful Lauren. But now that I am faced with the devastating realization that I can never take more, there just aren't enough. Thank God I took pictures with her regardless of my hairstyle, or my outfit,  or my make-up (or lack thereof) or heaven forbid...my weight!
     Seize the moments you have now. Take in as much as you can, while you can. Life is so precious, and unpredictable. Hug your babies!!!

Where the green weeds grow....

     I went by to see Lauren yesterday evening, I am ashamed to admit that is has been quite a while since I have gone by. The start of the school year is a busy time and I have been really pooped after work lately. But I decided it had been too long and stopped by the cemetery.
     Lauren's site is completely covered in green. I can't call it grass because it is really weeds. I am not sure why but it made me cry when I saw it. Maybe because it gives her grave the appearance of having been there forever. Like it fits in now.
     When the earth was still freshly upturned and all I could see was dirt, it reminded me of the recentness of the event. It made me feel OK that I was still struggling emotionally because it was new...this life I now live.
     The green covering makes it seem like it has always been this way, my daughter in the ground. But it hasn't been that way, not at all. She was here and wonderful. So full of life and excited about everything. She was funny, and silly, and beautiful. She was cranky, and annoying, and exasperating at times. But she was here, the good and the bad was readily available and I really miss it all.
     Now she is so still...under the patchwork of greenery. So far, yet close in my heart. To anyone who visits her now it seems like she has always been in this place, but I know the truth. It is her life that is worth remembering, not her death.
     Although time goes by slowly, this is all so temporary compared to my time when I am reunited with her again. Dear Lord I am looking forward to that glorious day. Thank you Jesus for promising me a forever with my Lauren...thank you.

God didn't need my daughter

     I understand that people say things like "God must have needed another angel" or "God needed Lauren more than we did" in order to try to make some kind of sense out of the chaos that is life after losing a child. I hear these type of statements often and, as I do quite a bit lately, I started evaluating what these proclamations imply.
     I mean no disrespect here (please don't take it personally if you've made a similar comment) but let me make one thing abundantly clear...God did not need my daughter. Why not? Because my God is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. He is the king of kings. He is mighty and merciful, grand and gracious. My God is my wonderful counselor. He shall reign forever and ever.
     No, God did not need my daughter anymore than he needs anyone. I know I could not get through one day, one hour without God's unwavering love. He too gave his son, watched Jesus suffer and die on the cross for a sinner like me. I am totally unworthy yet saved by God's grace.
     Do I wish I knew the reason my precious Lauren's time on this Earth ended so abruptly and exponentially sooner than I would have ever wanted? Of course, and I honestly believe my Lord will reveal this answer to me one day. Perhaps not until I am reunited with my beautiful daughter again.
     Until then just remember...God doesn't need us, we NEED Him. That is all.

Do you have any children?

     Such an innocent question. Adults are often asked this very question in the course of getting to know one another or even in simple conversation. For some who perhaps have been struggling to become parents this question can be difficult. For others who may be experiencing trouble in the relationship with their child it may cause anxiety or even anger. But for me, when someone asks this question it evokes sheer panic. I simply do not know what to say.
     Now anyone who knows me, whether it be for 5 minutes or a lifetime, knows that I am rarely, if EVER at a loss for words. So please understand clearly the foreign territory in which I now travel. I mean, I get this deer in the headlights look and I honestly don't know how to answer.
     This happened to me at a training today. I had already established myself as the "vocal" one of the group (what's new) and the cut up. We are learning a new method for running IEP meetings. Part of today's process included fictional students for whom we were to role play this new approach in a fake meeting. The first student of the day was named Kevin. The entire process was demonstrated and discussed and then we broke for lunch.
     Upon return from lunch we were presented with the next student who was named...wait for it...Kimberly. I couldn't resist pointing out to the facilitator that my husband's name is Kevin. I said that everyone there could vouch for me, remember I am already known as a cut up, and I was being completely honest. I teased him and said that I was thrilled that the whole day had been about my family and that I appreciated the notoriety. Everyone was chuckling and enjoying the moment and then the facilitator said...
"Do you have any children?"
SCREECH!!!! Everything came to a halt.
     Holy crap, I don't know how to answer that. So I stammered and hemmed and hawed growing more uncomfortable by the moment and then worried about making him uncomfortable too. And then everyone answered for me...
"YES...you can say yes. You have a child!"
     Here's the thing folks...no...no I don't. Not anymore. I did, and she was amazing, but she's gone. Don't get me wrong...I love my step children, two from my previous marriage and my current step daughter, but they are not my children. My former step kiddos are grown and my current step daughter already has two wonderful parents and my role in her life is not that of a mother.
     I know my colleagues, most of whom I consider friends, meant well but I struggle with this question every day. I dread, absolutely fear it being asked because I don't know what to say. And this is why...if I say "yes", the natural progression of the conversation is to then inquire more.
     "Oh, how many kids?", "A boy or a girl?", "How old?", "Oh, is she in school?", "What is she majoring in?"...etc., etc.
     Answering the additional questions is almost as, if not more, heartbreaking than being honest with the first one. So forgive me when I don't take the advice of many and just say "yes". Unfortunately it just isn't that simple. It seems, as days go on, that nothing is quite as simple as it was.
     I used to relish being asked if I had children...hell, I usually told people before they had a chance to ask, whether they wanted to know or not. My answers were different then. I was so proud!
     "I have a daughter", "She's 19", "Yes, she is in school at South Florida State College and plays on their softball team as a pitcher and she is awesome!", "She is majoring in education and wants to teach kindergarten. She told me she wants to teach the little kids cuz they're so cute how can anyone ever get mad at them...I said we'd chat after her first year."
     Of course the wonderful and sweet facilitator from today was mortified and apologized profusely but I was not upset with him in the least. I was unhappy with my own response to the question that I know I will be faced with forever. I guess I don't need to have all of the solutions now...today. But I wish it would get just a little easier soon. Just a little.

Not Because She's Gone

 

     I have to say that the response to my blog has been extremely overwhelming and I am completely humbled by it all. I started this site purely for selfish reasons because I needed a place to be able to get my feelings out. I also didn't want to have to tell everyone the story over and over again...it hurt too much.
     Never did I dream that so many people would consider it helpful to them. I just speak honestly, from the heart...however damaged and fragile it may now be. And some people call me their inspiration. Wow...I totally don't deserve that title.
     But it got me thinking and this is the thing, I am the way I am not because Lauren is gone...but because she was here. Because God so blessed me to become her mom 20 years ago, even though I had no good sense and no plan. Because I knew she was always watching and I never wanted to let her down. This is why I am who I am.
     I promise I am not as together as some may perceive me to be. I cry...a lot. And I snap at people now more than I ever have before. Really cranky at times. I forget stuff that I should remember...and remember stuff I wish I could forget.
     Just because I am able to go through the motions every day doesn't mean I am strong. It means I am stubborn maybe. Too stubborn to give up on this thing called life. Occasionally I consider the alternative. What would happen if I gave up? If I just crawled into my bed one night and never got back out. Slept as much as possible because sleep offers reprieve. What would that do?
     And I always conclude that it will only make things worse...much worse. When I spoke to a counselor during my divorce years ago, I shared with her that I had often thought about having a nervous breakdown but my schedule was always too busy to fit it in. She informed me that the fact that I was attempting to rationally plan for my nervous breakdown indicated I really didn't need to have one. Apparently people who have one just do it...who knew?
     So, although I am extremely flattered by the kind words I really am mostly a mess. I keep moving forward because I certainly don't want to go back and relive recent events. I make it through each day because of God's grace and sheer will. And I continue to want to make Lauren proud because I honestly believe she is still watching. Therefore I am still the person I am because she was here...and what a true blessing she was.

Really Simple

     As the days go by since my daughter's death, I continue to figure out how to function in this new world I find myself in. I don't really like it here...in this new place but I really wasn't given much of a choice. No choice at all actually.
     I drive, alone in my car, and think of all the eloquent ways to describe the way I feel. I think of how I could describe the feeling as being like walking along the edge of a deep, black abyss and feeling like I might fall in, disappearing forever. And sometimes I wonder if I would be OK with that.
     Or I could write about how at times I hunger for her presence like someone who is starving but can only be satisfied by one thing..and it is something they cannot have. No one else can satiate me...no one. And this is no poor reflection on the company I keep for I love them all. My husband, family, friends. I have the best. But they're not her, no one is.
     I could write poetically about the emptiness of my heart, the ache of my soul, the anguish of waking to my new harsh reality. And I could talk about my faith and how it keeps me going, day after day. How I thank God everyday for keeping me strong enough to go on.
     All of this would be interesting and emotional to read but here's the thing, and it is rather simple actually...I miss her. Nothing fancy, not really eloquent but the easiest way to describe how I feel. I just miss my daughter. I miss talking to her, I miss hugging her. I miss her laugh, her smile, her softball games, her screw ups that I needed to fix and her victories that made me proud. I miss being mad at her, sad with her, listening to her cry, listening to her bitch. I miss her chewed finger nails and her crazy red hair. I miss her stinky feet. I miss her stories and her lies. I miss her messy room and dirty laundry on the floor. I miss finding the peanut butter jar in her room with a spoon stuck inside. I miss my hair brush being gone when I need it. I miss her holding my hand and snuggling with me on the couch. I miss her begging me to watch stupid clips on You Tube promising to show me only one and then it turns into like 10, or more, because "wait, wait...the next one is even funnier"
I just miss her...simple, yet not.

Caketastrophe

The opening meeting for the school year with all of the folks in my department was today. It was my area's turn to bring snacks. I was so excited to show off my baking skills. OK, I was so excited to show off my husband's baking skills. I asked him to make my favorite cake, banana chocolate. Yum!!!
I decided to contribute to the cause and make a peanut butter glaze. I placed all of the ingredients in the bowl and mixed them together. I even used a whisk...I whisked for Pete's sake! I then drizzled the delicious glaze atop the beautiful chocolate cake and it looked fabulous. I placed the cover over the cake, left it safe and sound on the kitchen counter and went to bed. I dreamed of all the "Oouuhhhhs" and "aahhhhhhs" that would be forthcoming in the morning when everyone laid eyes on my beautiful cake. Alright, not really, but I was super excited.
See, I am the girl in the office who usually volunteers to bring the paper products and drinks. It's not that I can't cook, I just don't. It's not my "thing". I want it to be...I'm envious of people who do it well. But I decided to step out of my comfort zone this time.
I awoke this morning and got myself ready. I made sure the top of the holder was securely attached and picked up the cake to head out the door. I placed it in the passenger seat on top of some folders I had there and pulled out of the driveway. About 4 miles up the road I stopped for gas.
When I got back in the car and was half way across the parking lot about to exit, I noticed the cake holder was slanted. Sure enough, some of the peanut butter glaze had leaked out and onto the seat. Great!! I held the edge of the cake carrier with my right hand to keep it level while I attempted to get some napkins out of the center console.
BEEP! BEEP!
Someone behind me was honking. Alright, alright, I'm goin. I went ahead and pulled out into traffic and attempted to keep the cake balanced. When I stopped at the next red light I decided to lower the cake onto the floorboard but had to work around a pair of shoes I had left there the day before. As I tried to maneuver the cake holder around the shoes the lid came off and the bottom, with the cake, dropped to the floor.
My once pristine cake was now completely crumbled on one side. It was so moist it just fell apart upon impact. Peanut butter glaze was now on my shoes too. I picked them up and put them in the back. By this time I was traveling on a fast paced toll road and couldn't stop. There was nothing I could do...but cry. I didn't want to, and in my former life (PLD, pre Lauren's death) I would have thought this was some pretty funny stuff. But not this morning.
I was now going to be a few minutes late so I was rushing. As I exited the toll road I stopped a little abruptly and the cake slid to the front of the carrier's bottom. Holy toledo... I can't win today. I took off my seatbelt and leaned over to try and push the cake back into the center of the plate. My hand smushed into the side and more pieces fell off into a crumbled mess. Now my hand was covered in peanut butter glaze, which does not come off easily with a dry, paper napkin. Now I had peanut butter glaze with paper stuck in it all over my hand.
"This is why I bring the cups!!" I yelled out loud.
I was close to turning right around and getting back up on that road, driving straight home, getting back into my pj's and going back to bed. Tomorrow could be a redo.
But I kept trudging on, crying the whole time. When I arrived at the building where the meeting was to be held I illegally parked by the back door and went inside to illicit help...and cleaning supplies. Thank God I work with the best people ever. My supervisor and friend Suzette came out to see what was upsetting me so badly. When I opened the passenger door, we couldn't help but laugh. Finally I was able to laugh. Suzette carried the cake for me and assured me it was fine. It was a hot mess!
Then we couldn't stop laughing as we entered the building. Talk about an emotional roller coaster. As I was inside looking for more help, I asked my friend Joy if she'd come with me, and supplies my other friend Carole had gone out to the car and started straightening everything up. It wasn't as bad as I thought. The glaze had mostly gotten on the removable floor mat, which Carole placed in the trunk, and a little was on the leather seat, which wiped right off.
So, the cake made it to the meeting, I cleaned my face and I made it too.

I was reminded, yet again, that I am not as "together" as I like to convince myself I am. And I'm reminded, more importantly, that it's OK. For the record, all but one piece of that cake was eaten, and they loved it. Ugly but delicious...no problem.

The Vanishing Email

During the course of a conversation I had the other day with a dear friend and colleague, Kim, she made mention of something I found interesting. She told me that as she was searching her email at work for something specific, she came across the message she had received providing the information for Lauren's funeral. She went on to express how this made her take pause and contemplate the recency of the event.
Our school district's email system eventually erases messages, yet this one was still there. That is because it has only been 4 months. ¨If you feel like it was recent¨ I explained ¨I feel like it just happened yesterday.¨
It has been such a short time and yet life has returned to its normal pace for most. I look at pictures on Facebook of Lauren's friends taking trips to the beach. Or my friends engaged in political debates and posting pictures from summer vacations. All of this makes it abundantly clear that time moves on.
I don't hold any resentment toward everyone getting on with their lives, that is what is expected. I just wish it was as easy for me. I go through the motions, at times appearing at the top of my game. I have conducted meetings this summer with the greatest of ease. I come in, give em my spiel and move on. I sometimes feel like I'm running on auto pilot.
But I suppose this is a blessing, my comfort level with my current job. I probably couldn't handle changes and extra pressure right now. It's a challenge just showing up some days. My motivation to maintain the momentum of my life fluctuates wildly, between enthusiasm and dread.
To express the difficulty a control freak experiences when something out of control occurs, something life altering and devastating, I would need a lot more time than I have available. And even then I am not certain I could find the right words.
So I continue to wake each morning and convince myself to get out of bed. I follow my routines and strive to do what is expected of me. But here's the problem...I'm not sure what is expected. This is the first time my daughter died.

Some Days It's a Struggle

Today is not a very good Lauren day for me. I can't really explain why some days are worse than others, they just are. I suppose it could partly be due to the fact that I am a woman, and therefore wonderfully made up of many things including...hormones. Although I had a hysterectomy many years ago, something I had to remind my mom of when she recently suggested I have a baby, my ovaries are still intact. This means I still go through the delightful "cycle" each month, including the overly emotional time of PMS.
This is yet another item on the long list of things I miss about Lauren. Research has shown that two women, living under the same roof, often become synced up with their menstrual cycles. I honestly believe Lauren and I were in sync. Because it is impossible for me to tell exactly what is going on, I have no "period" anymore, I relied on Lauren's schedule to help me determine if I was indeed PMSing, or just out of control. I would call or text her and ask if she was about to "start". If she said yes, I would reply, "Well that explains it!" Whatever "it" was was irrelevant. My reaction to "it" was obviously in question.
Since her death, I tend to have days where it all just becomes too much. Certain times where the senselessness of it all overwhelms me. For all of my attempts at stoicism, I really just hurt inside most of the time. I just hide it better on some days than others.
Today is not a good day. I can't stop crying and I keep contacting friends to try and make a lunch date in order distract myself. Maybe if I can just do something else it would make me feel better. I can't focus on work. Thinking about school placements for special needs 3 year olds makes my head hurt. Not always, but today. I don't want to call parents and talk to them about their kids. I don't want to hear about everything their child can and can't do developmentally. I just don't.
Now don't panic...these days are very rare and I do love my job, most of the time. Maybe I am moving into the "anger" stage of my grief. Because I am angry. Not a "I'm gonna punch somebody in the face" kind of angry. It's more like a "What the hell? Really, this is my life now?" sort of angry. I'm not angry at anyone, yet angry at everyone. It is so hard to explain.
So I sit in my office and cry. Not non-stop, but about every 15 minutes or so. I look at Lauren's pictures on my wall, or the card she gave me that is pinned to my bulletin board, and I cry. This all just seems so stupid. Stupid and painful and pointless. I realize this rant is quite the contrast to my most recent post. All the more reason for me to assume I am riding the hormone express. So I guess I should spare you all from further rambling. I just really miss my daughter...really.

Why Not Me?

Often times when an unexpected tragedy strikes the first question most are compelled to ask is ¨Why me?¨ Sometimes with balled fists raised to the sky we even challenge God and demand an answer to this question. But I ask...¨Why not me?¨
I look back over my life and find no measure of nobility so great that I should be immune to loss. No altruism that would grant me a guarantee against pain and suffering. I have not done such grand deeds that I should receive an impenetrable shield against devastation and tragedy.
I by no means feel that I deserved to lose my precious daughter. I simply don't think that I am so special that I could avoid what was to be. I have not adopted a victim mentality because frankly, it would prove to be futile. What purpose would it serve to mope around and stammer "Whoa is me"?
I hate that this happened. It makes me angry because I miss my daughter, my friend. I desperately wish I could wake up in the morning to discover this has all been a terrible mistake. Instead I am living a reverse nightmare. Sleep offers respite. It is waking that brings the realization that Lauren is never coming home. Never calling or texting. Never laughing at my jokes....even the ones that are at her expense. Never pitching again or going to school.
See, this didn't happen to me. I must live in the wake produced by the vessel of tragic happenstance. But it did not target me, or Lauren. It just happened.
And it really sucks!
It is so strange to be a member of this club...the club of mother's who have lost their children. Although the club itself is somewhat elite, I feel no prestige from joining. I often walk around looking at people and wondering to myself...¨Is she in the club?¨...¨Or maybe her.¨
See, you can't tell from the outside. We wear no special shirt, or pin, or red hat. We are not distinguishable from anyone else. We look like everyone, and could be anyone. Unfortunately there are way too many of us out there.  Heartbroken warriors forced to continue on without our children.
I have decided to help with one organization where my fellow cub members are identified. I have signed up to start a team to ¨Walk like MADD¨ in Orange Park this fall. Then again in Tampa in March. We walk in order to raise funds for MADD. I received a letter from a victims representative a few weeks after Lauren died. It was only then that I confirmed that the driver who hit her car was indeed drunk.
So I am looking forward to meeting others in the ¨club¨. Ladies I have something in common with, even though it isn't the most positive attribute to share. I'm excited to contribute to MADD's cause as they do awesome work in the community. The only thing missing is Lauren, sure wish she was here to help.

Fingerprint of a Broken Heart

Each broken heart is infinitely unique. The amount of pain an individual suffers when broken hearted is impossible to quantify. No two people have the same broken heart. Each emotional blow to one's heart carries its own exclusive mark...a fingerprint of sorts.
As I watch the loved ones in my life struggle to move on without my daughter Lauren I am startled by the vast range of responses. Some are weepers and the mere mention of my baby girl's name causes them to sob. Others just avoid bringing her up altogether....they're the evaders. The equalizers provide a healthy balance between sentiment and a ¨business as usual¨ attitude.
I have completed a self evaluation and determined after much reflection that I am a separator. I compartmentalize my emotions only allowing them to exist within the time and space I have deemed appropriate. Crying is for private....in the car, in bed when I awake in the morning and as I write posts on this blog. Stories of Lauren saved for group consumption must be humorous and lively....just like they always were before she died. Highly candid conversations are saved for those I am closest to and those are far and few between.
I am not saying this is the best way to deal with the devastation of losing my only child but it is the pattern of coping I perpetually repeat day in and day out. I blog in order to get my thoughts and feelings ¨out¨ therefore having a place to leave them for a time. I can put them there and walk away for a bit. It is not that I ever stop thinking about Lauren and the fact that she is gone but this way I can actually focus on other aspects of my life.
Due to the singularity of each broken heart thus the road to mending is also individualistic. The path each of us must take to heal and reestablish normalcy in our everyday life is our own....alone. No one can dictate what this journey should look like. Of course empathy from those around you, especially those who have suffered similar pain and loss, is essential to aid in the process. Yet even these contributors to your emotional refurbishment cannot possibly understand all of the depth and dimensions of the gaping hole in your heart.
So for now I attempt to make the best of everyday and thank God for my strength through Him. I thank Him for my family and friends who continue to support me. My only option is to press on and do everything within my power to keep Lauren's memory alive and honor her life in every possible way. I truly appreciate all of you who assist me in this endeavor....I couldn't do it without you.

Intrusion of Death

Most mothers would say that they know their child's heart...in a theoretical way. I, on the other hand, know my daughter's heart literally. I know exactly how much it weighs, it's color and the condition of its interior. The state of Florida requires an autopsy be performed for all accidental deaths. Since receiving a copy of Lauren's autopsy report last week I am now privy to more details about her heart and other areas of her body than any mother ever needs to be.
Death keeps no secrets. There is no veil of protection from the most intimate details of a person's life once they are gone. Death requires those left behind to delve into all areas of their loved one's existence. Financial, health, recreation, friends, dreams....no area is left untouched.
I have lost loved ones in the past but have never been responsible for handling the "business" that comes following their passing. Never have I been within the generation who would need to take on such a role. Therefore I was not aware of how much time and effort goes into sorting out the affairs of someone you have lost.
As your children grow older their right to and need for privacy increases. After all, they are becoming young adults. When my daughter Lauren died I had to go and pack all of her belongings and remove them from her dorm room at school. Aside from functioning in a fog, as I was completing this task a mere week after her accident, I felt so intrusive. No drawer could be left unopened, no paper untouched. Every part of her room, her life, open to examination.
It isn't that I feared what I might find. I knew my child well. But I still believed that she had the right to parts of her life which were her own and not to be shared with me or anyone else unless she chose to do so. Yet in death nothing can be kept hidden. Everything is revealed. Her autopsy included a toxicology report. It came as no surprise to me that the only substance found in her blood was caffeine.
I made the mistake of opening Lauren's autopsy while in my office at work. I thought to myself "I already know what I know so how bad can it be?" Let me tell you...I did not know what I thought I knew. Although her death certificate had to list the cause of death and I had already processed that information, I was not aware of how much additional damage had been done to her precious body that fateful night.
I wept as I read the details of the injuries that had taken place as the car flipped multiple times finding its final resting place upside down beside the road. I prayed that her death had been swift and merciful upon impact and her injuries were unknown to and not felt by her that night. Please Dear Lord I hope my baby was not in pain.
After reading the report I think back and am extremely thankful that I was able to see Lauren and say good bye. It was truly a blessing from God that I was able to leave her casket open for others to also see her one last time if they chose to. All things considered, she looked absolutely beautiful that day.
A dear friend of mine, Shelly, comforted me perfectly after I shared my feelings about Lauren's report with her. She texted me the next day and wrote "You have been in my thoughts last night and this morning. I am so sorry that you had to read all the trauma that your baby's body had to go through. I won't say that I know what you're going through because I just don't. I have been praying for you to have comfort and peace of mind that God scooped Lauren's soul up straight to Heaven without a scratch in it. Her poor body was left to take the worse but she was already enjoying the peace and joy of God's love in Heaven."
Amen.....I couldn't have said it better myself.

Miscommunication and Mishaps

Although her expressive language skills were top notch...at times Lauren's receptive communication abilities were lacking. She didn't always understand what Ray and I were asking her to do. We even had her hearing checked as she had suffered with meningitis at age 4 and hearing loss can be a side effect. But all results were within normal limits and life went on pretty smoothly.
Most of the time a simple restatement on our part provided the clarity Lauren needed to get our gist. I remember one occasion, however, that Ray delivered a message that Lauren got completely wrong. She was about 7 or 8 at the time and we were living in Lakeland. Our house sat far back on a long lot and we had a pretty lengthy driveway. The toilet in our guest bathroom was not working properly so Ray was working on it. He had used our wet/dry shop vac which he had just cleaned thoroughly and ensured was in perfect working order prior to starting the project. He was sitting on the floor of the bathroom and needed a bit more working space so he called Lauren who was playing in her room directly across the hall. "Take the shop vac and set it by the Jeep." he instructed. We owned a refurbished 1986 Jeep CJ 7 at the time and it was parked right in front of the garage door. Ray then went about his work.
I was cleaning the kitchen when about 5 minutes later Lauren entered the house from the garage and asked Ray..."Was somebody supposed to come and get that vroom vroom thing?" "Uh...you mean the shop vac?" Ray said. "Yeah...that thing" Lauren answered. Ray was now curious and said "No...why?" Lauren sincerely explained "Well I set it by the street like you said and a van came by and picked it up." "STREET..I said to put it by the JEEP!" Ray exclaimed while rushing out the door to see if the van was still in sight. Poor Lauren. We never let her live that one down. Anytime we saw a shop vac we harassed her. Hey, that's what families are for right?
Another mishap took place when Ray's wedding ring went missing. We searched and searched everywhere. I checked the laundry area in the garage, tore apart our bedroom and even looked in the traps under the sinks. We eventually gave up and went to purchase another identical ring...although the original one was engraved on the inside. But the new one would have to do.
Months later I was giving Lauren's room a thorough Spring cleaning part of which was to completely remove everything from her closet. Sitting atop her closet shelf was a RoboParrot toy we had gotten her a few years earlier. I grabbed it by the back and pulled it down from the shelf. Low and behold but what did I find pinned in its lovely little robobeak....Ray's wedding ring! Good gravy, I thought, what am I gonna do with that kid! Love her....that's what I did.

The Chameleon

I treated Lauren to her first highlights in her hair for her birthday when she turned 12. She had been talking about them for some time but I didn't think it was appropriate to start such processes too young. Some might think 12 is too young but I promise, it was only little touches to her already dirty blond hair.
Then as she got older Lauren loved to experiment with her hair color. The only thing I insisted upon was that she always stay within some natural hair color family....red, blond, brunette or even black but no green, purple or pink. She respected my boundaries but did push them to the limits sometimes. The trouble with me trying to tame her hair color changing obsession was that she could pull off every single color she tried.
She was beautiful as a blond, ravishing as a red head, a bombshell as a brunette and even when she did a little funky black color with a touch of red around her face she looked cute as could be. Lauren's skin, although she battled an occasional breakout, was gorgeous. It was pale like mine but not as freckled thanks to her dad. He eyes were a bright green ringed with a little blue. The perfect combination of natural coloring to be capable of looking great with any hair color she chose.
When she was little we allowed her hair to grow all the way down her back. It was naturally blond and had just a little curl in it. When we moved to the lake front house in Lakeland we finally had to cut it up to her shoulders. No matter what product I tried I could never remove all of the minerals from the lake water and combing it out became a battle that was not worth fighting.
Every now and then Lauren would choose a red that was a little orange and bright. But people loved it and would compliment her only fueling her desire to keep coloring it. One complication from her desire to color her hair was the fact that her bathroom looked like someone had been injured in there if I didn't stay on her to clean up properly. Especially when using red hair dye. My toilet seat still has stains on the lid where she forgot to wipe it all up before it dried.
Another issue came into play when she didn't keep up with the applications and the darker roots started showing. I remember one such occasion where she had gone too long between dye jobs . I had affectionately referred to Lauren as "Rainbow Bright" for about a week in an attempt to give her the hint to fix her hair. The ends had faded back to dark blond, the shafts were still red and the roots were brown. She and I went to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants one night and I couldn't take it anymore. After dinner we walked down the plaza to a fairly new hair salon and asked if they could fit her in. About $180.00 later she was a stunning red head again.
All of this drove my mother crazy but I reminded her that this was a pretty innocuous way for Lauren to express herself. She was very artistic so she innately desired expression. I thought she handled it well.
I suppose she had decided on a color she liked just before her accident. When I went to pack all of her things in her dorm room she had pinned a portion of the box of hair color to her bulletin board. I guess this was her way of remembering which type to buy the next time.
I considered getting the same color and doing my hair as a way of honoring her...you think of anything and everything possible to do to feel close to your child when she is gone. But I would never be able to pull it off like my beautiful Lauren did. So I stick to my own color and keep moving on remembering my little chameleon and how gorgeous she was, inside and out, regardless of the color of her hair.

Facing the Unexpected

Kevin and I attended church Sunday for Father's Day. I knew the day was going to be emotionally tough as I worried about Ray and how he was handling everything. I remember all too well how difficult Mother's Day had been on me.
The sermon that morning was delivered by our Pastor of College and Youth Singles. He did a phenomenal job. He was extremely candid about the tragedy he and his wife have endured since January by losing not one but two babies to miscarriages. The most recent took place a couple of weeks after Easter. The message revolved around what happens when we are faced with something unexpected in our lives. Needless to say, a State Trooper at my door around 4:15 in the morning on March 28 delivering the devastating news of my beautiful daughter's death was totally unexpected. Never in my wildest imagination would I have considered such an event occurring upon going to sleep that night before.
The pastor talked about turning an unexpected tragedy into an unexpected opportunity. An opportunity to blow others' expectations away. He spoke of how his own loss has brought him even closer to his wife and strengthened their marriage. He expressed how he had to humble himself before the Lord and completely rely on His grace to see him out of the "Hell on Earth" he was traveling through. He could not "fix" this (as most men want to do) and had to depend on his faith in God. God will see us through if we allow Him to.
It was as if the entire message was just for me. I do not fancy myself to be the only person in the sanctuary who is going through a traumatic loss, but I desperately needed to hear the exact words being uttered that morning. Of course I cried the entire time and even turned to Kevin at one point and said "Please don't let me ever come to church again without tissues....ever!" while I attempted to wipe my tear stained cheeks with my bare hands.
Using your story was also emphasized throughout the sermon. Creating a testimony for God's love and work through your own tragedy. I have been struggling with this for weeks. I don't particularly like my story....especially the latest chapter. I write it here as a way to purge my broken heart and cleanse my mind if only very temporarily. But what is its message? I pray for clarity. All I can see now is misery and pain. How can this help anyone?
My favorite part of the sermon was when the young and enthusiastic pastor informed the congregation that Jesus is not inept. When something tragic happens in our lives our Savior is not running around Heaven in a panic asking "What do I do now?" He sits at the right hand of God and is more than capable of knowing what to do next. It is I who feels inept. I who struggles to move forward each and every day. I who debates whether or not to hang my dead daughter's stocking this Christmas. And I who doesn't yet understand what to do with my story. After all, even though I don't like it, it's the only one I've got.

Ugly Kitty

Lauren always loved kittens. Unfortunately she had a bad run of luck in recent years with being a kitty mommy. I allowed her to talk me into a kitten from a litter that her friend's cat had given birth to. This little orange kitty was tiny but feisty so we decided to call him Napoleon....he had a complex! He was a sweet little guy and Lauren loved him. The agreement was she could have him inside to visit but he mostly had to live outside. We were not going to start keeping a litter box inside because I knew she would not keep up with it.
Around the same time I had adopted a mutt from a friend of mine to keep my dog KC company. Kody, as I named him, was a Treeing Walker Coon hound mix that had wandered up onto my friend's property way out in the country. This tends to happen at times when a hunting dog doesn't perform well. The owner drives them way out into the woods and leaves them there. The deal I made with my friend Ruby was if her husband came over to help me put gates up and close in my otherwise completely fenced back yard I would take the pooch.
My shower has a window overlooking the back yard. I would be in the shower getting ready for work in the morning with the window open to allow steam to escape and that darn cat would be meowing in a tree right behind the house. Being the sappy sucker I am I would get my ladder (after exiting the shower and getting dressed of course) and rescue poor Napoleon. Now I am telling you this happened at least twice a week in the exact same tree. I always scolded the little guy but it didn't seem to help.
Morning time is also when I let the dogs out for potty and exercise. I never put two and two together until the fateful morning that little Napoleon didn't make it to the tree in time and Kody, the innately programmed hunting dog, caught him. Again I was in the shower when I heard the ruckus. I immediately started shouting at Kody out the open window to leave Napoleon alone as I scrambled to get out of the water, grab my robe and run to the back yard. Sadly I was too late. Then I had to break the news to Lauren. My heart broke for her.
Kody was removed from our home the following week. He wasn't a good fit for our family for many other reasons and not based on this incident alone. I fully understand he was just doing what came naturally. I lamented over the fact that I had fussed at poor Napoleon for running to that tree and getting stuck. Little did I know he was trying to survive. Shame on me.
Time passed and once again Lauren got the "itch" to get another kitten as soon as she heard that my sister Beth's neighbor had some available. The same deal was made about no litter box and she went to select her new baby. My sister accompanied her to look at the kittens. I have to tell you that Lauren picked the ugliest little kitten out of the bunch. Even my sister recalls asking her if she was sure she wanted the one she picked out. The kitten is a black ¨tortoiseshell¨ cat which means she has blotches of color throughout her black coat. And her nose is completely covered with an orange stripe.
When Lauren brought her home we started talking about names. The little kitty was somewhat uncoordinated and would knock things off our side tables when she jumped atop of them. Then she would give us a look as if saying she was sorry. All of a sudden a name came to me....Gilly.
Kristen Wiig had a running bit on Saturday Night Live in which she portrays a bratty little girl named Gilly. In these skits Gilly wreaks all sorts of havoc and the other characters say her name..."Giiiiillllllyyyyyyy?", dragging it out and then the camera closes in on her as she says "Shawy" (sorry) in a funny, lispy voice. Lauren loved those skits and made me watch them with her on YouTube all the time. When I suggested the name we laughed and laughed. Lauren loved it instantly.
So, the ugly little kitty was named Gilly. Gilly was a good little kitty and spent some time inside but mostly outside. I have another cat named Sophie who is not the most welcoming of gals but she was starting to become a little accepting of Gilly. Then all of a sudden Gilly was gone. We checked to make sure we hadn't accidentally closed her up in our detached garage but she wasn't there. Kevin worried that maybe a hawk had snatched her as she was still pretty small. I looked on the roads daily as I went to and from work worried that maybe she had been hit by a car. She simply disappeared. Poor Lauren. Months went by with no sign of Gilly.
Then all of a sudden we had a sighting. We would see her on occasion and then weeks would go by with nothing. I was worried she would come back pregnant. We had not gotten her spayed yet. That was all I needed...a bunch of kittens. This pattern remained up until Lauren's death. Then Gilly started coming around a little more. She would be in our driveway when we came home or Kevin would see her eating the food we put on the back porch for Sophie.
In recent weeks she has been at the house daily. The other night I set out a little bowl of food and water on the carport for her. Kevin is less than thrilled that I am setting up an additional pet area at our house. I informed him that I am worried that Sophie will run Gilly off too much in the back and I see nothing wrong with having a back porch kitty AND a carport kitty. He loves me and will tolerate me like the great husband he is. I am truly blessed.
Something about having that little ugly kitty around helps my heart feel better. She is a reminder of my sweet Lauren's love and acceptance. She always stuck up for the under dog and didn't judge others based on outward appearances...not even kittens. I can happily report that Gilly is not pregnant. Probably because she is so durn ugly the other cats won't have her. I know, I know...I'm terrible.

Deciding on Dad

When Lauren was born I was a single mom. Her father Mitchell and I had dated for a while but in the end did not work out long term. I was working as a server in a local restaurant and going to school. Dating wasn't really a high priority.
Then I received a call out of the blue from Mitchell's sister Christine. She announced that she was getting married soon and wanted me to be her maid of honor. She also wanted me to meet her finance's friend because she thought we would hit it off. I asked a little about him. She informed me that he was recently divorced and had two kids. Great...I thought, this is going to be interesting.
Needless to say, without going into too much detail, I did end up really liking this guy. Ray and I were married three and a half months from the day we met. Lauren was only 21 months old. I became step mom to his two kiddos and he became dad to Lauren. Unfortunately Mitchell and I had not remained in contact and therefore Lauren had not even met him.
So, for the 12 years Ray and I were married he was Lauren's dad. When she was little he used to read her Disney books and loved messing up the words to make Lauren giggle. Cinderella became ¨Send her a fella¨ and his favorite was Sleeping Beauty who he immediately named ¨Sleeping Booty¨. Lauren acted upset and tried to correct him but she was laughing too hard.
Ray provided a great parental balance and contributed to raising Lauren to become the wonderful person she was when we tragically lost her. He was firm where I was lenient and he was tender where I was tough. It worked out well and Lauren even thanked us as she got older for the manner in which we brought her up and taught her respect for others and their property. The respect for property was a little extreme due to Ray's borderline obsessive compulsive disorder and anal retentiveness but we still loved him anyway.
When our marriage took a turn for the worse my heart broke for Lauren. It wasn't her fault that Ray and I couldn't get off the crazy merry go round we found ourselves stuck on and get our acts together yet her life was altered immensely from our decision to divorce. And because we had never completed a legal adoption Ray technically had no obligation to Lauren as a father.....legally at least.
I had some people in my life who felt I should force Lauren to no longer see Ray. He was not paying child support so he didn't have the right to see the child. This was the rationale those folks used to try to convince me. Again, always relates to the all mighty dollar.
I admit it was tough being a single mom again and I could have used a bit more financial help at times but here's the thing....Ray was Lauren's dad in her heart. Keeping him in her life was not a decision for me to make. She was old enough to decide for herself. Although they encountered a few rough patches along the way Lauren never stopped loving Ray as her dad.
When she and I moved back to Brandon after the divorce I also reconnected with Mitchell and his family who lived about an hour away. Lauren was thrilled with the opportunity to get to know Mitchell and gaining another sister, Morgan, was a definite bonus.
This Sunday is Father's Day. Ray will surely celebrate with his children Donnie and Lauren Michelle. But I know he will also be heartbroken as he misses our Lauren. After all, she had decided that he was her dad.