Saturday, May 25, 2019
Friday, May 24, 2019
Thursday, May 23, 2019
Angel stumbles again!
Last night, in the shower, I had a massive foot cramp where my toes tried to do a back flip with a full twist over the top of my foot. Next thing I know, I’m on the floor thinking, “This is it, this is how I die.” After fumbling to get the water off, I crawled out and collapsed on the bathmat in agony. A massage and getting back on my feet helped. Somewhat.
The bruise showed up almost immediately. By bedtime, my foot was swollen and my toes started discoloring.
I was really too tired to care until I got up to pee and ended up having to crawl. The pain was unexplainable. And I’ve given birth. Twice. By morning, the bottom of my foot was black and blue and I couldn’t feel my toes, so off to Urgent Care I rolled. Now these people have seen a lot of us lately since Jaylee Bean dislocated her good kneecap twice at the end of March. Maria in admitting greeted me by my first name. Didn’t even ask to see my insurance card or fill out information. “No, Leslie, sit. I’ll just pull it off Jay’s file. How is Miss Queen?” Three x-rays and an ortho consult later, and I’ve got partial breaks of the second and third phalanges and stress fractures of the second and third metatarsals. No walking for a few days and then I have to wear a walking boot for 6 weeks. Not the sexy sandals I was looking forward to this summer, but at least I get a mandatory vacation and some killer drugs.
Shhhhh, don’t tell Wirecutter, he doesn’t need to know.
The bruise showed up almost immediately. By bedtime, my foot was swollen and my toes started discoloring.
Shhhhh, don’t tell Wirecutter, he doesn’t need to know.
Wednesday, May 22, 2019
Tuesday, May 21, 2019
I keep trying to get Wirecutter permanently banned
Wirecutter has been having fun seeing how quickly he can get Fuckerberg’s panties in a twist after being let back on Facebook. I do what I can to help, but I think the FB Gestapo has seen through him and knows he’s harmless. I’ve seen some stuff this week that I would have banned him for, and yet he remains untouched. He needs to up his game.
Monday, May 20, 2019
Um, hi?
You know how you feel when you've been out of touch with someone for so long you're not really sure how to open up the lines again? Well, hi.
It's been over a year since we last chatted, during the darkest, bleakest, worst days of my life. Days I wasn't sure I was going to survive, and to be honest, wasn't sure I wanted to. But here I am, and yeah, I don't know. ~awkward shifting of feet, and biting lips~
When I started this blog, gathering friends and family along the way, I was a way different woman; different outlook, different concerns, different goals. The most shared comment I heard those first few weeks after losing Sarah was, "Death of a loved one will fundamentally change you, and if you aren't careful, you'll get lost trying to find your way back." After the first three months when the fog of shock lifted and the full force of losing my Big Girl hit me, I realized I wasn't me anymore. Most of my waking (and sleeping) thoughts were on my girls, but mostly on Sarah. My time, focus, energy and wits were completely involved in keeping her alive, happy and healthy. And now she's gone. Yes, I know I have Jaylee Bean who still needs me; who always needed me, but due to the differences in their personalities, was often overlooked. Jay was the easy child, and I never worried about her. But suddenly she was the sole focus of my attention and I realized after 20 years, I hardly knew her. I had her likes and dislikes, schedules, favorite foods, etc., but I didn't really know her. She's got her Poppy's drought-dry sense of humor. How can you tell a non-verbal person has a sardonic sense of humor? You wait for the dust devils and tumbleweeds to roll by. She observes everything. And she passes judgment. One of the things her teachers and I discuss is her ability to cut you to the core with a look of derision. If you get on her bad side, she'll give you the cold shoulder. Again, how is that different from just not being able to talk? Jay can ignore you so hard you start to doubt your own existence. And you will do whatever it takes to make it end. She knows this. Which is probably why I don't really worry about her. If I die, there will be fresh minions to take my place.
Her teacher's favorite saying, "It's Jay's circus and we're just her trained monkeys." Truth.
Six months after, the pain started lessening and I started to panic. It felt like losing her all over again. If I laughed, or had a good day, or ~gasp~ enjoyed myself, I got hit with an overwhelming wave of guilt. What kind of monster would stop grieving long enough to laugh? That's when I sought grief counseling. This was something I couldn't fix myself, I was too close to see the damage I was doing to myself and family. Something I heard repeatedly, from my counselor and the other parents in the support group, "If the grief doesn't get you, the guilt and regret will." And it's true. So many nights I kept running different scenarios, reliving that horrible morning trying to see what I did wrong. So much time spent feeling guilty over things I didn't do, did do, didn't think to do. I was told that the guilt and regret are often ways of avoiding feeling the loss. As long as you keep thinking you could have done something, you don't have to face the reality that you can't do anything anymore. It's out of your hands. She's gone and nothing I can do will change it. Feeling good, having a good day, wasn't betraying her, wasn't forgetting her, it was living. Something I still have to choose to do every morning.
Nine months after brought Her Season. Sarah loved the Fall; football games, Halloween, Thanksgiving (turkey and pumpkin pie), and then Christmas. Each first without her was brutal. But not just for me; the whole family was grieving and didn't feel like celebrating. We didn't see anybody for any of the holidays. We just couldn't without her. And then, BOOM, the first anniversary of losing her. I still have a hard time saying "her death", too harsh. Mom and Poppy came over to spend the day with me. Spouse had to be on the road, so he suffered alone in a stupid hotel room in Vancouver. To be honest, I don't remember anything that happened that day. Mom had to remind me they spent it with me. And then, last Saturday, May 18, would have been her 24th birthday. We spent it doing everything but talking about it. It was also Panhandle High School's Prom night. Just too much to deal with. Until it was bedtime and I brought it up. Spouse hadn't even realized it was the 18th, which I can't blame since he'd been on vacation all week and you know how that messes with your calendar. But still. I felt like I suffered alone all day. I've got to stop that. So Sunday, I took a walk along the South Turkey Creek Trail at Lake Meredith and spent the whole morning with my Sweet Sarah. We had a good talk and she reminded me that life goes on and it's still beautiful if you're willing to see it.
It's been over a year since we last chatted, during the darkest, bleakest, worst days of my life. Days I wasn't sure I was going to survive, and to be honest, wasn't sure I wanted to. But here I am, and yeah, I don't know. ~awkward shifting of feet, and biting lips~
When I started this blog, gathering friends and family along the way, I was a way different woman; different outlook, different concerns, different goals. The most shared comment I heard those first few weeks after losing Sarah was, "Death of a loved one will fundamentally change you, and if you aren't careful, you'll get lost trying to find your way back." After the first three months when the fog of shock lifted and the full force of losing my Big Girl hit me, I realized I wasn't me anymore. Most of my waking (and sleeping) thoughts were on my girls, but mostly on Sarah. My time, focus, energy and wits were completely involved in keeping her alive, happy and healthy. And now she's gone. Yes, I know I have Jaylee Bean who still needs me; who always needed me, but due to the differences in their personalities, was often overlooked. Jay was the easy child, and I never worried about her. But suddenly she was the sole focus of my attention and I realized after 20 years, I hardly knew her. I had her likes and dislikes, schedules, favorite foods, etc., but I didn't really know her. She's got her Poppy's drought-dry sense of humor. How can you tell a non-verbal person has a sardonic sense of humor? You wait for the dust devils and tumbleweeds to roll by. She observes everything. And she passes judgment. One of the things her teachers and I discuss is her ability to cut you to the core with a look of derision. If you get on her bad side, she'll give you the cold shoulder. Again, how is that different from just not being able to talk? Jay can ignore you so hard you start to doubt your own existence. And you will do whatever it takes to make it end. She knows this. Which is probably why I don't really worry about her. If I die, there will be fresh minions to take my place.
Her teacher's favorite saying, "It's Jay's circus and we're just her trained monkeys." Truth.
Six months after, the pain started lessening and I started to panic. It felt like losing her all over again. If I laughed, or had a good day, or ~gasp~ enjoyed myself, I got hit with an overwhelming wave of guilt. What kind of monster would stop grieving long enough to laugh? That's when I sought grief counseling. This was something I couldn't fix myself, I was too close to see the damage I was doing to myself and family. Something I heard repeatedly, from my counselor and the other parents in the support group, "If the grief doesn't get you, the guilt and regret will." And it's true. So many nights I kept running different scenarios, reliving that horrible morning trying to see what I did wrong. So much time spent feeling guilty over things I didn't do, did do, didn't think to do. I was told that the guilt and regret are often ways of avoiding feeling the loss. As long as you keep thinking you could have done something, you don't have to face the reality that you can't do anything anymore. It's out of your hands. She's gone and nothing I can do will change it. Feeling good, having a good day, wasn't betraying her, wasn't forgetting her, it was living. Something I still have to choose to do every morning.
Nine months after brought Her Season. Sarah loved the Fall; football games, Halloween, Thanksgiving (turkey and pumpkin pie), and then Christmas. Each first without her was brutal. But not just for me; the whole family was grieving and didn't feel like celebrating. We didn't see anybody for any of the holidays. We just couldn't without her. And then, BOOM, the first anniversary of losing her. I still have a hard time saying "her death", too harsh. Mom and Poppy came over to spend the day with me. Spouse had to be on the road, so he suffered alone in a stupid hotel room in Vancouver. To be honest, I don't remember anything that happened that day. Mom had to remind me they spent it with me. And then, last Saturday, May 18, would have been her 24th birthday. We spent it doing everything but talking about it. It was also Panhandle High School's Prom night. Just too much to deal with. Until it was bedtime and I brought it up. Spouse hadn't even realized it was the 18th, which I can't blame since he'd been on vacation all week and you know how that messes with your calendar. But still. I felt like I suffered alone all day. I've got to stop that. So Sunday, I took a walk along the South Turkey Creek Trail at Lake Meredith and spent the whole morning with my Sweet Sarah. We had a good talk and she reminded me that life goes on and it's still beautiful if you're willing to see it.
Monday, August 27, 2018
Sisters
It's the beginning of the new school year, Jay's first in 18 years without big sister by her side. They were two and a half years apart in age, but only one year apart in school. The only times they were ever separated were the beginning of Junior High and High School for Sarah. But even then, they got ready together, watched Phineas and Ferb together, rode to and from school together. Inseparable.
But the fun started when they were together. As toddlers, Sarah had lost what little speech she had by 18 months, and Jay never developed speech. But they created their own babble language. They'd be riding in their car seats gabbing away and laughing, and I'd turn to look at them and try to join. Stop dead, Silence. "Mom, we weren't talking to you." "Well, ex-cuuuuuse ME!" I'd go back to driving and they'd pick up where they left off. Kind of like getting your nails done in a Korean salon. You KNOW they're talking about you, but you can't prove it.
In grade school, early years, they developed a system. Jay was cute, Sarah was stealthy. Jay would create a diversion while Sarah sneaked into the snack closet and lifted whatever was in there. Think Paul Newman in The Sting. When Sarah was done, she'd signal Jay and the show would be over. About 20 minutes after they got home, I'd get a call from the teacher, "Hey, yeah, could you check the girls' backpacks? We seem to be missing a package of …" I knew better than to get offended that they were calling my sweet babies thieves. I'd already checked and removed the contraband. It seriously took college educated women weeks to catch on to them. I know it's wrong, but it made me proud.
Throughout their years together, they were best friends. Actually, Sarah was Jay's only friend as she'd tolerate (barely) most people as long as they left her alone. But she was down with whatever Big Sissy had on her mind. Playing in the backyard with Charlie, swimming, swinging, jumping on the trampoline, snuggling up to watch a movie at "nap" time. (They never napped, but I needed the break.) When we lost Sarah, it hit Jay so very hard. I'm having a hard time typing this, bawling, having to stop and wipe the tears, probably why it's taken so long to share the Baby Queen's struggle.
The pain of losing your child is deep and harsh, but coupled with the pain of watching your other child lost and grieving, not knowing how to help, or even if you can help because most days you can't help yourself, is the worst pain I've ever felt. Jay was there when we found Sarah, she saw her body, she was there when the sheriff came, and the EMTs, the justice, and finally the transporters who took her away. When she went to bed, she had her big sister; when she got up, she was alone. She didn't cry. It actually took months before she cried. What she did do was quit.
Jay was getting over the flu with the rest of us, but she struggled more. And after Sarah's death, she stopped fighting. She didn't eat or drink anything I didn't directly feed her, losing 30 pounds in the first month. She wouldn't come out of her room. Didn't want to go to school, or to grandma and Poppy's (last time she went was Sarah's memorial. She hasn't been back.) She didn't want to watch movies or listen to music. She just laid in her bed, facing the wall, sleeping or not. Her only trips out once we moved to the new house were to doctors. Right after we moved, she fell in the driveway and dislocated her kneecap. The doctor put her in a heel to hip immobilizing brace for two months. This didn't help. She really couldn't get around even if she wanted to. Her knee healed, but she sank deeper. Trips to her psychiatrist to adjust her medicine weren't much fun, and an attempted trip to the Lake pool where she and Sarah spent many happy summers ended in disaster. But it started the tears which I believe started the grieving and healing.
After her meltdown at the pool, I'd often hear her babbling in her room, giggling, and on more than one occasion, crying inconsolably. I don't know if Sarah had come back to check on her or if she was just reliving happy memories, but at least she was starting to reconnect. She would go into Sarah's room which we set up just as we would have if Sarah had been here. All of her things, her books, her new bed, her Prom dresses and homecoming mums. It smells like her. Jay would crawl into her bed and just look at her things. I didn't encourage her, didn't deter her, just let her do what she needed to do. She's picked out a couple of Sarah's things, pictures, to keep in her room. All steps along the grieving path.
So now we're faced with going back to school. Alone. The first hurdle was the backpack dilemma. Sarah was a fashionista, Jay couldn't care less. Every year, Sarah would pick out a new stylish backpack, always some form and design of pink. Jay would get her old one. Potayto, potahto. This year, Sarah's last backpack is literally Sarah's last backpack. I will never get to shop with her again, trying on backpacks like mink coats. I miss that. Do I give Jay the last backpack, or do I start a new tradition getting Jay a new one? I have to admit, my selfishness colored this one. Sarah's backpack still smells like her. Yeah, I sniff it. A good friend gave me sage advice. Get the new backpack, different from anything Sarah would have picked, and then give Jay the choice. She chose both. Sarah's backpack went back on the coat hook in the laundry room with her lunch box, and Jay took the turquoise with black polka dots. Another reason I love that girl. She thinks like me.
We've been through two weeks of summer school. The new teachers and aides adore her. She's approved of their service as her new minions. Things went smoothly, and she seems to really enjoy her time out of the house meeting new people. They all know the challenges she's facing and are very sweet and supportive. One of the high school counselors is yet another young lady who was touched by the cute chicks. Shannon was a high school student who worked with the chicks in grade school. She went on to get her special ed certification, then her counselor's certification. She just finished accreditation as a grief counselor. God has placed those two together, and I'm grateful. I'm slowly starting to see her come back to life. She actually giggled this morning. And as soon as she was on the bus, I wept.
Friday, July 27, 2018
So, here we are
I wander the halls of this big, stupid house in the middle of the night wondering how the fuck I got here. Not just here at this address, but HERE. This isn't my life. My life wasn't supposed to be my life, but after 20+ years of loving the cute chicks, it became my life. And I loved it.
Twenty-five years ago, if you'd asked me, I'd be looking at early retirement after 25 years teaching, my children would be grown and off to college/married/starting their own lives, and I would be starting my second go at life. Maybe traveling. Maybe going after that law degree I deferred. Maybe just sleeping in and being a bum. But life is what happens when you're busy making plans. I had Sarah, who wasn't the child I imagined having, and I had to adjust. I actually mourned her the first time when she was a baby. I had to be able to let go of the child I had imagined and all the things I had planned in order to truly love and appreciate the beautiful soul God gifted me. I went through all the stages of grief after getting her Autism diagnosis ~ denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. It was easier for Jaylee, I had the feeling she was different from the moment I held her in the hospital. And I had experience. But my life trajectory changed dramatically. Instead of a working professional who had children, I was a Special Needs Mom ~ advocate, researcher, teacher, therapist, guardian, full-time MOM. Sarah and Jaylee were my life. Jay still is, she's really the only reason that I get up and dressed most days.
And now, my sweet silly Sarah is gone, and to be brutally honest, folks, I'm not doing well. At all. I can maintain a calm, capable façade when I'm in public, with family who need me to be strong for them, but it's exhausting. To my soul. After Sarah's memorial, two weeks were spent moving and settling Jaylee in. Then she dislocated her kneecap and was in an immobilization brace for two months. During that time, I had to whip the Panhandle house in shape and get it on the market for the Spring housing market. From March to mid-May, I basically remodeled a 1400-sq ft house. Every wall was painted. New wood laminate laid in the living/dining/kitchen/breakfast/utility room. New carpet in the bedrooms. New cabinets and countertops in the kitchen. New refrigerator and stove. My total budget was $7800, I came in just about $10 under. But it was something to focus my mind and energy on. The hardest part was actually being there. Every time I walk into that house I relive February 1, 2018 9:18 am. It sucks. I got to where I could numb myself, feel nothing, think nothing, see nothing but the task in front of me. I had a job and a deadline, and it kept me sane. I'd work from 8 in the morning to almost dark, go home, take care of Jay, take a shower, pass out, get up and do it again. I finished on a Wednesday, we signed with a realtor on Friday, she listed on Realtor.com on Saturday, and showed it 4 times on Sunday. Four days later, one of the ladies who saw it on Sunday made a full-price cash offer contingent on the sale of her house. I know what you're thinking, but I had faith. Long story short, we close August 9. Closing that chapter of our lives. We moved to that address when Sarah was 3 and Jay was 1, it was really the only home they'd ever known. It was Sarah's only home. Her last home. Sometimes I felt changing everything in the house, I was erasing her. Those were the times I ended up outside on the deck sobbing for an hour. I guess the approaching end is spiking my anxiety and depression. I don't know, I just feel like I'm in quicksand and the harder I struggle the faster I sink.
Which brings me to why I'm writing this. My grief counselor wants me to write down as many happy memories of Sarah as I can think of, sharing them helps me keep her close. It's a double-edged sword, it also hurts to remember. So we're going back to her last Prom. You've heard the story of her actual Prom, this is the story BEFORE the Prom. The Preparations.
One of the biggest things about Prom is the dress. Shopping. Sarah, while she loves the dresses, has a very low tolerance for shopping and trying on clothes. Most of her dresses were purchased online with her picking them out. But this time she wanted the whole experience. She wanted to Say Yes to the Dress. It had become a favorite show for her, and she wanted it. So I called David's Bridal in Amarillo and explained the situation. She needed a time that was slow if not completely empty, I'd like to come in and pre-select several dresses for her to choose from so that she's not barraged by satin and bangles, and we need a really patient consultant. Not a problem, they'll be happy to work with us. I really can't say enough about the ladies at David's Bridal, they were all super-sweet.
By this time in her life, Sarah's weight had really gotten out of control, and there weren't that many options that came in her size, but I managed to pull ten choices, all of them available in her preferred hot pink. We went in on a Thursday morning, thinking we'd be the only ones there. Um, no. We were in kind of a semi-circle of dressing rooms with a big stage surrounded by mirrors in the mirror. We were on one end, and four other girl-mom combos were stationed down the line. Sarah was the first one out, in a bright pink flowing chiffon strapless. And sneakers. While she was standing there getting fussed over by grandma and Angela, the young lady two doors down came out. She was wearing a long gold sparkly fitted dress. Sarah, being Sarah, calls out across the unnaturally quiet store, "Oh my! You look lovely! And so grown-up too!" (line from Aladdin King of Thieves) "Hi, I'm Sarah!" The young lady looked over, startled, and stammered a quiet "Thank you" before turning to her mom. Sarah wasn't having it. "I'm a Panhandle Panther. What are you?" Her way of making small talk. "Um, I'm a Randall Raider." "Is that a cat or a dog?" "I think it's kind of like a pirate."
"Oooooo, Pirates." That got a grin.
By this time, Ladies #3 and 4 were out, one in red sequins of which mom clearly didn't approve and the other in a midnight blue ballgown. Same greeting from Sarah, same compliments on their gowns, and same question, "What are you?" We had a Panther, a Raider, two Eagles, and #5 came out in pale pink satin and tulle to announce she was a Bulldog. Ice broken, they started chatting, asking Sarah about her Prom, talking about sports and band (two of them had gone to the same basketball camp), and boys. Sarah was always sad about not having a boyfriend or a date. She might have been challenged in some areas, but she was all girl in others. And a hopeless romantic. None of the girls had boyfriends, all were going stag, and they all assured Sarah that it was perfectly fine. Boys were mean and stinky. Sarah wasn't buying it.
More dresses were tried on, more giggles and lively chatter, Sarah helped blue ballgown find a tiara, white satin with cabbage roses helped Sarah find her Elvis belt. As each girl made her selection and mom went to settle up, they came over to Sarah, told her how beautiful she was, and how much they hoped she had a great Prom She threw her arms open and declared "Big Arm Hug", and each young lady got a hug. Angela, our consultant, rang up our dress and belt, bejeweled flipflops, and hot pink jeweled butterfly headband, shaking her head and grinning. She told us she'd never seen anything like that, that most of the appointments are really quiet, almost church-quiet, and that she'd really had fun with us that day. All in all, Sarah was there just over two hours, well beyond her stress threshold. And not even a hint of stress or meltdown. I had never been more proud of her.
What brought this memory to mind? Over the 4th of July, mom and I were at the craft fair on the Square in Canyon when a young lady approached us. She said hi and asked if we remembered her, um, no, sorry, were you a classmate of Sarah's? No, she was one of the young ladies at David's that day and was wondering how Sarah's Prom went? Did she have fun? Was she with us? Mom is still struggling to talk about Sarah without crying, so I told her that she had died last February. She hugged me and told me how sorry she was to hear about her passing. Sarah's happiness and friendliness had inspired her to look into special education as a major. She had always wanted to be a teacher, but after meeting Sarah, she decided she might want to teach special needs kids. She'll be attending WTAMU in the Fall. She just wanted us to know what a special blessing Sarah was and that she had a legacy. Mom's in tears sobbing by now, and I'm struggling to talk past the lump in my throat. I thanked her for letting us know and told her we were really proud of her. She'll make an excellent spec ed teacher. She left and we went back to mom and Poppy's house and just sat quietly for a while before either of us could speak. Our girl had a legacy.
Twenty-five years ago, if you'd asked me, I'd be looking at early retirement after 25 years teaching, my children would be grown and off to college/married/starting their own lives, and I would be starting my second go at life. Maybe traveling. Maybe going after that law degree I deferred. Maybe just sleeping in and being a bum. But life is what happens when you're busy making plans. I had Sarah, who wasn't the child I imagined having, and I had to adjust. I actually mourned her the first time when she was a baby. I had to be able to let go of the child I had imagined and all the things I had planned in order to truly love and appreciate the beautiful soul God gifted me. I went through all the stages of grief after getting her Autism diagnosis ~ denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. It was easier for Jaylee, I had the feeling she was different from the moment I held her in the hospital. And I had experience. But my life trajectory changed dramatically. Instead of a working professional who had children, I was a Special Needs Mom ~ advocate, researcher, teacher, therapist, guardian, full-time MOM. Sarah and Jaylee were my life. Jay still is, she's really the only reason that I get up and dressed most days.
And now, my sweet silly Sarah is gone, and to be brutally honest, folks, I'm not doing well. At all. I can maintain a calm, capable façade when I'm in public, with family who need me to be strong for them, but it's exhausting. To my soul. After Sarah's memorial, two weeks were spent moving and settling Jaylee in. Then she dislocated her kneecap and was in an immobilization brace for two months. During that time, I had to whip the Panhandle house in shape and get it on the market for the Spring housing market. From March to mid-May, I basically remodeled a 1400-sq ft house. Every wall was painted. New wood laminate laid in the living/dining/kitchen/breakfast/utility room. New carpet in the bedrooms. New cabinets and countertops in the kitchen. New refrigerator and stove. My total budget was $7800, I came in just about $10 under. But it was something to focus my mind and energy on. The hardest part was actually being there. Every time I walk into that house I relive February 1, 2018 9:18 am. It sucks. I got to where I could numb myself, feel nothing, think nothing, see nothing but the task in front of me. I had a job and a deadline, and it kept me sane. I'd work from 8 in the morning to almost dark, go home, take care of Jay, take a shower, pass out, get up and do it again. I finished on a Wednesday, we signed with a realtor on Friday, she listed on Realtor.com on Saturday, and showed it 4 times on Sunday. Four days later, one of the ladies who saw it on Sunday made a full-price cash offer contingent on the sale of her house. I know what you're thinking, but I had faith. Long story short, we close August 9. Closing that chapter of our lives. We moved to that address when Sarah was 3 and Jay was 1, it was really the only home they'd ever known. It was Sarah's only home. Her last home. Sometimes I felt changing everything in the house, I was erasing her. Those were the times I ended up outside on the deck sobbing for an hour. I guess the approaching end is spiking my anxiety and depression. I don't know, I just feel like I'm in quicksand and the harder I struggle the faster I sink.
Which brings me to why I'm writing this. My grief counselor wants me to write down as many happy memories of Sarah as I can think of, sharing them helps me keep her close. It's a double-edged sword, it also hurts to remember. So we're going back to her last Prom. You've heard the story of her actual Prom, this is the story BEFORE the Prom. The Preparations.
One of the biggest things about Prom is the dress. Shopping. Sarah, while she loves the dresses, has a very low tolerance for shopping and trying on clothes. Most of her dresses were purchased online with her picking them out. But this time she wanted the whole experience. She wanted to Say Yes to the Dress. It had become a favorite show for her, and she wanted it. So I called David's Bridal in Amarillo and explained the situation. She needed a time that was slow if not completely empty, I'd like to come in and pre-select several dresses for her to choose from so that she's not barraged by satin and bangles, and we need a really patient consultant. Not a problem, they'll be happy to work with us. I really can't say enough about the ladies at David's Bridal, they were all super-sweet.
By this time in her life, Sarah's weight had really gotten out of control, and there weren't that many options that came in her size, but I managed to pull ten choices, all of them available in her preferred hot pink. We went in on a Thursday morning, thinking we'd be the only ones there. Um, no. We were in kind of a semi-circle of dressing rooms with a big stage surrounded by mirrors in the mirror. We were on one end, and four other girl-mom combos were stationed down the line. Sarah was the first one out, in a bright pink flowing chiffon strapless. And sneakers. While she was standing there getting fussed over by grandma and Angela, the young lady two doors down came out. She was wearing a long gold sparkly fitted dress. Sarah, being Sarah, calls out across the unnaturally quiet store, "Oh my! You look lovely! And so grown-up too!" (line from Aladdin King of Thieves) "Hi, I'm Sarah!" The young lady looked over, startled, and stammered a quiet "Thank you" before turning to her mom. Sarah wasn't having it. "I'm a Panhandle Panther. What are you?" Her way of making small talk. "Um, I'm a Randall Raider." "Is that a cat or a dog?" "I think it's kind of like a pirate."
"Oooooo, Pirates." That got a grin.
By this time, Ladies #3 and 4 were out, one in red sequins of which mom clearly didn't approve and the other in a midnight blue ballgown. Same greeting from Sarah, same compliments on their gowns, and same question, "What are you?" We had a Panther, a Raider, two Eagles, and #5 came out in pale pink satin and tulle to announce she was a Bulldog. Ice broken, they started chatting, asking Sarah about her Prom, talking about sports and band (two of them had gone to the same basketball camp), and boys. Sarah was always sad about not having a boyfriend or a date. She might have been challenged in some areas, but she was all girl in others. And a hopeless romantic. None of the girls had boyfriends, all were going stag, and they all assured Sarah that it was perfectly fine. Boys were mean and stinky. Sarah wasn't buying it.
More dresses were tried on, more giggles and lively chatter, Sarah helped blue ballgown find a tiara, white satin with cabbage roses helped Sarah find her Elvis belt. As each girl made her selection and mom went to settle up, they came over to Sarah, told her how beautiful she was, and how much they hoped she had a great Prom She threw her arms open and declared "Big Arm Hug", and each young lady got a hug. Angela, our consultant, rang up our dress and belt, bejeweled flipflops, and hot pink jeweled butterfly headband, shaking her head and grinning. She told us she'd never seen anything like that, that most of the appointments are really quiet, almost church-quiet, and that she'd really had fun with us that day. All in all, Sarah was there just over two hours, well beyond her stress threshold. And not even a hint of stress or meltdown. I had never been more proud of her.
What brought this memory to mind? Over the 4th of July, mom and I were at the craft fair on the Square in Canyon when a young lady approached us. She said hi and asked if we remembered her, um, no, sorry, were you a classmate of Sarah's? No, she was one of the young ladies at David's that day and was wondering how Sarah's Prom went? Did she have fun? Was she with us? Mom is still struggling to talk about Sarah without crying, so I told her that she had died last February. She hugged me and told me how sorry she was to hear about her passing. Sarah's happiness and friendliness had inspired her to look into special education as a major. She had always wanted to be a teacher, but after meeting Sarah, she decided she might want to teach special needs kids. She'll be attending WTAMU in the Fall. She just wanted us to know what a special blessing Sarah was and that she had a legacy. Mom's in tears sobbing by now, and I'm struggling to talk past the lump in my throat. I thanked her for letting us know and told her we were really proud of her. She'll make an excellent spec ed teacher. She left and we went back to mom and Poppy's house and just sat quietly for a while before either of us could speak. Our girl had a legacy.
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