Lots of words.

Yesterday was a weird, hard day full of three funerals including our sweet Andrew's. I go back and forth between feeling angry (at who? or what?) to just feeling kind of numb. My Grandma's funeral was this morning, and although it was horribly sad, I feel much more peace with her passing. She was 93 and ready. She didn't suffer a long, drawn out illness or end her life after weeks or even months of pain. She was in hospice for two days and passed away surrounded by family, holding her hands. But Andrew? He was taken. And I have all of these emotions swirling inside of my head and heart, mad at the world because it's just not fair, so so sad for Juliann and their kids. But there is no one to blame, no one to channel these feelings towards. And I think that this is part of some sort of grief cycle I'm going through. I think about when we lost Kendall, who was truly a little brother to me, someone we spent so much of our time with, a every-single-day part of our life. And when he died six years ago it was easy for me to be angry, and easy for me to be angry at the people who irresponsibly had a hand in all of it. I'm not saying it was right, but that anger was a huge part of my grief process and in this...there's just sadness.

Andrew's funeral was heartbreaking. All of our friends sat in a huge group, and it dawned on me that this happens far too often. This is the second dear, dear friend we've had to bury, and two of many young people we've been close to that have passed away from this circle of friends. I'm not sure if it's because we live in a small town that these losses seem more profound and connected, or if maybe it's that all of our friends are risk-takers and adventurers, but it just seems like it's way too much tragedy under strange circumstances. The service itself was so nice though, as nice as a service could be- so, so many firefighters and Hot Shot crews there to pay their respects, and all of Andrew's friends and family filled the entire floor seating area of our local arena. Lots of love. The other funerals we attended were the same, full of love and respect for the men who lost their lives. I found so much inspiration and like many funerals do, all of them left me with a huge reminder to really live my life to the fullest and to the very best of my ability; to "be good," in my own way.

I've had a heavy heart lately, but surprisingly I found some comfort in the last place I thought I would find it- at my Grandma's Catholic mass this morning. I was raised Catholic so that setting is very familiar to me, but it wasn't even that which made me feel at ease. It was when the priest stepped down and came to stand in front of the rows full of my family in the middle of my Nanny's service, and talked about her, and what kind of woman she is. It was weird- I had gone into the whole morning thinking that I would of course be thankful for one last chance to say goodbye, but I was not expecting to be moved by a Catholic priest's words. But I was. He didn't speak about religion much as he addressed all of us, and instead talked about my Grandma's life, and how these moments now, are for us. That what you believe in the afterlife is your reality, and because my Grandma believed that she would be greeted at heaven's gates by her late husband and God, that that's where she was. And I loved that. It made me happy to feel like even though I don't believe in that, she did, and she died with such a feeling of peace and joy with that as her reality. Our reality is what we believe.

Lots of sad talk on the blog lately, and if you've been sticking around to read it all, thank you. I promise things will turn around soon and happy days (and posts) aren't far away.

Another goodbye.

It's hard when someone passes away, when there are so many memories, so many layers of emotions and parts of your life that come bobbing to the surface. It's been a weird, sad week in my world. First, we lost our dear friend, amongst other friends and friends of friends, and then my Grandma passed away on Friday.

Like with Andrew, I've tried and tried to put my words down and get it right, but I'm having a hard time processing all of this death in my life right now. It's so strange to be growing a new life inside of my body while watching my Grandma's life end. I was there the day before Nanny passed, and got to say goodbye. She was a shell of her former self there, sitting in that chair, unresponsive, unmoving- she looked nothing like the vivacious women I grew up with. It was upsetting.

I think at times like this it would be easier for me to believe in some sort of religion, to feel like I will see my friends or family again. To be able to pray to someone, something, anything so this could all make more sense. But I don't believe in that. What I do believe in though is the beauty of this life, now. And I believe that their spirits, souls, energy, whatever you will, it's all put back into this world, and it's part of everything I do. I can feel my Grandma around me, in the air, in the dark, in the dirt under my feet, in the dust floating in that early morning streak of sun coming through our living room window. She is everywhere.

I think about the matching dresses she would sew for my sister and me, for every holiday. I think about the cheese sandwiches on the porcelain plates, the orange-yellow couches, Mr. Wizard on the television. I remember her towel drying my sister and my hair after baths, catching frogs in the green grass, and the jelly donuts weekend mornings from the bakery down the street. She's a part of most Sunday dinners we've ever had. She's a crocheted blanket and a cup of tea, she's a cashmere sweater set and a big diamond ring. She's a New York accent and an apple pie.

I remember her always comforting me when I was little, when I felt like my "mean old parents" just didn't get me. I remember all of her stories, telling me about being born in 1920, the changes she has seen over her lifetime. I remember her and my Grandpa, the way they were, the "Helen!" and the Irish music and the bickering I always tried not to giggle over. And I'll always remember that Nanny, one of the most conservative, set-in-her-ways women I know, never once made a comment about my tattoos, which still kind of surprises me when I think about it.

Saying goodbye is hard, but I feel so grateful that I was able to do so, and I feel lucky that I've spent our time together in such a way that even though I don't believe in any promise of seeing her again, the lifetime we did have can fill my heart up for the remainder of my days.

Nanny, I love you. You will be missed.

A Good, Old-Fashioned Update

So this photo has absolutely nothing to do with anything below, but I was looking through some photos from last summer earlier and came across this one taken at Coney Island and it made me so happy. It was taken the week I spent with Emily in NYC, and she took me to Coney one day so I could check it out. I loved it. I didn't snap one photo this weekend that would make sense for this post, so random Coney Island photo it is!

I wanted to take some photos today of this belly. It's gotten so big, so fast, but the weather outside is positively gloomy, which makes for not-so-pretty pictures, even of just a belly. However I'm sitting here typing this and listening to so much rain coming down, thunder, lightning, all of it, and I'm ecstatic. This is my favorite kind of weather by far.

So how about a good, old-fashioned update?

Life is good, and believe it or not (I cannot!) Henry will be turning THREE this fall. Now, I know that "this fall" is a ways off, but someone this morning asked me how old he was, and usually I just say "2 and 1/2" but this time I said "3 in the fall." And then I cried inside for a second. It's a weird thing, being a parent. It's a constant yearning to stop time and freeze things but the more you focus on that the faster it all seems to go by. So for me the best thing has to just focus on the now, the stage we're in, and although this morning I had this moment of disbelief that our little guy could ever be turning three so soon, I have been doing a better job of not getting too sad about it all going by. Remind me of this when I have a newborn, and without fail I will be writing about how sad it is that that little tiny newborn stage is over with in the blink of an eye.

I don't write about Hank a super lot on this blog. I feel very lucky to have a strong marriage and to be married to my best friend. And really, what are you supposed to say when things are really good? But lately I've felt even more in love with him, if that's even possible. I keep taking a step back and just thanking the universe that I've gotten to spend the past decade of my life with him and to be able to spend the rest of our lives doing the same. To know him is to love him, and the longer we are together the more and more I realize just how lucky we are to have found each other in this crazy world. And see? This is why I don't write about it too much. I think sometimes I just feel uncomfortable going on and on about something I like to keep close to my heart. But sometimes I do think it's good to shout it to the rooftops.

But something not so good? My Grandma, Nanny, has been getting more and more ill following a heart surgery she had recently, and this past weekend she was taken yet again to the emergency room. She has pneumonia in both lungs, and on Saturday hospice was set to meet with her and my parents but just like it's happened every time, she suddenly started getting stronger again. She's a tank, this woman! She also happens to be my last living grandparent, and the one relative I've always been the closest to. I have the very best memories of her. I grew up spending lots and lots of time with her and my Grandpa, and then after he passed away, she moved from NJ to live with us in AZ. She's lived with my Mom and Dad ever since (I was 15 at the time), and I'm sure you can imagine what a part of our daily life and world she is. I can't imagine life without her.

So yes, life is both good and bad at this current moment, as life usually is. A little of both. It's interesting to me to be caught in this place right now, to have one hand on the pulse of an end of a beautiful life, and another bringing someone into this world. Right in the middle. Charlie is due to arrive in a little over 6 weeks and as the weeks fly by I can only think of how times in my life I'll ever be here again. Never ever. So this is it, the one time my 2 and 1/2 year son will be this age as I am getting ready to have our second child, as Hank and I stay up all night talking about life and dreams and our goals, the time in our life when it feels like everything is beginning, even though we've been going for quite some time. Do you ever feel like that, like the phase you're in is a BIG thing, even though it feels so normal? I want to remember this for always.