Without Me...

Jamie just walked in from his "man cave" (a.k.a. "the garage") and said, "You don't have a blog without me, and I don't have a blog without you." Now, this is from the man that still doesn't have an independent email address and claims that computers will only change his life when, "it starts packing lumber into a house." So, he was speaking metaphorically. However, I knew what he meant. We are a team. In everything we do, we are a team.

He is right that without him, I probably wouldn't have a blog. I've always said that Jamie is a better storyteller than I am - he has a more creative voice and way of saying things. Just ask him about the exploding propane tank sometime...

I write a great scholarly paper, which is my strength, though this blog has given me a new voice and helped me discover an inner storyteller. But I know that without my teammate, I wouldn't write in the same way. Not because he literally writes the words, but because he inspires the ideas, the thoughts, the emotion that I find words for. And I know that for him, I take his ideas and help organize them into scholarly words and grammatically correct research papers. So together, we do write this blog; just like together, we live life.

Now, Jamie and I are, by far, very different in many, many ways. He is an introvert and I am the extrovert...he likes to tease me by saying that I have a "daily word minimum of 5,000 words a day" or I don't fuction well. And to some degree he is right. I am the extrovert. I feel energized when I am with friends and talking and having a great discussion. I do, however, find myself less of an extrovert than I have been in the past. I think grief does that - it has the power to change your very personality. I still love to sit and have a glass of wine and chat with close friends, but I don't get the same surge of energy from being in a group of people that I used to. In fact, I kind of dread it because it will mean questions I don't like answering and conversations I'd just rather avoid because they are emotionally exhausting. I'd much prefer the company of a few close friends, with whom no explanation is needed. I never knew just how much grief can change the fabric of who you are until I lived through it.

I know that I am okay with who I am now - I still have moments where I miss the "old" me, mostly because I have moments where I miss the "ignorant bliss" of that life. And after Faith died, I went through a very angry period. I was extraordinarily angry at feeling so changed and different because I liked the person that I was and I knew that this new person was someone different, and someone I never wanted to be. But, now I have found acceptance of this new person. This new person that prefers a bike ride with my husband and an evening at home over a big party; this new woman that would rather get a $25 pedicure with Sarah, followed by a barbeque at their house than go shopping at the mall during Christmas season (kill me now) and a lunch out at a busy restaurant; I actually like this person that enjoys time alone, in my own thoughts, just with myself. I didn't think that would ever happen, but I have realized something...

If I wished to be the old person that I was, I wouldn't know my daughter and have had that experience. And as painful as that has been, I wouldn't trade what we have gotten out of it. Iknow that the man - the teammate - at my side, always has my back. He'll block any tackle, catch any play, and go down in my defense - no questions asked. I believe he knows that I'd do the same for him. I am blessed to have him as my teammate in all that I do...I couldn't ask for a better reason to keep playing this game.

Erica

Five Years Later

This morning I sat in a waiting room...I sat, waiting for a nurse to come and tell me "it" was all over. I read a book, watched "The Today Show," and flipped through a miriad of magazines - all the while waiting for that moment. An hour later, the nurse appeared, led me to Jamie and pronounced, "He's doing well. You can go home soon." Sigh of relief...and memories of years past when today felt a million miles away.

Five years ago - September, 2005 - I sat in a different waiting room and a different nurse came to get me. Doctors then greeted us with very different news regarding Jamie's health - "You have a mass in your colon and it's cancer." Just like that - direct, to the point, not great bedside manner. Just like that, our world shifted and for the first time in our relationship, we faced news that would forever alter our lives. At 28 years old, with no previous conditions or family history, Jamie was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer.

After months of complaining about feeling sick, I had told him to either go to the doctor or quit complaining. So, he went. And a few tests later, we ended up sitting in a curtained off room hearing those words, "You have cancer." We were stunned and left that doctor's office to tell Jamie's parents and make some phone calls. He had a colonoscopy that led to a diagnosis on Tuesday that week. Wednesday we met with a surgeon; Friday he had surgery to remove 18 inches of his colon. In the midst of that, we met with an oncologist and a month later he had a surgery to place a port in his chest wall for "easy" access during the next six months of chemotheraphy. I remember when he was diagnosed, my mom told me, "In a few years this will feel like a blip on the radar." In so many ways, she is right. Jamie responded well to treatment, goes to his follow-up visits with the oncologist, gets his annual tests and screenings, and has - God bless - now been cancer free for five years.

So, this morning - after five years of being cancer free - Jamie had that same port removed that they'd placed there all those years ago. We have become somewhat used to this routine - the early morning arrivals and procedures, the waiting rooms, the curtained exam rooms. And even though my brain knew this was a minor procedure and everything would go fine, I couldn't help feeling a little anxious as I sat in that room and relived some of those moments from all those years ago. Not to mention that we now live in a world where things don't always go the way they "should," I was very relieved to see that nurse's face, calling, "Erica?" And I walked back to that room, where my fuzzy-faced husband sat eating pretzels and sipping apple juice.

As we drove home a while later, I was reflecting on these last five years. We'd been dating one year when Jamie was diagnosed with cancer. Since then, we have endured so much and our relationship is stronger than it ever has been. I know that our experiences have shaped us and strenthened us. I know that some of these experiences are ones we would not chosen if given the choice. But, we weren't given a choice. So we have dealt with life as it has happened. Though some experiences will never feel like a "blip on the radar," it is nice to be reminded that time heals. Time mends. You never forget, but you move forward and let the experience become a part of you.

Erica

It Takes a Village

Okay...

I have to write about something tonight that is close to my heart. And that is on my last nerve...bad combination.

I am a teacher. I think I'm a pretty good teacher, by all accounts. Positive administrative reviews, students that learn and seem to like me, and good working relationships with my colleagues. I'm a pretty good teacher - but I'm not perfect. Every single day there are things that I wish I was doing better. I wish I was more patient with a child; I wish I was more organized with a lesson; I wish I was more confident with a particular topic or subject. Even though I've been teaching for 12 years (yes, mom, that's right) and have become a solid veteran teacher, I always believe that there is something for me to learn to do better...because I believe that's what a good teacher does. Good teachers are constantly changing and adapting our craft to better meet the needs of our students. So - here's my issue...two words -

Education. Nation.

That is the NBC News sponsored summit that was in New York earlier this week to address the crisis of public education in this country. All of this ties in to recent press about a new movie being released called "Waiting for 'Superman'" that profiles in a documentary the state of public education in this country - which most of us will agree needs some serious help. I agree with that. But here's where I get a little bit annoyed - everyone is busy BLAMING someone else for the state of our failing schools and our failing system. And the people catching the vast majority of that blame are the teachers and the administrators. Everywhere I turn this week I'm hearing about "bad and ineffective teachers" and "failing schools" and "accountability." Let me be very, very clear about something...

I have no problem with teacher accountability. And, by the way, good teachers want the bad teachers gone, too. They make me look bad and make my job harder. Of course I should be accountable - to my students, their parents, my colleagues, my administrators, and myself. But my accountability and success as a teacher SHOULD NOT and CANNOT be limited to one state standardized test. Test scores go up - I must have done well; test scores go down - I must be a bad teacher. Huh? When did 180 days and 2000 hours of work come down to ONE DAY of testing? Who else in the world is assessed on their job performance based on one day? And since when are the teachers and the schools the ONLY ones responsible for the way a student learns? I thought that it takes a village...

Here's my problem with all of this conversation about failing schools, bad teachers, and a crisis in education. No one is talking about the parts of a student's life that are outside of school - like parents.

Don't misunderstand me - I am not "blaming" parents. What I am saying is that if I am held responsible for what I do during the time I'm with them, why aren't parents held responsible for the time they are with their children? For helping their child learn and be a part of their child's education? I know from 12 years of experience that great, involved parents will make a world of difference for a child.

All of the press about Education Nation and "Waiting for 'Superman'" are talking to parents who clearly care and are highly involved in their child's education. No one is talking to the parents who let their children fend for themselves and aren't around - and we all know they exist. What about those children? A child needs support outside of the four walls of a school - and without it, success is immeasurably more difficult.

It has been said that "It takes a village to raise a child." Well, I'm a part of the village. But so are the children, the parents, the bus drivers, the principals, the coaches. A child spends 7 or 8 hours a day at school - and then they leave my world and go home to theirs. Some don't eat again until they come to school the next morning for breakfast. Some go home to care for younger siblings so their single parent can work three jobs to keep food on the table. Some are living in a 1 bedroom apartment with 10 people. Some don't have heat and electricity because the bill hasn't been paid. Some have no adult supervision and run the streets until they decide to go to bed at midnight. Some are watching drug abuse and violence as though it's normal. Yet I am held accountable for ALL of this when they show up and, understandably, can't focus on learning.

If it takes a village, then the village is failing. Children who truly have a whole village around them - good teachers, good administrators, involved and caring parents - will undoubtedly succeed. What do YOU think happens to the children who live in a village where the chief is absent and the medicine men are ineffective?

That's what I thought.

Erica

Mom's Night Out

When I was a kid, my mom was a stay at home mom. She left the workforce when I was born and didn't return for 12 years, when Di was entering kindergarten. We moved a lot, so my parents didn't get a lot of "date nights." It wasn't until we lived in Aurora, CO that they found people that they were willing to leave us with for a night or a weekend. While we lived there, my mom joined a "Mom's Night Out" group. As a kid, I simply knew that once a month (I think on a Monday night), my mom left us in my dad's capable hands so that she could go out with her friends for an evening and have dinner. I accepted that - dad managed fine - and that was that. As I got older, mom used to tell me that her "Mom's Night Out" was cheaper than a psychiatrist. I'm not sure I got that when I was 12, but I do now.

Fast forward 20 years and here I am.

Tonight I went to my version of "Mom's Night Out." Coincidentally, we all are mothers. More importantly, I find such joy and laughter with this group of friends. We all know each other in the group through someone else in the group. We're like the real life version of "Six Degrees of Separation." It's kind of what we are - friends connected by one other person in the group. We meet once a month to talk about a book for a "Book Club." At least, we call it a "book club."

Truthfully - we talk about the book for 10 or 15 minutes and then gab about life and drink wine/ beer for the rest of the evening. We cackle over the funny things that have happened in our life, we listen to the frustrations, and we enjoy each other's company.

I am not close with everyone there, but I am friendly with them all. Some are friendships that are connected through another person, and though I enjoy their company, they aren't all independent friendships. But here's the interesting thing - when our "book club" was out of commission for a few months and we didn't meet - I truly missed them. All of them. I talked to a few of them independently, but found I missed the group together, because together our dynamic is truly...well...heart - lifting. I sat tonight, in the very pleasant fall evening, on this restaurant's patio having a glass of wine and felt lifted. Lifted up. Tracy sat next to me and cackled like only Tracy can. The conversation ranged from the book to sex to a husband's obnoxious behavior to a new baby to potty training to school/work and everything in between. And as I sat I realized what my mom meant all those years ago: this really is cheaper than a psychiatrist.

A couple glasses of wine and a couple of hours with friends later I feel like a much less stressed version of myself. Some of us are teachers, some of us are not - some of us have a long history together, and some of us are more recent. But it is incredibly relaxing to just be with a group of friends that make you feel better - and don't charge a $30 copay! I hope you all are as lucky as I am.

Erica

Walking on Crutches

I am getting a bit of a slow start this morning. Sarah and I have our "date" to get pedicures and then we're going to go pick up the shirts for the SHARE Walk for Remembrance and Hope that is October 2. We will be walking to remember Faith and all of the other babies lost too soon. But as I said, I'm getting a bit of a slow start on this day.

Last night, I crashed a bachelor party. Okay - not really. But I did show up to one to pick up my lovely husband so he did not have to drive home. And it was not the gaggle of debauchery that you might imagine. They were at a casino being boys, so my presence was not all that cumbersome. I actually ended up staying for awhile with Jamie and we learned to play Roulette - and actually walked away with a whopping $16 more than we started with. All in all, a good night. And I learned that when you know what you're doing at a gambling table, it's actually pretty good entertainment! So we had a very late night - later than I can think of in recent memory - and now I'm trying to caffeinate myself into being productive today and making my date with Sarah.

As part of my groggy "join the land of the living" process this morning, I began checking some of the blogs I follow and was thrilled to see that Angie Smith had posted something new! (See the "Bring the Rain" link on the sidebar.) I love her voice in her writing and I almost always take something away from what she has to say. Her blog was the first one that I found and began reading when we received Faith's diagnosis, so it holds a special place in my heart. Angie Smith simultaneously makes me laugh and cry and think, all while simply talking about her life and her struggle to live wholeheartedly and joyfully, even after losing their infant daughter in 2008. She is a Christian woman married to a man that is a member of a Christian band, so her faith and spirituality are common in her writing. Today she talked about the story of Lot, which is essentially about listening to God's plan for moving forward and not looking back (or at least, that's what I took from her message.) I am, by no means, an expert at Biblical stories.

It's about trusting that you have to look ahead and leave behind you what is behind you. It's not about forgetting it, but it is about trusting that there is something in front of you that is worth moving forward for and that trusting God means leaving behind you what you must. Sometimes this is incredibly difficult to do and to believe. I even expressed to Jamie the other night that sometimes I feel guilty if I'm having an "okay" day and feeling pretty good. I worry that it means I'm forgetting or "moving on," even when I know that forgetting is an impossibility and "moving on" is a phrase that has a whole new meaning. He wryly laughed and assured me that would not happen - and I know that it won't. I know that to us, "moving on" simply means that we keep going. It means we find a way to weave Faith into the life we have without her because we believe that there is something else awaiting us. So, we talk about her and do things to remember her, like the walk in October - all the while doing it with a hole inside our hearts.

I've heard it said that when you have a child it's as though a piece of your heart is walking around outside your body. What a profound sentiment - and very true. Jamie and I feel that everyday - that a piece of our hearts is missing because it belongs to Faith. It is with her and will always be. To us, no matter what else this life brings, no matter how much good we have - we will always be doing it with a missing piece. Our family pictures will always have a hole in them; they will always feel incomplete to us. So, how do we trust that we must keep walking forward? I'm not sure I have this one figured out yet - I just know that some days we do this with a skip, and other days we do it as though we're walking on crutches. But, we trust and so we do - and we do it with the spirit of Faith in our hearts. Because now that's where she resides - in our hearts and in our dreams and in our memories.

Despite my groggy start to the day, I feel like today I might walk a little lighter. No hobbling today - today I will skip because I choose to.

Erica

Being brave

I have been called strong. I know that - but not for the reasons people think. Yes, surviving the loss of our daughter has strengthened me. But I knew I was strong even before that. A friend told me last year, in the midst of some stress and frustrations at work, "You are fearless." This was in response to the fact that I had, again, opened my mouth and expressed my opinion about something. I know - that will shock those that know me.

Yeah, not so much.

So, I told someone what I thought, expressed my opinion (which, by the way, many people shared but few were saying) and went about my merry way. I was polite and professional. Another skill I apparently possess - the ability to say what I think without being rude. Well, most of the time. It's called tact, people. Many people, both personally and professionally, have shared that they often are afraid to say what they think for fear of what someone else will say or do in return. I have never possessed that fear.

You can blame my parents.

See, not once in 33 years has it EVER occured to me that someone wouldn't want to hear what I have to say.

I'm only half-kidding.

First, I was raised by parents (who my sisters and I affectionately call "fringe" people) who, shockingly, listened to what we had to say as though it was valuable and worth their time. Even when we were barely able to put together a sentence. Hmmm...what a concept. Not to be confused with always doing what we wanted or agreeing with us or even "giving in" to our demands; rather, they taught us that our opinion was important and worth listening to, even if we didn't get what we wanted in the end. They demonstrated to us that what we had to say had worth - no matter what decision was made, we were raised to believe that we were important enough to be listened to. So, that's what I've always believed.

Then I graduated from college and got hired as a new teacher, where, I had a principal that had the same philosophy. She truly had an open-door policy and always listened to what we had to say - no matter what decision she ultimately made I always felt like I'd been taken seriously and that my voice had worth. I also had an assigned mentor that was so much like my mother it was eerie - and she continued to train me well to say exactly what I thought - in a tactful and professional way - no matter who the audience that was listening.

You can see that getting me to sit back and be quiet has been a challenge for those around me. Thankfully, not many have tried. In fact, I'd like to believe that most people who know me love me for this quality. They always know where they stand.

All of this goes back to the idea that my friend shared with me, "You are fearless." Well, I never thought about myself like that. She was referring to the fact that I so "bravely" expressed my opinion. My reply to her was, "I'm fearless - not wreckless." Like many, I need my job. Like most, we can't afford for me to lose my job. I know my boundaries, my limits - and more importantly, I truly do know when to stop talking. Really - I do. And so, sometimes, I do.

More importantly, I know what's important. I have learned this lesson - in ways that are hard and painful. I have learned, because of my beautiful daughter, that I'm not going to waste my time on things that ultimately do not matter. I know what my priorities are and I continue to learn how to balance when to be "fearless" and when to stop. I have been given the opportunity to see through a different lense - that life is more than what I wish for. Jamie and I haven't stopped wishing and hoping - but I think that when we are at our best, strongest and most fearless, is when we take in what is immediately in front of us. When we stop longing for what "should" be and missing the life we "should" have, we find that we appreciate more wholeheartedly the life we DO have - right now. Today. Because despite the sadness and the hardship we could dwell on - and we have had more than our share - we also have a lot of good. We have become fearless through what life has given us. I do not wish our path on anyone - but I wish the lessons we have learned on all of you. They are the lessons that life is about - and they are the lessons that make life worth living for. May you all be so blessed.

Erica

Word Nerd

I am a word nerd. That is the term that my husband coined some years ago as we were beginning to date. He realized that I like things like crossword puzzles and reading and using big words. I am "that person" who realizes when store signs are misspelled and can pick out a grammatical mistake in a professional print job a mile away, which, by the way, I find highly annoying. Seriously, hire an editor...preferably one who can spell and knows the difference between "there, their, and they're." As I was saying - my husband began calling me (affectionately) a "word nerd." It fits - so I use it and call myself that now. And I am - proudly.

I was reminded again tonight of the fact that I am a word nerd. I went to dinner with two old friends - two women I went to college with. We meet as often as we can (though I'm embarrassed how long it had been since the last time) and have a beer and eat dinner and catch up. One is my old college roommate - Lisa. We were randomly assigned to be roommates for our freshman year, and we clicked. We lived together for the next four years and graduated together. Jana lived in the same dorm, and we have been friends since. We have all kept up with each other and though we don't necessarily see each other as often as I'd like, there is something comforting about a friend that has known you since you were 18. Someone that has known you through a lot of life: when you were single, when you were brokenhearted, when you were hurt or sick, when you got engaged, when you jumped at a cockroach on the dorm room floor (alerting the ENTIRE floor to the escapade, by the way), when you got married, had a baby, buried your parent or your child. To sit down to dinner with those friends is like sitting down around a campfire - it warms you from the inside out. Tonight was such a fabulous reminder of that friendship - and of the fact that I am, undoubtedly, a word nerd.

Because of timing, traffic, and a miscommunication, Lisa and I were drinking a beer and waiting for Jana a full two hours before she arrived. It was really more than okay, because it had been so long since we'd seen each other that we just chatted and reminisced. During the conversation, I used the word, "apoplectic." Anyone (other than my Jeopardy-smart mother) actually know what this word means? Yeah - neither did I until she explained it awhile back, though I had a good idea from context. And when I used the word this evening, Lisa looked at me the same way she always has when I've used a big word. "Huh?" It is a long-running joke between us - me using big words, her asking what it means, me explaining, and her excited over a new vocabulary word she gets to use. Her favorite for a long time was "facetious." And we do all of this mid-conversation, picking right back up where we left off. Tonight was no different and it was the same as it has been since we were 18. One year for Christmas, I bought Lisa a thesaurus as a joke - I think she might still have it. Please don't misunderstand - Lisa is an intelligent person. Math and numbers were her thing; words were, and still are, mine.

See, I like words. Words make sense to me. Words are beautiful to me - they sing and are like poetry. They put into a concrete form what is rambling around in my brain. I like breaking words down and figuring out what they could mean from prefixes and suffixes. I like being able to picture what is written on a page in front of me. And writing has been incredibly cathartic for me in the last year - I get to say what is in my heart. Others' words have been of so much comfort to me that I rediscovered the power of the written word with this blog. I came home this evening, thanks to two very good friends, appreciating them, as well as the fact that I am a "word nerd." I guess you could also call me a cruciverbalist. And if you can tell me what THAT means, I'll give you a Jolly Rancher. At least, that's what works with my fourth graders!

Erica