these small moments that turn into big moments that are really just moments

when i was probably ten or eleven, my dad had our kitchen redone.  it was a big job of course, i remember the workers coming every day, messing up my tv schedule if i was home from school.  my dad doesn't remember this, but he used to quiz me on the wood. 

i knew all different types of wood and their stains

church pews?  oak with a cherry stain

i remember it being asked, and i distinctly remember getting the answer right.  i brought this story up with him when i visited in april or when he came in july.  this story that has lived on in my mind and has caused me all these years later, to constantly guess what wood is underneath my fingertips, supporting my elbows, or drawing my eyes up.

the silly thing is, he didn't even remember doing this.  it was probably a once or twice off thing to him. 



there are so many things that i don't want to forget.  talking to my grandma about her family life growing up, the green shag carpet in her house, what every room felt like to me, or how she would put the pearls around my neck.  walking to bob evans with her and ordering the popcorn shrimp. 


my grandpa, going up to the non-airconditioned third floor to play tea party.  crammed into a small closet, where i had cut up place mats that served as our dessert.  how he would always let me mess up his crossword puzzle by writing my own answer in, but only in one.  how he would watch NYPD blue at night and never slept more than six hours, his great smile.


my mom, the time i freaked out when she got acupuncture and was screaming and crying and begging her not to do it even though she said it didn't hurt, the time she cut off all her hair after it had started falling out, the time i saw these antique dolls are some sort of resale shop and she told me i couldn't get them but they somehow made it under the tree for christmas, how she helped me cut out christmas cookies, and drank carrot juice. 


the time i was sitting on the steps and my mom was in her hospital bed in the living room and my dad looked at me and said "do you think mommy is going to get better?"
i said "yes of course"
he said no.

the morning i held addy and told her that daddy wasn't coming back.

the casual afternoon she announced to me, "i can't remember daddy's voice anymore"

//



i have withdrawn from most of social media recently, including my blog.  there are ebbs and flows right?  i got a forty hour job and somewhere in between working and buying a house and raising my kids and loving my boyfriend and all those really really beautiful things i have, i realized i cannot work on anything else right now. 
it takes every ounce of spare energy i have to that, work, kids, boyfriend, keeping myself sane.


somehow i've slipped back into normal life, i'm not drinking to cope, i discuss things like netflix series and basketball games at work, things like traffic and bad weather legitimately stress me out without me thinking, "well it could be worse, someone could be dead".  i don't feel the need to word vomit my story to every stranger i run into.  i'm excited for the holidays.



i'm in a cocoon.  a really comfy, cozy one where i get to relax and be normal and get stressed about silly things, where i don't feel on display for what i went through, where everything has started to scar over and i cover the scars with long sleeves and pants. 

but i struggle with it.  i struggle with wanting to share.  with wanting to tell everyone, this in between phrase where you don't want the past to be too far in the past because that would mean that it's been too long since you've seen them but you also really want to take the shackles off. 

if i slip back into normality, does that mean it was all in vain?  is the ghost of trying to make something of their deaths haunting me, or do i need to be doing more? 


//  in other news, cavs don't look so good and this is us is solid. //