And Life Moves On …

I would love to sit here and tell you just how hectic things have been for me lately, just how busy I’ve been. Yet in honesty, I can’t say that. Things have been the same, even when you don’t want them to be.

I’ve had a hard time with my blog lately, truth be told. There is so much I want to say, and probably for the first time ever, I’m having a hard time getting the words to the screen.

What things are doing is changing. Lots and lots of changes for me. I’ve come to realize that during the illness followed by the quick death of my BIL that some things you are so utterly certain of … become not so certain. Some things you feel about people change in a heartbeat. Some things you think you know, you really just don’t know, ya know?

I was certain that when my BIL passed away, that my brother would call my sister.

He never did.

I was certain that my sister would have a hell of a time paying for the funeral/memorial for my BIL, and I worked hard to see what I could do to help her with that cost.

To our utter shock, BIL’s boss and company paid for everything. 

I was certain that some people in my life would be there for me, just to give me a hug or ask how things were going or hell, how my sister was doing. To buy me a drink, to offer some type of support.

They weren’t.

I was certain that some people in my life would not be there for me, just to give me a hug or ask how things were going or hell, how my sister was doing. To buy me a drink, to offer some type of support.

They were.

I was certain that friends I made long ago were just that … long ago.

Until we received flowers/donations/support from friends we (I) hadn’t seen in over 10 years.

 

And life moves on my readers. Christmas is coming, a time for family and loved ones.  And for me it moves on with this one thought:

Tomorrow is not a promise, only a hope. So live for today, and live the hell out of it.

 

 

Sisters

I, like so many others out there, have a sister.

We aren’t the closest of sisters, we aren’t the best of friends.

Yet she is my sister, she is my family. We are there for each other. Always.

This past Friday, I was standing next to my sister in support when I was lucky enough to witness one of the most beautiful, the most endearing, the most precious and the most heartbreaking moment I’ve ever seen.

My sister, at that moment, laid her head on her husband’s chest, in his nook really …

… and his heart stopped beating a few short minutes later.

Life. What A Thing To Live

I can’t believe it’s been almost two weeks since my last blog post! I’d love to be able to tell you all that I’ve been out having my heart romanced by a wonderful boy, but alas, this *is* QT Land and we just know that’s not true.

No, this time, I’ve been gone because of sad news. News that someone my age shouldn’t have to have, yet here it is, truthful and raw and damn well painful.

You see, on the day my mom dropped me off for my first day of kindergarten, she met another mom there, dropping her son off.  And the rest was history. They are BFF’s to this day, and have been since that day 32 years ago. The BFF of my mom has two sons, one my age and one three years older, and both of which I spent a large majority of my childhood around. Camping, family parties, Superbowls, birthday parties, playdates, holidays, and as we got older it was weddings, kids, baptisms … we were together. Always.  So you see, on that day 32 years ago, with their friendship came new family for me. I always considered myself lucky for that.

And when, this February 25th my mom called with the news that one of those boys I grew up with was ill, so ill that the hospital said there was no hope for him, I received the news in shock and immediately left work to go to the hospital. I walked in his room, and he was there, in bed looking as handsome as ever, with people from hospice.  He smiled sadly at me and said, “I’m done for, kiddo.” And I blinked. And then I cried. I listened as he gave some instructions to us – he did not want to be buried in a “damn suit”, he did not want others to dress up for his funeral, it should be a casual affair. We must make sure that his hands were not lying peacefully on his chest, but to make sure they were on his chest with each hand making the peace sign. He wanted to be buried with a picture of nine-year old son, his wife, his Corvette, his Harley, his drumsticks and his favorite bottle of booze.

And then, we began the entirely … terrible, and I do mean terrible process, of simply waiting for someone to die. Someone to die that’s too young to die, that has not had a full life, that is leaving a nine-year old boy behind, someone who lit up the room with his vibrant personality, with his laughter, with his gorgeous self.

And when he died on March 2nd, only five days later, he did not wear a suit in his casket.  Both of his hands were making the peace sign, and next to him was a picture of his son and his wife, a picture of his Harley Davidson and his corvette.  I did not dress up for his funeral and instead wore jeans and my own Harley Davidson shirt, and smiled at the bottle of booze tucked under his arm.

I hope you Rest In Peace my friend, and it’s God’s truth that this world, MY world, was better because you were in it.