Tag Archives: cancer

Hello, June 6th. (I’m sobby and stabby and shouldn’t be writing, FYI)

Well hello June 6th.

I’ve been dreading your arrival.

My mind has attached all sorts of meaning to you:

Six months since my sweet mommy died.  Six months of grieving.  Six months of limbo.  Time’s up.  Move on.

Here is what I have to say to my mind:

HA HA HA HA HA…… right.

I thought by now I would have come to terms with things.  I thought the worst would be over.  I thought I would have embraced my own life and pulled it all together.  I thought Mexico would have healed me.

Maybe it’s the PMS talking (ok, it’s more than likely the PMS)(or the Depression, which is an even bigger asshole than the PMS)(together they are a formidable duo of asshole-liar-overly-sensitive-ness) but the worst doesn’t seem to be over.  The worst seems to be right now.  And right now, nothing seems any better than it did six months ago when I kissed my sweet mommy for the last time and watched strangers take her body away and then tried to be the mommy to my own grieving son when all I really wanted was for someone to be the mommy to me.

Truth be told, I still just want someone to be the mommy to me sometimes.  Which is exactly how my mom felt when her mom died.  And then she got sick (way too soon, God) and voila!  I became the mommy to her.  As much as it sucked, I’m glad that she had someone to hold her when the fear and the pain were too much and to tell her everything was going to be ok, even when we both knew it wasn’t.  That is what mommies do.

I miss you mom.  Six months is like 3 minutes and 102 years all wrapped up into one thing.  I would give anything to lay my head on your shoulder and have you stroke my hair and tell me everything is going to be ok.



p.s.  If June 6th wanted to do something besides be an asshole-reminder-of-sadness it could give me a new niece/nephew today… JUST A SUGGESTION, JUNE 6TH.

p.p.s.  I’m sobby and stabby and I just want my mom, dammit.  But I guess you knew that….

p.p.p.s.  If you know someone who is being a caregiver, give them a hug and tell them everything is going to be ok.  🙂



Filed under grief, The Caregiver with the Dragon Tattoo, Uncategorized, Writing and Not-Writing

Remember when Sue (the pretend-Buddha iguana) disappeared for a few days and then acted like nothing happened? Also: The end of May?

Remember when Sue, the pretend-Buddha iguana who lives on my wall, disappeared for a few days and then acted like nothing happened?


Something happened.

And I think I know what it was.


(and I’m pretty sure it was casual, motherfucker)

Yep.  Sue was out fucking around and now my backyard looks like a miniature Jurassic Park.

There are little iguana babies all over the place, skittering around on the ground, scaring the shit out of me and then hiding under the vegetation.  Which is probably pretty smart, since the birds seem to have noticed that they are here and would like to make a meal out of them.

I’ve tried to photograph them, but they are fast and my dang iPhone camera (and/or it’s operator) is s-l-o-w.

Just trust me.  There are a lot.

And what is Sue doing about this new development?


Just hanging on the wall, being all chill, ignoring me and his (her?) children.


I, for one, don’t think there’s anything “zen” about neglecting your children (or your friend Kim) Sue.  Where’s the loving kindness in that?

(I realize that I just confused Buddhism with Zen-stuff, but I’ve been drinking and I can’t sort it all out right now.)

I’m starting to doubt Sue’s buddha-nature.

I’m also starting to doubt my ability to write anything that doesn’t involve a (surprise!) LIST.


1.  How the fuck is it the last day of May?  Didn’t we just finish February?  I don’t understand time.

2.  If it’s the last day of May, then it is practically the 6th of June, which will mark 6 whole months since my artistic genius mom (with great hair) passed away.  And here is where time gets weird again.  I still feel like it happened yesterday.  I feel like it happened a lifetime ago. I feel like it never happened.  I feel like I’m still dreading the fact that it will happen.  I’m sad.  Every part of me is sad.  My hair is sad.  My toenails are sad.  My bones are sad.

3.  And I’m a little happy.  Well.  EXTREMELYHappy/Sad.  My brother and his wife (who I love) are having a baby ANY DAY NOW!  Aren’t babies amazing?  I always say that I can’t imagine ever loving another human being as much as I love my son, but my feelings for my brilliant niece Madison Grace come pretty darn close and my uterus is practically contracting in love for this new baby.  I’m serious.  I LOVE this baby.  I can’t wait to meet him/her and touch its little toes and kiss its little head and whisper “welcome to the world, baby – we already love you so much!”  And I can’t wait for my brother to get to experience this kind of love.  Primal love.  It’s such a gift.  Sigh….

4.  I was living in Denver and my sister was living in Atlanta when Madison was born.  She didn’t want me to come visit her right away when she had Madison, but when I heard that she was in labor and having a hard time (or maybe I imagined that part, I just couldn’t stand the thought of her in pain and none of us there with her)(even though her husband is amazing and totally capable STILL, I’m the seester) I left Denver in the middle of the night and flew to Atlanta.  And then I promptly forgot everything I knew about babies.  Seriously.  I was absolutely NO help at all.  I would like to think that I helped a little bit and that my sister was glad that I was there, but really, I think that I was more trouble than help.  STILL.  It seems like a representative of each family should be there to welcome the baby into the world, right?

5.  And now I’m in Mexico and my brother is in Los Angeles and they have said that I’m welcome to come anytime but I’m afraid to go because of the Madison debacle.  And I really really really really want to go.  So.  We will see what happens.  My next blog post may be from L-fucking-A, y’all.

6.  Or it could be from here, because I can’t seem to leave.  I look at flights and then I don’t buy a ticket about twice a day.  I know I have to leave.

7.  I also need to start working on the Celebration of Life we are having on July 14 (Mom’s birthday) in Lamar, CO.  We had a party for her here in Puerto Morelos in February and lots of family members were able to attend, but many more family and friends will be able to attend the party in Colorado in July.  Which is why it feels like her “FUNERAL”.  Which, it turns out, is why I had a major breakdown yesterday when there were some rumblings within the family about how maybe we should, ummm, start planning for this huge party we are hosting.  I lost it.  Completely.  I wanted to plan it and I didn’t want to plan it.  I was resentful and bitchy and I couldn’t even figure out what I was feeling or why.  And then I realized that none of what I was feeling was even about who was going to be doing the planning.  I just don’t want it to be planned. At all.  Because I don’t want it to happen.  Because I don’t want her to be dead.  And maybe the fact that we haven’t had a “FUNERAL” has somehow allowed me to continue to be in denial about the fact that she is really gone.

8.  Maybe this limbo that I’m in is also contributing to my inability to make any kind of decision about my future.  I’m not done taking care of my sweet mommy so I don’t have to think about taking care of me.  And so the party in July isn’t just huge in terms of letting Mom go, it’s huge in terms of “now what?” for me.

9.  So.  My friend Steve says that the little creatures that I thought were baby iguanas are not baby iguanas.  He thinks they are geckos.  He is wrong.  They are totally not geckos.  But I have to admit that it’s possible that they aren’t iguanas, either.  But I refuse to rewrite the beginning of this post, mostly because I’m still kind of pissed at Sue for disappearing like that and I like to think of him as a philanderer.

10.  This post would have been done approximately 10 hours ago but Steve the pretend “iguana expert” dropped by to drop off something and then we ended up going grocery shopping, chatting, drinking wine, chatting, watching the world go by on the front porch, chatting, having another friend stop by, chatting……  and that is just part of the reason why I love it here.  People just stop by and then adventures happen and more people stop by.  It’s not great for productivity, but it is great for, you know, LIFE.



p.s.  since i couldn’t get a picture of the baby iguanas (or whatever), the picture is of their environment – the side yard of the casa.  isn’t it cute?

p.p.s.  i suck at drinking early in the day.  that is why this post is going up so late.  i had to take a nap after the drinking.


Filed under Cancer sucks., The Caregiver with the Dragon Tattoo, Uncategorized, Writing and Not-Writing

Another place, another train. RIP MCA. Also, another list!

I am so saddened by the news that Adam Yauch – MCA of the Beastie Boys passed away.

He was my age.


I’m not going to pretend that I’m any kind of authority or super-fan of the Beastie Boys or Adam Yauch – I’m not.  But some of their music forms the soundtrack of my youth and I still listen to it today when I want to remind myself of what it felt like to be young and vibrant and so alive.  “She’s Crafty” and “No Sleep til Brooklyn” are probably my favorite BB tunes and both rank high on my “most played” iTunes list, with “Intergalactic” close behind.

Heavy sigh.


What else?

Oh, it’s Cinco de Mayo!  Seems like a good time for a list!


1.  It’s Cinco de Mayo and I’m in Mexico.  Which would be way more cool if Cinco de Mayo wasn’t a holiday that the Mexicans make fun of other people for celebrating.  Still.  It’s a holiday in my book….

2.  It’s eleventy-seven million degrees fahrenheit here today.  And it’s not a dry heat.  So instead of beach blogging, I’m bed-blogging with 2 massive fans pointed directly at me.  This is totally drying out my eyes, but making my hair fly around like I’m a supermodel at a photo-shoot, so that is cool.

3.  I could turn on the air conditioner, but then everyone would think I am a total wuss.  Air conditioning is a sensitive issue here, you guys.  For one thing, it’s expensive.  The electric utility here has some bizarre rate system that no one can explain to me, but basically it seems that once you hit a certain point of usage, the cost per unit of usage goes really, really high for the rest of the month.  To get around this, many houses are built with 2 or more electric meters, so that no individual meter hits the dreaded usage level.  My house has 2 meters.  The problem is that (a) I don’t know which meter corresponds with which part of the house (and therefore don’t know which air conditioning units are on which meter) and (b) I have no way of knowing what the dreaded usage level is by looking at the meters.  So that is confusing.

4.  But the real issue is that people judge you on whether or not you can stand the heat.  The thinking seems to be that people who can’t stand the heat are obviously inferior to those that can and also that if you can’t stand the heat, you should probably go the fuck back to where you came from and leave the whole “living in Mexico” thing to the professionals (and the Mexicans).  This seems a little harsh to me– a person who hasn’t adjusted to heat + humidity YET.

5.  Oh – I’m alive!  (No thanks to Typhoid Fever.)  About 5 days into the 10 days of antibiotics I started to feel like I just might make it and now I’m feeling enirely human again.  Yay.

6.  Big changes here at Casa de Colores — I’ve moved myself out of the big suite area in the back of the house and I now have a RENTER….  Weird, right?  It’s kind of a great spot for a renter, though.  It’s pretty much a studio apartment back there with a brand new refrigerator and microwave and a separate entrance, etc.  It’s weird to have someone in the house – especially when I’m used to running around half-nekkid in the god awful heat and to playing my music extremely loud when I’m showering, cleaning, cooking and/or writing.  Which pretty much covers everything I do in this house.  So there’s that.  But it also means that I’m getting a little bit of income to offset the cost of living here.

7.  Which is good, because I’ve decided to live here!

8.  Well, you know, KIND OF.  I’m having a hard time making any kind of firm committment to anything these days, but I’m mostly sure that I’m going to try to live here, like, for real.  At least for most of the year.  I have to go back to Colorado to take care of my stuff, my Mom’s stuff, etc. for at least a few months this summer and then I hope to come back in September/October and to stay through until at least next summer.

9.  I’m still trying to figure out exactly how I’m going to support myself here, but (SPOILER ALERT) it might involve (shhhhh) practicing law again.

10.  OMG – the monsters in my head are having a massive rally against the aforementioned (shhhhh) practicing law again, so I can’t really discuss it now, but YES, I think it is going to happen.

11.  The supporting of myself will also have to include some other stuff because, at least right now, the (shhhh) practicing law again is very, very part-time.  I think the other stuff may involve WRITING for MONEY – just not the kind of writing for money that I dreamed I would be doing, i.e., the best-selling novel kind of writing for money.  Oh no, this kind of writing is more the internet content and/or freelance article writing kind of writing.  Not nearly as glamorous, but more likely to pay actual money sometime before the year 2020.

12.  This is kind of a major announcement (Announcement!).  I probably shouldn’t have buried it in a Cinco de Mayo list.  Whatever.

13.  Have I mentioned that I’m about to be an Aunt again?!!!!  My brother and his wife are expecting their first child in early June!  I’m so excited and I’m also a little bit sad that our artistic genius Mom (with great hair) won’t be here to enjoy this new baby and his/her little tiny twinkle-toe feet.

14.  There’s more, but I can’t tell you about it right now.  Ha!



p.s.  sometimes i just feel like i’m writing you guys letters instead of “blogging” — is that wrong?  there’s also a lot of pressure (ok, it’s internal pressure, but still…) to be either (a) somewhat profound or (b) funny when i write and sometimes i can’t come up with either of those things.

p.p.s.  a baby!!!!


Filed under Cancer sucks., Writing and Not-Writing

Post-Moratorium-Kim is a lot like Pre-Moratorium-Kim, it turns out.

I wish I hadn’t written that last post on the Thursday of Mysteries.

I suppose I could just delete it and pretend like it never happened, but that seems disingenuous.  Plus some nice people commented on it, so just making it disappear seems rude.



It’s been bothering me.  A lot.  Especially the part about how it seems like I hate men.  Or penises.  Or both.

The truth is that I don’t hate men or their related equipment.  At all.

I think what I hate right now is me.

(That’s a tough one to say out loud…)

I hate how I came up with this “Moratorium” idea, then substantially complied with it (lawyer words for “I didn’t even do what I agreed to do, but I mostly did it and I think I get credit for that.”) and then it was over and – voila!I’m still the same as pre-Moratorium-Kim, except with another year of sad shit to come to terms with.

Pre-Moratorium-Kim had good intentions for the year of not using love/the search for love to avoid other important shit.  That Kim thought that she would focus on loving herself and loving her life and she would deal with all sorts of nagging issues that she had been avoiding for so long and then she would emerge at the end of the Moratorium as someone much better equipped to find/be in a relationship.  With a man, who has a penis, which she doesn’t and never has, hated.


Silly Pre-Moratorium-Kim….

In her defense, Pre-Moratorium-Kim had no clue about what those 12 months of Moratorium were going to bring.  She had no idea that her artistic genius Mom (with great hair) would have the sneaky kind of ovarian cancer that goes to the brain and then fucks things up from there.  She didn’t know about the brain surgery, the paralysis, the Gamma Knife surgery… She didn’t know that she was going to become a for real full-time caregiver.  She didn’t know that the time she had imagined spending doing meaningful things to figure out her own shit was going to be spent trying to make life bearable for her sweet mommy and/or spent lost in angst over how much she resented the burden of trying to make life bearable for her sweet mommy and then more angst about the awful shameful resentment.  She didn’t know how her son’s graduation from High School was going to pull the last remnants of the rug that had been her life out from under her.  That it would leave her reeling and unmoored and so, so sad about things she can never change.  She didn’t know about the packing up the house and putting life in storage.  She didn’t know about the homecoming in Mexico, the fall, the broken hip, the midnight flight back to the USA.  She didn’t know about the hip surgery, the horrible rehab center, the night her sweet mommy would ask her if she was dying and she would reply “no” because she was unable to comprehend that “yes” might be the answer.  She didn’t know how it would feel when the not-knowing-something turns into knowing-something and that something is that your sweet mommy is dying in front of your eyes.  Pre-Moratorium-Kim had no idea that instead of spending time figuring her own shit out, she would be getting up in the middle of the night to slip into/onto her mom’s hospital bed and crying on her mostly unconscious mom’s shoulder begging her to stay and telling her it was ok to go.  She didn’t know her Mom was really going to go.

I feel a little bit sad for Pre-Moratorium-Kim, she had such high hopes, such good intentions and then look at all that happened instead.

And now I hate myself a little less for being in pretty much exactly the same situation as Pre-Moratorium-Kim.  We didn’t really have a chance, did we?  It was months upon months of reacting to what was happening with Mom.  Maybe I should give myself a break for not fixing my own life last year.  I just hope that all the not-fixing-my-life made my Mom’s last year a little less awful.



p.s.  it’s so weird how i start out writing one thing and end up somewhere completely different.  i don’t know if this post makes sense to anyone but me, but i guess that is ok.  i feel a smidge better than i did when i started writing.

p.p.s.  i do really hate that Thursday of Mysteries post.

p.p.p.s.  i had Easter dinner at cantina habanero’s here in pto. morelos.  cheeseburger and fries.  very strange.  i am really missing my family right now.  on the other hand, i went scuba diving for the first time in 3 years yesterday!  it was amazing.  i love being underwater. (and being able to breathe while underwater)


Filed under Cancer sucks., grief, The Caregiver with the Dragon Tattoo, Writing and Not-Writing

Hello Grief? Meet Depression. Happy Monday.

It’s Monday again.

Another Monday before another Tuesday that marks another week that has passed since my artistic genius Mom (who had great hair) passed away.

It’s been 5 weeks.

And now I remember about the part where the real grief doesn’t start right after someone you love dies.  No, the first few weeks are just the warm-up – the prelude, if you will – to the fucked up marathon that is grief with a capital “G”. 


The first few weeks after a loss (in my limited experience) seem to be marked by surrealism.  Shock.  Senses dulled.  Inability to comprehend the situation.  Sweet sadness.  The world doesn’t stop, but it does seem to understand that something has happened and some slack is cut.  Understanding.  A pulling together.

Then the world moves on.  Things need to be done.  Papers filed, people notified, accounts closed.  Business taken care of.  Clothes packed away.  Expectations shift.  Cheer up, don’t wallow, life goes on, look on the bright side.

And now the grief sneaks up on me, and it is brutal.  It slices me open.  It brings me to my knees. 

There’s her car, her favorite color, a quote she would love, a funny story that I want to tell her, a baby she should be holding, a celebration she should be a part of, a new year she should be ringing in with me.

Oh, yes.  Hello Grief.  I remember you now.

And then there’s the Depression. 

(Which I’ve written about here and here and here and then I named it “Oscar” here and more here… )

Everyone around me (including me, of course) has been on a sort of heightened alert for “signs” that I’m slipping into depression (Depression Watch 2012?!).  Which is a little uncomfortable, but understandable, given my history and my mother’s history and my grandmother’s history and various other relatives-with-life-threatening-depression history,  plus the fact that my Great Anti-Antidepressant Experiment of 2011 remains in effect.


Yesterday I thought I was fine, “just” grieving.  Today I think it’s not just Grief.  Depression seems to have officially joined the party.

Heavy sigh.


And why did I think this wouldn’t happen?

Those of you who haven’t been blessed with the gift of debilitating and horrifying bouts of depression might be thinking that it is easy to confuse Grief with Depression.

You would be wrong.

Grief and Depression are two totally different things/experiences/phenomena.

Grief says:  “My Mom died and I’m so very sad.  I miss her.  She was too young to die.  There’s a huge hole in my life.  I can’t believe she’s dead.  Is she dead?  I hate that she is dead.  Nothing will ever be the same.  I wish it hadn’t happened this way.  I want to call my Mom and tell her what happened today but I can’t.  My heart hurts.”

Depression says:  “Your Mom died and it’s your fault.  If you hadn’t asked her to come help you in the kitchen she wouldn’t have tried to get up and tripped on her dress and fallen and broken her hip and you would still be in Mexico and she would be happy and laughing with her friends and probably she would be so happy that her brain tumor would’ve stopped growing, or at least slowed down and she would’ve had more time.  You suck.  Also, you should have brought her straight home from the Dreaded Hospital after her hip surgery instead of taking her to the Awful and Sad Rehabilitation Center, if you had done that she would probably still be alive now.  Plus you suck for being such an emotional wreck — you knew she was going to die so why are you so shocked and upset about it now?  If you were any kind of a decent human being you would pull yourself together immediately and move on with your life and stop using the fact that your mother just died to excuse your incompetence.  But what’s the point, really? It’s all awfulness and doom and gloom from here on out.  It’s just a matter of time until you get ovarian cancer and die.  Alone.”

At it’s core, Grief seems to be complicated, prolonged sadness.  Depression is sadness + self-hatred + other awful things  feeding on each other and spiralling out of control.

Together they could destroy me.

So I’m calling on all my superpowers to fight back.  (I’m not sure what they are yet, but I am pretty sure I have some.)

And I’m going to the doctor to discuss going back on an antidepressant.

And I’m seeing my Wise Therapist as much as I can.

And I’ve now exercised Two Days In A Row.

And I just wrote a blog post, dammit.



p.s.  So I’m back in Colorado (yay! home!) staying with my Aunt and Uncle for a bit and then I’m going to head to Mexico and then we are going to have a non-Memorial party for my sweet Mommy and then I’m going to miraculously figure out what the fuck I’m going to do with the rest of my life and then I’m going to go do it, somewhere.

p.s.s.  OH, and please, please, please don’t think you need to write/comment and tell me that of course I’m not responsible for my Mom’s death.  I know that is the Depression talking.  Also, please, please, please no well-meaning advice on how I should or should not take antidepressants and which ones I should or should not take.  I just need this to be a safe space to process my stuff.  Out loud. 

p.s.s.s.  Isn’t the photograph here amazing?  I love that she’s not struggling and her face is to the sun.  Even though the sun is muted and filtered and weak from all the water surrounding her.  The photographer is the same woman who took the photo in my Monday pulls me under post, Toni Frissell.



Filed under grief, The Caregiver with the Dragon Tattoo, The Great Anti-Antidepressant Experiment of 2011

Bullshit post written while under the influence of a lot of dark chocolate and a dash of self-pity. Enjoy….

I need to write and I don’t know where to start.

So I’ve been eating chocolate instead.  Lots of it.  Dark chocolate.

(thank you for the christmas chocolates uncle david)

And crying.

And staring at this blank screen.

So here goes….

It’s been 22 days since Mom died and I’ve spent virtually all of them here, in my sister’s home in Tampa.

Being here has probably saved my life, and not just because of the chocolate. 

(for all sorts of reasons that I can’t write about right now or else I will start bawling again and searching for more chocolate)

I’ve been in a little protective bubble. 

But all that is going to change when I fly back to Colorado tomorrow.

And I’m all jumbled up about it — sad to leave my sister and family, excited to see my son, sad to leave the ocean, can’t wait to be back in the mountains, sad to leave my niece,  looking forward to not answering her 4.3 million questions a day, sad to leave the last place I saw my sweet mommy, sad to go back to Colorado without her, excited to be with the rest of my family, freaked out because I haven’t seen most of  them since before Mom died and it’s going to feel all fresh and raw and horrible again.

Plus the whole “NOW WHAT” issue is hanging over everything.

Once I leave this protective bubble and the holidays are over there seems to be this expectation (from everyone, including, not surprisingly, me) that I will just get on with life. Tra-la-la.

(that’s not true — no one is expecting tra-la-la, per se)

Which I guess is what normally happens. 

Life goes on.

Except I have no idea how that is going to happen for me because I don’t know where I’m going to live or what I’m going to do or even, in a way, who I am now, without my Mom and her illness kind of  “defining” the terms of my life.

(And now I’m imagining that scene in Zoolander when Derek peers into the gutter at his reflection and asks “Who am I?”…. So lame…)


All I can do at this point is take things one day at a time.  Anything more feels too big.



p.s.  ugh. 

p.s.s.  thanks for all the notes of support.  i love you guys.

p.s.s.s.  i really hope i’m able to write something that isn’t bullshit soon.  yikes.


Filed under grief, The Caregiver with the Dragon Tattoo

In other news, I’m pregnant. With the Buddha. Congratulations, Buddhism.

This is not necessarily a “real” post.  If you’re new here, you might want to skip this one and proceed to some of the other morbidly depressing posts from the last few weeks.

Mostly I just feel the need to check in  and confirm that  I have not, in fact, fallen into the pit of despair and hot lava and bad poetry.  (Ok, I did write some bad “poetry” from the edge of the pit of despair (and — cringe — publish it) but I didn’t go all the way in.)

Also, I am now in a little hotel on Longboat Key near Sarasota, Florida.


I needed some solitude and space of my own.  My sister and her husband and child needed to have their home/life to themselves after a month of hosting not only Mom and I, but then seven more relatives who came to stay during Mom’s last few days.

We’ve had a LOT of togetherness, which is difficult under “normal” circumstances, but when your artistic genius Mom (with great hair) dies right in the middle of the togetherness, everything takes on a new flavor.


The new flavor is “everything SUCKS” and we will pretend to be kind of ok with it but we all know it SUCKS and we are barely containing our extreme range of emotions regarding the pure SUCKINESS of it all.


I’m here on Longboat Key in a tiny little hotel overlooking the gulf of Mexico and it’s perfect.  It’s mostly empty and the few people here seem as eager to avoid conversation as I am, so everyone is minding their own business.  There are no kids.  Which is good because (a) I’m a total curmudgeon right now and (b) I’m bracing myself for taking care of my brilliant six year old niece all next week.  She’s amazing and a joy.  And she talks 10000% of the time.  You might think I’m exaggerating.  I’m not.  And it isn’t just idle chit-chat.  She is either bossing me around or saying something that makes me think her parents should be talking to Harvard and MIT, like, now.  Oh, and she is drop dead gorgeous.  If I weren’t so mature, I would be jealous of her already.

Here’s what I’ve been doing:

  • Walking on the beach.
  • Reading (OMG – The Untethered Soul is still blowing my mind.  Everyone should read this book.)
  • Journalling
  • Being mostly silent.
  • I showered today!
  • Crying.
  • Watching Season 2 of Dexter (how did I miss Season 2?  I don’t even know…)
  • Trying to ignore the Internet, except for the “meaningful” parts, which by definition, means I’m trying to avoid TMZ and anything “E” channel related.

During my quest for meaningful-ness on the Internet, I watched a webcast of Thich Nhat Hanh (Buddhist monk/leader/amazing person) speaking about Mother Earth.  Well, I think he was going to be speaking about Mother Earth, but he started talking about how we all have mothers, even the Buddha had a mother and, basically, there is this “overall” mother – Mamaya (sp?) – who, I’m assuming is akin to Mother Earth.  But what struck me was the part of the story where a student went to study with Mamaya (who was dead, of course, so he did a sitting meditation and got to her) and Mamaya was all “I was so happy when I was pregnant with the Buddha — no worries, no fear, only compassion – I couldn’t believe how big my womb was to hold all this compassion….” (Note that I’m not AT ALL quoting this correctly) and Thay (that is Thich Nhat Hanh’s, ummm, nickname?) went on to say that like Mamaya, we are ALL pregnant with the Buddha.  We all have this capacity for loving kidness and compassion inside of us – man or woman – and we believe we are just small humans but really we are huge, with huge wombs for all the Buddha-nature inside all of us.

[DEAR REAL BUDDHISTS:  I realize I’m probably butchering this beautiful story and you’re probably all “JESUS CHRIST, if you can’t get the story right, don’t even tell it, you’re ruining Buddhism for everyone else!”  And then I would say back to you “ummm, where’s the loving kindness in that, dude?  At least I’m not acting like I’m some kind of expert on Buddhism…”]

I fell asleep before Thay got to the real message re: Mother Earth (if you’ve ever heard him talk, you will understand why it is easy to fall asleep listening to him.  Also, he speaks Vietnamese.) which, I think, was going to be something like how we need to love our earth like we love our Mother and honor her capacity, etc. etc.  So, I guess I did hear most of it.


I had already heard what I needed to hear:  I am pregnant with the Buddha.

That explains a LOT.

Like how I should probably nurture the part of me that is chock full of loving kindness and compassion and peace and “it’s all good” instead of listening to the parts that are all “YOU SUCK.  YOU CAN’T EVEN GRIEVE RIGHT.  WHAT A LOSER.”  It also explains my fat belly and current obsession with yoga pants 🙂



p.s.  I warned you that this was not a real post.

p.s.s.  Is it healthy or scary that I still have a sense of humor at this time?

p.s.s.s.  How early is too early to start drinking on a Friday afternoon when you’re grieving the loss of all your alcoholic parents?  (Today is Dad’s birthday – RIP JKT)


Filed under Cancer sucks., grief, My Big Book of Me, The Caregiver with the Dragon Tattoo