Question of the Day: On a Boat

Today’s question is:

What would you name your boat if you had one?

First I did some research on the web, what exactly goes into a boat name.

I consulted this article from esurance.

Apparently it can be almost as complicated as naming your kid! You have to consider safety for ease in relaying the information to the authorities, what the name says about you, and also the gender of the name (boats are generally considered to be female).

So, what would I name my boat.

I think I’d go with something in memory of Parker, honestly.  Maybe, Remembering Her.

I’ll have to think on this one more.

How about you?

What would you name your boat if you had one?

Just a date on the calendar

Yesterday was June 1st. While everyone was posting happy pride messages, and I was being all excited about this trip north and seeing Jess and her son (pictures later I’m sure) . . .

I was also constantly realizing it’s now June. It’s now “that month.”

Yesterday Parker mom changed her profile picture to the Parker ribbon, which I’ve been thinking about doing myself and I was torn between changing mine and staying positive and in the moment because I’m on a vacation and damn it aren’t I supposed to be happy.

But I am happy. I did a lot of great things yesterday. Nothing on the way up here really went as planned which is typically a huge trigger for me, but I made it anyway and I honestly was okay. Right now my grief is there but it’s manageable.

Jess pointed out that last time I was here I couldn’t have been on the floor with the baby crawling around but now I absolutely can, and that’s a big deal to me.

And it’s also June 2nd, and it is crawling ever closer to 2 years since Parker died. And it’s horrible, but it’s also amazing that I’ve made it, and that I’m doing all of the things. And that I’m riding the waves of emotions that come with living life. And that I’m doing it in a way that is so uniquely me.

I don’t dream of Parker often, and the last time I saw her in a dream it was shortly after she died and I was angry because she kept running from me and leaving me. And this last time I was yelling at her but couldn’t see her.

I dreamt of her last night and it wasn’t angry, it was loving, I could see her and touch her and hear her, she actually said she was just hiding and wasn’t actually dead, and when I woke up I knew it was a dream and I expected a wave of dread and sadness, but instead I was at peace.

I’m sad, I’m so sad that she’s gone, but I really do love where I am in my life. I want her back in this world. I wish I could have parts of who we were back, but I don’t want to go back to who I was.

It’s the month of June which means we’re creeping ever closer to the date that changed my life, but that day was 2 years ago and who I am now won’t change just because the day passes on the calendar again. That’s getting easier for me to say and I’m hoping that eventually my anxiety catches up.

Personal Space

The person beside me on the bus seems thrilled that I take up my amount of space.

Guess what, I’m allowed to sit here and would prefer my own aisle too.

Yep I looked before sitting beside you. You can stop huffing looking up and down the aisles, I’ll happily move so you can get out and go sit somewhere else though.

I’m allowed my space.

I’m within my allotted seat area. I honestly looked for someone small to minimize the chances of touching cause I know that gets uncomfortable for everyone.

Although we are probably both just anxious as fuck cause sharing a seat with a stranger sucks no matter who it is.

I’m allowed my space though. I’m tired of apologizing for who I am and the space I take up.

Big

Quite often I post about the bad side of feeling everything so deeply. The dark side of mental illness, the grieving side of widowhood.

What I don’t post about as often, is the positive ways I see the world because of it.

One reason that things go from great, to dangerous so quickly with me, is that I feel everything big. I don’t see in grey, or in multiple shades of a color. I see the brightest shade there is, or I see a vast nothingness.

I feel pain as if that is all that exists in this world but that means I feel love and joy the same way. Normally that love and joy is almost overwhelming in its intensity, it’s as bright as the clothes I normally wear.

But, sometimes I find peace in a moment, and it connects things in a way that is just right. My thoughts slow down, and I know I’m in the right place. It happens during quiet moments or in the middle of a crowd. It can happen when I’m still or moving. It happens in both happy moments and grieving ones.

I feel those peaceful moments in a way that is just as big, and grand.

I’ve heard it said before that we wouldn’t wish widowhood on anyone, but we’d wish the lessons we’ve learned on everyone.

Similarly, I wish that everyone could see the world the way I see it now without suffering that sort of loss. I think that’s also true of someone who has lived with any chronic mental health condition. When the fog clears for any period of time, we have a different perspective.

I really am enjoying my life right now, even though I am dealing with some really big emotions, and some really big processing.

Life is good.

No Cooler Needed

It’s amazing how much all of the old comes into the new, even when you want to let it go.

I’m not a doctor or a therapist, and honestly I haven’t even talked to my therapist about this, so this may not even be actual PTSD stuff . . but it sure as fuck feels like it right now.

Packing for vacation and I’m So Fucking Stressed.

I see a bottle of water while I’m going through my mental checklist for the 100th time and wonder if we packed the cooler . . . I’m not even taking a cooler on this trip . . . and I realize, I am questioning if we packed the cooler because in every other road trip/vacation I’ve ever taken as an adult, the cooler would have the food to make it through this trip. . . . and if I forgot the cooler, I may not have had food to eat at some point on the road. . . and there wasn’t typically money to buy extra . . .or if I did, it meant scrambling to replace where I took that money from.

In day to day life I’m constantly changing what size purse I carry . . and it’s because for a long time once I didn’t have a car, I had to make sure I could carry everything I might need. It became one coping mechanism of many. Have all of the motrin and the tylenol, and the battery backup, and the headphones, but also something to occupy your brain, and extra change for the bus, and your water, and something to eat because you could get stuck in the middle of no where and then what.

The concept of, if you forget it, you can just buy one if you need it. That’s completely new to me. Not that I didn’t typically have some cash on me. And I always made stupid decisions with money, but every decision I made with money was followed by weeks of rearranging every other financial thing in my life to make sure we still ate, and that the lights stayed on . . . and making sure we didn’t get behind on bills and have to move . . AGAIN.

Or in the case of a road trip to visit family, making sure that we could still get back home at the end, without overdrawing the bank too much more than I had already planned for.

And I still have a hard time leaving my house without my water bottle and a giant fucking purse full of things that I almost never use, because it’s so hard to get out of survival mode.

And how many times have I had to remind myself that I don’t need to pack a cooler this time?

Tarzan

In 2001, shortly after my 21st birthday, almost 2 year old Kidlet and I took a road trip from Baltimore MD to Texas (Austin I think).

When I got pregnant with Kidlet, one of my best friends was there to give me a hug.  And now she was in Texas and she was pregnant and wanting a hug, so, I went to make it happen.

The soundtrack for the trip was from Disney’s Tarzan. Kidlet and I listened to it over and over and at one point I reached back during You’ll Be In My Heart and held his sleeping foot and made a promise to him to always be there, and to show up no matter what it took.

The other day something made me think of that soundtrack and I played it and the memory came flooding back of that first road trip. And the first major thing I did without the safety of my family right there. When I realized I could do this thing called adulting. And when I realized I could do this thing called mom-ing.

Still here kid. Just a bit further away and still so so proud of you.