Time is running short.

I’m running out of time. Somewhere along the way, I must have blinked. Or maybe I turned my head and lost focus on him for a minute. But when I looked back, he was half-grown!

Seems like it went like this:

1.       He was born

2.       He got a few teeth and started walking.

3.       He rode a bike, played basketball and learned how to hunt and fish.

4.       He’s taller than I am now.

WAIT! What???

When did that happen? What was I doing while this was going on? Why didn’t I notice?

I don’t know how it is for other moms, but for me, I remember everything about my kids as babies. Then I have a few really great memories of their early school years. And now it’s all just a blur! There are activities every weekend, meetings every week, and friends and homework and meals and arguments and laughter. I know it’s all there, I just can’t pay attention to it all. And then out of nowhere, I look up (yes, I have to LOOK UP) at my son, and he’s HUGE! He looks like a full grown young man.

He has responsibilities. He has a cell phone.  People outside this house actually count on him, and depend on him. He works part-time, and has a savings account. And he’s so serious.

Don’t get me wrong, he knows how to laugh and have fun. He’s a typical boy, in that he laughs at fart-noises and burps, enjoys stupid comedy shows that make me shake my head, and loves hunting and fishing. And video games.  And computers.  And music.   And his momma.  And his Nanny.

 

He has a quick temper, but is also quick to apologize when he’s wrong. He’s strong. He’s handsome. (Of course I’m going to say he’s handsome, he’s my son! But take a look for yourself.)

 I keep thinking, “I’m running out of time!” Time for what? What do I need time for? Time to be the only woman he needs in his life. Time to make sure he knows the kind of man he should be, and the kind of woman he should look for. Time to teach him about parenting, and working a full time job, and driving a car. But most of all, time to form memories. Because I can already see it in his face, in his eyes. He, like every other teenaged boy out there, already thinks he knows it all, can do it all, if we’d just give him the chance.

But I’m not ready yet.

In Remembrance

I wish I could share this 30’s thing with him. He’d be 33 on February 7^th. He shares his birthday with Garth Brooks. 

I could commiserate with him over all the little things that seem to be breaking down in my body, complain about how sometimes life just isn’t fair, and talk to him about our parents. He would worry with me over the things that I worry about. He would celebrate my accomplishments with me. I would love to know what he would have accomplished with his life to this point. Would he be married? Would I have a sister-in-law? A woman who would love him, take care of him, argue with him and keep him in line? Would he have children? How many and what would their names be? He died in 2001, age 22. 

When we were kids, we made a pact: we would never let anything come between us, we’d always be friends. We saw our mother angry with our uncles about something. We had no idea why, only that they weren’t getting along at the time, and we promised each other we would never be like that. We were each other’s first best friend.

We shared everything, up to and including our birthday parties. Our birthdays were only 8 days apart and only 2 years separated us, so I don’t remember a single time when he wasn’t there for my birthday. I don’t think I ever missed his either. Until 2002. That birthday was hard. It was the first birthday without him. It was the first time I truly felt like an only child. I was lost. He was my anchor. I could face any number of birthdays, and grow old gracefully, as long as I was watching him age right along with me. 

I’ll be 35 on February 15^th. While I worry about things like varicose veins, adult acne, stretch marks, and wrinkles, his body is whole and perfect. He has no aches and pains. He isn’t aging.

I remember how we used to compare things about ourselves. His hands were like mine, only more masculine, with square nails. His nose was bigger, but not huge. It was my grandpa’s nose. The Maberry genes run strong in our family, and my oldest son has that same nose now. We both had curly hair. I think back to when I was in Cosmetology school, and he’d let me cut his hair for practice. He was a teenager, and grew little curls out in the back, just at the bottom edge of his hairline, and the girls he dated all loved to run their fingers through it. My youngest son has hair just like his. 

I see these reminders of him every day, and I wonder how on earth can it be that he isn’t here? He’s been gone almost 10 and a half years. TEN YEARS. But ten years isn’t so long, when I look at the life ahead of me, and realize that I have maybe another 35 years without him as well. 

I’ve been through a lot in my young life so far, and nothing surpasses the pain of losing him. Nothing has been bigger than the emptiness left by his loss, so far. And in a way, that’s comforting, because I survived. I’m still here.

And he’s still with me. I carry him in my heart, and I know he watches over me and his niece and nephews.

I miss him.

                               (This was at our Birthday party in 2001, the last one we had together.)

Yeah, it's been a while. Just go with it :)

I feel like I’ve spent the last week or so fighting invisible foes.  

 Unseen - or maybe unforeseen – enemies pop up out of nowhere.  Enemies I can’t seem to get my hands on.

It’s like someone set loose the Bad Luck Gnomes to wreak havoc in my brain. OK, well maybe that’s overstating it a bit. I know my problems are very small compared to some, but still…. There I was, floating along on my little cloud of happiness, and Wham! Within two weeks:

• my heater is out,
• my computer died an agonizing death and left me stranded with no files backed-up,
• Hubby’s computer lost all his files while he was trying to fix mine,
• Hubby needs a new truck,
•  I have the worst case of hives in years,
• And lastly, I discovered that sometimes I’m just not enough.

Now, to elaborate: The heater works - intermittently. And it makes a huge clunking noise when it shuts off. Needless to say, I’m very thankful for the mild weather we’ve had so far. The part is on order, but I haven’t heard A. SINGLE. WORD! From the heater-man. Aggravating. I can’t fight this one, if no one returns my calls. ~sigh~

After four agonizing days without my computer, I got it fixed, had a new hard drive installed, and was told the info on my old hard drive was unrecoverable. $380 later, I have a new hard-drive and a working computer, but little else – including hope. And patience. I’m all out of that too. Thankfully, my friend Lisa has her Computer Geek. Working on my old hard-drive, and there’s a tiny bit of hope that my info can be recovered. I can’t fight this one and win, I have to hire someone to fight it for me.

Hubby figured if he bought Windows7, he could install it on his computer, copy it to mine, and VIOLA! Problem fixed! Not so, my friends. Windows7 is not an upgrade from Vista, and required a hard install, meaning anything Hubby hadn’t backed up recently was lost. ~sigh again~ Furthermore, it requires separate licenses on separate computers, unlike older versions of Windows Programs. Ouch, expensive for a non-fix! If I’m fighting anything here, it’s the urge to smack myself in the head for throwing good money after bad.

Hubby’s truck has been showing signs of distress for a couple of years now.  We’ve had the transmission rebuilt twice, and still it struggles. It’s time to say good-bye to the Dodge. However, buying a vehicle on credit when you’re self-employed isn’t easy. So we’re fighting with the loan companies who want pay-stubs, when all we have are tax-returns to prove our income.  Ay-yi-yi! So we continue to push the poor Dodge well beyond its usefulness. I’m fighting anonymous people with understandable rules that shouldn’t necessarily apply to everyone. And I’m not winning, by the way.

The hives… What can I say? My skin looks like raw meat in places, and itches infernally. It’s my own fault, but I assure you, my motives were pure. I wanted to save money! So I made my own laundry detergent. I was informed that for $9 I could make 6-9 months-worth of laundry detergent. Since I easily spend $20 a month or more on laundry detergent and fabric softener, I thought, “why not?” Let me tell you why not:

HIVES!!! And did I save any money? NOOOO!!!! Because I had to spend $54 for the doctor to tell me what I already knew, and $26 for medication that will make me hungry and moody. Like I need that! I’m fighting myself on this one. It just is what it is. 

And that last one? The one about not being enough? Well, what can I say? I’m a “fixer” by nature. I’m a helper. I’m the person that will do everything I can to make sure someone else feels better.  But despite my best efforts (which sometimes go unappreciated or unnoticed, and that’s ok, since I don’t do it for recognition) sometimes there is just nothing more I can do to help. I fight helplessness in this instance, and I don’t like it. It’s the invisible foe. The unseen enemy. It sneaks in when I’m not looking and whispers to me:

“Why? Why can’t you fix this? Why can’t you make the impression that needs to be made? What else could you do? What haven’t you tried yet?” 

This fight is my most difficult, though it leaves no open wounds, raw skin, itchiness, or financial disaster in its wake. This fight leaves me spent, emotionally, physically, and mentally. I’m a control freak (my closest friends and family already know this about me) and I hate the feeling that there is nothing I can do. I hate realizing that all my exhaustive attempts have been fruitless. That this ONE THING is out of my control and there’s nothing more I can do. I can’t fix everyone. I can’t fix ANYONE. I can only love them and pray for them, and hope that someone is praying for me too, because  I just can’t fight anymore.