Mexico

He stood in a cantina and told her many times
"Lets run away to Mexico!"
And his eyes and his beard said maybe he was joking
because they both had people and things to do
so they'd do their own thing from across the room
and close the place down when it was time
He'd hand her the envelope and she'd run to get home
Someone she loved was waiting...

Then they found a common goal in saving a sinking ship
although who's to say what ship was sinking...
and when the envelope was passed it was to a girl sitting
not a girl running but
a girl thinking and planning
about saving a sinking ship that they both were on
or maybe two sinking ships, who's to say...
while the someones that loved them were waiting...

And the girl who liked to shine started waiting for the dark
and discussions and plans of parties and such
about watching as he spoke of the things he loved
and the things that loved him
and the things that he'd run to Mexico to escape
while the girl watched intently and saw with her ears
a sinking ship who'd run to get home
someone he loved was waiting...

Until one day, her ship sank too
but she never saw the fatal blow
and was left to wonder, will I be ok
am I really what they all claim as they sit and say?
And he held her with his eyes and wrapped her in his words
reassured her of what she'd be the last to know
He knew the ship that sank was meant to fail
How else would they make it to Mexico?

Once in a while you get shown the light in the
strangest of places if you look at it right
the song lyrics took on different meanings
as he'd quote them cryptically to all who mattered
but one read every word and understood
and waited on her raft as all good friends should
The holes in his ship were letting in water too fast...
Haul water as he may, his ship wouldn't last...

Mexico's too hot, he told her one day
More of a woods man, in an Eagle Scout way
where else could we go to disappear?
And it hit them both, they could stay right here.

The fix it man knew what had to be done
Some things can't be saved no matter how you try
And life's too short to watch the one you love
try to move on when everyone else is wrong
Because her person was waiting there at the Cantina
With more than an evelope at the end of the night
Let sinking ships sink while they sat til dawn
the one they loved was right there all along...

It's not how they were built, not what they believed
But they'd be remiss to throw a gift like this away
And so running but not running, off they went
Building a ship they hoped would never sink
In the meantime they saved the one ship they could
Its a strange sort of happiness knowing it is what it is
People will question, it's not for them to know
how they finally found their own Mexico

Pills

It's starting to happen. My little eight year old boy is growing up. And in a strange twist of everything I thought I believed-I'm helping him, instead of trying to keep him my little baby forever.

We were sitting on the swings yesterday generally goofing off when he asked if I still loved him. Why on earth would he ever question that?! I reassured him I most certainly love him still and wondered about what made him think like this.

"You don't treat me like a baby anymore," he looked down at his feet.

"Of course I don't! You're eight years old now. We did the baby thing, where I picked you up all of the time and taught you colors and shapes, what things were called and what they did. We've learned how to roll over, to crawl, to walk, to run, to skip, to jump and how to ride a two wheeler. You can make your own sandwhiches and you know to look both ways and listen for cars before you cross the road. You help me by taking out the trash and the dog when I ask you to. And more importantly, you've started to be able to stay at home by yourself when I need to make a quick trip to the store. That's huge!"

"But it doesn't feel like you love me as much,"

"I most certainly do. I think I love you more every day that goes by. It's just a different way of interacting. If I were to treat you like a baby now, eventually, you'd be embarrassed. What if I never let you ride your bike around the big circle? You'd get tired of riding up and down a short little sidewalk. As you grow, I have different goals for you. I know you're going to be a teenager soon. Right now, you still pay attention to the things I have to tell you and you understand the reasons why I'm telling you them. Things like, 'don't open the door to anyone unless they have our secret word' or 'don't go too far away from me in case something happens and you need help-I need to be able to get to you'. Right now I'm taking a short trip to the  grocery store, but when you're 16 and I have to work at night, you'll probably want to stay home without a babysitter. Right now, you are riding a two wheeler and you go faster than I can walk beside you, but soon, you're going to want to walk to the park with your friends. The rules I'm giving you now are the basic rules that you'll have all the way up til you leaving my house and becoming an adult. It's easy to coddle you, to love you and wrap you in my arms and never let you go and just cover your cute little face with kisses. It's the hardest kind of love to learn to loosen my grip a little and understand that I have to set you up for the rest of your life. Even when I do wrap you up now and cuddle and kiss you, you only last a minute or two before you're fighting me to escape. Every time, I let you go because I love you and want you to become the best M you can be,"

"Like baby birds flying,"

"Exactly like that."

And then I wake up in the middle of the night to hear the very distinct sound of vomiting, and I rush to put on my robe and get in the bathroom to help my heaving child... thinking, why didn't he call for me? How did I not know this was happening?!

when I reach the door, he throws a hand back at me to push me away and says, in between heaves, "Mom! I've got this! Stay away, I don't want you to get sick,"

And I'm left, holding myself in the hallway and refusing to let him shut the door because I need to rub his back or get him a wash cloth...or just something...anything..

When it stops for a minute and he looks at me, eyes wide, and says, "Mom, I've been throwing up because of my allergies and asthma for years now. I throw up all the time. I'm used to it. I don't need your help right now,"

And because we've had this discussion just hours before, I learn to sit back and let him handle it. To be amazed and proud of him for being strong enough and capable enough to want to go it alone. I watch him clean himself up, clean up the bathroom (not that I'm not going to blast the place with Lysol as soon as he goes to bed) and get a garbage ready for next to his bed. I sit quietly and let him do his thing until he's ready to be tucked back into his bed where he looks up with me with the same big eyes and says..

"mom, I'm scared."

"of what, baby?"

"People die of vomiting!"

"You won't die, baby."

"It's hard to breathe,"

"That's why we take allergy medicine. It stops our bodies from producing this mucus that you have a hard time handling,"

"I think I'm going to stop fighting you about taking pills,"

"I think that's a great idea,"

"Mom? Thank you for letting me do this on my own,"

"I get it, baby. But when you need help, I'm right here,"

"Now I know why you talk to Grandpa so much,"

"Really? Why do you think that is?"

"You know you can do it, but your parents are always there for you to talk about it with,"

Right on, Bambino. Right. On.

Thank You Note

It has come to my attention that I am a very lucky girl. At 28, I've only lost one grandparent-my maternal grandmother-when I was six years old. I remember small parts about her funeral and large parts about how I missed her and wished we could talk. As an adult, though, I realize how blessed I am to have only experienced that one loss.

I just returned home from the wake for my son's paternal grandfather. Of course, my son (at eight years old) wanted to go. He's inquisitive by nature and compassionate. I wondered how much he wanted to be there to support his father. Family is of utmost importance to M, and while I was cutting his hair he was telling me how he doesn't know why his daddy hasn't cried yet. We all grieve differently, I explained.

I'm proud of my son. He handled the situation with a maturity far beyond his years. He communicated appropriately when he needed to step outside for a break and asked if he could be positioned so that he may not see his grandfather laying in the open casket. He greeted people properly, shook hands, hugged, expressed sympathy... all things that his father and I had neglected to warn him about. M even had his first experience with a weird relative! Let me tell you, I was laughing!

We explained that this is what these times are for. All of the people showed up to remember his grandfather and tell stories about the good times they had with him. Stories that communicated his warmth and passion for drag racing; his dedication to his band, the Chicken Chokers. Some laughed, some wept. Everyone had their different way of coping.

My son's father asked if I'd like to visit the casket, and of course, I did. I knelt and thought about what this man had meant to me. No sooner did I begin to sort through it, I felt two little knees kneel down beside mine. M was ready to say goodbye.

I told him that we could pray together, so we bowed our heads. I gave thanks for the man who fathered my son's father. Who loved his grandchildren and always included them in his passion for drag racing. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks: if it weren't for this man, I'd never have my son.

I was barely eighteen the first time I walked into Palmer's Tavern on 5&20. I had just gotten kicked out of another bar for being underage but I didn't want to go home. I walked into that old dive bar and pulled up a seat and gave my drink order to one tall, blond haired man with amazing blue eyes. In an act that he'd joke about regretting ever since, he didn't card me... and so it began. Him and I would become friends and when I had gotten myself into an unseemly situation, he stepped up and became so much more. The relationship taught me about love and boundaries, self respect and bar tending. Most importantly, it begot one blue eyed, blonde haired little boy who would become my entire world and purpose for existing.

That bar belonged to the man laying in the casket in front of me. He had hired his son to work for him... that son fell in love with the underage girl and together they created the most caring little boy. Now the four of us were together for the last time. Without that man, my world would have been entirely different. How do you say "Thank you" for that?!

It feels weird that this amount of gratitude took so long to surface. I'm sure M was none the wiser about the thoughts speeding through my mind... I was there to help him grieve. Never did I anticipate having to grieve for my own reasons. I wish I had made it to see him before he passed, but I doubt that I would have figured out how grateful I was until now. We get so caught up in daily drama. His son and I parted ways in a very messy fashion that took years for us to mend. I had thought about seeing him in Hospice but my mind flashed to thoughts like, what if he doesn't want to see me? or what if the family doesn't want me there? In the end, there's death. Its final. Non negotiable. I'm sorry that I didn't get to thank this man, but I have to believe that what I told my son is true: somewhere, he's smiling, knowing that we remember him and are thankful for the time we had and the memories we made. There's no divide great enough to disconnect a heartfelt connection.

Danny: From the bottom of my heart... Thank you for everything.