At first I couldn't sleep. Now, it's all I want to do...

Six months. Goes by in a blink. So hard to believe, but she's been gone six months. Oh, how I miss you, Mom. I think of you all the time. And when I'm not thinking of you, something, the smallest thing, brings you back to my mind.

I have been prone to bouts of insomnia during times of stress. All summer long, while you were sick I had trouble sleeping. I tried relaxation, ambien, wine, walks, music. My brain wouldn't shut off, and when it finally did and I started to fall asleep my legs took over and walked miles all night.

I remember the day it changed. Your life was coming to an abrupt end. We had no idea it was going to happen so fast. You never wanted to talk about wills, or power of attorney--things like that. But now we were running out of time. I went to your house and we talked a bit about it again, and decided that I would print everything out for you to read and sign. Then I had to find witnesses to sign the papers. I remembered the name of one of the pastors at the church you and Laura attended and looked him up. Called him. He was so kind and willing to help. He and his wife came by so quickly. I brought out the papers and read them out loud to both you and the pastor and his wife. After reading the will you looked at me and you said "Very Good". One of the last coherent things I ever heard you say.

Then the pastor sat with you and read from scripture. It's not my thing, I'm afraid I couldn't tell you which bit he read. But he read it to you, and then prayed with you. He told you that you would be going to heaven, and you said you"hoped so". He said he "knew so". That's when every fiber in my being calmed. Something went click and I knew that I would actually be able to sleep that night. It was a long day and night. I didn't get home until after midnight. But I did sleep.

I went to work the next morning and by early afternoon the call came from Cheryl telling me that you were truly dying and that there wasn't much time left. I left work and went straight to Oostburg. There were no more conversations to be had. It was true. You were leaving.

And then you were gone.

Afterward I did have trouble sleeping from time to time. But once I slept it was all I wanted to do. It's all I want to do now. I've been a night owl my whole life. I like to sleep in. But it's different now. Sundays are the worst. I tell Joe, when he comes into the bedroom to see me sleeping still, "give me a reason", "what's my motivation to get up and join the world today?". Eventually, I do get up. I do what is necessary, and that's about it. Hey, the vacuuming is done, the bed is made. Whoop-dee-doo.

I'm trying. I really am. I feel ashamed. Other people, normal people, get up early. They get things done. By the time I get going (unless it's a work day) it's already noon. As if I don't already have enough guilt in my life, there's this. I know that I'll stay up late. I'll do some chores, take care of the birds, surf a little web, watch something on Netflix, crochet. But I'm missing the flame, the flicker, the gusto. Maybe it's just winter blues, maybe the spring will make it better. I hope so. In the meantime, I'm in a walking coma.

Everyone is there but Google

He was probably hanging out with me in another room when Joe snapped this photo of all 8 budgies just hanging out. The two newest inside the cage bottom right are "Widget" and "Browser". They are adapting nicely. Hanging out with the rest of the gang, chattering away, and allowing me to help them when they flutter to the floor as they get used to flying around the room.

So, we have 9 birds now. My nephew, Nathan, visited on Tuesday. When I explained that we have 9, he said that we should really get 1 more so that we have 10. "Mmmm," I said, "we'll see." I don't really think we'll be adding another for some time. But, famous last words...

I was going to log on and blog about the chaos and emotions and uncertainty of my life as of late, but it's late, and I'm tired, and all cried out. So, tonight it will just be a brief introduction to the latest version of the flock, and a wish to all for better days.

So bundle up, friends. It's cold out there. Valentine's Day is soon to arrive. Are you prepared, or are you feeling all "so what" about it like me? I actually like valentine's day. Pretty much always have. Even when I wasn't in a romance. I think it's a great opportunity to let someone in your life know they are special. Man, woman, child. Bird. But this year, I'm not feeling it. Even though I'm grateful for so many people (and creatures) in my life, I'm just not feeling it.

Maybe something will change. Maybe a wash of all gooey V-day sentiment will flow over me.
I'm doubting it. But you never know.

Maybe number 10 will show up and make my day.

Happy Valentine's to all....

Kimberly

The Greatest Fan

There she is. The Packers' greatest fan. I will never witness anything about the Green Bay Packers again without thinking of her. My Mom.

Over the years her loyalty never waivered. She watched every game. She gathered souvenirs and mementos. She screamed and hollared "Go-Go-Go!" from her living room so loud they probably heard it in Green Bay.

She collected memorabilia. She had her photo taken with Chris Jacke. She had a room in her apartment dedicated to "The Pack". In it she hung posters, schedules, photos, a wooden hand-painted Packer on a swing suspended from her ceiling. She collected stamps, and any limited edition ornament, or keychain. She wore Packer jewelry - earrings with the logo outlined in rhinestones, a pin, something that blinked. She wore a Packer jersey and hat on game day, and for Halloween - going as none-other than the ultimate fan - herself.

She new the players. The plays. She knew the rules, and when the rules were broken. She knew a good call from a bad. She loved the game, and the team. Stood by them no matter what.

She reveled in their victories. Cheered loud and strong when they went to the Superbowl, and dreamed of seeing them go again.

This past year she battled colon cancer and lost. Late in the summer we met with the doctor to discuss her prognosis. To discuss what kind of time she had left. In the meeting she told the doctor she wanted enough time to see the Packers play another season. She wanted to see them go to another Superbowl. The doctor told her she might see the Packers play another season, but, well, the Superbowl was another matter. She laughed. He laughed. We all laughed.
It was a strange day.

Little did we know that day that she wouldn't make it to another season at all. Only two weeks later she was fading quickly away. Much faster than any of us would have hoped or anticipated. The day before she died the Packers played a pre-season game against the Colts. They won. Though she lay unconscious in a hospital bed in her living room, the tv set was on, and the game played as we gathered to be with her. When they won we told her so. The next day she died, and the Packers were short one incredible fan. On earth at least.

As the days moved on we cleared out her things. We sorted through her Packer shrine. Some things we shared, some we didn't. But every bit of it spoke to her enthusiasm for the game and for her team.

Throughout the season my sisters and I would comment on how well the team was doing. We would remark that maybe Mom was up there somewhere guiding the Packers to a Superbowl. We would joke that we could almost hear her cheering them on from somewhere in the crowd. That maybe now she was on the sidelines with our Dad, pushing them closer and closer to victory. Sprinkling some kind of magic over the field.

So far it seems to be working. Mom's favorite team is going to the big game. The Superbowl. Just as she'd hoped. Just as millions of other Packers fans hoped. A dream come true.

And yet, I can't help but feel melancholy. Sad that she didn't make it to see it here with the rest of us, on earth. Missing her every day. Thinking of her with every mention of the team, and the big game.

All I can do is hope that wherever she is, she'll be watching. My dad sitting beside her. Both of them cheering and screaming and yelling "Go-Go-Go!". Praying for a win.

I'll be praying, too.

2010: What a Stinker

I don't know about you, Dear Reader, but 2010 was like an assault on my olfactories - what a stinker! Not to mention (but I will) the fact that it left a very bitter taste in my mouth, and a permanent wound in my heart and soul. Good riddance, I say. Foreword, ho! 2011, give us your best, why don't ya?

I'm sure time and better days will soften 2010 in my memory. But what's the harm in laying the blame for tough times on something as inocuous as a year? It doesn't point fingers at anyone in particular. Doesn't lay blame on anyone's doorstep. It gives us a common enemy. Connects us in a way that nothing other than, say, the weather can. It's ubiquitous, and yet, it doesn't name names.

Across the globe we're making resolutions for the new year. Eat better, be nicer, work harder or maybe, work less. Travel. Explore our artistic side, or be practical and get organized, be proactive, get healthy, or just stay healthy. I could go on and on...

But I think I'll just keep it simple. I'm going to try to leave the bitter of 2010 behind, but take the goodness of it with me into 2011. There were some very difficult, very sad times in 2010. But there were some warm and wonderful people that made those times bearable. That helped me to laugh, and reason, and hold on.

So, this one last time I'm going to give 2010 the stink-eye. And, now, onward...

Wishing you all a very Happy (and stink-free) New Year!

Love,
Kimberly

What the Elf? It's Christmas already?!

I recently had the pleasure of spending an afternoon with the two elves above - Ben Jr. and Nathan. We took them sledding, then to Starbucks for hot chocolate and coffee (the coffee was for me...). For the past few years the boys have come by for an afternoon or evening at our house while my sister Jackie and her husband Ben do a little Christmas shopping and spend some time together. It's becoming a new tradition. One day they won't want to hang out at Aunt Kimberly's house, but for the time being, they seem to find it fun. I'll take it.

I don't know how the holidays came up again so quickly. The older I get the faster the days pass by, it seems. I feel like it was just spring, and now I'm scraping ice off the windows of my car, and wrapping Christmas presents (okay, truth be told, I haven't wrapped a single present yet, but I will...I will...).

For many, many years, I would put together a Christmas CD compilation to send as a Christmas card to family and friends. Sometimes I would even include an original recording on said compilation. I'm afraid, this year, it's just not going to happen. I have a track list, but the work just never got done. Maybe next year...that said, my Christmas greeting will come in the form of a blog post this year. Hey, I know it's not the same as good old-fashioned hand-addressed Christmas cards, but it's what I got...

I don't know about you, dear readers, but I'll be happy to see 2010 go on its way. This year has been a difficult one. And I know I'm not alone in that sentiment. It's been a tough time for many. Most notably, my mother passed away this year, and I am missing her terribly. We lost one of our darling birdies, dear Pumpkin. I have friends who have lost parents, and other loved ones this year. Friends who have lost jobs, suffered illnesses, broken hearts, disappointments. It has not been the best of years, and I, for one, will be happily celebrating on New Year's Eve when the clock strikes 12:01 am, January 1, 2011.

Yet, despite the trials and tribulations of this life, I have much to be thankful for. I have a new appreciation for my family and friends. I have a renewed love for my sisters. Each one special and magnificent in their own way. I am grateful to have them in my life.

I am grateful for the friends and family that were there for me this year, when times were tough and my mom was slipping away. I'm grateful for my niece and nephews. For the spark of life they bring to the world, and the hope they instill for tomorrow, and the day after that.

I am grateful for my husband, Joe. His patience is limitless, his love always there, his sense of humor often tested, and his arms ever warm and comforting.

I'm grateful for my flock. Sure, I have to wear "poop shirts" on a daily basis, but what's that compared to the sunshine they bring to my day? Just watching them play can make me feel better after a difficult day.

I know there are good days to come. Bad days, too. Still, I'm blessed. My virtual stocking full, come Christmas morn. And every morning thereafter.

Wishing you blessings and strength of heart and hope for the coming year.

Love,
Kimberly

Sunrise River Farewell

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You Can't Fool Me

Damn, I miss her. My Mom. How is it we go on, day after day, and she is no longer here? No telephone can reach her. No email, no Facebook post. No US mail, either.

It's will be three months, come Thanksgiving. We had hoped she would live to see Christmas. Maybe even the Superbowl. No such luck. She's gone, and there is nothing can be done about it.

I miss her. I've wanted to call her so many times. I've had news to share. Funny stories to amuse her with. I miss her laugh. I miss making her laugh.

Since I was a child, one of favorite things was to be able to make Mom laugh. No matter what it took. Whether it was singing a goofy song, ratting my hair out in a pseudo-fro, or dressing up in way-too-oversize overalls and talking with a bad southern accent, I loved making her laugh. If I could make her laugh, everything would be okay

Even in those last months, when things were so serious and scary, I wanted to make her laugh.
To amuse. Divert her attention. Ease her mind. Ease my own. And sometimes it worked. Laughter does heal, after all. But not enough.

I keep hoping to dream of her, at least. To have some sleep-driven conversation. To hear her laughter. Especially when she would laugh so hard it was followed-up at the end with a big, long, snort. I want to see her face. I want to hug her again. Hold her hand again. Travel cross-country with her again.

I know, I know, I can carry her in my heart. Memories will always keep her near. But you can't fool me. It's not the same. And, not for nothin', but that ain't funny.