I don’t even know what to say. Please forgive me in advance if this is rambly and makes no sense. I am not doing good right now. Haven’t been for over a week. There are things going on right now, things in my face that I am trying to deal with that I just can’t discuss right now. It’s taking every thing in me to just survive.
I know I don’t have to blog. This is not a job, it’s a hobby. I don’t get paid to write; I have no contractual obligation. However, you are my friends and I do feel like I owe you something. Some truth, some knowledge about what I’m going through, so you at least know why I’m not around much.
I love this space, I love writing. I don’t have words right now.
I am struggling to get out of bed each day. To take care of my kids. To manage the seemingly HUGE task in front of me. To heal.
I am not sleeping. I am barely eating. There is a very angry T-Rex sitting on my chest, making it hard for me to breath. My kids, my husband and my best friend/life line are keeping me going right now. It’s a struggle. It’s hard right now.
Before it’s asked, yes I am in therapy, yes I am taking my now upped meds. I am okay. Truly. Don’t worry, I’m not going off the deep end. I’m just dealing with some heavy shit. Some old shit that needs to be dealt with.
I don’t have words. I’ll be around, as always. I’ve commented on some blogs and then others I just can’t. I spend a little time on Twitter and then I just can’t. I’m doing the best I can right now. I hope you’ll understand and give me some time.
Today, my lovely beautiful friend Renee, known to all of you as But Why Mommy, is 40 years old. This is a reason to celebrate. Every birthday should be celebrated, but the big ones especially. I thought that since I can’t actually take her out, I’d do the next best thing…I’d throw her a blog party. It’s like a block party, except that the block is the entire inter-web. Friends can post about Renee today, tell her how amazing she is and how much we all hope she has a great birthday. Best part is, no one has to bring anything made of jello. Because really, who still eats jello?
I met Renee the first day of the BlogHer conference this summer. Funny but people had previously said, do you know But Why Mommy and I’d go, no who? They’d tell me her blog address and I’d file it in the, I will get over there one day file. Somehow I never got there. I found myself going out to dinner with her (and about nine other people) that first night and the rest is history. Renee is amazingly awesome, she’s funny, sweet and kind. We hit it off right away. Literally we spent the rest of the conference hanging out. All of my best conference moments had her in it. I may have tasked her as my bodyguard one night. What man? She’s tall, she can protect short ass me.
This picture is from the Cheeseburger party at BlogHer. From left to right is Kirsten, me (enjoy it peeps, it may never happen again), Matthew, Kari and Renee. See, did I not tell you that the girl is beautiful. Even with Cheeseburger hat. And tall, the brat is tall. As tall as I wished and hoped I would be. *sob*
Renee, I wish more than anything that we all lived close together and I could have set up a surprise party for you. More than that, I wish we could have coffee dates and dinner dates and that we could hang out in person. Internet hugs just aren’t quite the same, although they work pretty well most days. This however, was the best I could do.
I made a cake for you. See? Sadly, it was kinda tiny and a smallish boy attacked it on his first birthday. Shrug. You’ve got to be faster about these things, my friend. Okay fine it was his cake…but still I made a cake.
I hope you have a great birthday darlin. I wish I could be there to do something for you, but I hope this makes it a little bit easier. I hope this helps you not be sad. Even though we aren’t there, we are all thinking about you today. Today is your day. Today, you should be celebrated, even if it’s just online. We are your friends and we love you, even if we don’t see you today.
Love, Issa
ps. Renee, Scott emailed me. Sweet email too. Made me all happy. Possibly made me cry. I was going to do something for you today, but this? Everyone doing this for you? He helped big time. It was because of his email, that I thought of having a blog party. That’s a great guy you’ve got there. Truly.
pps. This is the Mr. Linky for all of Renee’s birthday posts. Told you, it’s a blog party. 
Please go and check them all out. Make sure to say hi while you’re there.
DUDE!!!!! This linky thing isn’t showing how I thought I did. More than likely I did it wrong. Hi, I has no idea what I’m doing. Anyway, if you click on it, it will show you everyone who has posted for Renee. EDIT: never mind, Mommy Geekology fixed it for me.
Alex,
Today most people would say that you are one years old. Your sisters have been trying to get you to hold up one finger for over a week now. Your daddy keeps asking you how old you are and you laugh at him.
Me? Well here’s the truth son. I’m not going to admit that you are one. If I say it, it’s real. Instead I came up with a brilliant idea. I will tell people that you are just 12 months. After today, I’ll tell them, oh he’s twelve months and change. It should work for a while.
Yesterday you had shots. You know… for your 12 month visit. Anyway, the shots gave you a fever in the afternoon and you spent the majority of it, laying on me. You weren’t crying, you weren’t interested in doing a single solitary thing, except laying on me. It made me happy. I know, I shouldn’t say that, but it did. Even though you are no longer that 8.6 pound butterball that we brought home. Even though you are now a 22 pound brute of a boy, it made me happy to have you laying on my chest, like you did for the first few months of your life.
Every day, every single moment, for the past 365 days, I have been grateful for you. You are one of the three shining lights in my life.
As a third child you have done and been given certain things that your sisters had to wait for. What can I say? You get tired by the third kid. *shrug* Let’s just put it this way dude. You love to eat Cheetos that I um…possibly put on the floor for you. You’ve had more dairy in the past month than your sisters had by the time they were two. We have, as of last week weaned you of bottles, but I honestly may let you keep those binky’s until college if you want. I don’t mind if you suck on my phone, empty all the Tupperware or jump on the bed. You get the joy of a third time mama. A tired mama. A mama who knows that none of this will harm you. A mama who knows that 10 minutes of peace, is worth the mess.
You love to eat just about anything (I wish you’d stop trying to eat Lil’s food. She’s a dog. You are a boy. Enought said.) and I have this problem with not giving it too you. You don’t scream if I don’t, but you look at me with those puppy dog eyes and your little bottom lips quivers a bit. I hand you whatever it was, that I had just told you I wasn’t going to give you. Don’t get used to it, okay? I can be a hard ass. Just not yet.
Moving on…you have been the baby that makes people say, oh I should have a baby. You daddy likes to say that had you been first, we’d be like the Duggars by now. He’s delirious, but it is funny. For the first six months of your life, I was afraid for you. I was afraid that you were too perfect. That I’d lose you somehow because you were too perfect. Then you turned six months old. You learned to crawl. You stopped sleeping well. You learned how to get into everything. You learned how to annoy your sisters to no end. I think at that point, I stopped worrying about you a bit.
We call you baby Destructo. It’s very fitting. You are all boy and all toddler these days, which is normal. You are very, very, very destructive. Nothing is safe. Nothing. You love to tear apart papers, unload drawers, over turn plants and pretty much you leave a trail of destruction wherever you go. If I lose you in the house (not that I’ve ever done that. ahem) I can easily find you, by following the stuff. The remotes, magazines torn to bits, your sister’s shoes, tampons; all leave a trail to wherever you happen to be wreaking havoc in the moment.
However, you are easily entertained by two matchbox cars. You can sit for an hour and toss the dog a tennis ball down the hall. She loves you best by the way. This is new for me, this ability to entertain yourself. You are better at sitting and entertaining yourself that either of your sisters are at five and nearly eight years old.You sisters both adore you as well. Most the time at least.
You are quiet and serious. Your dad and I have spent literally hours (possibly days) trying to make you smile. You like to laugh at us, but you are not so quick with the smiles. You are a thinker. I don’t mind that. One drama queen and one comedian is enough for one family. I’ll take a serious thinker. The truth is, you are just like your daddy. I ddin’t realize how much until your grandma told me so. She said, eh, he’s nothing, he’s just fine, don’t worry. We didn’t think Logan liked us until he was two. We kept expecting him to walk out and find a new family. Your grandma’s a funny lady.
Smooshy, I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Your daddy and sisters feel the same way. I can not believe that you’ve been here an entire year. If feels like you were always here. Always one of us.
Happy first birthday Smoosh.
Love you to bits,
Mama
Months ago, I asked Liz if she’d write a guest post for me. She said no. She may have even said, hell no. Brat. She had her reasons and as her friend I had to not bug her about it again. Okay, maybe I did a few times. Like once, twice…okay maybe every few weeks. I told her that she could have the keys anytime she wanted. My place is her place. I wasn’t going to hold my breath though.
It’s a mark of a true friend when you wake up one day, on one of the crappier weeks of your life, to find a guest post sitting in your inbox. One that you didn’t even think to ask for. One that makes you cry, because somehow it was exactly what you needed. I am a wreck this week, people. It’s not something I am ready to discuss yet. I will in time, I’ve seen too that. However, now is not the time. I’m not going anywhere and I’m sure I’ll post something on Friday for Harrison’s first birthday. Just give me some time okay?
Today, for me, please read what my best friend sent me this morning….late last night. One of those. Be kind to her. I’d really like to encourage her to start writing again on her own blog.
Mommy Myths-
So, nearly 5 years ago, I became ‘Mama’ when my first child was born. A boy. Cuter than all the rest–no really!! You should have seen him. 5 weeks early. I was woefully unprepared in SO very many ways. For one thing? My hospital bag wasn’t even packed yet… But aside from the logistical preparations, I was also behind the game in the more emotional aspects. And, looking back on it, I’m pretty sure that nothing could have changed that. It seems like aside from actually stepping through the experience myself, there wasn’t a way around it. So, here is a list. A list of things I wish I had known, but wouldn’t have believed even if you told me. Take it or leave it.
1) Babies are TINY and scary. I had done my share of babysitting. In fact, in high school and college my summer job was working at a child care center. So, when it came to taking care of a baby, I figured I could handle it. Baths? Feeding? Diapers? No problem. The truth? The truth is that I found myself TERRIFIED. Totally and completely. In fact, when we got home from the hospital, we had to move the bassinet over to my husband’s side of the bed. I was too afraid to have it on my side. I could not stop checking to see if he was still breathing. I could not stop worrying about how much milk he was getting and was it enough and when was his last diaper and was that within the normal range? My husband likes to say that babies are like animals. They can see in the dark and smell your fear. It sure felt like it…
2) Breastfeeding is not all rainbows and kittens. I don’t have much to say about this. I’m not here to tell you what to do. I just want to say that I did it. It was the right choice for me. For us. For our family. And I didn’t love it. It was hard. And painful. And exhausting. Did I enjoy it? Sometimes. Was it amazing and a “real bonding experience”? Sometimes. Did I frequently wish I wasn’t doing it? Yep. And did I feel guilty for being so happy when I weaned both kids at about 8 months? YES. I guess what I really want to say is that parenting is about trying and making the right choices for you. And having the support from family and friends to keep from second guessing yourself too much. I don’t like the nagging feeling of “coulda, shoulda, woulda”. Make the best choice for you and have faith in yourself. It’s all about confidence–something I generally lack.
3) You can’t do it ALL. Serious. Serious, SERIOUS. This one I am still struggling with in a big way. Not humanly possible. At least, not for THIS human. When my daughter was born two years ago, it took a FULL six months before “I just might be able to do this eventually” entered my head. Yeah, it took six months before I even thought that in passing. Not “Yeah! I’ve got this mastered!!” Not “Two kids is hard but doable.” The simple, I *might* be able to do this SOME day. I don’t want to hear how you have X number of kids and your dishes are washed every night and the clean clothing is always folded and put away where it belongs. That hasn’t been my reality. Our house is generally a mess. My brain is pulled a million directions every day. I have a running “to-do” list in my head that seem infinite. And I look around at the showered, manicured people driving spotless cars and wonder why does it feel so hard for ME? I have a full time job. My husband has a full time job. The kids are still young. We are juggling a lot. I’m learning to adjust my expectation of ‘realistic’. At the end of the day, the kids are loved, and fed. And most of the time bathed. Some of the time at least. 
And the dishes? They can wait for another day. Really
by Issa, my blog title has crazy in it for a reason.
I do most of my grocery shopping at a Super Target, not to far from my house. Mostly, because I don’t like having to go to three stores. It has a full grocery store in it and that makes me happy. Also, I am lazy.
I was waiting in line at the pharmacy. It being Sunday around noon, there was about five people in front of me in line. I wait with the kids for a good fifteen minutes. Right as it was almost my turn a guy comes up, walks right past everyone in line and goes directly to the pharmacist. I just shook my head in disbelief. The woman behind me started to say something, but I can guarantee you this guy wasn’t paying attention. By then their were about six people behind me in line.
I wish I was one of those people who thought of the great one line to say to people, in the moment. I’m not. I’m the, think of a great line at 2am the following morning, when the time for saying it to anybody but Logan, is long gone. I wanted to call the man names, that’s for sure. I DM’ed Liz that I wanted to call the man a fucktard, but it occurred to me that I didn’t want Harrison to learn to say that, not so close to the holidays. It wasn’t even that he took up time, because he was done in a few minutes. It’s that people feel so entitled to cut in front of a line full of people. Because god forbid he needs his medications more that the rest of us.
I wish I’d told him to be careful, that I was picking up my crazy meds and I hadn’t had any yet. It’d of been a lie though. Mostly, I wanted him to not be a fucktard. To somehow magically learn at probably fifty years old that he is not the only human being on the face of the planet. That the sun does not rise and set out of his ass. I said nothing.
I continue shopping knowing I am forgetting things, but I can’t seem to find my list. I am feeling stabby and can’t even remember what Logan wanted to make for dinner. I argue with Bailey about why I’m not buying Rice Krispy treats, fruit snacks and cookies. She can pick one. Then I explain to her why I’m not even looking at Halloween costumes in freaking September. I debate giving Harrison to the kind woman in the isle, when he starts screaming at me, since I took away his pacifier. Instead, I give back the pacifier.
I then leave and go to where I was going to pick up sandwiches for lunch only to stand in a line of 35 people. I know it was Sunday at lunchtime, but I’ve never been there when it was this packed. It wouldn’t have bothered me normally, but I was already feeling grouchy. I’m pretty sure I yelled at my kid for looking at me. Mom of the year, I am not.
Get home and the first thing Logan says is Iss, where’s the charcoal? It was on the list. I wave the list at him, I’d just found it sitting on the kitchen counter. You mean this list?
I then realize that I’m missing peppers, onions and avocados, which were all ingredients we needed for dinner. I decide we are likely having grilled cheese again for dinner, because there is no way I am going back to any store today.
Logan unpacks the last few bags as I go change Harrison’s diaper. He comes in to the bedroom and shows me a DVD. Why’d you get this, he asks? He’s laughing at me. I’d be laughing at me too. He’s holding up The House Bunny. Click on it, if you want. It’s safe for work. However it’s a movie about a play-boy bunny, not a Disney flick.
BAILEY, I yell. What mama, she asks? What is this? How did we get home with this? You bought it for me, she says. I asked you if I could have the Barbie movie and you said yes, so I handed it to the lady.
I did. I told her she could have the Barbie movie. I thought she meant the new Barbie movie. Barbie dwells with the unicorn trolls in the universe of duh. (Yes, I’m sure that’s the name of the new Barbie movie.) I just never looked at the actual movie. I’m sure the check out lady thought I was insane to buy my five year old the Play Boy Bunny movie. In the moment, I’d been trying to get Harrison to relinquish control of my phone so I could DM Liz again. I hadn’t even looked at the movie I purchased.
I’m almost embarrassed to take that DVD back. I’m not sure what to do with it. Giving it to charity, doesn’t seem right either. I don’t think that would be helping anyone.
SO, in conclusion, these are all great reasons for why I shouldn’t ever, ever, ever have to go to the grocery store again.
Or at least great reasons for why I shouldn’t take children with me to the grocery store. Maybe I should limit myself to taking the older, helpful shopper child next time. Nah. I’m done. I quit.
Dang it, I need milk. Hmmm, I see a trip to the store in my near future.
Becky at My Life Out of Focus is one of the handful of people who welcomed me back into this crazy blogging world, after I’d disappeared for a good 18 months. No questions asked, no issues with the fact that I’d left with almost no explanation. Somehow we managed to pick up right where we left off. I’ve never thanked her for that, but lately I’ve really wanted too. There are others who have been so sweet and awesome too me as well. Today however is for Becky.
Becky has two beautiful girls, (whose new blog names are escaping me at the moment) who I’ve loved getting to watch grow up and an adorable husband who is a cop. She is an amazing photographer and is working on starting her side business right now. Truly if you live in Houston, I’d so recommend her to you. She’s on Twitter HERE, which is funny, because she kept telling me, she’d NEVER join. Then she did and she’s on it more that me. Mostly though, she’s a great friend. To me and everyone else she encounters. I’m blessed to call her my friend.
Today Becky is my follow Friday. Please go and tell her I said hi.
I count little white pills. That’s how I know when I’m not doing so great; when I count pills. Six left. Now five left. Five little tiny pills left. I make a mental note to call in my refill on Friday.
I didn’t think it would be like this two years later. PPD is what they said, in July two years ago. Post Partum Depression. Even though I had no baby to show for it. Just a broken heart and a half filled drawer of silly onesies. I thought as time went by, it would go away. PPD does. Or so I’ve been told.
Here I sit though, two years and two months later, counting little pills. I count them, when I’m having a shitty time. I count them so I know when to get more. I count them, because the new ones will be a bit stronger. I count them, because they are my security blanket.
I see women all pregnant right now and I have to not pay attention. I walked into kids stores this past weekend with Liz and tried not to cringe as I looked over all the baby stuff. Right now, I should know what my baby was going to be. I should be buying little onesies and socks. I should be telling Harrison about his baby brother or sister and watching him laugh at me, like a loony, because what does a nearly one year old child understand about new babies anyway? I should be preparing for my Christmas baby, arguring with my husband over names. But I’m not.
It’s not as bad this time. A five week misscarriage is not as bad as a fourteen week one. But what’s bad? How do you characterize bad? In some ways, I’ve done better. In others I feel worse. Two babies lost forever is harder than one baby lost forever. I dream about them, but even in my dreams, I never get to touch them.
It’s not all sad, my life. I have weeks that are great. I adore my children. They make me smile, even on my worst days. I get out of bed every day. I take care of my family. My heart has healed in a lot of ways. My mind and emotions have healed in a lot of ways. But some weeks are rough. This one happens to be one. A week where getting out of bed is a chore. A week where making dinner seems as challenging as running a marathon. A week where I just want to hide. Part of it right now, is vacation-itis. I have that big time right now. The week after a great vacation is always sad and depressing. Reality sits in.I know this, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
I watch my husband get up and leave each morning. He comes home late and then we go to bed. I haven’t spent any real time with him in over two weeks. I roll over and look at him each morning and I miss him before he even gets up to shower. It won’t always be like this, but it is right now. Yesterday I cried as he showered. I cried on the way home from taking the girls to school on Monday and Tuesday. I cried on Sunday, after Liz borded her plane.
Today is a better day, I know this, because I haven’t cried. Tomorrow maybe I won’t even count little white pills.
I’m sure I shouldn’t post this. I needed to write though. I need you all to know why I’m not really present this week, even though I’m technically here. I’d not open comments, but I honestly don’t know how to turn them off. Plus, I just told Stacey yesterday, that she shouldn’t ever close comments again, so I’d be a meany to do it myself. Just know, I really am okay. I really will be okay in a few days. I’m just having a week.
Yesterday, the dreaded note came home from school. Bailey handed it to me, after handing me her lunch box filled with half eaten food.
As an aside, do your kids bring home the half eaten food in their lunch box? Really, I don’t need a quarter of a sandwich back. I know for certain, that they have trash cans and recycling cans in the cafeteria.
The note was almost completely empty, except for the words: Please call me after 6pm this evening to discuss Bailey.
Um Noodle, did you get in trouble today? No. Are you sure? Yes mama. (Insert heavy sigh.)
Were you talking during quiet reading time? No.
How many stars did you have at the end of the day? Three. (Three is what they start with each morning.)
Hmmm, okay. I did what I always do, I freaked out. I called my husband and told him that either our kid was brilliant, or they were about to tell us how behind she is. I spent 20 minutes (at least) spazzing out in a chat with Liz. Both told me, oh she’s fine. You are worrying for nothing.
It’s hard though. I have a hard time not freaking out, first off, because it is my nature. Second, because a note with no info is not helpful. Mostly though, it’s because I’ve been worrying about Bailey lately. It’s hard not to compare the girls. There is no comparison though, in terms of academics. Morgan is so far advanced that it frightens me most days. When your first child has a huge IQ, you don’t know what is normal. What is average? What is considered behind? My girls are polar opposites, in every way imaginable. I don’t know what a normal five year old should be like academically. I don’t worry about Bailey in any other way. Or Morgan either. Academically however, I worry about Bailey. Have been for awhile. Comparing her to Morgan isn’t helpful. It’s impossible in fact.
Six rolled around and I called the teacher. Tried to breath and not freak out from the second she answered.
Turns out I had nothing to worry about. As I should have known, had I thought clearly for one solid minute. Which we know isn’t my strong suit.
At her table in class, Bailey sits with a girl who is deaf. The teacher is fluent in sign language and this girl was put next to Bailey, because Bailey is so easy going. (Gotta love a small school. Our teachers know the kids before they have them in class.) She made this girl, Bailey’s buddy. Each kindergartner has a buddy. The girl speaks and can hear some, as well as she reads lips and signs. None of this is the issue.
The teacher called to ask me if she could teach Bailey (as well as another girl) some sign language, during a free “activity table” time. Bailey and the other girl keep asking the teacher, what is the sign for this and what about that. They want to learn sign language and the teacher would love to teach them.
I was worried about nothing. Just another example of how my middle child is. A prime example of how amazing she is. I know this about her, but sometimes it still takes me by surprise.
Needless to say, Bailey and her friend are going to start signing lessons to be able to fully comminucate with their new best buddy.
Numbered even, because I like a good list.
1. It was hotter in Vegas in September than I thought it would be. It was also hotter than it has been at all this entire summer here. We never got above 95 degrees here. It was 103 all three days in Vegas. At one point we decided to walk part of the strip. Outside. At 1pm. Yes, we are smart women. My blisters however, might disagree with that statement. We possibly could have swam, but the water had to be 95 degrees too. Didn’t seem worth it.
2. The Hilton may not be the most exciting hotel in Vegas. However, the beds were amazing and worth it completely.
3. There were little strange men following me around all the time.
4. I heart the Bellagio. It’s funny to walk into a hotel and not hear the slots. We managed to see the fountain at night, walk through a garden and eat gelato in a quiet hallway for an hour, before we made ourselves go back into the sea of people. It’s just so refreshing. Like we left Vegas for a while.
5. I heart Gelato. Especially half Dulce de Leche and Melon. Dude, don’t knock it till you try it.
6. Mostly though, I heart Liz. Like completely. I was super sad to come home. I *may* have cried this morning.
7. Kari was in Vegas this weekend too, but I never managed to see her. I hear that Vegas kicked her ass though. Ahem.
8. We ate a Paradise grill two times too many and sadly, didn’t find paradise there.
9. You might have a gambling problem when you want football tips from the non-sports fan mother who lives in Colorado. Just sayin, mr. cab driver dude.
That’s all I’ve got. Or at least that’s all I’m sharing. You all know, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Or at least that’s what the 70 year old couples, matching t-shirts said at the airport.
This has nothing to do with Vegas, but I found it sorta funny. This morning, I had an email from someone who decided to spend the time to email me and tell me why she would be taking me out of her Google Reader from here on out. Cool, you know, whatever, unsubscribe. I have no way of knowing. But taking the time to email me and tell me that you are doing it, seems weird. Maybe like she wants me to ask her why or ask her to re-subscribe. Neither of which I plan on doing.
Three years ago, I joined the 2,996 project. 2,996 people signed up to write about a person who lost their life on September 11th, 2001. Some of you may remember it, some of you might have been a part of it and some of you might have no clue what I’m talking about.
We wrote about someone we’d never met. A man or woman, any race, age or religion; we didn’t know until we were given the name. The idea was to give each of them a face. To help the world see, that these were not nameless strangers who lost their lives that day. They were loved ones, friends, people we’d all know. They each could have been our neighbors. Eight years have gone by since that day, but I’ll never forget. Three years have gone by since i did this the first time, but I’ve never forgotten the man whose name I was given. I will always remember him and wonder about his family. I will never hear about 9/11 and not remember him. I don’t see a sign, or a name of a movie that references it and not think about him. His name was Tom. Thomas J. Kennedy. Until the day I die, I will remember his name. He had a wife, Allison. Two sons, Michael and James, who are a few years older than Morgan. My guess is they are about 8 and 10 years old today. I doubt I will ever forget their names either. I will always hope that his boys grow up to be good strong men; men their dad would be proud of.
Agree with the war, don’t agree with the war. Politics aside. None of it matters in remembering the people who died on that day. This day is a day to remember the men, women and children who lost their lives and to remember the ones left behind.
This man, he got into my heart. I’d never met him and I’m sure I’ll never meet his family, but they touched me forever. We did it to remember and I know I always will.
When I signed up for the 2,996 project, I had no idea which name would be sent to me. I didn’t know if I’d get a man, woman or child. I didn’t know if that person would be young or old. From America or from another country. It didn’t really matter to me. I just wanted to be able to remember someone who was no longer here. I wanted to be a part of something wonderful. I feel that this tribute is wonderful. When we talk about people who are no longer with us, it keeps their memory alive. At least that’s what my mother always told me and I have no reason to doubt this.
What I didn’t know in accepting a name was that the person would get into my world. The name I though I was getting, became a person. A man, with a life and people who loved him. A man, not to much different from my husband, brothers or dads. And he got in. I let him in. As I searched the web for him, I found more and more. Just small things here and there, but the pieces came together like a puzzle. As I found more pieces, I grew more attached. How funny to grow emotionally attached to a man you’ve never met. But I did anyway. That’s when I started getting worried about this post. Could I do it right? Could I make you feel the way I do about this man? To care about him, even thought you’d never heard his name? Well, I’ll have to give it a try.
Thomas J. Kennedy (Tom) was born on January 24, 1965 at 12:45pm. He was born in the car right in front of the hospital. His parents, Eileen and Bill had trouble getting there in time because of a bad snowstorm. He had two older brothers, Brian and Bob. He had blond hair and “the bluest eyes in the world” according to his mom. She also has said on his memorial site that he was funny, always cracking jokes and a gentle patient man who everyone loved. His father, Bill said that he loved all babies and kids and they tended to gravitate towards him, because he spoke to them like they were adults. He also loved to ski and be on boats.
Tom was married to a woman named Allison and had two baby boys, Michael and James, who were two and 10 months when their father died. I couldn’t find Michael’s birthday, but by guessing, I’d say he is 7 years old today. James will be five on November 17th. He was a hands on dad who loved to spend time with his boys, bathing them and reading them Goodnight Moon every night. This is the same book, we’ve read to Morgan and Bailey their entire lives. I read somewhere that he wanted to have five kids, but two was all he was around long enough to have. His eyes lit up every time he told someone about his boys. His aunt said she’d never seen him happier than on the days his sons were born. He loved being a husband and father.
Tom was at the World Trade Center that day because he was a firefighter with the Ladder Company 101 in Brooklyn. His company was one of the first on the scene because their firehouse was just across the east river from downtown Manhattan. There were seven guys “brothers” who went in together. None of them made it out. They all died heroes, having saved many lives that day. Tom when in to try and save more people, when the towers fell. He died doing what he loved, what he lived for. Even before she knew what had happened to her husband, Allison knew that he wasn’t afraid to go into the fire. She said “they were all excited to go into the fire. That’s what they live for.” “They didn’t have fear, that we as civilians would have. They didn’t ever think they wouldn’t come out of a fire, ever.” He had no way of knowing that September 11th, 2001 would be the last day of his life. That it would be the last day he’d ever seen his wife and sons. That he’d die a hero. And I can’t say it for certain, but even knowing it, he may have gone in anyway. It is what firefighters do. He was a firefighter, it is their job to protect people. They all know the risk. Everyday when they go to work, they are putting themselves at risk. For us. For people who they don’t know.
Everything I read about Tom was a glowing memory of his life. People he’d saved through the years. People who thought they were going to die, but instead he came to their rescue. Some called him a hero, others an angel. There were stories from family and friends. Stories about fishing with nephews, playing hide and seek with his nieces, skiing with friends, being there for his family. Everyone said how wonderful his boys are, that his wife is doing a wonderful job with them. There are wonderful stories about her too. People say that their son Michael looks like her, but James is the spitting image of him. People tell stories about the boys too, how big they are, smart and sweet and caring and how they are each others best friends. I’m sure Tom would love to know that. In fact, he probably does.
Tom never saw his youngest son walk. Never walked his boys into pre-school or kindergarten. Never taught his boys to ride bikes, read, catch fish. He’ll never get to teach them to drive or how to be nice to girls. He won’t be there when they get married and have babies of their own. He would be 41 years old today. Thomas J. Kennedy was a father, husband, son, grandson, uncle, nephew, friend, firefighter and a hero.
Tom did indeed die a hero, but he was a hero in life too.
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