And it's true that I stole your lighter. And it's also true that I lost the map...

When I met Nick, nigh on 14 years ago, he favored one foot just slightly.

He had an ankle injury, he explained.

Well. What it turned out, when he had it looked at like five years later, was that he had this wee sharp piece of bone that was gradually sawing off his Achilles tendon.

I can't even think about this without wincing. This proves to me he'd have been more stoic about pregnancy and childbirth than I was. 

Anyway.

Every so often I'd suggest that he might like to have surgery rather than being in abject pain when he walked anywhere. And I was told that he was entirely too busy for that nonsense.

Until this May, when that nonsense wound up really being the only reasonable option, given that a person who has legs and feet needs to be able to walk.

So.

I picked him up post-surgery and brought him home, totally loopy, on crutches and pain medication and with a bag of nerve blocker attached to a needle inserted into his leg.

He was not allowed to let his operated-on foot touch the floor, like, not even rest on it, for 10 days.

In fact, he only got out of bed to crutch to the bathroom the first couple days. I was feeding him in bed.

And he was CRABBY. Which was understandable. But very unpleasant. Because rather than recognizing it, he kept accusing me of being short-tempered.

Which I sometimes am but in this instance was not. I was, in fact, infinitely kind an patient.

So I did the only thing I could think of.

I started avoiding him. 

Which was easy because he was stuck in bed in our room. He was doing Zoom calls from bed. At one point he even put on a button-down and tie to speak to a judge.

So I just didn't go there except when I had to. Because he was so mean.

And then he got his feelings all hurt and accused me of avoiding him.

I fessed up: yes, I was. I totally was.

Several days post-surgery he went back to the office. I drove him. Prior to surgery he'd bought this leg scooter thing to get around.

I definitely recommend these scooty things. Way easier than crutches.

So he would crutch down the front steps and I'd carry the scooter to the sidewalk. Then I'd run through the house, jump in the car, and drive around to the end of our block, where there was a ramp for him to scoot down.

I'd park, open his door for him, wait for him to get on crutches, and then take the scooter and put it in the back of the car. I'd drive him to the office, get the scooter out and bring it to him, and say goodbye.

I would repeat this process in reverse at the end of the day.

And every day, when I pulled up to get him, he would say one of two things, neither of which were "thank you" or anything of a grateful nature. 

No.

They were:
1. You're too close to the curb.
2. You're too far from the curb.

And reader, I bit my fucking tongue every time. 

Until I really really didn't.

At the end of the second week he had an 8:00 am appointment with his doctor downtown. So around 7:30 we started the process of leaving the house. 

On my side, it was filled with complications, like a garbage truck in the alley and having to turn around our very tight urban alley and then having to navigate the one-way streets of our neighborhood to get back to our street and pick him up.

This kind of thing stresses me out, and I was flustered when I picked him up. He was at the end of the street, sitting on his scooter, chatting with neighbors.

I got his scooter in the back, pressed the button to close the back hatch, and jumped in the driver's seat.

Whereupon Nick said, "I think you put it in wrong."

"I didn't. I need you to stop criticizing me."

"I'm not criticizing you. The door made a noise. I think you put the scooter in wrong."

At which point I yelled, "AAAAAAAAAAGGGGHGHHHHHHHH! YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

But it was more like, "AAAAAAAAAAGGGGHGHHHHHHHH! YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

And he responded with a big old, "FUCK YOU!"And we proceeded to denigrate each other, yelling horrible, vile things back and forth at higher and higher volume.

Until finally I yelled, "SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP! IF YOU DON'T SHUT THE FUCK UP, I'M NOT TAKING YOU!"

We have super sophisticated, reasonable altercations, as you can see.

And he yelled back, "FINE! JUST DROP ME OFF AND WE! ARE! DONE!"

Done? Like, done done? Huh.

So I was all, "Like, you want to get divorced?"

And he replied, "If you do!"

I took a deep breath, stretched out my arms, shoulders, neck, and said, "Well. I feel better now. Do you want me to come into the appointment or just drop you off out front?"

And he was all, "Yeah, me, too. I'd like you to come in, but whatever works. If it's too hard to find parking, just drop me."

There were a whole bunch of medical students in the exam room to watch Nick's gauze get cut open, because apparently Nick had a very interesting ankle issue. 

After they did what they needed to do, the doctor looked at me and said, "You know, recovery from this kind of surgery can be hard on everyone."

I laughed. I think. I probably made more of a dying goat noise.

And didn't mention the neighbor with the shocked face on the street corner, the one who could obviously hear every word we screamed through rolled up car windows.

Sorry, neighbor. 

Turns out Achilles issues are, in fact, Stygian.

13 years of marital bliss etc.

Dear Nick,

Today is the day, 13 years ago, when we stood up in front of so many loved ones and promised to love and I honestly can't remember what else (although I know for a fact that obey was not in there) forever and ever.

This was right after the exchange of rings or maybe between rings, and is possibly my favorite photo of the two of us.

I remember female family friends telling me to marry a man who made me laugh. (One mom told me to marry a nerd, because nerds make the best husbands.)

At the time, or those multiple times, I imagine I was like, uh, I really just want to marry someone cute who takes me out for nice dinners. But as it turns out, I married a nerd who makes me laugh, and I probably should've listened to way more advice from the moms in my life way earlier.

Anyway.

We asked an old family friend to marry us, which meant getting some kind of internet minister certificate. Which he got but then DC somehow made approval complicated.

And DC also wanted us to get tested for syphilis before they would grant us a marriage license.

Neither of us objected, and both our primary care doctors said they were happy to give a blood test, but then were like, an official form? To prove you don't have syphilis? Where does one find this form?

The DC getting married instructions said doctor's offices would have such form.

They had no idea. We had no idea. It was all proving more administratively complicated for our minister and us than it seemed it should be.

And time was ticking.

So in the week prior to the wedding, we got a marriage license in Alexandria, and headed to the office of a lawyer in Old Town who would marry us.

You drove, and as you parked you said, "Watch the door."

I was like, "Yes, yes..." Because let us be frank: you are a person who gives instructions like, all the time. 

I barely knew you and I knew that.

And then I opened the car door without paying attention and slammed it into the metal post that you were trying to get me to avoid. It made a big dent.

You came around to my side and yelled, "God fucking dammit! I told you to watch the door!"

So I said I'd pay for it, which didn't make an sense because all our finances were about to be joined and so if I was paying for it, you were paying for it. Which you pointed out. You were still mad.

At which point I started to cry and said I didn't think this was a very good way to head into a marriage.

I mean, really.

So you apologized for getting so angry and I apologized for ignoring your request and subsequently walloping your car really hard with an iron pole, and we headed into the lawyer's office.

And then some shockingly brief amount of time later, we were actually married.

It was so easy I was wondering why neither of us had ever done that before. (Ha! I'm kidding.)

But for me the day that matters is the day we spent with our loved ones surrounding us. Which was today, 13 years ago.

I look at the photos and I see the faces of people we dearly loved who are no longer with us. I see people we love and still have in our lives.

I am so grateful they were there with us.

So, I think we would both agree that 13 years is no small chunk of time.

This morning I said, "Happy anniversary! I'd marry you all over again!" 

As I was giving you a kiss, Jordan said, "Yeah. Some days I'm not so sure that's true."

What I did not understand before marriage was that staying married turns out to be a choice you make repeatedly. Some days you're in harmony and life flows and is easy and joyful. And some days are hard. Sometimes those days turn into weeks or even months or longer.

Marriage, it turns out, at least ours, is playing the long game. I never had a long game before.

Sometimes, in our marriage anyway, one might spend months of their first child's life awake and seething at night, dividing up the furniture. Sometimes one's husband might be mad at them for pretty much an entire year. 

Sometimes one might consider and perhaps even discuss not being married, and then decide together that in fact, the two of you would prefer to slog through whatever it might be together.

This turns out to be remarkably satisfying.

And sometimes one of you is having the hardest time ever, and the other is there to support you through it, no matter what.

I never had this kind of certainty. 

Happy anniversary, dear.

Today I'd marry you all over again.

I'd just be more careful about the car door.

Love,

Lisa

World Suicide Prevention Day 2021

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day.

If you know me, you likely already know my story. You know my dad died by suicide in 2006 after multiple attempts.

This was how I told people. Maybe you were one of the kind people holding their breath, praying, sending love, waiting for news.

Maybe you've seen this photo a million times.

I make a point of talking about mental illness and suicide like everyday topics.

I can't talk sportsball, but I can engage in a lively conversation about antidepressants.

(Is that depressing? I honestly don't know.)

Sometimes I think about how different my life would have been if, after my mom and I found my dad after his first attempt, we'd actually talked about it. What if, instead of telling us that we could never talk about it because it would hurt his career, Dad had sat down with us and discussed his struggles?

My sixth grade would've been a lot easier. My everything would've made more sense.

What if I'd grown up in a household where all feelings were considered valid? Where there was no shame?

When I think about the past, I think about the home atmosphere we work to create and maintain for our children.

In the Before times, my son taught anxiety-reducing techniques to other kids at school. I heard from a teacher that he said, "Do you want me to show you something I learned in therapy?" 

I was so proud when I heard this.

He talks about therapy like it's normal. Because to him it is. Because that's how we treat it. Like going to any other doctor. 

I would love to live in a world where we treat mental and physical ailments with the same degree of normalcy.

In Covid times, I know that these calming techniques, that mental health help, are that much more necessary.

My shrink and my acupuncturist told me they've never worked so hard as in these times. Everyone has been in crisis. I have friends who have never, ever manifested anxiety or depression who have struggled with one or both in this pandemic.

Not everyone is able to access help.

I think of how alone I felt in our family, despite/because of? the insistence that we were FINE, and as an adult, how alone I felt in my own depression, until I started talking and writing about it.

I think of how alone, truly, physically alone people have been in this pandemic. And how even the introverts among us need to not feel alone. We may get over-peopled, and we may need more time to recover from people, but we still need to be heard and understood and loved for who we are.

Everyone does.

Recently a dear friend who I haven't seen in person in decades reached out. A friend, though not a close one, had died by suicide. She was wondering what to say to the family. How to talk about it with kids.

She was gutted. And she wasn't close to the person.

She said that if I didn't feel like this was an OK thing to ask me, she understood. She just thought she'd ask, as she trusts me.

I told her that honestly, this is what makes suicide loss different. It's hard to ask about. People don't know what to say.

Even people who weren't close to my dad, or who hadn't seen him in years, decades even, told me they felt like they should've know. Maybe there was something they could have done.

Suicide wrecks the loved ones left behind. It crushes families. 

I told her the same thing I have told others: tell the family you are so sorry for their loss. Offer to be there for them--an ear, a meal, coffee, anything.

The fact that you are there for them, not avoiding because of Suicide (whispered, but also with a capital letter, so I guess whispered meaningfully), means a tremendous amount.

Because we as a society don't know what to do with those left behind.

But before we get to that point, we don't know what to do with those who are struggling. 

Mental health services are expensive. And they are stigmatized. 

Depression is often treated as a choice. Cheer up! Shake it off! Go out and get some fresh air! Watch a funny movie! Don't be so down!

(I haven't heard these things in a long time, but if anyone says them to you, you have my permission to offer them a refreshing cup of nut punch.)

I have a lot of feels about this, as you may know.

What I want everyone to know, to feel in their core, is that all their feelings are valid. Your life might not be as hard as someone else's. Your depression or anxiety or anything else you are struggling with might not make sense.

Mental illness doesn't make sense. Depression is a sneaky liar.

Anxiety? Anxiety is such a tricksy fucker. 

Now that I think about it, I have been told to calm down. I've been told that a lot. To stop worrying. Everything is fine.

But if it's not fine in your being, it is not fucking fine. 

I guess all this to say, if you are struggling, know you are not alone. You might feel alone, completely alone. You might feel like it wouldn't matter if you were no longer here. Like what you take from the world is more than what you give. Like it would be easier for those who love you to not have to worry about you.

Or all of those things. Or none of them, but other things.

I'm just throwing out my familiars here.

(Feel free to use these words with someone you're worrying about. Asking someone if they are considering suicide does not put the idea in their head. If it's an option for them, it's already there.)

If you need help, you deserve help. You deserve help in figuring out how to feel better. It doesn't have to be so hard. You don't have to do it alone.

Love and hugs,

Lisa

A brief list of resources, should you or a loved one need them

Call the suicide prevention lifeline: 800-273-8255

If you hate to talk on the phone (raises hand) and want to chat online: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/

Or text TALK to 741741

If you want more info, the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) website has great resources. This page deals with risk factors and warning signs.

And now you are 12

Dear Jordan,

Twelve years ago on my birthday, I thought I'd have a baby. 

Because that was my due date. And my birthday. So it was totally meant to be and I was going to have my baby on my birthday. 

Also, and this won't mean anything to you at the moment, I was absolutely not going to have an epidural if I could help it, and certainly not a C-section.

Ha.

And then all last week 12 years ago I waited and waited and waited.

Then 12 years ago on this very day, you were born! 

And you were perfect.

You had the most perfect round head and beautiful skin. You were honestly the cutest baby I had ever seen. Although to be fair, I never really thought babies were all that cute before you.

But you were also the cutest baby so many other people had ever seen. So it was true. Cutest ever. 

Things were really, really hard that summer. That year, in fact.

But the best thing was that we had a baby. We had you. 

And now you are 12! You're almost exactly my height.

I picked you up on Tuesday after seven weeks of camp, and you'd grown like two inches! You're already bigger than me. In 15 minutes you're going to be taller than me.

And not only had you grown physically, you'd grown emotionally.

You have a peacefulness about you. You seem at ease in your skin. You radiate happy.

We were so proud, so very proud, of how you spent that time away from home and embraced it. I know you were homesick. In your letters you'd say how much fun you were having, and that you'd like to come home after first session, and also, could we send your Magic cards?

In one letter you said, "Dear Mom and Dad, I miss all of you, and I miss Nana and India and Wanda most of all."

Daddy said, "We didn't even make the top three!"

We missed you and we were so grateful you could be out in the beautiful woods on the edge of a lake having an incredible summer. After being home, like physically stuck in the house, for so many months, this was such a blessing.

Driving to pick you up, I was so excited. When I arrived at camp and told them who I was there to pick up, they said my smile was huge, and I said, "I can't wait to see my boy!"

When we dropped you off, you were anxious, and you didn't want goodbye hugs or kisses. When I picked you up you were totally cool with me hugging you and hugging you and kissing you and hugging you some more. You were even fine with selfies.

Those seven weeks were so good for you. Being apart was so worth it, seeing how happy you are, and what a good emotional space you are in.

You worked really hard at camp acquiring new skills, and you got your name on the banner for arts and crafts champion. I know you are proud of this. We certainly are, too.

You and I have just been hanging out in Portland in between camp and family camp, and having such a nice time the two of us. We never get this kind of time. You're funny and creative and charming and just a pleasure to spend time with.

Today you got a brownie ice cream sundae and said it was totally better than birthday cake. You're just in such a delightfully positive frame of mind. You were even pleasant about me poking a swab up your nose for the pre-camp Covid test at the drive-through.

Growing up we were so excited to go to the A&W drive-in and to eat hamburgers and drink root beef floats in our car. I know it sounds weird that this was exciting.

And now here we are, driving up to Walgreens and parking at the pharmacy window and poking swabs in our noses, putting them carefully in a tube of noxious liquid, and sealing them in a hazmat bag, all as instructed by the pharmacists behind glass and wearing a mask.

I will tell you that even with my overactive imagination, I could never have imagined this.

Root beer floats would be more fun. Although not poked up our noses. 

Happy birthday, my sweetheart!

You are such a treasure. I love you more than I can express. I love you so big. More than star twinkles. More than sunshine.

Love love love,

Mama

Today I am 52

Today is my birthday.

Honestly, I'm shocked that it's already August. Of 2021. How is it now so soon?

Friday the 13th birthdays are my favorite. I love it when it falls this way.

India and I just did this fun photo shoot to commemorate it. 

I found this dress on a street corner. I don't know how it is where you live, but here you can put stuff out on the curb and people will take it. I've gotten so me very nice drinking glasses. We've given some nice furniture and kitchen ware.

My favorite find, however, is this fabulous dress. Well, it's between this and a small, very old cast iron pan that works like a dream. 

Anyway, when people compiment me on this dress I always say, "Thanks! I got it from the street!"

Nick is all, "YOU NEED TO STOP TELLING PEOPLE THAT."

But why? I enjoy that fact. It's like when someone likes your dress and you're all, "And it has pockets!"

I love compliments, I truly do. So this is not to deflect them. But I also love a bargain. If you tell me you got something amazing for like 70% off, I will always be impressed.

Which is not to say I wouldn't support you buying it at full price. If that makes any sense.

During the pandemic, I discovered the clothing of Jordan Piantedosi and it was like the clothes I'd been looking for all my life!

I ordered one and then another athleisure suit to lounge around in to brighten my mood. When I say this turned my life around, I mean it like this: there were months where I wore the same sweats for three days and nights straight, bathed, and then changed into the next set for the next several days.

I wasn't opposed to hygeine, but I wasn't seeking it out, either. Why did it matter, really?

And then I got these fun outfits and they made me feel better. India and I would go out and she'd instruct me to jump, twirl, pose. We giggled and giggled.

I would wear them out to walk Wanda and get random comments from neighbors, and some giggles, and that added to the joy. I was very low on joy.

Somewhere around there, my shrink and I also had a good fight with insurance to up my antidepressant and in the end we prevailed. And I don't know if that helped with joy, but it helped with the opposed of joy. Yoj?

I think this was last fall but it could've been winter or even spring. I don't know.

Last month in Maine friend Pam gave me some gummies to help with sleep. They were sturdy jelly rectangles, and you'd slice a quarter off of one as a starting dose.

I was staying at her house and I felt like they helped, and she said I could take them when I left.

So I took the packet and put it in my dopp kit with the rest of my traveling medicaments. When I took it out the following night, it turned out that in the heat of the car, they'd melted into a solid mass. It wasn't that they were inaccessible--just that you didn't know where one shape or flavor began or ended.

And this is exactly how I feel about pandemic time. 

It's one flexible, shimmery blob. Many things happened in there, some decent and some truly terrible, but I couldn't really tell you when, and I can't necessarily extricate them from other memories. Events have been conflated.

I don't know how much parsing them matters.

We have survived to this point and on the whole, I feel hopeful.

As many of you know, I look at my birthday as my own personal new year. I got my hair done yesterday to celebrate.

I think when my hair goes white I will leave it be, because that will suit my skin tone. The current ashiness of my blonde coupled with greys just flattens my skin tone. There's enough disappointment and flatness in life without adding my hair to it.

Anyway, today I asked India if we could do a birthday photo shoot. She's not always in the mood, but she is my favorite photographer. She has a great eye, and a fabulous sense of whimsy.

It was tremendously fun. India really gets into it and loves action shots that show the clothing. She'd currently like to be either a fashion designer or a supreme court justice, or maybe both. 

Whatever she does in life, I do hope she uses her powers for good. 

Since my last birthday I was diagnosed with Lyme disease (getting diagnosed and getting antibiotics was a struggle, I tell you). In the process they ruled out lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, and a variety of other diseases. Thank goodness.

I have had two rounds of antibiotics, and I still have some joint pain but they don't really know why. So.

I've also gotten very into yoga, which honestly I wish I'd discovered before, and really it's my own damn fault for not, having grown up in India where opportunities abound.

But like all my other choices, I had to go about it the hard way, and perhaps just needed to find the right instructor at the right time.

You know I'm not a team player, as I've always had a horror of group activities. Also, yoga studios intimidated me. But this is different. These are friends, and we're pushing each other to be our best selves.

I've discovered yoga is one of very few activities that takes so much of my focus that all those annoying voices in my mind go silent. There's no making grocery lists or fretting about that one awkward thing I said, or whatever else my mind likes to tip toe through while I should be focusing.

It's super difficult and ultimately so relaxing.

Forgive me if my writing is awkward. 

These are muscles I've not used in so long. I think about writing and how much I miss it. But then I wonder what I would even say, when my creativity is at such a low ebb.

I need to just jump back on the wagon or bicycle or whatever that expression is. Get on the horse and lead it to water.

Can't make a sow's purse out of a rat's ass.

I love you all. Thank you for being on this life journey with me!

Love,

Lisa