curlykew » When Life Happens

Yeah, maybe I should resolve to update here more frequently?

curlykew — Sun, 02 Jan 2011 20:09:11 +0000

I was a cocky little thang last New Year’s, wasn’t I? Remember that list of expectations I had for 2010? Things I expected the year to do for me?

Wow. Let’s review, shall we? Here’s the list and how things went:

In 2010, my dearest 2010, I expect:

A moratorium on deaths of loved ones. We’ve had them annually since 2006 and I, for one, have had it. These last two have been horrendous and really, we’re just done for awhile. – One for one, not bad. While the world lost some important people, we didn’t in our immediate circle.

A clear, perfectly outlined road to a job, career, or any decent money-making opportunity. Career would be best, but really? Mama just need to start doing more than cooking the bacon. Mama needs to start bringing some home, too. – Oooh, two for two. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I’m working, training and feeling a pull in a few specified directions. And I’ve brought home a few slices of bacon in the process.

If #2 can’t be worked out, a miraculous windfall would be nice. We know we have a rich relative or two. Sharing is caring, not socialism. – Eh, no windfall. Money still sucks and rich relative is still sitting on his cash.

Yes, I even expect cliche things – good health for my family. – Three out of four ain’t bad.

People to learn the proper use of the word “vagina”. Vagina is internal genitalia, folks. That stuff visible from the outside? It has other names. When I read something about, “…shaving my vagina,” I knew that had to be a priority for 2010. Seriously. Sharp razors and vaginas don’t mix. And? Why are we publicly discussing genital grooming habits? I don’t need to know this information about you, your bestie, or anyone else. – Seriously, people. Learn anatomy, huh?

Forward progression for the LGBT Community and those who love them. Really. It’s 2010. Marriage and its stability should never be dependent upon the rights of another human being. Let’s step it up. – Gay marriage didn’t get very far, but at least DADT was repealed and the most awesome campaign ever was created – FCKH8.com.

A nice vacation. Not only a nice vacation, but a nice vacation without something somehow screwing it right the hell up. – Eh, uh…nope. Never even left the state.

No more phone calls that start with, “Everyone’s okay, but…” or “She’s gone,” or “Well….[insert name here] was robbed,” or “There’s been an accident,” or anything of the sort. – Few car mishaps, but nothing life or limb threatening. Yay!

Continued and deeper bonding with the relationships that have reignited in 2009. It’s one of the few things to be grateful for from that gawd-awful year and I expect that goodness to only improve. You can do it. – Even added a couple to it.

My dog, Chef, to find a brain somewhere, install it, hot wire it and actually…use it. The first goal? Weight loss. The second? Common freaking dog sense. – Like I really thought THAT was going to happen!

Chocolate, ice cream and mac & cheese to become foods that are not only acceptable to a weight loss plan, but also encouraged. – Pth.

Simply put, peace & love for my kids. – Yes. They had to work for it, but that’s a good lesson, too.

Motivation to find its way here…right here. *points* Under my ass so I can get up, move, exercise, become a normal functioning human being again. Like I was in the 1990?s. Remember those days? Yeah, me too. – Exercise? No. A more functional human being? Yes. Half credit.

The religious and political right (so often the same group, isn’t it?) to buy a clue about tolerance, fairness, social justice and common fucking sense. – About as likely as my dog finding a brain.

My son to remember that he has a really highly functioning brain and to use it to its fullest potential at school. Or, hell…I’ll even take it if he puts half the effort into school as he does music, gaming and uh…gaming. – Ah, it gives me something to dream for in 2011…

My daughter’s roommate situation to improve. Massively improve. – YAY!! So much improvement!!

For Glee, Chuck, and Friday Night Lights to take over the television world and destroy lame reality shows. This is good TV, 2010…let’s see if we can’t at least use them as a model. – Well, they’re not off the air anyway. Glee pretty much rules everything…

For these words and phrases to take a flying leap and please, oh pretty please, leave our lexicon.

Take it to a whole new level – or worse? A whole ‘nuther level. – *sigh*

Know what I mean, particularly when said at the end of every sentence uttered.

Shawty – I’m either deaf to it, or it’s disappearing

Surreal

Off the chain, hook, doorknob…

That’s gay – Still heard entirely too much

Baby daddy

Random, for example, “That’s so random!” or “I’m so random!” – You know, I don’t hear that one much anymore!

Closure – there is no such thing when grieving – so stop it. Put closure to the use of that word or expectation.

That’s what she said

Your mom – Has now been replaced with “your face” in my house.

Anything Rachel Ray or Guy Fieri utters on a constant basis – sammies, yum-o, downtown, money, bad boy, stoup. In fact, let’s just make them mute in 2010, huh? That’d be splendid. – I can continue to dream…

For my husband to accept his grief and then…in time, for the grayness of it to lift. I want my hubby back, even if it’s in increments, in 2010. – Slowly, but surely…

For the fools that got me through the first bit of the aughts with some fun, new friends and a lot of insanity, Backstreet, to either find their brains or their balls and decide – get the fuck out of music or learn how to A&R and make a record people actually want to buy again. – Okay, seems they did A&R right b/c the NKOTBSB thing is going strong. It makes me want to vomit and I won’t support it b/c I think NKOTB is just…sad, but you know, it’s working for them. Just…without me.

So, there it is. But, I’ve learned quite a bit last year and expecting the year to provide me with things is just ridiculous. Granted, it was 90% tongue in cheek, but it’s time to take responsibility for my own happiness, my own fulfillment, my own peace.

While I still don’t make resolutions, that’s what I want out of ME for 2011. I’m not the center of the universe, but I’m responsible for my universe’s stability and happiness. Those around me can hop on or find another ride. And I’m really not interested in waiting around for a decision either. I sat around for over 10 years.

This lady’s on the move.

Sorry, but Gene Simmons does not live with me

curlykew — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 00:44:20 +0000

I know. It’s disappointing and would probably be the only good excuse for the 6 month silence on the blog. I don’t even have a bad excuse to offer you. Or Gene Simmons.

(Okay, so why Gene Simmons? I wanted to blog, I couldn’t think of a title and the night I mentioned my dilemma online, I dreamt that Gene Simmons lived in my home. Based on my dream, I do not recommend him as a house guest…in case you were wondering.)

So, what have I been doing to fill the 6 month time frame since typing words in this space? Well, I have been knitting furiously. I’m learning that yes, I’m pretty darned good at it, (get the pun? Darn? Knit? I KILL me!) however, planning ahead for projects needs some work. No matter how far ahead I plan, I’m still never done on time. In other words, if any of you were hoping for a big honkin’ afghan for Christmas, you might want to pull an old blanket out of your closet. It ain’t happenin’ by December 2010. But Julie, you will get your baby gift before your unborn child is potty trained. I can promise that. (Probably)

And in the big news portion of my life, I have a job. Yes, after 10 years of licking my wounds from my last painful work experience, I’ve pulled myself up and gotten a job. The really interesting thing about it is it’s a paid training and community service opportunity more than anything. That’s a good thing for a 40-something broad who knows all of her previous years of training aren’t going to make her a happy camper. All that wasted time is largely what paralyzed me in moving forward with working again. Well, it’s what publicly paralyzed me. The private stuff is only for my therapist to know, god love him. I don’t know how he wills himself to come in on my appointment days. I am the Queen Jackwagon of Mamby Pamby Land.

At any rate, this job. Anyone heard of AmeriCorps? No? How about Peace Corps? Ah, now we’re talking. Yes, AmeriCorps is, for lack of wanting to write a 5 million word post, the domestic Peace Corps. Here, let’s quote their own web page, shall we?

AmeriCorps State and National provides funds to local and national organizations and agencies committed to using national service to address critical community needs in education, public safety, health and the environment.
Each of these organizations and agencies, in turn, uses their AmeriCorps funding to recruit, place, and supervise AmeriCorps members.
After successful completion of their term of service, AmeriCorps members earn a Segal AmeriCorps Education Award that can be used to pay for college or graduate school at Title IV schools, or to repay qualified student loans. Full-time AmeriCorps members also receive a modest living allowance, health care benefits, and child care assistance.

What does this all mean? Double rainbows!! No, no. No double rainbows. Put your Mary Wanna down. What it means is, The American Red Cross is one of these “agencies committed to using national service to address critical community needs in education, public safety, health and the environment,” and the day…I kid you not, THE day I showed up to work in my own county’s office for The American Red Cross, I was offered this opportunity.

I had worked a few blood drives for the Columbus area and found them to be, sadly, not particularly appealing. I did, however, like working for a non-profit like The American Red Cross and didn’t want to give up that end of it. So, late one night, I started digging around their website and low and behold, Pickaway County was in need of some volunteer clerical help. Bingo. Before long, I was in the office, numbering 558 ducks for their first annual Duck Drop fund raiser.

And away they go!!

Then, before I’d washed all the duck cooties off of me, it was time to get down and dirty with the Annual 3 on 3 Basketball Tournament. I made phone calls to obtain sponsorships, knocked on a few business doors, kept records of teams and sponsors and even put together the program for the event. No one checked my resume to see if I had experience in any of these things – they just trusted when I said, “I can handle that,” that I could. And I did.

And then we worked outside on the hottest day of the century

In the midst of fund raising, I’ve been taking classes and now, I’m teaching them. Need First Aid or CPR training? I’m your girl. Eventually, I’ll be doing presentations around the county, teaching care giving classes, babysitting, emergency preparedness, and doing all sorts of educational roles for The American Red Cross in Pickaway County.

I’ve learned more about this community in the past 5 months than I ever did living in it the past 10 years. I spent so many years with Lisa as my community, my cause, that I have quickly found that I’m not balanced and complete without one. Now, I can serve my community in a health and safety capacity, similar to, although not the same as, what I did with and for Lisa on a day to day basis. My service and devotion to her and her memory have lead me down this path and I intend to honor her in every thing I do.

The lady standing across from me in the above picture is my director, Bea, and she is one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met. I’ve also been given the pleasure of getting to know the gal who I’ll replace, Angela, and a great friendship is budding from the experience. We love to laugh together. A lot. Poor Bea had no idea what she’d gotten herself into.

Whatever Bea got herself into, I’m grateful. My official start date is September 13, but even without the paycheck giving it financial validity, I’ve been at the job since March. I love it. I love the people. I reluctantly admit, I even have come to love this crazy county. And, I love what The American Red Cross can do – blood services, disaster services, military family services – they change lives.

They’ve changed mine.

Although, if they ask that my next service project be housing Gene Simmons, we might have to have some serious discussions. There are limits to my devotion, you know.

By the way, thank you to Pam Blum, Red Cross volunteer extraordinaire, for the second picture posted. You’re a peach.

[Insert quirky, yet brilliant title here]

curlykew — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 01:09:13 +0000

Yes, I’ve been putting off blogging this largely because I can’t think of a decent title. When I was writing fanfiction, I was that way, too – couldn’t start word ONE of a story without a title that made me smile. This could actually say more about me than I’m ready to say.

Which is actually a good segue into this post. I originally wanted to talk about how 2010 and I are starting off on the right foot, even though my last post was snarky and entitled. Truth is, I’ve put some effort into 2010 so far – teaching myself to knit, hooking up with a health coach through my husband’s insurance, heading out to my first volunteer job with The American Red Cross, and, starting next week, seeing a therapist to get some of these “issues” I’ve been carting around for 10 years out of the present and into the past. But, there. I just talked about those things, so now it’s time to say, 2010 – I’m feeling a kink in the link here and it’s only February.

The kink has a name. Her name is Anxiety.

We all have it in some fashion. Some of us deal with it gracefully, some of us seem almost propelled by its presence in our lives. I remember having some anxieties as a kid and I remember being embarrassed by them. One was fire. I don’t know from whence it came, but I do remember in maybe 2nd grade, sitting in our gymnasium watching a fire prevention movie with the entire school. I completely freaked, ran out, ignored the mean teacher telling me to SIT BACK DOWN!!! (there always is one, isn’t there?) and went to the office where I found my previous year’s teacher, curled up to her and calmed my little 7 yr. old body down.

I remember having anxiety over people being sick to their stomachs anywhere in my presence. That one has never gone away, or really improved all that much. If my kids became ill, husband had to come home and take care of them. There were even days when they were younger where if the kids only ACTED like they might be ill, I needed hubby to be home just in case. Fortunately, he always could be, but still, as a mom, it’s a horrible feeling knowing you have to run away from your sick kid.

My mother struggled with the same, going downstairs to sleep when I had the stomach flu. Daddy would care for me, curl up in bed with me and I never wanted for attention. I never resented Mom’s inability to handle such a health crisis, but I still secretly wonder if my kids resent mine. Strep, colds, respiratory illness, broken limbs, etc. I can handle just fine. I even do blood okay. But start bringing up the contents of your stomach and I’m out of there and off to another corner of the house having an anxiety attack. Tremors, hot flashes, upset stomach…it’s awful. And, it’s embarrassing.

My daughter never really showed much on the anxiety trail until she had to start speaking in front of classmates at school for projects. We both believe there is one particular teacher to blame, but blaming her doesn’t calm Abby’s paralyzation with public speaking. She is also a skin picker, which we just marked up as a habit, but later have come to see it’s a symptom of anxiety. Driving is her most hated activity because of anxiety. I hate it for her. And yes, smart or not, I feel responsible for it. It’s the Mom thing to do, I suppose.

My boy always was a little high strung. At first it was loud noises that would freak him out, even as an infant. Bless him. When he got older, it was bad weather. Dark clouds, burgeoning winds and the word “warning” coming from a newscaster’s lips sent him into a dither of epic proportions. His first time reading aloud to us was when he was 4 and looking over the weather forecast in the newspaper. I do believe “thunderstorm” was the first word he read. No time for this “Dick and Jane” garbage. But, it comforted him to be able to follow the weatherman, see what was going to happen, even if the predictions weren’t always 100% accurate. He still freaks out when a bad storm approaches, but he’s better.

He’s added to his anxiety now though to the point where I’m confused. He has given me permission to write of this, btw, as have my daughter and mother. During Christmas break, Hubby took the kids to see Avatar. All was well, until about 10 minutes to the end. Ethan had a fight or flight sensation like never before and fled from the theater. Alex followed and in short form, Ethan ended up in an emergency squad outside of the theater receiving oxygen and being monitored by the paramedics.

He’d had a full blown panic attack. He knew he was going to die. Nothing could calm him. He was scared for his life.

In time, he did settle and the paramedics talked about panic, ensuring that no, nothing was physically wrong with him, but that anxiety had taken over, making adrenaline take over, making common sense disappear into the air of Pandora. He was a bit skittish the rest of the night, but after that one event, he seemed to settle. Another one hit about a week and a half ago and it’s been cycling ever since. We know how to handle them now without the use of a medical team, and he’s spoken to his guidance counselor, our family doctor, etc. for coping skills, but damn.

My boy. My sweet, sweet boy. 15 is hard. It’s harder now than it was when I was 15, no doubt about it. I mean, yeah, we had to hand write our papers, or worse, type them on manual typewriters, but really – that’s inconvenience, not societal pressure. Are all 15 yr. olds under pressure? No, probably not. Do I feel like I pressure him? No, unless I fear he has an upset stomach and then I’d make the calmest of beasts ready to blow.

Specifically, Ethan’s 15 has been hard. His mother was a cloud of grief for a year and about the point when that cloud lifted, his grandmother became ill, eventually passing away. He and his grandma were buddies. She was not an affectionate woman, unless it related to Ethan. He didn’t particularly like being pampered and babied, but if grandma did it, all was right with the world. Her loss was big.

While Grandma was sick, his sister moved out. They too, are buddies. I love hearing them talk about games and TV shows in the other room while I’m ~~minding my own business~~ eavesdropping on their sweet friendship. Her opinion matters to him. It has since the day he realized someone else was in the room besides me. And her constant presence is no more – another loss for him.

He’s finding his way, figuring out who he is, feeling pressure (from school, NOT us that’s for sure) to decide what he wants to do with his life, feeling out different things to see what fits him best. He has a passion for rock music, an appreciation of what goes into making it, that I don’t see in many teens. He’s an amazing gamer, a compassionate friend, a smart young man flailing about trying to find his terra firma.

No, in the grand scheme of life, these aren’t odd events or situations – they happen to everyone. It’s not cancer. It’s not parental death. It’s not drug or alcohol abuse, or sexual promiscuity. It’s not a myriad of other things that weigh down so many kids today. But, now, the anxiety itself is a weight on him. Not just a response, but an actual issue. It aches me. I can’t fix it on my own. I probably bring more anxiety to the scene anyway, although when he is upset, he seems to come to me for comfort. We count, we breathe, sometimes we read and play a Star Wars Trivia book. (For the record, if ANYONE can do well with that book, you are officially the nerdiest of nerdy nerds.) Then, he settles and I pretend to go about my business.

Truth? That’s when my anxiety starts. It’s a cycle I don’t like. It’s a cycle I want stopped. It’s a cycle that will hopefully stop soon. Yes, we’re getting some outside help. We go next week and I’m both excited and yes…anxious. Writing this post is making me a bit anxious – it’s not a positive bent to my wonderful family. But, it’s our life now. I guess I felt the need to put it out there.

So, I have to ask you. What makes you anxious? What makes the heart race, the skin flush, the tremors to tremble? Do you think it’s fear? Insecurity? Good old uncertainty? And even more importantly, how do you handle it? What calms, comforts, steadies?

I’d love to hear your stories. Maybe, if the ground shakes, by hanging onto each other we won’t tumble as hard.

Expectations

curlykew — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 02:09:05 +0000

I’ve been hemming and hawing at a post for the end of 2009/beginning of 2010 since, well…the last week of 2009. 2009 sucked balls. 2008 sucked balls and if I have to totally honest with myself, the entire decade of aughts sucked balls. But, who wants to read a post about sucking balls? Or…well…this is just not that sort of blog.

Also, I’m not a resolution maker. Because, like most, I’m a better resolution breaker and that gets sort of depressing after awhile. I don’t get into dreamy positive antidotes or psycho-babble mumbo-jumbo, so that option is out. What I am good at, however, is making my feelings known, being direct, forthright and to-the-point. So, I’m going to approach 2010, still in its infancy, as I did my own children when they were much younger. You know those days you have to run into the grocery for 5 small items? You want to run in, run out, fly home, slam the kid in for a nap and nibble on bonbons the rest of the day. So, to save yourself time, you give the wee ones a list of expectations.

I expect you to use your inside voice. We are going to walk, not run. You’re going to keep your hands to yourself and you are not going to ask for one thing that is not on my list. Do you understand?

And because my children are perfect, like I’m sure most of yours are, they followed through with every expectation, never wavering, always obedient and well-behaved. At least, that’s how I’m choosing to remember it all. If I don’t, I might worry that my son’s penchant for death metal and long hair are really responses to that time I yanked a Hot Wheel out of his hands in the middle of Target because I was tired of him grabbing at every small item within his reach. Seriously, you’d have thought I lit a roman candle on his ass.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Expectations for 2010. And while we’re here, is this year making any one else mildly dyslexic? I have typed it 1020, 21020 (I kid you not), 2001 – a year I definitely do not want to relive; my finances couldn’t take it – and well, yes. 2010. There, I did it without fail. Now, dear year, don’t fail me either.

In 2010, my dearest 2010, I expect:

A moratorium on deaths of loved ones. We’ve had them annually since 2006 and I, for one, have had it. These last two have been horrendous and really, we’re just done for awhile.
A clear, perfectly outlined road to a job, career, or any decent money-making opportunity. Career would be best, but really? Mama just need to start doing more than cooking the bacon. Mama needs to start bringing some home, too.
If #2 can’t be worked out, a miraculous windfall would be nice. We know we have a rich relative or two. Sharing is caring, not socialism.
Yes, I even expect cliche things – good health for my family.
People to learn the proper use of the word “vagina”. Vagina is internal genitalia, folks. That stuff visible from the outside? It has other names. When I read something about, “…shaving my vagina,” I knew that had to be a priority for 2010. Seriously. Sharp razors and vaginas don’t mix. And? Why are we publicly discussing genital grooming habits? I don’t need to know this information about you, your bestie, or anyone else.
Forward progression for the LGBT Community and those who love them. Really. It’s 2010. Marriage and its stability should never be dependent upon the rights of another human being. Let’s step it up.
A nice vacation. Not only a nice vacation, but a nice vacation without something somehow screwing it right the hell up.
No more phone calls that start with, “Everyone’s okay, but…” or “She’s gone,” or “Well….[insert name here] was robbed,” or “There’s been an accident,” or anything of the sort.
Continued and deeper bonding with the relationships that have reignited in 2009. It’s one of the few things to be grateful for from that gawd-awful year and I expect that goodness to only improve. You can do it.
My dog, Chef, to find a brain somewhere, install it, hot wire it and actually…use it. The first goal? Weight loss. The second? Common freaking dog sense.
Chocolate, ice cream and mac & cheese to become foods that are not only acceptable to a weight loss plan, but also encouraged.
Simply put, peace & love for my kids.
Motivation to find its way here…right here. *points* Under my ass so I can get up, move, exercise, become a normal functioning human being again. Like I was in the 1990′s. Remember those days? Yeah, me too.
The religious and political right (so often the same group, isn’t it?) to buy a clue about tolerance, fairness, social justice and common fucking sense.
My son to remember that he has a really highly functioning brain and to use it to its fullest potential at school. Or, hell…I’ll even take it if he puts half the effort into school as he does music, gaming and uh…gaming.
My daughter’s roommate situation to improve. Massively improve.
For Glee, Chuck, and Friday Night Lights to take over the television world and destroy lame reality shows. This is good TV, 2010…let’s see if we can’t at least use them as a model.
For these words and phrases to take a flying leap and please, oh pretty please, leave our lexicon.
- Take it to a whole new level – or worse? A whole ‘nuther level.
- Know what I mean, particularly when said at the end of every sentence uttered.
- Shawty
- Surreal
- Off the chain, hook, doorknob…
- That’s gay
- Baby daddy
- Random, for example, “That’s so random!” or “I’m so random!”
- Closure – there is no such thing when grieving – so stop it. Put closure to the use of that word or expectation.
- That’s what she said
- Your mom
- Anything Rachel Ray or Guy Fieri utters on a constant basis – sammies, yum-o, downtown, money, bad boy, stoup. In fact, let’s just make them mute in 2010, huh? That’d be splendid.
For my husband to accept his grief and then…in time, for the grayness of it to lift. I want my hubby back, even if it’s in increments, in 2010.
For the fools that got me through the first bit of the aughts with some fun, new friends and a lot of insanity, Backstreet, to either find their brains or their balls and decide – get the fuck out of music or learn how to A&R and make a record people actually want to buy again.

I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you? And, it all works because this way, if 2010 just steps up to the plate, follows these simple expectations, then maybe, just maybe…on December 31, 2010, I’ll cave in and let it get a cookie on its way out.

What!? It’s what always worked for my kids!!

D.5G.5 – Piglet flu

curlykew — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 00:53:12 +0000

A couple of years ago, about this time, my daughter got this strange, unnamed, mono-behaving virus. We named it ourselves because what good is an illness without a cool name to go along with it? Hers? Euphonium Fever. It kept her out of commission for about a month, behaved, smelled and tasted just like mono, but every blood test she took came back negative. All I know is she was one sick puppy.

I’m not so sick. Thank heavens. But, something has smacked me upside the head. It started last night at my parent’s house masquerading as a potential stomach bug. After a little time and a long, anxiety-filled conversation with my mom, I felt better, got myself home and by the time I fell into bed, I felt normal. I marked it off as an obscure anxiety attack and let it go.

It didn’t let me go, though, grabbing onto the back of my head in the middle of the night and not letting go until later this afternoon. I first thought yet another migraine was going to ruin my day, but as the morning moved to afternoon, I could tell this was no ordinary migraine. Or headache. And I felt like pooh.

Now, it’s only hours later, and I’m almost okay-ish again? I had a fever of about 101 earlier, it’s down to 100 now. The headache is gone, my achiness is minimal, I’ve been eating okay all day and…what the hell WAS that!? I mean, I’m not ready to run a marathon yet (that would take more than healing of a common virus anyway), but really?

I dunno. All I know is, this little piglet better not mature into a full fledged swine or I’m gonna be really cranky.

And a cranky Heidi is worse than a sick Heidi, believe me. There ARE no names for my crankiness.

The First 48

curlykew — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 00:00:54 +0000

Does anyone else watch this show? It’s on A&E and I stumbled on it only a number of months ago. Since then, I’ve recorded nearly every showing of it, and for awhile, was spending 45 minutes before bed watching a new (to me) episode. It sucked me in, twisted my view of the criminal mind and helped me see the humanity in a world that is so far removed from my own, I could never comprehend.

But, it was to always remain far removed. I mean, that just went without saying, didn’t it?

Until I got a phone call Wednesday morning. It started benign enough; it was my daughter.

“What are you doing today?”

“I have a hair appointment at noon, why?”

“Well, um…Nathan needs a new phone.”

“Oh? Did his break?”

“Heh. No. Um. You see. Well…”

“Abby…”

“Yeah. I’m *audibly fidgets* trying here.”

[non-verbal maternal paranoia]

“So. Nathan was um…well, you see…Mom. He, um. Hewasrobbedatgunpointlastnight.”

And the swirl began. You know that swirl, don’t you? That swirl that starts in your throat, goes straight to your gut and then to your heart, spiraling slowly through your body, reaching every corner, taking any loose nerves it can find and sparking them alive but only before promptly killing them. The warm rush, the cold chills, the 10,000 questions, the blockage from hearing any answers because there is no way an answer will make anything better.

Well, except for one.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, Mom. He’s okay. I mean, well, no. But…they didn’t hurt him. He’s here with me.”

With that assurance, the spiral continues, on a slower path this time, and there is time to ask the questions and wait for the answers. So, I asked, and she answered and I asked some more and she answered some more and we decided I would head right up there to…

…to what? I haven’t the foggiest notion, but I’ll be damned if I wasn’t going. I knew I needed to hug him. To hold him. To look into his bluest of blue eyes and find out for myself if he was really okay. And, I needed to help ease his fear. He wanted to change his appearance a little because they threatened they’d come back for him. He wanted a new phone so he didn’t feel any less detached than he did that 90 minutes those evil, greedy, sadistic bastards drove him all over the east side of Columbus making him try ATM after ATM to get all of the money out of his savings account. He wanted to make sure his accounts were safe and that his nightmare would be over.

Now, we all know that fixing those things wasn’t going to end this poor young man’s nightmare. But, it was a start. So, together we started. And as we drove to my beautician, he told me the details of his evening. And I held his hand as the intensity of the situation overwhelmed me – he was still in a bit of shock, reporting it all as though he was telling me about his latest Music History lecture. As the next two days unfolded, he would remember more details, or would be more brave to speak of them. As we waited for paperwork to process at the bank, only 12 hours after his capture, a news station had arrived at his apartment wanting an interview. They met us where we were and were so gentle and kind to him, letting him decide how much of himself, how much of the evening, just how much he wanted to tell the world.

“Why do they want to interview me!?”

“This doesn’t happen everyday. They abducted you, Nathan.” Shock was graciously protecting him from the reality of the situation. The reality that with one wrong move, hell, with one right move – one.different.move. we could have been standing over his dead body at a morgue. He could have been the next victim on The First 48. The next “fictionalized” story on any of the crime dramas that he hates watching. While I think he knew, I don’t think he really knew. And, for that, I’m grateful.

We didn’t finish all of the logistical things you fix after a simple robbery on that first day. So, I took my babies home to me, kept them under my roof for one night. Just one, but a night I think we’re all grateful we had together. I had to wake them up from the deepest sleep I think I’d ever seen either of them in. And, the day pushed forward, and Nathan’s shock slowly slipped away. He’d fidget as we waited out on a downtown street for his driver’s license picture to process. He swapped places with me, distancing himself from a hooded African American man walking our direction, harmlessly doing his own daily chores. His confident gait became a bit more unsure, his steady gaze a bit more shifty.

Oh, he’d smile at funny things and engage in conversation with anyone he needed to. He struggled through breakfast, but ate a bit more peacefully at lunch. He’d answer every question I had for him and never showed an ounce of resentment that this woman – this woman who was not his mother – was nurturing him to virtual suffocation. And then, I had to let him head to a few classes. He stood on College Avenue, his big eyes still dead, large with a hint of fear. But, he did it. He crossed the street and I drove off and he managed. Somehow.

That night, he was alone at the apartment, and it became a bit overwhelming. After a few silly emails and texts, my phone rang and we spoke for quite some time about a whole lot of nothing. He never said he was scared, but we both understood that we both understood. His girl would be home eventually and their 3rd roommate even later, but in those moments, when he was alone, his mind was his company. His memory, his imagination, his fear. And those three things are not good party guests. Not together. But, he made it.

And every day, he makes it. Timing has been a gift because a dear high school friend is home this weekend from his Navy assignment in Japan. It’s all boy time all the time. What a wonderful gift for him. But, there is even a better gift; one we never thought would happen to us…

…if you watch The First 48, you know the theme of the show is just that. After a crime is committed (murder on that show), the detectives want to find a major lead, a perpetrator, SOMEone to point a finger within the first 48 hours after the crime. It ups the percentage of closing the case, of making the streets safer, of comforting a victim and helping them heal.

Within the first 48 hours, Nathan got a call from the lead detective. He had a photo array for Nathan to look at. Yes, it was for only one of his four captors, but it was one. And Nathan looked at that piece of paper and without blinking an eye said, “Oh. Number three. Definitely.”

Minimum jail time? 20 years.

Nathan is 20 years old.

I’d say that’s pretty fair – a lifetime for a lifetime.

Now, they have to find the other 3, but finding one makes that all that much more possible. Helps all of us breathe a little easier. Helps Nathan know that even though they threatened his life, his family’s life, and took away his feeling of security – at least for a time – he did the right thing by coming forward and telling his story.

In the first 48 there was shock and grief and betrayal and fear.

In the second 48 and beyond, there is healing.