Stop Hounding Me!

Beginnings

In all my dreams about what marriage would be like, I never imagined that one day—after some cuddling on the couch over a couple of episodes of Orange is the New Black—I would lift up my skirt, hand my wife a syringe, and ask her to plunge a needle into my ass.

All joking aside, we are both so excited for today.  Nervous too, but I’m fighting really hard to keep the nerves at bay. 

I got a text message from my dad a while ago telling me that my nana has been diagnosed with congestive heart failure.  She’s been in the hospital since Monday, and it’s been one thing after the next since she was admitted.  I was dealing with it all pretty well until my aunt sent me a video of nana thanking me for the Mother’s Day card a little while ago.  Now I just want to cry.  Part of me wants to head straight to the hospital to see her, but the hospital is a good 45 minutes away, and I have to be at the RE in 2 hours. 

It’s a weird place to be in.  I feel like I’m caught between happiness at the thought that we could actually be starting our family today, and sadness at the thought that I could also be losing my nana.  My only remaining grandparent. 

Hang in there, Nana.  There’s another great grandbaby somewhere in your future, and I need the two of you to know each other. 

My eyes are closed tight and my fingers are crossed--please let today be a day for beginnings.  There's no room in my life for any endings right now.

Well Wishing

In another lifetime, I had a best friend.  We met as freshman in high school.  She changed schools, and when I met my first girlfriend I was terrified to tell her about it. Being gay wasn’t something I had ever even considered prior to that first girlfriend.  Everything about it was new and scary, and I could barely talk to MYSELF about it, let alone my best friend.

Eventually, she found out and confronted me about it on a marathon after school phone call. It went better than I could have hoped.  She was so supportive.  Annoyed at me for keeping secrets that she had to hear about through the grapevine, but totally supportive.

A lot of life happened between then and our early 20s.  It’s a long story, but I ended up hurting her badly and we didn’t talk for a long time afterward.  At some point, I realized that I really missed her.  I reached out—groveled.  Apologized more times in the span of a month than I think I have in my entire life.  We started working on trying to be friends again.

I took up scrapbooking so we’d have a common hobby.  We marched in the Doo Dah Parade with the basset hound rescue.  It wasn’t the same as it used to be, but we were friends.  It was nice.

One day, she told me that she had made the decision to be baptized in her new church.  Knowing my stance on religion, she was as scared to tell me about church as I had been to tell her that I’m gay.  The conversation was similar, but reversed.  It was me shrugging off the major life changes and telling her that I love her regardless.  I even went to a church picnic with her.

When the 2008 election brought California Proposition 8, I sent a heartfelt email to my friends and family explaining the direct effect Prop 8 would have on me and Catch. 

I don’t remember exactly what her response was to my email.  I know I responded back, but I can’t recall exactly what was said then, either.  What I do remember is that in our final exchange she said, “Can’t we just agree to disagree on this?”

The short answer?  No.  We can’t. 

Marriage is hard and beautiful and I have no room in my life for “friends” who can’t stand behind this commitment Catch and I have made to each other.  For better or for worse, this is our life.  It is the center of our lives.  Our marriage is the thing that most of our decisions revolve around.  It is the thing that decides our present and our future.  There are few things I do in my life that do not cause me to pause for a moment and think of my wife.  How will she feel?  What will she think?  How will she react?  What effect does this have on her?

Should I go see the Book of Mormon with a friend tomorrow night? I better make sure Catch is home to take care of the dogs.

Can we spend a week in Mexico this summer at my mom’s timeshare? Let’s check the calendar to see when Catch is teaching summer school.

Can I plant my ass firmly on the couch all night and watch a Law & Order SVU marathon? My wife is going to kill me if I don’t at least wash the dishes first.

So, I’m sorry—you don’t get to vote against my marriage one day and pop over for movie night the next.  There’s a lot of room for grey in my life, but not when it comes to my family.

So, the ties were cut.  About a year later, we announced our real (secret) marriage at our big fake wedding, and my best friend from high school never made it onto the guest list. 

Non, je ne regrette rien.

All of this is a long way of getting around to telling you that she got married this past weekend.  We have some mutual Facebook friends, and word travels. 

The thing about best friends is that no matter how much you change over time—and you do—some things never change.  Just as I know that there are probably toothpaste splatters on her bathroom mirror right now, I also know how important marriage and children are to her.  I know how badly she has wanted both—and for so many years.  I know how sensitive and thoughtful she is, and I know what a wonderful wife and mother she will be.

For years, her words have echoed in my head.  Can’t we just agree to disagree?

Five years ago, I might have hoped that she tripped on her way down the aisle.  Today, I simply wish her all the happiness that Catch and I have in our marriage—because really, that’s what this marriage equality thing is all about.  I hope her life is filled with an abundance of “for better” and very little “for worse.”  Even more, I hope their life together is surrounded by people who have faith in their marriage.

Yawn.0

I took last week off from work, but I feel like I'd be better rested if I'd just gone into the office instead.  We've been going non-stop since Monday, and it shows.

I've spent the last two days in some sort of manic episode--too exhausted and emotional to sleep, so I just keep going, going, going.  I even cleaned out the junk drawer.  It's been pure madness.  I tried to take a nap yesterday afternoon--my whole body ached and I was totally exhausted, but I just laid there wide awake for 45 minutes until I gave up.  Super fun.

Last night, we had two of our close friend/neighbors over for dinner, and courtesy of my inability to rest, the house looked great, the kitchen was clean despite the cooking, and I even broke out the good china, crystal and my grandmother's silver.

Dinner was lovely, but one of our friends is about to lose her mom to cancer, so there were many, many tears.  I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it all better.  I can't stand that either of them are in this much pain--I just ache for them.  It's hard to watch a good friend sobbing on your couch and know that there's nothing you can do to make it better.  We're here, of course--we hugged and tissued and soothed--but it's all so superficial compared to what she's dealing with.  

This week has been so heavy.  I'm attending another funeral today, and all I can do is hope that when 2014 shows its face next week, it will bring some relief.  I am so ready for a new year. 

Merry Christmas

Oh, Christmas… you have kicked my ass this year.  You really have.  I can't even remember the last time I was so physically and emotionally exhausted.  I'm sure it's been years.  

First, let me just say that my company holiday party was phenomenal.  So beautiful.  We checked in to the Four Seasons and they upgraded my already comped room to a suite, which was about as decadent as it gets.  Living room, bar, guest bathroom, separate bedroom with a bathroom bigger than my living room.  There was an espresso machine, gorgeous hardwood floors and the best part--remote controls for the curtains.  An hour after we checked in, we were greeted with a cheese platter and a bottle of wine.  I could get used to that life.  Unfortunately, we had to check out and return home the next morning.  Not before I enjoyed some room service eggs benedict, though.  (Weight Watchers what?)

I made this all happen:

 

How gorgeous are these flowers?

The living room area of our hotel room:

All those lovely things aside, we were simultaneously dealing with the death of Catch's grandfather while my Nana was hospitalized for two weeks with a systemic infection.  Nana was released from the hospital temporarily on Christmas Eve, but is back today having exploratory surgery to see if they can determine the cause of the infection.  

The funeral for Catch's grandfather was yesterday.  The day started with a rosary and mass at 9 am, followed by burial at a veterans cemetery 90 minutes away and a reception with the family at the home of one of her aunts.  It was a long day following several previous long days. With both emotions and exhaustion running high, all I can say is that it didn't end well.  I wish more than anything that I could have a do-over, but I can't.  

My cousin went into labor last night, which added more fuel to my emotional fire.  I want so badly to be happy and excited for her, but it's so hard when I am already run down and insanely jealous.  I'm trying, though. I really am.  

I also got word last night that my grandmother's best friend passed away, so I have another funeral to attend on Sunday.  

When it rains, it pours.  

I hope all of you had a lovely holiday.  Since this post was such a downer, allow me to leave you with our holiday card…

 

Here's another gratuitous shot of the hounds enjoying their Christmas present (ok, it was Catch's present, but we all know it was really for them...)  This wagon is the greatest thing ever.  It even has a canopy on it, and it folds up SO easily.  LOVE IT.

Never a Dull Moment

I am at the peak of my busiest time of the year at work, hence the extended absence here. The busy time comes to a close on Friday night, when 200 people attend the formal holiday party I’ve been planning since last December.   There is truly no hell like trying to arrange 200 of your coworkers at tables of 10.  It’s like planning a wedding EVERY SINGLE YEAR.  It’ll be a nice evening for sure, but the thing I’m looking forward to most is collapsing into my bed at the Four Seasons post-party.  They seriously have the best beds. Here’s a sneak peak at the decor of a few previous events to give you an idea.

That aside, life seems to be on board with us taking time off from TTC, as it’s thrown us every curve ball in the book lately.  Catch’s grandfather passed away last week on Wednesday, and my nana was admitted to the hospital that Friday and has been there ever since battling a mystery infection.  The death has hit Catch pretty hard and brought up a lot of the past for me. Then when my only remaining grandparent got so sick, it pushed me over the edge even more.  I desperately want our future baby to meet my nana.  We can’t lose her now. 

All of that added to the normal stress of the holidays and my craziness at work has made me glad we’ve put the OPKs away for the time being. 

My doctor appointment was moved up to tomorrow, and I’m desperately hoping for some answers and guidance on this PCOS nightmare.  The original appointment I’ve been waiting weeks for was scheduled for the 26^th, but that’s the day of my grandfather in law’s funeral service so I called and begged them to change it.  Fortunately, they were very nice and squeezed me in sooner rather than later. 

On the weight loss front, over the past 5 weeks I’ve lost 11.9 lbs.  I’m pretty proud of that.  It’s not easy LOSING weight over the holidays, but we’re sticking with it and it’s paying off. Catch is down 14.9!  That’s not to say we don’t have our moments, though.  Yesterday, I had a meltdown in the form of some dark chocolate covered see’s caramels and two margaritas, but I’m in the middle of my period and had the worst cramps.  I’m only human.  These things happen.  Back on the wagon today.

I hope everyone’s doing well and surviving the holidays!

30 September

I wrote a whole post blathering on about how much I hate October. I have my reasons—very good ones, in fact, but I’m not going to go there.

I have to to get my head out of this negative place. I need to look a little harder and find my inner Pollyanna. (Man, I loved that movie when I was a kid.)

Let’s play the glad game. Here are 10 things I’m “glad” for right now:

1. My wife—my rock, and my best friend. I am so exceedingly lucky to have her in my corner.
2. Cooler weather!
3. Online shopping
4. Filtered water
5. My mom has made it safely from Los Angeles to New Jersey to Dublin and now to Versailles. Only 9 more days until she is HOME.
6. We’re spending the weekend at Disneyland
7. Audiobooks. They make trafic bearable. I just finished Gone Girl (eh—way too long) and I’m moving on to The Fault in Our Stars.
8. Knitting. Even if I’ve spent more time carrying it around with me than I have actually knitting, I am so grateful for this hobby.
9. Hand lotion—the air is so dry right now that without my trusty bottle of Aveeno, I would turn to cardboard.
10. Light blonde leg hair. I’m wearing cropped pants today and I was too lazy toforgot to shave this morning.

It’s not a very deep list, but it’s a start. Happy Monday. Happy last day of September. May October prove me wrong this year.

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Live Long

This week is National Suicide Prevention Week.  I have a few stories I could tell about how suicide has touched my life in one way or another, but they all pale in comparison to this:

On October 26^th three years ago, my happy-go-lucky, quick to make everyone laugh, thoughtful, responsible, and loving uncle drove himself to a parking lot in a different county, put his truck in park, and shot himself in the head.

He left behind the love of his life (my aunt) and three children ranging in age from 16 to early 20s.  None of them saw it coming. 

(At our wedding)

The last time I saw my uncle, we were talking and laughing as we floated down the American River in tubes on a family vacation. I sure as hell never imagined that two months later, I’d be attending his funeral.

The Amercian Association of Suicidology suggests some warning signs for suicide (listed below). Some of them are obvious, and some of them are so generic that they could apply (or have applied) to every single one of us at some point in our lives.  After all, who among us has never felt humiliated or suffered a severe loss?

Be Aware of the Warning Signs

A suicidal person may:

• Talk about suicide, death and/or no reason to live.
• Be preoccupied with death and dying.
• Withdraw from friends and/or social activities.
• Have a recent severe loss (esp. relationship) or threat of a significant loss.
• Experience drastic changes in behavior.
• Lose interest in hobbies, work, school, etc.
• Prepare for death by making out a will (unexpectedly) and final arrangements.
• Give away prized possessions.
• Have attempted suicide before.
• Take unnecessary risks; be reckless, and/or impulsive.
• Lose interest in their personal appearance.
• Increase their use of alcohol or drugs.
• Express a sense of hopelessness.
• Be faced with a situation of humiliation or failure.
• Have a history of violence or hostility.
• Have been unwilling to “connect” with potential helpers.

We all cope with life differently.  I have been guilty on a few occasions of rolling my eyes as a friend “overreacts” to a breakup, or takes an offhanded remark from a stranger "too personlly," but my uncle’s death reinforced something truly basic: emotions cannot be trivialized.  The things we feel are real.  Our feelings may change in five minutes or tomorrow or a year from now, but what we are feeling right this very second is real—and if that feeling is desperate enough, all it takes is a moment to end a life.   

If you know someone who exhibits any of the signs above, offer help.  Offer love.  Most importantly, acknowledge their feelings and try to keep your feelings about their feelings out of it. 

There isn't a doubt in my mind that my uncle would rather be here with us today--that he never would have wanted to his wife and children to have to experience this trauma. He was a wonderful, kind hearted man, but in that moment he couldn't see past those awful feelings. I wish more than anything in the world that we could have shown him a light at the end of the tunnel.

With Sympathy

My great Uncle Al passed away a few weeks ago. I don’t have a lot of childhood memories of Uncle Al—primarily due to the fact that most of my childhood memories are sort of a haze courtesy of some neurological malfunction—but I do have a number of memories of Uncle Al in more recent years. Most of them involve a glass of wine (or two) and some of the best political or religious conversations I’ve ever had with someone his age.

Uncle Al was an anomaly in our family. A twinkle-eyed, grey-haired, questioner of everything. He didn’t take anything or anyone at face value. He was warm, genuine, and true to his word.

I didn’t know him as well as some—maybe even most—but I do know that he supported me and Catch and the life we have together.

Uncle Al’s memorial service was on Saturday in a small funeral home with inadequate air conditioning. The service was lead by my mother’s cousin’s husband—a Baptist minister who I have never met in my adult years.

As introductions were made before the service, I was introduced to Reverend Roger and Catch was introduced as my wife.

It has been years since anyone has made me feel as uncomfortable as he did on Saturday. The shift of his eyes—the drop of his jaw—the turn of his head—blatantly ignoring us. Never acknowledging the introduction.

Not a single member of that family spoke to us on Saturday. We’d driven hundreds of miles to be at the services, and we were ignored and made to feel uncomfortable by all of them.

I’ve felt a lot of things in the days following. Shame for not being “acceptable.” Betrayal—because we are family, after all. The hurt that comes with heckling no matter how hard you try to rise above it.

Really, though—the feeling that I am trying desperately to hold onto is sympathy. I feel sorry for them. I am sorry that they are not adult enough to look someone in the eye, shake hands and say, “Thanks for coming.” I am sorry that they have closed their minds and hearts to people who are not like them, because there is so much we can learn from each other. I am sorry that they have chosen to make their world so small.

As we left to drive home on Saturday, my mom put her arm around my shoulders and said, “We never have to see them again.”

I’m sorry they’re missing out on us.

Brother

My baby brother was born the day after my 12th birthday.

When I think of him as a child, all I see is big, mischievous blue eyes and deep dimples in round chubby cheeks.

As I moved through difficult teen years, I looked forward to those moments when I showed up at their doorstep and was nearly knocked over by the running force of my little brother's hugs. They were medicinal.

It's not all that remarkable that the hugs of a child could be medicinal. What's remarkable is that tonight, standing in the parking lot of the restaurant where we celebrated his 20th birthday along with my 32nd, I realized that his blue eyes are still mischievous, his dimples still deep, and his hugs are <i>still</i> medicinal.

I know without a doubt that I am so, so lucky.

Waiting in Line

Monday was a bad day.

A bad, lousy, sad, intense day.

Our dear friend/neighbor called me in the morning to tell me that her dog, Gus—our god doggy—was very sick and that it was going to be his last day with us.  We cried together on the phone. I felt helpless—me at work, her at home—but she had her human best friend there with her and I knew she wouldn’t be alone.

On my lunch break, I went shopping for a baby gift for a coworker whose shower was yesterday.  While perusing aisles of baby cuteness, I ran into two girls from my office.  One said, “Did you hear that someone bombed the Boston Marathon?” My jaw dropped.

I went back to the office feeling defeated.  Gus was dying.  People were dying.  Lives were being turned upside down all around me. 

I left work and prepared myself for the inevitable Los Angeles Rush Hour.

While waiting for the signal to change so that I could turn onto the freeway on-ramp, I had a revelation, and started composing a blog entry in my head.  (This is a sign to myself that I really am getting back into the blogging game.)

I thought about cars.  How they are like protective shells that hide us from the world.  They provide us with anonymity.  They muffle our voices.  They keep the outside out and the inside in.

Maybe that’s the problem with rush hour.  Maybe we have too much anonymity.  Maybe we are too safe in our bubbles of glass and steel.

Maybe we should all approach rush hour as if we are standing in line for something wonderful.

When we stand in line, we don’t cut people off, flip people off, or honk our horns.  We know that the line is simply a means to an end.  We may get tired of standing in line, but we don’t swerve out of line and cut in front of someone ten people ahead of us just because we’re impatient.  We may WANT to, but we exercise common decency and self control and we stand as patiently as possible right where we are.

It’s not that hard.  Except when it is.

As I was merging onto the freeway, a guy in a Porche decided to cut in line. He swerved into the shoulder and cut me off right as I was accelerating onto the freeway so that I had to slam on my breaks and everything in my car went flying.

I reacted in the least graceful way I possibly could.  I laid on my horn and flipped him off.  He slammed on his brakes so that I would have to slam on mine again.  He honked at me.  I changed lanes to get away from him.  He sped up to flip me off and scream at me.  I returned the gesture and screamed back.

By the time I got away from Mr. Porche, I was shaking with anger—that’s when I realized that not thirty seconds earlier, I was creating this totally Zen approach to the freeway and that in the blink of an eye, I had blown it.  I had let myself down.

My chin quivered and my eyes filled with tears, and the next thing I knew, I was sobbing in rush hour.  Not just tears running down my face crying, but full on heaving sobs.

I cried and I cried for a good ten minutes before I pulled myself together. I cried for Gus.  I cried for Boston.  I cried because some days, NOTHING seems easy--NOTHING seems fair.  By the time I reached my offramp, I was drained.  Drained of tears, drained of energy, and feeling like I wanted to just collapse into Catch’s arms and never leave the house again.

Of course, it’s not that simple.  We can’t just hide from humanity.  We can’t even hide from ourselves.  The evening went on.  We went out for dinner.  We comforted Gus’ mom for a few hours.  We carried on.

Sometimes, that’s the best we can do.

Today though, I am going to try to stand in line on the freeway like I’m waiting for my favorite ride at Disneyland.  Home is my happiest place on earth.  The journey to get there deserves at least as much enthusiasm as the line for Pirates of the Caribbean.