Happy Father's Day...

I've talked about my dad before but since today is Father's Day I'd like to tell you about why my dad is awesome and the influence he has had not only on my life but everone that knows him.

My dad was 21 years old when I was born and 26 when my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I know I talk about age a lot but I feel that its important because I'd like to stress how young everybody was when all of this craziness was going on. He was 26 when my brother died and 28 when my sister was born. Late 40's when he was diagnosed with a rare kidney disease and Joan was diagnosed with breast cancer. And now 52 and healthier than ever.

My dad has had the same job his entire adult life. He never liked his job but stayed with it because he had kids and a sick wife and it paid relatively well and provided good medical benefits. My sister and I were not spoiled but we never went without. My dad taught me the value of a good education so I could do what I wanted and not what I was made to do. He showed me the value of work and always tried to show me how to save money (although it didn't always work, huh Dad?). As he has only about 3 years left until he retires, I couldn't be more excited for him. Retirement will finally give him the chance to do what he wants when he wants to do it. I see a lot of lawn mowing and relaxing with rum and diet cokes. Oh and I can't forget about March Madness and napping in the recliner.

My dad loves his granddaughter and grandson as much as if he was biologically related to either of them. Kids love him and always have. I think he reminds them of Santa Claus. And he has the right amount of silliness and craziness that kids like.

He cracks me up now because he likes to tell me how much he hates talking on the phone but is much better than me about calling and checking in on how everything is going. He will keep me on the phone for an hour, gossiping and chatting about Pine Plains, my grandma, the kids, etc. I've listened to him talking to his friends about who knows what for god knows how long. He reminds me of a woman that way.

My dad was always a great influence on my life although it took me until I was an adult to fully appreciate his actions. He was, and is still, the most stable and consistent figure in my young life. I look at all of these kids today who are being raised by single mothers and am saddened that they do not have a father. Kids need fathers. Be it boys or girls, every child needs a male role model. After my mom died, he was my rock. He showed us how to grieve and still be strong. He was left with 2 daughters, ages 11 and 4, that he had to raise alone. He made sure we were fed, clothed, housed and loved. He was not too proud to ask for help and relied on family, both his and my mom's side, to help him raise us. It must be hard to go through 7 years of crap just to be left alone.

When he was diagnosed with a degenerative kidney disease, I was devastated. I pictured myself as an adult orphan, alone with no biological parents left. But my dad wasn't going to roll over and die. He would fight. He would plan his life around work, dialysis and the subsequent transplant. He would live. I was never so relieved as when the doctors told us that he did well in surgery and the kidney was working perfectly. We all clapped when he peed. You laugh, and so did we, at the absurdity of clapping when someone peed. It was a great day.

I saw my dad yesterday. He called my sister and me to tell us that he found a leather recliner that would match our living room. As he pulled up and got out of his truck I saw his arm where the dialysis stint was put in years ago. It looks misshapen and kind of gross now but it reminded me of all that he has been through over his life. My thoughts moved backwards from his own illness, Joan's, my mom's. I thought about how brave he was and my heart broke a little again. Today he has a great life. He is looking forward to retirement and gets to spend lots of time with the grandbabies. He gets to go on vacation without working it around his dialysis schedule or numerous doctor's appointments. Everyone that meets my dad tells me how much they like him and admire him. I concur.

So Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you. Oh yeah...and I apologize for those teenage years.

Love,
Andrea

New beginnings...

I've spent the last few months on a lengthy journey of self discovery. Forgiving and accepting but not forgetting. Finding happiness and peace that I have never really had in my adult life. Exploring spirituality and religion that I can believe in. Contemplating and planning for the future. Let me explain a little:

I don't know how many people actually know about the terror I've always held for the number 31. 31 was the age of my mother when she passed. 31 has always been the age that I believed that I also was going to die. I never saw past 31. It was if I never had to plan too far in advance for anything because 31 was slowly sneaking up on me. At 30 I fell into a depression that was hard to pull out of. Everyone seemed to think that I was reacting so dramatically to 30 because I was leaving my 20's and youth and yada yada yada. But really I was thinking about how this would be my last year on earth and all of the regrets that I had, all of the people to apologize to, leaving my family, etc.. This may seem irrational to you but I have ALWAYS believed in the power of 31.

I made a secret deal with myself earlier this year that I was not going to fear the fast approaching 31 but I was going to embrace it. I sat down and really thought about the things that have been swirling around in my head for the last 20 years. I am not my mother. I do not have cancer. I need to make her proud and do everything in life that she was not able to do. I would prove that I can beat 31 and I will live to 32 and beyond with a newfound perspective on life.

Instead of settling for a job that I don't like, I put aside my fears of dying too early and signed up to go back to school for Nursing. I registered for Bio classes (!) and hired a tutor to prepare me during the summer. Now remember that I haven't been in school for 10 years and I don't remember how to study let alone doing it while working full time. I can see 3 years down the road to when I will graduate. 3 years past 31. 34. That's some progress.

I found a church that I believe in and started going about 6 weeks ago. Its a very safe place where I already feel comfortable. I've even been sociable. I went camping with friends and friends of friends and felt relaxed and could carry on a conversation with people I don't really know instead of shrinking to the sidelines. I signed up for a black and white photography class at school also and bought a used old school camera on ebay. I'm making plans to hang out with family I love dearly but sort of lost touch with. I'm doing the Avon Walk and following through with the commitment of raising the money even though that part really sucks.

I smile and enjoy the company of others. I can talk about my feelings and will willingly seek out opinions and advice. I'm figuring out the money situation and TRYING to save money for a condo or house. The idea of buying something has never crossed my mind even though I'm obsessed with "House Hunters". I took a "me" day, went to the city and wandered and hung out at museums. All by myself. I've been maintaining a Google calendar all the way up to December. Way past my self projected death date of August. I'm contemplating actually getting involved in a real relationship, instead of the fake one I've carried on for over 2 years. You know, until 31.

I had a conversation yesterday with my friend Ashley. We discussed my progress and it was nice to hear reinforcement that change in me has begun. My attitude on life is more positive and I'm trying to embrace it and live it to the fullest.

And so I raise my glass to new beginnings and a future, whatever it may hold...

Happy Birthday...

I just wanted to wish my mother a Happy Birthday. She would've been 51 years old. 20 years gone, 20 years older than me, but forever in our hearts.

Love,

Andrea

P.S. Thank you to Joan for putting the flowers on her grave that I couldn't...

My new family...the extended version

When my father remarried, I not only gained a stepmother but an new extended family as well. Uncle Billy lived in Florida, Aunt Mary and Uncle Chuck had 3 girls, Aunt Judy lived with her daughter, who was a few years older than me and her son was grown. Aunt Helen had a son and daughter, both of whom were a little on the wilder side. As much as I loved my own family and felt slightly guilty, I instantly liked Jo's family. They were fun and odd and larger than either side of my own biological family. Since there were 4 sisters (and a brother who lived far away), there was drama. Who was talking to whom, who's kids were doing well, blah blah blah. And they instantly accepted my sister and me into their family. We were referred to as nieces and never left out of the family functions. They love each other dearly.

As I talked about before, my dad and Joan were accepted and remained in the life of my mom's family. Joan's family was invited to the Thanksgiving and Easter celebrations along with my mom and dad's family. It sounds weird but it really worked. We would all gather at my house for the holidays, with everyone bringing a dish and politely mingling. The first few times were a little odd, but everyone became comfortable with each other. If someone from one side wasn't there, a person from another would ask where they were, how they were doing, etc.

When my Aunt Helen fell sick with breast cancer, I was devastated. I knew how this ended and I felt bad for her children even though they were grown. The family didn't know what they were in for. They did not know about the chemo, radiation, side effects, heartache and loss of a mother, sister, grandmother. Aunt Helen's cancer was different from my mom's. It was more aggressive and spread faster than my mom's. Aunt Helen was older (even though she was still young) when she was diagnosed and had led a lifestyle that was harsher on the body than my mom. But I loved Aunt Helen and didn't want to watch her suffering.

Aunt Helen was blessed with a beautiful baby granddaughter named Kelsea. Kelsea loved her nana and spent a lot of time with her. She lived with her at one point. Kelsea was the joy in Aunt Helen's life. She fought so hard to stay alive for her. I wanted her to be able to see Kelsea grow up- into an elementary schooler, high school graduate and mother herself. But she was not able to hang on. The cancer spread throughout her body and she succumbed to it, surrounded by her sisters. Towards the end, which was inevitable, her sisters gathered at her house. The rest of the family also came by to visit but the sisters were always there. I remember the last time I saw Aunt Helen alive. I knew from previous experience that this was going to be the last time. I said goodbye the best way I could and left the house. She died not long after.

I want to remember Aunt Helen as a laughing and smiling woman. Even though I am in no way, shape or form related to her, I was considered her niece and I considered her my aunt. I received birthday cards and hugs goodbye at the Christmas Eve parties at Aunt Judy's house.

The typical family in America no longer exists. We are comprised of single mothers, gay men or women with children and "stepfamilies". I was blessed with a stepfamily that loves me and is encouraging me to do this Walk. I think of Aunt Helen often. She is buried almost directly behind my own mother in the same cemetary. I visit her whenever I visit Mom and bring her angels for her grave and try and get rid of the weeds in the little garden in front of her plot. I pray for her and hope that she and my mom have met in Heaven. I believe that they are watching over us all and are happy that we have "blended". I walk not only for my mom, my "2nd mom" but also for my Aunt Helen. I love them all.

The pink ribbon cookie cutter...

So by now everybody knows about the Avon Walk, 2 days, 39 miles, yada yada yada. And that I have to raise a boatload of money. So I'll skip ahead to about 3 weeks ago when I had the brilliant idea that I could make money by selling something at the Village Community Tag Sale and Art Show. It was a nice happy thought...bake some cookies, sell them, get money *fiendish laugh*. Oh so easy.

Somehow I became fixated on the idea that the cookies needed to be shaped like ribbons and that I HAD seen a ribbon cookie cutter once. Somewhere. Probably at a store. Maybe in the Tri-State area. I swear I saw one. This cookie cutter became my obsession. And I REALLY wanted to find it in a store to prove that I had seen one in a store. People (friends and store employees alike) gave me strange looks when I described what I wanted in a cookie cutter. I would walk into (insert craft supply/home goods store name here) and head for the decorative kitchen crap aisle. Every goddamn store stocked the same cookie cutters (circles, hearts, various animals) but none had a ribbon. Invariably a store employee would see me staring intensely at row of cutters and ask if I needed help. Of course! They would know exactly where one would find a ribbon cookie cutter!! I explained what I wanted and there was always that very same look of confusion on his/her face. "Umm...these are all of the cookie cutters that we have". Gee, thanks.

So I turned to the good old internet. Of course I could find it on here. I was still a little pissy that I couldn't find it in any single store in Dutchess County but whatever. Did I mention that when I began my online search it was approximately 3am and I hadn't been to bed yet? So I was getting a bit groggy and slightly punchy. Oooohh they have more than one kind on ebay!!Should I get the metal one, pink one, small, big (I thought), one with a fake hole in the middle or one that actually punches the hole out leaving you with a "realistic" ribbon? Which one? Life is full of possibilites! I fell in love with the LARGE pink one with the punchy hole. I could envision sugar cookies with a glaze, lined with white hard icing and filled in with pink sprinkles. People would fall over themselves trying to buy these beautiful cookies from me. Or so my 3, er 4am self thought. I apparently ordered 2 from 2 different vendors on 2 different websites. And chocolate molds, lollipop molds and sticks. Give me a credit card in the middle of the night and this is what happens.

While eagerly awaiting the arrival of my much coveted cookie cutters, I decided to go and buy all of the other decorating crap. I went to Michael's and found that it was a pink ribbon cookie makers dream...white icing in Elmer's glue type bottles, edible pink glitter gels, etc. Did you know that sprinkles come in a multitude of shapes and sizes? I did not. And there are different variations of pink too, though I gravitated towards the pinkest pink- HOT PINK! I got bags, icings, gels, ribbon, safety pins, a circle and heart cookie cutter...I can't even bring myself to tell you how much it cost. But I will say that the girl at the counter hooked me up with a coupon that saved me something like $13. Fundraising is pricey. And I hadn't even gotten the ingredients for the dough yet.

I was thrilled when I finally got to open the medium sized box that magically ended up on my porch, I knew Kandi's Kitchen (or whomever) would send me my perfect ribbon cookiecutter. I tore open the box like a kid at Christmas...I was unfolding and unfolding and unfolding something wrapped in newspaper. And there it was a mini pink ribbon cookie cutter. What the hell was I going to do with this? I'd have to sell the cookies for a friggin' quarter! But all hope was not lost because in a few days another package would arrive with my REAL biggie size ribbon cookie cutter. But, alas, I was duped again. It was the same exact cutter as the first!! I surrendered.

In the meantime I asked my friend and ex-cubicle mate Ashley if I could borrow her kitchen to be able to make the cookies as she has a full size oven and I would have to bake them by 2's in mine. She readily agreed and had no idea that she would become engulfed with my obsessive ribbon themed cookie madness. We agreed to bake on the Wednesday before the tag sale and possibly Thursday if needed. I was to bring the dough, she had the cookie sheets. At first I contemplated buying sugar cookie dough at BJ's, but decided that this would probably be more expensive and was sort of cheating. Never again. I spent most of Tuesday making batch after batch of cookie dough. I even baked a few to make sure that they were edible. They looked be-you-ti-ful! I took pics and texted them to Ashley and my sister.

Cookie making was actually a lot of fun and my sister, Ashley and I were a well oiled machine. And sugar cookies bake fast, thank god. But it was still hours of baking what felt like thousands of cookies. We cooled them and packed them up for me to transport home for decorating the next day. We ate the rejects. Things to know: Ribbon cookie cutters suck and the big ones with the cushioning rock. And my sister used all of the dough except a piece the size of an M&M. It was truly impressive.

Decorating was interesting. I can say for sure that none of us are artistic. In fact we are pretty much the opposite...oh if it was only videotaped for your pleasure (or YouTube viral fame). There were sprinkles everywhere, dripping white icing (I had visions of the gingerbread man lining on the ribbons), goopy pink gel and my sister's attempt at "art"- the smiley face. Buuuuut...they actually looked pretty cute all wrapped up in cellophane bags with pink ribbons.

The cookie selling aspect was actually uneventful compared to the weeks preceeding. We sold all the cookies! Yay!! We made money. We donated it to charity and all was well...

I am grateful that people (Ashley and my sister specifically) are still speaking to me after this week of cookie hell. I'd also like to thank my coworkers for putting up with obsessive sugar cookie making and decorating talk.

My new family...

I've been thinking a lot (and writing too, I guess) about my Mom and her death but I haven't mentioned my Dad's second wife and her family.

About 2 years after my Mom died, my Dad got remarried to a wondeful woman named Joan. I still call her Joan but my sister calls her Mom because she is the only mom that she remembers. My sister was 6 when they married and I was 13. My father did things right in my opinion. He raised us singlehandedly for those 2 years and went through a lot, all on his own. He was a bit taken aback when I got my first period, but I guess I can understand that. He called my Gram to come over and help with my incessant crying and refusal to go to school because of it. She took me out shopping and to lunch. He left me alone in my misery for awhile. I did have a conversation with him about the time after my Mom died, and his only regret was that he did not make us go to therapy to deal with her struggle and death. But goddamn, he was 32, had just lost his wife after fighting the disease along with her for 7 years. He was thrown into single parenthood (of 2 girls at that). He couldn't do my sister's hair. That part was quite amusing. You should have seen the concoctions he came up with. I took over that part. He fed us, made sure we were clothed and grieved along with us. I can't fathom what he went through.

In any event, he met Joan through work. He sat me down and asked for my permission to go on a date with her. Even through my anger, I believed that he had the right to be happy so I said that he could go. Joan did make my Dad happy. I was not, but attempted to pretend that I was. He wouldn't let her stay over or move in until after they were married. Thinking back, this was a really nice thing to do for all of us. Joan is a lovely woman although slightly meek and mild. I tried not to, but I'm sure I pushed her buttons. I have to have. At that point I was an angry teenager with a grudge against life. But I was never mean to her (I hope) and tried to like her. She had the patience of a saint.

Eventually I grew to love her and think of her as a mother figure. I still couldn't bring myself to call her Mom. I knew my mother but Joan became "Jo", and she is still to this day. Although now she is my Jo. I've had her in my life longer than I had my own mother.

When Jo was diagnosed with breast cancer, I was devastated. I'd already been through this before and all I could think was "You've got to be fucking kidding me!". But she fought hard, and they caught it early and she won! She is still on the oral chemo but I don't care because she's still alive and I love her.

Jo even grew to be part of my Mom's family. They call her Aunt Joan and she is invited (as is my Dad) to family functions that they wouldn't necessarily be invited to if it was another family. For god's sake, they are invited to the family reunions. And they go. I love that! And I love my Mom's side because they have accepted her and still include my Dad, even though they went through the tragic experience of losing a sister, aunt, daughter. My Dad and Jo would even make it a point to go and visit my Mom's dad when they were in the area.

All in all, my Dad and Jo are awesome and I love them dearly. More about Jo's family and their acceptance of me and my sister later (its a good thing!)...

Training buddies...

So I am sloooooowly building a Walk network besides me and my sister. I was hoping for a group to train with that are diverse and (more than anything else) local. Its really hard to find anyone in neighboring counties that are participating. I don't really understand why, but I'm pretty sure that D. and I are the only ones participating in Dutchess County. Goddamn, we're not thaaat far from the City. I love my sister dearly but training for the next 5 mos, living together and then walking 39 miles may perhaps kill our sisterly bond ;)

So Diane (someone who was hooked up with me via my "walking buddy" Sadie) and I are walking the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge on Monday. Wish me luck...I hear its a much steeper incline than it looks. Send 'em on Sadie, send 'em on.