The Loud Chair

How can an empty chair scream so loud? How is it able to kick me in the gut then shove me to the ground without making a move?  

It plays a melancholy melody over and over. I can't turn the volume down.  The smell is of sweet sugar, angel cake with pink frosting. 

Birthdays are supposed to be special. For some it is a rite of passage, and for others it is a burden. For me, my birthday is special to one person, my mom. As I grew up, the gifts I received from her were probably more for herself than for me. I still have the personalized plated photo album (yes, there was a time we actually printed hard copy photos and put them in books), with "16 Hugs" on it. It wasn't just about me turning 16, it was her way of encouraging me to catalog the memories. Maybe she wanted to see those memories too.  I envision her peeking through the albums after I went away to college. 

Today, I avoid my birthday. Not because of the continual tick of time beating on my collagen. Not because I want to be younger than I am. I loathe it because it makes the empty chair the biggest elephant in my room. It is her chair. Yet, it is empty. On this day, the chair trips me, or chants so loud I can't hear myself think. That chair rips my heart out all day long. 

Even if every person I know reached out to me today sending me birthday wishes, I would still feel, see, hear and smell that empty chair. When I get the birthday wishes, it is like a compliment I cannot accept. This day isn't MY day. Today belongs to her, my mom, the one who brought me into this world. I even erased my birthday on Facebook just to reduce the attention. 

Ironically, I do have her chair. It was the very chair she sat in while she got ready for work, going out or at time she just sat on, in her room, in her space. The bench chair is a simple wood legged, avocado green seat with a partial rolled back. Years back my now ex-husband had it reupholstered because the seat was ripped to shreds. He chose the new pattern, light colored floral with long skirt all around the seat. This chair sits in my bedroom. I often grab the legs of the chair and rest my head in the cushion. I can smell her Final Net hairspray mixed with cigarette smoke. I can hear her light Music in the background (some Englebert Humperdinck, Charlie Pride or George Straight. I can feel her use her fingers to comb through my hair and sometimes wipe away my tears.

I love that chair. Yet with it being empty, I resent that chair sometimes.  

I need to redo that chair and make it back to its original look. Maybe she will visit more if she sees her chair back to her original state. 

I do appreciate the people in my life, even more so that they take the time to reach out to me.

I pray the emptiness lessens more over time, because to have an empty chair that speaks so loudly is gut-wrenching. Until then, I will smile when people say “Happy Birthday”, but inside I cringe and hold my breath, waiting for the day to be over. 

I got to put my head out the window today.

I got to put my head out the window today.  Not too far, thanks to those safety windows that seem to be standard in all cars these days.  You wouldn’t think I know too much about cars, but I do.  See, when I am sitting in my lawn and cars go screaming by, I see the back seat with the kids screaming and the lucky dogs hanging their heads up. It seems 13 years ago when I saw those dogs; they were hanging out a little more than today. Anyway, today I got to put my head out the window and it was heaven.

I knew when we pulled into the parking lot that it was going to be one of THOSE visits.  There may be a butt to smell or a kitty to make fun of in their crates being carried by their human.  But no amount of butts would be enough to make me forget where we were.  This is the place they stick their fingers in my booty and make liquid come out.  It HURTS.  I will say it does feel better after it is done, but just thinking about it makes me back my booty into a corner.  The smells are a bit of heaven and hell.  I can smell all those other dogs that were here.  I can smell their sickness.  I can smell their anxiety.  There always seems to be a twinge of human anxiety too.  Not sure what they are worked up about, it is us that get the fingers in the booty. 

Todays visit was different from the beginning.  Mom was eager to get me out of the backseat, yet I could smell fear on her.  I didn’t want to get out of the car because of that fear. What did she know?  I wanted NO part of it.  She actually scooped me up and put me down on the parking lot.  Wow mom, I didn’t think you had it in you. 

I will say, I like this new human that seems to always be here when I am.  She looks at me with the kindest eyes and lets me sniff her and lick her a bit.  She tastes good. A little like all the other dogs, but overall I can taste the niceness.  She makes me feel better about being here.  She wants to see in my mouth.  I cant stand anyone looking in my mouth.  I don’t let her.  I hope she isn’t mad.  She doesn’t smell mad, she seems to have a little of that fear smell my mom does today.  Another human comes into the room.  I know what this means. This is the ultimate tag team. I know I can’t win against both of these humans, so I finally just let them look.  Why is she shining that light in my mouth.  WOW, it is so bright and warm.  She must like what she sees because she asks MY human to look too.  I feel like a Picasso on a wall.  Everyone wants to look at me.  Fabulous. Wait.  Fear.  Sadness.  What is wrong with my momma human.  She is almost frozen with her fear.  I was good, momma, I swear.  I didn’t do anything wrong.  Maybe she knows about the cat toy I found and attacked.  That toy had it coming, it was all smelly like dirt.  Not sure why that kitten gets all glassy eyed with that toy, it isn’t normal.  So, I helped out and took care of that toy, it will never be seen again.  I helped!

My mom is leaving me here.  Why?  A field trip without momma tagging along?  She is sad.  I need to be near her, she is sad.  But instead I go along with this new human, to a room with so many kennels.  Why are the other bootys and kitties in these cages.  They don’t smell good.  Sickness.   I don’t like it here.  I want to go back home to my comfy beds and that human that is always smiling at me.  I don’t seem to hear her anymore, she really should talk louder.  But I smell her.  I feel her always touching me.  She massages my neck and back all the time.  Oh how I wish I was with her right now.  I am sleepy now. 

Cold.  I am so cold.  I can barely open my eyes.  Lifting up up up.  Wait, why are they lifting me up.  I would like to just sleep here.  Ah, my Humans!  Why do they look so sad?  If I get to go back home with them, I will go along with this, I will even try to stand up.  I can’t really feel my legs though.  Urgh, did THAT just happen?  My poo just fell out, I think.  I am so embarrassed.  I purposely don’t do that near my humans.  I even try to use the neighbor’s yard when I do have to go, just so it isn’t near us.  It can stay here, with the sickness, I don’t even care at this point.  I just want to go home.  Still so sleepy.

Here we are, all comfy on my bed.  I still can’t get up though.  My mouth, dang, that hurts. What did that sickness place do to me as I slept?  It hurts to breathe.  Thank you human for putting a little water in my mouth, that is nice.  But it hurts.  A lot.  My legs, I can’t move them.  Actually, I can’t really move anything other than my head a little. My humans keep looking at me with sadness.   I wish they could make this pain go away.  My human is so sad.  She keeps leaking from her eyes.  I would usually lick them for her but I can’t move.  Come on other human, help her.  I can’t, so you should! Ah my young human is here.  I would like to lay next to him and cuddle.  He has grown so much.  There was a time I could outrun him, now look at him.  This is nice; he is curled next to me and sharing my bed. I see his mouth moving.  He is another one that really needs to speak up. I miss his smell and his smiles.  I am happy.  He isn’t happy though.  More sadness.  All these humans are so sad. 

 I must have fallen asleep there for a minute. I swear I just saw that cat that used to live in our house a few years ago.  Why was he calling me? My strong human was carrying me to the car and I just fell asleep for a minute.  He has dropped to his knees, don’t drop me!   OK, back to the house we go.  Look at this, my breathing slowed down a bit.  I feel all tingly.  Oh momma human, she is curled up next to me. I like this.  Maybe she won’t be as sad anymore if we keep cuddling.  There is that cat again, he keeps calling me.  I have a bone to pick with him anyway. He had that sickness smell for a long time then he just left and didn’t come home.  He made my momma human cry, A LOT.  She wouldn’t stop for days.  I am going to tell him how unbearable it was for the rest of us.  I need to tell him how a new kitty came to live at our house.  This little grey thing is a pistol.  She is always chasing my tail or running up to me and patting her paws at me.  Super annoying.  Yeah, I think I need to tell that old cat what he did here. 

Back to my humans.  They are so sad.  I think it is probably best if I just hold my breath a little bit and maybe I can fall asleep again.  Let’s try it.  BOOM.  Oh no, I just made momma human really upset.  I want to lick her but I can’t move.  I am getting pretty sleepy though. I may not even have to hold my breath, I can just fall asleep.  Yeah, I am tired; I think it is time to sleep.  When I wake up I hope my humans are happy again and I can move.  Maybe I can put my head out the car window again!

Wishy Washy, Flip Flop

16 years ago this week, I sat vigil by my mom’s hospital bedside.  We were told the end was near, that they could only keep her comfortable, extreme measures couldn’t help her, not even a miracle. I waited, hoped, dreading what was going to come.  The Bereavement minister who actually knew my mom for years, told us we needed to tell her it was OK for her to go.  She needed to hear from us, despite being coherent, that we supported her and that we were letting her go.  She needed to know we would be “ok” without her.  So, that is what I did, I told her it was OK to go.  Over and Over.  All-week-long.  Every morning after the Doctors made their rounds, I would head to my In-laws to shower and get cleaned up before returning back to the hospital.  In the shower I would cry, scream and sometimes vomit.  I wasn’t “OK” with her leaving.  I didn’t want to be alone, abandoned.  I begged God-My Higher Power-whoever to please let her come back to us, to continue to be our rock and glue.  But yet, when I returned to the hospital, I begged God-My Higher Power-whoever to take her, to ease her pain, to make it all over and done with.

Some may say this is mixed messages.  For me, it is the constant battle between my heart and my head.  That internal war produces feelings that change continually.  I was always fortunate enough to have a mom who said, “Feelings aren’t right or wrong, they just are.”  I always used my feelings as a guide in my decisions.  Depending on the minute, hour, day or week I am following my heart or my head.  This isn’t a Change of Heart, or Changing of my mind. This is a result of that constant battle.  There is no such thing as contradiction. It is all depending on what is winning the war at that moment.

Today I see this divergence within me in all aspects of my life.  With my son, there are morning drives to school (15-20 minute commute) that I can’t wait to push him out the car door when we arrive because we are at such odds with each others.  Then 30 seconds later, I pull over to send him a text because I don’t want our last moments to be arguing.  As we all know…you never know if something may happen.  Heart won.

A few months back, my job was eliminated.  Initially, my heart screamed in pain, but then my head took over.  I was able to scour, network and land a new job within the 7 weeks.  Being that I carry the health benefits for all of us, I couldn’t let my sadness; devastation and resentment get in the way of providing for my family. Head won.

It is common for people to look back at their education and career choices and wonder if they made the right decisions.  The best part of this reflection is realizing how much work-life we still have ahead of us, and it isn’t too late to upgrade, change or enhance your skills.  My head is telling me to get my Masters Degree and keep building upon my professional career in the corporate healthcare arena.  My heart is saying do something you are passionate about like Massage.  This battle has yet to be determined. 

The analogy of “glass half full or half empty” isn’t about positive attitude; it is a result of this heart VS head issue.  Depending on the clash, my head is feeling guilty or my heart if heavy.    In the last few years I have been told by friends and family that I flip-flop on my decisions and they can’t seem to keep up.  Please know I am not doing this to confuse you, it is just me, being caught in the moment of my heart and my head.  I don’t expect you to keep you with me, just support me.

Dear mom on Mother's Day

Dear mom,


I was blessed to have celebrated 23 years of Mother’s Days with you, but I can’t say that I remember the details of each year. Sadly, I can remember the all the years we didn’t get to share the day together. For this year, you are getting a very special gift – A Daughter-in-law! With having one son, this is the only DIL you will have. I know you would love her and the way she has mel...ted in with all of us.

I am thankful the wedding is Mother’s Day weekend because I can focus on this gift to you, and not your empty seat. I know you will be with us all day Saturday and I can’t wait to feel/hear/see the signs you send us to make your presence known. If at all possible, please help your daughters to keep dry eyes that day. Tears of Joy are so bittersweet, and they can really ruin photographs!



As always, I love & miss you.

Your “babykin”,

Kristina Robin

The Grieving House

While in high school a close friend’s dad passed away suddenly due to a heart attack. He was here one minute, the next minute he was just gone. I felt so helpless to her. What could I possible offer her? How could I support her? Shortly after that time, in a class we were told about the 5 Steps of Grieving.


1. Denial & Isolation

2. Anger

3. Bargaining

4. Depression

5. Acceptance

I was ecstatic to learn these. I figured that if I learned them, I could see what step she was in, and I would know what to expect, and then I would know when she was “through” her grieving. Oh to be 16 again and think the world was really black and white. Sigh.

It is no secret I have had loss in my life whether it was a death, a marriage, a job or even a friendship. The Steps of Grief apply to all of these losses. Recently someone going through a loss asked me, “How long will it take for me to get through this?” There is no answer. We all deal with loss in different ways. So cliché, right? Another sigh.

I like to think of the Stages of Grief as if it were a house. Each room is a step in the process. As we walk through various rooms in our house, every day, we also pass through the different stages of grief. Everyday can be different as far as what stage we are in. There isn’t a clear path of 1 through 5. Overtime, we change the cosmetic parts of our houses with paint, decorations and time we spend in the room. To me, the different stages also change over time as well. The deep depression I once felt after my mom passed away is very different than the “sad” days I may have now when I feel myself missing her more than usual.

There are times when I walk into a room and I don’t remember why I went there. Did I get there out of habit? What steered me there? Sometimes I think back to the time immediately following my mom’s death and I don’t remember how I got through some of those days. There is a memory lapse that makes me feel like it may never have happened in the first place.

I have lived in many homes since birth, at least 15. Even though I may not think of every house, at random moments something will trigger my memory of a house. In the same way, I will remember something about my mom that came out of nowhere. I can still remember the exact layout of a house when I was 3, just like I can still smell the coffee/Cert on my mother’s breath as I lay on her lap in an AA meeting.

By no means do I think the grieving process is a continuous cycle that you never get out of, like running on a hamster wheel. Grief will change, morph and age over time, just like a home.

If only the walls could talk.

Dear Mom,

Dear mom,



Well, it has happened – FINALLY. Your only son has gotten engaged! I know, there have been some close calls in the past, but this is the real deal. Your daughters couldn’t be more thrilled. It is a bittersweet moment, with you not here to see it. But just like I tell Wendy, it is just that WE wish WE could see YOU seeing HIM so happy. We know you are here, with each of us, watching our moments. I am sure you have already been watching Lynn and know so much more about her than the rest of us. Have you seen how she adores our kids? These kids flock to her with so much unconditional love, it is truly sweet. It is like she has been a missing part of this family, and completes the complex puzzle we have become. There is nothing about her that is fake, pretentious or destructive. She has a way of lifting people’s attitudes around her, empowering themselves into becoming who they deserve to be. Even Mike’s baby, Emma adores her and seeks her out when looking for her “people”.


I have held my breath for so long, when it comes to your son’s happiness and content with life. There have been times in the past when his heart has been broken and I wanted to slash out at the girl in blame or even kick him for screwing it all up. But as we all know, that no one really knows what happens behind other peoples closed doors. You once told me during one of my heartbreaks that unanswered prayers are really answering future prayers, I just didn’t know it yet. Maybe you leaving us early was part of “The Plan” for us girls to help raise Mike into his adulthood. Maybe this was just a trial run, prepping me in raising Noah.


Just as you taught me, whatever is supposed to happen, WILL happen.


I love you and I miss you. I thank you for giving us the roadmap, but not driving the car. For letting us get lost at times and yet being there to guide us onto the next path.

Thanks for continuing this journey with us. I will keep you updated. 

I don't feel good

As I am pouting about my return cold and feeling crabby about it….I am slapped with the realization that it is, JUST a cold. So trivial compared to those around me with real sicknesses and diseases. Sometimes we just need an “ah ha” moment to put things into perspective.









My symptom: My body aches.


Reality: My oldest sister was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis almost 2 years ago. Since then she has changed medications multiple times, looked into experimental treatments, been so sore she can’t get out of bed all while she works full time and is a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter and best friend to many.


My prescription: I will take Tylenol, soak in the hot tub and not complain about my body aches.






My symptom: Embarrassingly enough, while having pneumonia and coughing constantly found myself running to the bathroom because I thought my bladder wouldn’t hold up at times.


Reality: After a few weeks of urinating what looked like Dr Pepper, my brother was diagnosed with bladder cancer. Pending surgery, he suffers from constant issues surrounding going #1 and if faced with a long battle ahead of him.


My prescription: strengthen my muscles with a smile.






My symptom: I ate too many sweets at work during a retirement party and got the shakes from too much sugar.


Reality: My stepdaughter has to count every carb before she puts it in her mouth and determine how much insulin she will need to take to offset the blood sugar levels. Every item she puts in her mouth, every time she eats.


My prescription: Make better choices about food and relish every bite.






My symptom: I can’t taste the beer I opened because I am so stuffed up.


Reality: My middle sister, my mother and my stepfather all struggle(d) with alcohol and it altered their lives immensely. They lost jobs, homes, friends and even have had family turn their backs on them.


My prescription: Don’t overindulge, and appreciate being able to have 1 and walking away.

 
My symptom: My chest hurts when I breathe.


Reality: I watched my mom take her last breath which was slow, low and rattily because she fought the fight to Emphysema and Lung Cancer. She hasn’t shared the same air with me in 14 years, or ever met my son.


My Prescription: With every breath, FEEL the life that is pouring inside of me.