Samsmom: Life, Joy, Loss and Loving your Mitochondria

I disappeared in May.

I disappear often, which can be a tad frustrating to my tribe. I emerge unpredictably like a rabid squirrel, looking around, wondering where everyone went, only to hear their reply.

‘We thought you had left.’

And I do leave, but I always come back in some unpredictable form or another.

May was sad and awesome and promising and funny and hopeful all in the same month.

Thank goodness for 31 days.

I quit my job in May. I know this is the third job in two years, but 52-year-old Heather is searching for a place to be…..may this next job be my place.
Four days after giving notice, I had a medical issue. An issue in my lady parts. This issue was a bit jarring, and when explaining the whole situation to my mother, her first response was, “Please don’t post this on Facebook.”
Is my blog Facebook? Not really.

So to make this version a little more PG, my Lady Parts will be referred to as LP moving forward.

LP and I had an issue that needed to be addressed quickly. I don’t know about you, but when a problem comes up in that area, I feel like I have done something wrong. Terribly wrong. I dated the wrong boy, used the wrong towel, sat on the toilet seat. Somehow, married at 52, this has to be my fault.

It did not help that LP and I visited my doctor and she requested surgery at the Anschutz campus immediately. I called Hubs and cried. We packed a bag and drove to Denver.

I love that Hubs dropped everything. While driving down, he mentioned that it reminded him of Samantha days when nothing mattered but her health. I cried again.

This was the fifth time this year that I have been under general anesthesia. I hate going under. Me, like my daughter and my grandmother, have been dubbed the ‘Keith Richards of Anesthesia.’ I wake up immediately talking of grand ideas, mashed potatoes, and offering to push my bed back to recovery after a knee replacement.

I’m a hoot.

LP surgery was successful and was followed by my least favorite holiday, Mother’s Day.

I pulled through like a champ.

Graduation weekends were next. Jack would have graduated this year. I was cautious. I picked where I wanted to be, thought through reactions, tended to my LP, and thought I would be okay.

Silly Rabbit.

I think when you are dealing with hard stuff, you should reserve a day in your life to lose your poop….like, really freaking lose it. Ugly cry, grab your keys, jump in the car, turn on the Smiths, and just drive. May 21st was my day. I drove northeast. I have no idea why Greeley, Colorado, was appealing, but that’s where I ended up.

And I cried.

I cried again for a life that is not ours, a club of proud Mamas with graduating seniors. A club I will never belong to.

I cried for me, trying to make it okay when it is so wrong.

I found myself at a church in Mead, walking the labyrinth and ending up at the feet of Mary. She was carved out of marble. Her feet were smooth, barefoot, and unassuming. We sat together and watched the sunset over the mountains.

LP and I returned home. Bruised, broken, tear-stained but no worse for the wear.

Hubs and I left for California two days later to celebrate our nephew’s wedding.

Life does go on; fiercely yet slowly. It crawls, it runs, it hits you by surprise, and it knocks you sideways. Demands you remember, just when you thought you forgot.

And all you can do is embrace it, you and your broken LP, sitting at the foot of Mary, watching the sunset over the mountains.