I found myself at Orange Theory yesterday evening.

My best workouts are somewhat anger enriched.

And last night I needed to sweat out some demons out in my head.

I pounced on the bike and started riding to the music. Orange Theory plays really great, sometimes a tad ragey music.

Blue Monday by Orgy started to play…… it’s an angry song- not a super angry song but it fit my mood…..

And I still find it so hard,

To say what I need to say,

But I’m quite sure that you’ll tell me, just how I should feel today.

Orange Theory has these sayings on the wall, “Sweat Today, Smile Tomorrow.” “You’re only competing against yourself,” “If it does not challenge you, it does not change you.”

And I’m thinking, where is the rage wall? Where is the “I’m working out my inner demons? It’s not sweat, it’s anger juice“, or my favorite saying to work out to when I feel a touch ragey…… “%uck this $hit”

Please note, the above is my internal cadence- I don’t run around Orange Theory saying %uck this $hit. But say next time you’re on a run and feeling a little angsty, try it, it really does work.

The song continued to play…

How should I feel?

How do I feel?

The song echoed what I have been feeling all day…..How should I feel.….my heart rate hit a high of 176….I was stinky and dripping anger juice. I think I got a little of this worked out.

Once I dug past the anger, I recognized what was at the core; grief.

I grieve. And perhaps because grief is a companion, I know when it’s here. This morning it sits next to me, sipping coffee and helping me write this all down. This morning it is silent and respectful.

Hello Grief.

I grieve for the families in Texas, for the immense, unfathomable loss. For how these parents now have to navigate life.

I grieve for you and I. For a society and decisions we no longer understand- for government and laws we are willing to accept knowing that the consequences are deadly.

The consequences are deadly.

I grieve for a society that on the darkness nights cannot accept anything less than shame, denial and blame.

I grieve that it all seems completely out of my control. I grieve that for many of us, it’s easier just to say silent.

I have never been good at being silent.

We need to acknowledge the broken- not the shame or the blame but the deeply, broken before it is absolutely unfixable. I don’t care who broke the window. Can we just say that the window is broken?

Let’s start there.

Cause I don’t know where else to start.

In the meantime, I’m going to try and work this shit out in my own head. Apologies in advance to whoever is next to me at sweaty Orange Theory.

Ah…..Happy Mother’s Day dear tribe. If you have followed me through the years, you know that Mother’s Day is somewhat problematic for me.

In fact I kinda hate it.

But I am happy to report that (so far) this Mother’s Day has been with love, laughter and sans tears.

For me.

But I think my whole tribe of Mama’s might be somewhat distraught by the goings-on of this last week. Roe v. Wade is a tinder box of emotions and the implications of what could happen in the next month are far reaching and catastrophic for women.

I do not say that lightly.

I have buried two very wanted, very loved babies. I gave birth to a full term stillborn son. I understand that life is really, truly is a miracle; a lovely, messy complex miracle.

After Samantha’s second Flight for Life trip to Children’s, I got an IUD. The thought of having another baby was absolutely terrifying to me.

“But you would be a great mom,” friends and family said.

Heeeeeellllll yeah! I would rock Motherhood. But if you carry an asshole genetic condition like we do, the chances of having another Little like Jack and Samantha is 25%.

1 in 4.

“Those are good odds in Vegas.”

Seriously, someone said that to me. 1 and 4…..after losing two kids, you should go for another because 1 and 4 odds are good in Vegas. I asked said person if they would get on a plane that had a 1 and 4 chance of crashing.

“Maybe not.”

But it wasn’t just the odds of having another medically complex child. It was me. I was a mess. I was traumatized, I was sad, I was angry, and I knew, I knew, I was not in a good place to have another child, or adopt, or foster, or focus on anything else other than healing my traumatized brain.

Trauma makes us do crazy things.

A couple weeks ago, the world watched Will Smith smack Chris Rock. We analyzed, we cancel cultured, we talked, we said “Will has anger issues.”

I made a note of this when I marched into my therapists office a couple weeks ago. “Was that Anger, or was that Violence? I get angry about things in my life but I don’t hit people.”

My lovely therapist pulled out the Anger doll from the movie Inside Out:

“Look at him!” I said, “Nothing about him says healthy Anger! Anger is a red, enflamed man in a tie. THIS is why we hit people, because a movie about all of our emotions says Anger is really bad, out of control, Anger is chaos.

This clearly is not a healthy representation of Anger.

For fun, she pulled out the Sadness Doll from the movie…..

Hmmmmm……I see gender stereotypes here. Poor Sadness, a young woman in her wooly sweater, round glasses and bob haircut. It is easier to console Sadness than confront Anger.

No wonder we fear getting ANGRY about what is going on. No wonder we choose to be quiet and frowny. A recent movie about our emotions says this is what we should be.

I may have given my therapist a complex about the Inside Out Dolls.

What is my point? Lordy, I am all over the place here. My point (and I do have one), is that it is easier to shame, to quick fix (you lost a baby, get another one), to try and solve, to vilify Anger and to succumb to Sadness.

And Trauma? That crazy outlier, just ignore it until it jumps up on stage and smacks you, shame it and then call it Anger.

We can be Angry my friends. We can tell our daughters, our nieces, our friends, our Granddaughters, that Anger is appropriate, healthy and necessary at this time.

Anger is not a man in tie.

Anger is Woman being told how she will live her life.

Oh and yeah, Happy Mother’s Day. I love you tribe. I love you fiercely.

Hello Dear Readers! I now have a fun side gig as the Content Coordinator for a local magazine- here is the latest article around Motherhood. Happy Mother’s Day Lovely Tribe!

Connections Beyond Motherhood: 

Sunday, May 8th marks Mother’s Day, a time when we celebrate the person that has been with us from the very beginning. Flowers, chocolates, brunches, and homemade cards are just some of the ways to honor Mom.  Did you know the first proposal to make Mother’s Day an official national holiday was rejected? In 1908, Congress joked that if there was a national Mother’s Day, we would soon have to celebrate a national Mother’s-in-Law Day, hence the motion never passed. In 1914 however, Woodrow Wilson declared the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day, a national holiday to honor all mother’s. 

Ironically, the woman who started the campaign to make Mother’s Day an official holiday was arrested in 1923 for disturbing the peace at a candy convention. Nine years after its official inception, she felt Mother’s Day had become entirely too commercialized; focused more on profit than sentiment. 

Two thoughts run through my head at the statement above. I would find it extraordinarily difficult to disturb the peace at a candy convention. I would yell and shout and someone would hand me a piece of chocolate and then I would find it very hard to be angry. 

The second is that this lovely holiday established to honor the first person who held us tight and made sure our tushies were dry is sometimes a little difficult. 

For medical reasons, my husband and I do not have children. We grappled for years around how to ignore this holiday for ourselves but still honor our own mom’s who we happen to be quite fond of. 

I have also watched my Mom’s friends manage crowded restaurants with cranky, hungry children during Mother’s Day. “I would like to go away for Mother’s Day,” said a friend, “I would like my husband to take the children and I will spa with my girlfriends. It will be quiet, civilized and lovely, complete with food that I get to eat while it is still warm. Is that wrong?” 

I told her it was not wrong as long as I was one of those girlfriends. 

I have many friends who are Moms. I watch in awe as they raise beautiful, independent, amazing children. I also have friends who sadly have lost Moms. Recently on a girls’ trip, a friend and I passed a See’s Candy stand in the airport. “My mom loved See’s Candy,” she said with a sigh and teary eyes. 

We left 5 minutes later with a box of chocolates. As Mother’s Day approaches, I am reminded to send my friend a box of See’s , not only to remember her mom but that as we get older, good friends step in where our Mom’s might not be with us. 

Dictionary.com defines motherhood as ‘the state of being a mother,’ they also define it as, ‘having an inherent worthiness, justness or goodness that is obvious or inarguable.’ 

When I told this second definition to my friend and mother of three, she laughed, “Today none of my children find me Just or Good. The only thing that is obvious is how unhappy they are with me.”

Raising the next generation of amazing humans takes a village. My best mentors were adults beyond my parents: coaches, teachers, aunts, uncles and family friends. My friends now are those who talk openly about the challenges to raising kiddos and lean on their tribe. I love it when they lean on me and honestly, it’s a great excuse to see Sing 2 or ride the water slides one more time at Water World. Some of my best days are those when I can be the amazing aunt. 

To the Mom’s, Auntie’s, Grandma’s and friends who show up, Happy Mother’s Day. I have had the amazing opportunity to interview many families through Neighbors of Northwest Arvada and the resonating theme has been a sense of family and a community you can lean into. It takes a village; to you and your village.

My nephew is trying out for swim team. Today we practiced our strokes in the pool- I’m not sure who is more excited…..I think I could love being a Swim Aunt.

As we walked towards the locker room, I looked at the signs, Men, Women, Family Dressing Area. “Are you okay to shower and change in the Men’s locker room?”

He rolled his eyes at me, “Hehe, I’m almost ten.”

Sigh….yes, yes you are almost ten.

I did shower and change super-fast so I was out before he was, and I may have stood too close by the Men’s Locker Room door while I waited for him. Hello Crazy Aunt.  

And while ten is shocking and I’m not quite sure how these years past so quickly, I’m okay with ten. I can look at this young person and think, “I can deal with ten. I’m not okay with you going into the locker room alone. But okay, ten.

It’s May and my social media is peppered with beautiful young adults. Adults I knew as babies. Adults who are now going to prom, graduating, getting scholarships, making the world a better place. Your children have grown and I’m not quite sure how that happened.

These photos are so bittersweet.

This clearly was not the path chosen for us. I don’t look at these amazing moments and think that could have been our Littles. But since so many of us were having babies at the same time I do marvel at how 16, 17, 18 years have past before me and how you have created, watered, fed and grown a beautiful (almost) independent person in this time.

Grief is a thief of time. Not just the time that could have been but in the time after. It takes time to just survive, time to rethink, recalibrate a new normal, time to watch that new normal crumble and rebuild again. It takes time to do the work and, in that time, you, my friend, have built a person.

When my grief was young, it needed constant attention. Like a young child, it demanded to be fed, held and coddled. I am happy to report I can now leave my Grief at home for a weekend and it will not destroy the house.

It’s a new time for many of us. I am thrilled to see your amazing kiddos go off into the world. I am grateful that as time has passed, I feel more present in this joy.

This weekend, I watched an interaction with my friend and her 16-year-old daughter: beautiful, sassy, testing the air with her new wings. As she ran off, I turned to my friend and said, “your child is my spirit animal.”

And Nephew, I will watch you and your brothers grow. I might even wait ten feet from the Men’s Locker room door.

Maybe.

Sittin’ in the morning sun

Yeah, I’ll be sittin’ till the evenin’ comes

Watching the ships roll in

And then I’ll watch them roll away again

I’m just sittin’ on the dock of the bay

Wastin’ time

I can count on one hand the times when I have truly have not understood the plan that God has designed for myself or my Loves. That is not to say there are other times when I have been sad, angry or distraught.  But shattered and unable to make sense, that has been few.

This week has been shattering. And anytime something breaks into a million pieces, we are left behind holding the shards, wondering how the hell to piece something back together. We hurt. And knowing that the people we love are experiencing a hurt a 1,000 times ours, there are no words.

There is no fix. And at times it feels there is not enough strength, grace or patience.

But there has been love. Lots of love. An outpouring waterfall of Love.

I did not know Jackson well. But I love his Mama fiercely. And I love that in this shattered time, she has shared Jackson with the world- amazing, caring, beautiful, talented, humble Jackson.

I have thought of him often. And I have thought of how I would like to carry this lovely soul in my space- my world needs a little bit of Jackson……..

• When I kiss my Mama: which I intend to do more of
• When I golf with my dad
• Heck, even when I golf
• When I wear blue
• When someone calls me Ma’am- Jackson made Ma’am a compliment
• Anytime I pass a Texas Roadhouse
• When the Aggies play ball (I might even become a fan)
• Dimples- any dimples, any time
• When I do anything of service
• Wrestle with my nephews
• Dr. Pepper
• Anytime Russell Wilson makes a touchdown!
• If I ever give birth to an 11-pound baby (I know this one is a stretch but if it happens, I will think of Jackson)
• Anytime I am with his Mama.

This list is woefully short, but I know that is temporary. I look forward to adding more Jacksonisms in my life.

I will start with a Dr. Pepper.

My sweet tribe is suffering an unimaginable loss.

A loss of such magnitude that stories are shared on the news: graphic images coupled with newscasters speaking in high rapid tones to convey the urgency of this magnitude.

With every story shared about this loss, we shake our heads, shed another tear, mumble another f-bomb and wonder how the hell this could happen.

Because this is an unimaginable loss.

I know loss. I have grappled with the injustice in the universe, cursed at God and wondered why me? But this one leaves me a bit speechless and wondering how my sweet tribe will recover.

This one leaves me angry.

More stories are shared. Stories around a driver, stories around a father, stories around a criminal past. And it is so easy to be angry.

I’m a big fan of anger. While others are talking that someone is in a better place, I take the ‘this is f$cking sh!t balls’ approach.

Have I mentioned I’m trying not to curse so much?

Have I also mentioned I’m not doing a very good job at trying not to curse so much?

Where does anger sit in this process?

In my potty-mouth opinion, anger is a pillar to moving through grief.

It must be addressed and it must be felt. The other day I was looking for my Ouiser to slap because my goodness, I really wanted to slap something

*On a side note, if you have not seen Steel Magnolias, go see it now.

My tribe has handled the unimaginable with amazing grace and love.

But I want them to know that when things get angry, we can offer up a Ouiser, hold their hand, sit in the uncomfortable, and perhaps teach them a new curse word.

We are here when things get angry.

I am making cookies tonight for my friend’s dad.

I mix the butter, sugar, flour with a spoon.

In frustration, toss the spoon in the sink and dive in with my fingers. I feel the dough in my hands. Knead, turn, mix, knead, turn, mix

It calms my restless head, my restless heart and my restless hands.

It is messy. I am messy.

My friend sent me a text this morning. An unbelievable, gut-wrenching text. My friend lost her son in a tragic accident.

And therefore my friends dad lost his Grandson. And since my friends dad likes my cookies, I am making cookies.

Because I don’t know what else to do. And it calms my restless head, my restless heart and my restless hands.

It is messy. I am messy.

We never know what to do when we grieve.

Because grief is scary.

Grief is the scariest, most unknown, pitbull of emotions. And while we can surprise our Besties on their 30th birthday with fireball shots and chicken wings, when it comes to Grief, facing our most intimate, primal of emotions, we assume that our Besties want to be alone.

It’s kind of like walking up to that big haunted house with all of your friends and having them say, “I think you got this, right? We’re going to get a pizza.”

We never got this. My dear friend does not got this, nor does her cookie-loving Papa.

As I write this, after making 230 dozen cookies, I can say that today was heartbreaking, devastating, raw, and ridiculously sad.

I got a text from my friend at 6:15 this morning.

And I howled at the moon for the news.

At 6:17 I got a text from another friend.

6:18 another.

And we made a plan.

A plan that no one walks this journey alone no matter how scary that fucking house is or the pitbull of emotions.

I hope we can keep this promise to our friend- that we hold her hand and help her through whatever may pop out.

At the very least, we have cookies.

We love you my friend.

I get attached to my body parts- as flawed and imperfect as they may be, they are mine and mine alone.

The bone on bone knee to your left? You can call him Rusty.

If you spend any time with me, especially doing anything active like……walking? You notice Rusty, you see Rusty’s troubled past.

I’m a tad hobbled, a little limpy…..lets face it, I walk like penguin. Rusty has aged to about 80. But I am not 80.

Rusty has supported me through years of bump skiing, marathons, hiking, biking and poor decisions. I do love Rusty and our contentious, swollen relationship.

But I can no longer rely on this beautiful knee of mine. A couple weeks ago on a backcountry ski, I had to turn around before I summitted the Banana Bowl. Who turns around before the Banana Bowl?????

Last week in the beautiful powdery trees of Steamboat, Rusty complained, protested and finally decided he had enough. Who leaves the beautiful powdery trees of Steamboat?

Today I sat with my surgeon, wondering what else we could do for Rusty. He words were, “Heather, anything we do for your knee, other than replacing it, is like using duct tape on the Titanic.”

Fine. Fine witty surgeon.

And so I rallied the troops. Called the Hubs and made a plan. Rusty and I will spend the summer together. It will be Rusty’s last hurrah. We will swim and bike, take short limpy walks together. And as the leaves fall from the trees, we will say goodbye.

Rusty will be replaced with something new and shiny- something not of flesh and bone but titanium and plastic. It will serve its purpose but it will never be Rusty- nothing could ever be Rusty. But I am now at the point where that might be okay.

Sometimes making a decision is a delight. A terrifying perhaps painful delight but a delight none the less.

My Mama and my Uncle are transcribing my Great Grandma Burbank’s journals.

Today they sent 1941 and I am intrigued.

Grandma Burbank is my Granny’s Mama- my Granny who just passed this summer.

We grew up with stories about how very, very poor the Burbank side of the family was; squirrel was a good meal, snapping turtle made a good soup, you always did your business outside and electricity was quite bourgeois.

Today I opened the latest pages. I love the first lines from my eloquent Great Grandma B….

Drop a word of cheer and kindness- just a flash and it’s gone but there’s half a hundred ripples circling on and on.

Here are 14 days with Great Grandma B as she tried to feed and clothe seven children. Days were busy and full and no rabbit was safe. Here are some little notes- My Gran is Emma Mae. Bob is my Great Aunt Mary Bob and the rest…..well we’re figuring it out as we go.

January 1, 1941, Wed

Drop a word of cheer and kindness-just a flash, and it is gone-but there’s half a hundred ripples circling on and on and on.  Harry, Ruby, Gene, Roy and I butchered for Mrs. Burbank.  Rained most of day.  She gave us quite bit of meat and some lard.  Stopped at Mary’s on way home.  Ruby and Harry ate supper at Uncle Henry’s.  Owen Montgomery called hunting Jane for a date.  Ha! Ha!  He got her at Uncle Henry’s.  Joe Fritchie called wanting Bob to work and Walter came after her.  Jim and Bob spent night with us.

January 2, 1941, Thurs

Mended some.  Gene cooked head meat.  Harry’s left about 9:30 a.m. for California. Jane didn’t go.  We sure hated to see them go so far.  Gene and Roy went with Don to Newton. Nola and Lilly called to tell Harrys goodbye. Rained in morn but sun shone beautifully in afternoon. Thelma and Irene Crouch brought my lard cans home. Ollie went to L’ville with Ralph.

January 3, 1941, Fri

Washed. Jane, Roy, Ollie and Mavis went to Buck’s 18^th birthday party. Bob came home with them from Fritchie’s after party. Turned so cold at night, spit snow and wind blew part of clothes off line.

January 4, 1941, Sat

Boys and Buck went out at night and Buck spent night. Was cold. Violet called and Jane went home with her. Gene and boys cut wood in morn. Gene and Ollie cut awhile in afternoon. Roy caught an opossum. Girls found living room flue platform on fire when they went to bed. Gene and them put it out. Mended most of day and ironed. Gene and boys rung the old sow as they couldn’t keep her in. Boys killed 2 rabbits.

January 5, 1941, Sun

Violet, Esther, and Buck were here for dinner. Went to Sunday School and Christian Endeavor at East Pinkstaff Church.  Walter, Jean and Margarite Fritchie called in evening and went to Christian Endeavor.  Gene spent evening at John’s. Ralph T. went to Hammond. Children walked home with Violet. Dovey Ann had fever at night. Bob went back to Fritchie’s after Christian Endeavor.  Was 10 degrees above zero in morn.

January 6, 1941, Mon

Gene went to L’ville in afternoon with Tiny. Ordered Bob’s and Mavis’ shoes from C.M.O.  Ollie expected to go along, but Mrs. Diver didn’t come. Mended. Harry and Emma May started back to school after holidays.  Roy spent morn at John’s. He and John fixed flue where it had been a fire. Mavis, Harry and Emma May spent evening at Nina’s.

January 7, 1941, Tues

We washed. Roy cut wood at clearing. Gene helped Millard Miller cut wood. Ollie went to L’ville with Tiny. Uncle Vinis’ spent evening here. Roy killed 2 rabbits and 1 squirrel. Gene got pictures taken while surveying from Harold Cramer. Jake Elders’ baby died at 3 a.m. with pneumonia. Nina and girls called.

January 8, 1941, Wed

Mavis and I ironed. Aunt Pearl ate dinner here.  Rev. Roller and Lilly called.  Roy and Ollie cut wood and Gene helped out and buzz wood at a wood cutting for Carter Crouch at Uncle Henry’s woods.  Bob and Mavis got their shoes, but Mavis’ were too small.  Lige Wesley called.  Dovey Ann had fever at night.  Roy had a bad sore throat.  Sent Katherine and Pearl Bowen a letter.  Heard that Minnie Tiffany had pneumonia.

January 9, 1941, Thurs

Leonard Ferriell came after Mavis for Mrs. Tiffany.  Gene, Roy and Ollie cut wood in morn and Gene and Roy in afternoon, Ollie helped Uncle Vinis haul in fodder in afternoon.  Uncle Vinis called.  Ma got a card from Ruby at Amarillo, TX.  Was cloudy + spit snow.  Jake Elder’s baby was buried.  Fritchie’s bro’t Bob home at night.  Gene and Roy killed 1 rabbit.  John began plowing on Harry with tractor.

January 10, 1941, Fri

Sewed on aprons.  Mrs. Tiffany bro’t Mavis home after dinner.  Harry and Emma May were home excused from exams.  Bob and Emma May spent afternoon at Joe Fritchie’s.  Ralph called in morn saying they were going to move to Octaves’ house next week.  Jo Pinkstaff called in evening wanting to rent Ma’s house.  Ollie waited until 2 p.m. for Mrs. Diver but she didn’t come.  Gene and boys hauled 8 loads of wood with Uncle Henry’s team.

January 11, 1941, Sat

Mended all day.  Bob washed her clothes and she and Mavis ironed.  Gene and boys worked in clearing in morn and they and Uncle Vinis got a big mess of fish at Charlie’s in afternoon.  Violet and Jr. called also Adrian Claycomb wanting to rent Ma’s house.  Ma spent afternoon at Aunt Pearl’s.  Bob was sick with flu. Roy and Ollie went to Flat Rock with Uncle Vinis’ at night.  Car killed guinea and Bob cleaned it before she found out it was Lilly’s.  Took it to her.

January 12, 1941, Sun

Was a lovely warm day.  Roy ate dinner with Buck.  Norma and Arlene called in evening.  Hanford Wesley called in afternoon + he, Gene, Ollie, Herbert and Harry went to clearing.  Geo. Millers’ called. Went to Sunday School and Christian Endeavor and preaching at East Pinkstaff.  Bro. Albert gave some very good thoughts on a Christian putting stones in another’s way.  Sharon Borden came for Bob, but she was unable to go to work for them.  Nola brought up popcorn which they popped.  Lee Mitchell called.