Monthly Archives: September 2011

Real people. Real loss.

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39

There are those of us who use social media to keep in digital touch with our friends and family. Yay for that. It’s a great tool.

But others sort of wander (or run headfirst) into “online relationships” with complete strangers. It’s not always creepy, y’all. And people who know me know that I’m in that whole social media world. But they might not know that I talk about y’all at home. That Drew knows some of you readers by name. That you’re a part of my day and my external world.

Last night, I texted Drew to let him know that Gitz is dying.

He knew who I was talking about.

Later, I called Tam. Jenni called me. So many of us bounced in and out of Twitter and essentially had an online wake. Read here.

And some might think us crazy to do all that. But Gitz wouldn’t. Gitz knows that we’re having a collective snot slinging fit now that it’s time for her to leave us.

Gitz got it. Because Gitz knows that the people writing the blogs and the comments and the words in text boxes on the other side of her computer are real people.

For Gitz, social media was her everyday life. It was her link to the world in a life that was otherwise fairly isolated. Her illness did that to her. Her body did that to her.

And instead of curling up and socially dying inside that condo, she reached out in the only way she could. And she touched a lot of lives.

Right now, yesterday’s update sits with 370+ comments. That’s 370+ people, y’all. In one day. We will give her our love in words, say our goodbyes, and these comment boxes will fill again and again. Because, we also know that Gitz is real. And her words are real. And her heart is real. And the impact she had on us was real.

And the loss that this online community is experiencing right now is real. Real tears. Real sadness. Over a real person.

Thank you, Gitz, for being real with us. For being honest. For sharing your bravery and courage and love with us. You are more than I have words for.

What would you do with six significant months?

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26

I have a question. And there’s much more behind it than I can explain right now. But this little conversation will help me process some things.

So, here’s the scenario: You’ve been given six months to do whatever the heck you want, within the realm of a few stipulations of course. This time is to be meaningful, purposed, productive, and active. It’s not a vacation. You can’t move. You can’t check out of relationships and family. But you can spend a good bit of your time in whatever meaningful format you choose.

So, what would you do?

My first songwriting notebook.

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9

I found it the other day when shuffling through a box in the garage and it was filled with good words and bad words and good ideas and bad ideas and scrap papers of anything I had near me when the muse struck but I was without this book. I scratched out notes on receipts and stickies and whatever, and then shoved them into this book.

It opened like a time capsule–dusty and delicate. And it felt familiar like the last stretch of dirt road before turning towards the house I grew up in. It felt reflective and nostalgic like watching an old home movie. It felt like me.

And, just like a time capsule, it held messages from long ago. And it told me things about my future that I’d forgotten.  And I’m not sure what I will do with these pages, but I want to do something monumental with them. I want to celebrate what they represent. And treasure it in ways more prominent and honorable than just a dusty box in our first garage.

I want to turn them into the works of art I’d always intended them to be.

Any suggestions for what I can do?

“Piling” is a perfectly acceptable form of organization, no matter what the Social Worker says.

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22

It’s time that I just come right out and admit that I’m a pile person. And Drew is a pile person. And we get along just fine. And my mom, the mind-reader, knows this about us and gently reminded me that I needed to clean up all the piles before The Social Worker came for our home evaluation because most people don’t consider “piling” to be a legitimate or effective form of domestic organization.

I have no choice but to accept that the world is not ready for Piling, even though these piles have worked for me my entire life.

They are quite helpful when used correctly. For instance, there’s the Adoption Pile on the other side of my dresser (you know, in that place that’s dim and dusty and hidden if someone nosily glances in from our bedroom door). And there’s the To Do Immediately pile that’s got my “Happy Birthday, now go renew your license” postcard from the DDS and also both of our physicals to be added to our inch-high-and-already-turned-in-folder (ding! ding! organized!) of adoption paperwork. Yes, my dear dear Type A readers, please ignore the fact that these two adoption items are not in the Adoption Pile, lest you break out in hives. And, for the sake of argument, we will also ignore the fact that this To Do pile has migrated from coffee table to kitchen to coffee table in the past week or so, without diminishment.

Immediately–ok, I will admit that was a poor choice of word. All better? Even so, this pile is necessary because as soon as I come up for air I’ll get my almost-33-year-old self over to the DDS office and smile pretty for the camera. And this migrating pile (almost typed migraining) helps me remember that The Social Worker is coming and My Birthday Clock is ticking.

Nevertheless, like a good daughter, I did get rid of some piles. Por exemplo, the Flip Flop Pile that usually grows outside our bedroom door. And the Digital Camera With Gear Pile that somehow escaped from the guest room storage and set up residency in front of my dresser.

Confession: By “get rid of” I actually meant “relocate.

And where did these piles relocate?

If you guessed “The Floor of Mandy’s Stumble-In Closet” you are absolutely correct! And possibly a mind-reader.

Speaking of mind-readers, my mom didn’t remind me to clean out my closet.

The moral of the story? I hope I will grow to read the minds know & love my future son and/or daughter as well as my mom loves me.

(Home Eval is scheduled for Thursday. And I’m ready. Sort of.)