Sorry I didn't post this blog on Monday, like I usually do. It was not a great week.
The weather was beautiful, it was my wonderful hubby's birthday, and generally, there were a lot of things to celebrate. But most of the week I didn't feel great. I had a non-stop allergy headache, then an earache, and then an old ski injury in my neck flared up. Worst of all, my heart ached the whole week.
I have always reserved this blog as a writing related, creative outlet for my thoughts and ramblings. Lord knows, I can sure ramble. I usually try to forget my work-work and spend this blog on my creative-work. This week, my work-work is haunting me.
Ok, without going into a detailed explanation, for those of you who don't know this: I am a pediatric nurse. I work with my state's child protection agency. I've always enjoyed working with kids, but never really loved nursing. This is a hard field to work in... child protection. Usually, we try to protect and prevent children from getting abused. Sometimes we have a lot of success. Sometimes we're just too late. This was one of those 'too-late' weeks.
FYI, the details of these cases appeared in the local papers so I am not telling you anything confidential.
My first tough case of the week was a five month old baby. She was shaken by her mother's paramour to the point where her brain swelled and she died. I read the medical expert's report and cried. The baby sustained numerous fractures (old and new) including a protruding collarbone fracture, many rib fractures, and leg fractures. What really gets to me is this: she had bite marks on her. Bite marks. Clearly, the person who did this had some kind of mental disorder. It doesn't make me less angry that he did this to an innocent baby... bite marks. God rest her little soul. Her organs were harvested and through her death, some other children can live. She is a true angel.
My second case hit close to home, for the child was a sibling of my 8 year old son's friend. A three-year old drowned last weekend at the home of a friend. The two families got together, the kids went off playing, and the little one got away unnoticed. He was found in the pool. His father (a doctor) did CPR to no avail. I had to interpret some medical info for the caseworker. Again, I cried. I used to be very clinical about things when I worked in the PICU. I was the calmest nurse in a code scene. I could just go on auto-pilot and do what needed to be done, and cry privately later. Not now... not on cases like these. God rest Declan's soul, too.
My heart breaks for these families. Both will be wracked with guilt forever. If I had only... If we had just... I wish I could roll back that time for them so they could just...
I want to scream out, I want to plaster all over billboards, I want to make the headlines read: Only YOU can prevent tragedy. It makes me want to go on a major campaign: PREVENT PREVENT PREVENT. Make sure you know where your kids are - make sure that pool gate is locked. Make sure you know who is watching your child. And never, never, never shake a baby.
I want to be a writer. I want to tickle kids and make them laugh with words, move them with my stories, and make them love books as much as I do. But I also want to save these kids. Save them from harm, save them from heartache, and save them from all the bad things that this world has to offer. I'm no superwoman. I can't do it all.
I don't want to be a nurse. I want to be a writer. I am tired of my heart aching for the children. But I can't stop nursing now. I have to use the skills that I have in writing to save some children. I don't think my heart will stop aching until I at least try.
As much as I really want to jump right back into my fantasy story revisions and go to work on the last packet of this semester, I can't. My muse refuses to budge. She has dug in her heals and will not turn on even a trickle of creative juice until I have done my job. For as much as she pesters me to get back into my creative writing, she also pesters me to do my job. All week I've ranted about how preventable child drownings usually are, and how I want to make everyone aware that they need to be careful. Now my muse won't rest until I put my pen where my mouth is... and in this case, where my heart is.
I look forward to a happier week next week. Happy Memorial Day, everyone. Enjoy it!
-PLB
Friday, May 25, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
The Third Day of Mothers
Dear Friends,
I hope you all had a great Mother's Day. I didn't.
Now, let me just say right up front: my husband and kids gave me a lovely day, with lovely gifts. The weather was gorgeous, and we had a really nice brunch with my mother-in-law. I painted my adirondack chairs all afternoon. Everyone helped, mind you, so it wasn't just me doing chores all alone. But it was a chore and it was Mother's Day. It was also my choice.
For weeks, I was asked, "What do you want to do on Mother's Day?" and "What are your plans for Mother's Day?" and "Are you doing anything special for Mother's Day?" My answers: Nothing, nothing, and nothing. I didn't want to have a not-special day, but I didn't want to do anything. I didn't even want to think about it. I didn't want to try to dissect my mood, but eventually, I had to get around to it. It's not that I didn't want it to be a special day, I just didn't want it to be Mother's day.
This was the third Mother's Day since my mom died. Of course the first Mother's Day was really hard. Of course I really missed Mom then. Last year seemed just as hard. Somehow, I expected it to be better. This year, I simply dreaded it.
When I was younger, Mother's Days were special, like Easter. They were family days, beautiful sweet sunny days. We would go out with my grandmother... we would see family and have a nice dinner. After I was married I would have my parents down or we'd drive up to see them for the weekend. Sometimes we'd even treat Mom to a fancy dinner! It was a nice time together. There was a reason to get dressed up, a reason to go out, a reason to celebrate... Mother's Day was about celebrating my mother.
I miss that. I miss her. This was the third Mother's Day without her. I keep thinking it would be easier and less painful as each year passes, and in many ways, it is. Almost every other day of the year, it is. She's not suffering any more. She's not stuck in a world that confuses her, or that she understands but can't acknowledge. She's not starving for food that chokes her when she eats. She's not watching her life fade around her anymore. She's gone on to a new life and I can feel that she's relieved of her burden.
Mom is not here for me to honor any more. But as I scrubbed my paint-coated fingers and fanned the bristles of my crusty old brushes, I was sad that my third Mother's Day without my mom was gone. It's one more year farther away from her.
I decided to write about this to remind myself of the meaning of Mother's Day. It is a day to honor our mothers. I didn't do much to honor my mom this year, nor to be honored myself. And that's sad. My kids deserve to grow up with the kind of Mother's Days that I knew - that they used to know, before Grandmom died.
This third day of Mothers is the last that I will allow myself to wallow in my sadness. Next year I will again honor my mother. Heck, maybe I'll even pick someplace fancy.
-PLB.
I hope you all had a great Mother's Day. I didn't.
Now, let me just say right up front: my husband and kids gave me a lovely day, with lovely gifts. The weather was gorgeous, and we had a really nice brunch with my mother-in-law. I painted my adirondack chairs all afternoon. Everyone helped, mind you, so it wasn't just me doing chores all alone. But it was a chore and it was Mother's Day. It was also my choice.
For weeks, I was asked, "What do you want to do on Mother's Day?" and "What are your plans for Mother's Day?" and "Are you doing anything special for Mother's Day?" My answers: Nothing, nothing, and nothing. I didn't want to have a not-special day, but I didn't want to do anything. I didn't even want to think about it. I didn't want to try to dissect my mood, but eventually, I had to get around to it. It's not that I didn't want it to be a special day, I just didn't want it to be Mother's day.
This was the third Mother's Day since my mom died. Of course the first Mother's Day was really hard. Of course I really missed Mom then. Last year seemed just as hard. Somehow, I expected it to be better. This year, I simply dreaded it.
When I was younger, Mother's Days were special, like Easter. They were family days, beautiful sweet sunny days. We would go out with my grandmother... we would see family and have a nice dinner. After I was married I would have my parents down or we'd drive up to see them for the weekend. Sometimes we'd even treat Mom to a fancy dinner! It was a nice time together. There was a reason to get dressed up, a reason to go out, a reason to celebrate... Mother's Day was about celebrating my mother.
I miss that. I miss her. This was the third Mother's Day without her. I keep thinking it would be easier and less painful as each year passes, and in many ways, it is. Almost every other day of the year, it is. She's not suffering any more. She's not stuck in a world that confuses her, or that she understands but can't acknowledge. She's not starving for food that chokes her when she eats. She's not watching her life fade around her anymore. She's gone on to a new life and I can feel that she's relieved of her burden.
Mom is not here for me to honor any more. But as I scrubbed my paint-coated fingers and fanned the bristles of my crusty old brushes, I was sad that my third Mother's Day without my mom was gone. It's one more year farther away from her.
I decided to write about this to remind myself of the meaning of Mother's Day. It is a day to honor our mothers. I didn't do much to honor my mom this year, nor to be honored myself. And that's sad. My kids deserve to grow up with the kind of Mother's Days that I knew - that they used to know, before Grandmom died.
This third day of Mothers is the last that I will allow myself to wallow in my sadness. Next year I will again honor my mother. Heck, maybe I'll even pick someplace fancy.
-PLB.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Creation Recreation
Hi folks,
Sorry this blog entry is late. My older daughter broke her arm over the weekend, which caused all sorts of scurrying for health care, doctors, referrals, X-rays... which sapped my creative juices as well as my writing time. I spent a few late nights tweaking my latest chapters, but finally, late last night, my school work was submitted.
This evening, I headed back to my home office as usual. I did the routine checking of the email, checking the bank balance, and checking the Brotherhood 2.0. Then I sat in front of the monitor, staring. Was there something I was supposed to be doing? An assignment to write? An essay to revise? I've been 'going-going-going' so much lately that I feel like I always have a deadline looming or something to catch up on. (Thankfully I recognized my current state of over-extension and reigned back on some extra activities. I tend to keep taking on more without considering the time commitments needed for said projects until I'm worn out. My husband is reading this right now and saying, "No kidding!")
What should I be doing right now? My inbox is still full of emails-needing-responses... I could take care of that. My office is a mess... I could do a little cleaning. I have a writing project due in just a week or two... I really should work on finishing it. My website really needs some attention too, not to mention my late blog. But I just didn't want to do any of those menial tasks. I wanted to create something.
Did you ever get the urge to just make something totally new? Something you've never tried before? I'm not talking bungee-jumping. I mean, starting from scratch: a blank piece of paper, a plain white canvas, a pristine block of clay, or some other medium for creativity. There is something so completely gratifying about shaping it, molding it, coloring it, or changing it into some beautiful form. I love to work with clay, and I love to paint. I love to scrapbook, I love to draw. But, for me, all of those methods of creation require some intense scrutiny of some form of life I am trying to replicate in some fashion. I remember about 9 or 10 years ago when I was doing a watercolor of our dog, Sunshine. By the time I was finished the rough sketch, I had repositioned her on the recliner no less than 27 times.
There's one form of art that requires very little scrutiny for me. It's something I can just sit down and do: writing. I love to create the world the way I want it, to make characters say the things I want them to say, to have purple-haired giants and three-toed slugs rule if I want. I can write happy endings or kill off the mean-old neighbor if I want. I can do whatever I want. I can make a cozy world to slip into when the pressures of this world are mounting.
Tonight is a rare moment of freedom for me. There's nothing immediately looming over my head, no running to do with kids, no end-of-school year concerts or sports banquets. I am awaiting feedback from my advisor before I start on my last packet of the semester. I'm not having company soon so the cleaning can wait, too.
I'm off to write myself another world. A world where I can eat ice-cream forever and not get fat, where presidents are pure, where kids never talk-back, and where I get a raise every time I smile. Maybe I will call it Brownsville, USA. Maybe I will color it purple. I can do that--it's my own world.
-PLB
PS. I did find that essential truth, finally. It walked up to me as soon as I stopped thinking about it.
Sorry this blog entry is late. My older daughter broke her arm over the weekend, which caused all sorts of scurrying for health care, doctors, referrals, X-rays... which sapped my creative juices as well as my writing time. I spent a few late nights tweaking my latest chapters, but finally, late last night, my school work was submitted.
This evening, I headed back to my home office as usual. I did the routine checking of the email, checking the bank balance, and checking the Brotherhood 2.0. Then I sat in front of the monitor, staring. Was there something I was supposed to be doing? An assignment to write? An essay to revise? I've been 'going-going-going' so much lately that I feel like I always have a deadline looming or something to catch up on. (Thankfully I recognized my current state of over-extension and reigned back on some extra activities. I tend to keep taking on more without considering the time commitments needed for said projects until I'm worn out. My husband is reading this right now and saying, "No kidding!")
What should I be doing right now? My inbox is still full of emails-needing-responses... I could take care of that. My office is a mess... I could do a little cleaning. I have a writing project due in just a week or two... I really should work on finishing it. My website really needs some attention too, not to mention my late blog. But I just didn't want to do any of those menial tasks. I wanted to create something.
Did you ever get the urge to just make something totally new? Something you've never tried before? I'm not talking bungee-jumping. I mean, starting from scratch: a blank piece of paper, a plain white canvas, a pristine block of clay, or some other medium for creativity. There is something so completely gratifying about shaping it, molding it, coloring it, or changing it into some beautiful form. I love to work with clay, and I love to paint. I love to scrapbook, I love to draw. But, for me, all of those methods of creation require some intense scrutiny of some form of life I am trying to replicate in some fashion. I remember about 9 or 10 years ago when I was doing a watercolor of our dog, Sunshine. By the time I was finished the rough sketch, I had repositioned her on the recliner no less than 27 times.
There's one form of art that requires very little scrutiny for me. It's something I can just sit down and do: writing. I love to create the world the way I want it, to make characters say the things I want them to say, to have purple-haired giants and three-toed slugs rule if I want. I can write happy endings or kill off the mean-old neighbor if I want. I can do whatever I want. I can make a cozy world to slip into when the pressures of this world are mounting.
Tonight is a rare moment of freedom for me. There's nothing immediately looming over my head, no running to do with kids, no end-of-school year concerts or sports banquets. I am awaiting feedback from my advisor before I start on my last packet of the semester. I'm not having company soon so the cleaning can wait, too.
I'm off to write myself another world. A world where I can eat ice-cream forever and not get fat, where presidents are pure, where kids never talk-back, and where I get a raise every time I smile. Maybe I will call it Brownsville, USA. Maybe I will color it purple. I can do that--it's my own world.
-PLB
PS. I did find that essential truth, finally. It walked up to me as soon as I stopped thinking about it.
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