A Blanket

It was a simple gesture that pretty much turned the entire hellish weekend around.

In March of 2011, we went back to New Jersey so I could take care of some business. It was a nice visit with Mom, and Papa L, and my cousin. The business, however, did not get taken care of, thanks to the NJ MVC still showing my then 13.5 year old hooptie as having a lien, because the financing company didn't notify them in 2002 that it had been paid off.

Our plan was to leave in the early evening of that Sunday. We tool a quick day trip with Papa L to a town about half an hour away. It was a fun, if odd, adventure and we enjoyed ourselves. The plan was to come back to Mom's house, pick her up and take J to a real NJ pizza place for some East Coast pizza. About 10 minutes from home, the rental stopped accelerating. I pulled over to see what was wrong and the car stalled. It would not start again. We were in the left hand median of the interstate. Lovely.

J called the rental company's roadside assistance to report the death. At about this time, the cops pulled up so they could move us to the other side of the road by pushing the car with theirs. All I could think of was "bumper's going to get damaged, they're going to charge me, I can't afford this shit..." Queue the waterworks from me. I had no idea where they came from, but the skies were inspired. At that point, a huge rainstorm hit. So there we were, in a dead HHR, being pushed across an interstate by the state police (who were wonderfully kind and helpful, by the way).

So, back to the phone call. We were told that we'd have to wait with the dead HHR until the replacement was brought to us. From Newark Airport. 45 minutes away. Because it's Sunday. And they're the only open branch within a hundred miles. And yes, it's still raining.

Two hours, some seriously fogged up windows, and several full bladders later, we were back on our way. This new one was also an HHR. This would end up being a lucky break later in the story.

Eventually, we got back to Mom's (an hour AFTER we wanted to leave to go home). The rain had stopped and I simply HAD to have my pizza, so we went to dinner anyway. We spent a bit more time with Mom and Papa L, ate, and argued (which is traditional for Mom and me). We then packed up the car and headed out. It was 7pm. We had about a 6 hour ride ahead of us.

As we neared the PA border, it started to rain again. At the border, it became a wintry mix. Within 10 miles, Full Blown Blizzard. Fortunately, the HHR was an AWD. That, combined with my pro driving skills kept us from dying. It took us five hours to travel what would have normally taken about twoish hours. Interstate 80 in Eastern and Central PA runs right through the Appalachians. We're talking Donner Pass shit here. There are parts where the edge of the road drops straight down. The roads were not plowed at all, and the only other traffic we saw were 18 wheelers. Why? Well, because 80 was closed! We didn't know this until the next day, when we read about the storm of the century in the paper, because the nifty electronic signs didn't say anything about it.

The HHR kept on the road quite nicely, but the windshield wipers couldn't really keep up. I had to pull over while one of us jumped out to clean the 3" of snow from the windows. Of course, each time, the trucks would hurtle past us, racing down the hills. If they tried to use the brakes, they'd have ended up at the bottom of a ravine. Needless to say, it was a stressful five hours.

At one point, we threw up our hands and said "Eff this! We need to pull over!" Of course, we were in the middle of nowhere. There was one tiny town with two hotels and a truck stop. The problem turned out to be that everyone decided to give up at this very same town. Every room was booked. J and I got into an argument (our nerves were frayed to the point of breaking at that point) and decided to stop at the truck stop. I was cold because it was the middle of March, and it had been warm, so my coat was packed under a bunch of stuff in the trunk. We were discussing sleeping in the parking lot to wait the storm out, but neither of us were really into that idea. We were both angry, uncomfortable, moody, cranky, and overly exhausted. He got out to grab himself a snack (I didn't want anything).

While he was inside, I called out of work for the next day, then shut the phone off. I closed my eyes and stewed. I started blaming every single decision I'd made throughout the entire trip for this one horrible stroke of badness. I was sitting there, shivering in this stupid rental, wanting to cry, but just too damn tired to do anything about it. When the door opened, I didn't even open my eyes. When he sat down next to me, I still kept them closed. I heard ripping cardboard. Finally, I looked over at him. J was unwrapping a new dark green fleece blanket.

"You're freezing I got this for you so you'd be warm".

He wrapped me in the blanket, and I did tear up a bit at that point. This plain, green truck stop blanket was the most thoughtful gift I'd ever received. It wasn't fancy, it wasn't beautiful. It was warm, and just what I needed at that moment. I grabbed his hand and we hugged for a while. I apologized for being moody, and so did he. We kissed and made up and sat there for a while, watching the snow fall. It was illuminated by the orange lights overhead, but it was beautiful. We decided we'd risk it and see if we could find another town.

Two hours (and about 60 miles) later, the snow had basically stopped. The roads were clear and safe again. But at that point, it was going on 2:30am and we were both falling asleep. We were still about two hours from home, so we found a motel to stay at. The next morning, we woke up and made the rest of the trip home (after some breakfast).

To this day, that blanket is still one of my favorite things in the world. It reminds me that J will always be there to keep me safe, and to keep me warm, and to make me smile.

Deaths, Part One: Gram

Fourteen years ago, someone died. It was the first of five deaths that happened within four years. Each death damaged me more and more. By the time it was over, I'd gone through a bit of a breakdown. I'm still kind of paying for some of the choices I made while in my less than coherent state.

My great-grandmother passed away in March of 1998. She was an extraordinary woman; strong, full of sass, stubborn as anything, and very much like me. Family members pointed out that we were like the unstoppable force and the immovable object. We couldn't out-stubborn the other, so we didn't even try. 

She was, at most, 4'11". One did not make the mistake of messing with her. If they did, it was only once. She had a tiny head, like a grapefruit. Her dentures were far too big for her mouth, so she rarely wore them. She could still chew Italian bread like someone with a full set of teeth. Her fingers were slender, but her knuckles were knotted like ancient twigs. Her skin was papery, dry, and thin. She called pizza "tomato pie", tomato sauce was "gravy", and she always offered us "soder" (soda, for those of you who don't know).

Her eyes were the feature that stood out the most to me. They were deep, and narrow set. Like mine, they changed from bright blue to the steely grey of an overcast sky. But they always glittered with so many things. Life, strength, vitality, wisdom, intelligence, joy. She wasn't always one for great shows of emotion, but her eyes were open windows to what she was thinking. She was never doddering, her faculties were always there. In her eyes. 

Gram worked until she was in her mid-70's, when her company basically laid her off so she would retire. She was only sick on the weekends, and I'm not even sure if she took vacations. Once she retired, her health declined to the point that she was in and out of the hospital, and couldn't walk up the hill anymore. She moved from the three family building she owned to the small summer house she had next door to us. 

I used to sit with her while she watched her "stories" on television. She coughed a lot, and would use a green bean can as a spittoon. She cooked Italian food all the time, and would talk about the big street festivals and feasts for Catholic saints that used to go on. She talked about shopping at the Newark Slip (or Nork Slip, as it was pronounced by those who lived there). We would discuss our shared love for Paramount bread. When she lived in her building, it was a short journey to pick some up. She always brought it to us when she would visit. 

She told me stories about Lake Hopatcong in the heyday, when this was the only house on the entire street. She told me about going out on the town in her custom made gowns, how she loved to dress up. There were stories of her friends, her sisters, her parents. The good times she had growing up. How I wish I'd written some of them down. 

There were also bad times that she would remember. She told me of the pain of losing her only brother at a young age due to illness. Even then, almost fifty years later, her eyes shone with tears when she spoke of him. Such a good boy, he was. So full of life and promise. She touched on my great-grandfather, whom I'd never met. She talked about his temper, and that he became violent on occasion. She didn't say much, but her eyes would harden to determination (and a bit of old fear?) when she mentioned those times. This woman who was made of steel, never sick, always taking care of business... she was vulnerable after all. I never pushed her, nor did I get too sappy (she wasn't like that). But one time, I reached over and held her hand for a moment. She looked at me, I looked at her. Her eyes looked grateful for the understanding in mine. For a moment, I thought she would say more, but she never did.

Not long after that, she had another attack where she couldn't breathe. She was brought to the hospital again. This time was different. The doctor decided this time to perform a tracheotomy. I sometimes wonder if  that decision is the reason we didn't have her around longer. She contracted an infection, and I wasn't allowed to visit her for a while because of my asthma. I only saw her once that time around. She had been there a while by that time. 

Her eyes. That's the first thing I noticed. The first thing I saw, happiness. Then pleading. As I looked down, I noticed why. Covering her mouth was a layer of dried foam. In her neck, a tube shoved through the hole her doctor made. On her tiny arms, black bruises from where IV lines had been, and her wrists bound to the sides of the bed. For a split second, I'm sure my eyes registered the horror and grief I was feeling. But I moved to the bathroom to get a towel. I moistened it and wiped her mouth clean. I brushed her hair back from her forehead. I asked her what I could get her. She pointed to an extra pillow on the chair, and motioned for it to be placed under her arm that currently held an IV. She then started mouthing "water" over and over again. She couldn't talk. That goddamned tube in her throat.

I went to the nurse's station and asked them why my Gram had been left for so long that a layer of foam had been able to completely crust over her mouth. They said it was normal with a trache. I told them that she is thirsty. They said she can't have any water, because she would choke on it. There was a sponge with a cup of water that I could use to dampen her lips, but she couldn't drink anything. I then asked why she was tied down. Because she tried to pull that goddamned tube from her throat. 

I went back in. Her eyes pleading. I explained that I couldn't give her water to drink, but that I'd get her some water for the sponge. She mouthed "cold", so I got her some fresh cold water. I moistened her lips, and she opened her mouth so that some of the excess could moisten the inside of her mouth a bit. I kept apologizing to her over and over again because I wanted to give her a drink so badly. I apologized for not visiting more. Understanding in those eyes. I talked to her for a while, about the family, about the silly things I had been up to. I told her about a trip to an anime convention I was leaving for in a few days, and how excited I was for it. She smiled. Her eyes smiled. She was still there. Her eyes, still glinting with strength and determination, even with that goddamned tube in her throat. 

I stayed for over an hour with her, re-positioned the pillow whenever she needed me to, gave her more "water", and held her hand. When it was time to go, I stroked her hair again, told her I loved her very much, and gave her a kiss. She mouthed "I love you" and beckoned me down. With her parched lips, she kissed me on the cheek. I promised to come and visit her again once I came back from my trip. She smiled at me. I didn't realise what I saw in her eyes at that moment. Not until later.

When I came back from my trip, I was told that Gram had died early that morning. I collapsed to the floor, and I cried. It was not until hours later that I realised what her eyes said to me that last moment I was ever going to see them.

They said "good bye".

2012 So Far

I haven't written anything since the end of 2011. 2012 has been a hugely grand year so far.

On the evening of January 1, the man I love, the one who inspired the quest in the first place, became the man I will spend the rest of my life with. He asked me to be his wife. It was a very low key proposal, but it was certainly a perfect fit for all of the milestones in our life so far.

We had spent the weekend with his parents at their house on Lake Erie. It was a relaxing New Years, and we had fun. When we got home that evening, we changed into our comfy clothes and sat on the couch. He began talking about his family, and an awesome conversation he'd had with his Mom on Christmas. The topic shifted to his great grandmother. Not long before she passed away, she'd given his Mom something with the promise that it go to him when he was ready. It turned out to be her engagement ring. He pulled it from his pocket and asked me to be his wife.

I said yes. And cried. And danced around, saying "We're getting maaaarrieeeed!!!"

We hit the ground running as far as planning goes. First, we threw around some dates. We were wishing for this coming Autumn, but money wasn't going to cooperate. We then thought of March 2013, because we didn't want Spring or Summer, and we didn't want to wait until Autumn 2013. We then came up with the brilliant idea of a day after the apocalypse wedding on 22 December. We had found a possible venue by that point, and they had it available. Before we went to look at the place, his family pointed out that people may not be able to travel that close to Christmas (since almost everyone is traveling). We then checked with the venue about 29 December, which was also available. So now, we'll be having a week after the apocalypse wedding!

In addition to the venue, we've got a caterer, a photographer, and a "dj". We decided to do the music ourselves, and save the $800-$1k it would have cost for a dj. We are still up in the air as to the original sound system due to some family issues, but we'll figure it out. We've also got a place for rentals, I just have to sit down and figure out what we need.

I'm going dress shopping in about a month when my Mom comes to visit. I'm actually excited about this part. I'm not typically very girly, but I love trying on dresses. This is one of the more traditional things I'm doing for this wedding. I just want to find something I love, and feel good in.

Oh, and did I mention I also started school in mid-January?! This semester will be done in a few weeks. I'm doing pretty well so far. Hoping for at least a 3.5 gpa for the first semester. More on that later, though.