My dog never indicates he needs to go outside to do his business while I’m walking around the house or making myself coffee.  It’s as soon as I lay down on the couch, wrap the blanket around my shoulders, pick up my book with my coffee in hand…only then does he scratch at the door to go outside.  It drives me nuts.

With a spoken expletive I set down my book, throw the blanket to the side, swing my legs off the couch and walk over to let him out.  My husband laughs or shakes his head because he knows it frustrates the hell out of me. 

After I let the dog out I can’t really relax because at some point he will scratch at the door to come back inside.  Sometimes it is just after a few minutes.   Sometimes he meanders around the yard sniffing, exploring corners he has surely explored before.   So I sit, half settled in and wait.

The year after my dad died I couldn’t settle.  I wandered.   Sometimes I would walk for hours with my dog.  We walked and walked heading nowhere, getting lost while I tried to find myself.  If I had to guess, I would say these were Milo’s favorite days.  Providing companionship to his owner, fulfilling his life’s work…and walking.  He loves walking.

After months of these long walks the need to wander began to dissipate.  The parts of me that had scattered with my father’s death began to fall into place.  The feelings of restlessness were being replaced with some sort of contentment.   I was settling in. 

But then, the doctor called.    My mom held her phone while I listened on speaker.  He said “I’m sorry to tell you this Mrs. Crosby; the CAT scan shows a tumor on your pancreas.  This is why you’ve not been feeling well the past few months.” 

She and I stood in my kitchen, breathing slowly while trying to take this in.  “What does this mean?  So what will happen now?” My mother asks. 

“Well, we can forward this onto your doctor.  You can meet and discuss next steps.  Do you have a doctor you’d like us to send the results?” 

“Yes!” She says with confidence.  “Send them to Dr. Kaplan.  He was my husband’s doctor.”

 It was like the dog scratching at the back door.   Life had just settled down.  

Have you ever imagined what your parents would have posted if they had Facebook while raising you??  The thought occurred to me this morning after dropping off my daughter at school.  She (or mainly me) had a very funny moment and one of the first things I thought was “Facebook material?  I think so.”

On my 40 minute drive back home I thought of all the things my mom and dad may have posted 30 years ago…

“Stayed up late making sandwiches for skiing today.  Dog ate the whole damn bag while we loaded the car.  Ugh!”

“No hot buttered rums tonight.  Sure…translucent colored rum with 3/4 water and ¼ rum is the way the bottle is supposed to look.” (Wasn’t me for the record.)

“Deal is done!!!  We are owners of a dirt filled, sage brush piece of Lake Chelan waterfront property!!”

“Great Christmas morning!!! Best gift by far was watching my son in law’s face while he ate the dog jerky we wrapped up in his stocking.  Ha ha!!”

“Sat at the beach lot and watched the ash plumes rise from Mt. Saint Helens.  Crazy!!”

“OMG!!! Mike thought a rogue piece of chocolate sitting on the carpet came from the piñata.   Turns out is wasn’t from the piñata, but the poodle.   Guess he won’t be joining us for dinner.”

“So much fun at Mike’s company party last night.  Told the girls mommy had the flu which is why we needed to pull over a few times on the way home.  LOL!!”

It is so crazy to think we chronicle the funniest, saddest and most pivotal moments in our lives.  If only our parents had been able to do the same.  

I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to hear what you think your parents would have posted back in the day.  Take a second and share!

Today we celebrated my son’s 17th birthday.  To say I’m blessed by this incredible young man is an understatement.  I must have done something right in my life to deserve him.  

We had a wonderful weekend of birthday celebrations.  But now the party has ended, everyone has left and I’m left with my quiet thoughts.  The heaviness and memories I have set aside all day cannot be ignored any longer. 

It was two years ago on the day of my son's birthday party,  my mom received the call from her doctor letting her know she had pancreatic cancer.  She had thought the party started at 5:00 and arrived early.  She and I were the only ones here to take the call.  She put the doctor on speaker phone so I could hear the news of her PET scan.  It was a very lucky chance he called when he did so she was not alone when she received the news.  I had spent the last few weeks traveling with her to various doctor’s appointments to help determine the source of the illness she’d been suffering from for months.   We thought it may have been an intolerance to gluten or some other food allergy.   The doctors took bloodwork to determine if she had picked up some sort of parasite during her travels.  I had thought she might be suffering from complications due to a bladder surgery she had two years prior.  After months of no answers the doctors finally decided to perform a PET scan.

It was on this phone call we found out the results of that scan.  My mom and I spent the next several hours of my son’s birthday party pretending we hadn’t just received life changing news.  We did everything possible  to not ruin his birthday.

A few months after her diagnosis she took me shopping so she could purchase a Washington State Cougar Football coat to give to him at his next birthday.  She sent it home with me because she didn't think she would be with him the following year.  As God would have it, she was here to give him the gift herself.  He wore that coat a few weeks ago when we attended the WSU Homecoming Football game.  This year, as God would have it, she was not here. This was the first celebration of many we will celebrate without either of our parents. 

We all felt the absence.  But as our parents would have wanted, we still laughed.  We made jokes at each other’s expense, sang ‘happy birthday’, opened presents and celebrated an incredible young man.   

In the quiet aftermath of a great day, the tears surface.   Remembering 17 years ago Austin’s grandparents were the first to walk into the room and hold him in their arms when he was finally born.  They visited him every other day for months.  They were his biggest fans and in attendance at all of his sporting events.  They taught him how to water ski and how to snow ski.  But most importantly, they taught him what it means to have a great sense of humor, work hard, treat others with kindness, be a team player and love family above all else.

My birthday wish for my son, is to use his special day as a celebration of his past blessings and rejoice at the beautiful journey he has ahead.  Although there are two less voices joined in the chorus singing ‘happy birthday’, there are two angels to guide him through the best years of his life.

Being a self-professed people pleaser, I have spent most of my life making decisions based on what made other people happy.  In high school I wore a dress to homecoming I hated.  Only because my mom thought I should wear it since it was purchased for a great price at Value Village.   I did favors for people I barely knew because they asked and I couldn’t say ‘no’.  I’ve accepted job opportunities because they wanted me to work there, not because I did.  I have spent most of my life serving others, and not in the way generous, philanthropic people do.  I did it because I thought by making other people happy, I would be happy. 

I kept my dreams quiet and contained within my heart.  They were safe and protected there.  What if I tried….and failed?  Would this mean I would need to let my dream die??  Would it mean I was never going to be good enough to achieve my personal greatness??? 

Walt Disney was fired from a newspaper because he was told he lacked imagination and had no good ideas.  Oprah Winfrey was dismissed from a job as a television reporter because she wasn't ‘fit for TV’.   Jerry Seinfeld walked off the stage his first time because he was booed and jeered.  Steven King was turned down 25 times for his first book, Carrie.  His wife dug it out of the garbage and told him to try one more time.

What if these individuals only served and listened to others never following the dreams that lived in their heart??

Failing…. is never trying at all.

Last night I took a small step towards something I've always wanted to do.  I sat in a room with 15 other writers sharing our passion for the written word.  My heart was beating out of my chest.  I was so struck with emotion I wanted to cry.  As I was leaving, I tried to make sense of these strange and overwhelming feelings.  I realized my heart and my emotions were overflowing because, for the first time, I was serving myself.  I was fulfilling MY dream.

A friend told me today that by doing something that makes me happy, I will then be able to give the gift of making someone else happy.   Making other people happy is and always has been an intrinsic part of who I am.  I finally realized last night, making others happy does not always need to determine my own happiness.

“Happiness depends upon ourselves.” Aristotle

"Grief is in two parts.  The first is loss.  The second is the remaking of life."  Anne Roiphe

During my mom’s eulogy I described cancer as a grenade.  Its damage primarily affects the person living with the horrible disease, but it leaves shrapnel wounds and scars on loved ones.  The reality is, the analogy can be associated to any kind of death, not just cancer.

When I lost my father a few years earlier I felt I had been shredded, torn into little pieces and unsure how I would put my life back together again.   The pain was nothing I had ever experienced before.  The weight of it was indescribable.  Crushing.  It felt like all the air from my lungs was compressed from the tightness in my chest.  I would look at people driving in their car, singing along with the radio and I would think, “How do they not know?  How can their world keep spinning when mine has stopped?”   

One afternoon weeks after my dad passed away I was sitting on my therapist’s couch.  I had a tissue in my hand as I slowly worked through my feelings of grief.   Halfway through the session, I said something that provoked her to tell me “Your life is never going to be the same.”  I can still remember that moment.  I felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me.   I began to sob.  The tissue I had been holding was sucked into my mouth as I struggled to catch my breath.

I had been grieving my father so deeply, it never occurred to me to grieve the life I once had.  Of course, life would be different.  How could it not?  In those few words, she broke me.   Every last little piece of thread holding me together was gone.

Up until that point I had been working so hard to piece myself back together just the way I had been before he died.  I was trying to claw my way out of the darkness to attain the happiness I had felt before.  But what she gave me that day was a gift.    Those words broke me and helped to heal me all at the same time.

Life was never going to be the same.  By thinking it could be, I would continue to struggle to achieve the happiness of my old life.  I would have been left feeling empty, less fulfilled and discouraged.   However, knowing I needed to create a new blueprint made me reevaluate who I was, what life meant to me and how I wanted to live.

Many of life’s challenges will make you feel like you are buried under its weight.  You will fight to dig your way out, and eventually you surface.   The pain and struggle will become part of your character, part of your strength.   When you surface, your perspective on life might change.  You will find laughter and happiness again.  But most importantly, you will find hope.

From the moment I became a mom I prayed for my daughter’s well being.  I prayed for her health and happiness.  I prayed she would feel secure from the abundance of love I gave.  I prayed her opportunities in life would far surpass any of my own.  I prayed she would feel provided for, but never live with a sense of entitlement.    I prayed she would be kind, but strong enough to advocate for her needs.  I prayed she would live a fulfilling life following her dreams and passions.  And I prayed I would be the type of parent who would help carve those paths.

When my daughter was 14 years old she shook my foundation and tested the conviction of my prayers.

Her father and I have been divorced since she was four.  Life for a child living in two different homes has never been easy.  I tried to create an environment for her that was happy with few disadvantages.  I sacrificed and saved to take her and her brother on trips to Disneyland.  I worked hard to juggle life as a single working mom by driving them to soccer practices, piano lessons, drama rehearsals, baseball games, doctor’s appointments and parent teacher conferences. 

When my daughter told me she wanted to move in with her dad, my weakness made it feel like her decision was a rejection of me.  A slap in the face against what I had given and sacrificed all those years.  I was hurt.  I questioned myself as a mother.  Perhaps, if I had been a better mom she never would have wanted to leave. 

When she first approached me with her decision I calmly listened to her reasoning.  I tried to help her outline the pros and cons of living in either household.  I had hoped she would come to same conclusion I had.  The advantages of living with me far outweighed the disadvantages of her moving.  When she eventually chose to live with her dad my heart broke.  It didn't break just once, it broke repeatedly. 

Unbeknownst to her I sat in her room and cried the day I came home and found she had packed up all of her personal belongings.  Silently, I was sad when I saw her with her new group of friends I had never met.   I sobbed for hours after I dropped her off at her dad’s house to begin her first day of high school.  My heart ached when I realized life during her formative years was not going to be what I had envisioned.    I grieved for what I felt I had lost. 

Once my heart spent enough time grieving for what wasn't, it eventually opened up to what could be.   It became a relationship full of laughter, trust, admiration, respect and honesty.   We spend time together every week on mother/daughter dates. I have added hundreds of miles on my car. We send texts with silly Emoji symbols to say I miss you and love you.  When we are together we take selfies with silly faces.  I started watching all of her favorite shows so we can gossip about everything we've seen.  

I finally realized we could create a wonderful relationship with different circumstances.  As a mom, I'm proud to discover she is the daughter I had always dreamed she would be. Passionate.  Talented. Caring.  Independent. Strong.  I just needed to let her express who she was, and let go of what I thought was best.  
As a mom I knew I could have made her stay.  I could have forced her not to leave.  By the grace of God, the prayers I have always had for my child withstood during my personal struggle.

My daughter feels secure in my love for her.  She knows she can move away and my love will never change.  She can advocate for her needs up against a force she has always wanted to please.   She is able to make tough decisions to fulfill her dreams and her passions.  It wasn't because I was a terrible mom she decided to leave.  It was because of the mom I have been she felt empowered to do so.