Life as Betsy » Family

This clock never seemed so alive

April 8, 2008 – 8:29 pm

Without a doubt, the one person that I have been the meanest to in my life would be my younger brother Andy. Just two years younger than me, I was the tyrannical big sister who took pleasure in holding him back and making him cry when we were little. Why, you ask? I honestly cannot tell you why. I was little and so wanted to be big and grown up and he was often the only person smaller than me. With his cherub demeanor, white blonde hair and unwavering devotion to me, he was an easy target that I often took aim at. It is easy for me to admit that until about the time we both we in middle school, I wasn’t a good big sister.

To make matters much worse, his birthday was only 16 days before mine. It only made sense to me that since I was older, my birthday should come first and for a good number of his younger birthdays (oh 4 through 9) I was pouty and obnoxious. Definitely not in the mood to celebrate him.

My mother always told me to be nice to brother because one day, he’d be bigger and stronger than me and I wouldn’t want him as an enemy. And she was right. He did grow bigger than me and stronger than me, as well as smarter and more responsible. But he also is the kindest, nicest, most thoughtful guy I’ve ever known. He’s never been an enemy, aside from the days he could tattle on me. Despite everything I did to him, every button I knew to push, every liberty I knew I could take with him, he’s still always right by my side.

It’s funny, because in some ways, I feel so close to him and yet he and I maybe talk once or twice a month. I can tell you though, when I was in Seattle visiting him back in February, there was something about being with him that felt more like "home" than even my own apartment can sometimes feel. I love my husband and my home here and my life, but there is only one person who knows me like Andy does and when it was time for me to come home that Sunday afternoon, it was extremely hard to leave him up there. Nevermind that he’s lived in Seattle for almost two years and Salem for five years before that. It didn’t feel right for him to not be living in Vancouver.

He turned 25 years old today. I always feel older on other people’s birthdays; moreso than on my own birthday. Because I remember when he was two and broke his leg falling down a flight of stairs. I remember when we were seven and five and told each other what we’d gotten each other for Christmas (I got him a dinosaur and he got me a huge book of fairytales). I remember all those first days of school with our signs and all those family road trips with our bright yellow walkmans and the invisible line down the middle of the back seat that we could not cross. I remember him sobbing because he was too little go on certain rides at Disneyland and the morning he went in for his deviated septum correction. I remember the summer he was gone to Ecuador or correcting his essays for his admission to college. I remember how he held me at my grandmother’s burial, when we all dropped a rose in on top of her urn and I suddenly found myself sobbing.

I sometimes think about what I will say about my brother on his wedding day, as I toast him and his bride, whomever she may be, because he gave the most amazing toast at mine. There are few people that I am as abundantly proud to say I know as him and looking back, I cannot believe that he still loves me.

For that, I am an extremely lucky girl.

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The “C” word

March 25, 2008 – 9:25 pm

Last year, amidst the wedding planning hoopla and the waiting for the arrival of a friend’s twins, not to mention my attempting to lose the weight for that big white dress, we had a small family crisis that brought reality crashing back down. In a routine doctor’s visit, my father got news that a certain test results level was a bit high and possibly in need of rechecking in about six months. The doctor said that really, there wasn’t any need for further testing at the moment and that maybe, in October, they’d rerun the test. But my dad didn’t want the possibility of something getting bigger, stronger, uglier hanging over his head. He opted for a biopsy.

The biopsy came back positive and even his doctor was amazed. It is not customary to do a biopsy when a PA level comes back nearly a hair’s breath higher than normal. I am still a bit hazy as to when those inital doctor appointments were held, but I do know they were some time in April. It was early May when my parents sat me down to break the news.

How is it that you always just know when someone has bad news? I mean, sometimes, you can sense it coming from a mile away. People’s demeanor change, they pull away, act distant. But this came from out of the blue. It was only when they said "We need to talk to you about something" that I knew it was serious.

They opted not to tell me until a decision had been made about how they were going to go about dealing with the prognosis. Almost like it helped make things better. There is a problem, but this is how we are going to correct it. So no worries. And at first, I wasn’t worried. I mean, they talked about his cancer like it was a tattoo that needed removing. Minor surgery, a night or two in the hospital and then, he’d be back to normal. It was only after I thought about it a little more and did a little research on his type of cancer and the possible outcomes that I started to realize that things had been a bit glossed over.

Why is cancer so damn scary? Because of how many people it touches, I suppose. It is your own cells mutating instead dying like they are supposed to. Mutiny in the body, for lack of a better description. It knows no boundries or social graces. It doesn’t care how young or old you are, how many responsibilities you have or how much money. It is non-discriminative. It doesn’t even care that you are a celebrity or an average joe.

We were lucky. They nabbed the cancer before it could do much more then barely present itself and my father was up and ready to walk me down the aisle and learn to waltz with me only weeks later. Mike’s mom, Sandi, wasn’t so lucky. Several of our friends and family members are currently battling similar wars with cancer themselves and I can only hope that in the long run, they are as lucky as my dad was. As we are.

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One boy, One girl

March 21, 2008 – 10:31 pm

I went to my parent’s house tonight after school to dye Easter Eggs with my mother and grandmother and while we were wrapping the eggs in rubber bands and then dunking them in various dyes, my father came down to say hello.

"Do you know what today is?" My mom asked, while grinning at my father.

"Um . . . Good Friday?" I knew it was the right answer, but not sure if that was what she was really asking.

My parents were introduced to each other by a mutual friend named Jerry. I don’t specifically remember how they each knew Jerry, but they did and after spending some time with my dad, Jerry decided to give him my mom’s number. And then, Jerry told my mom what she’d done. I am sure she was a bit stressed at the idea, but Jerry reassured her that he was a great guy.

A month went by and he didn’t call. Three months went by and he didn’t call. SIX months went by and he finally called my mom. He calls the night before my mom is about to head back to New Jersey for a several week vacation to visit the rest of her family. I am sure the conversation went something like ’so glad you finally called me, but would you mind waiting for me for another two weeks while I go on vacation?’ They went out for coffee that night and she got on the plane the following morning.

Two weeks later, my mom was pretty sure that he had forgotten about her and she wasn’t all that sure that she’d remember what he looked like exactly, but there he was, waiting at the airport to pick her up.

30 years ago today was my parent’s first official date. Ahhhh . . . . It all started then and there. A little over two years later, they were married and a little under two years after that, they had me.

The fun extra bonus tidbit to this story? My parents returned the favor to Jerry by introducing her to husband. Good things happen to good people.

EDIT:: I am informed by my mother that part of this story is correct and part of it is another story from early in their relationship that I have merged together. But the details are not as important as the fact that they met then, and are still happily married now.

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Foreshadowing

March 20, 2008 – 10:30 pm

When we were little, my brother, father and I had a special game we’d play. Okay, get your mind out of the gutters, you filthy animals. It wasn’t that kind of game. It was called "Hairshopper" and it was one of those make believe games kids come up with when they get to spend time with their father.

Hairshopper consisted of myself playing "Crystal" the hair dresser, my brother playing "Doc" the shampoo boy and my father as the client. He’d sit on the floor in my brother’s bedroom, his back against the bottom bunk of Andrew’s bunk bed and I’d comb and pretend to cut his hair while Doc and Crystal babbled on about their children (Crystal had 100 girls and 1 boy and Doc had 100 boys and 1 girl) and Doc would get caught up and washed away from all the wax and water on the floor. It’s kind of hard to explain, but I suppose playing salon grew quite tiresome after ten minutes or so for my younger brother and he’d create some drama by getting caught up in a minor castrophy.

My father loved the fact that he’d get to sit and spend time with his kids and we basically would rub his hair for half hours at a time.

The funny thing is that it wasn’t like I was playing Hairshopper because I wanted to be come a hair dresser when I was grown up. But looking back now, who knows what it all meant.

I gave my first hair cut on a real person today. I’ve been practicing on Miss Barbara 1 for the last two weeks and today, my instructor just tossed me into the mix. She likes to do that - sink or swim, per say. I was lucky it was a trim on a girl with long, long hair who was looking to lose a couple inches in length. I am even luckier that I didn’t panic, though the memories of bad hair cuts from my past, where I left the salon in tears kept lingering in my mind. She was quite happy with it (hooray!) and I’ll live to cut another day.

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We don’t talk about the little things that we do without

March 10, 2008 – 10:13 pm

So after a really critical look at our budget tonight and making some cuts and sacrifices for a number of months, we have found a way that will allow for me to go to school full time and bang out my entire cosmetology education in about 7 and a half months. I am so excited at this prospect, because I am absolutely loving school and the idea of getting to be there as if it were my job . . . heaven!!!

The sacrifices are going to have to not only by me, but by my family too and I cannot thank them enough. It is going to be months of doing without for all of us. Somehow, free haircuts, manicures and pedicures and facials for the rest of their lives doesn’t sound or seem like enough. I’ll have to figure out other ways to show my love and appreciation to them all.

I start full time tomorrow. Woo hoo!

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Snap is not his color.

February 26, 2008 – 9:47 pm

In my hurry to hit the road and make my way home to Mike on Sunday, I managed to leave my makeup bag at my brother’s loft. And then failed to even notice until this morning, as I was searching for it in my suitcase. I knew that it could only be one of two places and either place (Andrew’s or Anne’s) meant that I will eventually be getting it back, but it still put me in somewhat of a bad mood. I am pretty good at remembering things, not forgetting them and leaving them behind.

After speaking with my brother (in which he teased me by saying "I asked if you had everything and you said yes you did." and I responded "Were you planning on keeping it? Snap is not really your color.") and he agreeing to mail it back to me, I still have to get by without it. You’d think that would be fairly easy, since I have a huge makeup collection, thanks to many gratis gifts from working at Lancome. But that bag had all of my daily makeup, not to mention my best brushes and all my mascara and eye liner.

So off to Target I went tonight to buy a tube of cheap mascara to get me through until my bag returns. I haven’t purchased anything CoverGirl since 2002, not because I don’t like CoverGirl, but because I was around Lancome and Lauder and MAC (actually, MAC’s mascara is shit. Don’t use it.). I hate to sound like a snob, but seriously, there are certain products where you do get what you pay for. Mascara is definitely one of them. I know some of you may scoff at spending $23.50 for a tube of mascara . . . but I totally think its worth it.

Its going to be a very interesting week . . . I’m hoping it arrives by Friday, but am not holding my breath. At least it happened this week and not next.

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Mi Casa Su Casa

February 24, 2008 – 10:57 pm

Whenever I go away for a weekend, two things happen. One, Mike goes on a cleaning spree, so I always come home to a picked up apartment. I think its because neither of realize how much time each weekend we spend together until I am gone and he has to fill the void.

Two, I come home with ambitious ideas, goals, desires. There is something about visiting other people in their own homes that makes me taken in and somewhat reevaluate things. Not that the things Mike and I were doing need changing. But none the less, it makes me think and look at things a little differently. There was the time I came home and wanted to shop more at Trader Joe’s because my friends Tony and Tina did. Or the desire to have my home less cluttered - more simplified. And now, my desire to be more focused, to listen to more music and watch less television and to get a newer Brita water pitcher.

I am not sure if this is just a "Betsy" thing or a more general thing, but it happens nearly every time I go away for a weekend. Not so much if I am going to stay at a hotel, but more so when I am staying at a friend’s house. I think I am going to have to think more about what drives this desire and what it all really means.

The trip was lovely. The weather was unbeatable. It was wonderful to spend so much time with my brother and to see Lizzie and Anne. The entire trip was too short, but I knew it would be before I even left. My brother has a great life up there and I am so happy for him.

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Envious

February 23, 2008 – 3:56 pm

My brother’s loft in Belltown. The urbanite in me is sooo jealous.

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The Emerald City in the Evergreen State

February 21, 2008 – 9:54 pm

I am leaving tomorrow evening for a weekend in the Emerald City. And thanks to a slower day at work, I had time to put a little more effort into my packing list, SJA style.

The thing is, I am going for two nights. Driving up tomorrow night, hanging out all day Saturday, going out Saturday night and spending Sunday there too. Driving back down at some point in the afternoon, so I can get home early enough to spend time with Mike. I am going to see my brother, who’s like family to me, and Liz is flying in too. It’s a lowkey weekend, for sure. But the fact that its a different city, with random possibilities popping up, keep me on my toes and wondering - what all will I need.

In all honesty, I am not a fan of Seattle. That is probably the biggest reason I never considered UW when I thought about colleges. *Actually, I really didn’t think about college when everyone was thinking about college. But I wasn’t like some of my friends, who had talked of going there since the year I’d met them. Seattle has always been in one form or fashion a hassle for me, for my family, the whole shebang. Whether it was a spoiled trip because my friend was fighting on the phone with her boyfriend the entire time or money lost in meters or more traffic than you could shake a stick at, I’ve always just been less than fond of Seattle. In that vein, it makes sense that my brother is currently living in his third apartment there and I have yet to see any of them.

But I want to reforge the great bond he and I had when we were younger and doing so requires give and take on both our parts. So when Liz sent out a feeler email last month to see if anyone would be around if she were to fly into Seattle this particular weekend, I responded with something like "I’ll be here. I never go anywhere."

The camera is going with me, as well as an army of cookies for my brother and Lizzie too. It should be a lovely weekend. I’m just hoping it doesn’t rain.

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Since You’ve Been Gone

February 13, 2008 – 9:14 am

You died just after midnight on a Sunday. Your grandchildren had driven and flown in from all over the West coast to be there by your side and to see you one last time. It’s strange, I didn’t even realize how sick you were, even then. I kept thinking you’d get stronger, get better, sit up and complain about all of us fussing over you. I kept expecting you to return to the Bedford and everyone else would go home too and I would be wrangled into picking you up for Sunday night dinners at Mom and Dad’s, since my apartment was just down the street from you. Its what was supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to get so sick, so quickly.

Here it is, 3 years later and though we’ve adjusted to you not being here, its not the same.

I understand that this is the process of life – change. Everyday, in every way, we change – from the number of breaths we’ve taken to the number of times we’ve blinked. From what we wear and what time we arrive anywhere. There is a constant changing variable in life. Some are sudden changes, like your leaving us, while a majority of them are slight, subtle, indistinct. Regardless, I don’t like the changes. Even a number of the changes I choose to make seem so big and foreign.

Since you’ve been gone: Andrew graduated with his Master’s, got a job with BlueNile.com and moved to Seattle. Katherine graduated high school and is now living it up in college. Jeff returned to Gig harbor from Arizona. Brad is plugging away at school and spending time with his family and girlfriend. Traci and Arnold and the kids moved to Boise and they are growing to be so big and strong and smart. Nina had a baby boy and she and larry are marrying this year. Mike and Kelli bought their dream house in the Gig. Mom and Dad built their new, slightly smaller dream house. Ron retired and he and Cindy are enjoying life in Oceanside. Mike and Dana stay so busy with their brood. They were going to try to make it up to Vancouver last summer for the wedding, but it wasn’t in the cards. Sarita stays as active as ever with visiting her children. I keep in touch with her, thoug I do need to send her another card soon.

We don’t hear much from Jami. I suppose that means all is well. And as for me – well I’ve lost and regained and lost again the same 25-30 pounds for the past 3 years. I am currently in another ‘downsizing’ phase, with emphasis on keeping it off. The next time I gain weight, there had better be a baby inside of me.

Mike and I did marry and are enjoying this whole married life thing. There is this entire amazing sensation of all those stresses that singlehood brings being lifted. There is a quiet in my head and in my heart now – a calm. He is the one I waited on and searched for. The one who sees me and sees our future and our children. The one who is so excited to get to all those points with me. I only regret meeting him after you died. The string of guys I dated prior to him do little justice – I only wish you could have met him, just as I wish I’d been able to meet Grandpa.

But the night you died, we had all disbursed to our own homes and hotel rooms. I was laying in bed, watching a movie, trying to forget for a moment what was all going on. But when that phone rang, even a movie about daywalking vampires couldn’t keep me from know what the call was about. Oddly enough, I never have seen the end of that movie.

Slowly but surely, the items you left behind have begun to be thoroughly mixed in and the memory of distinction has started to fade. Pots and pans so similar to Mom’s (for I am sure that she bought them for you, or you for her) have lost the tinge of being Grandma’s and have just become mine. Part of my kitchen, part of my past. If I stop and think about a particular item, I can recall that it had in fact been yours and only became mine when you past. But then, one day, I pulled out a serving sppon and used it for a casserole or chili and it wasn’t until I went to wash it that I saw the masking tape on the backside with ML in black marker. Clearly, something you’d done for a church potluck to make sure everyone knew that it was your spoon. It still serves the same purpose. Mike has been instructed not to remove it.

There are certain days throughout the year when a ‘new year’ starts for me. Christmas, New Years, my birthday, my anniversary, Mom and Dad’s anniversary and the anniversary of your death. Another point for me to stop and reflect and mourn what’s past. I am still learning about grief and mourning. Your death is the first to truly mark a change in my life – the first I have been unavoidably changed by.

I’ve come to accept that you are gone. I’m just not always sure how I feel about it. I can’t go back and I can’t forget.

Always,

Your granddaughter, Elizabeth June

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