Honor the people who've made a difference in my life, especially the ones who are no longer here

Seven months ago, my youngest brother was killed in a car accident. This was, actually, how I found my way to 43 things. Reaching for life and hope and goals instead of more destructive behavior.

In a few weeks, myself and other family members will give a graduating high school senior an award in my brother’s name. Today, we had a meeting about it. I was fine.

But tonight, after the baby got to sleep and the phone stopped ringing, I felt myself cuddled close with grief and it hits me on every level. It’s like someone’s taken a sledge hammer to my ankles, to my knees, to my gut, to my chest, to my lips.

It just hurts like hell.

So I spent the last two hours calling members of my family. My aunt, who is my father’s sister, tricky because I don’t speak to my father. But she’s been reaching out so I spent 20 minutes on the phone with her.

Then I called my grandfather who is in a nursing home, tricky because he’s got early onset dementia. He doesn’t remember a lot, but whenever he hears my little girl squeal, he says, “That little girl (he can’t remember her name), she’s so happy she could light up Times Square if all the electricity went out.” He always says the same thing, but I take it to be a testament to something I’m doing right, to a kind of love that is my birthright, that is my bambina’s birthright.

Then I returned a call to my father’s second cousin, an “aunt” who’s getting on in years. But she heard about my husband’s car accident and wanted me to know that her church group is praying for him. 20 minutes there. My mother doesn’t like this aunt (my parents are divorced) but I have come to the time in my life when I will take love, and prayer, whenever it is offered.

When I was talking to said aunt, I got a call from R., my mother’s sister, my favorite aunt, who said, as my daughter squealed, “That girl is so happy, she could turn on the lights in a blackout.” 20 minutes there.

All pleasant enough conversations. And yet, I’m so exhausted. I’m also intrigued by the idea that somehow my family has an obsession with electricity that radiates on both sides of the family.

And I think, I’ve got to make these calls. I’ve got to keep plugging in. For myself, but also for my little girl, so she feels, in the best way possible, the cool breeze and shade of this crazy family tree.

A frenemy that I’ve had a tough time with invited me to a Sarah Ruhl play and I was absolutely inspired. So I’m writing a post to say thank you. Yes, she’s stabbed me in the back. Yes, she can be the definition of bee-yatch. Yes, I often feel that I can’t trust her as far as I can throw her. But I’ve been trying to live by the Buddhist mantra to give without remembering and take without forgetting.

This evening, I took something wonderful from her * a free ticket, to an inspiring play * and I’m grateful. And I don’t want to forget.