Mostly Okay

Meme of person crying: "Me in my room imagining fake scenarios and hurting my own feelings." 

I saw this meme awhile back, and last night I did exactly this. What started out as a simple trip down memory lane, left me feeling so sad by the end that I actually cried. Like out loud, made myself sob.

Looking back at images over the last few years, instead of a feeling wistful nostalgia, I was just pissed off that I've lived so much hurt. And then, as if that wasn't painful enough, I created all sorts of alternate universes in my mind of where life could go from here, with every one of them leaving me the short end of the stick.

I totally understand how people get to the point where they no longer choose to open up their hearts, since it's just a big old disappointment every time. A track record of people never delivering.

Maybe there's a little bit of the past I still need to reconcile. Little pieces of broken hearts left over from the years, in the sense that you can be over something, you can move on, and move along, but maybe you haven't fully processed, fully absorbed? The little pangs of hurt haven't become part of the whole, and they can bump and sting, like a game of Operation.

Maybe quarantine is getting to me. I've liked being alone so much lately, but perhaps now it's reached a point where being alone too much isn't a good thing. It gives me too much time to wander in my mind, and I should have known that I have a limit there. It can become too much. My imagination, big feelings, and love of time to just think is what makes me a great artist. Performer, and writer. But. This is also what makes being human so damn tricky for someone like me. The spiral becomes too deep, and you long to claw out, but you've explored so internally you can't enter into the outside world yet, leaving you in a big conundrum. If you know, you know. 

Alone. This was the problem last night, you see. It was thinking about being alone...forever. And if I'm being honest, I'm not sure I'm up for that, should that happen. I started to worry about the types of love I have in my life, and is that enough to sustain me? Family, friends, and the love of my sweet son - which I am so lucky and grateful for.

But what about the other type of love?
And then...what if my son never sees me loved? 
And then...am I okay with that?!

I just don't know.

It's now the morning after, and I am out for a run. I notice my thighs hurt from last night's run, but my heart doesn't hurt from last night's cry. And by 9 o'clock this morning...I am mostly okay. Will I be okay in years to come? Will my story be beautiful? Are there great surprises in store? Will it all "work out"? Only time will tell. But for now, it's just 9 am, and I am mostly okay.

What's the quote? Something about doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results is the definition of insanity? Well, consider me certifiably insane, because I will never close off. I will never stop trying.

I will not stop opening my heart, even though it's only ever ended...
And even though it's only ever ended...
I am mostly okay...

so...I keep running.


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A little bit sad.

I love this one...even though it will always make me a little bit sad. 

The boy.

I can recall where I was four years ago instantly. Physically, I was wrapping up a temporary stay in NYC. I'd gone back for a few months to remember what it was like to be a student again, and immersed myself in classical training. Emotionally, it was the worst time of my life. 2012 wrecked havoc on my heart, head, and soul. We'd lost my uncle that May. He was lost to me in a slew of other losses that year, varying for me in degrees of devastation. I'd been shattered, and I was trying to rebuild. His birthday (the first he would not be there for) was November 9. On November 10, I saw a play. I left on a high. I came back to where I was staying only to find out via face-time that my Grandpa had just died. I could't get home fast enough. I'll never forget that feeling. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. 

Four years later, everything I've lost has come back to me in a new form. All that loss cleared out space for me to gain so much. I truly believe that must happen, and I am left even more amazed at the way birth and death are, in fact, one. 

But there's a final piece from 2012 that I've never shared, because it didn't click for me until recently. And four years later on the birthday/departing day anniversaries, here it is. 

Four years ago I had what can only be described as a vision. I wrote bout it here.https://theshapeshiftingpoet.blogspot.com/2015/04/neither-here-nor-there.html I was in Southern Utah for my my grandpa's funeral. Falling asleep, I saw as clear as day my grandpa and uncle outside in a beautiful clearing. The sun was bright. The sky bright blue. The grass and trees around them a vibrant green. They were young, and they looked so good! They had with them a toddler. A boy. He was as blonde as can be. They were all so happy, playing with him. Doing that thing you do with little kids where you hold their hands and spin them around so their feet are off the ground. It was very real. It was happening, or had happened, wherever they were. I didn't know who the toddler was, but they seemed to be taking care of him. 

I thought about it from time to time over the years, but it didn't hit me until recently who that boy was...

For the Squirrel and the Bluebird, who continue to give. 

DM 

Memorial

You left the earth at 35 years
Starting in 2014, a girl you'd never know would stand at your grave
She married a grandson you never knew
It strikes her as profound that someone who died at 35 so long ago
still has young people paying respects.

When does it end?

I still feel so incredibly immortal.
It will never be me.

But when it is…who will come?

People are connected in ways I could never imagine.
When will it run out?
Eventually the line ends.

So what's the point of being buried?

Where would I like to go when it's time?
Is there a reason to save me?

I don't like any of my options.

I'd rather dissipate then lay low preserved, or face the flames.

When I tell my husband this, he says, he'll decide for me.
"We're going to be buried."

Suddenly it's all okay. He'll be in the earth with me.
And I'm comforted,
and it strikes me as the most romantic thing I've ever heard.
I want to freeze time,
and I'm more sure than ever that one human lifetime with him
is not nearly enough.

Only eternity will do.



~Deena Marie

Grief, three years later.

Today is the 27th. That number is burned into me, but I manage to survive it okay.

I wonder why I can, if I should be something other than okay, but I remind myself to let go of a should or shouldn't. I am where I am, how I feel, today.

Today is okay.

I woke up next to my husband, did the dishes, sent him off to an interview, hopped in the shower. My mom came over, because it's the 27th, and we talked in my living room while my pup took turns sitting on our laps.

My husband came home, I made him something to eat.

We worked from home, we ran errands. We laughed. We ate. We kissed. We said I love you. We spent the evening playing nintendo.

That's what I did on the 27th, three years later.

I haven't cried. I don't know that I will. I feel healed. I feel whole. I have to know that it's okay.

Time is so surprising. Three years ago today I remember leaving my house in the morning to get back to my aunts, where he and his hospital bed had been set up in the living room. I thought I'd still get to see him. I pulled up mere minutes too late. My dad out front to meet me, "he's gone". "What?" Feeling everything sink. Purple pajama pants, blue flannel shirt. Running in. How profound. The first death is the most profound thing a person can go through. His bed surrounded. A spot now taken by me. His things at his bedside. What becomes of things? You can't take them with you. How he looked. He was, and yet he wasn't. We are not our bodies.

The reaction of my grandpa when he came in and realized he was also too late. Three years ago, I also still had a grandpa.

The blanket that had been keeping him warm. A kids blanket. Navy blue, with clocks. The time was frozen around the 10 o'clock hour. Very near the time he left.

At some point, he left us, entire. I don't know what happened then.

Three years ago tonight I sat in my backyard looking at the moon and questioning everything. Everything was new, and open, and vast, from the moon to my heart. I was reborn. I drank three big red cups of vodka and soda to drown out the world and cried myself to sleep wondering why I should get to sleep in a bed if he couldn't.

Those are the most vivid memories of the most surreal day.

Time blurs from there. I will always remember spending that spring and most of 2012 shattered. Before that, and after that. For so long, so terribly broken. I still carry that weight with me more than I'd like to, and find myself angry at times I ever had to go so low.

Crushed. Heart smashed.

Sad, sad, sad.

I did everything I could to keep moving and continue the rebirth. I shaved my head. I was so open. I read everything. I expanded. I learned. I saw omens. I saw heaven. I saw him in the form of animals. I ran. I ran, ran, ran. Anything to keep moving. I was afraid if I sat still something awful would happen to me.

I thought I was dying. I also had nightmares and began to feel sick all the time. The losses piled up and I could barely breathe.

I thought maybe I too, wanted to die.

Get me out of here.

I kept digging, I kept being buried alive.

I am mad at that time.

Mad, mad, mad.

But yet here I am, presently. So whole. Parallels exist at any given time. Extreme opposites. Both are true. I learned this then, and it still holds today.

Today the number 27 is burned into my brain. The contrast from three years to today feels like it might as well have happened to someone else.

I don't feel guilty for my happiness. I don't know how I should behave, or pay tribute, or not, on this day. I haven't cried, but I still feel it all. It happened, and left its mark all through my insides.

I still don't know what to make of it at times. Sometimes it's still not real. Sometimes a wave rocks me for no reason, death it says, he died, and the permanence takes me over for just a second. My brain can't process it for long, and my soul goes into protection mode.

It's another heaviness that simply is. Inside.

I thought of asking him for a sign today. Just like the first Christmas after he left I asked him to throw me a snowball on Christmas eve. "Make it hit the window outside", I said. Nothing. Today? Nothing. But today I also feel like I'm too closed off to it to see it anyway. Because if it happened, if it really happened, I think deep down I couldn't take it.

So that's it. That's today.

The third of these 27's so far.

And I have to stop now, because if I go on I think I might cry.

And I think what I need today, is to let myself be okay.


P.S The views on this post are quite high. I'm not sure why, but I'm glad people are reading. I find I am most comforted by words. I am so thankful there are writers, bloggers, and people living with open hearts who are willing to share their words. We all teach each other. I hope this entry is comforting to you if you have experienced any kind of loss. I have so much to say on the topic of loss, lessons learned through loss, and rebirth. If you go back to May of 2012 here on my blog and read up through about the first part of 2013, you might find even more that can hopefully be of comfort as I went through my journey of losing myself, and finding a new normal. Things turned out better than I ever could have hoped, but I had to go through darkness first that I never dreamed was possible. 

I also hope you subscribe here, bookmark, or look around through other posts. This is the place where I pour my heart out. 

~DM

yoU Magazine

Have you heard about yoU Magazine?
The new creation from powerhouse Nineveh Dinha?
Talk about girl power, talk about inspiration, talk about empowerment! Women supporting women. Yes. More of that, please.

I got to contribute to the latest issue.  And I went there.
Take a look here! Are you pregnant yet? Page 13.

Full article:

Six months ago, I married the love of my life.  The morning after we got engaged and made the rounds telling family and friends our news, I was bombarded with questions.  Who would my bridesmaids be? What colors would I pick? What kind of dress did I want? Did we set a date? Meanwhile, I was just trying to process the fact I was now a fiancé.  I wanted to soak in the night, and the fact that I had just been proposed to by the man I love.  I wasn't anywhere near deciding what kind of cake I'd have! Fast forward through the process of making those decisions and pulling off the wedding of my dreams, settling in over the last half of a year, to the new question that I'm often asked.  The big one.  The, "so when are you going to have a baby?" I'm not sure what my reaction is supposed to be to this, or how most women respond, but it makes me cringe.  It's the quickest way to make me instantly uncomfortable.  I start sweating.  You see, I just don't think this is a casual question.  It's loaded.  It's the most sensitive of topics.  

I usually make a joke and quickly change the subject.  I know that when someone asks this it's coming from a place of excitement, and it seems to be what society has taught us is the natural question to ask a newly married couple.  Just like when you announce your engagement, the next questions are all about the wedding day itself.  

The reason why I get so sensitive, is because it I don’t think people realize it’s asking a slew of personal questions all at once.  Are you and your husband financially secure yet? Are you off birth control? How's your sex life? Are you actively trying? If not now, when will you be? Are you two emotionally and mentally on the same page? Are you tracking your ovulation cycle? When will you be at a place in your career when you can plan for a baby? Is your body ready? Are you prepared for the changes to your body? Have you two experienced enough to know how you’re going to raise, teach and explain the world to a brand new human being? It's also assuming you both want to become parents.  

Maybe it’s the day and age we live in.  Maybe it’s too much media and information overload, but I have witnessed a variety of stories from couples over the years.  I have learned that it’s not always smooth sailing for two people get married and automatically have a baby.  Some get married with no intention to have children.  Some can't seem to be on the same page at the same time.  One might even want one, and the other might not.  

I also know women who have suffered multiple miscarriages.  Women who have chosen to end pregnancies.  Women who have wanted nothing more than to become a mom, only to realize that due to health issues either for them or their partner, there was going to be a struggle ahead.  I've seen women go through rounds of in vitro.  Sometimes it's been a success, and sometimes it hasn't.  I've seen adoptions.  What I’m saying is, I've seen it all.  I've seen far too much for it to be an easily answered questions. 

It’s made me beyond superstitious.  Personally, I was always confused about motherhood.  My mom told me she knew her whole life she wanted to be a mom.  I've always been great with babies and kids, but I didn’t know that motherhood was something I desired.  That is, until recently.  Until I’d had a career for more than a decade, and met the love of my life.  Suddenly I’ve found myself in a place where work seems secondary.  And now that I've found my partner, it makes all the sense in the world.  Actually, and I'm reluctant to tell you this because of how long it took me to discover it, it’s what I want most.  

I’m not sure women can ever change being asked this question, but maybe we can change the way we think about it? Maybe we can approach it with a deeper sensitivity? Or maybe, we don’t ask at all.  But let a new mother to be let us in on the news.  So how do I answer the question, “When are you going to have a baby?” Well, it's a giant unknown.  And it's deeply personal.  I've already let you in on more than I should.  Yes, we want it.  As for the when? Maybe the first try, maybe the fiftieth.  That's between myself, my husband, and our future baby.  Whenever and however it happens.  And it’s only for us. 

Instagram: Deena_Marie
Twitter: @DeenaMarie
FB: Facebook.com/TheDeenaShow

Thanks for reading!


DM

To the women.

Just a thank you to the women in my life.
As I've grown up I've come to appreciate you all more.
To value, cherish, to need you.
Family and friends.

To those who've stood by me through hard times.
To those who've listened.
To those who asked the questions to help me clear my heart and head.
To those who asked nothing, but were simply there by my side.
To those who moved on along with me when life carried me to all sorts of unexpected places.
To those who revealed your deepest secrets to me, to let me know I wasn't alone.
To those who were there before and could tell me what they learned.
To those who've never been there but still loved me unconditionally.
To those who have always made an effort to be a presence in my life.
To those who have seen me cry.
To those who have seen me flounder.
To those who have celebrated successes with me.
To those who have let me talk and talk about the same thing in circles, because I needed to.
To those who changed my diaper, played barbies with me, let me play dress up in your clothes.
To those who didn't tell me what to do, but told me they'd love me no matter what.
To those who went to bat for me.
To those who encouraged me.
To those who raised me, who taught me to walk, and talk.
To those I don't remember who met me as a baby and would never see me grow up.
To those who I am named after.
To those who let me be me.
To those who continue to make the effort to get to know the me I am in the present, now, today, as I change through the years.
To those who taught me to cherish the value of female relationships, simply by being you.
To those who've brought me a sense of sisterhood.
To those who have gone above and beyond for me and leave me wondering how I'll ever repay you.
To those soul sisters, who regardless of location, makes me feel loved by our unwavering connection.
To those I've never met in person but who give me strength from afar because of how brave you are.
To those who teach me in ways they'll never know not to shrink but to grow.


Deena Marie

Two years.

"What I want you to know, you, yes you, is that there was a time when the people who are not, were still in the world. Made of earth. And they were vibrant and alive. Life was localized and it was musical and smelled of cinnamon and spice. It was loud. A vibration of generations connected by our invisible dewdrop spiderweb. I was so conscious of it then. It was tangible. I could almost see it. I can hear it still. It echos in me." 

-Deena Marie, 2012


Two years ago today, almost down to the exact hour, my uncle chuck left earth.  I don't feel like posting pictures.  But I can't go without words on this day.

The first experience with this thing we call death.

If you could peek inside my head and heart you'd see why that was the moment.  From then on, nothing would ever be the same.  For me, for any of us.  I could never have imagined that that was the beginning.  The beginning of the shift.  The new normal. Nothing would remain the same.  My internal makeup would completely change.

I've been thinking a lot about that, and while I've mentioned it here plenty of times since then, how do I try to explain what that means? My internal makeup would completely change.

I wrote this blurb the other day,

"Ever since, I worry my eyes can't see.
Won't focus, will stop seeing, have blurred.

I worry my breath is running out, has become too shallow, 
no longer supports me.

I feel myself flicker and worry I keep trying to transcend.  
Involuntarily, my consciousness slips in and out and I have no control.

I wonder if in fact I don't exist."

I thought my soul was going to jump right out of my body.  I felt like I could barely contain it.  "Here we go", I'd think to myself as the feeling would come on.  I could be anywhere.  Driving in the morning.  Sitting in front of the computer.  Getting ready to meet a friend for coffee.  I could barely focus.  I realized how serious it could be the day I rear ended a car coming off of the freeway for no reason.  I knew I was slowing down, I knew there was a car in front of me.  I simply didn't see it.  I kept leaving myself.

And my dreams.  If only you could have seen my dreams.  I've seen the brightest lights as I'm falling asleep.  "Here we go," I'd think to myself.  "Transcending again." I've seen visions. I've seen heaven.

I've felt my heart race to the point of panic and my brain go fuzzy.  My body kept betraying.  Now I realize it has a name.  You can call it anxiety, you can call it PTSD. I call it the new normal.  And it's getting better.  Patience.  Time.  I am feeling less connected to the physicality and other worldly-ness of two years ago.  

I no longer worry I don't exist, have died, will slip off the earth and into the blue before it's time.

I'm here.  I'm meat and bones and thoughts and feelings.  I am temporarily tangible. How lucky.

Two years later.

What was your journey, my family? Where are you now? Are you who you want to be? Did you find your truth? Are the last two years still teaching you? Are you still learning? Have you expanded? Are you where you wanted to end up? If not, go get it.  Run. Look how long, and short the two years were.  Waste not.  There are no rules now! There is no fear now! There is only love, only this moment.  What a gift.

Heal.  Heal now.  I will if you will.


Deena Marie

One Year. May 27th.

One year ago yesterday I went to work.  I called them ahead of time to give them a heads up I might need to leave, should I get a call from my mom.  If I got the call, the call, I would know it was serious.  Serious enough to go.  A couple hours in I thought I was in the clear.  Then the phone rang.

I remember what I was wearing.  A black tank top, black blazer, black tights, black flat slip on shoes and a stretchy pink skirt.  I had a gold owl necklace and my long red hair was in curls, parted down the middle.

What was unusual was the winter parka.  My biggest and warmest, and needed this May 26th.  I ran to my car, or tried.  The weather made it hard.  The wind.  The gloom.  Was it raining? And the slipping.  Slipping all down a sidewalk the length of one long city block.  Berries had fallen off the trees overhead and it was so slippery.  I shuffled and slipped and surprisingly didn't fall the whole way to the parking garage.

I think the sun was out at times during my drive on the freeway.  I kept talking to him, out loud even, telling him to hang on.

What I remember most is the sound of his breathing.  Labored and loud and unlike anything I'd ever heard.  I remember the circle of family around his bed.  It was strong and safe and sacred unlike anything I'd ever felt.  The wind was getting louder.  The universe was howling and orchestrating for our story.  It was crying for us.  It was taking him.

"Seven Spanish Angels" was played over and over.  I don't know if I will ever listen to that song again.  When my family began to tell him to "Go to God" I don't know if it was the fact they were releasing him, or the thought of not knowing what was meant by talk of this God that bothered me more.

I slept, the wind screamed, and the circle around him was the eye of the storm.  I've never felt so solid as in that space and so aware of the elements out of control around us.  We would not budge.

I went home.  I woke up in peace the morning of May 27th, in sunshine, the earth had stopped spinning wildly and it was silent.  Purple pajama pants.  A flannel shirt.  My hair was still long, still in curls.  I was on my way back.  Back to the same, I was sure.  But this time it was different.  I would never go back to the same.  What had been was no more, and just like that, it was over.

I'm stopping here for now, as I've exhausted this story for one year.  One year today.  I don't know what I expected to feel, what I should feel, or even how I feel.  I am here, you are here, he is not.  It feels like yesterday.  It feels like this morning.  Yet a lifetime passed me, taught me, broke me, and healed me in this year.  The year of firsts.

The year of firsts is now complete.

Maybe that's all there is to say today.

Thumbs Up

This is the month.  On the 27th it will be the one year mark.  One year since Chuck left.  There's one story I've had and haven't been able to share.  I've wanted to, I just couldn't write it.  I wanted it documented and out in the word but could never find my own words to tell it.  So, I asked my mom.  It took her awhile to be able to do it, but over the weekend, she did.  Here is a very special story in her beautiful words.  May is definitely going to be about honoring our Chuck.

Thumbs Up

I want to share with you a small moment in my family’s life, that made a huge impact! Maybe I should say a moment between my daughter and my brother.  My handsome, humorous, brother Chuck, left us last May. So here we are at almost a year, still contending with shooting pains in our hearts.

What a unique guy my brother was, and I mean that in a most loving way.  Chuck was the prankster of the family, how he came up with some of the jokes he pulled on us is still a mystery.  We were his personal guinea pigs! This teasing also extended to his nieces and nephews.

I’ve told Deena she takes after her uncle Chuck that way.  The have the same humor, and they shared an invisible, mighty bond. 

Chuck was so proud of Deena, from the day she was born, until his last minutes on this earth.

As I ride that hideous roller coaster of sadness, certain memories linger.  One of my favorites happened while he was in the hospital for the last time.

Chuck was rushed by ambulance to the emergency on May 10^th, 2012.  He would be in the hospital for the next two weeks, all but one of those days in the ICU.  There the medical staff hovered over him and did their difficult jobs, and there were many.

Now my Chuck, this bigger than life guy, was on the brink of death.  He lay in his hospital bed, intubated and unconscious.  He was our sleeping giant.  This was a hard part for my family, we hugged and cried and dealt with our crumbling hearts. 

I existed in my stupor, wearing boots made of lead, seeing through gray lenses, and carrying an internal ball of fear.

That was how I functioned last May. 

Around the fourth or fifth day, the doctors decided it was time to wean him off his medications.  This would help determine how sick he really was.  This is the time the silent worry began, if he did wake up, would he be our same Chuck? Had he been oxygen deprived?

The nurses encouraged us to talk to Chuck and touch him during this time.  He began to turn his head toward the sounds of voices.  Or any loud noise.  He became restless, letting a leg hang off his bed.  But we needed more! Please Chuck, just open your eyes! Please give us a sign!

This process lasted maybe two days, it felt like years. 

Deena was on her way to the hospital when I suddenly had this feeling or premonition.  There was going to be a connection between Deena and Chuck! I JUST KNEW! Deena knew it too, she felt it as she walked down the hospital corridor. 

Deena walked into the room, stood at the foot of his bed, and said, “Hi Chuck”.  He raised his arm in the air and gave a big Thumbs Up! Oh my god! Did he just give us our sign?! He had reacted to her after all! I KNEW IT! That darn thumb caused so much emotion and elation at the same time!

Deena and Chuck were truly connected!

My mom burst out crying, which caused a slight domino effect.  But they were tears of joy!

Later mom would say it reminded her of a fairy tale, when the Prince awakens the Princess.  In our case, it was the niece, that woke her uncle!

I can only tell you, that in my minds eye, I relive this miracle moment, over and over. 

And so, to my daughter and big brother, I give you both, a Thumbs Up!

- Lauren Manzanares 

April, 2013

Pieces

I came across a piece of paper with some bits of words and poetry while spring cleaning.  I wanted to hurry and put them here before I lost them for good.  I've been so busy lately with starting a new job, getting ready to go back to school, meeting with advisors, photo shoots, various other appointments, and filming for youtube.  My head is spinning! Nothing is ever spread out.  Life always feels full blast or standing still.

I'm also going to be writing more this year, and sharing it through spoken word on my youtube channel.  I'm very excited about this.  I've already put up my first.  I wanted to just do it and feel it out, with no outside influences.  Now that it's done, I'm ready to delve deep.  I've spent my day off watching some incredible online spoken word performances.  My learning has begun, and I'm off to see some locals next week.

I always have bits of poems and stories in me but I haven't had a chance to get them all out this week.  I managed the beginnings of something the other day and jotted it down before I left for work.

Here are the pieces of all of the above.  I think I'll start giving you pieces here more often.  When they come and I can catch them before they've gone.

You can translate however you like.

When you wonder how they might pertain...well...sometimes they mean nothing.

And sometimes they mean everything.


* * * * *
3.21.2013

Sometimes I am rendered immobile with worry
I will never be capable of loving anything
but the unattainable


* * * * *
2012

I feel in words.
I document as the only way I know how.
In poem.


* * * * *
Spring 2012 (probably April or early May)

So many pairs of eyes fixed upon a monitor of sorts
that none of us can read or speak or translate
to any sort of comfort or explanation
I cannot take my eyes off my mother.
I see her as she must have ben at five.
She is a child.
Right down to the ponytail she wears
at her big brothers bedside.
We wait.
One collective breath.
This room is so full.
So silent and so full.
The air is rich.
Absolutely rich with memories.
It is palpable.

* * * * * *

The story of the Bluebird

I can't believe I'd forgotten to write about the bluebird.  I can only guess that at the time it felt private so I didn't get into it, and then so much has happened since I'd just never shared it.  I've meant to.

This happened when I was in NYC at the end of last year.  It was on the night I went to Sleep No More.  Looking back over my blog it was the night of October 8, only I know it was pretty late after the show, drinks, pizza, and finally getting on the subway.  So it must have been during the first moments of October 9th, 2012.

John (my friend who I stayed with) and I got on the subway and we were still wearing our masks from Sleep No More pushed up onto our heads.  We had a bit of a ride ahead of us, and we'd just started to settle in the doors opened and a lady got on and sat next to us.  She asked what our masks were for.

When I'm in NYC I have to change, I have to adapt to a new pace and lifestyle.  I have to toughen up and fight a little more, at all times.  I have to brave heckling and unwelcome conversation from men, homeless people, and strangers daily.  It's draining for me.  I purposely close off.  For some reason though, in the split second (that felt like a minute) of deciding how to proceed with this lady sitting down with us and clearly about to engage us in conversation something inside me said, "be open", so I changed my go to reaction to shut out this stranger, and instead turned toward her and told her we'd just come from a show.

I'm not sure how old I'd guess she was.  In her 60's? I'm really bad at telling age.  She was plump.  Happy.  Jolly.  She's someones mom, I thought.  She was by herself and had a lot of stuff with her.  I was instantly curious why she was alone so late.  What was someones mom doing so late on the subway alone? Where had she come from? Where was she going to?

I liked her immediately.  It was weird.  Like how you just know sometimes that someone is good, or even a little special.  She talked my ear off the entire way, and never once did I try to nudge John to save me or get him involved in the conversation.  I spent the whole ride listening to her and asking questions.  It was bizarre, but I felt like I was supposed to see what this was all about.

I'm friendly, but I am not nor will I ever be the person who plops down and meets a friend on a subway or plane or in a line at a store.  I just don't do that.  I don't talk to strangers.

She talked first about Liam Neeson which reminded me of my mom (her crush) which led into a very long story about her sister teaching Natasha Richardson in a Montessori school and how sad it was when she died, which somehow (and I'm still not sure how this even came up) led to her singing "There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of dover".  At times she was a little quite, hard to hear so bits got lost on me.  But when she sang this I perked right up.

That's my Grandpas song! He sang that all the time growing up.  That song and my Grandpa are synonymous.  I was so excited I told her she was the only other person I'd ever hear sing that song.  Then just as she'd begun to as me about my Grandpa, we reached our stop.

She was a bit eccentric, but so nice.  I knew there was something about this exchange that had been special, but the skeptic in me was still waiting for the crazy to come out as I had to abruptly end the conversation and get off.  Wait for it, wait for it, brace for the crazy, I thought.  But no.  Not ever.  Not one bit.  She made our goodbye the most natural thing in the world, and actually, I was the one who came off as a awkward when I left.

As we walked to the apartment, John said he wasn't sure if I'd needed him to save me.  I said no, she was great and how weird that was that I'd just met a sweet, not one bit crazy lady that sang me my grandpas song!

One month and one day later, my Grandpa died.

When we planned his funeral I said to my mom, we have to play "There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of dover".  She'd forgotten about the song! It was played.  I listened to it a couple of times when he first passed, then when it was played at the funeral.  I haven't been able to listen to it since.  I don't want to.  Yet.  I'll post it here, but even when I go to get it I won't have the sound on so I don't accidentally hear.  THE SONG. 

I still keep thinking about my strange exchange.  What was that? It was different.  It was meaningful.  I knew it then and I knew it now.

In writing about it, it seems like the conversation went mom, death, grandpa.  And my mom was there visiting my grandparents when he died.  Was this a foreshadowing? It didn't pick up on death or bad news on the subway or at all over the next month and one day.  I only picked up on my grandpa.  Whatever that meant.

I was talking about this again with my mom a couple of days ago.  She said that in the final weeks of his life, my Grandpa asked about me and talked about me more than anyone.  He was constantly asking how I was doing in NYC and when the hurricane hit he kept asking if I was okay.  She said I was on his mind, and that he'd gotten a message to me.

I don't know if I believe in guardian angles, or if I even know what that means, but that's what she felt like.  I don't know how else to explain it.

But it was something.

Something...else.

I knew it then.

I know it still.

My Grandpa.

My bluebird.