I Feel your Pain Dude!

So, I was going to write about the Olympics today. I was going to write about how much my mom loved everything about them and how she’d be first in line as a proud Canadian cheering all of our athletes on. However, there’s another issue nagging at my brain today. One that I can’t stop thinking about so, I’ve decided to get up on my soapbox for a little bit.

About a year ago, I had to travel for work. I had to spend a couple of days in Montreal working with one of our customers. The whys and whatfors don’t really matter but this was a good opportunity for my career. The details were delicate and I needed to tread carefully but I have a history of establishing good relationships with customers and this was a chance to prove it. But, I couldn’t get excited about it. Instead, I became consumed with size requirements and passenger weight restrictions. Will I fit into the seats and seatbelts and if I do, will I be invading the dance space of someone else? I tried to research on the internet; I found seat sizes and seatbelt sizes. I then measured myself to make sure that I wasn’t going to have any problems. But I never did find anything on an actual weight restriction or limit where one would have to purchase another seat if their weight was over – just lots of stuff about being able to fit into the seat. My nerves were constantly on edge and the worry – my goodness all I did was silently worry, too embarrassed to confide in anyone. I was an absolute mess of nerves until that plane took off and to this day, I’m not sure I could have survived the humiliation of having to tell my boss that she needed to buy me another seat on that plane or of having the conversation with anyone to begin with. At the end of it all, I didn’t have anything to worry about. I fit into the seats and seatbelts with no problems and none of me ‘spilled’ over into the seats of other passengers.

Fast forward to this weekend and an incident involving a famous actor/director/writer and Southwest Airlines. Kevin Smith lived my worst fear. By his own admission, he sometimes reserves two seats when flying. Whether it’s for his own comfort or to avoid potential humiliation doesn’t matter. But on this particular day, he was catching a flight on standby (so he only had one seat for this flight) and was seated and belted comfortably meeting the requirements set forth by the airline. Let me repeat that – he met the requirements published by Southwest Airlines for overweight passengers. However, before the plane took off, he was informed that he needed to purchase a second seat and since the flight was full he had to get back up, gather his belongings and find a different one.

Southwest Airlines has issued a statement (I think only because Mr. Smith was ‘tweetin’ angry) that the cause of this incident was simply a communication breakdown. But I’m not sure that’s good enough. When did the rules of basic human decency stop applying to the plus size population? Because I gotta tell ya, stories like this happen every day – we’re only hearing about this one because it’s a celebrity. When did it become OK to ‘mooo’ at a fat person as you’re driving by? Or nudge your boyfriend in the line at the liquor store and utter ‘I don’t think I could live if I was that fat’? Or comment about a customers’ ‘fatness’ inside a plus size store? When did fat people stop having feelings because I still haven’t received that memo….

I don’t care what size you are but take a minute and put yourself in Kevin Smith’s shoes at that moment. Imagine your heart sinking into your gut and your cheeks burning up in embarrassment. Imagine the stares of the other un-fat airline employees and passengers as you are trying to pull yourself together. Imagine the painful lump in your throat as you’re trying to stop the tears, moving one foot in front of the other on that walk of shame to get off that plane as quickly as possible.

And if you don’t find that you can empathize with any of this, perhaps Southwest Airlines has a job opening for you.

(Questions or comments, feel free to email me at callaghan.katie@gmail.com)

Have a happy what now?

I am having the worst day. I look and feel like shit, I swear I work with total idiots (my immediate teammates excluded – they’re brilliant) and my house is a mess. And if that wasn’t enough, I’ve been fighting a migraine for 2 days and I woke up this morning irritable, bloated, with sore breasts, uncontrollable chocolate cravings and cramps. That’s right folks. Someone obviously thought I could take some more and sent my Aunt Flo in for a visit.

My family is steering clear of me today. Sarah is her usual grumpy teenagery self staying in her room where it’s safe. She says she’s studying for exams but I’m probably just scaring her too much today. Dave is hiding in the office playing World of Warcraft by himself. But, he did play his cards right. He brought me home alcohol. Smart man! Bella seems to be the only one brave enough to hang around. That is until she asked me for some bristol board, scissors and glue. You see, my eye started twitching when she told me it was for a project due tomorrow. And I might have started growling too at which point she said that she’ll just figure it all out on her own.

None of these things however threw me over the edge. They are pretty much normal run of the mill happenings in our house (although, last minute project needs always irritate me). I was handling it all just fine (like slamming the oven door closed and crying ‘why me’ because I over-cooked the pork chops…that’s handling it fine right?) until my ears focused on the commercial playing in the background. It was an Always commercial. The one with the tag line “Have a happy period. Always!” Seriously? Does anyone else want to stab her in the eye when they hear that? When has anyone ever in the history of the world had a happy period? Isn’t this the one time of the month where we get to be totally selfish? We spend so much time taking care of others around us they can’t give us just a few days to ourselves? Instead we have some genius trying to take that away from us and shove happiness down our throats. The one time of the month we have a reason to not be happy. Would that genius still be telling me to have a happy period if they spent just one month in my body? Or any gal’s body? I think not.

Well, I’m not gonna take it anymore. Whenever I see that commercial I’m going to change the channel. Or, if I can’t find the remote (as is usually the case in my house) I’ll settle for telling them to go fuck themselves….always! That’ll show them! Even if they can’t hear me because I’m in my house and they have no idea who I am. Or I said it under my breath…or I just thought it…

Ahhhh…I feel better! Now if I could only find my chocolate…

(Questions or comments? Feel free to email me at callaghan.katie@gmail.com)

Daddy's Girl...

I stood outside the kitchen listening. Dave was cooking dinner and Bella was beside him trying to help out. She’s almost as tall as him now, the top of her head above his shoulders. They are standing exactly the same way – feet apart, back straight, heads down with the countertop the right height for them both to work comfortably. They were side by side; he was handling the hot stuff over the stove while she worked beside him away from the heat. They were talking about nothing…and everything, nudging each others’ elbows when they’ve said something funny that they want the other to acknowledge. Dave stopped to look at her at one point and smile, mesmerized by how she’s grown and the young lady she has become. And I think Bella was getting a lot more out of this time alone with her dad than tips on grating cheese.

These are the moments that build relationships. That bring people closer and while it’s comforting to know that my girls have a dad that not only loves them but likes them as well, for just a moment it also makes me sad. I was a daddy’s girl too and it’s the little seemingly unimportant moments with my dad that I remember the most now. Like when he would turn on all my music boxes so that I would wake up and spend the day with him. Or arguing with mom because he agreed that I just had to have that yellow sweater and then taking me out shopping to get it. Playing baseball in the back yard, watching him run the bases while hating every second of it but doing it anyway because it’s what I wanted to do. Running out to pick me up a heating pad to make my cramps bearable enough to watch a movie with him and the way his laugh could always make me smile. He had one helluva laugh, the kind that could make just about anyone giggle. Bella inherited his laugh and I’m grateful that I get to hear it from her every day.

I wish I had spent more time while he was here thinking about these moments. Remembering how much he loved me and how much I loved him and I want Bella to remember the way she felt that night grating cheese with her dad – to know how lucky she is that her dad adores her. I want her to remember it now and tomorrow and the next day and the day after that…

Endless Love?

(“My love, there’s only you in my life. The only thing that’s right.”)

I found them lying on the couch facing each other. His arms were wrapped around her snugly and she was nuzzling his neck. He was caressing her ever so softly and she was kissing his chin and his cheeks.

(“My first love, you’re every breath that I take; you’re every step I make. And I, I want to share all my love with you. No one else will do.”)

They stared into each others eyes, lost in their new found love for each other. After a while she would look away, embarrassed by all these new emotions and he would tilt her chin back up telling her it was OK. That they should embrace this new road they were both travelling together.

(“And your eyes, they tell me how much you care. Oh yes, you will always be, my endless love.”)

Another woman would have been very upset to see her husband wrapped around another lady but I was relieved. I was worried that they wouldn’t connect or bond the way I really wanted them to. It was touch and go there for a while – she tried desperately to impress him and grab his attention while he just ignored her.

I wasn’t worried about the kids. They had already accepted her with no issues, welcoming this new addition to our family with open arms and hearts. Gladly playing games and spending time together. Bella seems to have bonded with her the most. They are two peas in a pod – one never far from the other, happiest when they are snuggled up together watching TV or throwing a ball around.

I watched undetected for a little while, happy with this turn of events that puts my mind at ease. Watching his heart melt and hers bloom, hearing their new theme song playing in the background (or in my imagination!) wondering if their love really will be endless.

Then one of the kids makes their way down the stairs and the moment is gone. Zoey hops out of Dave’s arms and jumps off the couch wagging her tail so hard that her entire back end sways swiftly back and forth probably hoping that its Bella coming down the stairs ready to follow her true love wherever she goes.

(“Cause no I can’t deny, this love I have inside. And I’ll give it all to you. My love, my love, my endless love.”)

(**lyrics by Lional Richie)

7 Years....

7 birthdays missed, 7 Mother’s days celebrated by myself and 7 Christmas’ without her. 84 months of trying to figure out motherhood on my own and 84 months of missing her. 364 weeks of learning to trust myself, of growing up and trying to figure out who I am without her. 2555 days without hearing her voice or her laughter. 2555 days of wishing we had more time or wishing things could be different. December 16th marks the anniversary of my mother’s death and 2009 means that 7 years have passed.

I just can’t believe it’s been that long.

There’s no one to tell my kids what their mother was like when she was little. All the funny stories that they’d love to hear that I just can’t remember. All of the stories that make me unique and make me...well...me are gone with her. She wasn’t there to dance with my niece when she was a baby like she did with my kids when we couldn’t get them to settle. To songs like Hold Me, Kiss Me, Thrill me; a song that still has the ability to make Sarah feel happy and loved. She missed all of the awards the kids got at school, or graduation or the first day of high school.

There was no one to guide us through Dad’s mental illness. No one to yell at the doctors when he wasn’t getting better. No one to force Dad to fight through the cancer...She was the only one that could have done that. She wasn’t there when we had to say goodbye to dad even though we needed her then....so very much! And it breaks my heart when I think of all the wonderful things yet to come that she will be noticeably absent for. Like boyfriends, more graduations, weddings and my grandchildren being born. She should be here. For all of it!

How are we going to face another 7 years of doing it alone? Another 84 months of trying to remember her, trying to remember her laugh or the funny stories or all the wonderful memories. 364 weeks of juggling my mothering act without her pointing me in the right direction or being there to catch me if I fall, holding the safety net taut so that I just bounce back. Or 2555 days of missing everything about her, the way she was proud of me and the way she adored me.

We’ll handle it like we did the last 7. Hour by hour, day by day. And hopefully one day soon, we’ll wake up, see the sun shining and think about her - without sadness and without shedding a tear. We’ll just think about her smile.

Little Black Miracle?

I hate dress shopping. There. I said it! I’m always disappointed, there’s never a whole lot of ‘plus’ size selections and I always end up with something that ‘could really look good if’…I decided some time ago that it’s just my body – I don’t have the right body type to make a dress work and opt instead for 2 pieces. I have a really killer pencil skirt that show off my legs (my second best feature in my opinion) and that usually ends up being my go-to skirt for any occasions that could call for a dress.

So, I really didn’t like the idea of having to go dress shopping when my husband informed me that my pencil skirt wouldn’t cut it for his work Christmas party. I was shocked really. When I said this skirt looked good, I might have been under-playing it a little bit – I get a lot of attention whenever I wear it and the last time I wore it to work, my boss asked me how my husband let me out of the house looking that sexy. I really just wanted to be comfortable and wear my old reliable. But, it’s not every day that your husband insists you go shopping for a dress so I got into my body armor (my preference is the Body Wrap from Addition-Elle http://www.1-plus.com/addition-elle-shapewear-Body-Wrap-hi-waist-brief-panty_stcVVproductId62508938VVcatId545011VVviewprod.htm) and had Sarah and Bella tagging along to give me as much constructive criticism that they could at 14 and 10 respectively.

My first stop was to Addition-Elle, my favourite plus size store. A sales lady headed our way almost immediately and I explained what we were looking for. Her reaction – “I’m not sure what we have in YOUR size”, almost had me running right out of the store. I was immediately deflated and could feel the tears welling up. I mean, it’s not like I was in a regular size store expecting them to have things in my size. I was in a store that specializes in clothing my size. In fact I’d go so far as to say my size, is the most popular plus size (mostly because I can never find my size). Like, is it really necessary to go there at all? Maybe a tad bit unprofessional given the fact it’s a plus size store. Was making me feel like shit worth potentially losing the sale? It’s not like us plus size gals have that many options for crying out loud! But, I decided to take the high road and ignore it. I wasn’t exactly ready for a whole weight debate in front of my daughters with a lady who was probably the same size as me. So needless to say, my hopes of finding a dress that looked good were wearing a little thin by that point.

Shaking it off, I pulled every dress the store had in my size (5 out of the 7 dresses they had total…not bad considering she didn’t think there was anything in MY size). Sarah and Bella were surprisingly amazing. Voicing their opinions on what they thought worked and what they thought didn’t and we quickly realized that the first 4 dresses just weren’t going to cut it for various reasons. Still deflated, I tried on the last dress. Terrified that if I didn’t look at least OK in it I was going to have to face the sales lady’s ‘I told you so’ stare as we walked out of the store empty handed. I put it on and faced the mirror pleasantly surprised with my reflection. It was more than OK. I looked downright fantastic and my girls’ collective sigh when I walked out of the change room confirmed it. I almost cried, having tried for years to find a dress that made me feel the way this dress did, confident and beautiful.

I hurried to the cash, desperate to own this little black miracle, sporting my own ‘I told you so’ stare. It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t look me in the eye while ringing up my purchase. I found it. It’s mine. And it was half price.

I won this round!

Dad...

So, I lost both of my parents very young. You know my mom died when she was 48 years old and you know how. You know my dad died 5 years later. He was 53. But, I haven’t yet talked about how he died. Some of you might be assuming suicide since there were so many attempts and in a way, you might be right. However, suicide is not what is on his death certificate.

In August 2006, we took my dad back to the hospital. He was having suicidal thoughts again so we took him back for yet another 72 hr hold so that he could be assessed. A couple of days in, Dad calls and asks me to stop by earlier than normal so that I can sit in on his doctors appointment. This request wasn’t all that unusual. He had asked me to make arrangements to hear what the doctors had to say before. We usually talked about stuff like medication or tips to help stabilize him and once the psychiatrist tried to reprimand me for taking too much control – that my dad couldn’t learn to take care of himself unless I relinquished some of it (I usually laughed at him when he said that in total disbelief considering that all of this control was what was keeping him as stable as he could be at that point! They didn’t even have his meds stabilized and I was supposed to loosen my grip? Seriously!). I made it to the hospital prepared to have this battle yet again with his psychiatrist but when I got there, there was another doctor in the room. An oncologist explained that they didn’t like my dad’s blood work so they ran further tests and found it. Cancer. As if a bipolar father already completely dependent on you wasn’t enough. We now had a new diagnosis; non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

I retreated. From everyone. I pulled back my mental armies and tried desperately to regroup but for the first time in my life, I couldn’t find the strength to prepare for this new battle. My armor had holes in it and I had nothing left. Luckily, I am fortunate enough to have people in my life that wouldn’t let me retreat for very long. Jen called every day to talk to me about nothing and everything all at once and I eventually found my groove again. My husband did a lot of yelling to try and snap me out of it and I’m not really sure what worked but little by little I was able to find my voice again and I was yelling right back at him. I got my fight back and started coordinating appointments for his recovery and my world began to include chemotherapy and appointments about bone marrow transplants. And I don’t know how I would have got through it all without Linda and Steve - the 2 people that helped me out the most logistically with dr’s appointments and chemo and hospital visits. I could thank them every day for the rest of my life and I’m not sure it would ever be enough.

In the end though, having my fight back wasn’t good enough. It really wasn’t me that had to do the battle and my dad lost his fighting power the second my mother died. He just didn’t have it in him and only went along with it. He had his chemo because I told him to, blood transfusions because I said so, took his meds (both cancer ones and bipolar ones) because I sat there and made him do it and told me he wanted to live because he thought it was what I wanted to hear. It didn’t matter how hard I fought because he had already made his choice. Cancer was his suicide and less than a year later he was gone. Reunited with mom – the one person he just couldn’t live without.