double rainbows

I promised with all my heart, with all my grief and madness, I promised. Promised the girls I'd be the fun parent. The Littles (aka Emma and Ava's) first coherent words when I said "Daddy died and went to heaven" were "who's going to play with us!?" The grand perplexity of our loss hit us all a little deeper. Adrian was the fun parent. Good cop. I'm bad cop. Daddy was only bad cop when someone pushed the bad cop too far. Even through difficult times, we parented like a well oiled machine. And I could not imagine a world without their playful laughter so, I blurted out, in the unrealistic, impulsive manner that I often do...that "I will be the fun parent now." I'm wanting to kick myself for saying that. There's this panic of knowing I can never compare. I now have to be stronger than I have ever been. I was already down. I was already tired. And now I have to be stronger than I've ever been in an alien land.

Adrian and I both worked from home for at least six years, in the same office, under the same roof. I ran my classroom, he ran his camps. We dreamed up this life on our honeymoon, a life that allowed us to do exactly what we were doing, so we could spend as much time together as possible. He wasn't a weekend golfer, fisherman, or softball player. He preferred to be home, with us. We were best friends. We spent every possible moment together (except for during our separation) and today is a day we'd be on opposite sides of the house working. Me, by the pool in the shade of the patio, and him, in a chair in the shade of the oak tree out front. We'd cross paths now and then. It's usually too hot and smarmy to work outside, but it's March. It's Florida. It's glorious outside.

Spring is everywhere in our neighborhood. We have a huge oak tree and a tree that blooms purple flowers. I'm not sure of the name, but I love this tree. The neighbors tree blooms yellow.  I love that first pop of color we get each year and I always make everyone take notice. The grass is a sea of purple in our yard and confetti looking yellow on the other side of the street. The trees bloomed this year on the day of Adrian's burial. I took notice alone. Then I dropped Emma off at Pony Camp and saw this double rainbow. My iPhone doesn't really capture the second one, which is always above and a bit more faint than the larger one. This particular rainbow (below) was a complete arch. Pot of gold to pot of gold.

That double rainbow was Adrian. I was still in such a blur, I hadn't yet asked him to let me know he's with us and this is what he sent me to take me out of a trance. Emma and I hooted and hollered and clapped real fast, as Junie B. Jones would say. "Daddy sent us a double rainbow". Of all the wonderful moments on our honeymoon, nothing surpassed the end of a four hour hike on the North Shore of Kauai. We were booking it on the way back so as not to be stuck on the mountain after sunset and we came charging around the corner of a steep pass and VAVOOM. Double rainbow. It wasn't raining, but the wind hit the spray off a waterfall on the next ridge to create it. They formed a half arch from green mountain to the sea. We stood there taking pictures for a few minutes. Of just him. Just me. The long armed reach didn't get both rainbows. We tried to figure out ways to use the timer, but it was useless. If the camera fell, it was ocean bound. We couldn't get both of us in the double rainbow shot. :( Boo!  But, as we started to leave, we heard another couple, two guys came barreling around the corner and freaked out when they saw the rainbows and two giggling people handing them a camera. We freaked out when we saw them. YAY! We got our shot. I remember thinking happily, we have our holiday card. What a perfect start to our marriage. Our first holiday card is of us, complete with six packs, and double rainbow. We took so many pictures, multiple ones, multiple ways, just to be sure.  So, I know he's right here. My angel. I just know now, more than ever, what he was dealing with because now I'm dealing with it. 

 My only regret... wearing overalls!

Some other amazing adventures of that trip were swimming in the Seven Pools in Maui, hang-gliding by a waterfall and over George Harrison's home, hikes to active volcanoes on The Big Island, kayak adventures with wild dolphins and snorkeling with turtles in Kauai (lots of famous movies made there like Jurassic Park and From Here to Eternity), and the best part was once we left the airport, we never saw other people (which was my intention) and we never once stayed in a hotel. We had outdoor showers, hot tubs with views of the Pacific, not a hotel in sight, free roaming horses, you name it. Solitude was our guide. I planned many honeymoons to Hawaii for friends after that trip. Planning this trip gave me a vision I could one day freelance as a travel writer carving out romantic sights all over the world, selling dreams more than reservations. To this day the rainbows on the Na Pali Coast and neighboring Tunnels Beach, in Kauai are two of the most splendid visual sights I've ever seen. Incidentally, it's the same beach that the young surfer girl lost her arm to a shark. The surf surges about a mile out, perfectly smooth waves that don't even make a ripple on the beach by the time they roll in. I completely understand why she still surfs that beach.

Tunnel Beach, Kauai

This picture doesn't even do it justice. There are waterfalls and bungalows scattered about the mountain.

I planned this vacation using a romantic travel guide called The Best Places to Kiss in Hawaii. I devoured that book with the intention of creating the most amazing honeymoon that we'd remember forever. We even stayed in an real tree-house overlooking a black sand beach in Hana, Maui.  In Hana, Adrian completed the last leg of the Iron Man (not really, but that's a great story too). So, when I say, ours was a fairy tale, complete with monsters. I truly mean it. We had it all...until he got sick. Really, really, really sick. And from then on out, we fought hard to get back to each other, but we failed. This time, I was the depressed one. I used to kid him, what would happen if we BOTH were depressed at the same time? Be careful what you ask. You just may receive the answer of a lifetime. 

Delving into his businesses, his employees, (and their opinions of me) as I settle his affairs, I see how he was profoundly alone, with too much on his plate, unreachable by me, because of new secrets. Secrets that are caused and created because of the first secret. The one he was willing to share with Oprah. The one that ultimately changed the man he might have been.  

Our story wasn't the prince trying to save the princess. It was the princess trying to save the prince. And I failed. No one may ever love me and accept me like he did. He used to argue with me that he loved me unconditionally. I never believed him. I even had our therapist confirm that unconditional love is usually not for spouses, but children. I believe him now. He already forgave me. He keeps sending me hearts. I see them everywhere. In chewing gum that's been spat on the ground, in patterns in the clouds, leaves that blow in the door, shadows on the wall. He's still loving me now. I miss him so much. I was such a fool to doubt him. Such a fool. I'm helplessly hopeful there's a happy ending in store. One that Adrian and I are both at peace. I know he is. Now I just need to forgive myself. 

AC DC

I don't want to make anyone cry. I don't want to cry myself. I just feel so sad that we were no longer ACDC. We were a rock star couple, impenetrable from any storm, we never fought. Seriously, ask anyone. He was my beloved. He thought it was cute when I got mad, and he made me LOL about it, and then I wasn't mad anymore. When my brother found out we were separating, he said, "Damn, if you and Adrian can't make it, then who can." But when the economy tanked, and our children showed us their innocence, we realized the profound impact that our loss of innocence had on us, and we never saw that rock star couple again. I have been mourning the loss of that couple for a while now and now this. And all I can think to do is honor him. Honor that love. Honor our existence. I'm going to make it okay for us all. He's going to guide me. I can't wait to see how he makes me LOL from heaven. I'm waiting. Patiently. Waiting.

rest in peace, love

I am so thankful Marshmallow died one week before Adrian. Had he not, I would've never shared that last hug, that last kiss, as husband and wife, with him. Our love was still there. But part of him was missing. I know why. I know more now about how he was struggling to keep his business going, how he never took a paycheck, how he robbed Peter to pay Paul/his employees.

It's no secret we were having troubles, but it was never 'I don't like you or love you anymore'. It was more 'let's move onward and upward' and 'let's get past this.' But there were some monsters in the house with us. Ultimately, those monsters led to his death IMO. He was overworked, underpaid, under appreciated. He couldn't catch a break with the schools he was working with, and because of his past, he didn't ask for help. He was tired. So very tired. He now is at peace, as we all mourn. 

Shine on us A. We miss you so. So much more that you'll ever know...

Maya Angelou’s ‘When Great Trees Fall’

 When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly.  Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed.  They existed.
We can be.  Be and be
better.  For they existed.

AC, I love you

Please come home safely. We'll start over. Let the past be the past. Make a new beginning. Fresh and new!

Whatever you need, I'm here for you. We'll work it out together. WHATEVER IT IS.

Please God, hear my prayers.

sending go juices

I never got bulgy eyes. Thankful!

Although I'm in remission, I have to check in with my endocrinologist once a year for life. I don't mind having Graves' Disease (hyperthyroidism, it includes nervousness, anxiety, fatigue, bulging eyes, weight loss, hypertension and irritability), because thankfully, it isn't that grave anymore and if I had to get a disease, I can manage this one. I consider myself lucky. I'm lucky to have it nowadays when there's a pill for every ill. Not long ago, I would have died from it eventually. My body was basically a metabolic super machine. My resting heart rate was 144 when I was first diagnosed. I was burning calories just sitting still. I had shaky hands and feet and a goiter the size of a peach pit and I only went to the doctor asking for PROSAC.

I didn't really even think of it as a physical problem. In my eyes, I had finally become my mother, I was crazy. I needed medication. I had a baby in the winter, went back to work in the fall and had night sweats, goiter and accelerated heart rate by October. I figured I was weak. I figured my mind couldn't handle all the stresses of needy students and baby and hubby and and and and....and I was grumpy. Not mean grumpy, but tired grumpy. Like, leave me the fuck alone, grumpy.

I was off. If I tried to relieve stress by working out, I'd feel like I was going to pass out immediately, so then I couldn't work out and that made me even more ornery. I've been told by males and females alike that I can be a mean bitch and divinely sweet simultaneously. Sentimental bitches are bad ass. We don't take shit from anybody. We can't be lied to (at least not for long). We can cut like a knife and heal like no salve ever created. If truth be told, I didn't mind the ornery part, or hungry part, it was the tired part that bothered me. It's hard to sleep when your heart is pounding like that. It's hard to drive too, but who knew that when I drove myself to and from my first few appointments.

I'm one of those fortunate people who had an overactive thyroid. That means I was eating and eating and eating and losing weight rapidly. There's another side to that cycle of eating. And that's when I got "caught."  My portable was next to the custodial, um... facilities, and one of the coaches noticed me running in there, every day, like clockwork. He even swung by my cubicle in the planning area during lunch one day. He was watching me eat and stuff. We went to college together, he kicked the goals and I did the cheer, and he knew me pretty well. I was getting skinny. Me. Skinny. So, he waited for me at my room one morning, and he asked, "Are you okay? You aren't going bulimic on us are you? I see you in there a lot." I gave him a sentimental bitchy remark, like, why the fuck are monitoring my shit and how sweet of you to notice, but I promise, I'd never do that. Ever. But I was skinny. And grumpy. And those two words just don't sit right with me. I'm happy and curvy. Not skinny and bitchy. Not me. I didn't ever want to be a skinny bitch.

It was so odd. To be so skinny, and get so many compliments for it, and to feel so fucking sick. It took me two weeks after getting diagnosed to find a doctor that would work with me. Radiation is the cure for Graves' these days. They basically eradicate the thyroid altogether, and then you take medication for the rest    of    your    life. Hell to the NO! I had been too fit, for too long, to have this thing they called Graves.

So I researched and researched and researched. I found out some thyroid conditions are reversible with medication. I just had to slow it down. I could do that. I could chill out. I found one doctor who agreed with my self diagnosis of 'post-partum hyperthyroiditis, a completely temporary, completely normal after pregnancy condition for many women. I found one doctor in one medical journal that said you could medicate hyperthyroiditis while nursing. The first two insisted I couldn't. The author in that medical journal that referenced this condition and deemed the meds as safe happened to be from Miami. Lucky! The man I needed, the man that writes for and about the disease has a practice nearby. I was there in no time. I was nursing Skye for eight months by then, she never ever ever took a bottle and the first two doctors said I needed emergency treatment. Diagnosis on a Thursday. Treatment that Monday. They scheduled me and I was supposed to ween an infant, in that condition, in three days. Fucking morons.

So, I found the right doctor, and got a diagnosis, (he never changed it from Graves on my forms, but admits it was post-partum related off the record) and he took me from insanity back to wellness in less than a year. I took 75mg of PTU a day at first. I'd fall into a deep coma if I took that much today. Without doctor approval, I titrated myself down to 10mg over a period of a year proving that it was temporary. Today I'm medication free. Being sick makes you appreciated feeling well. I raced my first triathlon that year. And, after every baby, my thyroid kicks in, I lose weight, heehee, poor me, and then I medicate until my hormones get back in touch with my brain, I ween myself off, then I'm fine again. No radiation needed. No having to pop a pill everyday for the rest of my life. No getting the grumpies. No lumpies in my throat. I mock you Graves dis-ease. I'm in-ease. I'm thankful I know my body well enough to trust my instinct that my condition was reversible. Just because a doctor has a title, doesn't mean they have anything more than a notion of what's going on in my body.

Funny thing is, even though I did all that research, and knew my facts, and had permission, I filled that prescription and still didn't take the pills right away. I figured I was now aware it wasn't my mind, it was my body. I thought I could think my way well. I was too sick to actually accomplish that though. I ended up having to take medical leave from work to get my strength back even with the medication. It was a rapid little disease. I'll never forget what I felt like after just one pill. Just one 25mg little pill. Peace!

Every pill was like an instant moment of happy highness, a veil of fear uncovered and released, a soft steady white light. With every day, the fog was lifted, and my vision was restored. I looked forward to taking those peacemaker pills that brought me pleasure like I was about to enjoy a large glass of something yummy while sitting on that rock above with the one I love. Relief was just a swig and a few minutes away...ahhhhhhh. Peace!

Plus, it was legal and perfectly okay to pop those pills and no one is going to judge. I was a hyper, but high kind of happy on those pills, hyper because my heart was still at 120bpm even asleep, if you can even call that sleep, and high because it calmed me down enough to relax and know my mind was well, and happy because I knew I was going to be okay eventually. All that felt real good. Within two weeks, I was back to 100bpm. Then I really became high on life because a gland that had been overworking finally stopped sending go juices. I remember feeling myself come back to myself Oh, THERE YOU ARE! I KNOW YOU. HHEEEEYYY, I KNOW YOU. FUCKING A, I'M NOT CRAZY AFTER ALL. What a month that was. Skye turned one, we had a big party at the park, under the gorgeous trees, and I took my first pill. I went about a month from diagnosis to first treatment. Once I took that first pill, I was hooked on recovery. That little pill made me chill. I loved that pill. 

One of the toughest parts of that time was deciding not to go back to work. I had a rough bunch of students in class that year. The substitute would call me from class to speak to certain students about their rowdiness. I'd be all, "Now Cambriel, you know your parole officer isn't going to put up with that crap either, just because I'm not there, doesn't mean you can act like a caged animal. Sit down and shut up already. She's just doing what I asked of her. I'll be back soon." I'm sure I even said, be good for me. Sappy, but true. I was supposed to return after spring break that year. Three months of R&R and I was rested, well, sorta, because I kept Skye home with me. So it was more like three months off from your day job, but this one, this parenting thing is 24/7 for the rest of your life. 

So I decided to stay home the rest of the school year. When my students found out, they rioted, and I guess they said whatever mean things they felt like saying to my replacement and she quit by the end of the week. I was sad and mad. But I couldn't be there for all of them, as much as I wanted to, I had to take care of me, if I was going to take good care of Skye. I needed more time than medical leave would allow. So I took time. I essentially took off until August when I returned for the fall semester and have been goiter free ever since. Apparently, goiters only develop when the other symptoms are ignored. I can always catch them before my goiter grows. Fucking gross, right? Goiters and shit. Graves Disease will mess your shit up. Seriously. :)

This time off, this next month, is me doing that finding peace process all over again. I've healed myself in many ways, mostly physical, and I heal fast. Childbirth just makes me hungry. I'm up and about in minutes trying to take a shower. Graves is gone. Check. Check. Now it's time for forgiveness and moving on. It's time for peace.

boss intervention

So, I started feeling guilty about taking so much time off and I decided to work on Mondays. What we do is too specialized for a substitute, so when we take time off, our load just jumps to someone on our team. This is the reason we all never take any time off. It's a lot of freaking work for someone, and you can't really enjoy your time off when you know someone is busting their ass for you. But! They are also getting paid extra, so it's not all bad. But, still...

The last time I really felt on vacation was when Hurricane Wilma hit and we drove to Orlando and had a Disney adventure. Skye was three and Emma was teeny tiny and although we didn't worry about milk going bad (nature doesn't spoil), we got the hell out of here. Those were great times economically. I highly recommend Disney's log cabins in Ft. Wilderness. They're basically a doublewide trailer dressed like a log cabin in the middle of a Disney forrest. Deer will roam. Marshmallows will be roasted. Horses and golf carts are a fun way to travel there. Next, I highly recommend Epcot's Food and Wine Festival coinciding with your hurricane retreat because then you can drink beer, (small servings actually increase milk production and aid in sleep cycles, duh, right?), while pushing strollers full of happy kids. The only reason I felt like I was on vacation at that time is because at home, there was no electricity for over a week. No power meant no students submitting assignments. No power really means no work when you teach online. It was a GLORIOUS, unexpected, unplanned vacation. And I haven't had one since. Virtual school is yearlong. It makes for a better paycheck, but not necessarily a better life.

So the guilt set in and I told my boss I'd work on Mondays so I could at least help with oral exams. Oral exams are the backbone of our instruction and without them kids would cheat more. We have huge efforts in place to hamper cheating. Plagiarism software. Knowledgable staff. You can't cheat on a oral exam. You either know Brutus was an asshole and Caesar was ambitious and can find the words to communicate that for a kid of your age, or you can't. So I decided I'll do Mondays. 

Then my boss got me on the phone, and told me to take it all off. So, here's the catch. The person who has to take my load is my friend Nadine. I helped her get on board and now she's stuck working for me. She's about to feel what full-time status feels like and she's still a reading coach at a high school in the daytime. Right before FCAT. Her busiest time. Fuuuuck! Plus, he wants me to train her to do my oral exams as well. See, it's even work to take off work and now my good friend, a single mother busier than a one armed paper hanger, has to take my load and DANG IT, I feel so badly! But, then again, this goose is tired. That goose will fill her coffers. But I have guilt nonetheless. Why does everyone think this goose can handle everything on her plate? 

The Goose Story

Next autumn, when you see geese heading south for the winter, flying in their familiar “V” formation, you might be interested in knowing why they fly that way. Science has learned that, as each bird flaps its wings, it creates an uplift for the bird immediately behind it. By flying in a “V” formation, the flock together gains over 70% more flying range than if each bird flew on its own.

Like the geese, people who share a common direction and a sense of community can get where they are going quicker and easier, because they are traveling on the thrust of one another.

Whenever one goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels the drag and resistance of trying to go it alone. It will quickly try to get back into formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the birds in front. If we have as much sense as a goose, we will stay in formation with those who are headed the same way we are going.

When the lead goose gets tired, it rotates back in the wing, and another goose takes over the point position. It pays to take turns doing hard jobs!

The geese from behind honk constantly, as you’ve no doubt heard whenever a flock passes overhead. They do this to encourage those up front to keep up their speed. An encouraging word goes a long way!

Finally, when a goose gets sick or is wounded by gunshots, and falls out of the formation, two geese follow it down to stay with it and protect it. They stay until the goose is either able to fly again, or dies. They then launch out on their own or with another formation to catch up with the group. If we have the sense of a goose, we will stand by each other.

~ Author Unknown