Karma

Last week a man died a violent death.  The man lived a violent life.  My only connection with this man is that he had previously owned my dog.  In fact she was confiscated from him after he beat her nearly to death.  He was considered mentally challenged, but he also had a history of drug use and domestic violence.  It is no surprise that he died a violent death.  That is the environment he lived in.



Resi

 The article in the paper that reported his death slanted the story in such a way that it appeared as though a nice young, mildly retarded man was killed in a violent, unprovoked manner.  I posted a link to the story and simply stated that the man had be the same person who had beaten my dog.  It was posted merely as an interesting connection to my friends who know about my dog's history and her current problems.

One of my friends responded with the word 'karma' and what a flurry storm that set off.  Some agreed, some violently disagreed.  Some felt that the word 'karma' means a literal one to one correlation of a bad act to a bad result (i.e. he beat the dog so he deserved to die).  I think others felt the 'what comes around goes around' definition was being referred to.  Perhaps it was.  In some cases certainly some of my more passionate animal loving friends feel that beating an animal should result in death.  In any case, people responded emphatically and not altogether politely.



Budda

 It got me thinking about karma as a concept and why I don't believe in it, but it also got me to pick up a book (or the Internet) and do a little bit of reading about the concept.  Unfortunately, or fortunately as the case may be, there is a lot of information about the concept and it doesn't all agree.  It was first described in ancient India and has been adapted by various philosophies (to include Christianity) over thousands of years.  My purpose isn't to teach you philosophy or religion, so I'm not going to go into all of the permutations of the idea.

In general, karma is the concept of  'action' understood as that which causes the entire cycle of cause and effect originating in ancient India and practiced/discussed in Indian religions and philosophies. 



Heaven

 In general, Karma is not punishment or retribution but simply an extended expression or consequence of natural acts. Karma means 'action' and more broadly names the universal principle of cause and effect, action and reaction, that governs all life. The effects experienced are also able to be changed by future actions so are not necessarily fated. A particular action now is not binding to some particular, pre-determined future  reaction; it is not a simple, one-to-one correlation of reward or punishment.

In some religions/philosophies, the concept can span several lifetimes of reincarnation, in some it is in this life alone, in Christianity it is equated to the reward or punishment one is to receive in Heaven (or Hell). 



Too good at being good?

 So when I say I don't believe in Karma, it isn't exactly true.  I don't believe Karma causes good things to happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people, in direct correlation, at least not in one lifetime on earth.  Because in my experience the people who are the very best at being bad (think Drug Lords) live a highly rewarded, lucrative life on earth and the people who are the very best at being good (think Mother Theresa) are very unlikely to be rewarded for it on earth (and if they were, wouldn't they give the reward away?). 

The people who are bad, but not good at it, they are the ones who get caught...they are the ones people say 'karma' about.  Like this guy; he wasn't good at being bad.  He got caught both by law enforcement and by his own kind.  He was a pawn of someone else in the drug world, that is what got him killed.  And the rest of us, those of us who are good, but fallible...well, we are treated to a life of mixed pain and blessings. 

Karma as originally intended would have good effects as well as bad effects, but we (western society) don't see someone become successful and then say it was Karma.  We attribute it to hard work, talent, or luck.  Karma shouldn't be a 'bitch'.  Karma is simply cause and effect applied to lives (or after-lives).


Karma?



Life after Life

A few months after Michaela died, I got a letter, through the Translife agency, from a woman who had recieved one of Michaela's organs.  She simply wrote to say that she was doing well and that she was grateful.  She also asked for a picture of Michaela.

What a wonderful gift she gave me.  Confirmation that at least one person is still alive today who may not have been.  A mother who would have left behind a family. 

I sent her a picture and gave permission to the agency to share my personal address so that communication wouldn't have to go through the agency any longer.  She thanked me and told me that she had the picture printed on a pin so she could wear it everywhere she went and tell her story.  Another beautiful gift.

She also sent me a beautiful tapestry that she made while she was first dying and then recovering.  It is an amazing piece, so detailed and beautiful.  It told me very much about the woman herself and the care she takes with life and beauty. 

The other day she asked me if there were others like her who contacted me.  She used the term 'life after life'.   I love that. 

No, there haven't been any others.  I can certainly understand that.  How very difficult to come up with the words to say to someone when you are alive because someone they love is not.  But I think if you look at it the way she looks at it...as life after life....rather than life after death....it gives it a whole different perspective.  It is a positive thing.  Michaela isn't defined by her death; she is defined by the life she lived.

I would ask organ recipients to think about this.  Nothing is harmed by letting the family who gave you this gift know that you are doing well.  That good came from tragedy.  You don't have to give any personal information at all...just a note that says, 'Hey, I'm doing fine. Thank you.' is a gift bigger than you can imagine.  The gift of knowing, for sure, there is Life after Life.

Words are Everything

It is hard to know what to say when someone dies.  It is particularly hard to know what to say to someone whose child died.  In the beginning, certain things are appropriate to say...the I'm sorry's, and so forth.  I blogged a long time ago about things that newly bereaved parents want to hear and don't want to hear.  But now two years have passed and of course, things have changed.  I am no longer newly bereaved.  The time for I'm sorry's and pity has passed.  I'm sure now it is even harder for people who don't see me every day to know what to say to me; so most say nothing at all. 

I guess nothing at all is ok.  There are worse things.  But if everyone said nothing at all, my world would be much darker.  I remember Michaela and I remember that she died.  You aren't going to remind me or revive my grief by speaking her name.  Just the opposite, by speaking of her, you lift my heart by telling me that she is not forgotten. 

Now, around the anniversary of her death, I have been blessed with many messages and new posts on her FB walls.  I read each and every one of them.  Sometimes over and over.  Although, I wish sadness on no one, I am comforted by knowing I am not alone in my grief, that she was a person worth remembering and missing, and that so many people do remember her kindly and with love.

Michaela was 21 years old when she died.  She had spent 3 years away at college and a summer in Italy.  She had a whole life of her own that I was not a daily part of.  So, while I love all of the messages and comments and posts, my favorites are still the ones that start like this:  You don't know me, but....

I love these messages because they tell me something about Michaela that I didn't already know.  Sometimes it is a memory, sometimes it is a story of how she changed a life, sometimes it is simply reaching out to say, hey I miss her too.  No matter what the message is, it is gratefully received. 

If you are ever just thinking of someone who died, don't hesitate to reach out with a message to their loved ones.  I promise you they will appreciate every word.

Two Years

Time should be absolute, shouldn't it?  1 minute is 60 seconds.  1 hour is 60 minutes.  1 day is 24 hours.  It doesn't change.  It is absolutely definable.  There is no variation, unless you count leap year.  So why isn't it?

Two years can seem like a lifetime when I think of it one way and an instant when I think of it another way. 

Yesterday I sent out an invitation to a memorial celebration of Michaela's life.  I wrote that it had been two years.  And that stopped me in my tracks.  I had to think about it.  Two years?  Only two years?  It seems like a lifetime since I had my little girl by my side, making me laugh, telling corny jokes and making corny puns.  It seems like a lifetime since that wonderful summer, just two short years ago, when she was so very happy and excited about her future. 

Two years has been a lifetime.

A lifetime since she put on a prom dress and played in a construction zone for photos. 
A lifetime since we went tubing on the banana river. 
A lifetime since we went to a dinner theater and she ordered a beer...just because she could. 
A lifetime since she huddled over a lady bug with her best friend, trying to get a good picture. 
A lifetime since she wrestled with her brother on the living room floor. 
A lifetime since I posted 'You Rock' on her facebook page and she responded with 'You Roll' on mine.
A lifetime since she made her own recipe for chocolate, peanut butter and apple tortillas. 
A lifetime since she started her art project to make a necklace for everyone important to her, so they would 'have something that makes them think of me.' 
A lifetime since she went to her UCF orientation, saw her new apartment, and met her new boss. 
A lifetime since she crossed the stage of FSU and winked at the Dean in her black robe with gold braid. 
A lifetime since she went to the flea market and bought beads representing everyone in her family; so she would have something to make her think of them; and a giant wrench for a photo project.
A lifetime since she went shopping with her girlfriend for apartment things and bought my friend some peacock feathers, just because she remembered that I mentioned she needed some.
A lifetime since she talked her way into Disney on a military pass for free with nothing but a letter stating her ID was confiscated as proof that she was eligible.
A lifetime since she walked down the beach to Bizarro's with her brother, sarong and beautiful blond hair blowing  in the wind around her.
A lifetime since she saved a frog from certain death by kitty cat in our kitchen.
A lifetime since she sat at the kitchen counter filling out employment and school paperwork and asking me about insurance.
And Two very long years since she walked out the front door with a breezy, 'bye, I love you, I can't wait to see your pictures.'

But yet, it has only been an instant.

An instant since the police pounded on our front door, ringing the door bell frantically.
An instant since I heard the words 'life flight' and my heart stopped.
An instant since I saw Michaela's car, with the top cut off sitting in the middle of the intersection, just half a mile from home.
An instant since we drove 70 miles an hour down Hibiscus following the police car with its flashing lights.
An instant since we sat in the waiting room quietly making little jokes and remembering how many times we had scared our parents in situations like this; denying in our words what was going on behind the emergency room door, not believing for one second that anything so terrible could happen to us.
An instant since we were told that all of the scenarios we had imagined and even hoped for were false.
An instant since I looked at my baby girl's face and knew she was never coming back to me.
An instant since my wonderful son was doubled over in pain as he realized the same thing.
An instant since her father stood over her reading her the bible and praying for help.
An instant since her friends gathered around her bed in the middle of the night to tell stories and sing songs to her.
An instant since we spoke to the organ donation coordinator and then held hands and prayed for mercy.
An instant since I stood at her bed, staring at the respiration monitor, knowing its steady beep meant that she had stopped trying and we were to be spared having to decide for her.

An instant since my mother cut her hair for donation to Locks of Love and she was taken away from me for the last time.

And the next two years and the two years after that, and the two years after that, and all the years to come until God's will is to reunite us, will be a lifetime without my baby but also, just an instant. 

And then will come forever.

Moved and other things



The Missouri River in Sioux City IA

 Last month was a hectic month.  An up and down mess of a month.  We were supposed to start moving in mid-April, but due to the bank's incompetence, we didn't actually get to start until May 6.  The worst part of that (or the best part, depending on your perspective), was that I was out of town from May 5 to May 9.  That meant that we had to take extra steps to allow my husband to sign for the house and he had to do most of the moving by himself.  I just got home in time to start unpacking boxes. 



David in his art studio with my mother's day gift

 That weekend away was wonderful though.  I got to spend it with my son attending some memorable events--his first art showing, his conference track meet, and mother's day.  In fact, mother's day was delightful.  We spent it with my mother and my brother's family.  A simple backyard barbeque.  Very nice.  A way to not be too sad that day.   I have all the many, many long letters and cards that Michaela has written me on Mother's days past, but I chose not to read them this year, not for Mother's day.  That day was all about David and my own mother, two people I rarely get to spend a mother's day with. 



Long Jump; new Personal Record

 Unfortunately when I got back, I immediately got sick.  A mess of a cold and sinus infection that just floored me.  I didn't want to unpack.  I didn't want to move.  Not much got done for a few days. I tried not to beat myself up about it, but I can't remember the last time I was so physically miserable.  I missed several days of work and spent a lot of time on the couch.

I noticed right away that although the previous owner had left a lot of the yard decorations and even some things in the house, he didn't leave one single angel.  That made me a little sad.  It also made me wonder about signs again.  I have only spoken about positive signs, but after having recieved so many signs that I thought were positive about moving into this house; they suddenly stopped and everything started going wrong, just one thing after another.  Signs or simple inconveniences?  Do we only percieve and recognize signs when they are reinforcing what we already want to do?  Do we (me?) ignore them when they seem to be contrary?  This is something I have to think about. 



Moving in

 It is a new month and everything is going relatively well now.  I'm feeling better.  I am back to working full time for now; although, honestly I hope at some point I can hire an assistant and return to three quarters time.  Most of the bumps in the moving process; house issues have resolved themselves.  I am able to sit back now and enjoy the house and I find it a very peaceful place.  There is still a lot of work to do to get it exactly how we want it, but that is all an ongoing part of home ownership.  I don't feel rushed to do it although perhaps I am moving slower than I should be.



One step at a time

 It is time for me to get off the couch and get moving again.  I'm not sure why this spring has been so sluggish for me.  There are a million excuses, but none of them really make any sense.  My sadness is manifesting itself in idleness and a need to cocoon inside my house, away from the people and activities that make me feel better.  My bike has been idle, my kayak sat dry for over a month, the dog doesn't get walked and I get more and more tired by the day.  I know the only way to get moving is to get moving, but sometimes it feels like a very difficult thing to do.

Jaimie

This last week a young woman died unexpectedly.  She was a very good friend of Michaela's in High School.  She was a young mother.  She was also a very troubled young woman.  I'm not sure I ever saw Jaimie completely happy, but I also never saw her not smiling.  She was loud and witty.  She could be abrasive and she put on a tough girl front for the whole world, but inside was a little girl crying out for acceptance.  Like everyone else, she just wanted to be liked by many and loved by a few. 

She had a lot of friends.  But I'm not sure how many were true to the core friends.  I know that she was fun to be around and that attracts people to you, but it doesn't always make them love you.  It doesn't always mean that the friendship goes beneath the surface.  It doesn't always mean that the aching hole of lonlieness gets filled.  It doesn't mean that when you are down there is someone there for you.

Jaimie, like Michaela, walked into a room bringing a huge force of energy and positive feelings.  They expressed it in very different ways though.  Jaimie was the tough girl, playing at being a gangster she wasn't.  Michaela was the social butterfly; playing at being the confident young woman that she wasn't.  I suppose we all play at being something we are not, especially when we are young.  It takes a lot of strength and maturity to even learn who we are, let alone to let other people see that real person.

Jaimie liked to walk in and try to tackle my husband.  I think it was fun for her to tackle someone she couldn't actually take down.  I think it made her feel feminine even while she played at being gangster. 

Michaela would get very upset with Jaimie, as I said, Jaimie was troubled.  Michaela didn't always approve of what Jaimie was doing with her life, but she just didn't abandon her.  She still loved her.  In fact, she couldn't stay away from her for many years--she would get upset and say she couldn't hang out with her any more and the next thing I knew Jaimie would be back at the house.  Michaela said she was just too much fun.  That she was too funny and always could make her laugh no matter what.  I heard that sentiment repeated over and over during the visitation. 

I  can't pretend I knew Jaimie well.  She spent a lot of time at my house over the years, but mostly doing girl things with Michaela or just popping in and out on the way to the movies or the bowling alley.  Once she got ready for a dance at our house and her mother came to help and take pictures.  I knew her relationship with her mother was difficult, but I watched her mother brush her hair and there was so much love, I was a little jealous; I couldn't remember the last time I brushed Michaela's hair.

I saw her much less in the last few years, after Michaela left for college.  The last time I saw her she came by to visit and tell me she was pregnant.  We spoke several times about her bringing the baby by to meet me, but sadly it never happened.  The first time I held Kylie was at Jaimie's visitation.  She is a beautiful baby.  She was so tired, you could see it on her face, but she gave me a big smile and a huge full armed, head on the shoulder hug and I knew that hug came from Jaimie.  She is her mommy's girl.

Jaimie wasn't perfect.  None of us are.  But the world will have just a little less sunshine without her in it....and I suspect Heaven just got a whole lot louder.

More Customer Service

I know I just ranted about customer service a week ago, but I'm afraid I have to do it again.  Saturday night we stayed at a motel.  Admittedly it wasn't the nicest motel in the world, but it was the only hotel in the world that met our single requirement.  It was walking distance from the area that we were going to be drinking at a costume party.  Being responsible drinkers, we planned ahead and got a room.  Interestingly (and seemingly impossibly) somehow, when we left the room to go to the party, the security latch inside the room became engaged.  I'm not even sure how that could happen.

So, when we came back to the room at 1055, we were unable to get into the room.  This is where it gets fun.  Apparently this hotel has NOBODY on duty after 11pm at night.  There isn't even a 'call in case of emergency' number!  When I went to the office, fortunately, there was a woman there.  Just barely.  Because she was packing up to go home.  She wouldn't call anyone or do anything about the situation at all except give us a different room for the night.  Even though all of our stuff was in the original room.  Also fortunately, in this case, it didn't matter all that much.  But what if we had a plane to catch in the morning?  I had nothing but my driver's license on me.  Or what if we had arrived 5 minutes later?  We would have been left standing there outside our room with no place to stay, no way to get our stuff (our car keys were in the room, even if we would have been in any legal state to drive), no options but to call the police or break down the door.  What if someone lost their key or locked them in the room?  How is it even legal to run a hotel and have nobody on staff from 11pm to 9am???

Just another in a series of bad customer service experiences I have had lately.  It seems to be an inevitable decline that shows no sign of improving. 

Speaking of customer service, as I just was, one last topic.  What is the deal with TIPS?  I know it is an American tradition to tip waiters and certain other service providers, but why?  Isn't it supposed to be to reward good service?  Then why is it so often added to my bill without my permission?  I've even heard of places refusing to take it off the bill when the service was bad.  So isn't it really just a part of the cost of the entire purchase?  So why not just pay the servers a reasonable amount and ditch the entire guessing game of how much will dinner cost tonight for the customer and how much will I make tonight for the server?  Sure it makes the prices on the menu look higher, but if everyone did it, the ratio would still be the same. 

And even worse, what is up with the TIP jars sitting by almost every cash register these days?  I go into a deli.  I walk up to the counter.  I place an order.  I stand and wait for it.  I pay the person standing behind the counter.  I carry my food to my table.  I throw away the containers afterwards.  Why on earth would I need to leave a TIP at the cash register?  Didn't I just pay for my food?  Doesn't the cashier get paid to ring up food?  In the deli in my building, the cashier is the business owner and he has a tip jar!!!

AND...is there anyone on this planet who can tell me how much an airline ticket costs?  For real?  I can't even comparison shop because I never know what the fees for baggage and food and a seat will be until I've already done the research.  Then I find out my bargain basement ticket was just as much as first class on another airline.  I just can't stand it any more!!!!!

PS...I'm still being held hostage by my bank...a week after we were supposed to close, it hasn't been resolved.

Customer Service

This is not my traditional blog by a long shot, but it is what's on my mind. 

Do you ever feel trapped by companies?  I am opposed to government intervention in business in general.  I believe open competition is the only way to truly regulate and control costs and quality.  But of course, that only works if the companies actually compete with each other; not collaborate. 

I am very upset right now by my bank.  We applied for a mortgage over a month ago and it went through a variety of steps from preapproval to approving the appraisal...then all communication stopped.  Nobody would answer our calls.  This is a bank I have used and been very, very happy with for 15 years.  Turns out our processor left on 'medical' leave and someone forgot to pass our file to a new processor.  In the meantime, our closing day has come and gone and they are still asking for paperwork that we sent them a month ago.  Did our processor take it with him?  Where did it go?  But for all realistic purposes, we are stuck.  If we started over with another bank, it would delay things even longer.  And what will we be compensated for our inconvenience?  For rental costs of the moving truck?  For the time we took off work? 

But they aren't the only company that I am not happy with, yet feel compelled to use.  I can't stand DirectTV.  But they exclusively hold the rights to the NFL Sunday ticket.  The absolute one thing that my husband wants to recieve on TV.  But their customer service is terrible.  They throw on extra costs for everything.  Yet I am held hostage by their monopoly. 

Who else?  Car dealers; All of them.  Facebook; Another one of a kind service with no real competition.  Cell phone companies;  all of the services are terrible.  Airlines; one fee after another and fewer and fewer niceties or even niceness.  Colleges; someone needs to explain to me why a 'well rounded' education is important for every single degree.  Does a meteorologist really need fine arts?  Walmart; it is hard to justify not going there when they are so convenient and economical, but how much I wish I had enough money to turn up my nose and go to nice clean stores with friendly employees...employees who are treated right.   I'm sure you can think of a million more. 

On the brightside there are some local businesses that I go to just because I can choose a place with good service:  Hollywood Nails in Cocoa Beach does great nails and are very fast and friendly.  Jiffy Lube in Melbourne takes care of my cars without trying to pressure me into crap I don't need and even holds the door open for me when I leave.  Tires Plus Melbourne is always friendly and once when they misaligned my vehicle replaced the tires 6 month later no question.  Sonny's BBQ Cocoa Beach is friendly, good prices, food and service. 

New Dog

Caution:  At the very bottom of this blog is a graphic picture of Resi when animal control picked her up from the man who abused her.

After Bear died, we agreed that we wouldn't get another dog for awhile.  After all we have a lot going on this summer already.  And Bear was Bear.  You can't just replace one dog with another.  It doesn't work that way.  But in the same way that you can have as many children as you want and love each and every one of them for their own unique personality, you can love another dog without it replacing the one you lost. 

So just a month after Bear died, I was feeling down and a bit lonely and unneeded.  Really for many years now the only ones who both needed me and loved me were Michaela and Bear (Bill, too, but that is a different thing entirely).  With them both gone, I was feeling a little useless.  So I started dropping hints (which weren't well received) to Bill about getting another dog.  We had already decided that we wanted a young adult dog who had already had some training and needed a new home, so I started looking at adoptable dogs in the local area and sending him pictures.

I came across Resi and put her at the top of my list for several reasons...she had been trained by certified trainers, she was housebroke and crate trained, she didn't chew things up, she was in a foster home with cats, she was the right size, but what really caught my eye was that she liked to run with a bicycle.  One of the reasons I wanted a new dog was to have a good reason to get off the couch when I just didn't feel like it.  An active dog that could run beside a bike sounded like just the thing.

Police Report:  Click to enlarge

Then I saw the video.  This poor dog had been cruelly abused.  In fact, the abuser was charged with felony animal abuse.  Yet she had healed and was still a loving pet.  The video made me cry to think that someone would do that to an animal.  But it also gave me pause about adopting her; Resi is part (probably mostly) Pit Bull Terrier.  I don't have anything against the breed.  In fact the ones that I have known have been exceptionally smart, well behaved animals.  But if this man had beaten this dog so badly, would the dog (any dog) turn out mean?  Because a Pit Bull Terrier is a strong animal, one that can cause considerable damage if it is mean. 

We decided to go see her though and it was love at first sight for us.  She showed off her tricks and walked on the leash for us.  She climbed up on my lap and licked my face and nibbled my ear.  She was just an absolute love.  Other than the scars on her face and ears, you would never know she had been abused.  Her foster family had done amazing things with her in the year she had been with them healing both emotionally and physically.  I knew before we left the house that we wanted her to live with us and after a weekend visit we decided to go ahead with the adoption.



Apparently she has a problem
with Snoopy too.



But apparently there is some residual emotional damage.  Resi has some issues with feet.  We have seen her get upset about someone's feet and it is a bit scary.  She will lick the person and be happy to see them, but nip at their feet.  We still don't know how prevalent the problem is going to be, because right now she is in a stage of learning to live with us without a lot of strangers coming to the house.  We do take her out in public and in every environment outside of the house, she has been fine.  She has been ok with everyone she has met and every dog that we have encountered. 



  Soon we will be introducing her to more people in our home and we are very hopeful that this behavior is rare and can be untaught.  She learned it somehow; she wasn't born that way, so we believe we just need to have the patience and perseverance to figure out the best way to help her get over it.  We hope our friends and family will be patient with us while she learns what she needs to know to be a great pet and part of our family. None of us are perfect and most of us never had to endure what she has gone through in her short life.

Moving

We are getting ready to move.  Or maybe I should say, I am procrastinating getting ready to move.  We are moving in about three weeks.  The house we are moving to is only a few miles away.  It is a much nicer home in a much nicer neighborhood.  It isn't the moving to the new house that has me procrastinating.  When I think of unpacking and settling in, I get excited about it.  But when I think of packing up our things in this house and getting ready to move, it feels overwhelming. 



I have lived in this house 6 years.  It isn't my first house, it isn't the nicest house I've ever owned, but it is the first house I picked out and purchased all on my own.  The house wasn't much in the way of style when Michaela and I moved into it.  The yard was bare grass with the very minimum of builder installed landscaping.  The walls were white. 



you really must click this to enlarge to
see the signifcance of the flowers and
the entire day all in one shot

 18 months later I got married in the back yard.  The yard was still mostly grass and Michaela and I cut baby beauganvilla branches and taped them to the fence in strategic places to make it look a little nicer for pictures.  The next five years were a constant of change as we converted this house into a home, a small oasis to come home to at the end of a long day.  A place filled with love.

There are a million memories in this house.  Most good, some bad, some bad things that happened that at least turned into a great story (one of my favorite quotes:  If you are going to laugh about it some day, you might just as well go ahead and laugh now).  The disaster of building the back patio.  The 5 times Bill had to dig the 'pond' because of the torential rains that kept caving it in.  Painting walls and repainting walls and repainting walls.  Carpets ruined by kids and pets.  Floors tiled by a friend who just moved in until the job was done...him in one spare room, my mom in the other, the house in disarray (talk about a full house!)  Hundreds of empty bottles of wine that decorate our 'plant shelves'...each with its own story.   House plants that we stuck in the ground outside to see what would happen, that are 25 feet tall now (gotta love Florida!).  Kids shoveling and carrying decorative rock from the front to the back for days on end.  Tears, fights, doors slammed, kids sneaking in, kids sneaking out, dreams shared, plans made, hands held, cars wrecked, children becoming adults...all in this house. 

I have moved maybe 25 times in my life.  Military life does that to you.  I take a lot of pictures, those can go with me, the walls cannot.  But never before have I left anything irreplaceable behind.  Because in our new home, there will be new memories, there will be good times, there will be sad times.  There will be planning and replanning, changing of landscapes and paint and furniture.  There will be parties and friends and children and grandchildren.  It will be a wonderful place for us to build the rest of our lives. 

But Michaela will never make a memory there. She has made her last earthly memories for me.  The memory of her sitting at the counter asking me questions about college applications.  The memory of me hearing her crying and coming out of the bedroom to see her laying with her head on Bill's lap crying her eyes out over relationship problems.  The memory of her growing from a girl who wouldn't show her breasts to a male doctor for a school exam to a girl who would lay out naked in the back yard on top of the hot tub.  Taffy pulling party, craft days, crying over homework at the dining room table, sitting around the fire pit in the back yard, wrestling with her brother on the living room  floor, playing Wii boxing with Erin, her friends tossed all over the living room or sitting at the dinner table, Christmas', birthdays, late nights up talking in the living room, sitting on her bed with her when she was upset, her excitement over her adult bedroom set that was to be her legacy furniture, carving pumpkins, coloring easter eggs with me-just the two of us-because everyone else thought it was stupid, cookie nights, food fights, catching frogs and lizards and moths....just so many...so very many.   That I can look at any spot in this house and see her in it.  See her doing something perfect normal, something perfectly every day, something that she will never do again. 

Still, I know we will be happy there.  I know we are doing the right thing by moving.  She has made her feelings very clear on the subject.   She will be in that house with us--forever.  In that I am blessed.  Michaela doesn't need a physical presence on this earth to be with us.  She is willful and she is a manipulator.  She always has been.  She has been able to make signs strong enough to make all but the most cynical non-believer at least raise an eyebrow and I am even more blessed that I can talk about these things with my friends.  They are real, they happen, and my friends believe in every part of it...in fact many of them experience her too and aren't very shy about telling me about it.  I love when I hear that someone 'saw' her or 'heard' her or 'felt' her and that they understood why she was there.  Sometimes it is even people she didn't know on this earth.  It makes me so very happy to think about it all as a whole (there is more that she has influenced lately besides the house for us, but must save that surprise for later). 

But the big ones, the overwhelming feelings of her presence, stumbling across something she wrote that I haven't seen before, finding her Facebook words restored, the undeniable signs that she is right here-just around the corner-just out of sight, those come with a price.  They are precious and they are priceless, but afterwards is the eternal let down...that no matter how hard she tries, she can't come back.

I know you are happy where you are Michaela.  I know you now understand things that I do not.  I love you Michaela.