You Can't Stay Here

Typically, this is my place to write about Hayden. This post includes some bits of him, as does every aspect of my life, but usually he is tied to firsts, not lasts.  This post is about lasts. You see I have packed  my desk, supplies, files and mementos away in boxes. I have  walked into the door of the old FHS for the last time.( and hopefully killed my last roach, flushed my last bowl of brown water and heard my last conversation through a paper wall).

For the last twenty years I have worked in the same building. This is almost half of my life and it is the longest thing in my life aside from Rob. While I am not a sentimental, " stuff" keeper, this building holds memories and traditions that I will keep  with me forever. I entered here in 1997 as Ali Silverman. I returned in 1998 as Ali Lazorchak. While here I moved into my home and and six years later  gave birth to Hayden. I have watched friends get married and have children, and shared in celebrations with colleagues. I have attended funerals for colleagues, their children and students. I have  laughed so hard that I've cried.  I have cried.  I have shared in the joy of friends retiring or becoming administrators. I have shared in the pain of friend's diagnoses and battles.  I have had the pain of friends leaving.  I have taught in 9 different rooms. I have watched so many staff come and go.  I have taken on crazy responsibilities that have allowed me to grow or become frustrated ( vending machines?). I have seen student successes and disappointments. I have felt the love and support for Hayden, Rob and I as we have fought through surgeries and extended hospitalizations. I met my best friend.  I have lived a good part of my life in this old girl. While it is certainly time to go , and demolish her as we move into our new, modern digs, it strange that everything has become a last.

Traditions, unlike things, are insanely important to me. I have passed this down to Hayden. Years ago, when  a restaurant we used to go to  regularly  with a group of friends ( who are now scattered about the country) closed, he sobbed. Not because the Cracked Claw was so amazing ( although it was lovable) but because it was a last. A last time we'd gather, eat crabs, drink beer, off-track bet, and be together there. This is how I feel about this move. It is long overdue and this building is gross, but it represents a tremendous chunk of my life and experiences.

While I am not usually sappy, I got teary packing my desk the other day. I do not want to stay here, nor am I really sad to move. It is just the lasts that are hard. Turning in keys, closing my door, walking down the hall, stomping a roach,  walking out , looking over my shoulder...all lasts.

I am ready for the next era of FHS. Better, cleaner, higher tech, more beautiful, a better place to serve students , but  filed with old traditions and new memories. And in ten or so  years...a few more lasts

Thanks for the memories old girl.

" You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here..."

I Never Wanted to Be a Mom's Day

   I never wanted to be a mom.( Stop gasping and pick up your gaping jaw.) I like control, order, organization and a plan. I don't like chaos, unpredictability or messes.   I didn't spend my days waiting to start a family, begging to hold any baby I caught sight of or oohing and aahing over booties. But, I fell in love with a young man who had his beautiful blue eyes set on having two children. As part of the marital bargain, we agreed on one child ( plus the exchange of one cow, two goats and a three legged chicken).And I  hoped and prayed that as time went on, he'd change his mind. He didn't. After six years of marriage and me pushing 30, I knew I had to hold up my end of the  deal. Several ovulation kits later, on 10/30/2003 , I became pregnant. Then I puked. All day. Every day. For 22 weeks. It was a great time!

    I will not recount Hayden's birth or diagnosis. You have heard that tale by now. But, in the end, I became a mom. Not just a mom, a mom to a child with a chronic health condition. A heart mom. We are everything that regular moms are, just with a little bit of spice added. We are this crazy dichotomy of characteristics. Fierce, yet terrified. Hopeful, yet hopeless. Savvy, yet helpless. Controlling, yet out of control. And the list goes on. The mom that never wanted to be a mom got tossed into the throws of momhood with a vengence. 

     I cannot say that I fell head over heels the second Hayden was born. To be honest, I was too sick, too scared and too unsure to feel much of anything. And, having my own baby did not make me a baby person.( I am still not.) But as time grew on, so did Hayden and I found a love that is inexplicable and deep. There is something about fighting to survive that makes a kid an old soul. And Hayden is that. There are far too many things that I love about him to list, but the one  thing I love the most is that he gets that I am Ali and not just Mom. ( No, he does not address me as Ali and no I  am not one of those "my kid is my friend" people). Hayden has always seemed to get that I am not just his. I am Rob's. I am my friend's. I am my parent's. I am my brother's. I am my student's. I am mine. And still his.

    Do not get me wrong. I take great pride in raising and caring for  Hayd and I work effing hard at it. A ton of my time is committed to him.  A zillion hours of worry are from him. But, it is not my sole identity. I never wanted that. I never will.  That does not mean that I do not love being his mom. I do. I love it in ways that words cannot describe. Last year, for Mother's Day, I gave him a gift. I thanked him for making me his Mom. I thanked him for all he has done to better me as a person and to shape the way I prioritize my life. As I stated earlier, I did not just land the part of mom, I landed the part of heart mom and that role not  is not an easy one to play. ( nor is regular mom...before anyone gets upset with me). I know, it is ironic, the girl who didn't want to be a mom got the difficult mom part. It is like casting the tone deaf girl as the lead...absurd, right? Naw. You see the tone deaf girl might bring a new dimension to the role, just as I have brought my own twist on motherhood. It may involve cussing freely and pretty much any topic being fair game at the dinner table,  while running a  crazy tight ship, yelling about crumbs and being pretty demanding, but it is my twist. It is my way of doing this.

     As  yet another Mother's Day approaches, I still find it hard to believe that I am someone's mother. Someone really let ME have a kid? I also cannot imagine not being Hayden's mother.  The intangible gifts he has given me have made me a far better person than I ever was before. That part of my he owns is full of all of the good stuff, the hard stuff and the fears that lie ahead. It is the best part of me.

 I love being Hayden's mom. But, I still  like control, order, organization and a plan. I don't like chaos, unpredictability or messes.   And, no, I don't want to hold your baby.

Eight is GREAT!!!

The last six months have been challenging. At this point, all I can do is laugh because each time I turn around, there is yet another challenge to face. Not true, I can also throw my jacket on the driveway in hissy fit form, like I did the other day.(It felt really good!) It has been hard, at times, to remember to be grateful and how much I have to be grateful for.

That goes out the window today. Today is our big day.  It is Hayden's Heartaversary! Today marks 8 years since Hayden's  Fontan ( third open heart  surgery in a series of three surgical corrections that let him , ya know, live.) March 30, 2009 is a day of both celebration and reverence. I celebrate that fact that Hayden is here  for me to  chat with, laugh at/with, make fun of, discuss literature with, listen to play music,nag,  show me his chest hair ( literally a hair), fuss at to get moving, assign tasks to, snuggle, listen to him prep for his Bar Mitvzah, travel with, annoy , watch sports with,  get giant eye rolls, listen to his tude and get pats on the back and the tightest hugs from. Each day , when he walks in the door, I feel a sense of relief. It is another day he has conquered. Another day he has returned to me. Another day he is here. I have no choice but to celebrate the crap out of that. I do feel gratitude.

The reverence for this day is harder to explain. " Revere the Fontan" ( imagine my voice really deep when you read that) , sounds odd. But it is how I feel about this day. It commands my respect and  deserves to be honored. It is a period of time that is etched into every fiber of my being. It was horrific, draining, terrifying and joyful. I watched Hayden fight  for his life and teeter between life and death , repeatedly. While I live  with that idea, daily,in 2009 it looked to be reality. Yet, somehow, defying odds and the   predictions of our incredible medical team, Hayden came through and has thrived, thus far. The path to get there was what has created the reverence I feel, coupled with the trauma that recreates so many moments from that time period, again and again. You'd think that eight years would muddy the details or lessen how vivid the images are. It does not.  They come to me at random times. In my waking hours and in my dreams. They can be haunting. The most haunting is a memory that I cannot shake. Hayden was in respiratory distress . I was holding his hand and trying to lessen his fears. We'd been chatting . Communicating well. Then he said something and I couldn't understand him. He said the same thing again and again and again, for hours and hours  on end. I never figured it out. But I have not stopped trying. It continues to drives me crazy. At the time I felt like I was letting him down. Today, I just feel guilty that I didn't  figure it out. Maybe I could have helped him. I dreamt of this, just last week. I shared it with the boys . Hayden just thought I was crazy and I'm pretty sure Rob wanted to puke. It's moments like those that I'll carry with me forever . It's moments like those that cause me to revere that period of our lives. It is moments like those that do not let me forget or let my guard down.

Today , eight years later , I'm just in awe. Hayden is a pretty typical almost 13 year old. Aside from the fact that he's got this odd wisdom about him and a love for life that's unfaltering( and takes daily meds, and gets his blood taken at our kitchen table). Don't get me wrong , he can be an ass. And drive me nuts. But he also drives me to be a better version of me . One that is a bit more like him.    

 On this day, I always leave you with a message . This evening , hug your kids for 8 seconds , kiss them 8 times , tell them 8 great things about themselves, give them 8 desserts( then blame me!). And sometime soon, let them do something you otherwise wouldn't . Life is far too fragile and short. Celebrate it! ( Eight fucking years!!!!! )