"Run Like Hell"

 

My own picture of the memorial outside Ned Peppers Bar

    

Sunday morning dawned as any other day.  The sunrise peeking through the slit in the bedroom window blinds, a peeping Tom.   I have been awake for hours but impatiently waiting on the sun to start my day, to act, to do something.  My sleep was shattered by the rattling of my cell phone on the night stand in the middle of the night.  I had been awake since then.  Stunned, disbelief at what my youngest, my baby, my mini me screamed over the phone as soon as I answered, “There was a shooting, mom…a guy with a gun at the bar I was at…I’m okay…I’m okay…” she would utter those words over and over, “I’m okay…we are all okay…” trying to convince herself of this fact as much as she is trying to convince me. 

In the minutes that follow, the scant memories she relays to me, piece together in my mind's eye the details of what she has just survived.  Disbelief at what I am hearing, sitting in my pj’s on the toilet in the guest bathroom in stunned silence, I gather myself, “Calm down calm down” I say. I ask her to say it again, clearly I misunderstood, this wasn’t happening to my baby. 

My mind wanders, desperate for details, but shying away at the sound of them.  My brain winces and closes its eyes, protecting itself as she talks, it is too much, it is too much….My Lainey, her beautiful smiling face, my baby girl, talented athlete who earned a full athletic scholarship to Division 1 Wright State University, my extrovert who never met a stranger, a friend to all, a leader in every true aspect of the word, loved by all, revered by many, role model, held in such high esteem by every adult she meets.  My world, my heart, my pride, my absolute joy, smelly knee pads, wild hair, messy room, flashes of the essence of her front and center, rushing through my mind as she talks…

“We didn’t know what it was…” 

“The boys jumped on us and threw us to the ground…”

“I’m okay, mom, I’m okay…we are okay…”

“It got quiet, the shooting stopped, and people yelled, “GOGOGORUNRUNRUN!!!!!”

 sobs, heaving sobs as she recounts this horror,

nothing I can do

on the other end of the phone,

in my pj’s on the toilet in the guest bathroom

I listen, she sobs

“I am stronger than everyone else mom, I was able to get up and run…”

“I ran like you told me to, I ran like hell, just like you told me….”

“I’m okay…”

She is breathless now…she is not talking anymore…I am silent…I can’t breathe…this IS NOT happening…I start…

“Where are you nowAre you okayAre you hurtIs anyone hurtAre you safe?”  The questions, tumbling out of control, vomit of words, pouring out of my mouth, no time for her to even answer…except, of course, “Are you okay?” and  her “I am okay, mom”.  The seventh or eighth time she utters it in our conversation so far… then more silence.

The crying starts again now, quieter, silent tears roll down our faces miles apart but sharing this moment of utter disbelief, fear, sadness, relief, gratitude..  We cry together in our separateness, she safe in her Dayton apartment, mascara running down her face, her naturally curly blonde hair- wild, clothes dirty and disheveled, black shadows on her arms and legs, remnants of bar dirt, temporary tattoos of her night, crawling to survive as a madman chased her with a gun.  Miles away, I cry with her, in her old bathroom, now the guest bathroom because she doesn’t live here anymore.  She is grown.

Neither of us understands nor comprehends yet what exactly we are crying over but the tears soothe us, we share them and this brief moment in time. She is sobbing again, waves of heaves crashing at my ear, I am helpless, I can’t help her.  My rage, anger, fear, instincts, fighting for control, what do I say, what do I do?  And then the realization there is nothing I can do, there is nothing I can say, helpless. I cradle my phone, wishing it was her, as I sit in my pj’s on the toilet in the guest bathroom and I wait for her to be done, heart shattered with each of her tears and exhale of heavy breath.  Neither of us knows details, we don’t know how many are dead and injured, we don’t know anything except that she and her friends are alive.  I cry for my baby and the sheer terror that she just experienced.  I sob….she stops and comforts me, “I’m okay, mom…I’m okay…”

Somehow we hang up the phone, the “I love you’s” outnumbering the “I’m okay’s” by a two to one margin.  I sit there, on the guest bathroom toilet, knees drawn to my chest, glasses on my face and pj’s sagging on my body…

I sit

still

silent

stunned.

Our Family

Lainey, the youngest of my three daughters was born a mere 37 months after her oldest sister.  Our house, from the moment of bringing her home, was busy, noisy, happy, and Lainey added her special element to that.  As a baby, she was content to watch the chaos around her, the dancing and singing we did as she sat in her pumpkin seat, sucking her thumb, taking it all in. I was so busy, most days I never felt like I had enough for her. She doesn’t have much of a baby book.  Pictures of her are few.  I only have those that exist in my memory.  I was busy, I make excuses.  I knew I was missing out on her. I felt it, I hated it.   I started cherishing the middle of the night feedings, she and me alone in the quiet of the house, her smiles and babbles, my joy at the existence of her.  Breaking my own rule, I would hold her and study her and cling to her in those early morning hours of her very life, not putting her in her bassinet to sleep, but holding her, rocking her and memorizing her.  I remember that now as I sit in the guest bathroom in my pj's in the middle of the night, she is not in my arms, she is far away in her own apartment, she is crying with mascara running down her face.  I can’t help her. I am helpless.   

I shake it off, I think of her in the past and it comforts me. My mind numbs out the present horror and takes me to a safe place, when I could fix it, when I could control it. I see her with the toy microphone singing bible songs, I see her flying from the chair to the couch, her little 3 year old self, fearless, belly laughing, always happy, always smiling. Incredible.  My mind goes here, automatically, and I remember her now as a little girl, dancing and singing with her sisters.  The three of them, could have become two on this night.  

A few moments ago, as I slept, Lainey crawled on the floor of a bar, crawled for her life.  I shudder and I close my eyes to make it stop.  I know I don’t know details, I know I don’t know anything,  yet my mind rushes to the extreme, I can’t help it.

“Stop it!” I tell myself,  “Stop it!”

She is older now; I see her competing on the soccer field, basketball court and volleyball court.  I see her smiling, laughing, confidence oozing.

“She’s so fun to watch.” The other parents from her teams would tell me.

“What a leader she is.”  Opponent’s parents would say.

“She is my favorite player to coach.” Year after year her coaches would tell me.

“Lainey is a joy to have in class.” Teacher conference remarks.  

“You must be so proud….” People would say. 

“Thank you” I would say out loud to them

           and, to myself, I would whisper,

“You have no idea…”

I always appreciated her, always. I knew I was blessed that God gave her to me, but more so, I knew Lainey was blessed, I knew God blessed her.  

Lainey and I after her first college match

Back to the guest bathroom, I know I can’t sit here forever.  I have to get up. I wander back to the bedroom, I break down again, I tell Steph and we both try to make it go away.  She feeling the same things I feel, our minds shouting "NO!!" as loudly as they can, reality not listening, reality taking residence in our minds.  Like a squatter living in our attic, we can’t get rid of it.                

           

An hour later, I search cable news for an update; I am perusing twitter and texting Lainey.  She is still telling me “I am okay, mom’.  I am replying “Good. I love you.” She says, “I love you, too.” and so on and so forth for the next couple of hours.  She is okay and we love each other...got it. 

It is this early in the process that my mind starts to make noise, the “what if’s” are just starting to rear their ugly heads, “how could this happen” rebounding in my brain.  I shove it away, I make it stop as best I can, I can’t go there right now.

Still unaware of any details, I find a tweet with a snapchat audio recording of the gunshots.  Taken  from over a mile away, by accident, the person was recording a motorcycle and the shooting just starts in the background.

<boomboomboomboomboom…boomboomboomboomboom…boomboomboom.>

Quick rapid fire shots it goes on and on.  I listen again and I count more than 50 shots fired in less than 30 seconds, then a different gunfire sound and more, many more shots.  The video is over in 36 seconds.  I can’t ‘unhear’ it; I listen to it again and again and again even though once was enough. 

I get out of bed early; as soon as the sun peaked through the blinds.  Welcome.  Sleep eluded me the remainder of the night.  I water the flowers and marvel at the absolute brilliance of the day.  I am filled with gratitude that our Sunday, while very different than normal, is not one completely shattered by that early morning phone call. She is alive, she is okay. I am sick to my stomach.

Desperate for updates, I have no way to get them.  Turn on local channels and it is the same details over and over, turn on national news and I am told this is all President Trump’s fault or Elizabeth Warren’s fault <click> turn it off.   

I open Facebook and see that one of my closest friends has proclaimed that anyone who stills support the President after the El Paso and Dayton shootings, is not only a racist, but also partially responsible for the deaths.  “Please,” she says, “Unfriend me now.”  She is upset, I know this, we all grieve in different ways and our helplessness in impacting change makes us lash out.  I do support the President, I am not racist and I am certainly not responsible in any way for the carnage, I do not unfriend her.  We are better than this. 

Why can’t I get any details?  How does one get information?   I want to scream at the TV, Twitter, Facebook, “MY BABY ALMOST DIED!” 

“Thoughts and prayers”

“Emergency roundtable discussions”

“It’s Trump’s fault”

“He was a liberal who supported Warren”

“Blah blah blah”

       and

“Blah blah blah”

Nothing will be done. I am helpless.  I am mad. I am angry. Pathetic. 

I can’t wait to get to Dayton and see Lainey.  She is trying to sleep, she is not texting me anymore and I hope she is resting. Once there, I come in last, she hugs her dad, her sister, says hi to the dogs we have brought with us to comfort her or distract her, probably more distract makes sense if you have met our dogs, she hugs Steph…I wait my turn, content to go last so I can take those seconds to try to gauge what she needs.  I watch her, she is different, I see it right away, she hasn’t slept, her smile tentative, her eyes blank, not sparkling anymore. 

Simpler Times

Finally, my turn…she grabs me like she used to when she was my baby, her head buries in my neck, I feel her breath and tears, both warm on my skin. I relive when she was little girl Lainey, she falls and scrapes her knee or she doesn’t feel well or someone was mean to her and hurt her feelings, this embrace with the warm breath and tears is the same as those, the same but so so different.  I can’t fix this, I am powerless to make this better, a Dora the Explorer band-aid, Sprite on the couch, or a ‘people can be so mean’ speech, will not make this better.  Complicated.  What can I do?…we hug. We stand there in her apartment in Dayton surrounded by our family and her friends, she holding on to me, gripping me, she cries and I cry and it is all I can do. Helpless. 

 

We go to lunch, not realizing or understanding what she just went through.  She is restless and anxious and ready to go as soon as we get there.  She isn’t comfortable in public places anymore, I see the terror in her eyes, it makes me sad and angry. It hits me that a bit of her innocence is gone, she is different.  More sad and angry follow these realizations.  

After lunch, she says we have to leave. She wants to be with her friends, she wants to talk to those she was with and try to digest it.  “I am never leaving the house again.” She proclaims.  I believe her and I can’t blame her. The world is a terrible, unpredictable place for her now.  I am actually glad she is never leaving the house again, I know she is safe. I don’t have to worry.  In my head I have already begun to plan grocery delivery services, on line classes, and uber eats.  This I can do, I think.  Lainey is never leaving the house again and I am going to make sure that happens.  This is one way I know she will never again be shot at by a bad man with a high powered gun.  She is never leaving the house again…I exhale. 

“You will feel safe again someday, Lainey.  It will take time, but you will live again, I promise honey.”  That is what I say instead, she doesn’t believe it and neither do I, but I say it anyway, my grand plans for her mastery of agoraphobia gone.    

The next few days pass, I slowly engage more on social media.  Friends send me videos on Twitter and Facebook.  One from outside the bar, people hurling themselves down the street, running into the bar where Lainey lay on the floor, protected by her friends.  Chivalry is not dead. 

The gunman comes into the frame, as he turns to follow his targets into the bar where Lainey lay a few feet from the door – boombangbangpopboombangbang – Dayton police officers at the top of the frame, I see them rush against the screaming crowd, firing, firing firing at the gunman. He crumples, they shoot him dead.  Inside my head, as I watch, I do a fist bump and whisper “yes!” as if I am watching a fictional war movie and not the death of a mad man with a gun about to enter a bar where my baby lays on the floor.  Even after a few days passing, it still has not really hit me yet.  I still do not understand. 

The next video is the view from inside the bar, gunshots, people screaming, running, clawing, shoes purses on the floor a beloved cell phone left behind in the panic, at the end the gunman comes into frame and I see him, from this angle, crumple under the bullets from the police.   He is close to the door, one or two seconds away from entering the bar.  Lainey is inside the door, the gunman lay in the doorway, collapsed by the bullets of the police.  Someone sends me a picture of the gun man dead, partially covered in a white sheet, head practically lying on the door frame.  God dammit, it was close. 

Embedded in my mind for eternity, I keep watching over and over again.  I see something different every time I watch.  The sheer bravery and guts of the police, their rush TO the situation, practically dodging civilians running away in terror, firing on the gunman and stopping him, dead, in his tracks.  Literally, seeing the moment my daughter’s life was saved and the horror at what could have happened if 2 seconds more had passed and he entered the bar.  With the weapon he had and the amount of ammunition, we would have countless more dead – open fire on a sea of people in a small enclosed area.  It makes me physically ill every time I think about it. Lainey crawling on that dirty bar floor, clawing her way to survival.

The second video, from inside the bar, has sound.  Less steady because it is taken on a cell phone, the distinct screams and yells and noises from inside as the people grapple with what is happening and coming their way.  It shows the scene described by my daughter – the sheer chaos, the shoes left behind, the screaming – it hits me that this is what Lainey was doing.  Lainey was screaming, losing shoes, crawling to survive – the chaos of it all.  It breaks my heart, literally breaks my heart, and I understand why when I look into her eyes I see terror.  She lived through this.  

I don’t watch or listen to anything else.  I turn it all off and I start to plan. 

Lainey is no longer a prisoner in her home. She is practicing and working out, she even went to the grocery store.  She is timid, I can hear it her voice, some of her confidence gone, the swagger not there.  She goes to group counseling offered by the University, she doesn’t tell me what happens there she just says it helps and that is all I need to know.  Her roommates, all teammates she started WSU with last year, literally surround her with love and concern.  They play Wii and Euchre and seem content to never go to a crowded place ever again.  Even though they were not with her that night, they understand in a way that I can’t or don’t, in a way that only our friends understand.  We all have friends like that, she is beyond lucky to have them in her life right now. They know their role without me asking them, to keep an eye on her, to make her laugh, to keep it simple – amazing to me how well they know her and she them.  

Lainey and her amazing roommates

Today is Thursday and today is a good day.  I still ache for those that lost loved ones or those who got injured. I have been on my knees in prayer, I have lit candles, I am plotting and planning. I know any family in that position is feeling ten times worse than me.  I weep for them. 

I went to the site last night on my way home from visiting Lainey and her friends and making them dinner.  It was what I expected – chalk writings, flowers, candles, post it notes – it is always the same after these things happen.  I saw the doorway to the bar, I saw the spot where he crumpled to the ground amid the police officers’ gunshots, I saw the back door Lainey squeezed out of, I imagined her sprinting through the parking lot, terrified.  I had to go there. I wept.  I wept for Lainey, for the dead, for the injured, for the families, for the police officers, for our nation.  I wept.  As much as I knew I had to go there, overwhelmed with sickness, I couldn't wait to leave. I am glad I went.  We should all go.  

The politicians are all still arguing, the Republicans think they are right, the Democrats think they are and I am just a mom from KY whose daughter lay on the floor of a bar as a madman almost killed her. She crawled, fought, and muscled her way out the back door not knowing what awaited her.  All she knew as that her mom always told her to "Run like HELL..." so she did. 

#dosomething

“There but by the grace of God, go I” – John Bradford

One Flies the Coop

Today, Micaela left for her adult life in a city far away from her home here in KY. We had a wonderful summer filled with a trip of a lifetime to Netherlands and Germany, many nights watching movies on the couch, snuggling with our favorite dogs, fostering a Mama Cat, taking walks, laughing and just enjoying each other's company.  I knew today was coming, I had it marked on the calendar, we talked about it. 

This morning she loaded up her Prius with her most prized possessions and hugged me as tears streamed down my face. Ready for her to go but not ready for her to be gone. Remembering again that the sign of being a successful mom is that you eventually are unemployed as your charges grow and become independent, friends more than children.  If we do it well, and I have, they leave and they live, they thrive, they make mistakes, they grow, they fall in love and they become mothers and, alas, the circle of life. A job well done means you are left, without them, as they move on in their independence.  Seeing her the last few days, organizing, cleaning, decluttering, writing out the family recipes for her very own recipe box...her own sort of 'nesting' as she prepares to be on her own, I was filled with emotions from all over the spectrum.  

Never have I asked my kids to live a life I wanted for them, they will tell you the most thing that I am as a mom is supportive of their dreams and goals.  Not a perfect parent by any stretch, but I very much stand by the cheerleader aspect of my parenting, as it has served my family very well. Their constant champion whispering in their ears - you've got this, you can do it, you will be okay - always believing in them and hoping they will believe in themselves - being a helper with problem solving or advising them when they ask, not a overbearing adult/mom - letting them make the decisions and choices but standing firmly right behind them to catch them if they fall.  Believing in this, confident in this, today as I watched her load her car, hearing her saying goodbye to her favorite little dog, seeing her hug her sisters and Steph...it was all so different for me.  For literally the first time in my life, as I held my oldest in my arms, I truly did not want to let go.  I remember back to the first day of preschool, her chubby little hand in mine as we walk to her classroom...her face peering up at me, nervous, me smiling at her willing her to be ok.  The contrast is not lost on me between now and then and the few short years in between that first separation, so temporary, to now, so permanent.  Her walking with trepidation into Miss Lisa's room with the colorful flowers on the wall and Miss Lisa taking her hand from mine...me smiling trying to reassure her.  She looking at me, silently asking to go back home to play with her sisters, to hang out with me.  Me smiling back, knowing she would be ok, knowing it was time.  Walking away and leaving her with Miss Lisa and her classmates, no tears from me then, it was right.  So opposite of this moment now, as I hold her, cry into her long blonde hair, her body matching mine in height, we embrace as adults now, her body rigid at first, relaxes as we both shed tears.   

For the first time in my life as am mom, at this moment I am thinking about me, what I want, what I need, and what is better for me, running thoughts in my head about me - I wasn't cheerleading, I wasn't helping, I was thinking of me and my hurt and my sadness.  I wasn't thinking of her as I whispered in her ear that she could move in across the street and Steph would cut her grass -  this statement had become an ongoing joke since we bought the duplex (yup) across the street a few months ago. But this time, when I said it, I meant it...I said it and I really meant it, rambling in my head words unspoken but there all the same, "Doesn't that sound great, move in across the street, come over for dinner, or to watch a movie or to have a glass of wine on the back patio....you know, do life with us, Micaela....don't leave, don't go, stay here with us."  Mic laughs into my shoulder through her tears, she knows the joke well, she laughs, not realizing I am no't joking, not hearing the pleading sentences rambling on inside my head.  I don't laugh with her, instead, I hug her more and tears slide, silently down my cheeks. 

As we separate, Steph asks me 'is it different this time' me squeaking out a  'yes'...not knowing or understanding why.  We had said this same goodbye countless times through her college years.  I am used to going months without seeing her, staying connected via texts, phone calls and social media...this would be same routine, wouldn't it?  Yet, so different.  I couldn't answer why and I am still not sure exactly but this feels more permanent - she is on her own, making her way, no money from mom, her own lease, a new job, all of it. She won't ever live in our house again.  She has committed to visiting for Mom's Weekend of Family Fun...an annual mandatory event that we created this week to assure me that at least once a year the nucleus of the five of us will spend one weekend a year at our home, just the five of us girls.  More than anything, right now, I want to be selfish and ask her not to go, different in such a big way.  I resist.

She leaves. She drives away. I cry and walk around the block. Steph and her sisters don't know what to do, I don't know what I need, this is all so new...so I walk and it is ok. I am not proud of the selfish thoughts I had, the desire to keep her here, have her marry a Cov Cath boy and raise her family minutes away from me - seems like a perfect life - for me, but not for her. She had the courage to cry with me, hug me, tell me she loved me and then to leave, to drive away to her new life and adventures and all the wonderful things waiting for her. She will always need me, I will always be her first call, I will always answer to hear her voice - harkening back to the days of her non stop babbling as a 9 month old, her incessant questioning as a two year old, even through her sulky teenage years, the contagious happiness she brings to our family.  I will miss her but I will be okay.  I will create a new normal and so will she.  

If I didn't tell you a little piece of my heart left me today, I wouldn't be telling the whole truth.  Our hearts on our sleeves, with lumps in our throats, tears on our cheeks...we let them go, and that may be the most loving gift of all.

**Note - as I returned from my walk around the block, her red car came down the street, she pulls into the driveway...In the seconds that pass as I wait for her to get out a movie like scene plays in my head...she is crying and saying she can't leave, doesn't want to go and runs to me and asks if she can move in across the street and will Steph really cut her grass, I say yes! yes! yes!

Instead...her car door opens, tears are dry, she smiles at me and says "I forgot the skyline hot sauce." and that, in a nutshell, is my Micaela. Godspeed sweet girl, your mama loves you. 

50 and Beyond

We had a little party the other night to celebrate my turning 50.  Surrounded by family and friends, the night went just as I imagined.  Good food, cold beer, great music, shots, a beer bong,  and lots of dancing....we even had a streaker, a puker and a visit from the Park Hills po po. 

Epic. 

As most of you who read this blog already know, I never miss an opportunity to let my loved ones know they are loved.  Those things you read when someone dies unexpectedly, 'Hug your kids', 'Now's the time to let those you love know how you feel'...while very true,  have been my habit for many years.  Besides the actual reason for a funeral (someone had to pass away), the worst part for me is when loved ones express regret about not taking the time to let the person know how much they were loved.  Eulogies filled with kind words, memories, stories shared...so sad if these were never told to the person when they were alive. It is a lesson we all should learn. 

I received on Friday night a book that many of you contributed to...memories and admiration's that brought more smiles to my face than I have had in a long time.  You took the time to tell me how you feel and the words wrapped me up like a warm blanket, comforting.  The 'book' will forever be cherished and I will refer to it often, when life is hard, when people are mean, when challenges abound...I have a book to remind me that I am loved, that I am cherished and that I have a whole lot of people who care about me.  There really is nothing more important than that.  

Anticipating Drunk Gretchen would want to do some speech making on her big night, I wrote down some thoughts of my own.  My love letter to those who have surrounded me all these years.  

I have lived a beautiful life so far and one doesn't do that by going it alone. 

"I am preparing this just in case I need it.  Speaking off the cuff is not really my thing..I forget what I want to say, I get emotional, I rush…writing is much more my style.  Most of you have been to my parties where I read something I have written…most of the time you all politely listen as I go on about one of my amazing daughters or about my life with Steph.  Tonight, however, it is about you, each of you.

Last night, we had what I am calling the ‘Rehearsal Dinner’…this 50^th birthday party being, perhaps, better planned than most weddings (thank you Stephanie), we spent last night with a few close friends, having a drinks, sharing cherished memories and just being together.  During our time last night, my friend Davis, presented me with this book.  It is a compilation of many of my friend’s favorite memories of me, along with all of them saying really nice things.  As I sit here this morning, I have read the entire thing 4 times already.  I can’t believe it, I can’t believe what is written, I can’t believe the memories shared, I can’t believe the blessings of my life.  Am I really this lucky?

You don’t get to be ‘fabulous, funny and 50’ on your own.   If you’re as lucky as me, you get here surrounded by people who will love you in spite of yourself, lift you up when you need it, hold you accountable when you’re being an ass, and forgive you when ask for it.  You also get here by celebrating the good times, I like to do this a lot, if I could drink a shot of jagermeister for every little thing, I would. ..wait….I already do…

I can never and I really mean never put into words what this life is or what it means to be me, to live this life, to have what I have.  It is truly indescribable to be so blessed, so lucky, so loved, so…so…so…just all of it.  Yes, I made choices to make it happen but you all also chose to come along, to be my friend, to accept me and my family, to surround me and fill a place in my life that can only be filled by you, each of you do that for me.  Thank you.

A few special shout outs:

To my Rose Circle family…if you guys only knew when we moved here in 2006 how much we needed what you gave us.  Steph trusted me when I asked her to buy this house, we couldn’t afford it, we had a house to sell, we were going to carry two mortgages but I just knew when I first stood on my tippy toes to look thru the windows, this house was going to be our forever home.  The poor Gabbard’s didn’t know what to think when they came out the door and saw Steph on my shoulders looking through the kitchen windows.   They were so kind, they offered to let us in since they had the keys.  It was the first of many very funny memories.  We have cherished sharing our lives and a driveway with them ever since.  Joe and Marion, Stella and Karl, Mary Ann, LuAnn, Drew and Lynn, Joan and Matt…you all will never know, no matter how much I try to explain it, what you mean to me and to our family.  Suffice it to say, Steph and I were ‘in the trenches’ back then in 2006 and Rose Circle and this house was our haven.  Thank you for accepting us, loving us, and supporting us.  We look forward to many more years with all of you and with the rest of our newer neighbors…I am thankful we took the chance all those years ago.

To my L tribe and L moms…I have learned so much from each of you, so many laughs, so many discussions that really can’t be shared or even described – one as recent as last night, complete with diagrams.  I am so thankful to be able to do life with all of you by my side.  You make me proud in how you each move through life and, especially, with how much you can drink…I mean let’s face it, when my daughters brag that they can ‘keep up with the lesbians’, I know I have done something right.  Seriously, though, through our travels, OSU games (my great idea of ‘let’s do a shot every time the Buckeyes score’), St. Patrick’s Day with Jimmy, karaoke, birthday celebrations, happy hours….thankful for it all. 

To Kitty, Doodle, Davis…I mean what can a girl say to you three,  Holy Shit what a life we have shared.  Each of you deserve your own tribute but I will just say thank you…from the bottom of my heart, thank you.  Never wavering in your loyalty to me, countless (and I mean countless) nights out and girls trips with shenanigans I can’t even begin to try to remember all of them.  Dancing, crop dusting, not giving two shits who is looking at us or what anyone thinks as we celebrate over and over and over again…most of the time we don’t even know what we are celebrating, yet the laughs continue.  Through marriage, divorce, heartbreak, new loves, kids, sports, marathons, new jobs, retirement, illness, RV trips, and other adventures….we have shared it all.  I love you from the depths of my heart and can’t wait to see what we get into next.

Mom and Dad….what can I ever say to the people who have given me so much?  I hope to be you guys some day…still loving each other after almost 60 years of marriage, a life well lived of generosity and compassion.  I am who I am because of you.  I have what I have because of you.  You are my heroes and I am so proud to be your daughter. 

Nat, Val, Kenny and the rest of Steph’s family --- thanks for trusting Steph and supporting her when she told you she was moving to KY to be with me and my three little girls.  I will never forget, never forget, what you provided me and the girls all those years ago.  To those of you who don’t know the Belt/Hay family…you are missing out.  The most accepting, generous, supportive people you will ever find.  I hope and pray my daughters will find a way to be like you and create a life like you have.  When you are a part of this family, you are never alone. 

To my amazing daughters….besides being able to drink like the lesbians, you all have accomplished so much.  I love our relationships, I love watching you navigate life.  My hard work is done as your lives are now your own, I will always be here for you, you know that but I know you have what it takes to do anything you want.  Thank you for being here and for doing your part to make my bday weekend so special.  Love you all so much.

And finally, to my Stephie…never ever did I think that I would be standing here, in our beautiful home, with your family and my family present, surrounded by mutual friends….celebrating anything, let alone my 50^th birthday.  We did this, we made this happen, we both took a chance and here we are.  Since I am old now, I have been doing some reminiscing, like old people do and I truly don’t know how we survived those first few years especially, then the child rearing years…we held on tight I suppose and made the choice, every day even when we didn’t want to, to stay.  You made this house a home, you are relentless in your hard work, even when you ‘retire’ you still work more than anyone I know.   You are my rock, my soft place, my listening ear and the one person that I want to call when the news is good and especially when the news is bad.  I am so lucky for all you have given me.  Thank you for this special weekend and for gathering all the people I love into one place.

Now it is time to drink and, of course, dance."

 If you take anything away from the post, let it be to take to the time to let those important to you know how you feel.  Whether a card, a phone call, a text message or a speech...do it and do it now.  I promise you will never regret saying the words.