The meaning in the make-up

"What should I wear tomorrow?"

This is the nightly statement that we hear from Sheri's youngest, Jillian, who is now eleven and a half.  It is becoming glaringly obvious that Jill will be very concerned with her looks, unlike her older sister Hannah who just cares if she's comfortable and warm.

"Do you know why I like to wear my hair up now?"  She asked me the other night while she was decorating a wall in her room with cut outs from teen-y magazines.  She pointed to one of the cookie-cutter teenage heartthrobs where he stated he used to like girls who wore their hair down but as he got older he likes them to wear their hair up, messy and disheveled.

"Jill," I said, "you can't start wearing your hair or your clothes like the way some random famous boy says he likes it."

"Oh I know, I mean I like it that way too and all the kids at school say I look good with my hair up but really," she points to the picture again, "I put it up because he said he likes it up."

This is what it means to have a Tween girl who is trying to find her identity.  When I met Sheri Jillian was only 3 and Hannah was just 10.  Hannah (and I love you, child) had a few awkward years growing up.  She was heavier and under the strict thumb of her grandmother who dictated what she wore.  She didn't start losing weight until late middle school and by then all she cared about was her latest solo in band or the upcoming musical.  We never had to worry about her succumbing to peer pressure because she was always above it all with a very solid head on her shoulders and a distinct goal in her sights.  Even after she sprouted up to be now taller and thinner than me her physical appearance wasn't a top priority.

Jillian is proving to be more of a wild-child.  We kind of always knew she would be because for sisters they couldn't be more different.  Where Hannah wore too short jeans with white clunky socks and white sneakers, Jillian wants to wear her skinny jean jeggings tucked into her furry brown boots.  Never once did Hannah ever show interest in wearing makeup (and quite often yelling at me for putting all that processed crap on my eyes) whereas Jillian has started to ask if she could wear some.

This topic came up at my family's Thanksgiving where Sheri and the girls were not present.  I was speaking idly to my sister about how fast the girls are growing up, what with Hannah a freshman in college and Jillian asking if her mother would allow her to wear makeup.  One of my older cousins who has two girls, one a freshman in high school and the other just into elementary school piped up that she saw no harm in letting Jillian wear a little bit of lipgloss and some clear mascara.  That way she could feel as though she was putting on makeup but really it doesn't show up at all.  For the record both of her daughters wear makeup, the older one wearing eyeliner and mascara at least for the past two years or so, if not maybe three.  Lip gloss?  Sure.  I see no harm in that.  But mascara?  No.  Not at 11.  I quickly dismissed my cousin's suggestion of clear mascara and I said "No, absolutely not.  There is no reason why an 11 year old should be wearing makeup."

"Oh.  Thanks Jen.  Thanks for telling me how it should be."  She replied shortly.  It hadn't occurred to me until after that sentence was out of my mouth that she could interpret as me indirectly stating that I didn't think her children should be wearing makeup.  And for the record, no, I don't think they should.  The freshman in high school, that's one thing- but my younger cousin is 9....maybe 10.....or did she just turn 9?  And I don't know if she allows her to wear make up to school, but either the case may be, and I may be old fashion and to each their own, but I completely agree with Sheri when she says putting makeup on a girl that young is like telling them that they are not pretty enough on their own and they need makeup to make themselves better.  We believe it's a total self-esteem killer and a very slippery slope.  Honestly, what good is it to tell a child "Oh here's some mascara to put on your eyes, but it won't show up and no one but you will be able to tell, but at least you can feel like you're wearing makeup."  That makes zero sense to me.  And it may be a stretch but I'd equate clear makeup with marijuana being a "gateway drug".  It's a gateway to a young girl saying to themselves "this isn't good enough, I want the real thing."

Some of the girls in Jillian's grade are already wearing a face full of makeup. I'm sorry but I think that's just a poor decision on the parents' part.  Why on earth would you let your young child who's only in sixth grade out of the house looking like a miniature street walker?

There's the other side to Jillian though.  There's the tomboy in her who we have a difficult time getting to shower, or who just wants to wear sweatpants tucked into her boots to school, and who I actually have to force to put vaseline onto her chapped lips because she refuses to use chapstick.  She sat in my car on Sunday on the way home from  her father's house licking her lips and making them red around her entire mouth.  I offered her my chapstick and she snarled her lip and said "I don't like using that stuff."  Later that night she showed me the entire shelf she has of different scented body creams and sprays, a tube of glittery lotion, and all the different lipglosses she has but doesn't use.  So while she may be testing the water now on the whole wearing makeup thing, I don't think she's actually ready for it.  Which is good for us.  More so Sheri - she has already deferred any and all "girly" scenarios to me (clothes shopping, hair, makeup). Of the women I have met in Sheri's family all of them wear very little to absolutely no make-up.

Which brings me to a completely different topic.

I do not live with Sheri yet.  I obviously do not have a gigantic say in how the girls are raised and one could probably refer to me as an interloper.  I honestly don't know where I stand with Sheri and her children - I know she values my opinion while I'm there and I discipline and reprimand the girls.  I've been there to take Jillian to the emergency room when she's been extremely sick, I've been to every play, concert, and school event for both of them.  I've helped Jillian with homework and I went to parents' weekend at Hannah's college.  She introduces Sheri and me as "her parents".  Jillian will go back and forth to calling me her step-mom to almost step-mom and she tries to play Sheri and I together like any child would their parents.  If Sheri says no she asks me the same question hoping for a different answer.  I feel as though I have had some influence over their lives and I love them so intensely.  But I did not bare them, I have not been there since day one to raise them, and I am not part of the day-to-day interactions with them.  So at what point do other's consider me a parent?  Is it when I move it?  Is it when Sheri and I get married?  Why is there a stigma against step-parents that compartmentalize us into "not real parents"?

I ask that because my cousin's dismissive tone on Thanksgiving really bothered me.  Yes, she could have taken what I was saying as a slight against her parenting skill.  It wasn't, in the least.  Like I said, it didn't register that she could have taken it personally until after I said it.  But to say to me in the tone of what do you know, you're not a parent hurt, because while I am not their birth mother, I'd like to think that on some plane I am a step-mother.  So when does my opinion become valid?

Mystery Ride

“I have something planned for us when you stay here next week.  It’s going to be fuuuuuu-uuunnn!  Be prepared to get dirty and maybe a little wet.  And you’ll need a change of clothes”

Last week was our annual co-habitation when she takes her mother and youngest daughter down to her brother’s for a much needed break.  We had planned to go to the Poconos last Thursday to fish at the lake that Sheri grew up fishing on.  I got to thinking what’s around the Poconos that we’ve been wanting to do that I could get dirty doing that I’ll need a change of clothes.

“Zip-lining?” I asked.

“No.  More fun than that.”

What was more fun than zip-lining?  “White Water Rafting?”  

“Nooooo.”

That’s it, I was out of ideas.  Apparently I’m not that imaginative.  Those were the two things we’ve been talking about doing for years so I had no idea what else she had up her sleeve.  I took a stab in the dark, “Paintballing?”

“We’re not in an episode of Big Bang Theory, Jennifer.” 

I mulled over it for the rest of the week, bragging to my coworkers about how my awesome fiancé is going to surprise me with a Mystery Ride.  Fishing was then removed from our itinerary so we’d just be doing the thing I didn’t know we were going to do yet. 

I packed my bags on Wednesday to go up to the house for the next 5 days.  Our reservation was for 10:30 Thursday morning and the location was just about two hours away.  Sheri, for some ungodly reason, wanted to be awake at 5:45 to get ready.  We nestled into bed Wednesday night and I feel asleep quickly now that I have ear plugs that work (Thank GOD).  At some point in the middle of the night I woke up to be bed vibrating with her snoring.  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure that Sheri was still sleeping there and not some fire breathing dragon.  I would have normally tried to suffer through it at go back to sleep but not knowing what was in store for me that day I shooed her out to her daughter’s bed.

I am not used to sharing my bed with someone and as such I am not used to being woken up.  I’m dead asleep and all of a sudden I feel a hand grip my upper left arm.  Startled, I shouted and flailed about until I realized where I was.  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I yelled as I glanced at the clock.  5:47.

“Geett upp!!  Today’s the day!!!” She clapped excitedly.  “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Mmffff” was my response.  My head was already covered back with the pillow.  Awake so abruptly I couldn’t fall asleep so I got up, got dressed in my crappy clothes, and took her dogs for a walk.

We left early where her neighbor called across the front lawn to her “Remember you’re not 20 anymore!”  So this was going to be something physical.

We grabbed some breakfast at the deli where I was quizzing her about what we were doing.  “Is it just going to be us or a group of people?”

“We’ll be with a group.”

I hadn’t shaved that morning.  “Will anyone be touching me or grabbing my legs?”

“No.  No one will be seeing your legs but you.”

I paused and thought for a second, “is it kayaking?”

“Jennifer, you know me and water.  If I’m doing anything with water it has to be at least 80 degrees.”  She continued “It’s something I’ve wanted to do for years.  Last year was about you, this year I wanted to something fun that I want to do, too.”

Racking my brain I tried to think on our past conversations.  “Are we going off-roading?”

She smiled “Close.”

“ATVing?”  

Her smile got bigger as she nodded.  Her blue eyes flashed with childlike excitement.  I clapped and jumped up and down.  I wrapped my arms around her and lay my head on her shoulder and said “Aww baby.  I’ve been saying that we need to make memories and do something fun.  I’m excited, this will be awesome.”  

It took us just under two hours to get to The Lost Trails just past the Poconos in PA.  We were extremely early so we sat in the car and talked as we wondered what it’d be like.  We checked in and waited for them to bring the ATVs outside.  They lined up 5 green ATVs with a blue one in the front (for our guide) and Sheri clapped my leg and jiggled in her seat like a kid on Christmas morning.  It ended up being the guide, two teenagers, me, Sheri, and the teen’s father in the back.  I sat on the ATV and nervously looked at all the controls – I won’t lie and said I was a bit terrified and had NO idea what I was in for.

They gave us a quick rundown of the machines and then took us on the practice course so we could get a feel for the navigation.  I pretty much was scared out of my wits.  The second these monster wheels lurched over the small boulders I nearly lost control and ended up in a tree.  It was so much harder to steer than I was expecting and I felt like I was going to tip over.  To say it was rough was an understatement.  I was going so slow that I lost what direction the guide and the two kids in front of me went.  We were getting jostled all around and I tried to focus on staying straight and on the path but even over the roar of the engines and the helmet all I could hear was Sheri laughing behind me.  Less than a minute later we were off the practice course and our guide shouted “Alright follow me we’re going to the main trail!”

I breathed heavily, nervous, and thinking that I couldn’t possibly do this.  I was in over my head, and I was going to be flipping over my head!

I struggled to keep up as we drove up to the trail.  Sheri was shouting behind me “JENNIFER!  GO FASTER!”  I glanced behind me and she was right on my bumper while the guide and the teens were probably a ¼ mile in front of me.  I was so scared to go faster.  

We hit the trail again and we were bouncing everywhere.  It was a steep incline, my thumb kept slipping off the throttle, and I swear at one point I was over on two wheels.  This was the anti-fun.  I thought I was seconds away from rolling over and off the mountain and getting severely hurt.  Still, I focused on the path in front of me, trying to direct my ATV to the path of least resistance.

And then we hit our first mud puddle.  Being 4th in line allowed me to see were the drivers in front of me were going and when I saw the wave of dark muddy water rush up like a wave I got excited.  I gunned my throttle and hit the puddle head on and the cold murky water immediately soaked my shoes and splattered me up to my shoulders.  A second later I heard Sheri shriek and laugh as she hit the water and got just as dirty.  In that instant a smile spread across my face and I was all in.

There had been a storm the night before and there was a ton of flash flooding and run-off.  These “puddles” were sometimes over two feet deep and the ATVs smoked as we trudged through them.  The dirtier we got, the happier we were.  Surrounded by trees on both sides we trekked up the side of the mountain (I was fully aware of what goes up, must come down).  When we hit a smooth spot I’d look behind me and see Sheri smiling from ear to ear as she was getting rocked side to side.  

At the end of the trail we came to an 800 foot tunnel carved directly into the mountain that we plowed through water up to the bottom of the ATV.  The tunnel was pitch black except for the lights on our ATVs and probably 15 degrees cooler than the air outside.  The echo of the engines was deafening and I wanted to reach out and touch the wet, cool rock that surrounded us.  At the end we did a u-turn and headed back the way we came.

A little bit down the ways we pulled over to give us a break and walk around.  We took our helmets off and Sheri and I wandered a few feet away from the group to look around the woods.  It was so quiet you could hear a leaf crunch a hundred feet away.  We were awestruck and said we must do this again but in the fall where the mountain would be painted with gold, red, and orange.  

We drove back, making sure to hit every single mud puddle on the way back.  When we stopped we had mud covering our arms and legs and speckling the exposed part of our neck and faces despite the helmets.  Sheri was glowing and I was exhilarated.  

We took pictures and then on the way home stopped at American Candle in the Poconos where we both always shopped when we were younger.  Filthy and starving we ate at Red Robin where the only thing we talked about was the expedition and how we can’t wait to do that again.

The rest of the week our days were filled with preparing to take her oldest daughter to college on Saturday.  Friday we purchased new furniture for her bedroom and I made a delicious steak dinner where it was just the three of us.  Then her daughter had her best friend over where we made a fire and roasted s’mores.  My heart broke for her as she stared past the fire.  She was terrified of going to college and leaving her friends and the life she’s made for the past 18 years behind.  Her friend hugged her close and she put her head on his shoulder.  I scooted closer to Sheri as we swung gently and listened to the sounds of the crickets and katydids.  

Saturday we were on the road by 7:30 and it took us three hours to drive up to UMass.  Hannah kept saying “I’m going to throw up” and “blegh” the entire way.  We assured her she’d be alright once she settles in and finds a routine.  She’d respond with a whimper.  We pulled up to the college and she said “I wanna go home!” but then we saw college kids jumping up and down shouting “BAND CAMP!!”  She looked a little taken aback but maybe even comforted by seeing so many people who were welcoming the incoming freshman for band.  

We only had a few minutes to unpack her stuff and say goodbye, which was probably for the best.  Had it been more drawn out I know it would have been more emotional and I was struggling not to cry as it were.  I know she’s not biologically my child but I have seen her grow up and blossom into such a beautiful, intelligent, talented, and funny young woman.  I hugged her tight and we pulled away.  I looked at Sheri who was holding it together remarkably well and said “I miss Hannah already.”  

Saturday night Sheri and I were snuggled into bed watching Big Bang Theory and it was quiet.  I missed Hannah’s laugh and her spouting out the most random and useless facts.  I was also thanking my lucky stars that I happened to fall into this wonderful family who has welcomed me with open arms (once they found out about me).  I curled up next to Sheri and maybe it was because I was exhausted from the week, or maybe it was because I was so content, but I fell into a deep sleep.  Apparently so deep that Sheri even heard me snoring a little in the morning.  

We painted Hannah’s room and moved Sheri’s bedroom furniture in there in preparation for redoing her bedroom.  We’re painting, getting new carpet, and all new furniture.  And now when Hannah comes home from college she’ll have a real grown up bedroom (that she better keep clean.  I have already warned her).  

I went home Sunday afternoon and took a shower and sat on my couch.  I texted Sheri that I almost wanted to get back in my car and drive back up there.  I have enjoyed staying with her so much this past month that I think my fears of us living together are completely unfounded.  We have so much we want to do to make that house our home, and now knowing that I can sleep next to her and not want to smother her with a pillow is a big saving grace.  

I’m excited for what our next chapter holds.  I just want to hurry it up and have it be here already.

Labels

What is it about sexuality and gender that gets everyone all in a tizzy?  I often torment myself by reading the barbaric comments on equal rights articles about how people don’t want “gayness” shoved down their throats (no pun intended).  They often say “I don’t care what you do, just keep it in your bedroom”   or “Homosexuality is wrong, but I’m not a bigot because I have gay friends”. 

What I don’t understand is how people can actually think that in fighting for equal rights that we’re trying to shove our sexuality in their face.  Do those same people think twice about being on a date with their husband or wife?  Or just a mindless, autonomous gesture like a man putting his hand on his wife’s back to guide her through a door?  Or a woman being out with her child(ren) and it’s assumed that she has a husband at work while she runs errands?

And I’m guilty of it too.  I see a woman with a big wedding band on with a tot in tow and I automatically assume she has a husband.  Chances are I’m probably right but there are women with children who are married to another woman.  I have a friend from HS who had 3 children with a man and she is now married to a woman and they’re raising her children together.

Hell, people see Sheri and I walking side by side and 99.9% of the time they either think to themselves, or ask us if, we’re mother and daughter.  I don’t fault them for that necessarily, she is 17 years older than me and I do look suspiciously much like her oldest daughter (people mistake us for sisters a lot), but we laugh our awkward laugh and say no, we’re together.  And 100% of the time they stumble through an apology or give a knowing smile and nod. 

A friend of mine recently wrote an entry speaking about how uncomfortable she is with the label “lesbian” just because she is involved with another woman.  I have written about it here before and I feel the need to reiterate, not just to you, but to everyone I encounter. 

I do not like being called a lesbian because I am in a relationship with a woman. In fact, I detest it.  It’s really my family, from lack of understanding, who are determined to lump me into that category.  And maybe it’s easier for them when they’re talking to someone Oh yeah, I have a sister who is a lesbian or My sister is gay.  It’s the end of that conversation then, no further explanation is needed.  It’s understood that I’m attracted to girls.  But if they were to say I have a sister who is bisexual, there would be follow up questions.  I have explained to them and friends, TIME AND TIME AGAIN, that I define myself as bisexual.  Just because I am with a man does not make me straight, or if I am with a woman that does not make me a lesbian.  I am physically attracted to both men and women.  Sheri is the first woman I’ve been in a relationship with but is not the first woman I’ve encountered sexually.  

I knew I was different when I was 11.  I was watching “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” on VHS and I would pause and then run slow-mo through the scene where the chick strips on the diving board.  I desperately wanted to see her titties, although I didn’t know quite why.  My mother was in the kitchen and saw the scene on repeat about 5 times and yelled “JENNIFER!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” 

A few years later it was NYE, my parents and uncle & aunt were downstairs and I was up in my parents’ room watching “Showgirls”.  Remember that god-awful movie that Elizabeth Berkley did to break away from her good-girl image of Jessie from Saved by the Bell?  Yeah.  I apparently had no cinematic taste at 13 either but hell if it wasn’t hot.  I heard my father’s footsteps coming up the stairs and I switched over to National Geographic where they were doing some special on snakes.  He looked at me weird and hit the “last” button on the remote and it was the scene of her thrashing passionately in the pool.  Queue most embarrassing, stumbling, stuttering explanation ever.  It probably was as bad as a teenage boy caught masturbating by his mother.

Fast forward to my later teenage years when I had my first girl kiss (15), my first sexual encounter with a girl (also 15-not that I had ANY idea what I was doing) I kind of knew that I was into girls.  But I was also ENTIRELY boy crazy.  I had boyfriends left and right, throughout all of high school I was the “blow-job queen” (a nickname Sheri gave me when she learned of my love of giving BJs.  It’s a power thing).  I only lost my virginity at 18 but I was well experienced with how to handle the man-hood before that.  I was labeled a “dyke” the first month into my freshman year of high school.  And let me tell you, there was nothing more socially crippling than having seniors, who you have NO idea who the hell they were, calling you a dyke.  That’s probably why I made it such a point to be such a flirt with boys and pull out their junk any chance I could get, even if it were on a baseball field or in the woods somewhere.  I had to dispel those rumors and my reputation of being a slut be damned.  If I was a slut with boys, then I couldn’t possibly be into girls.

But I was.  I couldn’t deny that part of me no matter how hard I tried.  I finally became comfortable in my own skin when I went to college.  I started to accept the fact that I was attracted to other girls.  Hell, I was 20 and on my first date with my first real boyfriend when I proudly announced that I was bi (because I thought that was a turn on for guys-how naïve I was).  I explained to him, even though he didn’t ask, that I was only sexually attracted to girls.  I’d NEVER be in a relationship with one.  Oh God no, that was the worst thing I could have done.  I told him I needed to be the girl in the relationship and I could never deal with the cattiness and bitchiness of another girl.

Fast forward 3 years and I meet Sheri.  I fell for her emotionally before I did physically.  I needed to be around her, I needed her like she was a drug.  Our level of obsession with one another was unhealthy to say the least.  We look back on our behavior then and wonder who the hell those two people were.  But she opened me up to a world of possibilities that I never thought I’d even WANT to experience with another woman. 

But to call me a lesbian because I’m marrying a woman is no more less than me calling you Spanish if you’re from Brazil.  You’re not, so why would I call you that?

That’s what the majority of the population does not get in this country.  Everyone is so quick to throw a label on to something they don’t understand.  If a girl likes another girl she must be a lesbian.  If a boy likes another boy he must gay.  If you’re transgender then you’re just fucked up in the head.  There is no in-between, there is no all-inclusiveness.  We want to sort people into categories like they belong in a file cabinet.  No one can be two things, or all things.  And that drives me nuts, and makes me sad.

Don’t question my sexuality and what I identify with.  I don’t question yours, nor does yours have any effect on mine.  So the next time you say keep your preferences in the bedroom I’ll remind you that you don’t keep yours there, so why should I?  

Desperate Times Calls For Desperate Measures

“Oh my God, this road is horrible!”

I pressed my nose to the cracked window sucking in fresh air.  Sheri was barreling down the Saw Mill Parkway which is a lengthy two lane highway running through New York full of S-curves.  I was on the verge of seeing spots in front of my eyes I was getting so car sick.  Sweat was starting to pool in the small of my back and I wrenched off my sneakers and socks to try to cool my rising body temperature.

“Aarrruugghhh.  I’m getting sticky.  I hate this road!  I am about to be sick!” 

Sheri was howling with laughter in the driver seat.  “You look like a dog.”

I wiped my clammy palms across her face in retaliation.

We were only about 40 minutes into our three-and-a-half-hour journey up to Massachusetts to take an official tour of the college Hannah, her oldest daughter, was 99.9% sure she would be attending this fall.  I am always Sheri’s co-pilot on road trips as she has absolutely no sense of direction whatsoever.  I am responsible for reading out directions and giving her a heads up of our next move.  “We only have 4 more miles on this road, thank God.”

I kept the window open to let the cool air wash over my face as I focused on taking deep cleansing breaths.  Hannah and her friend Vince were in the backseat watching a movie, equally amused by my churning stomach. 

I couldn’t help but laugh myself.  I was playing it up quite a bit because I will do anything to make Sheri laugh, even if it is at my own expense. 

We had been looking forward to this weekend since we booked it.  Sheri and I had our own room while she was allowing Hannah to room with Vince. 

I addressed the moppy-haired boy in the back seat.  “You know Vince, I’m actually surprised your parents let you come.  My parents would have never let me go away with a boy when I was your age.”

“That’s because I had a long discussion with them,” Hannah answered for him.  She spoke for him a lot that weekend.  “I knew when I asked Mom that the only reason she said yes was because she thought his parents would say no.  And the only reason Vince said yes was because he thought his parents would say no, so I went directly to the source and laid out every reason why he should have been able to come.”

“So you got exactly what you wanted,” I said.  Sheri and I exchanged knowing smiles.  “I have NO idea where she got that from.”

Sheri smiled broadly. “I don’t know, either.  Certainly not from me.”

The rest of the trip was uneventful.  The rest of the roads weren't too twisty so my stomach stayed exactly where it should have been.  Sheri was checking us into our hotel while Hannah, Vince, and I attacked the fresh made cookies.  The girl behind the desk handed her the two sets of room keys.  Sheri asked “They’re both identical rooms, right?”  The girl smiled and answered her yes.

“Wait.  You mean to tell me that you booked two rooms with a king size bed?  You are allowing them to share a bed??”

Hannah bluntly point out “Jennifer, he’s gay.  And if I were going to sleep with him I would have done it the six months he was my boyfriend.”  

Sheri piped in while walking towards the elevator half addressing me, half addressing the women behind the desk.  “Yeah, and she’s on the pill.  But if I become a grandmother in nine months she has a lot of explaining to do!”

My eyes grew wide as I exclaimed in disbelief “SHERI!”  I wanted to die from embarrassment. 

I want to do that a lot.

The elevator doors closed behind us and she said “What?”

“I can’t believe you said that!”

She laughed as she does when she knows her words flew past what little filter she has.  “I’ll apologize to them when we leave for dinner.” 

Before we entered our rooms I shook my finger at both of them “There is to be NO hanky panky.  And you never know when we’ll come barging in.  Mark my words!”

I don’t particularly trust that a teenage boy is 100% gay when he has a hotel room and a king sized bed with a teenage girl.

Our room closed and I smiled seductively at Sheri and threw my arms around her neck.  I surveyed the room and appreciated having a king sized bed and a pull-out couch.  I knew that if Sheri was snoring too badly I had some place to escape to, unlike the prior weekend.

The prior weekend was Sheri’s birthday and she surprised me by sleeping over after I was badgering her I’ve been in my apartment for two-and-a-half years and she only slept over once.  The novelty quickly wore off when we couldn’t get comfortable in bed and her snoring had me up at 1:30 in the morning grabbing my pillows and fan to retreat to the couch in the living room.

This weekend was supposed to be a do-over, complete with kinky hotel sex!

We traveled a couple of miles down the road into the nearby town to find a restaurant.  It was a bustling college down with shops and restaurants lining both sides of the streets.  We couldn’t find parking in the lot by the restaurant we wanted to eat in so we proceeded to drive around the city block.  Three times.  We ended up right back where we were.  Sheri pulled into the lot that had valet parking and started talking to the attendant.  The three of us climbed out of the car waiting for Sheri to get her ticket.  She started to walk away when the guy called after her puzzled “Hey….are you going to park your car?” 

She scrambled back and said apologetically “Sorry, we’re from Jersey.  When I see a sign for valet parking I assume that it means you’ll park the car for me.”

The young guy chuckled and said “Yeah, it means the same thing here.  Except it doesn’t say “valet”, it says “validate.”

She burst out laughing and I just shook my head.  When she parked the car and was running down the lot still laughing I took her hand and lovingly said “You’re so dumb.”

Dinner was delicious in the bustling quaint steakhouse.  We had Hannah take our picture (the one I posted) to celebrate it being seven years since our first kiss.  We had to take about six different pictures because in order to get Sheri to actually smile I have to pinch her otherwise she looks frightened.

We went back to the hotel were we said goodnight to Hannah and Vince.  Sheri turned on the shower and we slipped in together.  I do think we may be the only couple in the history of couples that when I say we shower together, I mean we only showered!  Majority of the shower is one of us vying for a spray of hot water or getting soap on the other when it’s already been rinsed off.  The most sound you’ll hear out of one of our joint showers is laughter or Sheri howling that the tile is cold against her backside as she shimmies past me. 

It’s the events after the shower that you have to watch out for.

I slipped into my lacy pink negligee that I brought for the occasion and climbed on top of her.  There was no foreplay.  It had been nearly a month since the last time we had sex and I wanted to get right down to business.  And we did.

And it was an epic fail.

My part was fine.  It was great.  But I’m not difficult.  But when it came time to Sheri it was a little more precarious.  Her stomach hurt and she kept telling me not to jostle her too much, and I felt that her mind wasn’t in the moment but rather on her youngest child who was back home and sick.  I was in a groove and going along great but then my arm cramped up and started to burn.  We got into another position but after a while she tore away from me and said “It’s not gonna happen.”  Frustrated and tired with my arm muscles on fire I got up from bed and put on my pajamas. 

That night Sheri’s snoring wasn’t horrible.  It was on the lower side of the decibel chart but I still couldn’t sleep.  I took two Advil PM to try to help me sleep but all it did was make me loopy because I could not fall asleep.  The pillows were uncomfortable, I was either too hot or too cold, and every time I laid on my right side my arm would ache.  I somehow got about 4 hours of total sleep and I knew Friday night I’d hopefully be so tired I’d just pass out.

Except on Friday after the tour of the college we were supposed to head two hours east to the Boston suburbs to see another college on Saturday.  When we woke up Friday morning I flipped on the news and saw all that had happened in Boston and Watertown in the middle of the night.  Knowing that where we were going was maybe only 30 minutes away I grew very nervous and anxious.  All throughout the day I kept checking my phone for updates and even argued with Sheri that if this guy wasn’t caught by Friday afternoon we should reconsider going to Boston.

But of course I’m engaged to an Aries.  My fears were waved away with her hand as an overreaction.  “We’ll be fine.  What, do you think the bomber is checking into the Hilton?”

“Nooo, but the Hilton is right off the highway that runs right into Watertown!  What if they don’t get him?  What if he escapes?  What is to say he’s even still there?  I just don’t think it’s smart to have us to right into harm’s way!”  I have inherited my mother’s theatrics.  She was so worried about me she told me to stay in Amherst and she’d drive up to get me.  Now that worried I was not.

Both Sheri and Hannah rolled their eyes at my concerns.  Sheri is the type of person that if the bomber were standing in front of her with a bomb strapped to his chest she’d yell at him to get out of her way. 

Mid-afternoon, after the tour of the campus, and after this guy still hadn’t been found, we started to head east.  I had my feet up on the dash and my gaze on the passing landscape.  Sheri’s hand was resting on my left leg with her thumb making small strokes.  Every time I glanced at her she tried to give me a small reassuring smile.  Exhausted and feeling stubborn, I set my mouth in a hard line and looked back out the window.

We checked into the hotel and made our way to our rooms and to meet for dinner at 6.  Sheri said she was going to lay down for a bit and that if I woke her up before 5:15 she’d smother me with a pillow.  I said good, that maybe if she did that I’d get some sleep!

We both laid down and I sank into the bed.  I closed my eyes for a few minutes and tried to let my tension out of my body.  We made it safe to the hotel.  Authorities were pretty sure the guy was still in Watertown so I focused that it wasn’t like he was going to just randomly walk into the lobby and blow us up.  I didn’t fall asleep but I rested.  I let Sheri sleep a bit longer and I went to take a scalding hot shower and let the water pound my shoulders. 

I felt better, I felt a little more level headed.  We set out to find a restaurant.  I wanted to eat at the one we had eaten at twice in the past; I liked the ambiance and the food.  It was a wine bar with cool hanging glass pendant lighting and high bar tables.  Sheri, however, was not a fan of the restaurant and voted that we were not going to eat there.  She wanted to travel down the road to find something else.  “Sheri,” I said, “You did this last time.  We’ve been down this road.  .  We know there’s nothing down here.”

“You don’t know,” she answered defiantly.  “Maybe something has sprung up in the past six months.”

I just looked at her as she travelled down the road towards Wellesley.  After about three or four miles I glanced around.  The houses were getting smaller and closer together and I knew we were heading closer to the outskirts of Boston.  “Umm, we need to turn around before we end up facing a road block!”

She made the next right into a main street in search for a place to turn around.

 “Ok tur….”  

“That’s a one way”

“How about here….”

“Missed it”

“Oh my God Sheri just turn around!”  I laughed as she kept driving past roads. 

She looked around wildly.  “I have no idea where I am!” 

“Just hang a right here.  We’ll then at least be parallel with the road we were on.”  A little ways down the road “Umm…you should just try to get back to where we were on the main road.”

“Oh for the love of Pete!”  She exclaimed as she turned around in someone’s short driveway. 

We finally made it back to the little down of Dedham and found a hibachi place to eat.  We were seated where our waiter was so kind to keep us abreast of the developing situation.  Every time he came to refill our drinks “There were shots fired!”  “Oh they got the guy!”  “They got him cornered!”  “Yep, he’s dead.”

Only he wasn’t.  He wasn’t even captured at that point.  But I rested back a little knowing that we were out of danger.

We went back to the hotel where we were going to call it an early night.  Sheri got into bed and started reading her book, I was absentmindedly watching TV.  I glanced over to her and was determined to make up for the night before. 

I positioned myself carefully on top of her and gave her little kisses on her cheeks, then the corner of her mouth.  We worked up to deep, passionate kissing.  I put on our toy and eased myself into her, moving slowly at first.  I flexed and rotated my hips while our tongues intertwined.  My hands gripped at her hair and focused on her breathing and matched my movements to her rhythm.  Her hands grabbed a handful of my flesh and she pushed me deeper into her.  I gripped the top of the mattress to give myself leverage as I quickened my pace.  With my legs I beckoned hers to open wider to give me deeper access as she closed her eyes and arched her back.

She flipped me over to climb on top and slowly rocked back and forth.  My nails scratched down her back and my mouth sought the curve where her neck meets her shoulders and I gave her little playful bites.  She breathed into my ear “Spread em” and I opened my legs wider and arched my hips up, giving her more resistance when she slammed down onto me.

I felt her slow down, she was taking deep breaths and making circles with her hips.  I whispered against her skin “you’re such a tease.”

And with that she growled “Arrrggghhhh!  Nooo!  Damnit!!”  Her body shuttered as an orgasm surprised her.  She wasn’t able to get the motion going that she needed to make it as intense as it could be.  “I slowed down so I could readjust!  And then you had to say something!”

She rolled off of me and threw her hands up in the air.  “What a waste!”

I went into the bathroom to clean up and we crawled into bed.  I turned on the fan, put the pillow over my head, and prayed to fall asleep before Sheri started to sound like a buzz saw.  She, of course, was asleep in a matter of seconds.  Her breath started to get heavier and louder and I pulled the pillow down over my head tighter and I tried to focus on the whirring sound of the fan and counted sheep.

By some Grace of God I was able to fall asleep rather quickly.  But it didn’t last.  A little over two hours later I woke up with a start coughing a deep, chest rattling cough.  I had to pee so I stumbled blindly to the bathroom where Sheri’s snores assaulted my ears through the wall.  I tried to keep my eyes closed so I didn’t start to wake up more and felt my way back into bed.  Somehow, those few minutes was enough to wake me up enough that it was near impossible to fall back to sleep.  Sheri sounded like she was being strangled she was snoring so loud and I flopped from position to position extra violently to try and jostle her to shift.

The problem was I was wide awake.  I couldn’t get comfortable, my right arm was still sore, I was either too hot with the covers on or too cold with them off, and let’s not forget I had someone lying next to me that sounded like a piece of gurgling machinery.  After about an hour and a half of struggling to go back to sleep and waking Sheri 3 times to get her to roll onto her side (which made not a lick of difference) I started to go crazy.  I was exhausted and I wasn’t going to fall asleep in this bed.

In a sleepy haze I tore out of bed and threw our suitcases off of the couch.  I knew I shouldn’t because God knows what was on those cushions, but I thought if I could make a bed for myself in the bathroom maybe I’d get some sleep.  I surveyed the floor and there wasn’t a whole lot of room to work with.  I wanted to close the door and the area that gave me the most room would be under the vanity which ran the entire length of the wall.  I put the cushions on the floor and they were a lot smaller than I thought, my entire body would not fit on them but I thought I could curl up small enough to fit.  I eased underneath the vanity and was very careful not to smack my head on the metal toilet paper holder that jutted from the bottom of the sinks.  Knowing that would be a recipe for disaster seeing as once I turned the light out it would be pitch black in there I decided to rethink this plan.  I didn’t want to put my head so close to the toilet but that would have been the best option so I didn’t jolt up and do any damage.  I put the two cushions on the tile floor, surrounded them with pillows, and stood back to admire my handy work.  I thought about taking a picture and posting it to facebook of my makeshift bed with the caption Desperate times calls for desperate measures.  I gingerly laid down and not sooner than 5 seconds later the cushions spread apart from the slippery tile and my hip was on the floor.  I stared into the dark in crazed frustration and shimmied down so one cushion was on the rug of the room and the other cushion was still on the tile floor.  As I tried to adjust I thought of Sheri getting up in the morning and just seeing my legs jutting out into the room and wondering if I fell.

I stood up and turned on the light to survey my other options.  I considered the bathtub but that was out since the faucet was dripping.  And then I considered moving the cushions into the hallway and trying to sleep there.

A desperate growl ripped from my throat as I grabbed the cushions off the floor and threw them back onto the couch.  In the light peeking through the curtains I saw Sheri’s silhouette on the bed.  She was blissfully asleep, on her back, snoring through a quart of wood.  My eyes flashed to the clock that read 4:00 and I shrieked “Sheri!” 

“What??”  She startled awake and looked at me confused.  I was standing over her with crazy eyes and a pillow clenched in my fists.  I considered smothering her with it. 

I thrusted the pillow towards her.  “Put this under your head.  You are snoring so loudly I tried to go to sleep in the bathroom!”

She laughed sleepily and took the second pillow.  “Come here,” she opened her arms to me.  “Come lay by me.” 

Defeated I flopped back into bed and she turned to face me and ran her hand up and down my side.  “Was I snoring that loud?”  In the darkness of the room she saw the look I flashed her and she smiled, pulling me into her.  “I’m surprised you didn’t try to sleep in the hallway.”

“I seriously considered it,” I said dryly.  I snuggled closer to her.

“You need to get some sleep babe,” she said with her eyes closed.  She was already drifting off again.

“I know.”  I shifted, trying to get comfortable.  Her breathing was already heavy, but not snoring, and I thought if she keeps this up maybe I can fall asleep.  It took me a while because I was listening to her, waiting for that sound to be emitted from her side, but it never came.  She just breathed heavily and steady.  I pulled the comforter closer to my chin and somehow fell back to sleep for another few hours.

On Saturday after we saw the other college campuses (And panhandled money from people on the street for parking) we headed back home.  I was so exhausted that night that I didn’t even make it until 9:30 before crawling into my bed who I felt welcomed me with open arms.  She texted me I hate that we sleep like crap together.  I do too.  I still say that with more practice it’ll get better.  More practice, and enough tranquilizer to put down an elephant.

Valentine's Day

Our relationship has always been a see-saw.  We feed off of each other’s energy and more often than not my mood is based on hers when we’re together.  If she’s stressed and quiet I am very on edge and over compensate for the silence which ends up bugging her even more.  If she’s happy and jubilant I am more at ease and relaxed.  When she laughs there is no better sound in the world.

I wanted to see Sheri for Valentine’s Day dinner.  Crazy of me, right?  I didn’t want an expensive dinner, I didn’t want anything lavish or extravagant.  I actually just wanted to sit at the bar of our normal restaurant, have a cocktail or two, and put my feet up on her chair while her fingers make lazy circles on my ankles. 

What did I end up doing?

Playing Sims all night reenacting that scenario. 

The prior Wednesday night was the North Jersey regional choir concert that her oldest daughter was talented enough to be a part of.  We sat on the auditorium as hundreds of the states most talented HS singers joined their voices in harmony.  She sat on my right and cried at a song called “Music in My Mother’s House” because she said Hannah fills my house with music.  On the way home we were laughing so hard we were crying because we passed a sign for Supermarket Bingo and we started calling out Iceberg Lettuce, 23.  Oranges, 69.  Bread, 5.  Each time we called out a food Sheri’s laughter only got harder to the point she couldn’t breathe.  I sat there listening to her laugh and appreciated it the same way as when Hannah was on stage singing.  To me there’s no sound more beautiful.

That feeling went to pot early Valentine’s Day morning when Sheri said to me on my way to work “I REALLY don’t want to go out tonight.  Do you know what the restaurants are going to be like?”

So I said “So come down by me. “

And I got her typical response “No, I have to work early.”

I am so.damned.tired of that response.  If I didn’t hear those 6 words ever again in my life it would be too soon. 

I sat at work all morning glancing over my shoulder for that moment when our girl at the front desk would round the corner with that huge green and brown box from Pro-Flowers.  Every Valentine’s Day Sheri has always sent flowers to my job.  As the hours ticked by it was lunch time and I had a fleeting thought Maybe she’ll surprise me at work with flowers and take me to lunch.  THAT would be romantic.  When she texted me at 12:30 that she was out of her real estate class and having chick-fil-a for lunch I said Well, there goes that idea.  When she asked what idea I told her I thought maybe she’d surprise me for lunch and she said That thought never crossed my mind.

Apparently I responded.

Please stop getting caught up in the meaning of today.  I love you.  I don’t need valentine’s day to say that.  I would rather surprise you with roses when you least expect them.

I’m not hard to please.  Want to know how easy I am?  She emailed me at work later yesterday afternoon.  I was silently fuming when these huge red words popped up on my screen.  All she said was I LOVE YOU.  That’s it.  And that made me ridiculously happy.  An email.  See?  I don’t ask for much.

Driving home that night I wondered if I’d come home to a surprise in my apartment.  I slowly opened my door hoping she’d be sitting on my couch, or that there would be a surprise waiting for me.  Nope.  Nada.  She’s done that in the past.  I’ve come home and there would be flowers sitting on my kitchen table.  Or remember when out of the blue she drove down and put a two-dozen carton of Cadbury Crème eggs in my fridge? 

I called her that night and debated on whether or not to say something.  I ended up saying in a non-confrontational tone “I’m very surprised and a little disappointed I didn’t get anything today.”  I knew that she would have a bouquet of flowers delivered to her work the next day with a thoughtful note that I wrote and I didn’t get anything.  I have been struggling since the death of my father and thought she would take that into account.  Sometimes I feel like she treats me like an obligation rather than a priority.

And to compound on that neglected feeling we both had Tuesday off from work.  I had taken off as we were going to take another trip up to Massachusetts to look at another college but that has been pushed back.  Whenever we have a day off at the same time the wheels start turning in my head of what fun things we can do together.  She completely burst my bubble when she immediately shot down that idea because she had “things she has to do.  She has to do laundry and it’s her only day off and the girls don’t have school…”  I bit my lip in aggravation as I knew fighting with her about it would be pointless.  I responded “You know, this is the same exact situation that we had back in July.”

I went through the next day still wallowing in my hurt when I decided to try and salvage the situation.  I decided that when I saw her Saturday that I would make it a romantic dinner at a private table for two.  I was made even happier when she texted me early Saturday saying that she would come down Tuesday and spend a part of the day with me.  That made me so ridiculously happy.  I got my apartment ready and the wonderful smells filled every corner.  I had the brilliant idea minutes before she showed up to make it a candle light dinner with soft music in the background.  I arranged tea lights in the shape of a heart as the centerpiece.  I knew I was corny but it made me happy.  I heard her walking up the stairs and opened the front door for her and motioned into the apartment “Your table for two is ready.” 

She was standing with a beautiful bouquet of roses and lilies and smirked “You didn’t think I would show up empty handed, did you?”  As I ushered her into the kitchen she saw the heart made of candles and laughed and kissed me and said “You’re so stupid!” 

I took the flowers and put them in a red vase and they were placed in the center of the table.  The music channel broadcasting songs as instrumental variations flowed through the apartment as we sat and our filet mignon and I sipped my red wine.  Dinner, as per usual, was delicious and she went into the bathroom to wash up after a long day of work. 

I took advantage of those few minutes to quickly strip out of my clothes and slip on a red satin negligée that has hearts covered my chest.  I put the candle center piece on my dresser and laid across my bed in a sultry pose waiting for her to get out of the shower.  When she entered my room I kneeled up and gestured towards the candles and said “My heart burns for you baby,” and giggled as I pulled her on top of me.

Her hands slipped over my negligée and made short work of removing my underwear as I positioned myself on top of her.  I sat up as her hands rested on my hips and slowly removed the rest of my outfit and flung it somewhere across the room.  We kissed deeply as my fingers began to explore her as I trailed my tongue down her belly to taste her.  When I came back up I positioned my body over hers as we simultaneously pleasured one another to bring her to her first very loud climax. 

After we caught our breaths she flipped me on to my back and did very quick work with her tongue to make sure that my own orgasm wasn’t far behind hers.  She rested her head on the inside of my thigh and waited for me to regain my composure while her fingers were drawing circles on my belly.  After a while she started up again and made my back arch off my bed, hands clench at my sheets, and toes curl. 

She crawled up my body and I curled up into her nook.  Our legs were tangled together while her hand was tracing up and down my side.  I rubbed my nose into her neck which causes her to pinch up her shoulders and squeal out from getting goosebumps.  After lying like that for a while I started softly kissing her again knowing full well what I was doing.  She protested at first since she is very much like a man, she’s one and done.  Very, very rarely will she achieve more than one orgasm.  I didn’t want her leaving any time soon so I laid on top of her and gave her quick kisses until they started to become more exploring.  She breathed out that it probably wouldn’t happen but her legs opened anyways.  I dipped a finger inside, and then a second.  I moved slowly and deeply until my motions became quicker.  She reached down to touch me and less than a minute later I felt her tense beneath me and release in waves.  I trailed little kisses along her collar bone and smiled against her skin.  “Happy Valentine’s Day to me,” she grinned, eyes still closed and head tilted back.

Yes, Happy Valentine’s Day indeed.

Joseph Victor - 4/19/43-1/15/13

It comes as no surprise to anyone who follows us on facebook that I lost my father in the early hours on Jan 15th. His death came quickly, unexpected really. He started bleeding continuously after his surgery in the beginning of January, before that really, and we were frustrated that no one could give us solid answers as to why. His surgeons said it was from the cancer whereas his oncologist said it was from the surgery.

It was a moot point at the end of the day because bottom line was he was bleeding, they couldn't stop it, and his bone marrow stopped producing red blood cells to replenish what he was losing.

On my way to work on Friday the 11th my mother called me to say that they were making the decision to stop all treatments. An ultrasound revealed the cancer had spread to his liver and that his pelvic area was so damaged that there was nothing they could do to stop the bleeding because he wouldn't heal. His body had started to blow up with water and he wasn't even able to stand on his legs anymore. I sat in my work parking lot as her words of "He will only have days to weeks left" echoed through my head. I walked blinded by tears into my office and straight into my boss's office. He took one look at my face and without hesitation jumped up from his chair and pulled me into his arms. He cradled me as he would one of his children as I heaved sobs into his chest as I choked out that my father only would have days left. He told me to leave, to be with my father and take the following week off to spend with my family. I nodded my head in understanding then had the painful job of filling in my co-workers.

I left minutes later racing for the hospital trying to compose myself. I did not want my father to see me this upset, it would have scared him. I walked into my father's hospital room and plastered a smile on my face as I greeted him warmly, he was pleasantly surprised to see me there as it was a work day. I gave him the weak excuse that my boss was generous enough to let me off for that day and all of the next week so I could spend it with him. He never questioned and looked at me with his kind brown eyes and took my words at face value. The following hours were a blur of meeting with a palliative care doctor, a hospice nurse, and residents who had the unfortunate job to come into the room, ask him the same bullshit questions of "How do you feel today?"

In a family meeting room down the hall with my two sisters and my mother we met with the palliative care doctor who was so very kind but delivered what we all feared, that it will most likely be a few days rather than weeks. What would happen is he would slowly bleed out, he would become very tired and maybe a little confused until he fell asleep and then would never wake up.

She left us in the room to process and grieve separate from my father while she went to talk to him about it. He had to sign a DNR and agree that he didn't want to be put on a respirator or have CPR performed. She came back and had said that she explained to my father what exactly what was happening, what he was facing, and asked him if he wanted to be resuscitated. At that point, there would be nothing to resuscitate him for. His quality of life was gone and all that would happen is they would prolong the inevitable and make all of us suffer to see him on breathing machines. She said he said he understood and had agreed to sign a DNR. Later while just my sister Maria and I were in the room he asked us "So what did you take away from your meeting with Dr. ****?"

I glanced nervously at Maria and she calmly asked "What did you think she was saying?"

He said "Well, she asked if I wanted CPR and for them to pump on my chest. I absolutely want that. I want a second chance."

I had to dip my head down below the bed and bite my tongue to stop the tears. Maria continued and asked what he thought that would do to us, to see him on breathing machines and how that would scare us. He thought about it for a second and said unconvinced, "Yeah, I guess so."

A few uncomfortable minutes passed before he spoke again. He told us of a "dream" he had been having for a few days. The weather here had been so cold and cloudy every single day that my father hadn't seen the sun in days. He had been in the hospital for nearly three weeks and hadn't breathed in any fresh air. He described that he sees back at The Land (land where his family grew up) the open field where the large pond is. He said it's sunny and warm and he can hear the fountain rippling the water. There is a flat rock on one end of the pond and he told us that he can see Jesus on that rock and he sees himself kneeling in front of him. He said "But he doesn't say anything or reach out to me. I don't think he wants me yet."

"How do you feel when you're kneeling in front of Jesus?" Maria asked in silent awe.

My father tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Warm. And calm."

In my head I thought He sees Jesus. He may not be reaching out to him yet, but he will soon.


We were there for hours on Friday and every day until he died. On average I spent close to 9-10 hours a day with him as did my mother. Both my sisters were there as much as they could be and my brother too. On Saturday morning I packed up my suitcase with enough clothes to stay a week at my mothers and blindly packed outfits for a wake and funeral. Saturday night my oldest sister Ruthann and I had a wonderful idea that his diabetes be damned, we are going to cook one hell of a meal for my father and give him whatever he wants. We filled him with cake, and peppermint hot chocolate, I made him fillet mignon and he had his favorite mint chocolate chip ice cream. I rubbed his swollen feet and calves while Ruthann washed his hair and rubbed his shoulders.

I had purchased him a laptop so those last few days he was able to skype with his family, he was able to see his grandchildren and it made him so unbelievably happy. When we left the hospital at night we would all conference call and skype when we got home. I stayed with my mother every night and took care of her and my brother spent Saturday night with my father. He never really understood what was going on, maybe he did on some level but my father did.not.want.to.die. He swore he'd be fine, he'd start crying and say he wanted 20 more years, he had moments of being so angry that this cancer was killing his body.

But he still smiled, and joked, and laughed. He wasn't alone for a second. We never let a moment go by without telling him how much we loved him, or how he kind and generous and gentle he was. How he always showed us, even if he never could understand it, undying love and selflessness. He was constantly touched, and hugged, and kissed.

One night as I was holding his hand I asked him if he could comprehend how much he was loved and he point blankly said "No, I don't think I know how to love."

I said "Daddy, how can you even say that? Everything you have ever done has been out of love!"

And he told me again the story of some girl who broke up with him back in the 60's and she said "Joe, you don't know how to love." And that has stuck with him even after 40 years of marriage and 4 devoted children. I told him "Don't you DARE let some insignificant person who has had no impact on your life whatsoever taint what you are. You are the model of generosity and love. Never, and I mean never have I ever doubted a day in my life that you didn't love us." And I was angry in that moment, angry at that young girl who said something so casually that stuck with my father until the day he died.

I got to the hospital late Monday morning. Ruthann had been there already and helped him eat a hearty breakfast but she said he quickly went to sleep afterwards and hadn't really woken up too much since then. She was exhausted and said she was going to go home and nap for a few hours and then come back later. My mother was speaking with doctors and my father was having his colostomy bag changed. He was being futzed with and in his weakened state that took a toll on his body. After the stoma nurse left the temp in my father's room started to climb. I was holding his hand and his body started shaking and he looked at me with such panic in his eyes. Because of his body swelling with the water he was on oxygen and found it very hard to catch his breath.

Between the way he was shaking, his breathing, and the unresponsiveness of his eyes I knew at that moment that we could maybe only have hours left. Patrick wasn't due to get to the hospital until after work, Maria wasn't planning on coming at all that day, and Ruthann had just left to go home. My father's right hand gripped tightly on to mine while he started shaking uncontrollably and I had to even my breathing to remain calm. He was starting to gasp for air and I had to sooth him by reminding him to take deep breaths in through his nose where the oxygen was and out through his mouth. My mother came back into the room and I told her in a harsh whisper to tell everyone to get there NOW. There was no way in hell that his children weren't going to be here to say their last goodbyes. I called his nurse trying to hide my panic and told her that we needed something to calm him down immediately.

My father closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. I kept repeating over and over softly that he was alright, we were here with him, and he just had to focus on taking deep breaths in and out. He kept repeating "I'm Ok...I'll be fine....I'll be fine.....I'll be fine..." His nurse came to give him some morphine which helps take away the need to gasp for air. What seemed like hours but was probably just minutes after getting the morphine his body stopped shaking and his breathing became more even. He slowly fell asleep as I stroked his hair and kissed his forehead.

Maria and Ruthann showed up soon after that. My father never really did wake up. Sometimes he'd have a few seconds of lucidness where he'd talk with us but for the most part he just slept. My mother put down the arms of the bed and snuggled into his neck. He'd smile and tilt his head closer to hers and they'd lay there for a few minutes like that. Patrick showed up at 4 PM with his overnight bag in tow. My father didn't even open his eyes when Patrick bounded into the room, seemingly unbelieving that I called them here with the knowledge that this would be the last time we'd see him alive. We took our turns while he was sleeping to reassure him that we would take care of Mom, that soon he would be whole, that soon he would feel the sun. While my mother and Patrick were skyping with his daughters I had tried to hug my father as best as I could. With my ear right next to his mouth he whispered to me "Take care of them, keep the family together." I cried "I will Daddy, I promise."

We were comforted knowing that my brother was going to be there. Eventually Maria went home, Ruthann stayed with mom that night so I could go home and take care of my cat. I didn't want to leave but Patrick was shuffling me out of the room. I draped myself over my father for one last hug and he weakly lifted his right arm to wrap around me and pat my back. I kissed his forehead and promised him that I will see him in the morning and that I loved him so incredibly much. With me standing on his left side and my brother holding his right hand he said in his best gruff voice "I'm staying here tonight Pops so you won't be alone." His voice caught and I saw tears well up in his eyes as he continued "No, you will never be alone."

I hugged my brother tight and whispered "Thank you." Thank you for stepping up like none of us could. We all knew that he would die that night.

When I got home I cried to Sheri until I cried myself to sleep. I wanted to take some advil PM but I knew that I would be woken up in the middle of the night.

Around 4 in the morning I woke up with a start. I glanced at the clock with apprehension and saw the time and thought "Maybe I was wrong." I got up to pee and that's when it happened. My phone started ringing and I saw it was Ruthann. I answered "He's gone, isn't he." It wasn't a question. It was a matter of fact.

"Yeah, it just happened. PJ was holding his hand."

"Ok," I exhaled. "I love you. We'll get through this."

After we hung up the phone I immediately called Sheri who groggily picked up the phone. I choked out "He's gone." A text came through from Ruthann that said she and mom were going up to the hospital to see him one last time. I was torn. I wanted to go and be there for them, but I didn't want to see my father like that. I didn't want to see his shell. I went back and forth in a short struggle. Sheri said "I couldn't do it with Doreen. I couldn't go there after."

I made a decision. I would go because that's what Dad would do. He never would have left our sides and he would have been there for us when we took our last breath. And I promised him that I'd see him in the morning.

So at 5 in the morning I drove to the hospital. I was there in a matter of minutes and I was amazed that not one person questioned why I was walking through the halls at such an ungodly hour. Maybe it was my haggard look or my tear stained face. I got to my father's room and took a deep breath before slowly opening the door. My brother rose to his feet and glided across the room to wrap me in a hug. I again whispered "Thank you for being here."

I don't think I could ever truly express my gratitude to him.

I glanced at my father's body lying on the bed just as I had left him a few hours earlier. I tentatively touched his arm and relaxed when I found it to still be soft and warm. "He died around 4:50" my brother's voice said from behind me.  "It was very peaceful.  His breath started to get shallower and slower around 4.  He breathed out, and then just never took another breath in."

I nodded in understanding and offered him a weak smile when I said for the upteenth time "I'm so glad he wasn't alone."

We started to collect his things when the door opened and his doctor walked in.  He looked crestfallen as he strode towards me with his arms opened wide and embraced me.  "I'm so sorry," he said in his thick polish accent.

I cried softly and managed to say "I wanted you to be wrong."

"Believe me, so did I."

I sat down on the bench in his room and watched him look over my father's body.  He lightly touched his forehead, his arm, and then I saw something that I never thought I'd see a doctor do....he blessed him.  I marveled in the light way he made the sign of the cross on my father's chest before he looked up at my brother and I and said "I will be out in the hallway if you need anything.  Take as much time as you need."

No sooner did he leave did my mother and Ruthann enter the room.  My mother's face contorted into tears as she placed her head next to his.  She cried and kissed him, asking him to be her Guardian Angel and to come back for her in thirty years because she wants to watch their grandbabies grow.  Ruthann sat to his right and held his hand and rubbed it against her face.  She never uttered a word.

We were in the room for about an hour with him.  I saw his hands start to lose their color and his forehead was becoming colder.  It was time to leave.  We all gave him one final glance before we left the room to go back to my mother's house where we now needed to plan everything.

By 7 am my mother's house was filled with people.  Maria was able to come over, my aunt and my cousin was there before we even got home.  My mother's brother drove over an hour to stay with her while my mother's neighbor spotted all the cars and offered his assistance with preparing the food for our family who would be traveling in the upcoming days.

It was overwhelming, and exhausting.  For the most part there was so many people to keep our minds occupied, but there would be those few moments of silence were we would all break down and wail.

At 1 PM we all as a united family made the dreaded trip over to the funeral home.  The funeral director was a parent of a student in my mother's class who was so incredibly gentle and helpful.  We had no plans made at all, not even a plot.  My father refused to address anything about his health and possible death because he swore he would live another 20 years.  Unfortunately that meant that on the day he died we had to make plans for everything.  Thankfully with the help of the funeral director and his connections he made the process easy.  We were there for about two hours picking out the casket, and the mass cards.  Everything fell into place beautifully.  From the funeral home we went to the cemetery across town to pick out his gravesite which ended up being in a beautiful location surrounded by trees.  There's a newly planted tree with a bench underneath it diagonal from his plot so we can sit there when we come to visit.  From there it was to the florist to pick out the flowers for the wake.

By the time all was said and done it was a little after 4 pm.  We were all exhausted and dropping like flies.  Patrick and Ruthann left from the funeral home leaving Maria, my mother, and me to pick out the rest.  After we got home Maria was the next to leave and then Mom's friends started coming over.  Around 8:30 I had to excuse myself to take a shower and try to calm myself down as I felt panic starting to bubble in my chest.  Soon the house began to empty and quiet down and it was just my mother and myself.  We cried and I held her.  She took an ambien and I took xanax and shortly after we went to bed beyond emotionally and physically exhausted.

The rest of the week we were preparing travel arrangements for our family, writing my father's obituary, and being a revolving door of people visiting and bringing food.  I returned to sleep at my apartment Thursday night because I needed a good night's sleep in my own bed and I had to take care of my cat whom had been alone for almost a week.  Friday morning I woke early to get ready to go back to my mother's house to get ready for the wake.

We had to be there by 1:30 to have our alone time with him, to see him and help set up the room before the family started to filter in.  My mother walked in first and I winced until I hear her shout "Oh he looks so good!"  I grasped Sheri's hand and we walked into the room where I cried out upon seeing him in the casket.  In my hands was a stack of father's day and birthday cards that he had kept throughout the years that we decided to bury with him.  He could always have written proof to show how much he was loved.

Friday and Saturday went by in a blink of an eye.  My entire family on both sides literally welcomed Sheri with open arms.  My cousins from New England have known about her for years (thank you facebook) and always were so supportive of me.  My one cousin without even saying a word came up to us and wrapped her arms around both of us.  After she broke free I was able to introduce them properly.  Sheri stood by my side, with her unwavering strength keeping me up.  If I started to lose it she placed a hand on the small of my back and told me to breathe, that it would be OK.

I knew Saturday would be the harder day.  I knew the actual burial would be brutal.

Thankfully the Roman Catholic Church my parents belong to allowed my uncle and cousins who are priests to do a traditional Byzantine Catholic service.  It's a deeply solemn mass that we grew up in and my father revered.  As recently as Christmas told my mother that it upset him that none of his children attended a Byzantine Church (that's only because the closest one is nearly an hour away).  We knew under no circumstances was he to have anything less than a Byzantine Burial.  We chanted our hymns while my mother's side of the family kept up as best they could.  I closed my eyes and smiled because I knew my father would have been elated to hear his brothers and sisters sing in harmony.  He would have stood there with his broad shoulders back, hands clasped behind him as he sang in his rich tenor voice up to the heavens.  And my father had a beautiful voice.

The burial was hard as we sat there in front of his casket.  He had a military burial and when the two officers played The Chaps and folded the flag to present to my mother it was unbelievably difficult.  And when my uncle was blessing the casket with holy water the reality that he was blessing his brother caught up to him and he lost his words and my cousin had to step in.


It was also the reality that he was presiding over a second brother's funeral in two weeks as my Uncle Paul had passed away on New Year's Eve.

It was a momentous site to see my parents' house bursting at the seems with family from both sides after the repast.  What amazed me even more was how Sheri did interacting with my family.  Everyone was so kind to her, never once even batted an eye when they found out we were engaged, never once questioned us about our age difference.  I realized that I had just buried my father but I felt so much love that day.  I knew that we did my father proud, and I loved Sheri that much more for being by my side the entire time.

Once everyone went home and I came back to my apartment it's been a struggle.  Yesterday was my mother's birthday and my sister and I did our best to keep her occupied.  I was with her for nearly 12 hours and when I left her to come home last night I cried.  I cried so hard because I miss my father immensely but my heart breaks for my mother who's life as she knew it is over.  We walked through the aisles of Home Depot yesterday to purchase time automatic timers for her lights and when she turned to face me she looked like a broken little child.  She started to cry right there at how much her heart hurt and I hate that I can't protect her from that.

I cried on my way home from work today, my first day back.  I cried because just a month ago it was Christmas Eve and my father wasted no opportunity to wrap us into hugs.  I cried because now that everything is starting to return to normal it is clear that my father really is gone.  I cried because I am dreading the remainder of this year-Father's Day, his birthday, the holidays.  And I cried because the only thing I have now of my father to remember him by is pictures and videos.  And I cried because I'm exhausted because every time I close my eyes at night I am reliving the final days of my father's life.

I know that this will take time, and I know that we had a lot more than other people get.  We had days with him, we had a chance to say our goodbyes.  I had 29 years with my father.  Some people, like my cousin, was only 5 when his father died.  My mother had 42 years with him.  Some people don't get that time.  Some don't get to say goodbye.  And I know my father is in a better place.  He saw Jesus.  He appeared to my mother the night he died.  I know he has the sun on his face and that he is whole.  There are no tubes, no bags, no bleeding and no cancer.  But I miss him.  I want to make him proud, and I will keep my promise to keep this family together and to take care of my mother.

Joseph Victor-truly a VICTOR in this life.  I know you wanted more time but you couldn't be with us in the capacity that you wanted to be with how aggressive your cancer was.  I hope you can feel now how much you were...no...ARE loved.  You taught me so many things, from driving in the center lane when it rains to folding a fitted sheet.  I hear your voice in my head "Jennifer.....placate your mother!"  It doesn't seem real, you not being here.  But I know that you will never truly leave us.  You will watch over us, guide us in the way only you can, and I WILL see you again.  Rest in peace Dad.  You left one hell of a legacy.