Day 10 Without Facebook

Ten days without Facebook. Am I surviving? Absolutely. Possibly even thriving.

I do have a confession to make however. I never realized how many times throughout the day I "write" Facebook status updates in my head. Something funny happens and, in my head, I am immediately thinking of how I will word my witty post for the masses to read so that they, too, can enjoy the hilarity of my day. I was appalled at myself until I told Mike about it and he says he does the same thing. We both agreed that we feel a little disgusted with ourselves for having let a social network become so embedded in our thought processes.

I'm not sure what I have filled the time in with since giving up Facebook. I think my laundry might be more caught up than it normally was before. I've applied for a few more jobs online. I've read the news. I've had conversations with my husband about things other than what was going on with some person I "kind of" know on Facebook. I've written more actual paragraphs, some even with a pen and paper.

So overall I think life has been good. My husband has always said that "it takes 21 days to give up a habit" though, so we'll see if I am still happily Facebook-free in 11 days or if I am curled up in a corner, shaking, typing on an invisible keyboard in front of me because I just need to tell the world (you know, that big world of 194 friends I have) that the service I received at lunch was horrible, or that my commute to work took forever, or that I'm getting my nails done today.

I'm pretty sure the world can live without that news.

Dear Tooth Fairy...

As a mother, I am a bit of a hoarder. I saved so many things as my children were growing up - pictures doodled on post-it's, art projects from school, letters to the Tooth Fairy. I wasn't always organized about how I saved them though. Maybe it is because we have packed and unpacked ten times over the past 22 years, but these little gems from my kids show up in strange places.

Today, as I was digging through a bag of old craft projects, I found this letter. Needless to say, it was bittersweet. I couldn't tell you how old Keeghan was when he wrote it, or how his tooth came out without him having anything to leave as proof for the Tooth Fairy. But there is so much of his personality in this...for a moment, it was like he was still here.

I laughed when I first found the letter. The envelope was even sealed still! But I was on my way out to a job fair with Mike at the time, so I had to put it away - physically and mentally - or I would have buckled and been a crying mess for the rest of the day. But it's been there in the back of my mind, just waiting for the right time to pull it out and examine it. Soon after getting home, I dug the letter out again and looked at it more closely.

The first and most obvious thing that tears at my heart is just that it is his writing. He touched this! That alone makes it such a precious find. He always had such lopsided penmanship. We never understood why, but from the time he began learning to write, he wrote many of his letters from right to left. Nothing could make him do it any other way. So his letter spacing was always a bit off.

Then there are the words themselves. The fact that he asked the Tooth Fairy if she believed him and then apologized for losing his tooth is so Keeghan. He's worried about whether his story is believable, but also wants her to know he is sorry (he never wanted anyone to be upset with him).

And oh, the folding! The letter was in a standard legal-size envelope, but the letter was folded to about the size of my thumb! He was only finished folding when the paper could not be folded (easily) any further. It didn't matter that only two folds would have been enough to fit it into the envelope.  

So much of my little man is in this one piece of paper. If he was here as the 18-year-old that he should be, finding this letter would still be bittersweet because he would no longer be my little boy. Finding it now, when he has been gone for nearly six years is torture. I miss him so much. Maybe these little hidden gifts are his way of letting me know he's ok.  

I only wish I was.

Smells like Keeghan's Mama

I've never been a big fan of perfume. I always have a bottle of it around, but it isn't something I wear daily. I tend to choose one brand and wear only that.  In fact, in my 48 years, I only remember ever wearing three brands - Anais Anais in college, Estée Lauder Beautiful in my twenties, and then some time in my thirties I bought a bottle of Kenneth Cole Black for women.  My husband liked how it smelled, and that was really all that mattered to me. I still only wore it occasionally though because my husband always tells me that I smell good even when I'm not wearing perfume.

It's funny how that works, loving the way a person smells even when they're not wearing any artificial scent. During the times that my husband and I have been apart - and, as a military family for 20+ years now, we've had our share of separations - that smell that is uniquely him is one of the things I've missed the most.  I will delay washing a shirt that he wore right before leaving on a deployment for days just to be able to pick it up, bury my face in it and pretend he's still here.

When my son was alive, our favorite evening position while watching television was me sitting sideways on the sofa, him between my legs leaning back against me.  I would play with his hair, running my fingers through it and taking in that smell that was just his, the smell of my baby boy.  When we were told there was nothing more that could be done to treat his brain tumor, that we should take him home and "keep him comfortable" until he died, I would sit every night on the sofa and bury my face in his hair, taking in that smell, wondering how I would ever get through the rest of my life without it.

One of the smells that Keeghan loved was my perfume.  On the rare occasions when I would wear it, he was always the first to say, "You smell good Mama."  My husband and daughter would notice also, but never as quickly as Keeghan did.  I don't know how long it was after his death that I noticed my bottle of perfume was getting low, but when I did notice it, I started looking for another bottle to buy immediately. But I couldn't find one.  I looked in every department store, at the Exchange on base...nothing.  I could find Kenneth Cole Black for men, but not for women.

Since then, I have only let myself spray a smidgeon of perfume on, and only for truly special occasions. I took it to Shanghai, China last year when Mike and I went there for our 20th wedding anniversary, but again, I only let myself use a little at a time.  

Two weeks ago, however, everything changed.  While walking around the fashion district in downtown Los Angeles, Mike and I passed one of those perfume outlets that you usually find wherever there are knock-off stores.  I looked at Mike and he knew exactly what I was thinking and said, "Let's go in."  Walking around the store I didn't find what I was looking for, but I decided to ask anyway.  The store clerk went searching, and after only a short time, he found it!  The only large size bottle left was a display, but there were smaller sizes. Of course, there was no question as to whether I would buy it or not.  I didn't even care that it might not be the real deal.  As soon as we left the store, I opened it and sprayed some on.  And then I told Mike the story of how it really wasn't for him that I wore that perfume anymore.  I explained that, when I have it on, I know I smell like Keeghan's mama.  

I still only let myself spray a little bit on at a time, and not every day, becasue I don't know when I will find another bottle.  But for now I can wear it happily and know that somewhere, wherever he is, Keeghan thinks I smell good.

Day 1, No Facebook, Thoughts on "Friends"

So, the experiment begins...Day 1

I deactivated my Facebook account today. Actually, I deactivated all three of them. Scary to think I had three, although one I never really used and another was my "military wife" account. But still...slave to social networking much?

There are people on Facebook I will miss, and there are certainly train wrecks that I will miss watching. There are "friends" who will probably not even notice my absence. It's a sad realization, but events of the past few weeks had already shown me that some people who I thought were legitimate, real life friends really aren't. Life is too short to waste time with friendships that only exist when it is convenient for the other person, but not when I need a friend.  

I've noticed a trend recently in people. So many seem to live in a universe that revolves around them, and the people they consider "friends" are only that when they can do something for the person at the center of the universe. They don't consider the other person's feelings, only their own. They certainly don't take into consideration whether what they are saying is hurtful to anyone else. I'm sure at some point I was that person as well.

Now, imagine each of our universes as a circle. What I want for myself is also convenient for Friend A, therefore our circles overlap in a happy way. Many other Friends overlap with my universe as well. But Friend A begins to get so caught up in her own universe, always talking about herself and her own life and accomplishments. She no longer thinks of my life in any way. Our circles are no longer the perfect venn diagram, overlapping symbiotically, yet we are trying to maintain the friendship. That is Facebook. Connections are made, "friendships" created, at a time when our circles overlap. But when those same circles become disconnected, we still hang on. It makes no sense.

So I am disconnecting my circle from 194 others. Those who know me well and wish to can still keep in touch with me. I gave everyone my email address a couple of days before deactivating my account, so hopefully those who wanted it wrote it down. Those who have been hanging on to our friendship even though it is past its prime can rest easy in the knowledge that they didn't have to deal with the awkwardness of unfriending me. I am looking forwarding to working on building more meaningful friendships through real correspondence and conversation, insteal of voyeuristic socializing through a computer screen.  Who knows?  Maybe I will start a trend and save a million postal workers' jobs!  I doubt it, but it's a nice thought.

High Expectations

I have made and lost/ditched more friends over the years than I can count. For a long time I blamed it on me just not being likable, but I don't think that is it. I think I just have high expectations. That, and a low need for female companionship. I've never quite understood women who need their gaggle of girlfriends. Maybe it is because I have no sisters. I don't know. I just know that, when put in a room full of women, I start getting twitchy after about five minutes and start scoping out where all the exits are!

This ... flaw, I guess? ... in my personality has made the last 17 years of being a military wife difficult at times. Spouse groups, for the most part, are full of women even though there are plenty of couples nowadays where the wife is the active duty military member. Guys are just smart and know to stay away from the Hen House that is the Military Spouse Group. I've tried numerous times to be part of one of these groups, and it almost always comes back to bite me.

At our first assignment, one of the other wives went to the hospital commander's wife and told her that I should not be allowed to join the group (no lie) because I was "too Army-ish." My first response was to thank her, because as an ex-Army private I was proud of my Army-like ways.  But also, as someone who was new to dealing with the Air Force, what I had seen thus far came a long way from impressing me. Of course, the commander's spouse did not ban me from the group, and we all found out later on that the wife who requested that ban was, well ... crazy. Certifiably so actually.

At our next assignment, I volunteered to be a Key Spouse only to end up being the only Key Spouse for an entire squadron, which led to some saying I was trying to be more important than my husband's rank warranted. After that, I gave up spouse activities for years. I didn't need a bunch of other women in my business anyway. But along the way there were still friends made - some I still keep in touch with, some I have written off as more work than they were worth.

For the past few years I have blamed my impatience with people on my anger over Keeghan's death. That might seem like I am reaching, but I'm not. In the past 5 years I have ended relationships with family members that, prior to Keeghan's death, I had tolerated even though they made me unhappy. Now? I have no problem whatsoever cutting ties with people who bring me down, whether I am related to them or not. Keeghan's journey with cancer taught me that life is far too short to waste time with people who contribute nothing to my quality of life.

Here's the problem with having such high expectations of people though - I want to get back out into the workforce when Mike retires in a few months, and one of the things I've also learned over the past 17 years of watching my husband's career is that having high expectations of everyone around you only sets you up for disappointment and frustration. Sure, there are some who will live up to those expectations, and they are the true gems of the world. But for every gem there are two unpolished rocks. Granted, some of those rocks are only that way because they have lacked the proper mentoring and leadership to help them become gems, so there is still hope for them. But then there's the Fool's Gold, the ones with the inflated egos who look like gems on the surface, but have no integrity or value inside. Everyone knows someone like that, and sadly, most people work with at least one as well. I had to deal with that in the job I had a few months ago working in a real estate office. A building full of fake gems that place was!

It would be ok if it was only the inflated ego that you had to deal with. I grew up with one of those. It's the lack of integrity I struggle with though. People who claim to work hard, but don't. People who have trump cards just saved up for when someone places a high expectation on them ...

"I'm so busy!"

"It's not my fault!"

"I'm STRESSED!"

... when really the true excuse is a lack of work ethic and laziness. I love to work. A good, busy work day makes 8 hours go by so much faster than a lazy day of looking at the clock.

So there you have it, my fear for the day. How will I deal with people when I am actually in the workforce and no longer have the luxury of quitting just because I don't like the work ethic of those around me (which is pretty much why I no longer work in the real estate office)? Do I lower my standards? Become the most hated person in the office? Come home and complain to my husband every night because his excess amount of integrity has set everyone else in the world up to always be failures in my eyes?

Honestly, it must be very hard to be my friend. To be my co-worker will be excruciating.

Look Up.

Do I really have 194 friends? Can someone even be called "friend" if the only interaction I have with them is through my computer? Can life be lived without social networking?

Truth?  

I don't have 194 friends. I don't even truly know that many people. But I have 194 people who, for whatever reason, want to know what I have to say on Facebook.

Can someone I've never met in person, and who I only interact with online, be called a friend? Absolutely yes. I know people in just this way who have been more supportive than people I was born and raised with.

Can life be lived without social networking? Well, I am about to try. Starting Saturday, May 10th, I'm shutting down my social networking accounts. Instead of looking at my iPad every evening, I'm going to look at my family. Or maybe the television. But I'll do it with my family.

This should be interesting.

A Day in the Life . . . as it should have been

For a few months now I have been thinking about what Keeghan's 18th birthday would have been like had cancer never entered our lives.  I'm sure some would think it is unhealthy to spend so much time imagining something that will never happen, but in many ways it gave me comfort.  After a while I decided to write it down because, well, that's just what I do.

A day in the life of a boy turning 18, as it should have been.

March 7, 2014

6:00am

The alarm went off, but he ignored it.

As usual.

6:15am

His mom sticks her head in his door.  “Keeghan! It’s time to wake up Bubby!”

“Five more minutes?” he asked.

It was a game they’d been playing since he was little.  Keeghan never was much of a morning person.  He grew up hearing stories about how he would sleep through Mom dressing him for daycare, how grumpy he was until he’d had his first cup of coffee and cereal (his breakfast of choice since middle school).  Not much had changed.  He still didn’t like mornings, but today was different.  Today was his birthday!

18-years-old.  

Yes!

So many things rushed through his mind as he enjoyed his five-minute-snooze.  18-years-old...an adult!  He’d be graduating high school soon, headed off to U.C. San Diego to study marine biology, a dream he’d had since he was five and watched a show about sharks.  He’d told his mom then that he would study sharks and their resistance to cancer so that someday he could find a cure.  Part of that dream would be coming true soon.

Eighteen also meant he could vote now.  Look out GOP because another Liberal has hit the age of majority!  

“Time’s up Bub - you’re going to be late if you don’t get up!”

“Ok mama.”

It was going to be a good day.  It was a Friday, which meant he and Marissa - his girlfriend of the past two years - would be going out somewhere tonight, but it would have to wait until after his birthday dinner with his parents.

As he came from the shower, he heard his cell phone ringing.  Digging in his backpack for the phone that was buried under 20 lbs of books, he got it just before it went to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Hippo Bird Day Two Ewes!  Hippo Bird Day Two Ewes . . .”

The singing continued on as he rolled his eyes and held the phone away from his ear.  “Do you have to yell?” he asked, but with a smile in his voice.  It was his older sister, Mackenzie, calling from San Francisco where she was an art student at San Francisco State.

“It’s a BEAUTIFUL morning, isn’t it Keeghan?”

“Do you know how annoying it is that you’re always so happy in the morning?”

“You miss me.  Admit it.”

“No Mackenzie.  I don’t.”

“You do.  You know you do.  Love you.”

“Love you too.  Dork.”  He laughed in spite of his annoyance with his crazy sister.  “Are you going to make it for dinner tonight?”

“Of course.  I’m flying in this afternoon.  Dad is picking me up at the airport.  Are we kicking off Birthday Week at the Melting Pot?”

“Duh.  Where else.”

Keeghan was born four days before Mackenzie’s 2nd birthday.  She couldn’t understand when his first birthday came around why he was getting presents before her when she was older.  Instead of trying to explain how the calendar works to a 3-year-old, Birthday Week was born.  It kicked off on March 7th, Keeghan’s birthday, and ended on Mackenzie’s birthday, March 11th.  Part of the Birthday Week tradition was that they each got to choose where dinner would be on their special day.  Keeghan’s had been the Melting Pot since he was 10.  

“You’re so predictable!  Well, have a good day at school and I will see you tonight!  Love you Bubby!”

“Love you more.”

“No, you don’t.  It’s the same.”

“And it’s a whole lot.“

Mackenzie had always been his best friend.  Through all of their moves growing up, going where the Air Force sent Dad, they’d always had each other.  But as much as he loved her, she was a bit much before coffee in the morning!

Speaking of coffee . . . he stumbled toward the kitchen, eyes still only half open, following the smells.  Bacon, eggs, and yes!  COFFEE!  As he walked into the kitchen, there was Dad at the stove, making breakfast.  “Here you go mister, drink up.”  Mom handed him a big mug of good-morning-sunshine, made just the way he liked it - one Irish creamer, one regular creamer.

Before he could even take a sip, Dad pulled him into a big hug.  “Happy birthday Pal.  I love you.”

“I love you too Dad.”

One thing The Fantastic Four - the family’s nickname - had always been good for is letting you know that you were loved.  

School went pretty much the way most days did, cruising through class and break times.  Keeghan wasn’t necessarily popular per se.  He didn’t play sports, yet he was friends with all the jocks.  He was friends with everyone really.  It would have been a day like any other if it weren’t for the fact that Marissa had sent him balloons in his first period class.  So as he walked through the halls carrying them (because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by shoving them in his locker), people high-fived him and wished him a happy birthday.  

When he finally saw Marissa at lunch, he hugged her close and then said, “Seriously?  Balloons?  Did you have to?”

“Of course I did silly.  Happy birthday.” He was embarrassed over the balloons, but loved the attention.  

By the time he made it home from school, Mackenzie was already there working on making his birthday cake - carrot cake with cream cheese icing.  Again, the usual.

“Someday I’m going to make you a chocolate cake with strawberry icing.”

“I won’t like it,” he replied.

“You know Keeghan, sometimes straying from the norm is a good thing.  You should try it sometime.”

“Whatever.”

It had been a running joke between them for years.  Mackenzie liked trying something new every year for Birthday Week - new restaurant, new type of cake.  Keeghan loved keeping everything the same.  It was his own little “tradition.”

In keeping with another of Keeghan’s favorite traditions, dinner went as expected - snarky banter in the car on the way there, constant chatter throughout dinner, loads of laughter - just the way he liked it.  As he looked around the table at the people he loved, he realized exactly how lucky he was.  Adulthood was going to bring so many changes - college, career, hopefully a family someday - all the things he had planned for his entire childhood.  But the foundation of it all was the family who loved him, and who he loved in return.  

It was good to be 18.

*************************************************************************************

Except . . . it wasn’t.

It would have been great.  It would have been amazing if Keeghan had experienced this 18th birthday.  But he didn’t.  He never had a girlfriend named Marissa.  She was the girl in his 4th grade class that he had a crush on when he was diagnosed with cancer.  He never went to high school.  His last birthday dinner at The Melting Pot was when he turned 12. Instead of making a big birthday breakfast for him today, we will write letters to him on helium balloons and release them into the universe, hoping our messages reach him.  

We still celebrate the day, because his life is still such a blessing to us, but the laughter and tears will be less . . . everything.  Laughter over good memories, tears over what will never be.  This is how we kick off Birthday Week now.

But oh how I wish this story were the reality.

I miss you Bubby.