Because it was late at night and I was procrastinating about going to bed, I kept hitting Older Posts on Facebook back to when I first joined, and took a three year walk down memory lane.

And it made me sad.

It reminded me of friendships that I didn’t maintain accidentally, and friendships that I didn’t maintain purposely. It reminded me that there are so many things I’ve failed at. What happened to that running habit I was updating Facebook about? It reminded me of chances lost. Pounds NOT lost. And things I enjoyed that I’ve not seen or done since that status update.

Looking back showed me where I’ve been, and where I am now.

But I’m not sure where I’m going.

I was 19. I remember standing in the waiting room of my Dad’s office with him, his staff, and the patients he was supposed to be seeing. We all stood frozen, watching the footage of the planes hitting the towers and the Pentagon.

Sometimes I think of 9/11 was an opportunity for us to step beyond partisanship and the ugliness that comes- and we missed it.

But then sometimes I see something- like driving home today and seeing ten people with huge American flags standing on the bridge. And it makes me think that maybe we have another chance.

Today is a day of respect. Respect for those who lost their lives. Respect for our fellow countrymen. Respect for the fact that those who died should not have their deaths politicized.

So in many ways, it’s an opportunity that continues to allow us the chance to grasp it.

Dear Honey, this is your Mother speaking. Reminisce? Yes lets!

August 4th is a red letter day for both of us you know. Thirty one years ago that day, the man I love asked me a question also – actually it was the pastor who asked – but I answered “Yes, I will!” Your Father (aka Left Brain) and I have been living happily ever after ever since our hot, muggy August wedding day in 1979.

Well, most years have been happy, but a few not so great ones were in there as well… and that little caveat made me think this would be a great opportunity to give you, a newly married person {almost 3 years is newly married Mom?} the greatest little nugget of marital wisdom that ever was. Yes, and I won’t even charge you – this one is on the house!

If I could boil down every bit of marital advice – given or received, heard or shared, taken seriously or laughed at – to one priceless paragraph, this would be it……. Seventy five percent of the time you will be happily married. Twenty percent of the time you will just be married. Five percent of the time you will be living on commitment alone!

You will not be happy every single day- so expect it. Don’t let it take you by surprise, prepare for it. Young couples that think that they will always be happy, or in love, or fulfilled in marriage are setting themselves up for disappointment. Being happily married all the time is an unreal expectation Honey, so just get it out of your mind right from the get-go. Anybody that has been married more than five minutes knows that there will be some down times.

But I am talking about more than that monster fight, or ongoing battle. I am talking about days that turn into weeks and months that there is nothing there. The marriage meter would be firmly in the red zone – empty. But if you know in advance, that there will be a time like this, you can say to yourself. “Self … this is it, this is one of those five percent days. This is that moment, the one I knew was coming! Oh yeah, I am only standing here with him because I promised God, myself, him and the rest of the world that I would stick with him even during this five percent.” Then get on with it – go let the air out of the tires on his motorcycle, give his second favorite shirt to the Goodwill, invite your mother to move in for awhile. Whatever it takes – and before you know it you will be happy again, and then you’ll blink and have been married thirty-one happy years, and people will say “How did you do it?” ……. then you will share your Percentages Promise to another generation.

Love from your (mostly happily married) Mother, Queen B.

Three years ago today, a very nervous acting Marmot came downstairs, and sat next to me on the couch where I was working on the computer.

Marmot: “Sweetie, I need to ask you something.”

Me: “Whats wrong with you, why are you being so weird? I’m working on this right now babe.”

Marmot: *pulls out ring box and scoots to the edge of the couch* “Sweetie!”

Me: “What?! Ohh!”

Marmot: *smiles at me* “I have to ask you a question.”

Me: “Ok, but aren’t you supposed to be on your knees?”

Marmot: “Seriously?” *rolls his eyes and gets on his knees* “Better?”

Me: “Yes its better, now ask me!”

Marmot: “Honey, will you marry me?”

Me: “Yes yes yes!”

And we lived happily ever after...

I became a nurse by accident. I had originally planned on majoring in English Lit and teaching to support my writing career, but I got sick at age 16 and wasn’t healthy enough to leave for college at age 18. So I went to a local community college and after reading a book about World War II Army nurses (A Half Acre of Hell) I started the nursing program. Bumps along the way, including a year off and doing missions in Venezeula, and I graduated as a Registered Nurse. It was one of the proudest moments of my life.

I had preceptored in the operating room doing nursing school, and took a job in the OR’s at a huge hospital. My first job was inadvertant and was a supervisory position, I was 21 years old and it was trial by fire. I worked evenings in general/trauma, at a Level One trauma center. When I took the job, I don’t think I had completely comprehended the idea of what I would see. But those things that I saw, they are the images that are burned on my mind forever. Faces of patients, some who lived and some who died, make up the recurring dreams that still haunt my nights.

I remember the name and face of the first patient I had that died. He was two years younger than I was. I remember the crushing look on his mother’s face when I went out with the team to tell her that we had done everything we could. And looking down and realizing I still had her son’s blood on my scrubs. The memory of her screams still gives me chills.

I remember getting into my car after a horrible shift, and just screaming. I remember thinking I am 21 years old, I am not supposed to be doing this! I was supposed to be at the mall and hanging out with friends, not trying to stop the oozing of blood out of flying windshield glass wounds before the body is seen by family. Who does this job, and survives? I remember a movie where a nurse said something along the lines of, as a nurse you can only be ringside to so much human suffering for so long. I have a huge level of respect for my counterparts who have been in trauma for 20+ years and can still be empathetic to their patients. Trauma changes you. I remember how much I changed in my first year as a nurse.

I had been a surgical patient before, and the one thing I remembered was the feeling of being dizzy, strapped down, no eye contact with anyone, and being so scared. I had a great team to work with, and they knew that anything they needed me for had to be done before the patient got into the room, because once the patient was in the room that’s where my focus was. I made sure the room was quiet, because the rush of medications in the IV’s often heightens the sense of hearing. I always made sure that I kept eye contact with the patient as they fell asleep, holding and squeezing a hand to reassure them because that’s what I wish I’d had. And that connection with my patient is what I really think is what kept me from going crazy.

But I certainly did not leave the OR with my psyche unscathed. I have neuroses from my time in the OR that drive Marmot absolutely nuts. Such as the fact that I am a true germa-phobe. I organize my dirty dishes from clean, clean-contaminated, contaminated, and dirty, and then wash them in that order, rinsing in scalding hot water. I actually cannot watch Marmot do dishes.

I don’t drive unless I absolutely have to, and I fend off anxiety attacks when I do. The responsibility of the safety of my passengers is unnerving to me. The screams of someone who realizes they are the only survivor of a car accident in which they were the driver is haunting.

I will never ever say goodbye to Marmot in anger, or without telling him how much I love him. And I shave my legs everyday, summer or winter, rain or shine. Because you really never know who will actually see them! The stories I could tell….

Since my trauma days, I’ve worked in every specialty we had. I’ve worked days, evenings, nights, weekends. I’ve been a staff nurse, a charge nurse, and the OR suite supervisor. I left the OR in 2008 and went to work in finance. I love finance, which is surprising because I don’t think I’ve ever balanced my checkbook. I’ve discovered a niche of nursing that I am so challenged and fulfilled by. Not everyone can say they get so much fulfillment out of their job.

But being in finance makes me question being a nurse. My impact on patients is not always positive, because I work on the other side of the fence, I work for the institution. That’s a mind game.

Despite how much I love finance, I miss the OR. I miss the adrenaline. I miss scrubbing the blood off my shoes in the big metal sinks. I miss knowing that I made an impact on my patients. I miss being a mysterious nurse disappearing behind the Restricted Access doors. I miss the pagers that I swore were wired to go off anytime my butt neared a chair. I miss the relationships that I built with my co-workers, because it is truly a bond that only seeing so much life and death can build. I sometimes wonder why trauma affected me so much. It still makes me wonder if I had what it took. Or if I left because I couldn’t handle it, not because I wanted to try something different.

I don’t think I’ll ever go back to the OR, although it saddens me to say that. But I’m grateful for what I’ve learned, and the lives that I was able to touch. I’m grateful, and proud, to be a nurse.

Apparently I’m still in a reminiscent mood.

I was like most girls, with elaborate wedding plans hatched with my girlfriends starting sometime in middle school. I was far from the first in my group of girlfriends to get married, so I had attended and been in many weddings, always noting things that I did or did not want to do at my own wedding.

And yet somehow, the idea of actually creating my own wedding was daunting. So many decisions! My Mom came home in July and even though I didn’t have a ring on my finger, she and I went full-speed ahead with wedding plans. She had six weeks at home, and our goal was to get as much of the heavy-duty planning done before she left. And we had a blast. After the tumultuous teenage years, and then all the conflict when they moved overseas, this was the beginning of what became a very close friendship with my Mom.

One of the things that I had always said, especially growing up in the Midwest where a blizzard could derail even the best laid plans…I swore that I would never ever EVER have a winter wedding in the Midwest. EVER. But as it turned out, my family was going to be in the States from late December to early January. With tickets over $1000 per person, and not wanting to wait an entire year to get married, our wedding date was set for January 4th.

My plan had been to have a seamstress I knew who specialized in weddings make my dress- until a trip to the bridal shop with my Mom and sister Jen (just to look) found me in the dress of my dreams. Mom called Marmot from the dressing room to make sure he wanted to go through with this wedding thing, before she put the dress on her credit card (he teasingly said sure, I suppose) My older sister Janel was my matron of honor. Being my only attendant, she got to pick the color of her dress (chocolate brown) and the dress was made especially for her by the seamstress. Marmot’s Dad was his best man. Our groomsmen were my best friend C., my Uncle J., my cousin D., and Marmot’s brother-in-law J., all so handsome in tuxes.

We chose the church because it had the shortest pre-marital counseling requirements- our first few choices required six months of classes, and we had already missed the first month of classes! The church was gorgeous- it was the first church built in the city, and had beautiful wooden pews and stained glass windows. When it came down to the venue, my Mom and I looked at several, eventually deciding on the country club. It was gorgeous in the summer, but stunning in the winter with snow on the trees. We had so much fun with the decor! They had greenery up for the holiday season, with lots of white lights and everything sparkled. The flower arrangements had cream roses and calla lilies with coned cedar and pine boughs, in keeping with the winter theme. Tea lights, beautiful embroidered cream linens and floor-length tablecloths, and chocolate truffles on each table. The cake table had pine boughs around the cake stand, along with pictures of our parents cutting the cake at their weddings. And of course the tiramisu groom’s cake for Marmot. There was also my grandparents wedding picture, and a memory candle in their honor.

The dinner was Italian, paying homage to my Dad’s family and my grandmother who had passed away. We had Italian sausage with peppers, three types of pasta with three different sauces, garlic bread, pasta salad, minestrone soup, vegetable lasagna, green salad with amazing buttermilk ranch dressing, and bread pudding with vanilla bean sauce. Our cake was golden chiffon cake with raspberry filling. Red wine, white wine, and champagne being served by banquet staff. I’m drooling just typing this, it was quite a spread.

And before you think wow, she didn’t worry much about cost did she! Let me just say that anything wedding-related that could be bought on eBay or the internet at-large, that’s where I got it. The invitations, save the date cards, the direction cards, my veil and pearl hairpiece, shoes, Spanx, the card basket, frames for all the pictures, everything! I know for sure that I saved at least $500 on my invitations, and who knows how much on everything else. Gotta love the internet!

Looking back, there are a few things that I might do differently- but not much. It was truly an amazing day.

I don’t know if its PMS or what, but I’m in a warm fuzzy reminiscing kind of mood.

When I met Marmot, I really didn’t think I was meeting the man I would marry. If I had, I would have worn something a little nicer than a hooded sweatshirt and track pants! And maybe put on makeup. I liked his eyes and dark hair. He was wearing jeans, a buttondown shirt and a polarfleece vest. And Birkenstocks! I remember thinking that he was dressed nice, which was different from most guys. Then he started talking, and I almost laughed at the strong Southern accent- and he teased me for my Northern accent!

Marmot asked me out, but I said no. So we became friends. Not long after we met he moved back down to the Deep South, but we kept in touch via phone calls and text messages. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this was the very beginning of a relationship. We spent hours on the phone, and send hundreds of text messages flying across the country. I played it cool when he told me he had gotten a job back here in the Midwest, but my heart jumped at the thought of him being nearby again!

My dog Bubba liked him from the very beginning, I think they bonded over hating my cooking. When Marmot arrived back in the Midwest, I invited him over for a Welcome Home dinner of microwaved baked potatoes with fat free sour cream, and bag salad with fat free ranch dressing. He didn’t tell me until much later, but he said that was one of the worst meals he’d ever eaten!

We started spending time together again, Marmot helped me move across town. My friend K. commented on moving day that he must really like me to just volunteer to help me move. I told her, Noo, we’re just friends. I told everyone that. While Marmot was down South, my sister Luly mentioned ‘my friend Marmot’ and my Mom was immediately interested. Just friends Mom, he’s just a friend!

But as Marmot says, he wore me down. He came over one cold February evening to help me clean (I should have seen through that!) and I remember watching him thinking, that’s so sweet that he’s helping me clean…he’s really cute too. It was a turning point! Either that or the fumes from the Kaboom that he loves to clean with. The next day we went to Ikea, and held hands in Textiles, signaling the move (in my mind at least) from friends to relationship.

Not long after, I almost said I love you but changed it midway to I care so much about you. He just smiled at me. I told him I can’t say it, you have to! He leaned close and said I love you. I had never said I love you in a relationship before, but said I love you too. I knew then that I didn’t ever want to be without him!

A few months later, we were sitting on the couch discussing places we’d like to live. Well moving would be a fun thing to do, but expensive….it would be cheaper to get married and move together rather than separately….yeah that would be a good idea….winter would be a good time for a wedding….sounds good, how about January?

My Gram’s wedding ring was my designated engagement ring, but Marmot wanted to wait until my Dad came home in August to ask permission before proposing to me. Gram brought the ring and gave it to Marmot, giving him strict instructions not to let me see it before he proposed! My Mom came home in July, and even though we weren’t technically engaged, we set out to plan the entire wedding before she flew back
to Africa in six weeks!

After getting permission from my Dad, Marmot proposed. He was acting all nervous one night, and I didn’t understand why….until he slid a little bit closer to me on the couch, and brought out a ring box…sweetie, I have question I want to ask you….ok, but I think you’re supposed to be on one knee! He got done on one knee, and asked me to marry him….and I said YES!

I always knew that someday, I would meet the man of my dreams…and that someday, I would get married. And someday had arrived.