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Hooray for Boobies & Other Fat Lady Tales

✏ 38 year old cis female ✏ Fat ✏ Married ✏ Crazy Cat Lady ✏ Opinionated ✏ Swear-ey ✏ All caps silliness ✏ occasional pretendy writer ✏ LJ immigrant ✏ Journaling since 2006 ✏ Ex chatroom /forum role player ✏ Now on Tumblr ✏
elf_fu: (Default)
November and December are the most beautifully difficult months.

In November, I begin listening to Christmas songs, because I love Christmas. It's the one holiday in the year I feel like I can do things for people who might really need them. I send cards, I write notes in them, I hand tinsel and watch, enchanted by the way the lights are reflected and become glowing in each piece.

I hum Christmas carols well after and into January. I put my tree up as soon as I can.

To me, my thankfulness for having what I do, the friends I do, my family now translates into the spirit of thanksgiving AND Christmas well.

But there is a small cloud across the moon of my holidays.

My mother died on December 11th. As October passes, this quiet feeling of missing a giant limb from my heart begins and grows.

I have a difficult time not crying during some Christmas songs.
"I'll be home for Christmas," wrecks me.
Remembering my family as I was a little girl around my grandmother's tree--and I feel that strange prick at the back of my eyes and the heat-burn of tears down the middle of my throat into my chest. I see beautiful lights, and feel sorrow mingle with each twinkling of them.

It's a hard balance. I will laugh and be enthusiastic and wear my silly hats. I will talk about gift giving and share amazon wish lists and send cards. I will smile.

But I will do it all without my mother. With the distinct, inescapable fact that she is dead. That there's no return from that. That there's no way for me to show her the tree, the house, our new cats. That there's no way she will ever see Disney's Christmas celebration. That, she's dead. There's no coming back from that. I can't call her to apologize for the things I have done. I can't tell her I am sorry I didn't take her last hospitalization seriously and didn't press to speak to her, maybe just one time.

That I didn't have one last Christmas with her.

So my stomach churns, but I smile crooked, a mix of sadness and hope when I hear a carol and see the decorations already out in the store.

My husband waits patiently for any tears. My cats know something is off already.

Christmas these last few years has become such a reflection of everything I have, had, and should have learned to keep. It has turned into a beautiful sorrow that I embrace willingly every year.

Because I'd have it no other way.
elf_fu: (Last Unicorn)
It's been a year.

I have written that sentence all week more times than I care, staring at a blank wordpress post page and trying to culminate thirty three years of my mother in one post. This is the ultimate task which I feel a real writer can face down and conquer...Writing a life in words and having the world understand.

I can't seem to do this. No matter how many times I have written it and deleted it and re-written it and stared at a little black line that blinked and blinked and blinked, demanding, I can't.

There's so much I want to say but no way for you to hear it.

I have my tree up. I have the tinsel. My apartment is decorated. I miss you and look for you sometimes but don't even know it until it's too late. I'll stand in the middle of my living room and puzzle out the christmas cards, the tree, the lights and wonder what am I missing? And then I remember.

You.
All I am missing is you this year.

I have come so far this year and I wish I could show you. I wish I could tell you and talk to you and have you be even more proud than ever at all the leaps and bounds I have made just in 12 months alone. Sometimes I feel guilty--that I've done all this and you can't see it, can't experience it with me. You can't share with me my excitement and hope about getting a new home (and I KNOW you loved house shopping.) You can't see how much better I am now that I have admitted to my depression and am getting treatment. You don't and won't know how much sweeter my life has been thanks to the people I have met and known online; you won't see how horrible my tree looks with it's rainbow colored tinsel that seems as if christmas--like a big, over eating cat, came and horked up festiveness all over it. You can't laugh at how crooked it is from all the times Isis crawled up it, and you can't see the way I've covered my apartment in lights.

I'm always missing you, every day. It doesn't get better and it doesn't go away. I just...have learned to cope.
Is this what it's like when someone loses a limb? I feel like you are here. I should call mom. I should tell mom about...I bet mom would love this...Mom would like to know..And then I remember.

You aren't here.

You are the puzzle piece that I will be missing for the rest of my life.
You are the first puzzle piece of me that I have lost, too, and the hole that you have left is so wide and so vast some days I don't know if I can cross it.

Other days, I throw a rope and climb because I have to. I don't want to, but I do.

I try not to be too sad, though. It's christmas and you would be so mad at me if I were. There's lights, there's tinsel, there's ornaments, there's christmas songs and peppermint and we haven't gotten them yet but hopefully your favorite rainbow-cherry-flavored candy canes. There's going to be a firepit at my mom in laws for Christmas eve and we'll have cookies and coffee and drinks. Each hour of this month I have stood in the kitchen, stilled in the bedroom, paused in the shower, circled the living room and frowned at the kitchen-- what am I missing? 

I cannot believe it's been a whole year.
I miss you.




Darlene Mae Noseworthy
April 1st, 1956 ~ December 11th, 2011


If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you. 
When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me. 

Kind woman, I give you my all, Kind woman, nothing more. 

Little drops of rain whisper of the pain, tears of loves lost in the days gone by. 
My love is strong, with you there is no wrong, 
together we shall go until we die. My, my, my. 
An inspiration is what you are to me, inspiration, look... see. 

And so today, my world it smiles, your hand in mine, we walk the miles, 
Thanks to you it will be done, for you to me are the only one. 
Happiness, no more be sad, happiness....I'm glad. 
If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you. 
When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me.



elf_fu: (Default)
I was able to slip in to Against the Grain on Thursday thanks to several holiday cancellations. The art work and bird was done by Lisa Murphy, and I am over the moon at how beautiful it is.

She went over mom's signature too, to darken it as it was a bit spotty.

elf_fu: (Default)
On October 19th, starting at 5PM EST/EDT, I will begin my first ever Blog-a-thon to raise funds to a) finish and acquire a tattoo of a humming bird on my right arm, to accompany my mother's signature I have tattooed on my arm already and b) raise funds for my Step Out: Walk to Stop Diabetes.

For some of you who may not know, on December 11th, 2012, I lost my mother to the horrible consequences that rampant diabetes (that does NOT respond to proper diet or treatment) does to a body. She was only 52 and had lived with the disease for over 20 years.

On October 19th, 5PM, for every hour after and for 24 hours there on out, I will be live blogging and free-writung any and all memories of my mother that come to mind. During this time, every blog entry will feature a link to both my paypal, my Wepay, and a link to my Step Out: Walk to End Diabetes goal site in hopes to earn money for the memorial tattoo, and in hopes of earning the money to not only meet my goal for Step Out: Walk to End Diabetes, but hopefully exceed it.

If you cannot donate, do not feel bad or guilty. Times are tough, we all know it. But you can still help huge heaps and bunches by sharing this information. Share the blog posts if you like what I wrote. Post it to your Google+, your facebook, your twitter, your plurk, your digg, your reddit, your Wordpress blogs, your Tumblrs, paste the link onto the RDI, share it on your favorite forums, hand it around to your AOL RP buddies of old and pass it along via email. Each time you share it is a chance that--not just a donation--but that someone out there will read my words and they will be touched. And out there in this great big wide world, a stranger who she had never met will remember my mother. Remember her or find solace in my remembering, and a piece of her and a piece of me will continue on--for as long as memory allows it; making us both immortal for a time.

I look forward to embarrassing myself with horrible typos and stories that embarrass me even more than I embarrass myself.

Thanks guys!






elf_fu: (unicorn)
I am thinking about--dear internet--crazy things.
(Insert overly sarcastic inward gasp of breath from you here)

I am thinking of holding a 24 blog-o-thon free-write about memories of my mother in order to raise $200 toward getting my humming bird tattoo on my right arm in honor of my mom, Darlene, who passed away last December 11th, 2011 and go with her signature I got there earlier this year.

For 24 hours I would spam the living-shit out of your friend page/feed with a link to my paypal/WePay account for donations toward this endeavor.

The question is internet--even if you can't donate, will you be able to help me by boosting the signal? And would you be willing to read a billion posts (24 probably) about my mom?

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