Year’s End, Life, Change…and Stuff!

Hmmm…

It’s been awhile blog world.  It’s been quite the year.  I’m running a pet sitting business, finished an amazing program with Bad Girl Ventures, missed my grandma, broke my wrist, fostered some dogs and the list goes on.

At the end of this year, 2013, I’m feeling something.  I’m feeling sadness for the miscarriage I had five years ago today.  I was seven weeks pregnant.  The first anniversary of this day was hard, the last three years passed and I was not emotional, but this year I’m sad.  It’s been on my mind since last week. I’m sad, not depressed, just deeply sad.  I wonder what my life would be like with a four year old, how it would be different.  Boy or girl?  What would he or she look like?

Miscarriage isn’t often talked about.  Those who have one don’t talk about it much.  I know I didn’t want to burden people with my sadness but it was a deep, gut wrenching loss.  I wasn’t even sure if I wanted kids, but the loss of a life you were carrying is immensely painful.  Nothing anyone says can make it better.  I didn’t want to seem needy, so I didn’t talk about it much.  I’m not needy, but extremely independent.  Even strong people get weak.  Strong people need help.

For the past five years I’ve thought I should do something to remember the child I lost.  I knew I wanted to get a tattoo.  It took me five years to be ready or figure out what I wanted.

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Thanks Tyler at Beelistic Tattoo for the awesome symbol of my loss.

I still felt I wanted to do more.  I thought about being cheesy and releasing balloons but I’m not cheesy and those balloons just become litter and really don’t represent what I went through.

So this happened…

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As if I have time to start a non profit.  I’ve been thinking about it for awhile.  I’m not sure I’m ready or if I have the time but wanted to get the ball rolling.  If not now, when?  I wanted to talk but didn’t know who to talk to.  I know other women have to feel the same way.  I ordered business cards. I want to at least get my email address out there so if woman need to talk, they can reach out.  I’m not a therapist, but I’m someone who has been there.

It feels odd to put such personal information out there, but in a way it’s healing.  What do you think?  I’m crazy and sometimes entirely too driven but that’s me.

Here’s to 2013 and bring on 2014!  Happy New Year!

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Letter to my Dogs

Dear spoiled doggies,

Just a couple reminders.

I can’t make the bed if you are on it. When I say off, that doesn’t mean get off the bed, then right back on. When I say off a second time, that doesn’t mean jump down a second time, then jump back up. When I say off a third…

There is no K9 neighborhood watch program in Newport. I promise you. You don’t need to alert me to every neighbor working in their yard or bird landing on the neighbors roof. There is only one K9 officer in Newport and none if you are it. You don’t wear a badge and we all know everyone of you would hand over all of my belongings for a belly rub and a treat. Stop acting tough.

We know the dog across the street is a talkative guy late at night, but you guys have a curfew and a bed time. It’s lights out at 10PM.

Love,

Your crazy mom who really needs some sleep

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Tough Love

Tough is listening to your foster dog scream as you walk away from him and his new owner.

Tough is doing that over and over again.

Tough is seeing the sad face of a shelter dog.

Tough is seeing lots of sad shelter dogs and knowing you can’t save them all.

Tough is pet parents who don’t give their dogs the love they need.

Tough is a foster dog who eats your walls and watches.

Tough is loving that foster dog like your own and hoping he doesn’t feel as if you’ve abandoned him when he gets adopted.

Tough is knowing your county shelter doesn’t try to save it’s animals.

Tough is not being able to do much about it.

Love is knowing you’ve changed a dogs life.

Love is getting an update about one of your foster dogs being spoiled in it’s new home.

Love is knowing you can’t save every broken dog, but knowing that you’ve healed many.

Love is turning an abused scared dog into a happy pet.

Love is not being able to take a break from fostering, because it’s who you are and if you can help, you should.

Love is a dog who was very abused and afraid of me, now curled up next to me on the couch.

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Run for Boston

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It’s been a week since the bombing at the Boston Marathon.  All of the Cincinnati running stores organized a local run for Boston.  My friend Lori and I joined a group at The Running Spot in Newport for a 2.62 mile jog this evening.  It was the perfect sunny night for a run.

The Running Spot posted something on their Facebook page today that I found interesting.  It was a letter written by Collin Peddie, the owner of the running store that was right by where the first bomb went off.  He went for a run after the bombing and tried to fight tears as he ran.  He couldn’t.  He was trying to figure out if he was running away from something, or towards something.  He decided it was neither.  He said he was living in the moment and couldn’t get away from what had happened.

I think running does all three for me.  Sometimes it’s an escape.  A way to run from my stress for a little while.  A place to free my mind.  I’ve cried on runs, especially when my grandma was sick.  Running is not only my happy place.  Sometimes it’s a place of peace or place I go to reflect.  Sometimes I just want to run and not think.  I can relax my mind as my legs carry me through the miles.

Sometimes I feel like I’m running towards my goals.  I’m running to be healthier or to relieve stress.  Sometimes I run for my sanity.  When I’m feeling like life is crazy, running puts me in a better place or mood.

There are those times where you just can’t escape life.  Running can’t fix it all.  I never regret a run though.  It was a pleasure to run tonight for those that were injured.  As long as my body will let me, I will never stop running.

Beautiful right?

Beautiful right?

 

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Thief

I haven’t blogged in a while and I debated writing about what happened in Boston yesterday, but I can’t get it off my mind. I can’t stop watching the news. What did I lose? I didn’t lose a loved one. I didn’t lose a limb. My marathon experience wasn’t robbed from me.

I didn’t lose anything but as a runner I’m sad. As an American, I’m sad. I’m heartbroken for those involved. I’m inspired by those who rushed to help. I’ve heard stories of doctors who had just finished running 26.2 miles and then rushed to the scene to help victims. There are so many hero’s who helped those in need.

I was talking to my mom today about it. I told her that I hope this doesn’t keep spectators away from events like marathons. Spectators help you survive a marathon or half marathon. Without people cheering you on, it would be a long, lonely race.

I ran my first half marathon last spring, The Flying Pig. The spectators were amazing. One of my favorite parts of the race was running up 5th street downtown. There was a wall of people on each side of the street. It was an amazing feeling. The whole route was full of people there to cheer on the runners.

My mom always cheers me on at my races. At the flying pig last spring she was waiting for me at the finish line of the race with a sign and a tiara. Yesterday I thought of how much it means to me that she was there to watch me finish the race. I felt for the families who lost their loved ones at what is usually such a happy event and an amazing experience.

Some people train their whole lives to run Boston. I would love to one day but I know I will probably never be fast enough. I’m a slow runner.

I am haunted by the image of the man being wheeled away from the scene who had lost both of his legs. All of the images are heartbreaking.

This horrific event makes me want to get back to being able to run races. I just finished physical therapy for my lower back pain. I’m easing back into running. I’m eager to get my race legs back, now so more than ever. I’m a runner. I want to run for those injured. I want to run for those who now can’t.

I sit here writing this with the news on, hoping they find out who did this. My prayers are with the victims, first responders, bomb sniffing dogs, doctors, and everyone who offered help yesterday.

The coward or cowards who did this are thieves. They stole an amazing experience from so many people. They took lives. They ruined lives. They didn’t take my love for running. I will be at The Flying Pig marathon in a few weeks to cheer on my friends and coworkers.

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The Higher the Hair the Closer to God

My long hair and I had one last dance party to T-Pain’s “Church” this morning, then I headed to Mitchells hopped up on Red Bull and Starbucks listening to Christmas music.

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I donated ten inches of hair to Locks of Love today.  Until four years ago, I kept my hair short and blonde.  I’ve been on quite a journey the past four years and my hair was not my priority.  It had gotten a bit unruly and needed to be tamed.

Three of my favorite people!

This is what my hair typically looked like from my early twenties until I was twenty-seven.  I was pregnant in this picture.  I just didn’t know it yet.  A few days after the above picture was taken I found out I was pregnant.  Fifteen days later I had a miscarriage.

I took two weeks off work to physically heal.  Emotional healing took MUUUUCH longer!  I had to get out of my house but go somewhere I wouldn’t run into any pregnant women or babies.  I thought going to get my hair cut would be a good idea.  My stylist comes out and what did I see?  A pregnant belly.

We made small talk until she asked me what I did for New Year’s Eve.  I had my miscarriage on December 30th, 2008.  I didn’t know If I should say anything but I did and we sat there in awkward silence.  She finished my haircut and I walked out of Mitchells, sat down in my car and lost it.  I ugly cried right there in the parking lot.

A couple of months later I decided to color my hair darker and I didn’t want to see my hairdressers even bigger belly so I scheduled the appointment with a new girl.  She was great but after she cut my hair a few times I found out she quit to do make-up so I was again without a hairdresser.  Oh, the horror!

A few months after I had my miscarriage, my grandma was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  Everyone that knows me knows how much I love her and that watching her battle brain cancer was the worst experience of my life.

By the end of 2009 I was emotionally healed from my loss but my families lives revolved round chemotherapy and that bitch of a word cancer.

In 2010 that place I helped make succesful did me a favor and laid off all of the management staff.  Financially it wasn’t fun but I needed the push because I stayed way too long because I loved what I had built.  I am much happier now.

2011 was the worst.  That’s when my grandma’s battle got hard.  That’s when we realized we were going to lose her.

The beginning of 2012 was even harder than the last few years.  Spa days were the last thing on my mind.  I still miss my granny so much.

I looked at myself in the mirror recently and thought “Holy freaking moly!  Where did those bags under my eyes come from? Oh, yeah, life!”

Through all the chaos my hair kept growing and was out of control.  I’ve got goals and plans for 2013 and it was time to shed the hair.  It had been with me through a lot, but it’s just hair.  Now Locks of Love will turn it into a wig for a child with cancer.

As Bailey, the hairdresser at Mitchells was cutting my hair, I got a good look at my face in the mirror.  I look tired.  I still look good!  I just look good and tired.

There are many ways to heal.  Shedding my hair is just a small way to get started.  There are some things we never fully recover from.  Life is an accumulation of  experiences.

Thanks for reading my long-winded post.  I needed to purge some emotions along with my hair.

Mr. Miyagi says it’s time for bed!

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I’m Back

Well I haven’t really gone anywhere.  It’s been a crazy summer.  It’s been a crazy year.  I feel like life has tossed me around the past few years and I am still trying to stop spinning.  Life never really stops being crazy.  It’s important to know you never get to a place where everything is perfect.  You just have to learn to accept the craziness and adapt.

I haven’t written a blog post since early June.  It’s been a hard summer of missing my grandma and watching my mom miss her mother.  Our life for the past three years was watching her battle a brain tumor.  I would give anything to hear her voice.  You never feel you said enough or did enough when you lose a loved one.  In the end the tumor took her brain long before it took her body.

I haven’t felt like sitting in front of my computer and writing over the past few months.  I’ve written some good blog posts and sometimes I’ve posted my ramblings.  That’s life.  Some days are meaningful and other days are just days.  Sometimes I read over my posts and it’s great to remember certain days and meaningful posts that I’ve written.  Sometimes I read them and think, “Oh geez, who cares what you ate today”!  Ha.  It’s me though.  It’s real and sometimes it’s raw and I’m not embarrassed about what I’ve written.  Writing can be cathartic for me.

Life is made up of inspired days, sad days, great days and boring days.  I write when I have something to say.  I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue with this blog but it’s helped me vent and heal.  I’ve noticed people keep checking back to see if I’ve written anything.  Thank you for that by the way.  I write for me though, and hope that someone enjoys it or gets something from it.

“That’s all I have to say about that!”

PS

Remember the super cute puppy I was fostering?

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I adopted him! Meet my Mr. Miyagi!

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