I didn’t sleep well last night. Fitful dreams of scared kids. This morning I was up early, I readied for my follow-up breast exam. I’m less nervous than I thought I’d be, thanks to so many of you reaching out. You’ve been down this road I’m on, and overwhelmingly it all turns out just fine.

The weather is good in Atlanta today. Emory’s campus is lovely in the spring, which is helpful. Hopeful. I’m early for my appointment. I’m perpetually early. I grabbed a Chai Tea and found a spot outside Winship. I intended to read Rivka Galchen’s new story in the New Yorker, then a helicopter landed on the roof of The Children’s Hospital.

Jackson’s school was on a Level III lockdown last week. A couple of expelled kids snuck onto the school bus to “finish” the beef they had with another 8th grader. A friend of Jackson’s. They made it undetected into the gym. It was quickly stopped by fast-reacting teachers and admin, but not quick enough. Now there’s talk everyday about guns, and shootings, threats on social media, and a tension that is filling up the kids’ heads, the parents’ hearts.

The threats seem to elevate with the weather. We look forward to spring, the blooms, the sunshine. But it also means the end of the school year and that is sometimes long. Very long.

The news out of Nashville compounds, ignites. We are all just walking around scared and confused. The trees are still blooming, but it brings a sense of dread. What is next? We are always asking. To ourselves and each other.

When Jackson was two years old, he took a tumble down a couple of stairs. He skinned his knees, his elbow. I called the doctor right away. Should I bring him in, I wanted to know. She said he was okay. Said kids are resilient. They are fearless, too. He will go back down those stairs, fast just like before, but the next time he will know how to handle a fall. I will know how to handle a fall, because we will know what is coming.

But what about when we don’t know what’s coming?

M.

I’m Irish. Most of my life I was told I am but I was still surprised when my DNA test came back. My mother told me that my grandfather’s family was from Ireland. She said they were poor and left around the time of the potato famine. But, she also told me that my grandmother was a Native American princess and I have zero Native American in my ancestry, so who’s to say what is what. My people come from Southern Ireland, the real deal, sovereign state where the Irish Mob reigns supreme. In fact, when my people first left the tried to give it a go in London, which makes sense, that’s where I’d go if I were a farm peasant, but it didn’t suite them, even though they had some potatoes there just weren’t enough bars. So, they left again this time for the FR FR Promised Land of Bath County, Kentucky, USA!

So I mean, technically my people are from the UK and UK (Go Wildcats!) The point is, you can pinch me or not pinch me it doesn’t really matter, what really matters is that today is a special day. Today is the anniversary of my first date with Jerimiah.

Twenty one years ago today we stood on the street in Kansas City watching the St. Paddy’s revelers run amok and we gave a cheers with our green beers and decided to try this thing out. As it turns out Jerimiah is not Irish, so his luck was running thin, meanwhile I hit the jackpot that day.

Cheers to 21 years! And poor, poor peasant people.

M.

Today I asked the infinite universe why it was out to get me. Ever have those days? It feels like each minute of the day is more and more complicated than the last. I feel like Peter Gibbons in “Office Space” and every day is worse than the day before rendering today the worst day of my life.

Okay fine, I’m being dramatic. Peter and I are both dramatic, but I can’t shake the feeling that so many of us are feeling that way right now. I look around at meetings, at school functions, even out to dinner with the family, and I see people who look genuinely unhappy, or at least frustrated, overworked, under appreciated, just plain tired.

I assume it’s from living through what we have lived through over the last two years. I know people who went through some major life changes in that time. I know people who have moved across the country to start fresh. Couples who have divorced, people who started therapy for the first time in their lives. People who quit their high-pressure jobs and turned to work that is more meaningful. And I get it. I’ve undergone a major shift in thinking and feeling too, it’s a normal part of growth, especially in times like these. In fact, if you haven’t made any significant changes in your life over the last two years, the way you think, love, act, work, or live, I’d worry about you.

Now we are feeling the fallout. Some of us are starting to question the changes we made. Were they worth it? Did our loved ones come along with us? Did we leave people behind? Did we do the right thing? These are things I think about all the time and it’s doing a number on me. The truth is all the changes I made were to better myself, my family, my community, but there are certainly repercussions, even to ourselves.

There’s no easy answer here. I’m just hopping on to remind you that you made those changes for a reason and maybe you can re-evaluate. Maybe you need to, but most likely you made those changes because you needed to, and those old fears are just rising up again. I say shove them off. If you are feeling good and you’re moving toward the right kind of happiness for you, then it’s working. Our old wounds come up from time to time and they always will and on those days, sure, we might feel like every day is the worst day, but one foot in front of the other, friends.

One foot in front of the other.

Stay safe and sane, y’all.

M.

I wrote another obituary for a nephew. The first one was in 2016 for my nephew Scottie Wayne Goodpaster, Jr. He was murdered at 33 years old. But thankfully this summer the Kansas Supreme Court upheld the convictions for his murderers. You can read about it here. The newest obituary came a couple of weeks ago for my 33-year-old nephew Corey Alan Anderson who was also murdered, though there is still an active investigation and I can’t comment on it, I can share about Corey, including the obituary I wrote and some pictures from our childhood.

Corey is the oldest son of my sister Khristi. Khristi was 16 when I came along, which is why Scott and Corey and a couple other nephews were so close in age to me. Little Scottie as we called him, was two years younger than me, Corey was eight years younger and while his dad served in Desert Storm he lived with us along with my two sisters, my nephew Michael, and my mom in a two-bedroom apartment in Leavenworth, and that is when I got so close to those two.

Over the years I became their babysitter and then just regular, old Aunt Missy. Then we grew up, as people do, lost touch, we all left Leavenworth, though Michael and Corey eventually found their way back home. But back then they were more like little brothers to me than anything else. We have some good memories to pull out every now and then. There ended up being seven OG grandson’s for my mom, before marriage brought us step-kids and before Jackson was born. Michael (the brown-haired baby) was the third oldest, and now he is the oldest. Just like that.

I’m working through it all now. Processing, looking for the right words, but I did want to hop on here and share some pics of my guys. The OG Squad. Because sometimes when things are bad, it’s best to see the people you used to have.

Thanks for reading.

M.

Corey’s Obiturary

Corey Alan Anderson, 33, of Leavenworth, Kansas passed away on Thursday, September 22, 2022. 

Corey was born on February 25, 1989, to parents Brian and Khristi (Goodpaster) Anderson, both of Leavenworth. He was born in Wuerzburg, Germany while his father was active duty for the United States Army. 

When Corey was a baby, the family returned to the US and were stationed for a short time at Fort Benning, GA, but were able to return to the Leavenworth area soon after, eventually settling into their family home in Lansing, Kansas.

Corey attended Lansing Elementary, Middle, and High School. He received his high school diploma in 2016 from Bonner Springs Virtual Learning. 

As a child, Corey was an avid skateboarder. He spent hours practicing tricks and skating with his brothers and many friends from school and the neighborhood. He was eager to try different sports and enjoyed playing baseball, as well as exploring in the woods near their home. His first dog, Shadow, a yellow lab, was one of his best friends as a child and she ignited Corey’s love for dogs, which would last his entire life. 

He enjoyed wonderful relationships with his three younger brothers and strived to be a role model for them growing up. 

Shortly after high school Corey was involved in an accident that left him with a Traumatic Brain Injury. Though some of Corey’s personality and physical abilities were affected by the injury, Corey remained fiercely loyal to his family, his closest friends, and to his dogs, including Leo, his first service dog. 

After his injury, Corey spent most of his time hanging out with his dog Akira, walking the neighborhood, and playing video games. He enjoyed family gatherings and going out to lunch with Gma. He always looked forward to playing chess with his Uncle Scottie. Corey always won! 

Corey is preceded in death by his paternal grandparents Neil and Carol Anderson, his uncle David Anderson, and his cousin Scottie Goodpaster, Jr. 

Corey is survived by his parents Khristi Anderson (mother) and Brian Anderson (Kim) Anderson of Leavenworth. He is also survived by his brothers and their families, Joshua N. Anderson (Sarah) and nephew Oliver of Kansas City, Kansas, Samuel T. Anderson and nephew Keaton and niece Oakleigh Mae of Leavenworth, Kyle J. H. Anderson of Kansas City, Missouri, Tristan Jackson (step-brother) of Leavenworth, his maternal grandmother, Marjorie Mundt of Leavenworth, as well as many aunts, uncles and cousins who loved him including, Steve (Michelle) Anderson of Virginia Beach, Virginia, Belinda (Keith) Collier of Leavenworth, Melissa (Jerimiah) Goodnight of Atlanta, Georgia, Scott Goodpaster, Sr. of Wichita, Kansas, and Terri (Steve) Monroy of Jacksonville, Florida.

In lieu of gifts and flowers, the family is asking for donations to be made in Corey’s name, to Hope Pet Rescue, 728 Cherokee, Leavenworth, in honor of Akira, Corey’s most loyal companion. 

I’ve been keeping myself extra busy the last few weeks. Right after surgery up until yesterday I was waking up early, starting on projects, going all day. I’d have music or a podcast on while I worked, which is unusual for me, I enjoy quiet when I work. I had about 15 tabs open on my laptop at one point working on the middle school band’s spring trip, planning a veggie garden for the spring, ordering birthday presents for friends, planning a fall trip for us, getting a jump start on all Jackson’s travels for TSA this school year, planning spirit wear, writing cards to friends, charting my pain levels, and basically saying yes to anything that was thrown my way. At first I thought maybe I’m just spinning to keep myself mentally busy to combat my lack of physical ability during this time of healing, then yesterday I saw the date: August 24th and I realized why I was doing what I was doing.

Today would be my daughter’s 11th birthday. She’d be in fifth grade, maybe sixth grade, depending on when she was allowed to start kindergarten. She’d probably be a dirty blond with a penchant for video games like her brother, or maybe she’d hate video games because that is his thing. Maybe she’d be into science and math, or more likely she’d be like me, writing little stories, doing art, reading late into the night with a flashlight under her blankets thinking we wouldn’t know. I know she’d be smart, and early reader like her big brother. Kind, compassionate, maybe a little shy, letting Jackson be the leader he was born to be.

Those are the thoughts that seep into my concious every year around this time. The idea of who my daughter would be if she were here with me. And every year I try desperately to combat those thoughts, but I am never successful.

My best friend sent us the text she sends every year. The one to say she is thinking of us and of Lydia. Her son’s birthday is tomorrow and so in her head our two children are intrinsically linked. Late August babies. Wanted children. Loved always.

God, it’s a tough day for me. I try each year to spread a little light today, but this year is hard. I’m still on crutches and I’m still in a headspace that makes finding the hope harder. It feels all at once like the only day I can publicly remember her and the hardest day of the year to get through the memory of her. It’s a bad kind of feeling. A stuck kind of feeling.

I’ll choose kindness toward myself today to combat it. I’ll stay in bed longer. I’ll watch “I Love Lucy” and take my time. I’ll turn off the to-do list and the music and the ringer on my phone and I’ll sit in silence for a little bit. Then tonight I’ll hug my baby, I’ll send a gift to my best friend’s son celebrating another year around this wild world. I’ll call my Momma. I’ll make my donations to Trisomy 18 and Planned Parenthood. Slowly I’ll feel better. Slowly I’ll figure this out. Eleven years doesn’t feel so long and it never gets easier. I think we just learn to live with the grief, because what else can you do.

I hope you are learning to live with your grief today. I hope the memories you have suffice, and if not, if the memories are all tough for you like they are for me, I hope you can make sense of the nonsensical in a way that helps others, shines some light, and makes hope float.

I hope Lydia Elizabeth knows I love her, wherever she is, and I hope she knows I made the best decision I could with the information that I had. And I hope she forgives me. And I hope one day I can forgive myself.

Be nice to people, y’all. You just never know.

M.