cardboard paintings, chicken scratch & graffiti; pollution, light & love

my brother, at times, seems like he's slowly slipping away from me. i have yet to dream about him, which makes me wonder if there is some reason he isn't visiting me. i seldom expect him to show up at my front door anymore. or when some mystery number appears on my cell phone, my first instinct is to no longer guess that it's scottie calling from a random phone he borrowed, just to check in & say "hey." what always seems to get me, still, is when my mom tells me that she talked to my brother. my first instinct is to ask, "which one?" like i always used to do, out of some unconscious, unbreakable habit. i don't think i'll be able to say i have only one brother.

his death, although still so strange & surreal, is becoming more normal. i think about him often. i cry easily & quickly when i imagine seeing him in the hospital for the last time, not only 5 months ago. i fake a smile when harry points to his uncle scottie's pictures by the side of my bed, because i know that my son will only know him through those photos & the stories he will hear. & someday he can relive the day that his "scuncle" magically appeared at the birth center, or when he taught harry how to drum on the bongos in florida, or how we went to busch gardens & flea markets together. & although he may never see his uncle again, harry can be sure that he was beyond loved.

there are times i feel scottie's presence so strongly. like when we visit my father in law's gravesite. i feel this overwhelming sense that elliott & scott are together, wherever that is - i'm not sure. but i know they are next to each other, & happy, & without sickness of any kind. i see them taking care of each other. & watching out for the rest of the family, keeping us out of harm's way, as much as they are able to.

last august, when steve was visiting from china, my dad was up from florida, & scott was suffering from horrible hallucinations in my kitchen, mike & i had taken scott to a thrift store where we had bought him some clothes (because he hardly had any at that point). as we were leaving, i saw a small acrylic paint set & asked him if he wanted it, since the nice one i bought him for christmas was stolen by a former friend. i found those paints in his bag that he had brought back from florida in january. i went looking for them tonight. i was painting a card for a friend, & thought of how many times scottie & i painted on my back porch. i remembered wondering anxiously what he was going to do after he mangled his hand, but watching in utter amazement as he used his remaining fingers with such deliberation & determination. his art grew more creative, & became more haunted.

i cursed myself when i couldn't find those paints. i came across some of his brushes & an extra large crayon box. a pillowcase stuffed with pajama bottoms that he had left at my mother in law's house when he stayed there after elliott died. a disjointed poem in half chicken scratch & graffiti about pollution, truth, light & love. i smelled all of these priceless belongings, praying that a renegade molecule of scottie's smell would be left behind so that i could breathe him in.


then underneath my bed, i found dusty, hair-covered painting on a piece of cardboard. it was one of many scott had made for me over the years. some are lost, misplaced in moves or mistaken for recyclables - especially when painted on the back of pizza boxes. i'm not sure when scottie gave me this one - probably for christmas of 2009 or a recent birthday. this picture wasn't particularly my favorite. it's very busy with lots of sharpie tracing & paint on top of paint on top of paint. but discovering it tonight was like finding a missing wedding ring. especially when i turned the cardboard over & saw the message he had written:


SARAH & MIKE
I love you guys
& I love music
& I know you both do too...
Keep up the good work =)
LOVE
Scotty


along with his shred tag & other graffiti scribbles i couldn't decipher. i could hear mike faintly playing his guitar through his amp downstairs. & i felt my brother so near to me, listening along with me & drumming along approvingly.

i'm positive i'll find the paints when scottie wants me to. when he has something to tell me & i'm ready to listen.

from one super mama to another...

so somehow, my friend managed to have her baby before i got around to finishing my story... which was planned to help her (in some small way) through her own delivery. sorry, dear sister & newly fellow mama. i had all intentions of finishing my tale of labor before you bravely embarked on yours. but soon enough, if you haven't already, you will wake up in the middle of the night wondering how it suddenly turned into some june tuesday morning. & you forgot to take out the trash & recycling (for the second week in a row). & you haven't yet paid those bills (luckily you have a husband that manages to remember). & the floor is covered in equal parts dog hair & cheerio crumbs, but you can't bring to yourself to vacuum when the baby's asleep, to risk waking him up, or any other time because it's way too damn hot now. & meanwhile, you're waiting for the baby to wake up (again) & debating whether to push the dog off of your sweaty legs to go to the bathroom. somewhere in the midst off all this, the baby wakes up, as if on command, as if he heard you going over the list in your head from his crib in the room beside yours. you hope he will miraculously fall back to sleep, as if your breast milk was really just some magic sleeping aid, or wine (figuratively of course). but his whimpers inevitably turn into full on, throat expanding cries. & you sigh, glance enviously over to your sleeping husband beside you, kick & curse at the dog, & pick up the sweetest thing you've ever created to nurse back to dreamland. you realize sadly that what you've really missed out on these however many months is blissful reenergizing rest. & you desperately pray that it isn't your early morning shift in a couple hours.

becoming a mama has required me to moment by moment prioritize my life. with each precious second that isn't completely devoted to harry, i have to decide what i am going to accomplish... or allow to lie in wait. it started when i got pregnant & was initially overcome with first trimester fatigue. it was hard to give myself permission to lay in bed for most of the day when there were dishes to be washed or dinner to be cooked. or as my stomach stretched & my mobility became compromised, i had to give up feelings of guilt when i was unable to assist in lifting up the garbage bag (bummer!) or bringing all the dirty laundry down 3 flights of stairs just to take it all back up after it was cleaned. these little instances helped me to discover what was important at each moment after little harry was born. every day, i am faced with new decisions, usually dealing with my own selfish & necessary well being. like when harry naps, do i decide to wash the floors, or lie down in my own revere, hoping to catch up on my own needed slumber. or after an exhausting day of carrying a 25 pound bowling ball on my alternating hips, do i make this kick ass, super healthy, well balanced meal with all fresh, natural ingredients purchased from a the local coop or farmer's market, or heat up the frozen pizza & split the whole thing with mike. (i eat my half with absolutely zero guilt.) believe it or not, sometimes i choose the housewife, homemade direction. & i feel so proud & otherworldly, like wonder woman as a wife & mother (also with the killer body). but lots of times i opt for the rest that my body, heart & mind desperately require. sometimes i am unable to fall asleep for a short nap. but just allowing myself to not feel any obligations for a few minutes are sometimes just what i need in the middle of a tiring day. or when i finally put harry down at night, i find rejuvenation in watching a phillies game with mike while i paint my nails, or spending an absurd amount of money on a ballet class that brings me so much joy & confidence, or just going right to sleep, while letting the corners gather dust & the pesky weeds find happy little homes in the garden.

so tonight, i ate about 8,000 goldfish crackers & downed 2 (large) cups of tea cooler. harry's clothes are in the drier & another load was just put in the washing machine. mike is playing guitar with my legs propped up on his knees. i had planned on writing the third part of my delivery story, but it simply wasn't in the cards. someday, i'll get around to it, exactly when i'm supposed to share it. meanwhile, i brush whatever loose dirt i can from the black soles of my feet, climb the dusty stairs, wash my oily face & brush my gritty teeth, & happily fly into bed - the super mama that i am.

all before 10 pm.