DANGITALLLIBBY

Sorry- Wrong Blog

2009-08-28T20:31:00.000-07:00

I am sorry to everyone who read "Everyone Goes to the DMV" . That blog was supposed to be at libhotmama, not dangitalllibby. I can't figure out how to delete it. I have much more to say about dear Rachel and grief. Just not today.

Everybody Goes to the DMV

2009-08-28T07:03:00.000-07:00

Everybody goes to the DMV. You don't think you do? I bet you have. Can you think of even one person who hasn't gone to the DMV? Nope, didn't think so. It is now getting to the point where you will have to have an identity card to do anything. Want to get on a plane? Better have ID! We give ID cards to BABIES.

Guess what people don't bring to the DMV? Think now. Oh, here it is is. MONEY. You wouldn't believe how many people come to the DMV without money. It's usually kids getting their permits. They are probably the same ones who are forging their parent's name on the forms. A credit card won't make it, bring cash, check or ATM. Or better yet, leave your ATM at home. The ATM machines cannot correct mistakes so if yours truly puts $220 as the amount instead of $22, you are s-o-l until you can be reimbursed by the state. You fill out a form and wait. You have to mail it and buy the stamp, and who has stamps anymore. Once you do get it mailed it can take two months to get your money back...maybe. I'm sure Arnie will find a way to spend it. The only way to get out of the DMV without spending money is to be 62 and get a Senior ID. As of today, they are free. This could change tomorrow. You have to update your license in CA every five years. Move to AZ, though, and you get your license for- count it- fifty years!

Here's another thing to bring to the DMV- ALL your legal documents. Bring the birth certificate, bring your passport. If you are a foreign national, bring your permanent resident card, employment authorization, student 1-20, 1-94 form. Bring it on! Why are you waiting in line for two hours with a copy? Bring the original, that is the only thing that will work. We don't care if you are an honest and trustworthy person, bring the paper and prove it. It is much better to bring more than less. The only name that is now allowed on your driver's license or ID is your true legal name. If your name is Gertrude Bellyache Jones but you've always been called Whiney Jones, you need to change your name legally. We don't care what your nickname is or what people call you. Your card says your true legal name. If you got married, bring your marriage certificate. If you think your last name should be PITT, you can bring the best looking actor in Hollywood with you, and we won't care. You need to bring your marriage certificate.

If you can't see, bring your glasses. If you are wearing contacts, tell the clerk. Many people have told me "Oh, I left my glasses in the car." Ok, dumbo, go back and get them and then GET BACK IN THE TWO HOUR LINE. You will not be allowed back after you run your errand. If you have monovision with contacts, bring your glasses instead of your contacts. You have to pass the vision with both eyes. If you have had the monovision operation, be prepared to pick up a medical report, have your optometrist fill it out and then come back and get in line.

Ok, here it is. Bring Money, Bring your Legal Documents and Bring your glasses. Simple, right?
Now, here's an inspiring DMV story. I waited on a customer yesterday who said that the DMV saved her sight and MAYBE her life. She noticed her vision was getting a little fuzzy but thought she was just going to need reading glasses soon. She failed the visual and needed to go to the optometrist or opthamologist. He discovered she had a brain tumor. They operated on her and saved her life. She still has some visual impairment, but she will have a full and happy life, and all because she failed her DMV eye exam. TAKE THAT!!! See how we help out humanity?

Peace and love to all and think "Patsy Cline".

The Kindness Of Strangers

2009-08-15T23:26:00.001-07:00

I have been thinking lately about the kindness of strangers, and how I can be kind to others. I interviewed for a position at the Costa Mesa DMV and told them how I thought the few minutes each day I was helping customers was my chance to show them kindness and understanding, and I meant it. When you are stressed, or your life is a mess, or your kid died, or something else horrible happened, sometimes the difference between completely going bonkers and making it to another day is the little kindnesses that others give you. I want to thank these strangers.

Thank you to the assistant at the coroner's office. You were sensitive, kind, understanding and spoke with a soft and gentle voice.

Thank you to the neighbor of Rachel's who placed a wreath on her door. It was the first thing I saw at her apartment and it touched my heart. I still have it.

Thank you to the funeral home director. You were open to our requests and didn't try to push anything on us. Your kindness was very comforting.

Thank you to the DMV clerk who gently steered me in the correct answers to the registration of Rachel's car so I wouldn't have to pay extra money.

Thank you to the manicurist who thought I was getting my nails done for a wedding, and when I told her "no, a funeral" said "Oh, she in heaven now. She happy. I can tell you a good mommy."

Thank you to the professional people who said "I am sorry for your loss". I know you are trained to say that, but it doesn't matter. It really helps.

Of course, my heart is filled with love and gratitude for all my close friends and family who were there for me and still are. Thank you to John, for holding me. Thank you to Sarah for making all those phone calls. Thank you to Keturah for turning thirty soon. (She understands) Thank you to Jeff for taking care of everything in Sacramento. Thank you to Chris for always being there. Thank you to Becky for taking such good care of Rachel. Thank you to Cid for not judging Rachel and showing her understanding. Thank you John (bro)for the tears. Thank you to Jeni for the money (we need that too). Thank you to Josh for having the same sweet spirit as Rachel. Thank you to Julian for all the legal rigamarole. Thank you to Hal for the laughs. Thank you to Elise for making arrangements for the services. Thank you to Uncle Tom for paying. Thank you to Jacob for being Jacob. Thank you to Ronalee for preparing all the food. Thank you to Richie for letting us use your house for the wake. Thank you to Megan for the wake therapy talk. Thank you to Louise for making sure day to day routine was taken care of. Thank you Robin for listening. Thank you Craig for being Rachel's father. Thank you Diane for the poetry. Thank you Kathy for the video. Thank you mom for loving me and my children. Thank you to all. If you are missed, it is not because I am not grateful. I am. I am just tired.

Gratitude is giving my heart a little rest from grieving, for this I am grateful!

How Many Children Do I Have?

2009-06-23T23:31:00.000-07:00

I have a new job. I work at the DMV. I like it much better than my old job at Hyundai. I like the customer contact. I like the benefits.

I am in training. We are in training in Oceanside. It was a rather pleasant one hour drive. I got there in plenty of time, had breakfast at McDonald's where they had 79c 42 oz drinks. The employees in Oceanside were friendly and showed me the ropes. There are only three of us training now, Susan, Rosemarie and me. I work in the same office with Susan and Rosemarie, and we have had many superficial conversations in the last couple of weeks. I try to avoid the big conversations like "How many children do you have?"

Of course, I never thought this was a big conversation before Rachel died. The answer was simple "I have 3 girls". After John and I married, I added "and two sons". Our trainer, whose name is Debby, started out with "So, introduce yourself, are you single or married, how many children do you have, etc. " I started tearing up immediately, and damn it, I was the last to answer. Rosemarie is single, but has a long time-boyfriend, no children. Susan is married, with two boys, and I am.... Well, what am I?

By the time they got to me, I was full-fledged crying. I hadn't gotten to the point of sobbing yet, but they were all staring at me uncomfortably. I said, "My name is Libby and I am married. The reason why I am crying is because my oldest daughter passed away about one and a half years ago, and I still feel very "raw". I also have two other daughters and two stepsons, and a grandson, who is seven." Debby and Rosemarie were sympathetic, but Susan didn't look at me, which I found odd. We were all uncomfortable. They said the usual 'Oh, I am so sorry" and "I can't imagine what it is like to lose a child" I always feel like saying "No, you can't, and you don't want to imagine it". If they had asked, which they usually don't, I would say "It feels like the earth has opened up and swallowed you whole. Escaping from the grief, which happens in bits and pieces feels like clawing your way up to the top of the hole, and then having someone sucker-punch you and falling back down again. Sometimes, you crawl back up, only to be slugged down, and sometimes you just stay there and welcome the dark, dank, cold earth.

I no longer know what to say when someone asks "How many children do you have?" The truth is I have 6 children, one of them is dead, one is schizophrenic and will probably never return to the United States, one never lived with me and I barely know him, one (grandson) is being kept from me by his vindictive father and I am not allowed to see him. Can you blame me if I sometimes tell the casual questioner, " I have two girls."?

I collected myself, and it didn't take too long. It usually doesn't take too long. I now belong to the dead child club and I don't like it, but I have learned to "compartmentalize". There is a time (like this blog) to discuss it, and there is a time (work) not to. Sometimes, grief overwhelms, and there is nothing I can do. There aren't many of us in the club, thank God, and I would never ask anyone to join. The job requirements are tougher than any other, the benefits are non-existent, and the dues are way too high.

DANCING WITH THE STARS

2009-03-26T21:15:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about exercising yesterday. I mean, really exercising on a regular basis. I thought about walking, biking and weight lifting, all good endeavors, and then Rachel said "Dance with Me. That was it, just "Dance with Me".

The thought amused me greatly, because Rachel was many wonderful things, but a good dancer was not one of them. She was clumsy, gawky, goofy-looking when she danced. She never quite "got" it. She was an amazing singer, though, and often I see Rachel with other stars, Elvis, Frank, or my favorite, my dad, throwing her head back and laughing and singing with gusto, beautiful duets. I can understand the singing, but dancing? I didn't think much more about it.

Today, I was driving home from shopping at Costco during my lunch work hour, and "Spirit in the Sky" came on KEARTH 101, and then Rachel said "Dance with Me" and then....she danced in all her glory for three wonderful minutes, she was just as goofy as always, wearing jeans with a short top on, her beautiful red hair flying in the wind, she was dancing and flying with absolutely no grace at all!

How can that be? Aren't the angels like Rachel, and she is an angel if anyone is, supposed to be graceful, gorgeous, ethereal creatures with waltzing as their preferred mode of dance? I don't think so, I think they are supposed to be like it says in the Lord's prayer "on earth as it is in heaven". They are supposed to be who they are. And Rachel danced with abandon and joy since the time she was a little bitty baby, never caring how dumb she looked, and never believing anyone who said she did look dumb.

I'm ready, I'm ready baby. The next time you tell me to Dance, I will Dance! I will leap into the air, I will shake my booty, I will boogaloo, I will skate, I will do the Freddy. I will dance with joy, and I won't care what anyone says or thinks, I will dance with you and feel the love you have for me, and know the joy you now have. I will dance thru the tears, and fears, and pain. Yes, baby, just ask, I won't hesitate. I will Dance with you, Rachel.

St. Paddy's Day 2009

2009-03-17T20:06:00.000-07:00

I was singing Danny Boy on the karaoke in honor of St. Paddy's Day and starting crying, of course. In itself, it is one of the most painfully sad songs in the universe, and I course I started thinking about Rachel.

I have my beautiful blondies, Keturah and Sarah, but only one redhead, Rachel. The red hair has been in my family for generations. My Grandma, me, Rachel, Jacob. The Scottish in us.

I keep writing about how I am ready to greet the world, and then I stop and think. I will NEVER greet the world anymore, for I no longer feel that this world is my home, for how can I have a home without Rachel nearby?

Vince has decided to keep my red-haired sweetie Jacob away from me for the time being. Go figure. I will never figure him out. Jacob is a shining star and he keeps me connected to the future. I miss him.

Sweet Baby.

A New Year 2009

2009-01-06T19:56:00.000-08:00

It is a new year, 2009. Last year, my goal was to hibernate, to grieve, and I did that. This year I wish to crawl out of my cave and greet the world. I will go through my phone book and call everyone. I feel I am strong enough now to tell them about Rachel without completely falling to pieces, and I realize I need the love and affection of others.

Thinking of Rachel, makes me smile, makes me cry, and I think about her every day. I think about Rachel more than I think about my other children, or my husband. Thoughts of Rachel fill my mind daily. I thought this would change when the black hole of grief subsided a bit, but it has not. Mostly, I have smiles now, because Rachel was a delight her entire life, filled with wit, impulsivness and wonder.

Jacob shares these qualities with his mother. Jacob, my wonderful grandbaby. I have not seen you since October, because for some misguided reason, your father thinks it is best to hide you from all who loved your mother. I won't allow this to continue. After continued pleading, calls, emails, letters, with no response, I have decided to sue for grandparent rights. I hate to do this to you, Jacob, but I cannot bear the thought of you growing up without me, and without those who loved your mother in your life.

I detest conflict, and I don't relish this, but I am looking forward to spending time with Jacob, and having Sarah and Keturah spend time with you, Jacob. I think the wrath from the Bermudez/Wall family will be short-lived and we will work all of this out. You can not have too many people to love you. I love you for yourself, and I love you for being your mother's son, and I want to be with you, and let you know, that you are perfect and wonderful, just the way you are.

I don't have the dreams about Rachel that I did, but the memories are sharp. At times, I feel Rachel's pain, her confusion at not being accepted for who she was, but mostly I just laugh and think how delightful a person she always was. The funniest girl you could ever see, the best mimic.

Jacob, when your mom was two, she could mimic neighbors and she did. When she was five, she could read just about anything. She was the friendliest girl in the neighborhood and people always commented on how friendly she was. Keturah worshiped her and had to do everything that Rachel did. Rachel was the smartest girl in kindergarten and she could talk faster than anybody. She had so much to share! She loved Keturah most of all, and they spent all their time playing together.

When we would take long-distance car trips, we played a game. Whoever could stay quiet the longest would get a quarter. Your mommy always lost because she could never stay quiet! She would bubble over and forget. She often got the quarter anyway because we understood how much she had to say to the world. Look at me! Hello World! I am here!

Your mommy loved cactus! And especially beaver tail cactus, I don't know why, but she did. She loved Strawberry shortcake and looked like her with her red hair and freckles. She loved the snow when we lived in Grand Rapids, and when she was much smaller than you, she loved to roam around with no clothes on. Keeping clothes on her was a challenge!

Well, there is much more and this is disjointed. I haven't forgotten about Rachel, or Jacob. I am looking forward to spending many more hours writing about Rachel and hours and hours enjoying my grandson, Jacob.

A NEW DAY

2008-09-17T14:05:00.000-07:00

I will be putting this blog on hold for a while. Something happened around the one year deadline of Rachel's death. Grief lifted. I cannot explain it, except to say that while I think of her every day, I can see the possibility of living without her in my world. I have had no "visitations" or dreams, and I have sought them out. I guess I am meant to go on. I love you, darling. Rest in peace

Cyd's Comments

2008-08-14T17:53:00.000-07:00

I am sitting here in tears after reading your blog. Everything you have
written there speaks of your love and your faith. I am glad that you
have had so many visitations from Rachel. I had one of the 29th, as I
believe I had emailed you about. I have not heard her sing since she
passed away and I am glad that she has sang for you. She had the most
glorious voice.

I thought I would share something with you that happened in 1974. As you
might or might remember my telling you, I had a near death ( as they
call them ) experience. I died from a poisonous acorn from that oak tree
that you have told me is now gone. It was a very windy storm and it
knocked some acorns off the tree and sent them into the back yard ---
where lots of apples had been knocked off the tree. Aunt Juanita and I
had gathered up the apples and put them on the back porch.

I came down with pneumonia and oranges costing too dear and with a
gazillion apples there for the taking, I brought up some apples to that
little bedroom in between the others. But I mistook a green acorn ( they
are poisonous in that state but are edible when ripe ) for a little
green apple. I took one bite of it. I had my NDE and when I came back
there was the acorn ( it had tasted horrible ) that had been spit out. I
could tell you the story of Snow White and how that relates to this but
that could be for another day.

Anyway, I went to heaven, I heard the laughter of angels, I heard their
song and danced for them. And there were streets of gold that one could
see through. There is so much light and so much beauty and so much love.
And no, it is not humanly possible to describe any of it. It might sound
like I am describing it but I am not. Words fail. But our loved ones,
including your precious Rachel, are there. We still have our missions
here to fulfill and we might not even know what they are but God's
perfect will does.

The day that I died and Jesus broght me back from the dead was NOVEMBER
11. I call it my "phoenix day" as the phoenix is the symbol of death and
rebirth. As is the butterfly. So Rachel was always so very special for
me. And she still is.

To dance in the rainbow and to fly among the stars, walk on golden
streets as clear as glass. To sing with the angels, to see our loved
ones again, to spend eternity with them in joy unspeakable around the
throne of God praising our Maker and our Redeemer. No, we can not
imagine it but we do have tiny gliumpshes of it. How frail we are as
humans, how torn by our grief and our needs. And He is our Comfort and
our Stay.

God bless you Libby for these tears your beautiful and heartfelt words
have given me.
God bless you.
Cyd

Thank you, Cyd. I couldn't muster up anything to write today, luckily Cyd could. I have posted her comments here.

Sing a New Song

2008-07-30T23:33:00.000-07:00

Today I was trying to frantically to see the CD that the girls and their stepmother, Kathy made for Rachel's services. They did a beautiful job. I have been avoiding it because it makes me cry, and I wanted to be alone to wail to the heavens. I tried the TV in the bedroom, but I couldn't get it to work, I tried the TV in Chris's room, ditto, another TV in John's lair, I couldn't find the remote, and the TV in the living room would only loop the intro over and over. I was finally able to get the TV in the bedroom to show the video, which is in color with sound normally, but today was in black and white, with no sound.

But, isn't that how it is? You would think with four TV's I could get one to work. No luck. But black and white with no color was enough for me, as long as I could see Rachel. I think that is how this life is. Black and white. We don't even have a clue as to what eternity holds. How could we describe sound to someone who has never heard, or color to those who can't see? How can our finite and limited minds know what is in store for those who love God? We can't. I do not understand heaven, eternity, or God. I know that my daughter has gone from this earthly life, but I cannot grasp where she is.

There are glimpses. Maybe they are all in my mind. Maybe, I am making them up, but it is so different from anything I have made up before. I feel Rachel, I see her, sometimes, when I am really lucky I hear her, but I cannot feel her. For the past few months nearly every time I have a "visitation" it is regarding music.

I see Rachel singing. The first time was when I heard of Sabrina's death. I saw Sabrina and Rachel singing "Me and Bobby McGee". They were on a park bench in a forest and they were singing LOUD and tossing their heads around, with their hair flying and stomping their feet.
I have seen her with Elvis (yes, Presley) and with my dad. Oh, it was wonderful to see my dad again.

On July 28th, I was at my cousin Louise's ranch. We, meaning me, Louise, cousin Patty, her husband, and their relatives from Italy, cousin Howard, Howard's wife and daughter's and I were all singing karaoke. It was just as expected, fun, enthusiastic and amateurish. I was standing between Patty and Louise when we started singing "Let it be", and then Rachel joined us. She was across the room, but then she came and stood between me and Patty and started singing with us. I started to cry and Patty held me closer and Rachel stayed for much of the song and then she was gone.

It is hard not to be filled with mind-numbing grief during these visitations, but Rachel is always happy and mischievous, and that gives me comfort. I feel like I am a heathen, my faith is so shaken and shallow. I want to live for my other girls, but I want to die to see Rachel again. I told Rachel that I wanted to die to see her. I felt quilty even saying it, because I think I should want to die to be with Jesus, but I want to die to be with Rachel. When I said that, I saw her motion to me, and then say "Come on in, the water's fine." This reminded me of the song "Come to the Waters" And Jesus said, "Come to the waters, stand by my side, I know you are thirsty, you won't be denied, I felt every teardrop when in darkness you cried, and I strove to remind you that for those tears I died."

There is a big part of me that wants to move on with my life. I want to move on from this grief, and get on with the rest of my life. I want to get in shape, and sing and dance. I want to get a new job, and wish I could live with no job. But, the grief still seems to numb me and keep me down on my knees. Rachel, I love you baby. It is time to run, and dance and sing with you. I know I can only see the black and white, but it won't be long before I will be with you and sing with the angels and dance in the rainbow.

Procrastination

2008-07-22T22:49:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, July 20th, 2008

Rachel's ashes sit in a vase on my fireplace mantle. A friend gave me the vase. I don't really like it all that much and I plan to replace it with a respectable urn.

I plan to take this respectable urn and take it and put Rachel's ashes in a respectable place, like a cemetery or to the seven winds.

I'm also thinking of getting an engraved memorial, or getting a memorial plaque at Disneyland, or getting a tree, or buying a star for Rachel.

Someday, I may even complete all the paperwork and get the money for the 401K she had, and pay for all of the above. If I was smart, I would get Vince to do it, because even though it can take weeks for him to return calls regarding Jacob, he called me back within ten minutes when I found out that Rachel had an insurance policy for Jacob.

I really intend to put a baby picture and an adult picture in the locket I have for Rachel. I'm going to put together the montage of Oz pictures I have into some really creative artwork and hang it in the living room.

I'm putting together a book of photos for Jacob and I will write down all my memories of his mother for him. I'll put together a clever book, with lovely photos and graceful calligraphy and pretty borders and fun drawings.

When I return to life again, and who knows when that will be, I will do all these things.

For now, I plan on calling Vince again and again and again to beg him to please please please let me see Jacob. And when Vince, Finally, lets me spend time with my grandson, then Jacob can tell me his own memories, of his favorite photo of his mom and him on the Winnie-the-Pooh ride, and how I have long red hair like his mommy's, and how he likes to eat lots and lots and lots of Parmesan Cheese on his spaghetti just like mommy. And I can sit and look at the darling boy and see him, for who is is, certainly, but also how much he is like his mother. Seeing my daughter alive in this boy, puts all my plans and schemes into perspective. Yes, they need to be done when I return to life again, but in the meantime, I need to be around Life, and that life is in Jacob. Rachel, I won't give up. I'm calling Vince again tomorrow. The memories will keep
another day.

July 1, 2008 Headache

2008-07-01T21:35:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I got a headache at work that made me want to scream. It was hitting the back of my head, like when I had my concussion, and radiating over the top of my skull. It was making me nauseous, maybe a migraine, though I don't generally get migraines. And then, I got it. This is why Rachel died.

Rachel couldn't stand pain, not in herself and not in others. She would run like mad from pain, she would cry and scream in emotional pain, and take whatever she could get her hands on to block out physical pain. There was no use in telling her to "buck up" or "just live with it". That would never happen.

Rachel would talk with anybody, anybody about her emotional pain. Everybody knew whatever was ailing her at any time. Keeping a "stiff upper lip" or " nobody wants to hear your problems" didn't work for her. A life long blabbermouth, she did what she could to release the pain by talking. When she couldn't talk about it, she would get depressed and retreat to sleep, another favorite pastime.

In physical pain, Rachel had no compunctions about doubling or tripling whatever pain killer she had on hand, she couldn't wait to get rid of the pain. Rachel stole prescription drugs from the time she was a teenager from relatives and friends. Rachel was in pain on July 29, 2007. She had an abcessed tooth, which she needed a root canal for. She had dropped some shoes on her feet and they were sprained, if not broken. She had constant back pain, which at autopsy was discovered to have been caused by a 6 centimeter ovarian cyst, she had pelvic inflammatory disease, she was an undiagnosed asthmatic and a chronic smoker. All of this caused her physical pain. The emotional pain was worse.

I didn't know conclusively, why she died until 2 days ago when my cousin Louise told me that Jeff had told her around the time of Rachel's death that Becky was missing a patch of Fentanyl. My cousin Chris, said "Didn't you know that ?" and I said no. I knew Rachel had died from an accidental overdose. There was a list of drugs that put together caused her death, but I didn't know whether she was prescribed the meds, or got them from friends. Becky had good reason to have powerful painkillers. She was recovering from back surgery, the kind where they cut her open from the front and the back and put a post in her back to correct her spine. She was in surgery for over 14 hours. She was in the hospital for days. Stealing a lethal drug from her Aunt Becky was Rachel's downfall.

Knowing Rachel's proclivity for Vicoden and other painkillers, Jeff and Becky usually kept them away from her. After Rachel's death, Jeff discovered that they were missing a Fentanyl patch, a drug supposedly 80 times more potent than morphine, and this patch killed Rachel, causing a massive heart attack.

On the evening of July 29th, Rachel visited her Aunt Becky. She was in good spirits. Apparently she stole the Fentanyl Patch at that time. She went home. I called her on the phone and she said "Mommy, I am in so much pain". I said "Hang on, honey, I'm coming down next weekend to help you out" And she said "That would be nice, mommy I have to hang up. I love you"

And then she was gone.

I remembered all this when I had my horrible headache. I thought I would do anything to get rid of it. And then I thought, "I get it". I understand why Rachel stole the patch. I understand the pain. I understand the need for oblivion.

My sister, Cid had a dream about Rachel soon after she died. She dreamt that she saw Rachel and Rachel said "Tell Mommy, I'm sorry". I didn't understand the dream at the time, but I do now. Rachel wanted forgiveness for stealing.

Oh my baby, I forgive you. Rest in peace free from the pain of the world. Love, Mommy

taxes- april 14th

2008-04-14T20:10:00.000-07:00

Taxes. What a bitch and that's all I have to say about it.

I had a dream about Rachel the other day. I dreamt I walked up to the house where she was staying-a half-way house in Lakewood, California with a long entry way. Rachel opened the door and stood there in a towel around her body and a towel wrapped around her hair and said "Mommy, what are you doing here?" And I said, "I just wanted to see you." Then the alarm went off and I woke up. Dreams are a gift. She was pretty and Rachel and I saw her, again, and I rarely see her anymore. There are not enough photos or videos to last. There are never enough memories. I read in the paper about a couple who lost their boy and they said they have spent the last twenty years looking for him. That's how I feel.

Some times I look in the crowd of people to see if anyone looks like Rachel. I went to the LA Art Museum last week, and spent a lot of time looking to see if Rachel was in any of the paintings.
None. I only see her in my own face, and my face is old and lined and not pretty like her. Sometimes, when I see Keturah from a distance walking, she looks like Rachel from the back. Where are you? Where are you?

It all seems pointless sometimes.

Another Dream.

I dreamt that Rachel was visiting me each night and she was far away beckoning me to come with her. I refused, "I can't, I have your sisters to think about". Each night, she would come a little closer and this dream reoccurred over several days. Still, I would refuse. Finally, I agreed and came as close to her as I dared, I was immediately angry because I thought she would open her arms and welcome me and she didn't. As I got closer to her, I noticed she was holding a baby, and could not embrace me without dropping the baby. And then she was gone.
I woke up, and knew immediately that the baby was Megan, my sister's baby who was stillborn 19 years ago. Megan got a mommy to take care of her, and Rachel was taking care of her with pride and joy and love, just like she did Jacob.

Oh God, life is too long.

Can't Get Any Worse

2008-01-01T20:35:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year-2008-

For 2008, I keep thinking of the Beatles Song- "Got to admit it's getting better, getting better all the time- CAN'T GET ANY WORSE!

A co-worker told me not to say that. I would just jinx 2008. I don't think I can. What? Will my other kids die? God help me. No, what saddens me most about 2007 is that 2007 will always be the year my daughter died, the year that I last saw her, ever. Nothing could be worse, or the memories more precious of her. I did a New Years Eve Party for the money, of course. I forced my cousin to come with me. She had a dream earlier that I would have a meltdown and she would have to take over and do a comedy act because she can't sing. Today, she congratulated me on recovering from my mini-meltdown with Auld Lang Syne, and how I recovered so quickly. The mini-meltdowns happen about 10 times a day, and I recover quickly. Maybe just a few tears, maybe a real sobbing weep, or just misty-eyed. I miss the girl.

But, it's not the same. Not the same as the beginning, when the earth opened up and swallowed me whole all day every day for days. When I would have thrown my other children under the bus if I could have one more day with Rachel. When the stranger who shares my room could've jumped on the plane to Australia and I wouldn't have noticed. It's not the same, as when I was obsessed with walking to jog off the pain, or making dioramas of OZ, or thinking up my butterfly tattoo, or gritting my teeth to keep from screaming.

Now, I just feel Dull. Dull, all day long. Nothing seems to matter much, anymore. It's just passing time till I die, and then people forget me. Doesn't much matter.

So, what about 2008? What are the resolutions? Well, let's see. Oh yes, lose weight. Always the first one, and never done. I must make some kind of plan. And, stick with it. Let's see how far I get with this resolution, before I start adding more. That is enough.

I'd like to see my daughter, Keturah get married. Stop fooling around. Just do it. I like the guy and he does love you. Make an old lady happy, get married and have some babies.

I want to see my grandson, Jacob more. He is so funny, he cracks me up! He is a smart kid, and so much like Rachel.

Josh needs to get out of jail, and get on with his life, wherever that leads him.

John needs to join me with this weight loss resolution. We can do it.

And that's it. There are some others, but I just want my family close and my fat further away.

I miss you, baby Rachel, I miss you. And I won't have you in 2008 or for the rest of the New Year's for the rest of forever.

BLUE CHRISTMAS 2007

2007-12-25T23:24:00.000-08:00

I really would have thought more people would have called me or sent me cards, presents, or good wishes. Didn't happen. Of course, my kids, husband, sister Becky, mom, Chris, and Cid acknowledged Rachel- and me, but nobody else. Really surprised me. Oh yeah, my cousins Sharon and Patty both emailed me and my Uncle Edsel and Aunt Betty sent me a card, but they always do. So hell, yeah, I'm feeling sorry for myself.

I feel like crying all the time. ALL THE TIME, but I don't. Somewhere in the back of my head, I have decided that yelling and bitching at people at this festive holiday season is a much better idea. I've yelled at my mother, my husband, my cousin Chris. And I mean yelled where people were scared of me! I yelled at my husband because he gave my daughter 6 of the big potatoes from Costco, so there wasn't going to be enough for Christmas dinner (uh, there was lbs left over) I yelled at Chris, because I yelled at John and she said "Well, aren't you the happy one!" So I yelled, "Well, maybe you'd be happy too if you got a dead daughter for Christmas", I yelled at my mother because she was defending my brother for being a total and complete pig, slob is too mild. It was kinda cool, actually. Powerful. I am not a yeller. I hate it. But I think I preferred yelling and being a bitch, to throwing myself prostrate at the ground and screaming.

That's what I want to do. Yell. "It's not fair! It's not fair! Why is that fucker George Bush alive and well, and my daughter isn't!" That's the only person I think of who I wish could take Rachel's place. George Bush. I really can't hate him enough.

Ok. I am crying again, but my mother is in the room, and I can't cry too much. I just don't want to. If I ignore her and type, she will leave me alone.

I really did my best to create the "Happy Christmas" this year. Tons of food, karaoke christmas carols, family etc. But everybody kept screwing it up by not being perfect, by not being Rachel.

Let's see what this year has brought me. Minor-I suppose I am still fat. Fatter. My husband is fat. Fatter. I lost my job and so did John. Big deal. We have new jobs. The year started out with a bang with my stepson going to jail-where he is still rotting. He's schizophrenic. Got it. Let him out. Nobody was hurt. That's been LOADS of fun. And Rachel. She's dead, dead, dead. She's not coming back. Ever. There aren't enough butterflies, or Oz photos, or Bible verses of "First Christmas in Heaven poems" that will make it better or bring her back.
Damn it to hell.

Merry Christmas.

Lost Blog

2007-12-20T17:41:00.000-08:00

I lost the last blog I did, that's how disjointed I am. I want to tell Jacob everything and I can't remember anything. I was writing about how Rachel died and how I found out and how I felt. I guess none of that really matters. Maybe what Rachel was like is the most important thing.

Rachel started each day before work with a cigarette and a Pepsi. She was late all the time to her job at Penney's but she sold the most shoes of anyone in the store.

Rachel had no hair as a baby, then lots of curly red hair. Starting off at 5lb 9 oz, she was about 25 lbs at nine months old. The only other baby as fat as her was Jacob, her son. She was a skinny person all her life, except when pregnant or when she was a baby.

The day she turned 29, she called me and said "Mom, now we are both 29!" Dammit. Now we are both still 29.

She was such a smart kid, always inquisitive about everything. We used to say of her "she quietly goes about causing destruction". Quiet. Not for long, she spoke early and often. People called her "jabberjaws". She was the fastest talker ever. No one could talk as fast as Rachel.

Rachel was a great mimic. She could imitate anybody. She is famous for mimicking the little black girl next door when she was three, saying to me "Mama, yo booty too big" and for imitating her hearing impaired stepmother. Funny, but never mean.

She had a great laugh. She would throw her head back and laugh. She had a great snicker, she would snicker through the side of her mouth when smoking.

She was pretty. She was breathtakingly gorgeous at times, lit up from the inside. Sometimes, she dressed like such a bum her siblings called her "homeless", but there were times when she was the most beautiful woman in the room. Any room.

She took lousy photos. Go figure. Her photographs do not do her justice.

I miss her, I love her. She is gone.

BEGINNING

2007-11-30T16:03:00.000-08:00

This is not really the beginning, as in the beginning of Rachel's life. This is the beginning of grief. I want to get the story down before I forget. I won't forget her. Ever. But I may forget the story.

An HR person from work, whom I have not seen before or since and one of the supevisors, Aaron, came to my desk about 2:30PM, Monday July 30th. She (whoever she is) said your husband is here, log out of your computer, bring your stuff and come with me. Of course, I freaked. Big time. "Why?" says I. "We don't know why your husband is here, usually when a spouse shows up at the workplace it is serious". I knew immediately, before I said why, before they said anything that Rachel was dead. I joked with them and said "Maybe it's his father, he's 97". I was hoping. I took the long walk and saw John. He walked over to me put his arm around me and said"You should sit down". I said "No, let's go outside". We walked outside and John said that the Jeff (my brother-in-law and a cop) called. The police had found Rachel dead in her apartment, they didn't think she took her own life, but that's all he knew.

I went back inside work, and said "It's my daughter, she's dead". The HR lady said "We'll take care of everything, Go, you need to be with your family." My first thought was how I could possibly tell the girls. I didn't want to go home, but instead I insisted that we drive to the girls house and tell them. John drove. John had a number for the coroner who wanted me to call her right away, so I did. She confirmed that they had Rachel, Jeff had verified that it was Rachel and she advised me they were going to do an autopsy the next day, I gave a verbal ok. We then continued driving to Long Beach. We parked somewhere. I opened the gate and came up the stairs. Sarah opened the door. She saw that I was crying, she was asking me what was wrong, I finally said "Rachel" and she was saying "NO NO NO NO NO" I managed to say yes, and barely said "She's dead." Sarah wanted to know how, and I said I don't know some kind of overdose, not intentional. Sarah was hysterical and threw herself on her bed wailing, her boyfriend was there to comfort her. I laid down on Keturah's bed in the other room.

While I was lying on Keturah's bed, Rachel flew away. I saw Rachel running as fast as she could, flying really, she looked back to smile at me but I got the feeling she didn't have time to wave. All I could see was a long flowing gown, and then arms, picking Rachel up and throwing her up to heaven. And then she was gone.

John was sitting down by the gate, smoking, and he had the same sensation of Rachel running and then being lifted up to heaven. Hallelujah.

Rachel

2007-11-20T20:08:00.000-08:00

Here's the other story. Rachel. Rachel was my first-born, beautiful daughter and she died. Died at 29. The End.

Nothing else seems important about me, my children, my life, the universe except this, Rachel was my firstborn and she is dead.

The only reason why I am trying to write is because I want to leave something to her son, Jacob, or as he calls himself" Jacob Alexander Halloween "Boo!" Thanksgiving Chaffin Wall. I want him to know that he was loved and cared for by a wonderful, fun, expressive, flighty, emotional, loving mom, Rachel. When he is grown, I want him to know he lacked for nothing in his first five years because he was loved, freely and with great passion by his mother, Rachel. I want him to know that he was the fattest baby anywhere because she nursed him all the time and he was attached to her always. I want him to know that she delighted in his every squeal and taught him what a hexagon was. I want him to know that she listened to Thomas, the tank engine over and over again with him, because she loved him, not because she loved Thomas, who is inane at best. I want him to know that she hocked her engagement ring to help pay for a lawyer so she could keep him when she and his dad started the fight about custody. I want him to know that she died because she was trying to keep the pain away, not because she was trying to be away from him. I want him to remember the love, the affection and the kisses that were always his and his alone. I want the five years to last. the rest of his life and to comfort him when times are bad. I want him to know all this and much, much more.

I miss you, I miss you and Jacob barely got the chance to know you.

Beginning

2007-11-07T17:01:00.000-08:00

It irks the heck out of me that my best friend, Robin, wastes her time reading my ex-husband's bog. Oops, I mean blog, or maybe I did mean bog. Rhymes with Fog, and that's what the years of my marriage to him are now. She has to spend a lot of time at the computer sitting with her son , a brilliant, and I'm talking genius level gent while he completes his homework. Why does she do that? That's for her to answer. Anyway, I am jealous. JEALOUS! And her answer to all that is "Start your own blog (bog) and I will read that. So , here it is, just for you, Robin.

Now, the reason why I called the blog (bog) DANGITALLLIBBY is because of my frustration at finding a name for the blog. I thought of REFLECTIONS, or MUSINGS, and I actually went so far as to sign up Libbysmusings, but dangitall somebody had the name already. I tried libbyslibbyslibbys but somebody else obviously has heard the stupid song a gabillion times just as I have and used it first. Ms. Computer was kind enough to offer up libbyslibbyslibbyslibbys but it just doesn't sing-song well enough. So I just said "Dangitall!" Now those of you who know me, already know that is a BIG FAT LIE, and know what I really said, but I am TRYING to stop the vicious cursing and be a good girl. So there you have it. The blog, DANGITALLLIBBY

I must mention that my other BEST FRIEND FOREVER, Sherry, might be upset that I said that Robin is my BFF. Well, guess what, you are also my BFF. Best Friends are best in twos, like legs, or breasts or arms or legs or hands. One will work in a pinch, but two are best. Now, you know my childhood, Sherry and Robin, best friends with me for 40 plus years which is a miracle, since I turned 29 again this year. So did my darling Rachel, and she will stay 29, but that's another story.

Kisses and Hugs, Libby

Libby