It had been 3 years since Kurt Cobain had killed himself. His music was an anthem for kids of the 90’s. Nirvana’s songs, Polly and Smells Like Teen Spirit poured out of the carport from the new band in town- Bubble. It was Halloween of 1997, and I was hosting my first girl/boy party complete with a band made up of 8th graders! This was huge as I was merely only a 7th grader and one that didn’t turn 13 until the summer. Black garbage bags enclosed the garage and were decorated with black light paint. Bubble gave a lively, memorable performance and when they took a break, the CD player blaired out tunes, such as, Wonderwall. Dancing to this song, I closed my eyes, trying to hold on to the moment. All I could hear was, I said maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me and after all.. Opening my eyes, I looked around at all my classmates, dancing to the song or standing around talking. We were all dressed up in some type of Halloween costume or camouflage. Since we were in the South, there was plenty of it and for those not feeling so brave to venture out with the costume choice, it would be a safe choice.
The only phone to be found was inside hanging on the wall inside the house (with a new feature- Caller ID). Did you ever *69 anyone? No one stopped to check their phone or post pictures on their Instagram or Facebook pages- they didn’t exist. Thank God! We all lived in the moment back then. We were just in the beginning of our teen years and still somewhat innocent. Girls began to carry purses- Sak purses with the charm that read “Sak”. Girls started to care what boys thought and most boys were still as tall as the girls, not quite entering man hood yet except for this one guy- I swear he had hair under his arm when we were in 6th grade! Having a boyfriend was all the rage even if lasted a few months. Saving room for Jesus when dancing was a thing though we all got closer after the coast was clear. People signed their names “Ashley wuz here” and “Love you DNQ”. Hemp necklaces adorned our necks though I am not really sure many of us actually new what hemp was but was a required purchase from when you went to the beach.
We were trying to figure out who we were and where we fit in. At the party, however, we just danced, talked, and were kids. Bubble, cool and mysterious (or as mysterious as 14 year old boys are to younger girls) added to the soundtrack of our lives. This party would have been a perfect John Hughes movie complete with intriguing older guys, a dance, first love, and the awkwardness of just being a teenager. Instead of Don’t you forget about me playing at the end, we could all simply form a mosh pit and chant (hey, it was the 90’s)…
Hello, hello, hello, how low Hello, hello, hello, how low Hello, hello, hello, how low Hello, hello, hello
I was in danger of not remembering what she was like before. I had remembered her face as I had seen it a thousand times before. I knew the sound of her voice but couldn’t quite remember what exactly it was that made her laugh-not just any laugh- the kind that hurt and had no sound and often came with tears. It was not until recently that a friend of mine helped me remember. This friend had known her since 1st grade. We had lunch and it was though she reappeared before my very eyes. I left that day feeling that a piece of my old self had been saved. You see the person I could not remember was me- the old me before kids and my husband. Don’t get me wrong I cherish my life with them and cannot imagine my life without them, but I also feel like I was losing myself piece by piece. The old me was not to be found. Self doubt was slowly creeping in to things I usually feel good about- my job, taking care of the kids, making the easiest of decisions.. I am a person that has likes, dislikes, to do things, to feel successful…
This childhood friend has brought a better appreciation of remembering to take care of myself. Self care is a cliche term but is so crucial to the success of other relationships. We have to love and nurture ourselves in order to take care of others. You know the old me wasn’t so bad- she could be a lot of fun and not so serious. Maybe I should introduce to my kids. I think they’d like her. My husband would probably love to catch a glimpse of the girl he met so many years ago. Hell, I’m pretty fond of her myself.
A young boy sits in front of me eating what is sure to be his millionth bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. His face has slimmed up a good bit from its once pudgy baby face. He catches me looking at him and gives me a shy grin. At 7 years old, I feel it’s been a lifetime since he was that tiny baby that made me a mom at 28 years old, a journey we started together when we first confirmed I was pregnant- so much excitement and so much fear. It’s true what they say- days are long and years are short. As it write this, I will look up, and he will be a young man.
When we decided to have a second child, I feared for how it would make him feel. I didn’t want him to feel left out. And when his brother made his arrival, proud big brother came in with his Ipad capturing mom and new baby. It was though, he too, felt what Will and I had felt. This baby was his too, and he was going to help take care of him.
I hope he knows how proud of him we are. Riding to school hearing you talk about your favorite games or asking questions I can’t begin to answer (thank you Google), is one of my favorite times of the day. Picking you up is also a highlight, and as much as I feel I need a break and some down time, I miss you in those moments when you are not around.
Son- I want you to know how much we love you and will always love you. I will always be here. I’m so thankful for you. Don’t ever be afraid of who you are! Thank you for being the light in what can sometimes be a very dark world. Remember, too, to always find the good in people (although they will disappoint you sometimes) and be positive (even when it’s hard and things aren’t going your way). There is always something to be thankful for! When all else fails, remember you have a mom and dad who love you and will do anything for you.
“What does that mean?” “Will the kidney ever function?” I asked the doctor as I choked back tears and looked at my growing bump. “The kidney will eventually be absorbed by the body, or he will need surgery to have it removed” was his reply. He went on to explain that there was a blockage near this kidney which was much like a clamped water hose which would also need to be addressed. As I began to try to process this and not cry (I don’t like crying in front of strangers), the doctor left the room and the medical student, getting more of lesson that she probably bargained for, spoke up- “How did you two meet?” referring to my husband and me. I smiled through the tears and began the story of us before our children and hydronephrosis.
After that day at UAB, my pregnancy was labeled “high risk”. As soon as there was an opening to leave the doctor’s office that day, I almost ran to the elevator with Will trailing behind me. The elevator buttons didn’t seem to work, or it might have just been my frantic hands trying to push them. When we reached the truck, I jumped in and began to wail. I was having a panic attack. I had done my best to protect my growing son in my belly. I had been so careful to watch my carbs because I had gestational diabetes. I had walked every morning. I had done everything possible within my control. There is nothing that I could have done to prevent this. Hydronephrosis affects 1 in 100 children and is more common in boys.
After a day of mourning for my unborn son’s left kidney, I was starting to focus on the positives. Thankfully, you only need one kidney to live. However, doctor’s appointments became a mix of emotions. I was to have an ultrasound every time to check on my amniotic fluid, as well as, monitor the baby’s movements. A monitor was strapped to my stomach, and each time, I felt the baby, I had to push a little button. Sometimes, Anderson would be asleep so I would drink a little bit of Dr. Pepper or Mt. Dew to wake him up. Each time, I would leave an appointment, I would began to breathe again. Now, looking back, I can’t imagine what it would be like to experience these appointments alone as so many are now due to the Pandemic. I am forever grateful for my mother and mother in law for being at those appointments. Although, my mind would drift to thoughts of my child and anxiously await for his movement, the sound of their voice provided hope and encouragement.
Anderson made his arrival on the 21st of September. There’s an Earth, Wind, Fire song titled “September” with that date. We call it his birthday song.
Do you remember the 21st night of September? Love was changing the minds of pretenders While chasing the clouds away
The first thing he did upon his arrival was pee. What a glorious sight! Other than a scare one night at the hospital (a false positive on a test leading to one night at the NICU), our experience was wonderful. Although, I do believe that scare aged Will and me both by 10 years. The day after we were released we had our first appointment with Children’s to further our journey. Special friends Rachel and David let us stay in their basement the night before to avoid having to travel to Demopolis and then back to Birmingham. We are forever grateful to them.
Our first appointment was for an ultrasound. There was still a blockage. The next step meant we would need to test the functions of the kidneys. We would come back in a few months to allow for more development. Months passed as we begin to get to know Anderson. We had lots of wet diapers which gave us hope.
The next appointment rolled around- to test the functions of the kidneys. Will and I watched as they tried to find the vein in our tiny newborn’s arm to hook up an IV to prepare for the test. They tried twice unsuccesfully, and all I could do was look away. Finally, another person was called in and on her first try she was successful. Whew! Now, for the catheter. A dye would be inserted through the catheter to monitor to determine if there was any reflux. Can you imagine trying to put a catheter in something that small? To explain a little bit better on tests performed, here is some information from childrenshospital.org:
Renal ultrasound (RUS): By focusing on the kidneys, this ultrasound gives a good picture of the hydronephrosis. This is the first postnatal test your doctor will perform and will help determine whether further studies are needed.
Voiding cystourethrogram (VCUG): This special kind of x-ray is used to check for reflux, a common cause of hydronephrosis. It also may show an obstruction in the urethra. Using a small tube called a catheter, doctors will fill your child’s bladder with a liquid dye containing iodine. As the bladder fills and your child urinates, the flow of the liquid will be visible on x-ray images.
Renal scan (MAG 3): This test allows doctors to see your child’s kidneys and learn more about how they are functioning. This kidney scanning test helps measure the difference in function between the two kidneys and also estimates the degree of blockage in the urinary system. After a tiny amount of radioactive material (radioisotope) is injected into your child’s bloodstream, a special camera (called a gamma camera) is used to take pictures of the kidneys as the radioactive material moves through them, showing how well they are filtering and draining.
After these tests, we learned that both kidneys were functioning. Praise the Lord! Answered prayers! We thought the left kidney would never function. There was also no reflux. There was still a blockage that would need to be monitored, and there was a chance that it would be corrected by just Anderson’s development.
Fast forward to this week. We finally were able to go back and check on the blockage due to rescheduling of our appointment (one time because he had a fever and the other due to COVID-19 restrictions). Will dropped me off at the front door with Anderson in the stroller. I had my mask on. Only one of us was allowed to go in. I took a deep breath and stepped inside. Both Anderson and I had our temperatures checked.
This appointment meant another ultrasound. As it got to time to meet the doctor, I paced around the room with Anderson in my arms. I sang to him through my mask. When the doctor entered, we both set apart. He began by saying “I’ll start with the good news.”. It was then I knew our journey was not over.
Both kidneys are still functioning, and the right had improved. The blockage remained which meant surgery. Surgery? The word bounced around in my head back and forth like a tennis ball going back and forth on a court. I focused on every word the doctor said so I could tell Will.
Thankfully, we are able to have the surgery on the 18th of this month. This surgery will be to remove the blockage. A stint will be put in a for a few months, and we will have to come back to remove the stint. We knew there would be a chance but had gotten comfortable with how things were going. Anderson seemed to be fine.
We know this is something that we will have to continue to monitor after surgery. We are grateful for all the love and support our families and friends continue to provide. We are grateful for how Anderson is growing and learning every day. We are also scared and afraid with negative thoughts that creep in, particularly in the middle of the night. We ask for your prayers.
Only one of us will be allowed to be in the waiting room during what looks to be a 3 hour surgery. Pray for both of us- I’ll be in the waiting room and Will -in our room we are staying in for the night-both of us wishing to be together for not only each other but our son.
We know this is in God’s hands. As Anderson’s mother, I want to be able to fix it, and I have to trust that the doctor will. Something, I am personally struggling with which makes me think of Mary. How must she had felt as Jesus’ mother? I am also concerned for Will. I know he feels that as the man of the house he has to be so strong.
Why do I tell you all of this? For me, it’s easier to type it than to say it aloud. For saying it aloud, I have to put on a brave face for when you ask questions or show concerns (not that I don’t appreciate it). Words allow me to accept what’s going on and provides me as a way to look back when this is over.
Right now, I am focusing on the day to day and daydreaming of the man I know Anderson will become. This is just one of the stepping stones we have to cross.
And as a famous book once said, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” I choose to focus on the best.
Update: surgery and stint removal went well. We will continue to monitor. Left kidney is draining as it should be, and we will go back in 6 months for another ultrasound. Writing and sharing this is therapeutic for me and serves a reminder of what all we have to be thankful for.
Wanting to be seen as her own person and not compared to her older, popular sister, she pulled her knee socks on and borrowed a pair of her older sister’s chunky, whiskey colored platforms. The year was 1997 and knee socks had not been in since her mom was in high school in the late 1960’s. She was fascinated with clothes and decor from the 60’s. She owned a couple pairs of bell bottoms and a shirt from David’s Gallery in Gulf Shores she adored. A hemp necklace was usually around her neck. She had beads on her closet door and a peace poster on her wall from Spencer’s. She burned wax on her mom’s old wine bottles and lit incense. She preferred the Beatles to NSYNC or whatever boy band was playing on the air waves. She did, however, like Bush, it had been the first concert she ever attended. She had a crush on Gavin Rossdale.
A different beat played in her head than most kids her age. She was an old soul for 13. She yearned for acceptance of her peers but at the same time wanted to be different. Her first crush was the stereotypical type in sitcoms.. the quiet neighborhood boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. Now, in 7th grade, she had moved on.
Her smile, like most kids her age was full of metal- braces. She had long brown hair and skin that was tan from a summer at the pool- where she played with friends and checked out the boys, including the older one that was the lifeguard.
7th grade was full of changes- boys began to get taller than the girls. Girls began to carry purses. Couples started to go to Marengo Theatre to hold sweaty palms and kiss. This girl believed things were either right or wrong- there was no in between. She had refused to try a cigarette when others fell to peer pressure (as most kids do) and now add kissing to the list of things expected for couples. Sheesh.. this right and wrong thing was getting a little muddy in her mind.
And when that first kiss happened (when she decided it should happen and not to be told to do so by a group of chanting 7th graders behind someone’s house at a party full of blacklights and Dave Matthews playing in the background), this girl decided that there needed to be some wiggle room in this right and wrong thing. How could kissing be wrong?
This age of innocence, middle school, also taught her life lessons about disappointment, heartbreak, and that nothing ever stays the same. CD’s skip on portable players (why can’t they invent something better to play music?) You couldn’t get stuck if you kissed a guy who also had braces. Girls could be mean. Boys could be mean (not all of us were born with perfect teeth). Being cool is not really as “cool” as it seems and sometimes comes with a cost. Friends move. It costs money to call someone long distance. She learned that the Stones were right- “You can’t always get what you want but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need.”
Now, this girl of 35 looks back at those times and smiles (no braces). Not much has changed about her- she’s still listens to 60’s music (“Hey Alexa- play 60’s rock). She didn’t marry Gavin Rossdale but her husband is waay better than that.
She is still pretty adamant about what’s right versus what’s wrong but has to sometimes look for the middle. She looks at her two boys and wonders what their middle school years will be like. She will encourage them to be true to who they are. She will tell them about a girl she knew one time. She will play a little Bush (Sixteen Stone and Razorblade Suitcase albums of course).
I had been living in a proverbial bubble as most of us have in the last few months. My only concern had been the safety of my family, avoiding large crowds, timing my Wal Mart pick up, and doing my best to do my job remotely while caring for my two boys. And as much as it pains me to write this, I had not been paying much attention to recent news. I had shut the news off some weeks ago because I had grown tired of the COVID-19 rhetoric.
Just a few days ago, I had started a devotion about being brave. I had started it as a way to be encouraging to friends about some challenges they were facing but little did I know, God had other plans.
Fast forward to yesterday. I had a friend share with me some things that were troubling her in light of the George Floyd situation. Her heart for people and this community is awe inspiring. I realized that in our conversation I had been tone deaf to what all was going around me. I couldn’t see past the sticky layers of my bubble I had placed between the world and me. I realized, too, that the devotion I had chosen was much more for me than what I thought originally.
I am a 34 -year old white woman living in rural Alabama. In fact, I live in the same home town I was raised in. I left for a stint to attend the University of Alabama and returned some years later to be close to family. I married a white man, also from this same town and we are raising two white boys. We go to a prominently white church. We live in a white neighborhood. I went to a public school and attended both a white prom and the school prom.
I will be the first to admit that I don’t know what it means to be afraid of a police officer or for my child’s life. I do, however, understand what it means to be a mother, and losing a child is something no one should ever have to endure. My momma heart does not want anyone to lose their life or be afraid. It is my instinct to protect.
I also don’t know what it means for people to be afraid of me because of my appearance. In fact, I naturally want people to feel comfortable when we first meet.
I also don’t know what it means to work at a job where people may fear me because of the atrocious actions of others in my chosen profession.
I have to admit that I don’t understand why people are rioting and looting but I have not been in their shoes. Just as others may not understand some of things I do because they’ve not been in a pair of mine. Instead of sitting back and each of us judging each other- let’s find a way to come together. Discuss differences peacefully. Let’s take time to actually get to know each other – from the inside out. Let’s break bread together. Let’s visit each other’s churches. Let’s be each other’s cheerleaders. Let’s be together.
From that conversation with my friend, I realized a mirror was being placed in front of me, causing me to look within. How long would I continue to be safe and be silent. By not saying anything, are we perpetuating the problem? My favorite bible verse from Hebrews 13:2-3 states:
Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it! 3 Remember those in prison, as if you were there yourself. Remember also those being mistreated, as if you felt their pain in your own bodies.
I do know that I will listen and learn. I will continue to learn from others and respect our differences. I will seek situations that take me out of my comfort zone. I will continue to raise my children to not judge others and treat everyone with kindness and respect. I will let people know that I do not stand for the mistreatment and injustice of ALL people.
As cliché as it sounds the world is not black and white so why are we trying to make it that way? Let’s appreciate it for what it is -a beautiful array of colors that separately are just one color but together make a beautiful rainbow, a symbol of God’s promise.
I looked up and the rain began to come down slowly, almost tranquil. I slid open our back door. I took a deep breath and smelled the hot rain. I looked at our back yard with the fort, zip line, and the cemetary of dead ferns. I smiled. The clanging of Anderson’s toy echoed in the background with his babbles. My favorite song of Elton John’s- Mona Lisa’s and Madhatters played as a perfect soundtrack in the moment.
And I thank the Lord There’s people out there like you I thank the Lord there’s people out there like you
I thought about friends and just my life in general. William Michael interrupted my thoughts briefly with a song request- “Believer” by Imagine Dragons. I asked Alexa to play it.
I realized in the moment that there was no other place I’d rather be.
I once read that to become a better writer, you should write about what scares you the most. If you read of any of my posts or know me personally, I tend to lean toward the glass half full way of thinking. To write about what scares me is a challenge. Yes, I have things that keep me up at night but putting it down on my paper- I just don’t know but I guess for the sake of becoming a better writer and person- here goes…
I am afraid of when the time comes when I lose my parents. My family means everything to me and it’s a thought I just can’t bare. My mom is my best friend, and my dad is my editor. Both are my life coaches and biggest supporters.
I am afraid of becoming sick and leaving Will and my boys behind. The kind of love I have for them is both wonderful and hurts way down deep. I can’t actually find the words to explain.
I am afraid I am not being the best mom I can be to my children. I am so thankful for them but sometimes, I just feel overwhelmed and exhausted. The cute baby refuses to sleep for any length of time. He doesn’t deserve a frustrated and cranky pants of a mother. The oldest doesn’t need a mom fussing at him about trivial matters. Please when you read this understand that they mean more to me than anything in this world, and I know what a blessing it is to have them.
I am afraid of my children getting sick and even worse- leaving this earth before me. A pain I cannot begin to imagine but know of so many that have experienced- my heart aches for them.
I am afraid that I am not reaching my fullest potential in terms of being a Christian, Mom, wife, co-worker, etc. There is so much more I could be doing.
There are days when I am afraid of every decision I make from what I said to someone, what I sent in an email, or what I told my club members in Rotary. Doubt and fear creep in and a small voice starts to pick apart everything little thing. These days aren’t every day but they happen.
I am afraid of what you will think when you read this. I am afraid that in this world we can not fully share things for fear of retaliation in some form or judgement. However, it is my hope, though, that when you read this, it makes you not feel as alone with your fears that somehow we can be in this crazy world together.
Now, with a lump in my throat and with my heart racing, I will share.
Have you ever read articles from Rolling Stone magazine that lists the top 100 guitar players of all time? Maybe you remember VH1 having shows dedicated to something similar? Some greats that come to mind: Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, and Neil Schon.
This story is about a guitar player that won’t be found on those lists. He comes from a small town kind hall of fame where you play for the local 4th of July celebration every year or at the country club on a Saturday night by the pool, but he deserves so much more than that. He was born in Chilton County to a 17 year old girl. They didn’t have much but what they had was love and music. His mother was said to have made him his first guitar out of an old coffee can- something worth more now than the Gretsch he owns now. His cousin Jerry played guitar. In fact, Cousin Jerry owned a lime green Gretsch, a memory forever etched in this guitarist’s mind. Uncle Herman played guitar too.
At the age of 15, he was diagnosed with Macular Degeneration- not common for his age. As his eyes began failing him, his ear took the lead. It was then when he picked up the guitar. I had once heard him say- “A lot of what music is, is what you feel.” “You have to feel it.” Boy, can he feel it! It was some time later, he began to play in bands with other local musicians which later became life long friendships. And, as most stories go, this guitar player fell in love with a girl from Perry County. They dated throughout high school and were married when they were just 21 and 20 years old. Music continued to be part of the soundtrack of their life. She would become a life long groupie and continues to support his love and passion for guitar. He finished college and began teaching. Teacher by day, rock star by night.
Family came later. Throughout these years, this guitarist continued to hon his craft. He also began teaching students how to play guitar. He then became a father of two girls. Music became very much part of their daily lives. One daughter even became part of his band later on as an adult, inheriting a talent for singing. The other, let’s say, preferred to be behind the scenes. She hides a lot behind her pen and paper.
Now, grandchildren are a big part of this guitarist’s life. One might even follow in his big footsteps and play guitar (we hope!). So, you see, yes this is a story about the greatest guitar player of all time. All be it, he is an amazing guitarist (able to play a song by ear in a matter of seconds) but what truly what makes him the greatest is what he has chosen to do with his gift- he’s shared it with thousands, taught numerous others to play, and raised a loving family. You see so much of this is a miracle- he had choices he had to make based on his life circumstances. It would have been easy to give up when his eyes left him or the fact that he came from nothing. He chose the latter.
So, when you are listening to him play at your local event and think “Wow! This guy can play!” (which he can), remember there is so much more behind the man and his guitar- much like a song has verses, refrains, a chorus, a bridge, and outro.
If we are lucky in this life, we have a few friends that we can reconnect over a long period of time as if it was only yesterday when we saw each other. I’m very blessed- I have many friends that fit into that category. This is dedicated to one of them- Jess.
We piled into Bryant Denny Stadium on a hot August day awaiting our fate and where we would spend the next 4 years of our lives. We had just survived a long, hot and sometimes wet week of dressing to impress and to find connections, a sisterhood. We also endured door song after door song. I wasn’t much of a cheerleader type so this was a little overwhelming, but you got used to it.
As we took our seats in the stadium, a girl with a megaphone barked at us “Do not open your bids until I say so.” I thought crossly to myself, “I wonder which one she belongs to.” Ironically, I would find out later that day. We were then ordered to sit on our bids and on the count of three open them. I just knew I would be a Tri Delta. There were several girls from my hometown in Tri Delta. I felt I had “rushed” well with them. They seemed to like me. I could picture the cute dolphins on my Tri Delta swag. The girl sitting beside me also wanted Tri Delta. I thought to myself- look I’ve already made a new friend that will be in my sorority.
1..2..3, I tore open my bid. It read the “Ladies of the Sisterhood of Delta Zeta invite you…” Wait a minute, what happened to the 2 other Deltas? I was a little surprised but not disappointed. My experience had been positive at DZ especially on Serious Night where I really liked the girl that I was paired with.
As we ran out the stadium to our new home, I thought to myself, “It might be nice to be the only one from home town- a new start.”
As I came to the antebellum looking home, I was greeted by the girl from the night before. Whew! I sighed with relief- a friendly face! This friendly face would later become my Big Sis. As we stood on the porch or maybe just inside the house, I was introduced to another new member- Jessica. She was also from a small town- Brewton. We both did not have our mothers with us- a memo we both must have missed during orientation earlier that week- that your mom and/or parents could attend Bid Day. I felt an instant connection and relieved that there were someone else from a small town. Like me, Jessica had been a big fish in a small pond- involved in everything in her high school. Coming to the University of Alabama was humbling- there were small fish from big ponds, big fish from small ponds, and big fish from big ponds. I was not quite sure when I was going through Rush that I would fit in- I drove a 94 Toyota Corolla (God I miss that car and it’s gas mileage!) with a stereo I bought from Hooper’s in Meridian, Mississippi for $300 I saved with my part time job. I was from a middle class family, and I didn’t care about spending a gazillion dollars on clothes (don’t get me wrong, I liked to dress well but did not care where my clothes came from). The most I spend on a prom dress was $80. I was not a legacy but did have help with recs. I did not know the difference between Old Row and New Row (found out later and still didn’t care- I was in the right house for me).
Jess and I were inseparable that evening. We were encouraged to spend the night in the basement of the sorority house for bonding. We ended up leaving and hanging that night at her apartment. From then on, we were best friends. I lived with her for a couple of months one summer before I moved into my sublease. We saw each other at our best and worst.
Just recently, my husband and I attended a surprise zoom birthday party for Jessica- part of the new normal during this Pandemic. We ended up spending 4 hours on the call. I laughed so much I cried and my side ached. As you grow older, you lose little bits and pieces of yourself. Your life becomes all about your children, spouse, aging parents, job etc. (not a bad thing, just a reality). On that Zoom call, I caught a glimpse of the younger version of me. Yes, it was Jess’ birthday but I felt like I had received a gift. At the moment, I was back in college on a bus headed to a formal or date party or at the Venue listening to a band with friends- hanging with Jessica.
Since then, we’ve been sending each other encouraging messages daily. What a blessing you were that day in August of 2003, Jess, and what a blessing you are now.
Have you ever read articles from Rolling Stone magazine that lists the top 100 guitar players of all time? Maybe you remember VH1 having shows dedicated to something similar? Some greats that come to mind: Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, and Neil Schon.
The Peach 