Generations

Today is my grandmother Fern's birthday.  I never knew her.  She died from kidney failure in 1975.  It feels strange to call someone I never knew Grandma, unless I feel a connection like Brett does to his mom's mom, Ardis who was a teacher.  If I seek for Fern maybe I will find it and feel it. Mom, Gabe, and I are going to the cemetary this week to visit her. 

Saturday morning I came downstairs to Camille and Gabe cuddling underneath heaps of Fancy Nancy and The Cow Who Jumped over the Moon fleece in Camille's 1920's rusted iron bed that we got from a woman in Bellingham whose daughter slept in it until she was eighteen.  Gabe loves to cuddle and will leap out of his (feet hit the wood floor) and leap into hers every morning.  I overheard Camille telling Gabe, "When I am twenty, you will be seventeen.  Soon, we won't live with Mom and Dad anymore.  They will be our Grandparents."  It makes me think, first (well, not exactly first because my mind doesn't work in chronological order) but that my two are changing.  I watched Camille across the table last night laughing, covered in blush.  We think we walk but we run into serious roles, become those before, a rather quick, abrupt movement when I venture into days before I was thirty-three and she was seven.         

the vomit chronicles

she isn't eating breakfast so she won't throw up.  no breakfast, 15 minutes for lunch=starvation.  friday afterschool at home she eats, eats, eats.  friday night at bob's she eats, eats, eats.  the vomiting is usually about an hour or two after she first sleeps.  she walks a disorienting sleep.  at least she makes it to the bathroom but a big MISS.  it attacks walls (yes, the s makes it plural), the garbage can (i bought a glass one for an easy dowsing), cupboards, every crack of the toilet, plant, rocks (did i just take you outside to continue this description), no, too many barriers.         

the vomit chronicles

take 2 (well, take a bazillion times over 7 years, but for documentation purposes) take 2. 
she's in counseling now with wonderful kacey.  her severe anxiety has shot up with a feirceness like the seattle center fountain.  she tries to abandon her vomiting coping mechanism (did i mention every day coping mechanism) and halfway trades it for an unbreakable attachment (like moss to a stump) to me.  am i the decomposing stump or is she?  we still have the vomit plus a new frenzied addition.  henk (clear lake's principal) will keep her with him while gabe and i grab hands and sprint while dodging behind cars so she can't see us.  i retreat after hours of defeat.  sit, breathe, cry.  hands on steering wheel.  drive away.  AWAY=guilty.  ringtone.  it's henk.  "she's fine.  i just walked her to class."  when i pick her up, i ask, "how was your day?"  her reply.  "it was awesome."  next morning repeat.  this isn't washing your hair.  the shampoo bottle is empty.