Eyes...windows to the soul or stairways to Heaven?

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely Place (such a lovely face)
They livin' it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise, bring your alibis

Mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne on ice
And she said 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'
And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast
Last thing I remember, I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
'Relax' said the nightman, We are programed to receive.
You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave

"Hotel California" - The Eagles


Hey! Remember me? Me, the gal who swore on a stack of Jodi Picoult novels that she was going to start blogging everyday after getting a RETURN EMAIL FROM A NATIONALLY ACCLAIMED AUTHOR whose sole advice was to write every day no matter what! Yep, sent off an email on a lark and actually got a response on my "I'm sure you get letters like this all the time (letters? Suddenly I'm one of the Bronte sisters with stationary and wax seals and stuff...actually I do have stationary...and a wax seal...but this was actually an email) but I, too, long to be a successful writer lauded the world over, and what - oh what - ever shall I do?" Yep, said author replied - write every single day. Write a book, write a column, write a freakin' grocery list...but just write. Now, here we sit, after approximately one week of unrelenting dedication...and exactly three days of approximately NADA! Time to get back up on that literary horse and get to trottin'. Warning - I'm issuing a soft absorbent tissue alert. Have one handy. Or two.

This morning I was doing my daily walk. Daily walk it's become, because I had the long awaited "I'm Bringin' Boobies Back" surgery and can't start running again until said boobas can be safely ensconsed in a supportive sporty sport sports bra....in 2 more weeks. So, I walk. It's not as bad as I thought. Sure, it's regressive to a point, but plain ole walking does have it's advantadges. You can concentrate on the music a little better. You can really focus on all your neighbor's landscaping. Sure, there are yards that really make you feel like you live in Shrek's shack in the bog, but there are plenty that make your house look like the enchanted forest, too. On the other hand, you do have to do that dorky "granny goes to town" mall walk thing. Still - I've actually lost 2 lbs during a time that I assumed I would gain, I don't know - like 50 - from my non-running, so it's not so bad. This morning my only goal was to come up with a blog topic and walk 4 miles within 45 minutes. I was sort of successful on both counts. I keep focusing on this one idea. I keep telling myself that I can't handle it, but it won't go away. It haunts my dreams. So, I must purge. All names will be changed to protect the innocent. And, away we go.

There is a little girl. A sick little girl. We are all praying. I wonder, sometimes, is this how everyone prayed for Chynna? Did everyone send little messages back and forth proclaiming that God would surely save my daughter, too? Were there email chains - how far did they make it, I wonder? Michigan? Canada? Portugal? I'm sure they did. I look at the situation so, so differently. I wonder what will happen. Whether today, or in a year, or in three years...what will come to pass? I once said, about this other mother, that the only words I can tell her are words she should not, under any circumstances, hear right now - not just yet. I must stay far, far away from her for I am a reminder of what you get when things go tragically wrong - when a prayer doesn't get answered, at least not in the way you hoped. My prayer is different. Sure, I pray for the precious little girl who never hurt anyone, who is undeserving of this horror, who had so much to give the world. If given the chance what could she do? Cure cancer? Be a Congresswoman? Leap tall buildings in a single bound? My prayer, though, is also for her mother. I know how she feels right now. Frantic. Panicked. Shell-shocked. She forever paces in her mind. Surely, she thinks, there is one little stone somewhere that is still unturned. I must find it. I must turn it. This is all up to me. I must find our way out of this fog. For, my baby girl still has so much left to do. So many places yet to go. She prays to God every night to bring her a magic answer. She prays that God's magic answer will match hers. She prays that God does not have some biblical lesson that the world needs to learn through her tragedy. She just prays. I pray, too. I don't want to ever have to speak to her on how to cope when your child isn't here anymore. Of what it's like to have an empty bedroom in your house. Of how sad it is when all the "firsts" happen to other mother's daughters ....but not yours. Never yours. I don't want this mother to ever look into my eyes and see how I'm haunted. She doesn't need to know these things. That the pain never ends. That the tears never stop. That it never feels right. That the world just refuses to stop for you. That life goes on, but the life of a heart-broken mother stays stuck forever. That a little bit of you goes completely, off the wall, "Sybil" crazy....and stays that way forever. That you have to fight the urge to scream in public places. That you pray every night to see your daughter in a dream. That you can no longer care about trivial things - like eating, or shopping - or sleeping. That the world scares you now. You see - membership in my club is mandatory for us. I don't want to renew, but I don't have a choice. It's like a bad vacation - I'm in room #1408 & I can't check out! We are them now, the spirits of our children who didn't quite make it. We walk through life with their beautiful souls shining through our eyes. Look closely the next time you see one of us. We need you to see them, too. So that we'll never forget. So that you'll never forget. It's the worst kind of "Catch 22". I would curl up in a ball and die if she were to be forgotten, but it hurts so bad to remember what she could have been. But still, for that mother, I pray.