My life with the Sullivan boys

I just "googled" depression. Not sure why, I know what it is. I'm pretty sure I'm in a chronic state right now. Lack of motivation, aching muscles, sleep issues and a feeling of impending dread. Or perhaps it because of my current life issues: My beloved old beagle blind, deaf and peeing everywhere. She's seems to be the last remaining part of a life before special needs. a life that was easier. where choosing my outfit was a major decision and the make and model of my car defined me. I'm aware that her time here is limited. and I mourn her and the life that she represents every time I clean up a puddle or wipe the crust off her chin. Dermot's nurses have been a godsend and a cause for worry. We have someone in our house each morning at 7 am to wake Dermot up, dress and prepare him for school while I sleep in and drink my first cup of coffee, away in the dining room. A physical relief, but emotionally a step back from his day to day care. We hav...

Here's grief again. It started with a phone call from my brother. I wished him a happy birthday and he returned my greeting with a sullen voice. "I guess you haven't heard yet", "What?" I answered. He returned my question with the news that my favorite aunt, and come to think of it, my only surviving aunt was dead. "What? WHAT?! What?!!" I stammered. Only weeks earlier I had received news that my mother had suffered a stroke, so I was expecting him to say something about her. But this time it was her twin. Her alter ego. Her best friend.  Judy was everything my mom wasn't, and my mom possessed the qualities that eluded Judy. They were yin and yang. Opposites in many ways, but when they were together they were a site to behold. My mom was the driver, Judy picked the restaurant, unless Joni objected to the cuisine. They could talk for hours about the past, their kids, their grandkids. They’d giggle about each other. Mom ...

Dear 35 year-old self: Don’t worry, I’m coming for you. You are always in the back of my mind. I’ve kept you there for safe keeping. Until I was ready to see you again. I revisit that day in my head, but not on purpose. Mostly when I drive by Hennepin Ave. or walk down the hospital hallway. I’m relieved that they remodeled the scene of the trauma. Too much happened to you in that room for you to go back there, ever. The doctors moved to a different building too, so that horrid day will be easier. When it pops up in my mind it usually brings me to a silent panic, then I stuff it down into the darkness again. Not ready to tell you what I know now. You were free back then, oblivious to what was yet to come. Still living in a world of fancy cars, lavish trips and casual friends all around. Sure, there was that one operation, but it was a common procedure, almost as common as appendicitis. You weren’t unique, you weren’t alone. You were still coping well enough. Worn down a lit...