I Left My Heart in Arizona

I resisted telling you about driving through Arizona on the way to Boston. Actually, it was lovely. More on the loveliness later. This is about my raw heart. These feelings are fresh. I have not felt this in seven years.

In early June, our family traveled to Arizona to watch the Hubs be hooded for his PhD. I remember staring out the window of my minivan, on the freeway. My thoughts tumbled out of my mouth. Did he feel closer to his sister here, I asked. He replied simply, no. I sat still, and stared out that window some more. I DID. I DO.

This past Friday, I walked up the stairs from the basement of our temporary house into the kitchen. It was move out day, to our current house. The Hubs was cleaning. He stopped and looked at a bewildered me. My eyes welled with tears. Was I emotional about leaving the house, he wondered. That was a lighthearted joke. No way. It was something else. I told him he might think I was dumb. I bargained not to tell him. His eyes were burdened looking at me. He wanted to know. Okay. I took one deep breath. I stalled some more. I made him promise not to respond to what I was about to say, no matter what I said. I asked him if he believed that Carina .......(insert the rest of what I said)........ in heaven. It is a question no one on earth can answer.

"Don't say anything," I said. He looked at me deeply. The tears spilled from my eyes. I turned away and he continued to scrub the kitchen counter in silence. Several days later he has never responded. He honored my wishes and I am grateful.

A lot has stirred in my heart between these two conversations over the last two months. I remember vividly snapshots of 1996 to 2003 with Carina, events that have not been present in my mind until now. She became one of my closest friends. She loved me. I loved her. People looked at her funny every time she said, "This is my sister." We look nothing alike. But that is how she thought of me. Period.

Many, many nights over several, several years we talked until the wee hours of the morning. I met all of her boyfriends. More than anything she wanted to be married one day. But no one was ever good enough. No one could ever measure up to a standard she held. I remembered that on Tuesday while packing lunch for the Hubs. So I threw this note in his lunch.


Ten years ago, the Hubs and I drove across country to Virginia. At the last minute, we needed an extra driver. The moving company failed on a trailer for our car. So Carina met us in Flagstaff and drove all the way with us. I remember being frustrated in Texas that she wanted Chinese food and not barbecue. I remember she teased me for not beating her at the silly Cracker Barrel game with the golf tees in Virginia. I remember more. I remember years and years worth. But I also remember wanting her to come to Las Vegas one weekend to fix the house to sell. She could not, she claimed. Her hip hurt. We were a little irritated. A year later when we moved into the Virginia house, I noticed her wincing. She said it was nothing. It was just that old tendinitis in her hip. Yeah, more than one doctor thought so. She was so athletic. Misdiagnosis. Two years later she called to say it was cancer.

Carina was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. She was the oldest person to be diagnosed. Only 150 people are diagnosed a year with this in the United States. It is a two stage cancer. Stage 1 requires aggressive treatment. Stage 2 means you are a walking miracle if you live. This cancer has no Stage 3 or Stage 4. She was very Stage 2, with a 10 centimeter primary tumor on her hip, others in her lung, others in her spine. She opted for the most aggressive chemo treatment available, the "red devil" cocktail of chemos. The drugs are red. The side effects, well, you can imagine if it includes a nickname of "devil."

Carina came to Virginia to visit in November 2002. She thought she might be in remission. We took a weekend trip to New York City, and saw Columbia University, where she deferred her admission for her Master's. She applied there because my husband, her older brother had received his Master's there. It was a ridiculously fun trip. My mother in law and brother in law came, too. Our whole family was together for the first time in two years. Then came the call my mom had suffered a stroke. I was broken. Carina comforted me, wearing a bandanna on her head. Her hair was growing back in. She prayed for me and for my mom before I left on the next flight to California.

The next month we were in Arizona for Christmas. Carina was in the hospital again. Stem cell replacement was no longer an option. Now it was just more chemo. We sat at her bedside for days. That is my long hair over her head of stubby hair. She did not like the news of more chemo. She did not want to lose her little hair or eyelashes. It was all just growing in. I laughed and told her I would share. I sat this way in her bed the days we were in Arizona. We played games, we sang with Christmas carolers, and we made a list. My husband just stared at me when I asked her what her final wishes might be. He did not want to make the list. Carina said, "Let's make the list." But that is how it always went. She and I had ideas that we made the Hubs agree to. So I sat at her bedside, and scribbled her dictation. Hubs had an envelope with him. I tore the sheet off the pad, put it in the envelope, and sealed it. The list went to Virginia. It sat in my nightstand.

January Hubs traveled to Arizona alone. Carina was back in the hospital. She was losing more weight; it was probably the chemo, he thought. At the end of January, she and I had a long conversation on my work break. She wanted me to come to Arizona soon. She said she needed me to come. Two weeks later, my mother in law called. Carina was coming out of a coma and kept asking where I was. Three weeks later, God worked a miracle on a cheap plane ticket on a holiday weekend. I arrived on a Saturday.

What happened in the first twelve hours I was in Arizona is precious, including her death.

I did not expect to arrive and lose my friend the same day. I did not expect to have my last conversation. I do not know what I expected. Not death. The hospice nurses did not expect it. My heart was torn. IT HURT LIKE CRAZY. My friend was gone from this life. Forever.

I arrived in Arizona for a weekend trip. I did not plan to stay a week. I could have bought something to wear to her memorial. I was honored to wear a dress from her closet. My mother in law suggested I could. So I did. I reminded the Hubs to bring the precious envelope with him to Arizona. Somehow I made the necessary calls. Somehow I started to make the arrangements. I was grateful when the Hubs arrived two days later. He and his brother drove south to an airport. Washington DC area airports were all closed due to snow. Hubs handled so much once he arrived.

Arizona is where I said good bye to Carina. It is where our family remembered her on a gorgeous February morning in Arizona. It was in the 70s, clear and bright. It is where I sang with cousins, where the Hubs gave a eulogy sharing our faith and our hope in the Lord. We know her body is now perfect and healed, and that we will see her again one day. It is where my mother in law and brother in law grieved, along with many other family and friends. Arizona is where I feel closest to Carina. It is where a part of my heart that loves her lives.

The Day We Left San Diego We Popped a Wheelie and Never Said Goodbye

Leaving San Diego did not feel final. We did not say most any of our goodbyes, except to family. I feel horrible that goodbyes did not happen. Friends were understanding. But Goodbye was not what I pictured. For the last time, I dropped off the boys with my parents, this time, so we could shove our lives into our cars, shove what could not fit in the cars into our storage unit, and take the rest to the dump. And by "we" I mean the Hubs. He shoved the most.

At 9:30am I was encouraged when my kitchen looked like this.


I thought we would finish before the renters arrived. We did not. I wished we were gone. I really detest key turnover. I refused to participate when we left Virginia and when we left Hawaii. I don't want to see the excitement in their eyes about living in a home I have loved. I don't like to hear how they will treat it "like their own," or how "this is your house." How in the world do all these people have the same lines?

Tick, tick, tick. Time slipped through our hands faster than a greased pig. The renters arrived before we were out. Their kids were ready to jump in the pool. Contrast that with wishing we would have swam the day before. My stomach churned.

In the handful of minutes they talked to Hubs, I breathlessly grabbed what was left in the house and threw it all in the garage. We organized there for more hours. I could hear the squeals of excitement, the kids pounding up the hardwood floors, running over head. Silently, Hubs closed the laundry room door to the garage. He looked at me, unmoved by the commotion, unmoved by the armfuls of their belongings. That's him. Not me.

But he closed the laundry door for me. And the way he looked at me, that was for me. After all of these moves it is never the actual house that I miss. It is what was, what is now no longer. Its the emotional, sensitive, ridiculous, and totally rational in the moment, part of me. It is that part that wants time to stand still to finish what I may have left unfinished. It is that part of me that has a pity party in the moment, if even in my head.

Our plan was to be on our way to Phoenix by 10am. But by 2:30pm, our three car garage still looked like this.
The stuff in the rafters stayed in the rafters. We had that planned. I looked around overwhelmed at what was left. The Hubs was taking care of a bazillion and one last details. I was exhausted. I missed my kids. I despised what was left. About then the Hubs pulled in the driveway. I will skip the story of how he pulled our gas dryer out of storage at the eleventh hour at the request of our tenants, and nearly severed his finger. It is too gory. Moving on...

I told him we just needed to be done. We worked fast and furiously, until 4:09pm, when our cars looked like this.

And why yes, that is our nearly new play structure now sitting in the neighbors yard across the street. Not that I had any emotion over that, either.

Time to GO. We zoomed out of the driveway in separate directions. The Hubs scooted to the storage unit, and I hustled to my parents house. I readied the kids for the road because their daddy was swinging by to get them strapped down. He planned to stop and grab a spare tire for the trailer he was towing. The store closed at 5pm, and he was pulling out of my parents neighborhood at 4:35pm. The older boys ran to greet him on the lawn. He scooped them up, tossed them in the truck, and hugged my parents goodbye. I still had to pack up the baby and a few last things.

Then came a call from the Hubs twenty minutes later. He spoke to me in a shaky voice. "God loves us and is looking out for us." He had called the trailer dealership that Friday afternoon at 4:59pm. He asked them to hold the spare tire for a few minutes, though they were closed. He was three minutes away, exiting the freeway ramp. He hung up, and blew out a tire coming off the freeway. By God's grace the blowout was not on the freeway when he was driving at maximum trailer speed. Our kids were shocked, but safe. The Hubs was safe. That is all that mattered. That, and now replacing all trailer tires to avoid more danger. All of the stress in the world at that moment was futile, worthless. Our family mattered. That was all.

I fed Son3 dinner, packed up my mom's cookies, and did a terrible job of shoving more into that minivan. Finally it was time to pull away from the curb, to meet up with my husband and sons several miles east.



It was just me, Son3, my oozing minivan, and the mattress we forgot to pack in the trailer.



My parents knew it was time to say goodbye. They said everything but goodbye. Maybe they thought it would keep me in front of their house longer if they did not speak the word. They were right. No one wanted to be the first to say it. My dad offered to come with me, right then and there. But really, there was no place for any passengers over 20 pounds. All of the other five seats were occupied with Farmer stuff. We joked for some minutes, but I knew it was time. So rather than say goodbye, I grabbed my camera and we took about 20 or so silly shots until we got this one. I love it. And you know what? Goodbye just did not look the way I planned it. This time it was ok.

He Never Promised Me the Snow White Castle, Just the Hut in Africa

We have left our home. It was grueling. It was rough.

My parents are retired. They offered to watch our kids so we could get some stuff done. I dropped the older boys off at 9am, and kept Son3 with us so he could nurse. We sold stuff. We packed stuff. What would a Farmer move be without getting really crazy? Contractors were in our home for two weeks, until less than 48 hours before we moved. They painted the walls. They refinished the entertainment center. They installed new carpet. They built a hutch from wood and granite. We hired a family friend to deep clean the house, and a pool man for the year. My house was beautiful before. It is stunning now. I love it. I miss it.

But it is just a house. And I want our kids to know that.

My parents kept the kids til 9pm the first night. My parents loved it. The kids loved it. We loved it. It sounded like a great idea. So that Grandparents Day Camp turned into 2 weeks of my parents taking the kids every single day. And my parents took them all over town. They rode the trolley to downtown, they watched Toy Story3, and for haircuts. They swam, they baked, and they watched 150 channels of TV. When I lived at home we had less than 6 channels until my sister left for college. My husband lived with 3 channels until he left for college. We had no mercy for our kids when we canceled our TV service. They have grandparents with On Demand.

My kids do not understand now why we moved. They know their Daddy is going to be at Harvard this year. They understand we are moving to Boston. They ask when we get to go home. They ask why we moved.

There is no real way to hide it. Our house is really big. It is a 6 bedroom, 5 bath house. Packing up the house, selling stuff, putting things in storage was a ridiculously monstrous task. The renters requested we leave certain furniture. We did, requiring an additional deposit. Many, many people questioned our decision to not split up as a family, to have the Hubs go to Harvard by himself, to have me stay in San Diego with the kids. After all, it is only for a year. Actually, it is only really for 10 months. But the Powers That Be give the Hubs travel time on either end of our trip. Why, why, why would I take my kids away from family, from "stability?" Was this really good for the kids? Hubs could fly back on his breaks.

When Hubs called to tell me he was accepted as a fellow at Harvard, I asked what his plans were for the family. He did not even hesitate. He said we were going with him. My stomach turned. Truthfully, I had the same thoughts. Was this the right choice? That night, I stood four inches from him and asked if we were making the right decision. He kissed me on my forehead and told me I gave him three beautiful boys. He wanted them AND ME with him for the year. There was no way he was going to be without us. My stomach settled. My heart was at peace. Every woman wants to be wanted. But it goes back to our story of the "Hut in Africa" in front of the Snow White Castle at Disneyland fourteen years ago.

The year was 1996. Hubs and I were dating not too long. On a particular breezy day in California, Hubs and I had gone to Disneyland. While standing in line for rides, we talked about where we had been, where we saw ourselves going. We talked about grad schools. He was a PhD student and I was an undergrad at UCLA. The year before he had just finished his Master's at Columbia University in NYC. He worked for the admissions office while he was there. He told me I probably could get admitted. I started to see stars of an Ivy League degree. I talked my timeline for grad school, what kind of job I wanted, where I saw myself going. And I went on, and on, and on. He was awfully quiet. And I went on, and on, and on. And he was frowning. I asked him what was wrong. He stopped in front of the Snow White Castle. I still remember it so clearly. He asked me what I thought about US. Well, I told him carefully, given MY potential plan, we could be married by 2002. His eyes got really wide. I back pedaled a bit. I reworked MY plan out loud, and said for him, I could see us married in 2000. That was still four years away. He very carefully thought out some words, and spoke sincerely. If I couldn't see myself marrying him for four to six years then I must not be the one for him. I was really shocked. Then I was mad. What was so wrong with wanting what he already had? He explained it had nothing to do with that at all. It was that MY plans did not include him. Essentially, what he was telling me was that I was willing to leave, but not to cleave, the very things God asks us to do in marriage. I was willing to leave being single, but I was not willing to cleave, to be one minded. He did not use those exact words. No, he used a more simple analogy. But in hindsight, that is what he meant. I wanted MY plan, not an OUR plan.

In front of the Snow White Castle, he looked at me and said, "I would live in a hut in Africa to be with you." He said he was willing to put aside his "MY" plan and make it an "OUR" plan. So that has been a mantra in our marriage, living in the hut in Africa. I eventually did complete my Master's from UVA, a public Ivy. He supported me completing my education. He would still support my decision to complete more education, because it would be an OUR plan.

So we are moving to the Boston area together, because my husband promised me he would live in a hut in Africa to be with me fourteen years ago. That is it in a nutshell. We sold much of our furniture, because it is just STUFF. It can be replaced. We rented out our hugest asset because it is just a house. Any damage can be fixed at a cost. But one thing can never be bought, sold, exchanged, or replaced even at a cost is the idea of the hut in Africa.

Yesterday, I shared just a little of my heart with my five year old. When he asked me WHY we were moving, I plainly told him because Daddy is my best friend. I made a promise years ago to him that I would go where he goes, that we would make plans together, and that one day, I hope he marries his best friend, and she goes where he goes. She better be willing to live in a hut in Africa with him, but I didn't lay that on him quite yet.

A Bed of Roses

Everyone remembers their wedding day, but how many can say they remember the days following? The days leading to The Big Day are BIG. But the days following shrink in comparison. I don't remember too much about the days immediately following our wedding, and before our honeymoon. I remember falling asleep a lot. I was so tired, and our honeymoon was still days away. But I remember one late July afternoon just days after we were married. My mom invited my new groom and me to a furniture store. She had a surprise for me. She paraded us through the store and led us right to a cherry bedroom set. I love cherry wood, and I grew up with a cherry bedroom set. My parents still use it in their guest bedroom. But for some (not too logical) reason, I did not have a Va Va Voom! reaction to the cherry bedroom set. My mother quickly spoke up. I could apply the money from this set to any set I wanted in the store. Now, the next time you see the Hubs in person, ask him to show you just how I reacted. He will nearly skip out of his skin and squeal in delight all starry eyed, just like I had twelve years before. I scoured the store for a very long time, until I finally picked a bedroom set I loved. I picked a California King oak set, with a sleigh bed, with detailed rose carvings. I had no idea it was the most expensive set in the showroom. Let's just say it was practically the cost of a family vacation for four to Hawaii, including food and hotel stay.
But furniture fashionistas, tell me I am right. Supposedly, bedroom sets are a thing of the past. I read that it is all about the bed frame these days, and other non-matching pieces to outfit a room. Tell me that is the truth. That is the Farmer master bedroom furniture plan in a year. So since we are cleaning house these days, we wanted to let the set go, and acquire something new.

Needless to say bedroom sets lose their value. We posted our whole set for 15% of what we paid for it on Craigslist, and we additionally included the fancy shmacy pillow top mattress. And, since I am telling you all of our secrets these days, I will even tell you a juicy secret. Hubs and I bought that mattress off an old man who had just lost his wife. I am NOT kidding. They had other vacation homes and had only slept on the mattress in their California home a handful of times before she became ill, and no longer had a use for it. YES, we bought a dead woman's mattress. It was nearly brand spanking new and we were strapped and newly married.

I was practically giving away the cedar lined bedroom set and mattress. So when the Hubs wanted to post it on Craigslist, I just groaned. Ugh. I did not want to field phone calls from wheeling and dealing bargain hunters. But then I got a phone call from Wynn. I just wanted to jump through the phone and hug her. She was just the sweetest lady, the kind you instantly know would be a great neighbor or a great friend. She told me about her kids, about where she lived, and she was so flexible with my time. I never tell Craigslist people anything, but somehow we got to chatting about my kids and husband. I know! Totally unnecessary.

She arrived and the Hubs did the talking. You know where I was? I was seriously sitting outside watching my kids swim in the pool. I was almost afraid to meet her because I did not want to hurt her feelings if she tried to wheel and deal with me. You know, our friendship was on the line. But Hubs came out to find me and tell me that she was taking the bedroom set, for our asking price. They needed to return in an hour with a couple of trucks.

She returned, and I came out to meet her. We talked for a long, long time while the men loaded the trucks. This retired lady and I had so much in common! Our lives were similar in many ways! And then my friend Wynn confessed that when she saw the set on Craigslist she nearly cried. She could not believe it. She had eyed the set years ago at the very same furniture store, and could not afford it. She has always wanted this very set and could not believe I had "her" set for sale. My heart just leapt. I am so thrilled that our "old" set has found a new home.

This Freeway Leads Somewhere

Leaving San Diego is very hard. I love this city. I love the weather. I love good Mexican food. I love the familiarity, the beauty, and the freeways. Is it strange to have your favorite freeway? I have two. I love the 163 and the 5. A stretch of the 163 wraps through Balboa Park with large archways covered by gargantuan trees and climbing vines, under the Cabrillo Bridge. I love where the 5 sweeps along the water, particularly the San Diego Bay near the airport, and up along Encinitas, Carlsbad, and Oceanside. I never noticed until Rachel pointed out that in Southern Cal, you refer to the freeways preceded by the article "THE". SO TRUE.

When we first moved here everyone wanted to know how hard it was to move from Hawaii. It was hard. Very, very, hard. I missed the very same things I will miss about San Diego. I missed the tropical climate. I missed plate lunches, Ted's Bakery on the North Shore, and the Grass Skirt Grill. My favorite freeway on Oahu was the H3, right through the lush and breathtaking Ko'olau Mountains. I know you are thinking about your favorite freeway now. So what makes it special for you?

This city is special. It is my home. My parents taught me to love miles and miles of endless coastline, to adore the Spanish architecture of Balboa Park, and to love the diversity of downtown San Diego. The same little train I rode in Balboa Park as a child my parents rode as children. It is the same little train my children love. The San Diego Zoo, the Wild Animal Park, and Sea World are all places I went as a child, and now I share with my children. And in a few days we will not just jump in the minivan and zip down the 5 freeway to downtown.

My third beautiful son was born at the same hospital where I was born. He is nine months and not crawling. He scoots and rolls from one end of the room to the other, squealing like he has climbed a mountain. I am convinced he isn't crawling because he is held A LOT. He is so precious. This time we are all too aware that time with these babies is so brief. I have enjoyed his entire infancy. And soon he will be a toddler. And just like our time in San Diego, his infancy will end.

Not too long ago the Hubs asked me to start blogging again. He is getting sentimental on me now. He wants our kids to know our Family Journey. Shortly after he told me this, he was on a business trip. Son1 fell fast asleep on our couch. I tried to scoop my Kindergartner in my arms. He is only 12 or 13 inches shorter than me. I laid his head on my shoulder, and his toes dragged across our tile floor. His nearly 60 pound body was so awkward for my short frame to carry. I am only 5'1" on a good day. I started up our 17 vertical steps to his room and realized he could bowl me over with his dead weight. So I gently placed him on the steps, shook him a little, and asked him to walk. The second I said it, tears burned in my eyes. I was shocked. I did not expect the grief I felt for an instant. I could no longer scoop up my eldest son without planning how to carry him without dropping him. Or killing me. Granted, he is in the 98% for height and weight and I am smurf sized. Well, not really. I would love my waistline to be smurf sized. What would life be without goals?

I knew as I watched my Kindergartner trudge up our stairs I needed to start blogging again. I knew when I stumbled upon pictures, let out a gasp, and covered my mouth I needed to write again. I was overwhelmed by a preschooler and a toddler that were no more. The little boy that came to California a preschooler will soon start First Grade on the other side of the country, and Lord willing, that toddler will soon be a preschooler, bundled in snow boots and jackets this year.

Is it wrong to miss this house? I already know the answer to that. NO. I will miss this house. I sat in the back yard on the flagstone love seat the Hubs and I designed and cried and told him I will miss this house. Most of all, I will miss the memories I have shared here with so many, that my children have shared with other children. We placed an offer on this home sight unseen. What a transformation this once stripped foreclosure has undergone. Our backyard was designed completely for our children. They have loved every inch of this house, inside and out.

Time in San Diego has about run out, but our Family Journey has not. So I am back to blogging, back to sharing our stories, back to sharing our lives. But tell me something. What is your favorite freeway? Where does it lead? Have you ever left somewhere special?

Bean Town Bound

Friends, I have HUGE HUGE family news. It is a shock. In some ways it is bittersweet, and in some ways very exciting. We are MOVING AGAIN!

Today the Hubs was officially offered a research fellowship at Harvard University, full time, for one year. My heart is completely, selflessly happy for him. When he applied, he did not think he would be selected. He was wrong. He called me from work to tell me, and I wanted to jump through the phone I was so happy for him. Harvard suggests that he arrive mid-July. We will drive across country, so for now the plan is to leave in June.

So, are you as shocked as we are?!?

San Diego Winter

It really is Winter here in San Diego, even if it has been in the mid 70s all week, which is only a teeny unusual. This time of year the high winter temperatures average in the 60s to low 70s. I cannot figure out how our trees lose so many leaves with warmer temperatures, though. I took my kids to a park a handful of miles away out in the 'burbs, where we live. This park wraps around part of a golf course, so it is huge with different trees on different sides.
At the same park on the same day, we saw these palm trees.
The boys and I were GOING to ride the train. See the train tracks? We missed the last train and I nearly broke their little hearts. The hours of operation on the web were not accurate. Sniff. Needless to say, folks in San Diego do not put away shorts for the winter, like in other parts of the country. We have only two seasons, a wet season and a dry season. It was 77 degrees on Sunday when I took this picture, in January, at nearly three in the afternoon.
This picture was taken by my Hubs yesterday, so I am "sharing" with him. The sun was setting over the harbor between the Embarcadero and Coronado. Another mid 70s winter day in San Diego, but with very cool water temperature, of about 60 degrees.

You Capture is hosted by Beth at I Should Be Folding Laundry

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