ONE WEEK IN

We survived the first week.

In snapshots:



MJ is home.

I own a microsuede recliner.

Two things I once thought would never happen, now are totally legit and IN MY HOUSE.

Both seem to be easy to clean and durable.



Someone thinks they are the CATS. PAJAMAS.

This rather short person walks around shirtless, shoeless and yelling at me constantly. I'm not sure what his name is, but he seems to have replaced the sweet, precious bouncing baby I once had with a person who eats 3 tubs of applesauce at a time and will not stay out of the dog food pantry.



He's pretty damn cute too, especially when he eats popsicles. Folks, look at the high chair tray: this is the reason we OWN A DOG. Seriously.



And me?

Well, let's just say that being under deadline for three ads and having the boys in two contractor meet and greets this week hasn't helped my desk or my stress level much.

But lo and behold, I looked up and we've been at it for 7 days.

7 days of routines, medication through the tube, showering, bedtimes, breakfasts and loading the car.

7 days of encouragement, meals from moms, laughter and lying on MJ's chest at night when I fall asleep.

Hell, I even got a back scratch out of it last night.

So I can't really complain, can I?

RIGHT DOWN THE MIDDLE

Christmas Eve Mass has always been a big deal to me - near or far, home or in another town, single, alone, together, a part of a group - I have never missed a Christmas Eve Mass.

This year, MJ was still in ICU at UTMB Galveston. Elise and Charlie invited me to go to mass with them.

"Are you sure?" I asked them.

Christmas Eve Mass with a toddler is like walking the plank, man.

Few escape routes. Lots of quiet and deep reflection, shattered by the hootenany known as IV.

"YES!" was the response.

So we did - and we surivived! IV walked the aisles and made friends, we went through lots of snacks and pacifiers and books and IV antics and then done! We adjourned to Elise's grandparent's house for Christmas Eve dinner, a very special and anticipated "Shrimp Victoria" dish that Elise's mom, Monica, had spent all day preparing.

Elise rode with me...as we pulled up to the house, we could vaguely make out her dad hosing down the driveway.

Alas...Shrimp Victoria had falled from the car during the unloading process and decorated the driveway and sidewalk with shrimp, cream and one very unhappy non-stick pot.

We died laughing - it was SO "A Christmas Story" - and I started Googling pizza places on the island and started calling. Who would be open on Christmas Eve? Gino's, that's who.

Pour another glass of wine - Merry Christmas!

.....

The Island "Moms" are cooking dinners for me, MJ and IV for the next few weeks and it's soooo nice to be pampered with all this amazing food. Although I am sure to put on some pounds, I'm willing to sacrifice if it means MJ will too. He has lost over 40 pounds since November and it's time to start remedying that.

So I felt really special today when Monica emailed to tell me she would be bringing a repeat of Shrimp Victoria on Monday night for me and MJ. The perfect time for me to tell him about the Christmas Eve Mass and all the love that poured out on the driveway that night - and into my heart from the Ott Family.

Monica also sent me a poem that really spoke to my heart.

I developed another mantra for me and MJ.

The Buddhist say "The Obstacle is the Path" - I remind myself often that no one has it down, has a perfectly easy life.

And would you really want that?

Life is tough. Life challenges us.

Life knows that MJ and I almost downright demand to be challenged and honed and practiced by life and the experiences it brings. That is what we do best...and now we do it together, to meet the same goal.

This poem speaks to that, another reminder, another answer when my heart asks "why?"

Because I ask a lot. Probably more than God wants to hear.

Strangely enough, I am always given an answer.


What Is it That You Were Given?
2006 Em Claire

What is it that you were given?
I mean from the loss.
After, what was taken.
That very thing you could never
live without.

The person or place;
the secret, or circumstance--
now that it is gone,
or has been found out,
and you can no longer call it foundation,

what is it that you were given?
You know, and I know, this:
there is a hollowing out.
Something comes and opens you up

right
down
the
middle

and from that moment on
you are no longer immune to this world.

You wake, you wander,
every familiar, now a foreign.
You walk as through water
until you make it back to your bed
and finally, even there-
your sheets; your own pillow's scent different,
as if daily someone repaints your room, displaces something,
disturbs a cherished memento.

________

You see,
sometimes we are emptied.
We are emptied
because
Life wants us to know

so
much
more
Light

WORK HARD...

Lindsay and I have been friends since I started working for the Sullivans in Galveston - and my, have we seen the times.

The Sullivans always celebrate a company "new years" party instead of a "Christmas" party for our employees - and our little parties have grown and grown and grown...and what once was 14 people at a restuarant, is now close to 50 people in the retail space at Evia.

We are a tight group - we are all young (gulp, and getting to where I can't really say that anymore), we work hard, we play hard. We have good values, we hold family above all else.

We also like to drink.



What are you gonna do?

I also like to look pensive in photos when I've been drinking. Do not ask WHY. I. DO. THIS.



Why? Why do I do this:



Folks, don't even get me started on tambourines and microphones. If you see either item in my hand, just walk away.

WALK. AWAY.



I ran across a picture of me and Lindsay from the first year we knew each other - before babies, before committees and Humane Society Board, before MJ and before there was a "Dr." in front of Perez. Before hurricanes and before heartache.


*dude, what was I thinking with this shirt? It's AWful. AWWWWWFUUL.

Here's to friendships that weather the storms. Linds, may we always be a part of each other's lives. Thank you for supporting me no matter where the road turns...

OK GO

HOLY. ISH.



My jaw is still dragging the floor. Seriously.

I think it's safe to say they stepped it up from a choreographed treadmill routine.

REALLY REAL HOUSEWIVES?

I have sunk low. So low.

I have been following "The Real Housewives of Orange County."

I'm not proud of it.

The season finale was last night and the ladies and families all got together for one last party together - old housewives, current housewives, kids, parents, friends, all together at some swank beach club in Cali.

And I watched it all. FALL. APART.

I watched these people - people who have seemingly endless money, gorgeous houses, limos to transport them from place to place, spray tans and hair stylists - FALL. APART.

When they speak, of their failing marriages, of the constant therapy and counseling, of the behavioral problems with kids, the alcoholism and drug problems, I feel for them.

I actually cried for them. Which seems pretty dumb but I was emotional last night and had already cried twice yesterday so why not cry for the Housewives?

When the episode wrapped, I sat in bed and thought about it.

Everyone says it: money can't buy you happiness. Of course, it can make you comfortable. It can make some things in life easier. It is necessary to feed your children and provide warmth and protection.

But what is missing from the picture for these people?

An appreciation for self and for one another.

Plain and simple.

So I poured another glass of $8.99 cabernet, stretched my feet out in my bed that sits on the floor of our living room and I said a prayer of thanks, for the many, bountiful blessings in my life.

And for a boy that will hopefully come home tomorrow for a visit.

I'M SURPRISED IT'S TAKEN THIS LONG

So, yeah, sorry about the cleavage-ish shot on the March header but I got our official race pictures in and well, I think it's time to start telling the story.

From the beginning.

Because, if I'm going to get a book deal out of this, we need to start from the beginning, right?

Or how about RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE.

MJ and I trained for the San Antonio Rock-n-Roll for months - carefully planned, although sometimes hungover, we completed our tempo runs during the week and headed out separately on the weekends for long runs, taking turns with IV duty.

We left out for San Antonio on Saturday morning, stopped at the Mens Warehouse for MJ to get fitted for his "ghetto" suit for Higgins' wedding. Talked to the Doggetts on the phone and moaned and groaned to them about being too wasted from Mike D's birthday party to come and race with us. We set out on I-10 west, our normal road trip routine of music and mandatory 42 dominos on the iPhone, an inaugural stop at THE OFFICIAL BUCK-EES for sandwiches and water and gas.

Once in SA, we headed straight for the Alamodome to get our race packets - THE ALAMODOME.

That's how many people were running the R-n-R - it was a madhouse, a big trade show of goos and gels and shoes and thousands of people.

My corral, number eighteen: 25 people in line.

MJ's corral, number five: 0 people in line.

We joked about him being in a corral that was full of people from Kenya, about Elise bumping herself to corral number TWO from corral number THIRTY FOUR and the looks she would get from the other runners. We picked up our shirts and ran into friends from THE ROCK! Who knew?! We were in close corrals and would maybe see each other the next day!

MJ and I loaded up at the trade show on samples and granola bars and drinks...and then headed to the Bonnins' house to settle in for the night and eat some dinner.

I had never met Andy Bonnin before - one of MJ's longtime friends from growing up, one of "The Boys" as I refer to them. We pulled up and Andy, Jenn and Lucas were kicking a ball in the front yard. Lucas instantly was drawn to MJ, a gift he has for being a kid favorite...we made plans for dinner, met with friends for pasta and swung by the grocery store for breakfast food.

Race day started with MJ and I hopping into our clothes and on the road...we had reservations at the Holiday Inn Tropicana on the Riverwalk, for my birthday, and we parked the car out front. It was 6:30 AM and the front hotel lobby was filled with racers - MJ and I split a banana, ate some raisins and downed water like crazy.

And we made our meet up plan.

The parking lot at the finish line at the Alamodome had large letters - easy, pick a letter and meet. We chose "E" for "Elizabeth" and decided to meet there. Specific instructions were made for MJ to NOT leave the letter "E" because there would be no way for me to find him amongst 30,000 plus racers.

We made our way to the starting line. We made a pit stop at the porta-potties. Standing in line, I asked him "Are you nervous?" and he said "YES!"

"Why? I think I'm just anxious..." I responded.

MJ shrugged.

"I'm not sure! Just am." he replied.

We walked toward our corrals.

We kissed.

He said "I love you."

I said "I love you. Run fast."

And then I tried to high five him.

And he gave me "the look" that I know all too well, the look that says "dork woman, I will not high five you in the privacy of our own home, nevertheless in front of 30,000 competitive racers."

And I laughed and we kissed again and parted ways.

I timed him, one half of my mind on his start time, one half of my mind on my polar watch, keeping track of us both.

The race went by so fast and so slow at the same time.

My feeling for most of the race? Wistful that we hadn't run it together. So many funny signs, funny people, bands, music, dogs, babies - so much to share with one another.

My favorite signs:

"Your legs are tired from kicking so much ASS!"

"I thought you said 2.62 miles...?!?"

"You're running and we're DRUNK!" (not kidding, these people were also handing out Heineken at 8 AM)

Around mile 6, I started seeing signs for "Team Banana" on the side of the road.

Team Banana?

Then I started seeing the peels in the road.

And suddenly, I came upon a group of 50 people DRESSED LIKE GORILLAS.

HANDING OUT BANANAS.

I have no idea, apparently marathons bring out the crazy train, folks.

My legs started breaking down about a mile out from the finish...just heavy, tired, spent.

As we rounded the Alamodome, I saw the path in front of me: STRAIGHT UPHILL, up an ON RAMP INTO THE DOME.

Are you serious?

I put on the afterburners and passed everyone in sight - I just wanted to cross the finish line.



As I stepped over the line and checked my time, I made the sign of the cross, grabbed a medal and a water towel and ran straight for the letter "E" - I couldn't wait to tell MJ my time, he was going to be really proud of me. He would never admit that, but he would be.

I sat down at "E."

I loosened my laces.

I wiped the sweat off my face.

I drank a bottle of water.

I searched and scanned the crowd for him.

I checked my watch.

I checked the letter "E."

Were there other letter "E's?" Surely not. That would defeat the point. Right?

I didn't know.

I waited.

And waited.

I saw Elise.

"Where is MJ?!?" she asked.

I had no idea. Had he seen someone we knew? Had he gone after a celebratory beer?

We had no contingency plan. "E" was our only plan.

I didn't know what to do. I was upset, emotional, lost in a sea of people hugging and triumphing and bleeding from blisters. I had NO idea where I was in relation to our hotel. Miles away.

No phone.

Nothing.

After an hour of sitting, I decided to head for the hotel and check my phone. Maybe he had decided to check in. And then I would punch him in the face for leaving me.

Dejected and holding my little finisher medal, I started walking.

And I will never forget what happened next - like a fish swimming upstream, amidst hundreds of people lining the sidewalks, I marched, mad, upset, scared.

A man stopped me dead in my tracks. God grabbed me by both arms and said to me:

"You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen."

And then He walked away.

It was something MJ said to me often. Those exact words. Exact tone. It was a sign. My nerves shot through me like ice. I walked faster.

I asked policemen for directions to the hotel - "you should take a cab honey, it's a long walk!" they responded.

"I just finished running a marathon, I think I can handle a few more miles..." I quipped back.

I felt very alone. God, I can remember that feeling so clearly. Staring down at the street grates and curbs as they flew under my feet. I knew something was so very, very wrong.

The hotel lobby had not heard from MJ. He hadn't checked in.

I went to the car to call my Mom.

And on the iPhone screen, I had two missed called from a San Antonio number.

And 20 missed calls from MJ's parents.

....

Brenda was hysterical. They were already on the road, heading to San Antonio.

My heart raced and I stopped the first cop I saw directing traffic. Thankfully I was less than 2 miles from the hospital.

My voice was shaking as much as my legs as I tore through the streets and called my mom, the one person I always reach for when things go south.

"Lizzie, you need to take a deep breath, focus." she instructed me.

I ran for the Emergency Room - the recpetionist was expecting me.

"I am trying to find someone just admitted, Michael Biron." I cried.

And a kind man grabbed my arm - "I know where you need to go, and I"ll take you," he told me.

We stepped into the elevator.

"I don't want to alarm you, but I'm a chaplain and a nurse here - but that's not why I grabbed you. I PROMISE."

I immediately burst into tears.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Rhett. MJ's nurse and probably one of the many, but most, important people who saved MJ's life.

Rhett took me to the cath lab, where MJ was undergoing a heart cathater, checking for clots and blockage. The techs came to get me when they wheeled him out. Oh my God, seeing him for the first time. It was all I could do to not grab him and hold him. He was unconscious and motionless. I held his hand and kissed him and the Cardiologist, Dr. Nguyen, pulled me aside as they took him to ICU.

He explained to me that Michael suffered from a cardiac arrest. He did not know why. It took the medic team 6 shocks from the AED to restart his heart. While he was down, MJ's brain went without precious oxygen. There could be mild to severe brain damage - and only time would tell. A hypothermia protocol was ordered for MJ for the next 24 hours to reduce the likelihood of brain damage due to the lack of oxygen. Rhett, one of the most specialized and respected ICU nurses, would be in charge of MJ's care during the protocol.

I sat down on the waiting room floor with Rhett, a heap of sweaty running clothes and shaky hands. My race number was still pinned to me. I started making calls.

First to IV's father, to make a plan for IV.

Second, to my parents. I know when I need my mom.

Third, to MJ's parents. I couldn't bring myself to tell them what Dr. Nguyen had just told me - only that I had seen MJ, and that he was headed to ICU where I would be waiting for him.

.....

My friend Grace told me to hit my knees.

I hit them harder than I ever had before in my life.

When it comes to this man, I am shameless.

I will beg, I will plead, I will give God anything He asks of me. I will ask anyone for anything if it means a chance for MJ.

Sister Andrena Mulligan, a chaplain who would become a source of strength and power for me at Christus Santa Rosa told me:

"Those who truly hit the bottom...who reach down and touch the very baseline of life...those are the ones who recognize redemption much faster, Liz."

My oh my, how we hit it.

MONKEY SEE...

My child.

IV, you crack me up. I really, really, really love you, of course.

But you know what else?

I really like you too.

Your personality is coming on full force. And guess what? You're a little like mama.

Your expressions are exactly like mine and I bust out laughing at the facial cues and looks you give. Eyebrows and all.

You are an organizer. Of course you terrorize and seek-and-destroy but then...then you arrange and set back up and put away.

Tiffany and I watched you remove all the contents from the freezer drawer this weekend. And then replace them, move them, step back and look...and then put this here and that there.

I looked at Tiffany and said "I KNOW you're worried about this behavior but he does it because THIS IS WHAT I DO. I AM THIS WAY."

I putter and put away and pick up INCESSANTLY. Even when I know something is going to be thrown back on the floor in less than two seconds, I pick it up. I put in a basket. I fold. I arrange. I color code.

People, it's called mild OCD. And mama's got it.

So - here is IV, in my tank top drawer:



Thanks punk, for reminding me that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

UNCRATE

I know what someone's getting as a "welcome home" gift :)



Ladies - do you have a guy that's hard to shop for? Check out UnCrate, it's a fabulous website with really great gift ideas for boys - some of them are funny (bacon flavored lip balm), some of them are a little out of reach (legit rocket booster pack) but most of them are AWESOME gift ideas.

I gifted MJ a set of iHome portable speakers for our trip to Belize - rated EXCELLENT.

I also purchased him two gifts for Christmas that he hasn't opened yet:

An iPhone case with a space in the back for your credit card.



A set of spouts and shaker tops that will fit universally on empty glass jars.



And while that sounds totally lame and nerdy, you OBVIOUSLY haven't seen the spice mixtures and marinades this boy makes and keeps at the house.

UPSIDE DOWN HOUSE

The Ball House is upside down. All that was up, is now down! I had handy boys come over last night and move the bedroom furniture and IV's room down to the first floor - Lindsay came over to help me arrange and decorate.

While MJ always complained about the Ball House, and while I certainly don't like the summer electric bills, it is absolutely earning it's salt right now. Wide open doorways and front room, walk-in shower on the first floor, perfect "big boy" bedroom in the back of the house for the punk.

My lists are endless - lists of questions for the dietician and physician, lists for Target and Home Depot, lists for a medical supply store I will venture into for the first time - but certainly not the last. Lists for work. Lists for Galveston Disaster Recovery Housing Grants.

And then I stumbled across a list I hadn't seen in awhile, between my files and folders.

My Life 100 list.

And amist my mindless visions of grandeur, my "Number 18 - Watch a roller derby match" and "Number 49 - Hold an oversized check in a presentation" lies one very important dream:

It lies before "Number 12 - Christen a shrimp boat" and after "Number 10 - Grow an herb garden" - Number 11, with a bullet: "Marry 'the one'"

I've thought a lot about how this "accident," this crazy turn of events, has tied MJ and I together so indefinitely. And while I would give the trials and suffering and pain back in a second, I wouldn't give back the perspective it's given us, not for one second. The appreciation for someone's heart, for their soul, their spirit and who they really are - because when you're holding their hand in ICU, hooked up to a bazillion machines and tubes, sometimes that's all you've got. And there are times when that feels like it's too much, like I don't even deserve that much of someone.

There are only a few people who ask me the question that everyone is thinking:

Are you ready to do this forever?

And you know what?

I was ready to do this forever a long time ago - before Christus Santa Rosa and before kissing that morning on November 15th when we parted ways for our separate running corrals.

I am ready.

AMERICAN HONEY

MJ IS COMING HOME.

What does this mean?

It means turning the Ball house (literally) upside down.

Furniture and construction, ramps and paint and brick paths.

Hanging drapes that needed to be hung long ago.

It means new pillowcases from Pottery Barn clearance.

It means blood pressure cuffs and grab bars in my bathroom.

It means "big boy room" for IV.

Dig down deep. What else does it mean?

It means togetherness.

It means loves and struggle and family all under one roof.

Cooking and dinner together again.

Bathtime and splashy together again.

And as I lay down in our bed last night, it hit me:

Since November 15th, 2009, I thought I would lie in our bed alone for the rest of my life (save for an occasional visit from the punk kid).

After the accident, I couldn't bring myself to wash my sheets for nearly a month, just because MJ had slept in them. His head had been on that pillow, for what I imagined would be the last time.

But soon, there will be two again.

Wow.