One boy and one girl

Rich’s first surgery was on Monday, 12 November 2012. Before we drove up to Baltimore that weekend, Rich handed me this flash drive. It was orange, of course. He said it had a video on it for me and one for Ian. In case he didn’t make it through the surgery.

I rolled my eyes at him and tossed the drive in a drawer. I never watched them. I was too busy trying to keep him (and me and Ian) alive. I panicked a few days ago wondering if I had lost the drive. I just found it in my night stand.

The plastic is all sticky and gross and bless his heart he used Windows Media to record it so I had to convert it to play on my MacBook. 

God, he looked so good! So healthy! He smirked at me with that Stryker smirk. He even said he knew I was rolling my eyes at him for making the video.

I miss him so much. He was so wonderful. Even the shit he did that was so annoying was still pretty great.

Someone told me recently that I seem very happy these days, having lots of relationships. He noted that I also had said how happy I was with Rich. He asked me if I’m happier now.

Cancer was a crucible that changed me. I’m not the same person I was in 2012. I’ll never be that person again and I don’t want to be.

I live out loud and share everything but you guys don’t get this video. It’s mine. He told me I was his girl and he was my boy. And that nothing changes that ever.

For five years, whenever he would get worried, Rich would say, “Tell me you love me. Tell me you’re my girl. Tell me everything is going to be ok.” And I did. Over and over.

I don’t want The One. I had it already. He was great. And I certainly don’t want to be someone’s everything ever again. The second time might kill me.

Kickstand up

I've had a motorcycle license for a year. I went on my first long trip last summer. I went out on my little Suzuki cafe racer and came home on my new Yamaha FJR 1300 sport tour. From that day mid-June until this morning, I have put about 1500 miles on the bike.

So while I'm no expert in the ways of motorcycles, I'm certainly all in. I've learned many things the last year that pertain to more than just my time in the saddle.

Never brake in the turn

Ever. You will eventually need to do something other than go straight ahead. When that time comes, prepare yourself, take all the time you need before the turn. And when you decide to turn, fucking TURN. Now is not the time to be a chicken. The ride will be smoother and safer if you accelerate during the turn on any road. That's why race tracks have distance markers in the straight away for braking so you can haul ass once you commit to the turn.

Don't target fixate

Once you've committed to the turn, look where you want to go (the exit of the turn, ideally). Yes, there is a stray grocery bag in the road and a menacing guard rail. But if you spend all your energy staring at what you *don't* want to hit, it pretty much guarantees a crash.

Throttle will save your ass far more often than brake

If you are in a sticky situation, slowing down or stopping is rarely the solution. Sure, you may think you're being cautious, but you're actually just spending more time in a dangerous position. Get OUT of there. That Honda Civic can't merge into you if you're not there. Bikes want to move. They want to go fast. They are happier and more stable under speed than they are at 5 mph. This took me a long time to process in the beginning, but it's second nature now.

Nobody is looking at you

Everyone is far more preoccupied with their own shit than anything beyond the end of their nose. The dude in the longest text message fight of his life doesn't care that you want to turn left. That minivan doesn't see your turn signal, your extra bright brake lights, your neon yellow vest, your white helmet, or those little strips of reflective material on the back of your boots. You don't even exist to them. The world is paying far less attention to you than you think it is. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, as long as you're aware of it. Do your thing and don't expect anyone to make a space for you. Which brings me to my next point ...

Protect your space

You may be but one person, but you're entitled to your whole damn lane. You are IN HERE. Sitting on a motorcycle is not the time to be timid or accommodating. If you allow people to encroach on your space/time, it's as much your fault as it is theirs. As Brigit told me and I immediately put on my fridge, "What you allow will continue."

Sometimes you gotta make your own space

Need a parking space at the Oceanfront? This extra wide sidewalk looks good. Lane splitting, when done with a sound mind, makes things easier on everyone. Sometimes even though the sign says "LOT FULL" you gotta think outside the box. 

Risk is analog

This is actually a Shrop-ism for many things in life, but we first talked about it pertaining to motorcycles. No two rides are the same. Whenever you take on something, access the possible risks logically, do your best to avoid them, correct as needed, and don't let the rest of the world's fear make you its bitch.

Rich once filed an insurance claim for a guy who was riding on a dry, empty highway when as far as he was concerned the hand of God came down and plucked him off of his bike into the bushes. The strap on his backpack was long and got caught in the rear axle, thereby launching him off the back of the bike. Backpacks aren't inherently evil. Neither are motorcycles or clean, dry roads. Sometimes shit just happens.

The get off is less important than the get back on

Even if you do everything right, bad things will happen to you. You can't protect yourself or your loved ones from harm. What you can do, though, is prepare yourself and your loved ones for what to do after the hand of God plucks you off that proverbial bike. The definition of a life well lived is not to get to the end with the fewest number of scars. 

So the next time you lift your proverbial or literal kickstand, pay attention to how you handle the road in front of you.

It may not *say* motorcycle parking here, but it totally is.

Day of the Daddy

"I miss Daddy."
- Ian, pretty much every day the last few weeks

We talked about how I miss him too. We talked about how having him back with cancer would be cruel because he was in pain. We talked about how having him back without cancer is impossible. I don't try to fix it because there's not really anything to fix. It just is. I listen. 

"I get one less holiday than everyone else because my dad's dead."
- Ian, last year around Father's Day and again last night

He's been sleeping with me every couple days. Usually he shows up around 2am with some complicated story about how the dog is hogging the covers. I just tell him to stop talking and get in the bed. Then he squirms and digs and snores all night. But he sleeps. He woke up in pretty good spirits this morning. First thing he said as he opened his eyes was, "I wonder when I'll be taller than you." I sleepily said, "Next week, at the rate we're going."

"What day did Daddy die?"
"February 20th, just before midnight."
"Is that a school day?"
"It is this year."
"We should celebrate it."
"I wondered about that. Is it weird to celebrate a day someone died? They couldn't control that date. Then again they couldn't control their birthday either. Hunh ..."
"If we celebrate that day, then I'll get my holiday back. The one I'm missing. The Mexicans have Day of the Dead and they celebrate dead people that day. So we can have Day of the Daddy."
"Deal."

And then he popped out of bed to get socks and go have breakfast. So next Tuesday, we'll have some Mexican food and cuss inappropriately (more than we already do) and watch Blazing Saddles.