Christmas in July!

I've neglected my blog. When I began in earnest a few months ago, I couldn't keep my hands off the keyboard. I experienced swells of inspiration that interrupted my daily routine—heck, I don't even have a routine—they just interrupted the heavily distracted "mom, can you get me this and that" responsibilities of my day and I was disciplined enough to heed their call. Life can change on a dime.

Today is July 3rd and I want to write about the 4th. And I will. But first, a story that will weave as always and then come back to the point. The hero in the story is my dad. He was supposed to come visit last Christmas and then, as life would cruelly intervene, he received the news that none of us could comprehend. After a toothache wouldn't heal, it was discovered that he had a rare form of cancer. This diagnosis occurred the first week in October just after he and my mom had finally committed to come and had booked their flight.

The blow was crushing on every level. There was the immediate shock, then sadness and anger towards this dread disease getting in the way of us finally having two weeks together (my parents have never spent two weeks with me). Then, there was the realization that "this was it." There wouldn't BE a next time, another Christmas together. It was the fear of this loss of the future that might not ever be. It sucked the joy out of last Christmas as we travelled there for the "last" this and that before his surgery. After he survived that, we came home to our own problems—mainly the new and ongoing saga of my husband ending up jobless AND owed 1/5 of his annual salary for 2009 by a company that "ran out of venture capital" and neglected to tell him as he continued to work there out of state at the beginning of 2010—you can see I have a lot to write about. But that is for another day.

I have experienced some loss and pain in my life, more than some and much less than others. In trying to have a family, I lost four of those little "human becomings" and each one presented me with a slap upside the head that felt like a robber had seized an unfulfilled dream, stolen a future that would never be. There is an emptiness that comes from this type of loss that cannot be described. It has to be experienced to be understood. When I look back on some of the sadness and struggles I've had in my life, it has been an unwelcome blessing. I never would have developed the empathy I have for others would it not have been for them. And, though I have always appreciated life more than most that I see—meaning that I do stop to smell the roses—literally—my husband and kids have seen me do it.

Today I am stopping to smell the roses again. It is 6:30am and everyone is asleep. I felt that familiar overwhelming urge to write. No interruptions today. I'm about to ice two cakes for some customers in my new found part time career as The Cupcake Queen. One will be an American flag cake for my neighbor; the other, a little luau themed hibiscus "smash" cake for a little girl's first birthday. Both celebrate a beginning, a hope, a remembrance. In a few minutes, my husband and eldest son will wake up. They will then dutifully post the American Flag in front yards all over our neighborhood to honor our flag and the 4th of July. My son has been doing this for the past several months for all national holidays. He also posts the flags at the entrance to our subdivision outside of Austin, Texas. I'm proud of him. He reminds me of someone—my dad. I only wish my former boy scout dad could be here this morning to join him.

But not to worry. Dad will only be about five hours too late. I'll take that. Because after a few more glorious hours of anticipation, a long awaited dream will finally come true. My dad, ten months after being diagnosed with a cancer that we thought would take him within a few months, will be here with us for a week. I've had his room ready for two years. It is stocked with robes, slippers, teapot, towels, and photos of him and mom are everywhere. Our home smells like the Grand Floridian on the day of our honeymoon—yes, you'd have to have been there to know! Our family will be complete today. Tomorrow, we celebrate America. Today, I celebrate my dad! You might say it's Christmas in July!