Life

And The Band Played On

And The Band Played On 150 150 rebekahrosler

As with all chapters, as one closes another one opens. And with any closing chapter there is opportunity. Opportunity for renewal. For redemption. And for new beginnings. It’s so hard to put finality to some chapters, though. Some didn’t get the closure you expected. Some leave you feeling disappointed. Blindsided. As life proves to us time and time again, we are not in control. We’re often not even in the passenger seat. We plan and plan. And have ideas. And visions. And then something or someone pulls the rug right out from under us. And you’re left reeling. Uncertain of which way is up. Or down. Confused as to what your next step is. Or should be. Do you listen to logic? Or your heart? Do you take a leap of faith, or go with what’s comfortable? Do you accept complacency or do you risk it all knowing what’s at stake? As my father reminds me time and time again. None of us has a crystal ball. No one knows what’s next.

I’m often so worried about how things are going to work out. And I’m reminded that they always do, in one way or another. Last night my cup runneth over. I had friends from near and far visit to mourn with me. Celebrate life with me. Commiserate with me. It proved to me that in loss comes love and kindness. That community is just so important. And that you truly get what you give. As I continue to mourn I also want to be sure to reflect. To look deep deep within me and take stock of it all. What lessons have I learned. What can I take with me. What will I never do again. What is truly important (to me) in this crazy ride we’re on, life.

I love you Dear Grandma, you will be forever in my memories. Forever part of who I am. Forever part of me. Living in my heart. And in my soul. In life and death you taught me lessons. Lessons that I will learn from. And live from. I cherish our time. I wish we had more. I’m broken. And devastated.

Though this chapter may have come to an end. It does not mean the story is complete. And I believe. I need to believe that I can choose my own ending.

Don’t Wait

Don’t Wait 150 150 rebekahrosler

So much of life is waiting. Waiting for the first day of summer. Waiting for the weekend. Waiting to meet your soul mate. Waiting for baby. The job. The house. Waiting for the right year, right month, right day, right moment to do that thing you’ve been “meaning” to do. It’s human nature.

But while we wait, life passes us by. It’s not intentional. But during the waiting game other people are living their lives as well. Their moments, days, months and years are passing by too. Passing them. And you.

I’ve had an incredibly blessed life. Born into a family with three great grandparents. Four grandparents. And two loving parents. For much of my life – into my 20s, I had all of my grandparents. And I saw them often. During childhood I’d spend weekends at my Grandparents Manhattan and Hamptons homes. During the week the other set would come in for dinner. I was surrounded by family and by love all the time.

I was lucky enough to fly to Florida – where they all ended up moving – up to six times in a year. We had quality time. Just us. As I said, I’ve been unquestionably lucky.

I was the first grandchild on both sides. So by default I had a very special relationship with my grandmothers. I had an extra five years with them before anyone else was born. Through college, through grad school, through my twenties and well into my thirties I would speak to my grandmothers multiples times a week. They’d call me. I’d call them. We would connect. Catch up. We’d talk about nothing. And everything. They were always there to answer. And listen to my sorrows. Or achievements. Exciting dates. Broken hearts. And they’d always be there to pick up the pieces. Or share with me the joys.

Then life happened. And I got busy. And I got engaged. And planned a wedding. Then was on a fertility journey. And got pregnant. And worried about the pregnancy. And couldn’t visit because of Zika. Then I had a newborn. And still couldn’t visit. Then pregnant again. And couldn’t visit again. Then had three babies under two, and life was too busy. Too complicated. And the time between calls was less frequent. And the missed calls weren’t always returned. I meant to. But something inevitably came up. And I’d wait to call. So the years went by. And though the love was always there. The time and effort weren’t.

This year I turn 40. And today, I’m still able to count 3 Grandparents. Beyond beyond beyond lucky.

Earlier this year my Grandmother moved back from Florida. She moved home to Westchester. So she was close. And I’ve been meaning to visit. But there was always a reason I couldn’t. Didn’t. Haven’t. And she was a phone call away. And yet I just didn’t pick up the phone that often. Though I thought about it.

Last week she had some version of a heart attack. She was in the hospital for her 91st birthday. I called her the day after her birthday, because I just got “too busy” to call on the right day. My uncle answered. But as he did, he was getting another call. As he hung up I quickly said “happy birthday grandma”. But he didn’t hear. No one heard. I made a mental note to call back later that day to speak to her. Directly to her. And then I waited. And never made the call.

This past weekend I realized there may not be a lot of time left and vowed to visit her more frequently. At least call more frequently. Like I used to. Like she was used to.

Then I got the call yesterday. She’s had another heart attack. A stroke. Lost consciousness and partial movement in her body. And then hours later the words I was not at all prepared to hear. She has hours or days.

Hours or days. To live. For me to see her. Or not see her. She’s unconscious and on morphine. I’ve waited too long. There are no more moments. Or days. Or months. Or years. I cannot call. I cannot visit. I cannot share my joys. Or sorrows. Life passed us both by. And now it’s too late.

I’m sitting in a car. In traffic. Trying to beat the clock. Desperate to hold her hand. To see my Grandma. Tell her how much I love her. How thankful I am for her. I know it’s for me now. Not for her. For us it’s too late. I waited. And now my heart is irrevocably broken.

If you have anyone in your life you’ve been waiting to call, to visit. To tell you love them. To remind them you have not forgotten what they’ve done for you. Who they’ve been to you. What they mean to you. Please. Please. Please. Don’t wait.

Not Good Enough

Not Good Enough 150 150 rebekahrosler

For the first time in a long time I had a full day where I felt wildly productive.

Felt good about the work I put in and proud of myself for what I accomplished.

And then, it all turned. As it can so quickly.

I had a moment tonight.

A moment where in the course of 60 seconds it was glaringly apparent that I am a failure.

I had three concurrent interactions that made me feel like I am not good enough.

My ideas are not good enough.

My actions are not good enough.

This all happened leading up to dinner time for my family. I was warming up a pre-cooked meat meal for my children that passed its expiration date. I tried not to respond to the messages while getting teary eyed looking for frozen vegetables (the only kind I ever have/feed my kids) that I knew weren’t there, because we ran out two days ago.

I was also fighting back tears while responding to suggestions on my Facebook post – where I asked the community how to do a basic, simple project for my kids, a project that literally anyone could do.

But I can’t.

I just can’t get my shit together.

And I don’t know how to do better.

I also didn’t remember that parent teacher conference is tomorrow.

I know I’ve written about it before – but sometimes I look at the life I’m providing my children and feeling devastated that I’m not able to do more for them. Is everyone around me really able to afford/cook/give their kids the luxurious perfect life it seems? I can’t even make a fucking Valentine’s Day card in time for the holiday.

Nathan came home with the kids, and his work challenges. I tried to offer empathy, sympathy, whatever I could. I was trying to put on a brave face at dinner, but when I reminded Harper that I’d be leaving for work shortly, she started crying.

“Mommy, don’t go.” Bottom lip trembling.

I lost it.

And cried in front of everyone.

I couldn’t stop.

I was sad.

She asked me if I was happy.

I told her I wasn’t right now.

She asked.

“Why are you sad?”

I said: “Sometimes it’s hard being a mommy.”

And she said. “Sometimes it’s hard being a mommy”.

It really is guys.

It’s really fucking hard being an adult.

A wife.

A mom.

A colleague.

A friend.

A business owner.

An entrepreneur.

A daughter.

A sister.

A cook.

A cleaner.

A human.

I know I’m not a failure. I do.

But sometimes, it’s just really hard being a mommy.

To learn more about my services, let’s talk. I offer a 15-minute, no-obligation phone consultation to determine how I can help you navigate your motherhood journey.