In July I began theming my “content” into a monthly series, and I am taking liberty with the word content here. Writing this publication is so much fun for me and as much as I am always thrilled with the growth, I also started to feel a tremendous sense of responsibility when it started to grow. See I choose to remain working as a Critical-Care Nurse for a few reasons; I love working three days a week, it pays very well in New Jersey, but most of all, the bedside is the place where I find my heart and soul when I want to find my heart and soul. Even on my absolute worst shifts, the patients I’ve cared for have taught me more than I ever taught them,— and I feel the same way about my other tough dirty job which is motherhood and my own children. Still I could put a price tag on nursing, give you an idea of what fair compensation is for what nurses do, but there seems to be no glass ceiling to the price I’ve paid for being a mother.
Three days a week I can be found working in a Trauma ICU and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Believe me I’ve tried, lost count of how many times I’ve walked away from the ICU, only to feel the familiar pull to return home. Late last year I felt the pull again after having stepped out of the unit at the end of 2022 and this time I fought it hard. I worried that little surprise Christmastime break-up was pushing me further back to the chaos I loved, and I’d already found myself requesting bangs from my hairstylist and adopting a kitten.
The Universe reminded me again that I much prefer dogs, but they’re a lot of work and I don’t have time for all of that. Since Christmas, Noelle the Christmas kitten and I have come to an understanding about my houseplants and at least I remembered never to cut my hair short when I’m in my feelings. Although I did make my hairstylist agree to a mandatory 3-week waiting period the next time I walk into the salon requesting bangs.
For the last two or three years I’ve been on this spiritual path. You know the enlightenment kind of path that follows one of those jet black dark nights of the soul. I never did ask any of my guides if the 15-ish years of hopelessness and despondency that preceded the vicious awakening was supposed to last as long as it did, but whatevs. Indeed all’s well that ends well, Nanny Shirley used to say that too and I never knew the woman to be a fan of The Bard.
Nanny Shirley died when I was 22 years old, but I never stopped feeling her presence with me until very recently and although I think I know why, I’ll simply be quiet here because I am a little tired of being taunted by lessons I thought I’d already learned.
Some men are simply lessons, Hot Dad was one of them and it was truly a fun summer reminder of who I am at my core. Several weeks ago I walked away from the relationship feeling a little proud of myself for recognizing when someone was not for me. It took me quite a long time to get to this place where I keep an open mind while trusting my intuition when it tells me to leave. On the contrary, the man I spent last year with was an Awakened Man with a beautiful heart and I am eternally grateful for our time together despite the ending I was momentarily dissatisfied with. At some point between 2020 and 2023, couldn’t tell you exactly when, I arrived at this beautiful place where I remembered to always choose love and that love always starts from within.
Last year started off with a bang. In January I met The Short King, then I met the Awakened Man and at the same moment a close family friend died unexpectedly a few days before his 54th birthday. I never need the reminder of how short and fragile this life is, so I’ll call it a refresher. The family friend was Glenn, the best man at my first wedding, and the words best man although apt, could not ever do this man justice. My children and I attended his funeral, together with their father we walked into that funeral parlor as a family, which was our wish for our children when we divorced over a decade ago. By the way it took about 8 years to get to that place. We don’t spend a lot of time together anymore now that our children are mostly grown, but you would have thought we were still married that day at the funeral. Glenn’s former wife and mother of their children, Alicia, gave a speech that brought down the damn house. I stood there enthralled by her words, the beauty and tragedy of us all, looked around and remembered when we were all young and glorious. I thought of the few that didn’t live long enough to be there, all the ones who should have been there, but didn’t make it home and I smiled through my many tears. Alicia opened the floor to the mourners who wanted to say a few words and my younger daughter nudged her father to go to the podium, but he hung his head low and didn’t move. Daddy go up there, she encouraged him, and I stopped her. Glenn was his best friend in the whole world, together since they were 16 years old and I knew their story by heart. The man was rendered speechless and my daughter couldn’t wrap her head around the silence of her always boisterous eloquent father, but I could and we just hugged each other and cried.
Sometimes there are no words for life, only our tears.
I do hope you enjoyed reading this series, I certainly enjoyed writing it and honestly for me, the synchronicity has flowed like wine this summer. If we found our way to each other I am certain we were meant to find our way to each other.
Thanks for being here.
P.S. Please no sympathy for the loss of Hot Dad. Of course a few weeks later I met a man, I always do, and well we met for drinks one night around seven. Surprise of all surprises because I thought I knew better, but the first date ended when he drove me to work the following morning. Yep, he drove me to the door of the hospital, parked my car, texted me two pictures of its location in the hospital parking garage then took an Uber home about an hour in the opposite direction. Give me a former soldier any day thank you very much. Other than to say he stole my heart from day one, that’s all I’ll be saying about Rob for the time being.
🖤 🖤
I love your writing, Kristin. Thank you for sharing ... I also love how you give the men in your life nicknames, rather than using their own. Tickled my funnybone ...
Omgosh, I chuckled so about the mandatory three week waiting period when we ask a hairstylist for bangs! That should be a rule!
Sorry for the loss of your friend. It’ll be a good discussion over the years with your youngest daughter about what renders us speechless.