Trey's 5th Birthday Letter.

Five years ago today was the Virginia Tech massacre. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was working at the doctor's office, waiting to hear about admission to UNC, and it was snowing, oddly enough. My brother's girlfriend was starting to have contractions, and I got my tax refund that day. Funny, the things we remember. Five years ago today was the last day of my life without my sweet nephew. Once he was born, I became Aunt JJ. It's like I was programmed to protect him. I wonder if that's what it's like when you become a parent, that immediate, inborn instinct to care for and protect.

Every year since he turned one, I have been writing him letters on his birthday. One day, when he is old enough, I hope to bind them and give them to him in a book. Here is this year's.

Dear Trey,

It is so hard to believe that you are already five years old. You have brought a lifetime of joy, love, smiles and laughter to so many in the past five years -- it is hard to remember life without you.

Five years ago, you showed me what love can do. You expanded my heart and reminded me what pure joy felt like. And you continue to do so more and more every day.

You are an observant, sensitive, smart little boy, and sometimes I want to scoop you up and keep you in a bubble to protect you from pain and hurt. That's not possible, so I love and protect you as best I can, along with everyone else who adores you - and there are plenty of us. I watch you write your name or trace numbers, and you are so focused on doing well that it makes me so proud of you. I am always proud of you, and always will be - your tenacity is striking, even at such a young age. I will always be proud of the person you are, with your kind heart and caring soul.

When you tell me, "JJ, I love Barnes and Nobles, do YOU love Barnes and Nobles?", it makes me laugh, because I am so happy to share my love of books and games with you. I love our times there together and I look forward to many, many more years of going there with you.

I am not your mother, but right now, you are the closest thing I have to a child of my own, and being your aunt is a role I am honored to fill. I ache when you are upset or when you cry, and I would lay down my life in a second to save yours, without question. You have shown me the kind of person I am and the kind of mother I will be, and that means everything to me.

You see magic in the most mundane things, and your simple happiness at climbing trees or chasing butterflies makes my heart light. As you grow up, I find myself wanting time to slow down or even stop, so I can spend as much time as possible with you. I am so happy I was able to be there for your birthday this year, and to see your first t-ball game. I know you are shy sometimes, and are easily overwhelmed. It's okay, that's how I was too - even now, I can be really shy. Don't let anyone make you feel bad about that. You take your time getting to know people, and you stay true to yourself and your interests. Keep trying new things, and if one thing doesn't work out, there's lots of other things to try. Your nurturing personality and love for animals is touching, and I wonder if you will become a veterinarian. You will be able to do anything you put your mind to, of this I am certain. Never doubt yourself or the support and love you have from others, and know that we are always here for you.

Every year, I am grateful that I became your aunt. We are lucky to have you.

Love you, boo.

Aunt JJ

update.

So. There are only about 3 weeks left of my first year in art school. Wow. What a year it has been. Do I still miss NC? Yup, every day, without fail. NYC drives me insane and many days I have to force myself to leave my apartment, just because I don't want to deal with the city. And it is draining me of money. But the program has been wonderful, and I am so glad I decided to come. I have made great friends, learned from super smart professors, and learned more about myself than I thought I would. I'm exhausted and drained and stressed, but I am loving what I am learning and doing.

Speaking of being exhausted and drained and stressed.....for the past 4 days I have been gluten-free. For weeks now I've had serious GI issues, been uber-exhausted, had headaches and generally just been blah. But I've been exhausted for a while, and finally I was sick of running to the bathroom (sorry for TMI), and I decided to try being gluten-free. My dad was diagnosed with Celiac disease about 2 years ago, and gluten-intolerance can be hereditary. So here I am. I have been daydreaming about huge bowls of pasta and cheesy, thick-crusted pizza. This morning at Magnolia Bakery I was so tempted, and when I asked if they had any gluten free stuff, at first I was told they did not. I must have looked incredibly forlorn, because about 5 minutes later, a baker came out to the table I was at and said they were making some flourless cakes, if I was going to be there for a while. Yay! That was a moment for me, though - even though those cupcakes were calling my name - loudly - I wasn't going to break the gluten-free diet. That made me feel good, knowing that I was committed to helping me feel better. I do feel like my body is going through some sort of detox, though. I've been eating lots of fruit, much of the Indian food I have is gluten free, so the Vegetable Korma, Kerala Veggies and Tandoori Rice are all okay. I picked up gluten-free pasta and corn chips and popcorn. It's going to be difficult at first.

Anyway.....that's about it. These last few weeks are going to be busy with school, trying to find a subletter for my apt for the summer, and figuring out my summer plans. sigh.

catching up.

It's been a while since I last blogged, partly because I got really sick with a cold that morphed into a stomach virus and still is lingering a little bit, and then Spring Break happened, and now things are just super busy with school. We have about 4 weeks left in the semester, which is just unfathomable to me. The first year cannot be over yet. It just can't. And we are definitely all feeling the crunch. This semester in general has been a real ass-kicker, but lately most of my cohort is in a caffeine-fueled state of disarray, myself included. So much writing and reading, so little time.

I have loved my Narrative Medicine class, though. Even the people in it are just so great. I sent an article out from the NYT on talk therapy waning and writing workshops on the rise, and multiple people emailed me to thank me and share their own thoughts on it - some of whom are counselors who are feeling burnt out themselves and needed the boost. I had one woman who told me I could stay at her house, in her daughter's room since she's away at college, when I shared that I had a mouse in my apt (yes, I had a mouse...haven't seen him since last week, thank goodness). Whenever I've come to class perturbed by a meeting about workshop submissions, they always say the right things. It's a great group of like-minded individuals. We see the therapeutic value of writing, and acknowledge that the simply act itself can be therapeutic. We appreciate the emotional texture of the writing while noting the craft. It's hard to explain, it's just a good group of people. It's usually the bright spot of my week.

I can't believe next semester I have my Thesis Workshop. Most people don't turn in their thesis at the end of second year; they take at least one year of Research Arts, which just gives you time to write and allots you a certain number of meetings with an advisor (I think).

I'm probably going to NC for the summer, hoping I still have my job at the bookstore....I need to get out of the city. In today's workshop, someone had written an essay on suburbia, etc, and we talked about those communities where there are communal spaces, and I shared about my neighborhood in Chapel Hill, Southern Village...and they started laughing when I explained that the houses had porches to facilitate communication with neighbors, and there's a Village Green and communal meeting areas. They said it sounded horrible. I loved it. I still do. Give me that over the cold, impersonal, high-strung city life any day. Southern Village DOES sound like Stepford when you describe it to people, or like some idyllic fantasy suburb - but that's why I loved it so much. It was (is) idyllic but real. I've really been missing North Carolina. My stomach is all messed up, I think from nerves/stress, and I know that when I go down South, it will get better. I just know this. But then it will be really, really hard to come back to NY.

I'm excited, because for the first time since he turned one, I will be able to go to my sweet nephew's birthday party! When he said to me, "JJ? Are you coming to my birthday?" I was able to tell him YES! Of course, I will also be writing my customary annual birthday letter to him. I am so thankful for this - he is growing up so fast, and needs all the support he can get. I cannot believe he will be five. It is hard to remember life without him. It seems very empty.

Listening: Birdy, "Fire and Rain," "Skinny Love"

Snacking: Twizzlers, Airheads, Tootsie Rolls

Reading (aside from schoolwork): "Wild," by Cheryl Strayed; "This Lullaby," by Sarah Dessen, the new issue of The Paris Review

staking claim.

I was going to write more over the weekend and the past few days, but have been wicked sick with a cold that has now morphed into a stomach virus-y kind of thing. Apparently it's going around. March 4 was one year exactly that I got the call from Stephen O'Connor at Columbia, asking me to join their program. So much has changed in a year....and it's been rough, no doubt about that. I will be the first to admit I miss North Carolina every day. I miss the people, my friends, the weather, the community, my gym community/tri team - I miss who I am down there. I'm more relaxed, healthier and less stressed. But I am very glad I moved here. I have met some amazing people in my program and look forward to sharing the rest of my writing life with them, even after the program ends. I have met wonderful professors and read more than I ever imagined I'd be capable of. And then read some more. I remember reading Nellie's book last summer and hoping I'd get into her class, and now I'm in a second class with her and consider her an inspiring role model for my writing. These people, whom I've only been familiar with through a book, are now part of my real, everyday life. And that's been so worth it. Funny what a year can bring. Of course, that's also bittersweet - in the days leading up to that phone call, my aunt had sent me a card reminding me not to give up hope, because she knew I was getting anxious at not hearing from anywhere. And now, a year later, she's not here. A lot has changed.

March 5 was the four year anniversary of Eve Carson's murder. I've posted every year about it, but this year felt different. Maybe because I'm not in Chapel Hill, it feels a little more removed.

And of course, this weekend, Duke got an asswhoopin' from UNC. 88-70. On their home court. On Senior Night. HA!!! We lost before, and we weren't gonna lose again. Yeah Heels!!! (It's so funny to try to explain this rivalry to people up here....it's impossible, really. Let's see how they react to March Madness - somehow I doubt I'll find a bracket group going on in the School of the Arts).

Today I went downtown to Soho - it was a beautiful day, and everyone in the city seemed a little more cheerful. You know, in that surly, aloof, Manhattan kind of way. But cheerful nonetheless. Before I felt too sick (with this stomach thing, I feel sicker as the day goes on), I decided to go and walk around. Namely, I wanted to go to McNally Jackson to look at their great stash of lit mags - which was sadly less than lustrous today. McJ is a super cute bookstore on Prince St. It's an indie, and cozy, with a cafe that serves yummy coffee. Today it actually was the least crowded I've ever seen it. (Note to self:come here on a weekday morning to get a table and some work done). I wanted a job there when I moved to NY, but after email-tag, it never worked out. Sadness. I miss working at an indie bookstore SO much. Anyway, I ended up picking up a book for spring break, by Anne Roiphe, called "Art and Madness," a memoir of her writing coming-of-age. The guy who rang me up made a funny comment about it, and said, "Are you an artist?" And you know what? For the first time, without even thinking about it, I said, "I'm a writer." He replied, "Well, writers are artists!" I'm a writer. That may have been the first time I've stated that to a total stranger, without hesitating or thinking.

And damn, it felt good.

food for thought.

When I first lived in NY, back in 2003-04, I would carry around granola bars in my bag. On the subway or street, if someone asked me for money for food, I would offer the granola bars. Sometimes they took them, other times they walked away. My reasoning was, if you're hungry, you're going to take the food. This time, I've stopped carrying bars in my bag, but I might start again. On the way to the school store this morning to pick up printer ink and paper, a man stepped in front of me and said he was so hungry and could he have some money. Now, those of you who know me, know I walk at a pretty decent clip. I wasn't wearing my headphones, but instinctively I shook my head and kept walking. And immediately I was slapped with the thought Jesus Christ. Have I really become that indifferent? It's true that in NY, you need to acquire some sort of shell to protect yourself -- because if you don't, you become a sucker. People are asking for things every where you turn. Some legitimately have a need; others may not. For some reason, this just really bothered me today.

reasoning with faith.

The last post was depressing, I know. Things happen every day that remind me of how wonderful life is and that I have faith for a reason. I am so lucky to have so many wonderful people in my life, as friends, family, chosen family, acquired family....it is the people in life that make life worth living.

I am a big proponent in believing that things happen for a reason. We may not always know the reason immediately - or even, really, ever -- but I can't help but think there's a reason behind the chaos. Where the reason comes from, I'm not entirely sure. But I think it's there.

searching for something.

You know, I learned a long time ago life isn't fair. I learned bad things happen to good people, that kids die and people get sick for no reason and we don't always get the news we want. I've read Kushner's book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, and I know that G-d can't control everything and how prayer is meant to help and comfort us. But you know what? I want to know where the miracles are. I want to know where G-d is sometimes. My aunt died Jan 1. G-d had nothing to do with that; it was cancer. I get that. My Nana has Alzheimer's. I get that G-d didn't cause the plaques in her brain. But my cousin Jerry died today after a massive heart attack. He has a young son. (Well, he's in his early 20s). A month and a half after a funeral, we have another one. Two months ago yesterday we were celebrating Christmas. And now two family members are dead. I just don't get it.

Don't get me wrong - I still have 3 living grandparents, 2 of whom are in wonderful health. I have two healthy parents. I am grateful. I have a wonderful brother and a fantabulous nephew. I have my health. I am comfortable and have many privileges. I am aware of all this. But that does not negate the hurt I am feeling, nor the anger.

We needed a miracle today. My other cousin Michael (whose mom died in Jan) really believed Jerry would be okay. He really believed things would work out, because "they can't get much worse." But they did. We didn't get our miracle. Where was G-d today?

it's in the genes.

So...I went to the student health center here for my foot the other day, and it was less than ideal. Mainly because the doctor was more concerned with the computer and everything else except for the patient. I think the actual physical exam was less than 5 minutes. Which was especially disappointing because he was a DO. I understand that he's not a specialist and that I needed a referral for an orthopedic doc - but that doesn't mean you don't give your patient your attention and basic respect and consideration.

And of course, they had to get my family health history - although we fill out all those forms before getting here - don't they enter all that info into the computers? Shouldn't it already be there? Anyway. He asked about family members and cancer....and I told him about my grandfather's lung cancer, my grandmother's breast cancer and my aunt's ovarian cancer. And that's when he finally looked at me and was like, breast and ovarian cancer? I said yes, and then he asked if they were on the same side of the family, and I said no, and explained the situation. And granted, this is probably projection, especially since my aunt's experience is still so fresh, but I swear I could practically see the thought bubble over his head that said, oh man, girl, you are FUCKED. Yes. I know this is projection. But having worked in the ob/gyn field and oncology field, I know that my family history is not ideal. Especially since I am an Ashkenazi Jew. But, we do not have a BRCA mutation that we know of, and the diseases were on opposite sides of the family, including the Roman Catholic side. But still. It's a little hard not to worry, because it just doesn't sound good when you tell it to a health professional. Less than a month and half after my aunt's death, that horrific experience is still being replayed in my mind's eye, and I will do anything I can not to be in a similar situation. So how do people do this? How do those with breast and ovarian cancer in their families not think about it and obsess over it? Regular screenings, taking care of yourself, and maybe even preventative surgeries. But it's a lot to think about.

I feel like I'm getting to an age where I'm suddenly not "too young" for things anymore. I mean, Jesus - in 4 years I will be "advanced maternal age" when I get pregnant (which is total bullshit, but whatever - how come they don't call teens and immature 20somethings who get pregnant "too young to know what you're doing age"?), and in less than 10 years I will start getting mammograms. Being a Type-A personality, working in the field and watching numerous friends and family members deal with cancer would make anyone a little anxious.

blah.

I am really missing Chapel Hill today. More than usual. Maybe because I dreamt I was back there last night. It's been hard to get into the swing of things this semester. Everything seems less structured and my brain keeps bouncing around from topic to topic to topic, unable to focus and concentrate on any one thing. I'm restless and agitated and so forth. Maybe it's cabin fever - it's been so cold here recently.

I don't know. I just. Don't. Know.

Two weeks down.

So. My second week of classes is over. I have mixed feelings. For the most part, I really love my classes. In my "Memory & Morphology" class, we're being encouraged to play with genres, to experiment with our writing and how memory shapes what we write, as well as its impact on art. The research class is okay. I am not doing the medical project; instead, I am looking at the concept of identity, and how it can change - mostly from an autobiographical point of view, on how I came to identify with the South. And I'll be reading Southern lit, essays and info to weave into it. I figured it would be a good way to ease homesickness and I can read some Lee Smith, Jill McCorkle, Allan Gurganus and others. Workshop.....my essays were workshopped Tuesday, and for the most part, my group is very helpful and constructive. I got really great feedback. But, of course, there's always one or two people that just don't get it. I'm not even going to go into it here on how phrases were misconstrued, life experiences were just twisted, and inappropriate, snarky comments were written. At the risk of sounding like Heidi Julavits, in her now-infamous "Believer" piece, snark is not constructive. It's not helpful. There's no need for it, and it only shows what a douche you are. If I'm writing an essay on the last 24 hours of my aunt's life and the gruesome details of her death, I don't want you to tell me I'm being pessimistic and to add some optimism. You're missing the entire point. SIGH. Anyway. My narrative medicine, "How We Write/Why We Write" class is definitely my favorite. I feel most at ease in the class. There's just a good energy in it. Most of the people are older; maybe that is why. Or my two instructors are just really nice, amazing, smart people. We're looking at poetry, fiction, and non-fiction, which is great - it's not often that we get to try out each genre and read works in each one. It's going to be half-seminar and half-workshop -- so I will be very interested to see what narrative med students think of my writing. All in all, it's pretty much the highlight of my week, and it's the last class of the week.

I don't know. This week has been really weird. Ironically, after I came to my research topic decision, twice now this week, blatant anti-South things have happened at school. It seems like the only cultural group that it's "okay" to make fun of is the South, and that's getting under my skin. And just the rudeness of some of the people in the Writing program, like in the chocolate lab (our lounge), etc. I just don't get it. I love the program and classes, but sometimes I'm not sure where I fit in it. Maybe that's okay.