my brother, my hero

I have never felt this hysterical, this panicked in my life. There is no relief, not for one second. I am comforted by the fact that he is at peace and that all I have to do is shut my eyes and I can feel him with me. But the pain of never seeing my brother again.. it is unbearable. There is literally nothing I can do about it.

The only thing I can think to do.. is write.. and write.. and write.

I keep seeing his name on Facebook along with "we'll miss you" and "RIP" and it's the most disorienting feeling because.. there's no way all those people could be talking about MY brother. MY brother is just FINE, thank you. MY brother is just a phone call away, he could be here in a second if I called him and how funny it will be to tell him all of this and what a crazy mistake everyone has made.
Then I remember Thursday night. It's not a dream.. is it? It's real. TOO real. It goes from being incomprehensible to so painstakingly clear in a fraction of a second. It's like taking a sledgehammer to the chest when the realization hits.

It's ironic that Matt struggled with being able to breathe all his life and yet the memories that he left behind are enabling me to breathe now.

I thank God every single second that the last thing my brother and I said to each other was "I love you." Even though those were our parting words, what I wouldn't give to say it one more time.
I would do anything.. ANYTHING.. to hug him just one more time. I would endure any amount of pain to have just one more conversation with him. One more cup of coffee.
Just one more.. just one more.. It wouldn't be enough. I know this. My heart is broken so I'm left adding "just one more time" onto everything.

I feel like I'm stuck in a washing machine that's set to "crazy." Or like I'm in the jaws of a wild animal that's shaking me mercilessly back and forth. The pain is unrelenting and more surreal than anything I've ever felt.

 I am completely broken.

Matt was one year old when he was given his first shot of epinephrine and diagnosed as an asthmatic. From then on, he had at least one really bad asthma attack a month. My parents would sit up all night, rocking him, afraid they would lose him.
Let me tell you though.. my brother-- he was a fighter. My parents were always worried about him overexerting himself and playing too hard and worrying about him getting sick but in actuality, I think he was tougher than the rest of the family combined.

I didn't like it when Matt would get sick but before I was old enough to go to school I absolutely LOVED when he would be home for several days or even weeks at a time. So clearly I can remember being five years old, which put Matt at ten, and he and I would hang out all day, watching Dino-Riders, setting up wars between our armies of tiny plastic green men and playing with Legos (which was a HUGE deal since he had built entire CITIES of Legos and to let his clumsy five year old sister fumble around with them was true sibling love because he knew I'd destroy them all on accident.)
He'd even humor me and have tea parties and play dolls with me. I'm sure he would just LOVE that I'm divulging that tidbit of information but my point is.. THAT is what an awesome big brother he was.

As we got a little older, I was (and always will be) in total awe of Matt. I didn't just see him as a rockstar, he was my hero. He introduced me to the world of Green Day, Nirvana and Guns N' Roses, to name a few. His musical taste was impeccable.
Anyone that knows Matt pictures him with a guitar in his hand. NO ONE could play like my brother. In his hands, a regular ol' guitar turned into pure magic. I mean I know he KNEW he had talent but he was always so humble about it. Man, he was such a musical genius.
He played in numerous bands over the years and wrote hundreds and hundreds of songs. He is hands-down the most talented musician I will ever know. I think he saw things in terms of music. It was his calling.
He always had such a rockstar quality about him. It wasn't only the music he played.. it was him. His persona carried with it an electrifying charisma and coolness that can't be emulated.

It's strange how when someone harms your sibling all you can do is think about tackling them and beating the crap out of them.
If only asthma would take a human form for a couple minutes, the pain I would inflict.. The sister (and five year old) in me wrinkles up my nose, sticks out my tongue and says, "Oh YEAH? Well he beat you for THIRTY-ONE YEARS.. AND he's in Heaven now, so you didn't win, HE did. So SCREW. YOU." (Well that's the censored version anyway.)

I can't help but be so irritated by the people that I see driving down the road who, by the way, are total strangers and I have no right to be angry with, but they're just driving along.. living their lives.. like nothing happened. Like everything is JUST FINE. Really all I want to do is ram their little cars and tell them to get those annoying smiles off their faces and remind them that the world has stopped turning.. SO ACT LIKE IT. I want to shake them and say, "Don't you GET IT? My brother is GONE and I'll never see him again and the world will NEVER be right and I don't CARE if you didn't know him.. DON'T YOU DARE SMILE AT ME AND TELL ME TO 'HAVE A NICE DAY,' you annoying gas station attendant, or I may jump behind that counter and maul you.."
You get where I'm going with this, right? It hurts that MY world has stopped turning but the rest of the world goes on. This, to me, is one of the most painful parts of tragedy.

"A sibling may be the keeper of one's identity, the only person with the keys to one's unfettered, more fundamental self." ~Marian Sandmaier

Siblings hold keys to our past that no one else can begin to imagine or understand. Siblings are bound by history and the deepest foundation of family.
Mike and I were talking about how when you're with your sibling you just have a feeling of being home. When you're with them you know you've got someone who'll stand by you no matter what. Siblings are one of life's greatest blessings. Not that I didn't appreciate and value my brothers before, but every time I hug Mike from now on I can tell you it will be a lot tighter.

There is nothing like a sibling. I grew up with two big brothers and in my eyes, brothers are the same as superheroes. They know EXACTLY what to say when you're heartbroken. Just with their words they can mend a day that would've otherwise been complete crap. They swoop in to help when everyone else goes running scared. They scoop you up and put you back on your feet when the world has beaten you down. My world is short one superhero and my heart is broken.

"You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them."

The above quote echoes over and over in my head, along with what someone told my parents Thursday night: "God loans your children to you, but they belong to Him." It's the same with a sibling. They are your gift, straight from God, put in your life as a built-in best friend. You need to cherish every single second and memory you have with them because in an instant, they could be taken away forever. Likewise, you have to be a gift to your family as well. I hope and pray my brother was as thankful to have me as a sister as I am to have had him as a brother.

Three memories repeat over and over in my head tonight:

When I was in first grade I remember the brother of one of Matt's friends coming up to me on the playground at school and saying, "Isn't your last name 'Tenniswood?' Do you know Matt?"
"That's my brother," I replied, with a gap-toothed six-year old grin. (That should let you know right there how cool my brother was.. even the fifth graders were ok with being seen with my first-grade self because I was Matt Tenniswood's little sister.) 


Then I was 14 years old and Matt's band had won the Battle Of The Bands. I remember the night the Vermicious Knids aired on the radio playing "Somber" and how proud I was of him.
"That's my brother," I told the friends I was with, beaming with pride to be his sister.


Then there was Thursday night. The worst night of my life. I saw the ambulance, leapt out of my car and ran as fast as I could toward it. My feet felt so heavy like there were weights tied to them. The lights. The confusion. The leaves crunching under my feet as they pounded against the concrete. The paramedic that stood between me and my brother: "Excuse me? Ma'am? Are you a relative?"
"THAT'S MY BROTHER," I heard myself scream and sob.


It just has to be a dream.. it just HAS to be. If only I could wake up.

Matt wrote songs for his nephew and nieces. He loved them all so much. He was such an AWESOME uncle. My kids will miss him so much. Thinking about how Matt won't be able to watch them grow up makes my heart burn with pain. There are so many memories he made with them and I am so thankful for each one.
Patrick's favorite memories of Uncle Matt are of them jumping on the trampoline together and Matt playing on the scooters with Pat.
Anna immediately yelled, "SANDBOX!" when I asked what her favorite thing to do with Uncle Matt was. Matt would come over and literally play in that sandbox for hours with them and all three would come in covered in sand with big smiles on their faces.

Five years older than me, Matt had the 'protective big brother' role down pat. He was forEVER looking out for me and bailing me out of all kinds of trouble when I was a teenager. I'm talkin' the "it's-3am-and-I-have-no-idea-where-I-am-but-I-need-you-to-figure-it-out-and-come-get-me" kind of trouble.
"Lil' sis," he'd say and put his arm around me, "You had me worried. You gotta be careful.. what would I do without my little sister?"

I've been carrying around his guitar picks and his inhaler in my pocket since Thursday. I sleep in one of his sweatshirts every night. Is that weird? Yup, probably.. and guess what? I really don't care if it is. And if I have to take another drive that results in screaming and punching the steering wheel repeatedly, so be it. I'll grieve how I want, thanks. I know Matt would understand it so frankly I couldn't care less if anyone else does or doesn't.

My family and I are so touched by everyone that has reached out to support us, pray for us and let us know they are there for us. Even people I'm not close with and haven't talked to in like ten years have extended the need to want to do SOMETHING to help.. ANYTHING, most have said. You should know that just by praying for us and the offering of your help.. you are helping us.

It has been such a comfort to me to see a lot of Matt's friends from over the years.. from elementary school, high school, his college years.. Matt was drawn to people that were a lot like him. The kind that would drop every thing in their arms in order to open a door for you or would help you through any situation, no matter the cost and expect nothing in return. The kind that are loyal through thick and thin. I am so thankful to know my brother had so many loyal friends that thought the world of him.

Matt would be SO honored and appreciative of everyone's thoughts and prayers. He was so humble and grateful for everything that everyone ever did for him. He was so kind and considerate of everyone's feelings. If he stepped on a bug, he'd think about it for weeks. His conscience was THAT tender. He would be so honored by the love shown by all of you over the past few days.

Today I watched my big brother be buried. Today I said goodbye to one of the best friends I will ever have. Today I felt my heart ripped out of my chest as the reality of never seeing my brother again slammed into me.
Tomorrow is Day 6 of being without Matt. It's been six days since my world stopped turning.

Matt, words fail to express how much I love you. You are my big brother and hero. Thank you for every memory, every story you told me, every piece of advice. Nothing I write will bring justice to describing how kind-hearted, gentle and wonderful you were for thirty-one years. You are gone but NEVER forgotten. I am honored to be your little sister.
Rest in peace, brother.
I love you. Forever.

http://www.facebook.com/roosterquantrill

Ready, Set.. SHOWER!!!

They really should make showering into an Olympic sport for mom's of little kids.

Did you know there's a precise formula to calculating just how much showering time you're allowed as a mom? With each kid, your time is cut in half.
For instance, before I had kids I probably only took like six minute showers (oh how luxurious that amount of time sounds now!). After Patrick, I was down to about three minutes. Anna dragged that time down to 1.5 minutes and since Ella's birth, you got it, I've got a grand total of 45 seconds to suds up before total pandemonium breaks loose.

KEEP IN MIND-- THAT'S BEING VERY GENEROUS.

I gotta ask.. WHAT is WITH the clockwork chaos that explodes every time I decide to make the world a better place by showering?! IT NEVER FAILS.
Even if I've got Ella asleep and the big kids set up with a DVD/game/books/what have you in the living room. If I was doing ANYTHING other than showering they'd be entertained for at least an hour in there but once that shower knob is turned all bets are off. Patrick and Anna deem Dora no longer acceptable entertainment and decide to paint the walls with peanut butter.

I mean I've heard everything while I'm behind that shower curtain from, "MOM, SOMETHING'S BURNING IN THE LIVING ROOM!" (WHOA BUDDY, you don't even know how fast I moved after hearing that!) to "HEY MOM! ANNA'S IN THE BACKYARD WITH HER EASTER BASKET STUCK ON HER HEAD!"

All of this goes down in mere seconds, my friends, SECONDS.

My childless friends innocently turn their heads to the side and frown in confusion as they wonder, "How could this possibly be such a work out? I mean it's not like the kids are going to strip naked, shovel all the chocolate they can find into their mouths and run down the street screaming "Old MacDonald Had A Farm" at the top of their lungs."

Um HELLO.. have you MET my kids?!?! THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I AM AFRAID OF.

This unbelievable madness is not limited to when I'm trying to shower when Tim is at work but also when he is HERE.
I'll get the green light to get the chance to rid myself of my.. uhh.. "Mom" smell (I could list all the ingredients of what that entails but I'll spare you) and it's off to the races. As soon as the shampoo hits my hair I can hear Ella screaming, Tim hollering and the big kids brawling and stampeding up and down the hall like a couple of buffalo. If I'm feeling particularly speedy and think I have time to shave my legs (or let's be honest, it's more like LEG because you know by the time I completed the task of two full legs the house would be burnt down) I can rest assured there will be four highly disgruntled people on the other side of that bathroom door when I open it.
I don't know why it works that way. It just does. Every...single...time.
The icing on the cake is when I hear Tim pounding on the door (because you know darn well I learned years ago to lock that puppy as soon as I get in there.. in fact, I'm thinking of installing a dead bolt) and yelling, "MEL! I COULD REALLY USE SOME HELP OUT HERE!"
Oh SURE. I MEAN I'M ONLY NAKED AND SOAKING WET BUT LET ME RUN TO THE RESCUE BY ALL MEANS.

The solution to this problem? YOU TELL ME. Yes, I suppose I could NEVER shower, that is one option. Not a good one if you have to be anywhere near me in real life though.
Or I could wait until nighttime but let's be honest, if it's a night I'm in class, showering is pretty much the LAST thing on my mind by the time my dead-on-my-feet self drags through the door and if it's NOT a night I have class there's always the fear of knowing that showering could wake up one of the kids and let's face it, even being clean is just NOT worth waking a sleeping child.
Then there's those of you who will dare to say I could take my kids into the shower with me. Let me say I have tried that on numerous occasions in years past when it was just Patrick and Anna. All that got us was a tub full of angry people with soap in our eyes. So I have to assume that adding one more slippery little person to the shower mix would be a backwards step.

The real kicker is when I have completed the seemingly impossible feat of showering to have Tim come home and ask me if I'm going to take one before going to class.

Our convo goes a little something like this:


Tim:"So you're probably going to want to shower before you go to class?"


Me: "I DID SHOWER, TIM."


Tim: "Oh.. well.. your hair.. I mean.. I just wasn't sure if you.. uhh.." (*starts backing away from me*)


Me: ***CENSOR CENSOR CENSOR***

So.. those of you wondering what to get me for my birthday next year.. or Christmas, Groundhog Day.. OR KWANZAA FOR ALL I CARE (yes, I realize I'm not black, thanks).. come over and watch my kids so I can SHOWER! THAT IS WHAT I REALLY WANT.

I mean what can I say? I'm a mom.

Vacationing with kids is NOT for sissies

Let me start out by saying I LOVE vacation. The being in a new place and not worrying about our regular schedule, seeing new things through the kids' eyes, exploring cool spots around different cities-- so much fun!!
Notice I said "fun" and NOT "relaxing." Those of you who are childless that are reading this, take note: ENJOY YOUR VACATIONS BEFORE YOU HAVE KIDS BECAUSE AFTER YOU HAVE A CHILD THEY WILL BE ANYTHING BUT RELAXING (that applies to pretty much every area of life actually but I digress...)

Yes, family vacations are a fabulous way to create lifelong memories. The "getting there" part, however, makes me want to poke my eyeballs out.

So there we were, on the way to Silver Lake. While we were loading 867 totes of clothes, approximately 900 different pieces of baby gear paraphernalia, enough snacks and drinks to satisfy a couple third world countries, Tim and I shrugged off the two hour drive ahead of us. I mean it's just two hours, right? Even if it was full of screaming and pain, we can take ANYTHING for only two hours, we thought.

Uhh.. did we totally forget that we have kids?

Let me just lay the highlights of this particular car ride out for you:

There are five words every parent loathes hearing, especially while in the car: "LOOK AT THE MESS, MOMMY!"
First of all, I gotta say.. WHY "MOMMY?!?!?!" I mean DADDY is riding in the truck as well! I guess unbeknownst to me I am wearing a sign around my neck that says "CAPTAIN OF THE CLEAN-UP CREW." So of course I rubberneck around the headrest of my seat to see what's going on with Anna who as alerted me to this problemo.
Oh I'm sorry, did she say "MESS?!" I think she meant "ATOMIC BOMB."
Ah yes.. an ENTIRE CONTAINER of formula is spilled at Anna's feet right along with like a five pound bag of peanuts and an entire bag of Chex Mix. Honestly, more than anything I'm impressed all of this happened within like the first five miles of being on the highway. It was some SERIOUS damage in a stunningly short amount of time and I have no idea how Anna was able to reach any of it. NEVER underestimate the capabilities of a 2.5 year old.)
I snap back in my seat so I'm looking forward, trying hard not to let Tim see the fact that my eyes are about to pop out of my head. You see, my dear husband does NOT do well with matters such as this. He likes things clean.. VERY CLEAN (yes, those of you who know me, go ahead, SAY IT.. "opposites must attract," right? Oh har har, aren't you all so witty!)
It's too late, he can see my nostrils flaring and can tell I'm trying to keep composed.
"MEL, WHAT HAPPENED BACK THERE?" he says with a large dose of hysteria rising in his voice.
In hindsight, leading with, "So...you know Hiroshima?" may not have been the best way to break it to him.
He locks his eyes on the situation and within a half second he is mid-stroke driving 80mph down the highway.
Not good, not good at all.

NEXT UP: Ella poops. I mean she's a baby, it happens, I get it. However, when you're in a confined area it has a way of overtaking every single molecule of normal-smelling air.
Aaaaand there's Tim. Let's just say he's having "digestive issues" and leave it at that. So not only has Ella blown a hole in her diaper, now the cloud that is looming over Tim's section of the truck has taken the fresh oxygen supply in the truck down to about 2% and Patrick, Anna and I are clawing at the windows for clean air to breathe.

AS IF that isn't enough, right about that time Tim says, "Hey, ya know what? Pat hasn't gotten sick yet like he usually...*HURLING NOISE FROM THE BACKSEAT*...does."

So people, JUST TO REVIEW.. we've now got a POOP/PUKE/CRUSHED CHEX MIX smell issue going on. I mean do ya really need more of a reason to hurl yourself out onto the highway?!

As the cherry on top of a perfect road trip, the last 20 minutes of the trip we get lost and it's a race against time as we locate our hotel because yes, it's about to start pouring rain and no, we don't have anything covering all our crap in the back of the truck. (Wow, life would be so unamusing if we were prepared even like half of the time.. Hmm, hard to imagine...)

Just when we think we can't handle listening to one more fight from the backseat about who looks more like Elmo (the real kicker is this is a regular argument in our household) and will literally rip every last hair out of our heads if we hear, "ARE WE THERE YET?!" or "MOMMYYYYYY, I HAVE TO PEEEEEEE" again.. we see our hotel.

HAAAAAAALLELUJAH!

There might as well be a spotlight from Heaven on that building and I am SURE I heard angels singing as we pulled into the parking lot.

Seriously though.. isn't it funny how times when you think you're totally going to lose your mind because of the massive amounts of chaos around you that turn into the best memories? The ones that make you laugh until you cry when you talk about them later?
That car ride will go down in our family history and not even because it drove us within an inch of our sanity.. but because it's those kind of memories that make us family.

Don't think for one second that just because we all have sand permanently lodged in every conceivable orifice of our bodies that we didn't have an AWESOME family vacation. And yeah, we threw ourselves out of the truck upon returning home, kissed the ground and screamed "LAND!" and I had to basically OD on Motrin EVERYDAY to keep my assortment of headaches at bay but ya know what?

That's kinda the way we roll.. and I love it.

Aside from the time spent on the road (as well as the packing/unpacking aspect.. UGH!) we're already looking forward to our next trip! :D

where's my "I SURVIVED CHUCK E. CHEESE" shirt?

So now that I've babbled away about starting a blog.. WHAT do I WRITE about?! Hello instant writer's block! Then today, along came my muse.. Chuck E. Cheese. (Well THERE'S a sentence I never thought I'd type.)

I should mention that after surviving a trip there a couple months ago, Tim and I signed a contract in blood immediately upon exiting that we would never, ever return. Like even if the tri-state area was being bombed and poisonous gases were dumping down from the skies, it was an Apocalyptic-like situation and Chuck E. Cheese was the ONLY place we could go to survive-- we would take our chances with the bombs and poison.
Funny how you can forget just how painful an event was after such a short time. I hate comparing Chuck E. Cheese to childbirth but.. yeeeeeeah.
Who in their right mind would return to such an anxiety-inducing pit of doom?! Tim and I wondered this aloud after stumbling out of the doors and reaching freedom and air that is clean and not filled with the shrieking of disgruntled and/or over-stimulated little people. We had SURVIVED and would never go back.
A few nights ago while we were clearing dinner from the table I mentioned to Tim the plans I'd made for this afternoon. Before I could even get the "Cheese" part of "Chuck E. Cheese" out of my mouth, the plate in Tim's hand hit the floor. Mind you, our last encounter with the giant mouse had resulted in Tim totally ditching me with Patrick and Anna in the midst of a riot of adrenaline-and-sugar charged gang of kidlets, only to find him whimpering and curled up in a fetal position on the OPPOSITE SIDE of the building. He will endure pretty much anything and everything if the kids are having a good time but that kind of atmosphere traumatizes him. To this day he claims when I found him hunkered down in the corner he didn't even know where he was. (Timmo, if you're reading this, I'm sorry, but you know you can't deny it.) Hey, I give him props for even staying in the building.

So.. in we go to be branded with a stamp that shows up under a black light and links us to our kids. How bad can this be anyway? Surely my traumatic memories of this place were exaggerated.. right?

WRONG. SO WRONG.

In a word: NIGHTMARE. They need to hand out free passes to the nearest mental institution along with admission.

So let's recap, shall we?

One child vomiting in the corner (thankfully NOT mine)-- CHECK!
One set of parents in a knock-down, drag-out brawl over whose turn it is to fish their kid out of the tunnel of death-- CHECK!
Nine thousand different games making seizure-inducing noises-- CHECK!
One oversized, seemingly angry mouse chasing us around-- CHECK!
Approximately 67,849 tokens in one pocket and twice as many tickets in the other-- CHECK & CHECK!

I counted not one, not two but SEVEN children CRYING.. so my question is, if even the kids are sobbing, who IS having a good time in this equation? Surely not the little man stuffed into a mouse suit that's forced to trot around in a climate that is practically tropical from mass amounts of humans and sweat and excessive amounts of breathing due to SCREAMING and RUNNING and MADNESS.

So we go up to cash in our multitude of tickets that the kids have jammed into every single pocket of my jeans (darn you, Chuck E.. can't you give them little bags to stuff them in or something?!). I mean the whole point of this ordeal is to drag home these fabulous "prizes" Mr. Cheese has laid out before these wide-eyed children of mine, right? I'm flaring my nostrils and biting my lip the entire time we stand in the line that's seventeen people deep as I come to grips with the fact we could've bought like a week's worth of groceries with the money that will be earning us plastic spider rings and bouncy balls.
A year and a half later, we reach the front of the line. It is completely inevitable that while my darling two year old is mulling over the seemingly-impossible choice of whether she would like a blue or purple sucker, the kid behind us comes up and starts pounding his angry little three-year old fists on the glass case holding all this crap.. uh, I mean TOTALLY AWESOME TOYS. Clearly he has snapped and frankly, I can't blame him. It's taking all my adult cells not to join him in a mob-mentality kind of mutiny that results in jumping up and down, foaming at the mouth and ripping my hair out.

In the end, the kids walk away with good memories and their little hands are stuffed with candy and plastic mouse keychains (that break before we get out of the parking lot, of course).

Will we go back? Well of COURSE we will. Why? Because THAT is how much we love our kids!