I honestly love Connecticut.  I may be biased since I've lived here all my life and therefore find it comfortable, cozy, familiar and home...but even objectively speaking, I think it's beautiful.  Today I wandered up to "The Quiet Corner" (which I lovingly referred to as "The Boring Corner" during my UConn Storrs days) to check out Roseland Cottage in Woodstock with Laurie.  I discovered Roseland Cottage's existence online last month while researching various historical New England sights. 

It was cloudy and cool this morning, and on the drive north I noticed that several of the trees had already begun their seasonal change; their leaves glowed red and orange against the gray skyline.  While the Pomfret/Putnam/Woodstock area of Connecticut might not be the most exciting area of the state, I enjoyed the ride because the winding roads, antique shops, apple orchards, and distinguished-looking schools were all new to me, and I liked the feeling of exploration and discovery in my home state.

While the Roseland Cottage tour was fairly interesting, it wasn't my favorite part of the day.  Afterwards, Laurie and I wandered outside to the beautiful garden in front of the house, and we played with a few Colonial toys on the grounds (it happened to be Civil War Reenactment Day).  We checked out the oldest standing bowling alley in the world (part of the cottage, believe it or not), and listened to some Civil War era music on the lawn.  Then we headed up the road to the Vanilla Bean Cafe (a favorite place of  hers, and a long-time memory of mine: the last time I visited was at the end of my freshmen year in 1998). 

We enjoyed our lunch and good conversation, and then headed on to Mrs. Bridges Pantry for tea and scones.   http://www.mrsbridgespantry.com/  Looooved this!  What an unexpected find in adorable Woodstock.  Mrs. Bridges is basically a British Tea Shop, and they also sell my favorite foods from London including Walkers shortbread and Dairy Milk chocolate bars.  We ordered a pot of tea to share (Yorkshire Gold, to be exact) and two blueberry scones (well, one each).  It was the most delicious scone I've ever had in my life.  And just to be sitting there with the tea cozy in front of me, the little silver container of sugar cubes, and lots of old people (hahaha) made me feel all warm inside.  Okay, I know that sounds lame, but seriously, it's how I felt.  I was happy to be having such a fun, cozy, and interesting experience just an hour away from my house even though I felt far-removed from reality for a bit.  Does that make sense?

On the way home, we stopped at an eclectic gift shop called Celebrations where they had quite the selection from hand-crafted wine classes and artwork to inspirational journals, soaps and jewelery.  I wanted to start my Christmas shopping but was almost too overwhelmed.  I retraced my steps a few times before leaving empty-handed.  But I have a feeling I'll be back...

I loved today because it was low-key but it was time well-spent.  I learned a few new things, I enjoyed each small experience for what it was worth, and I feel like I uncovered some well-hidden secrets in my own back yard.  Looking forward to the next adventure.

Sometimes I wonder if my uncle is okay.  People who know me well know that I am a firm believer in life after death and the paranormal.  For the past eight months I have been looking for a sign that he is around, that he has seen Ashlyn, that he is at peace. Late at night when I am in her room comforting her or rocking her back to sleep, I'll occasionally hear a noise behind me and wonder if he's watching over us.  The rational part of my brain knows that it's not him, but my heart longs for a sense of comfort or closure that, due to the nature of his death, I know I will probably never find. The fact that he missed meeting my daughter by two weeks continues to haunt me.  I will always wonder if she could have sparked something in him...some interest?  Life?  I don't know. I mean I guess I am putting too much on one person because it was beyond one person's control. He didn't stay here for his wife (the love of his life for almost 30 years).  He didn't stay here for his two sisters.  He didn't stay here for his career even though he had worked there loyally (and with many of the same people) for almost his entire life.  Everyone misses him.  I can still easily hear his voice in my head...he would almost always start the conversation with "Your mother told me ___________" since he and Mom talked often.  I can hear that, and I can hear the conversation we had over the phone the day before he died.  It was my birthday.  I teased him because he had spent $13 Fed Exing my card to me to make sure it arrived on Saturday (my birthday was on a Sunday).  I had no idea that there was a good reason he was Fed Exing that card...if it arrived on Monday evening, he knew he would already be gone.  He wanted to make sure I had it before I heard the news.

I could cry just writing this, but honestly there are days when the tears won't come.  After eight months, some of the initial shock has worn off but the "why why WHY" will never go away.  I hate that I will never have a satisfactory answer.  I can read all the books in the world on the topic but not one will tell me what my uncle was thinking or why he chose to do what he did.  All I know is that I, like everyone else, wish there was something I could have done to have prevented it.  I wish Ashlyn's arrival could have sustained him for a little while longer, I wish her new life could have reminded him of how amazing this world can be, I wish we could go back in time to our home videos where Uncle Billy's biggest concern was making sure his wiffle ball pitch went over the plate so that Ryan could hit a homerun.  I just hope that he is better off, wherever he is, since he felt like he couldn't be here anymore.

I love my little chunkaroo.

Yes, that's one of a zillion nicknames I have for my little bunny (Ashlyn).  People will tell you that parenthood is amazing, that nothing beats it, that you will just *know* instantaneously what being a parent means as soon as you hold them in the hospital.  And I will agree with that to an extent, but I have found that my love for my daughter grows exponentially (at least!) by the day as I get to know her better.  When they're newborns, they are sweet because they're small and new and needy, but they don't light up the room with their smile.  They don't belly laugh through mouthfuls of pureed mango or stick their tongue out over their two baby teeth.  They don't reach for you when you stand over their crib in the morning, and they don't squeal with delight when you come home from work.  Ashlyn amazes me on a daily basis with her ability to explore and grasp new things (both tangibly and conceptually).  She is my new favorite hobby.

Tonight she fell asleep on Jeff's lap about halfway through her bottle.  She looked totally content with her rosy cheeks, green and brown flowered sleeper, long eyelashes, and little puckered mouth.  I took a few pictures of this innocence, and then carefully lifted her onto my shoulder.  Her head nuzzled into me and I hugged her even more tightly.  As I stood there, I thought I might explode from within with love.  I can't explain exactly how much love I have for this little girl, but the sheer amount is staggering.  She will be 8 months old next week, and I can only imagine what the next few weeks, months, and years will bring.  Yesterday at work I daydreamed about taking her to see London, one of my favorite places, when she's five years old.   Even though I know five wouldn't be the best age to travel 7 hours on a plane.  Even though she will probably have a very young sibling at that point, and we most likely won't be traveling over the Atlantic.

I just want to share everything with her.  I want to teach her and watch her experience life.  And life is too short to even begin to show her the whole world, which I want more than anything. 

Badge # 439.

That number will stay with me forever now, even though the first time I ever heard it mentioned was on Wednesday or Thursday of last week. That was before I knew what an inspirational person Dan Naimoli was…before I knew how many lives he had touched…and before I understood the depth of the impact his loss would have on the entire surrounding community including his family, friends, the Meriden police and fire departments, and the National Guard.

Dan is the brother of one of my best friends, Angela. Last Tuesday, July 20th, I was driving home from zumba class when my cell phone rang. I will never forget where I was (Route 85 in Salem, CT) or what time it was (7:26 p.m.) when I answered. I could immediately tell that something was wrong by the tone of Ange’s voice, but because we were merely a week and a half out from her wedding, I didn’t think anything of it. Any number of last minute details might have come crashing down around her, so I tentatively asked, “What’s wrong??” I don’t think I could ever have been prepared for her response, “Everything’s wrong. My brother died.”

On Thursday night I drove to Angela’s parents’ house to help put together photo collages for the wake. I was tired of sitting around, feeling helpless. Hundreds of memories were strewn haphazardly across the kitchen table. Dan with his two boys, Nicholas and Robbie. Dan looking handsome in a tux. Dan in Osh Kosh overalls, circa 1986, walking with his mom. Dan and Ange through the years including New Kids on the Block sweatshirts and Halloween costumes. Dan hugging his dad in the kitchen. This vibrant life that was pieced together through moments now being cut up and placed on cardboard backdrops. “Doesn’t he look exactly like Dan?” someone exclaimed as they carefully placed a photo of Robbie on the photoboard. “I want this one in there, even though it’s dark,” Ange’s mom said. “It’s one of the only ones we have with of him in his police uniform.”

Dan’s death made the local news. You could find a legacy video about his life and public service on wfsb.com. The Meriden Record Journal published numerous articles about him, and about his dedication to the community. If you visited Dan’s facebook page, you would see that many of his friends and colleagues changed their profile pictures to Badge #439. The goodbye messages, poems, and memories piled on as the news traveled quickly; as people became aware of the fact that their friend was truly gone.

I knew that the wake wouldn’t be easy. My heart was literally breaking for Angela and her entire family, especially because it was so close to her wedding day. When I saw Dan lying there in his uniform with his white gloves on, and noticed how photos of his smiling boys were placed gingerly on top of his jacket, I lost it. Throughout the course of the evening, I noted that a wide range of people came to pay their respects to Dan: old, young, black, white, uniformed, non-uniformed. You could almost visualize all the compartments of Dan’s complete life coming together in one room. The only thing missing was Dan himself. His many accolades and awards covered tabletops. His Eagle Scout ring rested on a black velvet case. His friends stood or sat silently, at a loss for how someone so young, yet so accomplished, could be taken from us so soon.

I knew the funeral would be even more difficult. First of all, Jeff had to watch Ashlyn so I was attending alone. I woke up that sweltering morning and couldn’t even begin to imagine how Angela and her family were coping. To me, the most difficult aspect of funerals are comprised of those final moments in the funeral home. Saying goodbye to someone you know so well and love so much, knowing that you will never *see* them again.

I arrived in the church parking lot around 9:15 a.m., and the funeral was scheduled to begin at 10. I planned on meeting our friend Dani there around 9:30, and texted her to say that there was still plenty of parking available. Well within a matter of minutes that turned out to be inaccurate. Carloads and carloads of people filled up the parking lot quickly. I saw a woman get out of her car and hold up her camera. I looked at her incredulously, as if to say, “What could you possibly be photographing at an occasion like this?” I turned around. There, hanging over the street from an extended firetruck ladder, was a huge American flag. It was beautiful.

People congregated on the sidewalk. Mostly young people. Mostly dressed in black. The Red Cross handed out bottled water. The temperature slowly climbed to a hot and sweaty 87 degrees. Men and women in various uniforms milled around. They must have been overheated, but of course they never complained. Around 10:10, a bagpiper made his way down the street, carrying bittersweet, mournful notes behind him. I was already close to tears. Dani and I stood behind a number of policemen, firefighters, and soldiers who were all lined up in formation at the base of the sidewalk and all the way up the stairs. Policemen from Groton, New London, Manchester, all over Connecticut. The hearse pulled in. The casket was draped in a boldly colored American flag. I caught a glimpse of Angela’s face as she walked up the steps. She was crying.

The service was beautiful and moving. Never before have I left a funeral service thinking, “God, that was amazing.” But it was. One of Vivian‘s (Dan’s mom) eighteen siblings happens to be a priest, and he came down from Canada to lead the service. He spoke honestly and from the heart, both as a priest and as an uncle to Dan (“Denn” as he pronounced it, being from Canada). At one point he addressed only Dan’s immediate family: Viv, Gary, and Angie; although he said “I guess the rest of you can’t help but listen.” A little laughter. The music was gorgeous and filled the space with light and sound. “Be Not Afraid”; “On Eagle’s Wings”; and even the songs sung every Sunday took on new meaning here.

Dan’s Uncle Robbie, long-time family friend (and almost sister) Stephanie, and close friend Sidney told stories that portrayed Dan’s sense of humor, his compassion, and his ability, above all, to be a real friend to people. A true hero, in his sister’s words.

We moved on from the church ceremony to Sacred Heart Cemetery. I swear traffic was stopped on every single street corner in the entire city. Any police officers that were not attending the funeral that day were on duty, holding cars back to allow the funeral procession through. Cars gleamed in the blazing sunlight, hazards flashing, and had to loop around a few times just to allow room for everyone to park. I’ve never seen so many people at a grave site before. I’ve never seen police officers cry before, either. It was a day of many firsts.

I knew they were going to do the 21-gun salute. I have heard Taps played at funerals before. But I had never experienced the most poignant and haunting, yet so fitting, tribute that they gave Dan. Because I was so moved by this aspect of the ceremony, I have to copy the words from Angela’s cousin’s blog (thank you, Josh) because while I remember the gist of what was said, I was so choked up at this point that my mind was blurry.

Audible conversation heard over walkie talkies:

“H (headquarters) to 439 (Danny’s badge number)”

“439”

“439”

“H to 439…watch ended.” (Although in my memory, they said “Watch over.” Someone can feel free to correct me if I’m wrong).

I heard a few gasps, I saw shoulders heave, and I didn’t see anyone who wasn’t crying. It was sad, it was beautiful, it was echoing, and it resonated. You could hear the sirens throughout Meriden.

The sun continued to beat down on us as every uniformed officer lined up, two-by-two, to bid farewell to Dan. When I saw the first officer remove his white gloves and place them on the casket, I thought it was a nice gesture. I didn’t realize that every single officer that followed would do the same. Some cried, some kneeled, others placed their hands gingerly on the casket. Some kissed the wood of the casket. Some held each other for strength. I was touched when a few went over and offered their condolences directly to Angela and her family. I cried again.

I think one of the moments I will always remember from that day was when a man addressed the crowd and said “You want to know what brotherhood looks like? Look no further” and pointed towards the scores of uniformed officers (policemen, firefighters, and National Guardsmen) lined up in formation. They are all heroes. I think everyone that attended Dan Naimoli’s funeral now not only has a better understanding of what an amazing (and modest) person he was, but also what an amazing community we all live in. As Dan’s Uncle Leo (the priest) said, we will have to live our lives as Dan lived his. And after learning about his, I couldn’t be more inspired.

So it's been awhile. I have a three month old now and she is everything we could have ever asked for and so much more. Her smile literally lights up the room, and she does this adorable thing where she sticks a little bit of her tongue out and then breaks into the widest grin you've ever seen. It makes you feel like you're the most important person in the world.

I knew a lot would change once I became a mom, but while everyone always tries to prepare you for the more stressful aspects of parenting..."you'll never see your friends again...you think you're tired NOW?! just wait!...if you can get through the first 6 weeks, you're good," etc.; no one explains that part of your daily life will stay the same but it will be forever enhanced.

I remember one day late last summer, Jeff and I were sitting on the deck and I was feeling a bit melancholy (and no doubt hormonal). I watched the wind rustle the leaves and sighed as I realized that our days as a couple--as just us--were numbered. I thought to myself "You better take this in right now because nothing will ever be the same again." And while that thought still holds true to this day, I was wrong to mourn the "before" part of our life just then. Jeff is still very important to me; he is a constant in my life and now he is also known as "Daddy" to my beautiful daughter. Our "after" doesn't mean that three's a crowd or that we won't ever have time to ourselves again. It just calls for some minor adjustments. Now that we're developing more of a routine, I can honestly say that I love being a mom in addition to being Jeff's wife. I can't imagine my life any other way...it's like we've always had Ashlyn with us.

This afternoon I sat out on the deck and took in the sunshine while writing out thank you cards for Ashlyn's christening. Jeff raked the leaves and cut down branches while Ash sat contentedly at my feet, playing with her rattle and cooing. I still have time to relax. I can still enjoy the sunshine. And at the end of the day, I fall asleep knowing that my little family is safe and sound. Life doesn't get any better than this.

Oh, and this song makes me cry because it's so true:

He didn't have to wake up
He'd been up all night
Layin' there in bed listening
To his newborn baby cry
He makes a pot of coffee
He splashes water on his face
His wife gives him a kiss and says
It's gonna be okay...

It won't be like this for long
One day we'll look back laughin'
At the week we brought her home
This phase is gonna fly by
So baby just hold on
'Cause it won't be like this for long.

Four years later 'bout 4:30
She's crawling in their bed
And when he drops her off at preschool
She's clinging to his leg
The teacher peels her off of him
He says what can I do
She says now don't you worry
This will only last a week or two.

It won't be like this for long
One day soon you'll drop her off
And she won't even know you're gone
This phase is gonna fly by
If you can just hold on
It won't be like this for long...

In 7th grade, I would occasionally take a blank notebook out into the woods with me after school. I would situate myself Indian-style on the trunk of an enormous dead tree, prop my back up against its living counterpart, and think that nothing could be more romantic: a girl, alone with her thoughts, exploring the daily trials and tribulations of life. Today, I felt like that girl again. Not in a romantic sense, but more due to her innocence and vulnerability. She was sensitive. Always so sensitive.

Tonight I took a walk after work by myself, down to the beach in my jeans, clogs, and Jeff's hoodie. It smelled like October, and smells always transport me to another time and place. All of a sudden I was eight, playing in the brook behind Amy and Chris's house...then I was fourteen, riding my bike around the neighborhood streets at our new house. Then Ashlyn gave me a decent kick in my side which brought me back to the present. In two and a half months, I am going to be a mom. And I have been through all of the mood swings lately to prove it: from excitement and anticipation, to nervousness and crying fits. I honestly feel like I can't control my emotions right now. Unfortunately they come flying out of me no matter who I'm with or what I'm talking about. I believe this is unnerving to some people who either have never experienced pregnancy or haven't experienced it in a long time. They ask me questions and expect a certain reaction, and if I don't provide the appropriate amount of enthusiasm, they assume that I'm not happy, or that I am preoccupied, or they merely sigh in exasperation at my lack of response. That is exasperating to ME because I am an honest person by nature (some prefer to call it blunt or realistic) and I don't do well forcing fake excitement or enthusiasm if I simply cannot muster either feeling at that particular moment.

It's amazing, the amount of advice you receive when you're pregnant...from so many various avenues. And everyone has the best intentions, but after months and months of hearing what foods to eat, and how to maintain a certain level of exercise, and "maybe you should try this" and "maybe you shouldn't have done that," it really makes me want to scream. Loudly. At the top of my lungs, even. I am seriously trying to take care of myself in addition to this little girl who's growing inside of me, and I know that I am making all of the right decisions when it comes to her health and well-being. I just wish that other people would realize that and back off sometimes. I am not twelve anymore. I have learned so much in the nearly thirty years that I've been here, but somehow I still end up feeling like that vulnerable girl. Not because of what I think of myself, but because of what others think of me. I just wish I didn't take everything to heart. It really does get to be exhausting when I'm already having enough trouble sleeping at night.

She's a girl!

Well, the technician said she was 95-99% sure she was a girl, but that it was our decision on whether or not we wanted to paint the room pink. ;) I think they have to say that to cover their bases, or cover their ____. Jeff and I are beyond ecstatic. We can finally call our daughter by her name when we talk to her or about her (except it's still going to be a secret to everyone else!) Everything about her is growing perfectly...she's an adorable 11 oz. and we saw everything from the bottoms of her little feet to her two kidneys, her wonderful heart, her spinal cord, her arms, legs, and brain. It was amazing. Towards the end of the ultrasound (about 25 minutes altogether), the technician just calmly says, "Oh. It's a girl." I couldn't believe it! I was so sure that SHE was a HE, but I was wrong. There is something to be said for father's intuition...

When we left, Jeff and I headed over to Babies R Us and started looking at cribs, changing tables, and bedding. Then we set out to buy her one outfit each and ended up with at least five (including one from our cat, Nutmeg, because we couldn't resist.) We are already so in love and can't wait for her to arrive.