We knew it was going to happen. And yet, my heart did a River Dance beat when I heard it on the car radio. An anger started to form in the center of my chest. Within seconds it felt like hot lava. The MSNBC voice continued, in shock. A fleet of The Handmaid’s Tale women appeared in my brain, walking in nice uniform lines. I would look terrible in one of those hats, surely someone can design something more attractive for this real life 2022 version of that prescient story.

Once again, being a woman is unimportant. So unimportant that a whole bunch of men are making decisions about our bodies. Our. Bodies. The ones we live in. They’ve taken away a 50 year Constitutional right. Alito called Roe vs. Wade “egregiously wrong.”

I listen to the news all day. I connect with friends. I scan social media, The New York Times, The Boston Globe. One of my old college besties calls me screaming. She is livid. We are both yelling into the phone about the decision. She speaks of two miscarriages she had and the D&Cs she had to have afterward and that now that D&C would be considered an abortion. I hadn’t known those were unlawful. I had the same thing and it was so sad because I’d lost my pregnancy. The news made me even angrier. The lava was beginning to stain the rug.

And the worst part is the women this will impact the most are women with no money, no resources, nowhere to go, nobody to help. Hey Clarence, who will pay for these unwanted babies? Who will raise them? Amy, uterus to uterus, tell me, are you feeling good about yourself?

I had friends over last night to celebrate one of them’s birthday, as well as her being granted her PhD. Of course we toasted her, but all of our rage was on display. All of us have daughters. We discussed the gross fact that gay marriage is likely next on the chopping block. Two of the women are a married couple. The vodka & lemonade helped, but the lava was flowing.

There has been much said and there will be much more said by people more educated and erudite than I am. But as a woman, I can say this, don’t fuck with women. We will outsmart you, fight with every hormone we have in the streets to defend our own bodies and one another’s, figure out ways to help women who need abortions get them safely. What did that ridiculous Helen Reddy song say–“I am woman, hear me roar?” We will not take this. We will not let a Supreme Court that’s anything but supreme lead us backwards. We will escort each other through this terrifying time. AND WE WILL VOTE TO MAKE CHANGE.

A few resources: Mad About Roe, Here’s How to Help Women.Now. article in NYT. Give to Glennon Dayle’s Together Rising. And of course, Planned Parenthood.

A friend told me today that her brother, an old high school friend, who’d had a bone marrow transplant months ago in Boston and was recovering here, was finally going back home to Maine (to a big, fat neighborhood celebration, mind you)! She said he was excited and doing well, but of course, one always worries.

When cancer comes to visit, it’s usually pulling a sky high luggage cart of worry. Will the other shoe drop? I responded from my gut. The gut that lived the shoe dropping life when my mom had cancer. We lived from scan to scan. Just in my mid-20’s with all my big life in front of me, I worried incessantly about the battle my mom was waging for hers.

But as I told my friend, I watched my mom do an amazing thing at the time. She learned to live in a state of hope. She kicked carefree and shallow concerns out of bed. Those disappeared in about a half a minute’s time. But what she came to have was actually better. Because when you live in a state of hope, the days are more colorful, the people around you are more important, the food you eat tastes bigger and brighter, the laughs you laugh are longer and deeper and goddamn life affirming. The truth is, it’s where we should all be living, but generally we’re too busy, too spoiled and take too much for granted to remember to pitch our tent there.

I had a good think about this today. I am quite sure that living in a state of “i have to,” or I want that,” or “this sucks,” or “why, why, why” (wah, wah, wah) is never a very worthwhile neighborhood. But living in a state of hope means living for what can be, all the sparkling possibility, residing smack in the moment we are given, while knowing that life can jump any curb it wants to at any time it wants to, but still believing. Isn’t it funny, as in bizarre, ridiculous and stupid that visiting the edge of life can often put you at the center of it? Just another reminder to live where it matters, to stand in the day, to be grateful for all you think can be.

I had a dad who was complicated. On the one hand, he was quirky, funny, extremely smart, always with his nose (his very big nose) in the Times or New Yorker or a good book. He loved classical music, theater, cooking and antiques. On the other hand, he had a vile temper and he loved to drink more than he loved to be honest about the fact that he loved to drink. This was his downfall as a dad and as a person. And it left many deep wounds in its wake.

So, when my husband and I decided to have kids, which took three years because of my infertility (but that’s another story), I knew only that he seemed like he would not be a father like the one I’d had.

From the minute our son Jake was born, Peter was obsessed, delighted and enamored. He didn’t mind waking up in the middle of the night to feed our crying baby. And unlike me, he could easily roll with the exhaustion that came with a tiny infant’s schedule. He was infinitely patient as Jake grew. A trait that had eluded, and still eludes me. Peter was a perfect match for Jake’s extremely active body and mind. I think he had him throwing a ball as soon as he could hold anything. When Ally was born three years later, with a personality that was a little more challenging, Peter instinctively knew just how to handle her. Again, his patience and my lack thereof, made him daddy of the year. While I was more of the disciplinarian, Peter was the endlessly patient parent who could stand by during tantrums and sibling rivalry. HIs work on Alzheimer’s disease, which was very important to him, was still important, but he made time with his kids a priority. He would work until 2:00 AM to spend the daylight hours with them.

Of course with every plus comes some minuses, and in this case, Peter really did hate to, and still hates to discipline the kids. That was a challenge for me, but his other daddy traits were so stellar that while it irked me to no end, I had to ultimately accept the good with the bad. Because guess what, that’s what you have to do in a marriage–compromise.

Because our kids have been so lucky to have a dad who went to not just every game, but every practice, who showed up at each school event, whether it was a class breakfast, play, game, or conference. He coached baseball and basketball, he was the designated driver for Ally’s 1,870,833 years of soccer, a fan at Jake’s baseball, basketball and lacrosse games. And of course he was the consulate cheerleader for all the difficult and hard orthopedic sports injuries our kids endured. He was the homework guy, the obscure answer guy and the ultra positive you-can-do-it guy.

If you don’t have a dad who gives you what you need, you always wonder what that might be like. Well, I was able to find out all that I’d actually missed. Over the last 27 years, it’s been clear that Peter was the father I never had.

Gratitude for the time, effort and love and the always being there-ness that my kids got in the father department. And happy Father’s Day to one of the greats. We all love you, Peter.

After being unusually careful for the past two years, shunning fun, ignoring the lure of indoor restaurants with fancy cocktails and delectable menus, cancelling travel to anywhere but Whole Foods, seeing only a few friends, getting vaccinated and boosted, and thinking my mouth was a mask, Covid finally came to call.

Over the Covid years, I was exposed multiple times that I was aware of and I’m sure many more I didn’t even know about, and even though my whole family got it, I never did. It became sort of a joke that I must have had it and didn’t know it along the way. Or I had it in a past life that gave me immunity! But the devil finally showed up and man, he was as harsh and ugly as I’d always worried he might be.

Anyway, I’m here just to say that you should still be wearing your obnoxiusly annoying, face altering, hard-to-breathe-in mask, because even though Omicron is not the bully on the playground that Delta was, it got me good. And let me preface that I have always had sort of a weakish immune system since a few childhood illnesses that required me to eat a big bunch of antibiotics, so I have had my share of flus and viruses that totally put me under, but this thing, this thing January sixthed me from head to toe. It ravaged me, with full-on body aches, low-grade fever, chills, extremely painful sores on my tongue, a dog bark cough, a sore throat, stomach cramps and diarrhea. And the exhaustion factor was as deep as the middle of the ocean. For the first three days, I could just about stay up for 30 minutes without drifting into a coma-like sleep. I could barely make it to the bathroom. I HAD NO APPETITE. Now, let me just say here that I have an appetite no matter what. If the world were nuked and we were trying to figure out how to go on, I’d be hungry. There have been very few times that I’ve lost my appetite, and in fact it’s a joke in my family starting with my mother, who, whenever she was sick (including when she had lung cancer) would eat her way through it. When we’d question her, she’d say, “You’ve got to keep your stomach open.” I couldn’t. She’d have been disappointed in me.

I was very lucky to have a doctor who knows that I get sicker than most people when I get sick and was able to send me for a Monoclonal antibody infusion at Beth Israel. It was easy, except for the getting out of my bed and getting dressed part. Plus you got to lay down and sleep afterward while they watched you to make sure you didn’t have some weirdo reaction. WIthin about 29 hours the heavy symptoms began to fade. The exhaustion and cough did not. I was basically in bed until a few days ago when I climbed out, slapped some makeup on and attended my daughter’s college graduation, which was two years post when it should have been for the exact reason that I was struggling to go–Covid. Pulled out of school hastily, denied the senior week antics every student dreams of and having to deal with the disappointment of a cancelled grand and big deal graduation with family flying in ready to celebrate, my daughter and the rest of the class of 2020 were cheated. The big graduation Heist. But that’s just another of the selfish characteristics this virus has boasted over these two years.

I am on the mend. But I’m still really tired and still have a cough, but a chest x-ray revealed my lungs are clear so that’s a big positive. I just need to take it slow and get a little better everyday. But as far as being careful out there, just telling you that while some people experience Omicron as a slight incovenience, a minor cold, or no symptoms at all, I did not. It was actually the sickest I’ve ever been. IN MY WHOLE LIFE. So, get boosted and wear your mask, despite having the fatigue of living a stunted life, it’s better than the fatigue you get with the virus. Gratitude goes to the magic of medicine. Oh yeah, and my amazing daughter, the official graduate.