Legal

Dear Beauty,

I'm so behind that I'm not sure where to start. Your 18th birthday has come and gone, and in less than three weeks you are going off to college. 

Hold up. 

It's impossible for me to believe only a year has transpired. Given the whirlwind that was your senior year and all that we packed into 12 months, it felt like we did 5 years worth of living over the course of one year: your first half marathon, your first job, becoming one of ten Teen Star finalists and performing at the Granada Theater, falling in love, a plethora of senior activities culminating up to your prom and graduation...and, I can barely type this without tearing up, the death of Samo. As we approach the first anniversary of Sam's death, I am nearly overcome with awe and pride at how you showed up and prevailed through your grief - despite such a significant loss for any age. You are truly one of my biggest heroes. 

Sweet Samo - Always loved and never forgotten
October 29, 1996 - September 19, 2014

Of all the races I've ever run, this half marathon was the
most meaningful. Photo credit Kaycie Landis

This is a digital painting of your Teen Star
performance created by the incredibly
talented Mirra Tubiolo.

Twue wuv

Your beautiful updo for prom

The heart can only handle so much awesome; your
brother's promotion from junior high was the same day
as your graduation. This also happens to be my favorite photo...ever.

It felt like I had hella more stamina a year ago than I do now. This girl is dog tired, man. I must've been 10 years younger when we were taking college tours last March. Yeah. You remember that one time, you know, when we were casually walking the UCSC campus with Don Cheadle?? #fangirl

Well, howdy. Iron Man has nothing on Don Cheadle.

Speaking of fangirling -- which is not a verb, but I just made it so -- a local writer and acquaintance of mine recently wrote about launching her nearly-adult son onto the unsuspecting world, wondering if she had taught him everything he needed to be a self-sufficient member of society. 

This must be a rite of passage for all parents, because I am fraught with the same dilemma. All the skill-appropriate milestones have been reached: potty training (although I am certain every parent is convinced they'll be sending their son or daughter off to college still wearing pull-ups to bed), learning to ride a bike, using an actual real knife to slice a bagel in half, parallel parking (well, this one is still a work in progress)...the list goes on.

A year ago, we were overwhelmed with college essays and applications. I tried to imagine you on each campus we toured, carrying your backpack and rushing to class. Fast-forward nine months, you have been accepted to 7 of the 10 colleges you applied to. In seventeen short days, you are out on your own and moving off to college. However, all that seems like small potatoes. 

The real question before you leave for college is this: Did I do a good job raising you to be a kind person? A person of integrity and compassion. The type of person who is a more than a good student, but a good friend. The answer to that question is complicated; I've come to realize that those things aren't really up to me. You have been those things all along. 

I was thrilled when you got a job last summer at the YMCA. You are a natural with children and you have an incredible work ethic. My readers may not know that, coincidentally, we happen to work at the same place. It tickles me to no end to see the expression on a coworkers face when they learn that we are related. Easy to get to know, outgoing and friendly...people all comment on how lovely you are. It has been so much fun to see you excel at work (June employee of the month) and go from the newbie to a seasoned veteran in a year's time. 

In March, we will take a trip together to Paris -- a graduation gift from your grandparents. I am thrilled to go to Europe with you and I can't wait to see you conquer your freshman year away at college. 

There are no words to describe this moment.
 You are always in my heart.

Remember to wear sunscreen, study hard and above all...be you. I love you always.

Mom 

#teamsamo

Last March, I wrote a post about my daughter's best friend, Sam. That post generated more traffic than anything I've written since I started my blog in 2009.

Originally hospitalized for pneumonia, the doctors discovered that Sam had a virus in his heart. He was immediately sent to UCLA for a battery of tests. The community rallied around Sam, and a benefit concert was organized last April to help cover the cost of a heart transplant. Jeff Bridges and The Abiders (yes, that Jeff Bridges) performed along with Dishwalla to a sold out crowd at the beautiful Lobero Theater. 

During the last four months, Sam endured severe diet and water restrictions. His heart's inefficiency to circulate blood properly combined with a myriad of drugs, creating a fluctuations of up to 15 lbs. of water weight...in a single day. After having a stroke last March, Sam never fully regained sight in his left eye. 

A week and a half ago, Sam received a partial mechanical heart with the end goal of receiving an heart transplant in three months. His mom Judy noticed almost immediately that his feet were warmer and his color had improved. Although Sam was no longer sedated, the medicine remained in his body due to his poor circulation and liver function, and he continued to be delusional. The nursing staff asked Judy who 'Girldoll' was, and they told her that he had been saying her name. We were invited to see Sam last Sunday, in the hope that it would reset his memory and help him transition out of his dream state.

The morning we were supposed to drive to Los Angeles, I received a text from his dad that Sam had scheduled a gall bladder surgery that day. About 20 minute later, a second text came in saying that Sam's surgery was rescheduled for the following day. Were we able to come after all? 

We were on the road within 45 minutes of receiving his text. 

I was warned that Sam was still pretty loopy, so I prepared Girldoll that he might not make sense. I assured her that he would recognize us. Sure enough, Sam's eyes lit up when we came into his hospital room, and he was thrilled to see Girldoll. 

True to form, Sam was hilarious; he joked about the small size of the hospital bed, while his feet dangled off the end. When Girldoll asked how many fingers she was holding up, Sam held up his middle finger and replied, "Oh, I don't know...one?" He moved in and out of lucidity; one moment Sam was present, and the next he was asking if we went to his 'Halloween garbage birthday party'. The room couldn't contain his dry sense of humor. We stayed for almost two hours, and I was surprised at how quickly the time passed. 

On Wednesday, just three days after our visit, Sam's body crashed. His team performed CPR and re-opened his chest to massage his heart - right on his hospital bed, in the same room we had been standing in only three days earlier. They took him to surgery to repair some internal bleeding, and ended up operating on Sam for 9 hours. He never regained consciousness. 

Thursday morning, I was devastated to see that I had missed a call from Judy. Sam had lost brain function, and they were taking him off life support. It is apparent where Sam got his extraordinary compassion from; even through her grief, Judy reached out to our family so my daughter didn't have to read on Facebook that her best friend had died. 

The last three days have been very difficult for Girldoll. My daughter gave the gift of friendship - only to be repaid tenfold. All I can think about is seeing Girldoll and Sam holding hands, their faces close together. It is not lost on us how blessed we were to see Sam in the hospital, one last time.  

The whole community is in shock. We attended an informal memorial last Friday night at the beach. A hundred people released flowers into the ocean, and later in the evening several kids began playing guitar and singing Samo's favorite songs:  

I dare you to move

I dare you to move

I dare you to lift

Yourself up off by the floor

I dare you to move

I dare you to move

Like today never happened

Today never happened

Maybe redemption has stories to tell

Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell

Where can you run to escape from yourself?

Where you gonna go? Where you gonna go?

Salvation is here

Dare You To Move by Switchfoot

Sam 'Samo' Osterhage
Oct. 29, 1996 - September 19, 2014
Always in our hearts.

Seventeen

Dear Beauty, 

You turned seventeen a few weeks ago. I'm sorely behind on this letter, although I have thought about what I wanted to write frequently, such as: how can you be so old already? I know it's cliche for adults to say stuff like that, but it's the truth. 

Weren't we just celebrating your 6th birthday...when I actually talked a dispatcher into sending a real ambulance and paramedics to our house for your party, so all the kids could see what a real ambulance looked like on the inside? 

You wanted a hospital-themed birthday party that year where kids could weigh themselves on a scale, listen to their heart beat with a real doctor's stethoscope, and use child-sized crutches. Of course, there was the overzealous guest who made you cry by putting band-aids over every single one of your babydolls' eyes. Regardless of that one snafu, it remains in the top three of best parties I've ever thrown. 

And then you had to go and do this:

That first day you drove by yourself to school,
you drove off with my heart.

We toured colleges over spring break a couple weeks ago. I was both excited for your bright future, as well as feeling overwhelmed with the realization that you will be headed off to college and on your own in less then two years. Maybe I should follow you and go back to school to pursue my college degree after all? JUST KIDDING.

And I'll be completely honest: I've bought into all the hype about high test scores, perfect GPA's and a well-rounded college resume. Although it's coming from the best intentions, I have literally made myself sick behind it and brought you an unfair additional amount of stress. It's a completely different world than when I was in high school, and I cannot fathom the pressures that you've faced as a teenager. Truthfully? No employer has ever asked me what my high school GPA was. You are going to get into a great college. 

Touring UCSC...where we saw Don-freaking-Cheadle!

Today was a special day; we spent the afternoon together shopping for a prom dress, shoes and accessories, and, if everything goes according to plan, your sweet boyfriend is asking you tonight to his senior prom as I write this. I love seeing you in love, and I couldn't be happier for you. This whole thing with your friend Samo's health has affected me deeply. My biggest fear as a parent is to outlive you or your brother, and it's been a reminder of how precious family and childhood are. I want you to know how much you are treasured, and to look back on your childhood and our crazy family with fond memories. 

Last year's birthday present: Cooper.
The gift that keeps on giving!

Performing with your brother and Dishwalla drummer
George Pendergast for Big Daddy's epic birthday party!
It was one of the best days of your father's life.

Your brother! I don't even know what to say about this picture.

You, me and Aunt Erika with friends at the Warrior Dash!
You were a very good sport.

Sparklers to celebrate your birthday at Theo and Thea's house.

I love this face so very much.
Happy 17th birthday, Beauty!

You are truly one of my favorite people. All my love always...

Mom

Prerequisite

My mom was 19-years old when she had me, and knew very little about babies. She read that it was important to talk to your baby, except she didn't know what she should say, so she settled on reading me The New York Times every morning.

Growing up, we lived for a short period in San Francisco. One of my first memories was seeing the backdoor off it's hinges; we'd been robbed. Her roommate's TV was stolen, and it wasn't replaced until my mom got a boyfriend that moved in with one. Being an only child without electronic entertainment, I was resourceful and creative. I played for hours by myself with stuffed animals, but mostly I read. Frequently, I would look over recipes in my mom's Good Housekeeping Cookbook while she cooked dinner, which was a kind of excellent torture. 

I worked my way through books about horses, starting with the gorgeously illustrated Billy and Blaze stories by C.W. Anderson, and then Misty of Chincoteague, which I didn't care for as much - and the entire Walter Farley series of books, beginning with the his first story written in the 1940's, The Black Stallion. I loved comics: Archie, Richie Rich and Mad Magazine. I read pre-teen fiction: anything written by Judy Blume, and VC Andrew's Flowers in the Attic series. As I got older, I read nearly everything written by Stephen King, although my favorite was a book of short stories called Different Seasons. Three of the four short stories became screenplays, and two of those are among my all-time favorite movies: Stand By Me and Shawshank Redemption.  

At 11-years old, I would play handball against the side of the stairwell at our apartment for hours. It was meditative; I'd settle into a rhythm with hitting the ball ka-chung ka-chung ka-chung and I would think of elaborate stories about horses. I wrote my first short story over several days on a yellow, legal-sized pad of paper about a pony and rider that got caught in a high tide along the bluffs of the beach.

When I was 14-years old, we were assigned to write a descriptive essay about a high school locker for an English class. Our teacher asked us to describe the contents of the locker and what the locker itself it looked like, until each word written was in the 'perfect place' and the whole paper just felt right. He chose an assignment to read out loud to the class and without knowing in advance, he chose my paper. I felt myself turning crimson from embarrassment.

After he finished one of the popular boys remarked, "Someone in this class wrote that?!" Our teacher indicated it was me, and I was both shy and thrilled at the same time. Ever since that brief moment of validation that my writing reached someone and meant something, I have wanted to become a writer.