On Easter

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Happy Easter – Buona Pasqua
(in Italian, if you couldn’t deduce that ☺)

We are in Italy and alone. I feel like I should feel sad or lonely, but I don’t. And that in itself has me reflecting, because Easter hasn’t felt like much of a holiday to me for a long time.

And yet here I am, in the hills of Tuscany on Easter morning.

When I was a kid, I went to Catholic school—St. Brendan’s in Brooklyn, New York. I loved Holy Week, beginning with Palm Sunday all the way through Easter and the vacation week that followed.

It wasn’t because of Jesus, exactly, or even religion. I loved the tradition, the pomp, the feeling that spring was on its way, the dressing up.

Being in Catholic school made it all feel special. The church was right next to the school, and for religion class we were often inside—looking around, practicing music, getting familiar with it. I knew what it looked like during Mass and in between. I loved how, in preparation for Easter, everything got cleaned and polished. The priests, who lived in the rectory on the block and were always kind and involved, would bring out their special robes. I had a crush on one of the younger priests—Father Michael.

Starting on Palm Sunday, the church was all dolled up. There were special Masses all week that were different and, to me, kind of fun—even if the topic was somber. For the short time I was in the youth choir, there were lots of practices and lots of reasons to go to church and hang out with my friends. By Wednesday of Holy Week we had a half day, and then were off for the next week and a half. As a kid, that felt magical.

Easter itself was always a little anticlimactic. The build-up was over. But there were egg hunts around the apartment, Easter baskets, and those gigantic Italian chocolate eggs my dad always found for my brothers and me—each with a toy inside. The toy was never anything special, but as a kid, any toy lit up my heart.

When we moved from Brooklyn to Long Island in middle school, Easter and Holy Week were never quite the same. I went to public school and didn’t spend time around church anymore. We still went to Mass on Easter, but we became the kind of Catholics who mostly showed up on Christmas and Easter. Going to church now required a car instead of a three-block walk, and we didn’t know anyone there.

Still, Easter was fun. We colored eggs, got baskets, received those chocolate eggs from my dad, gathered with extended family, and had a special meal that included rabbit—yes, rabbit, like the Easter bunny.

Years went by. I grew up and had children young. Until then, I hadn’t really experienced Easter without kids involved—either being one or having them. It was always about eggs, bread, a great meal, and extended family. Holy Week still carried that feeling of something special, even though I was no longer part of church festivities and rarely attended them.

And even though I no longer got those giant, mostly hollow chocolate eggs, my father always made sure my kids and their cousins did. I’m not even sure if the toy was still inside—my kids might know. What I do remember is trying to get the egg home intact and usually finding it cracked from the car ride. It always felt like too much chocolate, so I’d break it into smaller pieces, freeze it, and use it later for cookies or some other dessert in the spring.

It wasn’t until I got divorced and the family split up that Easter really started to lose its shape. Different traditions. Not always having the kids. The standard divorce agreement doesn’t even count Easter as a holiday.

And as I got older, I started to notice that Easter isn’t really considered a holiday at all. It falls on a Sunday, so there’s no time off from work. Even people who work that day don’t get special pay like they do on actual holidays. In the United States, Easter comes with plenty of fun—egg hunts, baskets, the Easter bunny—but the day itself doesn’t carry the same weight. It feels more like Mother’s Day or Father’s Day.

Over time, it started to feel less special. Holy Week stopped registering, the kids never really loved it, and somewhere along the way it became just another Sunday—one where I might text people, but didn’t make plans or go to church. Not because I didn’t want to, exactly, but because I’d feel like a total hypocrite showing up.

My father, who passed away last August, always loved Easter. Being here now, in his mother country, I can see it from his perspective. It feels like a bigger deal here—no Easter bunny, no egg hunts—but the bakeries are full, and those giant hollow eggs he always brought us are everywhere.

I can’t help but look at them and tear up a bit. He wasn’t always my favorite person, but once he was just a young boy excited about chocolate and toys like the rest of us. That’s what he passed on.

Those eggs feel different to me now.

And yet this morning, I sit far from family in the hills of Tuscany. An Italian sauce simmers on the stove. I hear birds outside. Soon we’ll pack up lunch and head down to the pool to celebrate Pasqua with other expats who also have no family here.

Today—between the sauce simmering, the quiet hills, and sharing pranzo with others who are also far from home—I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Not the old version of Easter.
But something just as real.

Happy Easter to my pops in heaven.

A young girl in a pink and black jacket stands smiling on the grass, while a man holding a colorful basket stands next to her. In the background, another man in a black hoodie leans against a tree, overlooking the scene.
A close-up of an orange Easter egg labeled 'Koji' next to a decorated mug featuring a black dog. In the background, a bowl of colorful Easter eggs is visible.

Seventh Floor, Going Down

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

I know if I don’t capture the feelings now, I still might be able to later — but they will never feel as they do now.

Today.
My last day of work.
That elevator — the sound made me want to cry.

A hot day, not too different from today.
23 years ago.

5th Floor, Building 2 — right outside my door was the elevator bank.
Mary Susie Conti — the woman I was replacing — was loading up my head with all that I needed to learn.

I was paying rapt attention, but every so often I sussed out the environment. It felt so different to be in an office in the middle of the day instead of home with my two small children, who were now 45 minutes away in a new daycare. Every time I thought of them, my heart hurt just a bit, and I had to intentionally put it out of my mind.

The feel of the air with the open window (at a time when we were allowed to open windows — now I can’t imagine), the humidity in the office, and the sound of the elevator’s electronic voice blathering all day:

“Fifth Floor Going Down… Fifth Floor Going Up.”

Over the next few days and weeks, I slightly startled the 50 or so times a day I heard that electronic voice announcing the floor it landed on and which direction it was going.

Eventually, it became background noise and I didn’t hear it at all. But when I did tune in, no matter the day or time of year, I was transported back to being 26 years old and learning my new job from Mary Susie Conti.

For the past 8+ years, I haven’t come into the office much. I was on a reasonable accommodation and working from home long before COVID. But I have to say — it always felt like home when I did go in.

I honestly believe one of the reasons I got the job is because of that “home”-like feeling.

When I interviewed for that first job, I went through a series of interviews back to back.
Martha Shea was the first person who interviewed me.

Right off the bat, she made it known that if I didn’t pass her muster, the two doctors I would soon interview with would take her consideration into account.

She also made sure to tell me she was prior military and instantly started off by asking about my own military experience.

I was slightly intimidated, but something about her already felt familiar. She was my kind of people — I could tell.

I don’t even know how I wasn’t prepared for the question:
“Why do you want to work here?”

I mean — for heaven’s sake — if a person can’t answer that, they shouldn’t get the job!

Martha asked me that question and my truly unprepared, but terribly raw response — when I looked around — was:

“Because it feels like home.”

Martha cracked a genuine smile and asked me why.

I looked around, asking myself the same thing to understand why I had that feeling.

I saw the government-issued 3-month calendar, where you save paper with the months on both sides. The chairs. The carpet. The signage. The halls. The overhead pages. Men with military regalia ambling down the hall. The feeling I always got crossing from a state line onto federal property.

So that is what I said.
I first pointed to the calendar on the wall, then the chairs. I mentioned something that was broken in a corner and talked about how it all felt familiar.

I didn’t think about puffing everyone up with “helping veterans,” giving back, stories of grandfathers who fought in wars — or all the other things I subsequently heard over the years when I eventually became the interviewer.

My answer was candid and from the heart.

If my interview were a cartoon, Martha would have started off in a knight’s costume — complete with armor — to intimidate me.
Then it would have fallen off, and you would have seen her heart literally melting.

She proudly walked me down the hall to the person who would eventually become my first supervisor at the VA.

With a hand on my shoulder, she introduced me in a way that made it clear she liked me and wanted to take me under her wing.

I already felt protected — and that I was with my people.

Today, I drove into for the last time.

The sunrise down the street from me. A new dawn to a brand new type of day for me.

I saw people parking, taking out their bags and lunches, putting on badges.
These people were donned in suits, scrubs, lab coats — and everything in between.

I vividly remembered those early days of parking in that same lot. The uniforms, cars and smells were so unfamiliar at the time. Now they are all second nature. All these years I have been taking the same steps into the same building and heading to the elevators —

“1st Floor, going up.”

Today, I ran into one of my coworkers walking into the building.

We got on the elevator together, and I heard that same electronic voice, unchanged in all these years.

I asked him about his two young girls. He filled me in and then asked how old my children were now.

28 and 26.
My youngest is now as old as I was when I first started working there.

I worked there for their entire lives.
In some ways, I missed their lives because of that place.

I don’t know who I am without it.

Some people would say I worked there a lifetime (23 years).

Others, who have 40, 45 years in the government, would still consider me a newbie.

It’s all relative. But for me — between the military and the Department of Veterans Affairs — it’s been my whole life.

I had jobs in different buildings and offices. Not too many were close to an elevator bank.

Today, as I left, it was:

“7th Floor, going down.”

It felt like:

“Esterina, now going down and out — into the wider world.”

I sat in the parking lot for a long time.
I read the cards I was given, sitting in my car with the air conditioning blasting.

I felt nostalgic — but very excited.

Driving away was the hardest part.
No tears, but a large lump in my throat.

A piece of my heart will always be there — in those buildings, carpets, walls, files.

And just like that — “7th Floor Going Down” — one chapter closes, and another begins.

Soap Operas & Modern Times

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Flashback to March 4, 1997—North Shore University Hospital in Long Island.

I wake up (or think I do) in a recovery ward. Everything is a blur. Voices are talking around me—about something… me? There is one voice I recognize.

“Mag her.”

Mag her?

I realize the “her” is me. The voice is Dr. Seaman, my OB/GYN.

As my mind slowly clears, I remember: I had a scheduled cesarean section. I was conscious during the procedure, my then-husband by my side, as our firstborn son Thomas—breech—was brought into the world.

More than 22 years later, I still don’t know how aware I truly was in those moments. What I do remember is my blood pressure spiking and being in the high-risk maternity ward, hearing that phrase—“Mag her.”

The “mag” was magnesium. To this day, I don’t know why. But I do remember what was on the TV.

Days of Our Lives.

Kristin DiMera had just had a baby too.

In my foggy state, I was oddly captivated. I wanted to see my son. I remember a brief moment of him on my chest, flashes of a camera, and then he was gone. I was in pain. And the show became a strange, steady distraction.

A week or so later, home with a newborn, exhausted and in pain, the TV was on again. The same characters. The same storyline.

My husband went to change the channel, but I stopped him.

I wanted to see what happened next.

And that’s where it began—my quiet, unexpected relationship with Days of Our Lives.

Over the years, it stayed with me.

When Thomas was little, I’d watch on days off while working as a cook in the Coast Guard. Later, as a military wife and reservist, I’d put both kids down for naps, make popcorn, pour a Diet Coke over ice, and settle in.

In 2002, when I started working full time, I moved to VCR tapes. Later, DVR. Now, streaming. The format changed, but the habit remained.

Sometimes I watched daily. Sometimes weeks went by. But it was always there when I needed it.

The characters became familiar—almost like extended family.

The Hortons, Bradys, DiMeras.

The town square, the Brady Pub, the traditions, the chaos. The comfort.

Yes, there were the ridiculous storylines—possession, comas, people returning from the dead. But woven in were real things: loss, addiction, depression, relationships, identity.

And strangely, it helped.

At different points in my life, the show mirrored something I was going through.

When Jack and Jennifer were getting divorced, I was too. I remember feeling like a failure. Then one night, I turned on an episode and saw their storyline unfolding the same way. It felt… oddly comforting.

Years later, after a difficult stretch with my own mental health, I returned to the show to find a character struggling in a similar way. Again, it helped.

When addiction, illness, or loss showed up on screen, I didn’t feel so alone in my own experiences.

It’s easy to dismiss soaps as melodramatic—and they are. That’s part of their charm.

But beneath that, there’s something else.

They tell stories about being human—messy, imperfect, resilient.

And sometimes, seeing that reflected back—even in a fictional town like Salem—can be grounding.

A few days ago, the show jumped ahead by a full year. Curious, I looked it up and learned there’s uncertainty about its future.

It made me pause.

Because while the show has changed over the years—and so have I—it has been a quiet thread through so many seasons of my life.

I don’t watch it the same way anymore.

But I still understand what it gave me.

Familiarity. Distraction. Comfort. Perspective.

Like sands through the hourglass… so are the days of our lives.

 

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On #2 Leaving the Nest

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

…THE DAYS ARE LONG, BUT THE YEARS ARE SHORT

August 29, 2017

Gabby leaves for college in a few days. Similar to when she was born and had a blank slate to life, she is now beginning a brand new chapter of her life with a blank slate. This time she is beginning with a host of 18 years’ worth of experiences created through childhood behind her. Anything is possible. Some of the potential possibilities are controllable, and others are circumstantial.

Two years ago I wrote my first blog about the experience of Thomas leaving for college (A Cold August Morning). It’s hard to imagine that half of his college years have elapsed and Gabby is now leaving the nest too.

It’s not any easier. It’s just as beautiful, yet heartbreaking. It is actually like a piece of me leaves with them. I feel emotionally like I’m giving birth again, and a piece of me is being taken away from me. There is an emptiness in my body. I know from the experience with Thomas that the pain goes away after a few days, very similar to the way a body heals itself after the birthing process.

I’ve spent much of this summer off the grid and taking care of a very intimate, private matter. Perhaps one day I will consider blogging about it, but for now it’s very personal and may always stay as such. It also happens to be a transformational time of my life, with my youngest biological child morphing into an adult and going out into the world solo before my very eyes. I have spent some time journaling, contemplating, and thinking about the passage of time. Certain experiences will string together to create a future you cannot yet see or imagine. At the time, you have no idea how important certain things are.

Gabby is beginning the journey cut off from the age and necessary schooling restrictions that kept her close to me and under my care for the past 18 years. I’m so excited, scared, and happy for her. I wish I could keep being there in the day-to-day, knowing when she gets home from work, what she is wearing, etc. But that is unhealthy. It’s time for me to let her use the wings I helped her grow.

How did my experiences get me to this point in time?

October 1994 – One fine morning around 3am

I am 18 years old. I am freshly out of Coast Guard boot camp and on watch at my first duty station on the USCGC Boutwell. I am standing my first “mids” watch in port. It’s dark, I smell diesel, and I can barely make out the visuals of my new surroundings. I hear water lapping up against the hull and my feet hurt in these dress shoes I’m wearing in the middle of the night. I am on Coast Guard Island in Alameda, CA. It’s a little chilly and I’m wearing an issued jacket over my uniform that isn’t very warm.

I’m standing watch with a BPOW (brow petty officer of the watch) on the brow of the ship. My role is that of the messenger. Sometime around 3am I am instructed to wake up the folks who are on the 4–8am watch shift. My thoughts become slightly fearful… wake people up? I thought about how I was woken up around 11pm by a male voice. It is still a bit strange and new to me to be in close quarters with strangers, and even more so to be exchanging such intimacies with males, such as waking someone up. Until now it didn’t dawn on me that I would have to do that too. Earlier, the BPOW walked me through who I was to wake up and where their berthing area was on the ship. I took notes. I have four people to wake up. One is a female and the other three are male. Of the three guys, two are in the same berthing area and one is in another. I plan to start with the female to get my feet wet, then the single male, and then the doubles. I glance at their names on the list. Everyone addresses one another by their last name. I don’t know many people yet, and I don’t know any of these folks. One of the names is Messeder. He will be my direct replacement as Messenger of the watch. Messeder the Messenger—I smile quietly to myself.

October 1994 – That same fine day around 1pm or so…

As the daily work is drawing to a close, I am assigned to sweep the port side of the ship with a handful of other Seamen. I am sweeping not far from someone I am pretty sure I hadn’t seen before. His hat covers most of his face since he is looking down as he sweeps. When I’m not paying attention, I hear him say, “Hello DeGrazia.” I look up. He has a semi-confident, semi-nervous smile. I think to myself I haven’t seen this one before; I would remember him because he is cute. He has a nice crooked smile and eyes that seemed familiar, almost like I should know them. I look down at the nametag on his working blue shirt. Messeder.

August 1995

Messeder and I are out on a Sunday afternoon. At some point in the past 10 months, I started calling Messeder by his first name, John. We have been dating a few months. However, since dating is prohibited amongst shipmates, we need to stay clear of any places we may be spotted.

This particular cool, sunny August afternoon we drive south from my apartment in San Leandro toward San Jose. We have no plans other than explore the area and spend time together. Somehow we happen upon a zucchini festival in Hayward, CA. We walk around, eat fried zucchini, and play some games. We walk toward the end of the festival and onto the sidewalk. We continue a few blocks until we find ourselves in front of a movie theater playing a movie called Nine Months. Since the movie is a few weeks old, it only costs a dollar. We decide to watch it.

In the movie, the unexpected pregnant main female lead reads the book What to Expect When You’re Expecting and wants the baby’s father to read it as well. He isn’t interested, they fight and break up, and in the fairy-tale ending, he reads the book and is there for her when she has their baby.

Nearly 4 years later

May 1999

It’s late in the afternoon on a weekday. It’s warm, bright, and sunny. All the windows are open in our Cape Cod unit on Otis Air Force Base. John and I are now married for 3 ½ years. I’m in the kitchen preparing dinner and reading. We have a two-year-old named Tommy, and I’m 8 months pregnant with number two.

I’m rereading the same book I read with Tommy, What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Apparently this book is quite popular among parents-to-be. With both pregnancies, each month I read the chapter that corresponded with my gestational timeline to learn more about what was happening inside my body and the baby.

Since I’m 8 months pregnant, I decide to read the ninth month and the closing chapter as well. I don’t remember reading this with Tommy, but the book talks about how messy and chaotic life will feel once the baby comes home, and how that chaos can last for years. It also suggests that one day, when the house is quiet again and the children have grown and left, you will miss that noise. I tear up and get chills. That moment feels so far away, but I can already sense how meaningful it will be.

18+ years later

August 26, 2017

It’s a bright, sunny, cool day. The summer is drawing to a close. The sun is rising later each morning and setting sooner each evening. The air in the morning is far cooler than the past few weeks, and last night it was downright cold while I was sitting outside on the porch with Thomas (we call him Tom or Thomas now).

John, Thomas, Gabby, and I are having an early lunch at Outback Steakhouse in Southington, CT. It’s only 11:30 in the morning and the restaurant is quite empty. It’s dark inside, but the sunlight floods the windows. We haven’t sat together for a meal, just the four of us, since Gabby’s 12th birthday in 2011, soon after John and I divorced following 15 years of marriage.

Thomas spent this past summer between his sophomore and junior year in college working and living in Rhode Island with his current girlfriend. He came home last night and is leaving tomorrow morning to go back up to school in Portland, ME. John drove down from Pittsfield, MA this morning where he lives. He just accepted a new job in Tennessee and will be training in Germany for two months. He is leaving in just over a week. Gabby lives with me but has been working at Panera nearly every night this summer. She is asleep when I leave in the morning and gone by the time I come home each afternoon. She will be starting her freshman year at the University of Rhode Island next Sunday.

John and I are on one side of the table. Thomas and Gabby are on the other. Thomas is across from John and looks like a younger version of his dad. Gabby sits across from me. For years people have commented that she is my little twin. We now have two grown children who are 20 and 18 years old. This is the nuclear family John and I started when we were not much older than these two in front of us. They very much look like we did back then.

What to say? There has been a combination of 23 years of laughter, fun, tears, pain, and growing together. Beginning tomorrow, the four of us are going our separate ways, farther apart than we’ve ever been before. Sitting here during this meal, we have a lot of conversation about the mistakes we made in the past as individuals and with one another. There is a lot of apologizing, explaining, and understanding. Gabby is the most cut off from the group, texting her colleagues about the evening’s coverage at Panera. John and Thomas are at the brink of potentially arguing a few times. I’m the one who probably feels the most surreal. I happen to look over at Thomas while he is talking to John. He has his father’s eyes—the same eyes I somehow recognized on the Boutwell that day.

While it’s incredibly likely we will be together again in the future, this is the last of the “raising children” phase as childhood is officially over for these two wonderful grown-ups sitting in front of me today. I didn’t know that first mid-watch on the Boutwell when I read the name Messeder that it would be my name for 18 whole years (as old as I was at that time), or that it would be the name of my future children. I couldn’t have possibly predicted what was in store.

Today

August 31, 2017

Tonight I’m sad and having a little difficulty coming to the realization that my time as a mom, in the way I’ve known it, is over. I still have an important role, though I don’t know what it is yet. The uncertainty of the future stirs up a bit of anxiety. Life is uncertain. I want to use these experiences as reminders in my life that every moment counts. Some will shape the future and others will just be a blip in the passage of life, but every single moment has potential. I want to be present more and just enjoy what is.

The years with Gabby were nothing but a blessing. She has gone from a helpless little baby to a fully grown woman. I can’t help but think back to some of the younger days when she needed me—times when she was afraid of having bad dreams and I would dust her arms with “sweet dreams powder” before bed. She used to snuggle up next to me on the couch and often put her arms around me and tell me that she loved having a compact, portable mommy (for whatever that meant). I coached her soccer team, and while braiding her hair one day at home she said she imagined the other girls on her team would be jealous because she was getting her hair braided by the coach. She used to want to work at the VA with me and said she was going to buy a house next door and always live near me. Recently I came across an old Mother’s Day card from her where she told me to do nothing but relax and that if I needed anything, I should just look to my right and she would be there to do it for me. She always loved cats and McDonald’s. Those little trinkets the kids buy at school holiday fairs that say #1 Mom and similar sentiments mean more now than they did then.

When Gabby found out her dad and I were divorcing, she was so sweet. We went to Hubbard Park that day and sat on a picnic blanket. Once she settled down, she said she understood and had even kind of predicted it. She was 11. She’s taken after me with planning, organizing, and baking. She works hard but has a healthy balance of taking it easy when she feels stressed (I wish I had learned that a bit earlier on). She’s also incredibly intuitive. I’m so proud of her.

I put a lot of heart into honoring Gabby on her 18th birthday (On This Day) just over two months ago. I knew the coming weeks were going to fly by and I’d be here, in this very place where that idea from What to Expect When You’re Expecting said it would be—where the noise, chaos, laughter, and tears would be missed once the house quieted down and the car was packed for college.

Though we aren’t back to normal quite yet. I am still a stepmother of two more who haven’t left the nest. It’s a more complicated, undefined role. Daren & I’s story is equally as complex and full of what initially seemed like uneventful life experiences that shaped the circumstances that led us to where we are today. It’s just about time to shift gears and move on to the next stage.

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Running 

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Monday, July 18, 2016 around 8:15pm

Daren and I are on a small little puddle jumper plane to Toronto, en route to Vancouver for the week for a conference of his. We had been rushing all afternoon to make this flight. Once we arrived at the gate, it was delayed. We grabbed a quick bite—some apps and an IPA—only to learn the plane was somehow leaving on time. We rushed back to the gate and jumped on.

I was stressing the whole drive home from work today, realizing how poorly my organization treats its employees. I don’t know if I want to work for an organization like that any longer.

As soon as we sat down in our seats, I was incredibly thirsty and had severe indigestion from scarfing down unhealthy food and rushing around. Then, as soon as the plane took off and my body started to vibrate, it was like a wave of emotions was free to course through me. I started to sob uncontrollably beneath the sound of the loud engines and had my first panic attack in the last five weeks.

Daren held me tight and stroked my hair, asking me to talk to him. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure what was wrong. Finally, he asked if it was those jokers at work, and I realized it was. My job really got to me today. Upon that realization, I broke down even more—now aware of what it was. The release of pent-up emotions was a welcome relief from the burden of stress that had been building over the past week.

Daren encouraged me to think about leaving my job again. Then he pointed out the beautiful sunset we were flying right into. Literally, right now, I am flying off into the sunset.

Is it time for a change?

 

Wednesday, July, 20, 2016 8:33am

Just taking a break after a 3-mile run on a beautiful pedestrian pathway in Vancouver, BC. What a beautiful morning. The temperature is only 62 degrees. I’m sitting on the water in Stanley Park. I’m so lucky to be alive and have this opportunity to explore a new city and travel.

As I was running, I was thinking about the Gwen Stefani song “Running.” It’s playing in my mind now. One day back in April, on the way home from work, I heard this song for the first time in years, and for some reason it made me cry.

I thought about Daren and how, since the moment I met him, we have been literally running. The pace of my life picked up tenfold—and not all for good reason or measure. My stress started to grow then, and it accumulated until I literally crashed after six years.

Blending a family is not easy. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into, and it has both broken and built us. We are stronger than ever as individuals and as a couple, but the path was ugly and very difficult. I wish someone had told me how hard it was going to be and helped guide us through the changes we were inevitably going to face.

It’s really time to stop running.

What’s next for me?

To even think about exploring that, I need to slow down and enjoy this most amazing journey and gift of life. I’ll continue to run for exercise and keep the old ticker in shape—but no more running through my life.

Thank you, panic attacks, for being my warning signal—showing me what I can handle and helping me stop and literally see the gorgeous sunset I’m flowing into as my life changes in the most beautiful ways.

Slower is better.

Time is really our enemy. Time and money, separation, being on the run… (Thanks, Pink Floyd—Dark Side of the Moon.)

I could write a whole book about the meaning of that album—maybe some other day.

For now, I need to run back 3 miles to the hotel, shower, and enjoy my slow, no-rush day while continuing my journey of contemplating how to be my best self in the world using what I’ve been given by this beautiful and expansive universe.

Namaste.

 

No Doubt lyrics (because they inspired me to stop, sit on a bench and write this morning while on a long jog)

Run, running all the time

Running to the future

With you right by my side

 

Me, I’m the one you chose

Out of all the people

You wanted me the most

And I’m so sorry that I’ve fallen

Help me up, let’s keep on running

Don’t let me fall out of love



Running, running, as fast as we can

Do you think we’ll make it?

(Do you think we’ll make it?)

We’re running, keep holding my hand

So we don’t get separated

 

Be, be the one I need

Be the one I trust most

Don’t stop inspiring me

 

Sometimes it’s hard to keep on running

We work so much to keep it going

Don’t make me want to give up

 

Running, running as fast as we can

I really hope we make it

(Do you think we’ll make it?)

We’re running, keep holding my hand

So we don’t get separated


The view I’m seeing as I write this while sitting on a dedicated bench. Thank you Jean Mary Kendall Eligh and your family. I have enjoyed a piece of your memory today. ☮

 

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A Cold August Morning

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

Thursday, August 27, 2015

I am walking our dog Koji. It is the first day this summer when I am out in the early morning and the air actually feels cold. I think about how it always feels this way at this time of year. Each summer there is a specific day where I wake up and it’s a bit chilly, unlike the day just before. I recall the first time I had this realization just 13 years earlier. Tears fill my eyes, a lump fills my throat.

That day was August 26, 2002. Until that day in since Tommy (my oldest son) was 15 months old I had been a stay-at-home mom for the most part. I was in college and I worked part-time at A&P and was in the U.S.C.G Reserves, but only opposite my ex-husband’s shifts. At that time Tommy was 5 and his sister Gabby was 3. It was my first day of work at what I considered at the time a “real” full-time job. It was also Tommy’s first day of kindergarten. When my alarm went off that morning the sad realization that I had to get out of bed before my body or the kids woke me up was startling. My initial gut reaction was that it would only be for today, but it quickly sunk in that this would be the sensation I would have every morning going forward. Ugh. I wasn’t quite ready to go into the work force. My then husband and I were really struggling to make ends meet since he got out of the military just a few months earlier. My working full time was a necessity for us. I felt extremely tired. I distinctly remember when I walked from the bedroom to the bathroom that morning that it felt cold. It was so very unlike the warm summer mornings I had been used to, even just the day before.

I begrudgingly waited for the shower water to warm before heading in. I wasn’t sure how the new morning routine would work, how long it would take to get ready, and get the kids dressed and fed before dropping them off at their new daycare. I was a bit worried. Nervous butterflies. My husband went to work hours earlier for his own shift, and I was left to get the kids ready for this first day of something new for all of us alone. I dressed and woke the kids. They too were not used to being woken up. And by golly – it was just chilly in the air. Somehow I don’t remember much about the morning or how I got them situated or where they thought they would be going; but I do remember being cold when we first got in the car, and driving over to Buttons & Bows daycare in Naugatuck. They weren’t nervous or excited or sad – they just were. It was me who had those feelings. Overall I was sad. Today was Tommy’s first day of kindergarten, and neither I nor his father would be there to witness this very special occasion. The bus would come pick him up and cart him off to school with the other children whose parents worked.

Somehow the sadness quickly passed as I started the drive to the new job, trying to navigate unfamiliar roads with a print out of map quest directions in hand. More nervous butterflies. Where to park? Wow, there are so many people who work here walking into the building! Will I find the right room in this massive hospital I was entering? Am I really qualified for this job?

Somehow I made it to the correct room to start a two-day orientation. Everything was new and unfamiliar. I was almost in a trance, there was too much to take in and it wasn’t all quite registering. Sounds, lights, colors, smells. The VA Hospital felt like the military somehow. Familiar, but not quite. At certain parts of the day I thought about being home with the kids and how much fun we had that summer. Then I thought about them at Buttons & Bows, and how they must feel similar to me. I felt sort of guilty for some reason. Lunch time came and I went outside. What struck me the most was that it was hot! I had to take off the sweater I put on at the last minute that morning. I ate my lunch in the warm sun, alone and nervous. I didn’t define myself as someone who worked outside the home. I felt like an impostor. I checked my two day old cell phone that I had just gotten from Cellular One that previous Saturday. No one called. That must mean the kids are doing well. I went back inside and finished up the day.

When I got home that evening the kids had already been picked up and were settled in at home. They were beaming about their day. They were OK! Tommy told us as much as he could in 5-year old vocabulary about school. I was sorry I missed it but glad to know that they were happy. I wasn’t as excited about my day as they were, but it was a success. I came to the sad realization that as they were going to get older I would be missing many other things in their lives. This is a normal and expected part of children growing up, but worse for parents who work.

The next day I woke up and it was cold again. And by the time I left work in the late afternoon it was downright hot [again]. It was the same the next day, and the day after. Until the crisp autumn days began to swallow up some of the heat, and when I left work those afternoons there was a chill in the air. And so it goes, the seasons change. The winter came and I had to really bundle the kids up in the morning. Just a few short months later when the snow melted and there were signs of spring, my car felt surprisingly warm in the afternoons. Eventually the mornings warmed up too. Before I knew it, it was late August again and I remembered the previous year’s sensation when I experienced the first of the cool mornings and hot afternoons. A year went by in a flash. Then so did two years, then three, and now 13.

Today, 13 years later, this first cool morning air following the humid summer mornings is all too familiar. This particular morning I am filled with an unbelievable sadness. I blink back the tears as Koji happily pulls me along on his leash. I inhale deeply trying not to cry, becoming slightly distracted from my own thoughts in an attempt to make smoke rings like I’ve seen pictures of American Indians doing with the condensation of my breath. I notice the heat from Koji’s breath too. Tomorrow we will be bringing Tommy up to college in Maine. His entire school career had come and gone in the blink of an eye. A few months ago our families came from New York and North Carolina for his high school graduation. Cards from relatives near and far poured in. It was our mailbox that had the graduation balloon. It was hot out. It seemed like there would be so much time before he had to leave for school 3 months later. And here we were. Tomorrow was the day.

Hints of light are coming through the sky as Koji and I walk the streets of our familiar neighborhood. I reflect back on the past 13 years. They went by so quickly. When I first started working I imagined I would only do so until my ex and I got back on our feet. I really wanted to be home with the kids. That first winter started the many years of snow-fretting that parents who do not work outside of the home likely do not realize. Which parent would stay home when both school and daycare closed? I had to use my vacation days when it was my turn, which diminished time with the kids in the warm months when they were home with little to do. I did however cherish those early snow days. I would make hot chocolate with marshmallows and graham crackers with peanut butter for breakfast. They would squeal with excitement about this special snowy day treat. Years later when the kids were teenagers and there was a snow day, and my now husband and I went to work since they were old enough to stay home; it was Tommy who would wake up and prepare this same treat for his sister and two younger step-brothers.

After the first year passed of my being in the workforce full time, my now ex almost went back into the military. Even with both of us working full time and me keeping my old part time job at A&P, we were still struggling to make ends meet. We were all prepared to make the entrance back into military life. I was kind of excited. I would be able to stay home again and pretty much wherever we got stationed, the location would be a new area to explore. The kids were a bit nervous about this change, but I don’t think they fully understood it. Just before we had to make the final commitment, I got a promotion at work that resolved all our financial problems. We thought long and hard about whether to take the plunge and stay in the civilian world, or head back to the military family life we were used to. My ex wasn’t crazy about going back in and here was out opportunity to make it in the “real” world. I quit the job at A&P and only worked at the VA. The kids were ecstatic. I was a little disappointed, but trucked on.

Just a year later my ex got a new job and huge raise. We were at last not only financially free, but had breathing room. For the first time when I went grocery shopping I didn’t have my eyes on sale items only. When the kids asked for a cereal off the shelf, I was able to say yes. It felt great!

For a short period of two years time while I went back to school to get my MBA, I cut my hours back and had Thursdays off. The kids ended up loving Thursdays. I did too. I would wake up before dark and get a start on my schoolwork. The kids were able to sleep in a little, and when they woke up I would always make them a special breakfast since the other days of the week were rushed. I would then lovingly get them off to school on the bus in front of our condo instead of dropping them off at daycare or with a neighbor. I would go back to my studies, usually taking a break at lunch to walk by the pond down the street and then heading home to whip up a batch of some sort of homemade dessert. The kids usually knew I would have some treat after school waiting for them. They would come off the bus with big happy smiles on their faces while I waited at the door, excited to see me- but also looking past me to see what kind of goody awaited them inside. They’d drop their backpacks and sit at the table with their after school snack and a glass of milk. We would talk about the day and then split up again until dinner time. If it was warm enough they would go out to play with the other neighborhood kids.

I had many different daycare arrangements while the kids were in their early elementary years. Friends and neighbors, different daycare locations, odd shifts with their father watching them for partial or full days. It was a constant struggle worrying if their dad would be late, the sitter or their children would be sick, or the daycare would be closed.

When Tommy was in 4th grade I finished my MBA and was promoted to a new job. I had mixed feelings about it because it meant I had to go back to work full time. I really felt bored in the position I had and was ready for a change. Accepting the new position meant more money and less boredom, but the trade off was that I had less time to be a mom. The choice wasn’t easy. The kids were rather proud of me and were only slightly disappointed that I would no longer be home Thursdays. We had enough money to buy a house and move the kids to a town with a good school system, and into a neighborhood where they could ride their bicycles in the street. Tommy was at the end of 5th grade when we moved to Cheshire. He was excited while Gabby was very hesitant. I had no reservations about moving and continuing to work at this point. It was 2008. I did worry about how we would manage when the kids were teenagers and could get into trouble after school with a lack of after school care as my catch net, but there would be time for that.

Only there wasn’t. In the blink of an eye the years flew by. My ex and I started having marital problems before we moved to Cheshire and they did not resolve themselves. My efforts were spent working to save a failing marriage, then a divorce, new relationship/home/step-kids; working on helping the kids and pets adjust while trying to nurture a new partnership; all of which moved incredibly quickly. At one point I attempted to apply for one day of telework per week. For two weeks while the paperwork was being routed Gabby would excitedly ask me every day if I heard anything back. Tommy was a little too old at the time to care and was indifferent. When I did find out that my request was denied, Gabby put on a brave face and said it will be alright. I myself felt hardened somehow.

Another blink of an eye and I was suddenly teaching Tommy to drive. He got his license, then a job of his own. Before I knew it he was taking SATs and his high school was having student-parent sessions about the college application process. Another promotion opportunity came up when Tommy just started his senior year. I wondered if trying to learn a new job would be too difficult in my increasingly complex home. It was Tommy’s senior year, we just got a new puppy, we were having problems with my husband’s ex, and my own children were having issues with their father. Again I felt a bit bored in my current position and it was a toss up between money and learning versus focused home time and boredom. I took the job.

A whirlwind of college visits ensued and then the application process seemed to be over in a heartbeat. Tommy always wanted a puppy and took the brunt of the responsibility for training, feeding, and walking the dog. The holidays came and went. Tommy found out he got accepted into all the school he applied for. My husband and I went on the acceptance visits circuit. There were suddenly senior pictures & events all around, and then the culmination of the graduation. Now here we are. I don’t know how it happened, but my little boy grew up and was about to move away. Until a few days ago I thought I would be fine, but now that this change is staring me in the face I’m completely broken up. I will be one of those parents who cries and hyperventilates the whole way back home from the college drop off.

I am rounding the corner with Koji back toward my house. In another minute I’ll be inside on one of the last mornings that will feel normal. Of all the firsts and celebrations that make the fanfare throughout the years like first birthdays and other milestone birthdays, first day of school, communion, end of sport seasons, concerts, start of high school, graduation etc; the most transitional moment happens very quietly. There are no family and friends visiting and celebrating or handing out presents or money. Hardly any of our family even knows which day Tommy is leaving. It will be a quiet drop off. Just me, his sister and his step-dad. His dad moved away and is living in Massachusetts, treating tomorrow like any other day. My friends and the people I work with hardly have a clue that my heart is breaking. I knew back in 2002 that I would miss many things throughout the years. Only I did not know at the time how quickly it would go. In these years Tommy learned to read, ride a bike and navigate peer pressure. He went through puberty, had his first kiss, first girlfriend, first heartbreak. We had normal teenage ups and downs without too much drama. Now he was a grown man. This all happened in front of my eyes while I spent these precious years in the workforce.

We are just feet away from my house now. Koji doesn’t want to go back in and very deliberately sniffs the grass across the street. I pause and let him, looking over at my warmly lit home while I shiver in this cold August morning. That same lump fills my throat. I worked for 13 years and let his life pass. Would it have been any different if I stayed home? Did I have a choice? Does it matter? Will Tommy or Gabby ever understand how much they mean to me? I feel the need to let people know how emotionally challenging it is to be a working mom. It can only be worse for a single parent. Most workplaces including my own are not very flexible and do not allow compressed, flex or telework schedules. Would the world be a different place if the organizations understood the challenges faced by single parents or two adults in that work outside the home? All I can do now is go back inside, put on a brave persona, take my little boy to college tomorrow and continue on knowing that I did the best I could. It will warm up and be hot this afternoon. The mornings going forward will be cooler, and soon the days will as well. The seasons will go on and life will continue.

“Come on Koji-poo” I say. Koji looks up at me, I give him a slight tug on his leash, and we head back inside ready to tackle another day.

 

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Happy Veterans Day 2015

Posted on by Esterina Anderson

This is a speech I gave in March of 2007 at the VA Hospital in West Haven, CT on Womens Veterans Day. 

Esterina Messeder, U.S. Coast Guard

Question to Address: Why did you become involved in the U.S. Military

My first introduction into military life was in 10th grade when I decided to join the NJROTC (aka “ROTC” for the Naval Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps) program at my high school. ROTC was for the super geeky kids. I joined because my boyfriend at the time was in ROTC and I wanted to spend more time with him after school.

However, over the next few years the military grew on me. I had the pleasure of experiencing 2 mini-boot camps and many other trips to navy bases in different states. My family was poor and I didn’t have the opportunity to leave the small town of Mastic Beach, NY very often. When we went on trips it was so exciting to see different places. I also really liked the structure, discipline, and uniformity of the military.

When it came time to make a decision about what to do after high school I was faced with some harsh realities:

  • I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life
  • I didn’t have money to go to college
  • My life at home with my parents was very poor, unhappy, and dysfunctional – and I didn’t have the capability of living on my own
  • I wanted to experience life outside of Mastic Beach and see the world

My decision to become a part of the military was easy because it seemed to absolve all my problematic issues. I could gain some real life experience while earning money for college, live on my own, and travel on ships to see the world free of charge. I would also have the type of job my parents never had… one that provided health care benefits and sick days. There seemed to be so many benefits. I decided to join the Coast Guard. I chose the Coast Guard for two reasons. The first was because the Coast Guard’s mission was to help protect the environment, and I have always cared about keeping the environment clean. My second reason was because I thought the Coast Guard’s uniforms were the cutest of all the services.

The only drawback was the risk of the U.S. going to war. But the U.S. did not get to be in the position it is today without thousands of brave soldiers before me fighting for the freedom we take for granted, so while the thought of this risk was scary… it would have been an honor to be part of such an event.

And so, in the summer of 1994 right after high school I went off to boot camp and enlisted in the U.S. Coast Guard. I was on active duty for 4 years. I went to “A” school to become a cook. I was on ships and on land, in port and on the high seas, in the heat of the Caribbean and in the cold waters of the Bering strait in Alaska. It was the most exciting, yet hardest four years of my life. When it came time to decide to re-enlist, I was already married and had my son. My first priority was my new family. So as much as I would have liked to stay in and live the exciting life, it was time to move on and use the GI Bill to start college. I stayed in the Reserves for another four years while working on my bachelor degree – which I received in 2001 in business administration. 2 days before my reserve enlistment was up, I interviewed at the VA and have been working here ever since. Now I have just completed the requirements to receive my Masters in Business Administration J

I never had to face what I imagined was my biggest risk, which was going to war. I salute anyone who has ever been put in that situation because I understand that these men and women have their own stories and own reasons for risking their lives for our country, so as that Toby Keith song goes “we can sleep in peace at night when we lay down our head”. There were so many nights I was up on watch, freezing and tired – wishing I was on land, not rocking, and sleeping in a warm bed, operating for weeks on just four or so hours of sleep a day. And I was not in harms way. I can only imagine that the men and women overseas today are feeling the same things I did, but amplified by 100.

In honor of Women’s Day, women in the military are still very much a minority. As of September 30, 2004, the ratio of men-women in the military was 7:1 (U.S. Census Bureau, 2006). So it takes just a little more guts to enter a realm where the ladies will be more than outnumbered. It is not just a man’s world, and the military is extremely accommodating to women while treating us the same way the men are treated. I hope I’m not alone when I say that I would like to see the ratio of women 1:1 in the near future.

I’d like to leave off by saying that I am very proud to work in an organization that serves and honors the veterans of our armed forces.

Reference:

U.S. Census Bureau (2006). Women by the numbers. Retrieved on Friday, January 26, 2007 @ http://www.infoplease.com/spot/womencensus1.html.

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