Author: thoughtsfromareillygirl

So here I am, exhausted from having no schedule on day #3.   The restrictions and regulations from our local and state government agencies are getting tighter by the hour, and it appears a mandatory 2-week quarantine period will be enforced soon.   There is a curfew in place, and “state hopping” within the tri-state area is not recommended, and will most likely be mandated as well.

As of this morning, Caroline’s car was still in Philadelphia parked near her off-campus house.   Her spring break plans to travel directly back to school were canceled, and she arrived home last Thursday.  The fact that her car was there, and she was here, only seemed to bother me.  Brian wasn’t concerned, Caroline really didn’t need it, but it was a minor worry in the back of my mind.   She and I made a quick back & forth to Philadelphia today and got her car and some belongings, so I feel better… The best part? Two hours alone with Caroline catching up, laughing, no traffic, and a little freedom.   The even better part?  Two hours alone with MY MUSIC, no traffic, and a smooth ride home.  I still can’t get over that she going to be 21???

The Benedik Family house project for today was what Brian is calling “Basement re-org phase 3″…. we cleared out closets, organized, cleaned and purged…Brian is on cloud nine getting this done, the kids, well. they are kind’ve done.  I can’t blame them really, they have never been forced to stay in and not socialize with their peers.   Tyler & Caroline, having been at college for a few years already, are busting at the seams- both have made it perfectly clear how unhappy they are, missing their independence and freedom.  But really, if we could change it we would – we can only drum it into their heads over and over, it’s for everyones health and safety….  My goodness it is only day 3.

Last night Brian and the girls enjoyed our fire pit on the deck, the dogs were walked and exercised, and everyone seems to be keeping busy.  My kindle is loaded, the pantry and freezer are well stocked (who bought the Toasted Almond Ice cream bars????), and the gangs all here, and this is how we will just BE as we venture into this unknown territory of COVID 19.

Stay well, stay calm, and stay hopeful!

xo KB

So it’s just about dusk on day 2 of social distancing.  We are still  adjusting to the reality of being home, and the drastic change in our day to day schedules.  There are so many different reports & rumors, you really don’t know what to believe.   We are relying on our local police department and government agencies to steer us in the right direction, and provide us with the correct information to keep our families safe.

We tackled a ton of projects today, caught up on a ton of laundry (where does it all come from?????), there was some napping (remember the college kids are home!), long walk with the dogs, and if I  might say so myself, I cooked a kick ass Sunday dinner.   This is not a typical Sunday night though – we don’t know what the week ahead brings for us, my calendar is all crossed off with cancelations & closures, and each day something is changing.  We really don’t know what the hell is going on, and it is unsettling to say the least.

Our family is learning how to be together more than we have in years, and there is a lot of tension in the air.  This makes me nervous, as we are on DAY TWO, with many days ahead.   There is a constant worry about academics, finances, and the health concerns of those near and dear to us.  In the past, the anticipation of being “snowed in” was exciting, as was preparing for a hurricane or nor’easter.  We knew what to expect, and knew it was temporary, it was time “off” that was given to us as a gift, and we took it in stride.   The unknown and the uncertainty of COVID19 is the toughest part of all this.

The biggest issue I see today, as a stay at home mom in suburbia?  The hysteria on social media – the posts, the rumors, the attacks on one another who have different opinions.   My groups that I follow on facebook, Twitter, and instagram are full of information, and they all differ.   It’s easy to to get caught up in it all and PANIC.   I am trying not too, and having a calm, cool, and collected spouse (ALL THE TIME) is helpful for sure.

So as the sun goes down, and we made it through day two, I pray that tomorrow we have a clear direction & guideline from reliable sources that will guide us through the week, and we will continue to “muddle through” and just BE.   It’s all we can do.

Stay safe, keep yout distance, and try not to eat every single Girl Scout cookie in the house….

xo KB

Our family is busy.  On a daily day, the five of us run in  five different directions with packed schedules, and crazy long “to-do” lists.   With two away at college, the days when the five of us are all home together are limited in number.   Introduce the mass hysteria and local intensity of the pandemic COVID 19, we are all home together for an unknown amount of time.   Everything is canceled.  All immediate social engagements, teams, academic classes & responsibilities, religious services, etc.. are canceled. My son may not have commencement ceremonies as he graduates from college.   Definitely a strange new ‘Normal’ for the Benedik’s, and most other families we know.

Brian being Brian and the way he plans, charts, graphs and creates plans on a normal day, called a family meeting last evening.  The first night we were all home and together, we went to a local restaurant, and yes I did consume (rather quickly I might add) two cucumber margaritas, but over dinner we made a first draft of a plan.  Household projects we would tackle, exercise plans, hikes with the dogs, meals I would try, and daily times to devote to academic responsibilities for the kids.   Tensions and tempers were running high already, and my insides were cringing with the reality of what was to come.   But the reality of it, how damn lucky are we to be together?  Yes, it’s the unknown,  we have never had to “isolate” and hunker down like this – but my kids have all their siblings, and both their parents.  So many we know are dealing with this while dealing with grief, and loss.   I can vent and rant and carry on to Brian all I want, but there are moms & dads in town who have lost their spouse and cannot.   The kids can squabble and argue and grumble over having to do an actual chore, but they are an intact trio.  They haven’t lost a sibling, buried a brother or sister, and aren’t drowning in the on-going grief some other siblings are during this time of isolation.  This morning over a big breakfast of pancakes and sausage, I actually raised my voice and reminded all 3 of them of this fact.   We are lucky.  We are together.  We will be fine.

So as day 1 continues on, and half the neighborhood is walking, biking, raking leaves etc, we will continue with positive attitudes, smart behaviors and actions, and just BE.  There is no other way to handle a pandemic in our community.   We are smart, educated people – we will make it.   Our bar is well stocked too.

Until later…  xo KB

August 2019, Sandbridge Beach Virginia

When my dad passed away three years ago, I never imagined I would still be overcome with bouts of sadness at random times.   True, solid, intense grief takes hold and I am in a puddle of tears, and raw emotion is back on the table.   I know this is a tribute to the love I have for him, and grief is the price we pay for having loved, but it really surprises me sometimes.

I am on vacation with Brian and our girls – I watch Caroline and Riley with their extreme devotion to their dad, and I am in awe.  The ease and simplicity between them is awesome.  They fight to sit next to him at dinner, they laugh and bicker, they share in jokes that I just don’t get, they can’t get enough of their dad.   I get it.  I miss it.   I would give anything to have five more minutes in my pops company.

Like my pop, I am an early riser.  Even on vacation, I am up at the crack of dawn.  It is the best part of my day, and even better if Brian is up to share it with me.  He knows there needs to be limited conversation, and plenty of coffee, but not much else.   In Virginia, at “our happy place”, for a few weeks every summer, the early morning hours are a SACRED time in my world.   Having my “starter coffee” while watching the sun rise is my time.  There is something so magical in the stages of a sun rise over an ocean – it is different every day, and more beautiful each time.   The shadows on the water, the pelicans and seagulls swooping in and out, and lately, dozens of dolphins have joined this dance of nature.  It is an indescribable feeling of awe, and an affirmation of a higher power.  There can be no doubt in ones mind, when caught in this moment that there is a heaven.

This morning in particular, it caught me by surprise.   I could imagine sharing this with my Pop, and I swear I saw him sitting across from me in the gazebo.  In the wicker chair, legs crossed, white sneakers and socks, his USMC hat on, holding a book, a pen, a highlighter.  He would have been at the bakery already, first in line, before they even unlocked the doors.   The rolls would have been warm, the butter salted and at room temperature, the coffee freshly brewed.  A perfect moment, even in my imagination.

This coming Saturday he would have turned 89.  My mom will be arriving at the beach house, and my sister and her family – that is celebration enough for me.  The ability to share this time with some of the Reilly’s, and possibly experience this same type of awe and amazement with them.  Brian makes this happen – he knows how crucial it is to my ‘being’, and I am so grateful.

So yes, these moments overwhelm me and surprise me at times, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.  It’s my pop shining through just when I need him the most.

With love and gratitude, KB

The chaos is beautiful…

In the first year after my dad died, I was able to find great solace in writing my blog, “Thoughts from a Reilly girl”.   Somehow, no matter how many times I tried, I lost my writing ability and a bad case of writers block set in.   It was frustrating and surprising, as I have always turned to writing as a form of therapy.  So much can come out of jotting down a few thoughts, making a gratitude list, or even journaling about a negative situation.  No judgement is involved, the paper/laptop does not talk back and give unwanted advice, and most of the time, that nagging weight is lifted off your shoulder.  

I am fortunate to have folders of these type of writings by my dad.  Poems, short stories, lists, and random notes jotted down on scrap paper, some typed neatly, some written in his beautiful script, and some quickly scribbled notes.  My dad lived a full and beautiful life, and when I read his words, it is like hearing his voice.  I miss his voice.  I miss my dad. 

A few weeks before he died, my parents house was bustling with a cluster of our family.  Just a Saturday in January, but we were gathered around, coming and going, food and wine flowing, bakery boxes arriving, and just the normal chaos that ensued when we were all there.  My dad loved when the house was full, and when all five of his girls were there, it was all the better.  I can see him now, in his flannel shirt and loafers, observing the commotion.  Did he realize we were all savoring every minute we had with him?  Did he know we were all afraid it was the last Saturday we would have like this?  At one point, I happened to be alone in the family room with him, and he said “whats going on today? the chaos is beautiful”.  The chaos is beautiful.  Those four words struck a chord with me, and I quickly wrote it down in my black leather notebook I keep in my purse.  

Last Sunday, the Reilly’s had a somewhat impromptu get together at my sister Sue’s home in Huntington.  It was a commotion – really that is the only way I can describe the afternoon.  We laughed, we cried, we ate and drank a ton of wine and something my niece dubbed “Jimmy’s cocktail”.  There was a pool chair mishap, which landed two of my sisters in the shrubbery, and a photo shoot in which ‘make a funny face’ resulted in sheer hysterics.  We were together.  The chaos was beautiful.  

I need to remember those words more often – it is so easy to get caught up and overwhelmed with life chaotic moments.  I have been feeling bitter lately with Brian’s work travel, and trying to play the role of both parents so often.   He is missing father’s day, and Riley’s 8th grade graduation – it cannot be avoided.  I know he is doing this for us, for our family, so that when we have the opportunity we can create our own beautiful chaos.  

So as we approach our third fathers day without my pop,  I will pack up and head out to my sisters with the kids for the weekend, and immerse myself in “Reilly”.   Knowing that we have the lessons from my pop still defining our lives journey, and filling that empty chair with memories.   I am lucky, I am blessed, and I am a Reilly girl.  

Happy Father’s Day Pop.  

Summer 2017 – The Front Porch on Monitor Lane

I woke up this morning after a fitful night of sleep and strange dreams, and realized that I was missing my dad. This is nothing new, but after a year and a half, it isn’t a constant feeling like it had been in the early days after he died. It is a feeling that is stored in the back of my mind, but the forefront of my heart, and the emotions that come along with it is managed now. I can speak of my dad, and trot down memory lane without becoming a teary mess, and I can laugh and remember all the great times, and it’s just that. A memory and a story, and a verbal tribute to the first boy I loved, my dad.

This summer has been one of change for all of the Reilly’s. Mom selling the house and moving was very disruptive in our grief journey. I no longer sit on the couch and look at his empty chair, linger in his office and imagine all the hours he sat looking out the window, or open his dresser drawers and feel the soft cotton of his undershirts, and try and inhale any remaining smell of aftershave.

Most of all we had to give up the front porch – HIS front porch. Dad was a constant figure in the neighborhood on the porch. He would wait for us the arrive from NJ. We would come around the bend on Monitor Lane, and we could see his crossed legs and white sneakers in his chair. There would be a pile of reading next to him, catalogs, magazines, a book, and definitely a highlighter. There would be fresh flowers on the table, and he’d jump up and be attacked with hugs from the kids. He’d ask; “What’d you bring me???” and wait for the bakery box or whatever surprise I would have, and we’d go inside and begin our visit with Mom and Dad.
In the afternoons, we would take our coffee and bakery treat to the front porch, and as unofficial Mayor of the block, Pop would greet and talk to everyone who passed by. The front porch and my dad went together, it was his place. Our talks and conversations and endless life lessons continued on the porch until he was no longer able to make it out there. When my mom sold the house, this was the hardest place for me to let go of.

Mom sold the house to a great family, and I hope they know the importance of that front porch. The saying; “If walls could talk” is so true when it comes to that 12×3 area. Secrets, dreams, hopes and aspirations, even a few disagreements were discussed. It was just our place.

So the grief journey continues — it is getting easier, but when a memory is triggered, the ache comes to the surface. What is a constant, is how lucky I was to be his daughter. To have been the recipient of a lifetime of these memories. It has moulded me, defined me, and made me who I am. I am a Reilly girl.

While going through my dad’s files after he passed, I found a small piece of yellow scrap paper with the words “Always set an extra place” written in his handwriting.   This wasn&…

Source: Always set an extra place…life lessons from my dad.

While going through my dad’s files after he passed, I found a small piece of yellow scrap paper with the words “Always set an extra place” written in his handwriting. This wasn’t the only piece of scrap paper with ‘dad messages’ that I found, there were many. Compact life lessons that I bet he […]

via Always set an extra place…life lessons from my dad. — Finding my way…

While going through my dad’s files after he passed, I found a small piece of yellow scrap paper with the words “Always set an extra place” written in his handwriting.   This wasn’t the only piece of scrap paper with ‘dad messages’ that I found, there were many.  Compact life lessons that I bet he was eventually planning to put into a book.

My dad was a teacher by trade.  An english teacher, the one who made an impact on students that stayed with them for life.  As a young girl we would run into former students in a store or restaurant, and they would be so genuinely thrilled to see my dad.  It ALWAYS held us up from whatever task we were doing, I would stand there tapping my foot while they would chat away, trading tales of the classroom, and catching up on current news.  When I was a teenager people would hear my last name, and the inevitable question would arise; “Are you Mr. Reilly’s daughter?”.   He was a teacher not only in the classroom, but in the hallways, the athletic fields, the parking lots, and anywhere you would run into him.  He was always “ON” and it wasn’t always about classroom subject matters.  He incorporated life lessons in everything he did, and a little part of Mr. Reilly stayed with these students for life.   A former student of dad’s went on to be a Principal of a middle school, and spoke of my father and what he taught him in his end of year commencement address.  Life lessons he learned at a ninth grader, that he uses to this day.  He shared this speech with our family, and fortunately I was able to read this speech to my dad six months before he passed away.

For as long as I can remember he was teaching.  He lived his life teaching others.  He took every opportunity to make people better, whether they realized it at the time or now.  The term ‘pay it forward’ was his middle name.  He could be post-op at NYP, struggling with whatever illness he was battling, even arguing with his physical therapist at St. James rehab (his least favorite facility), and he would be handing out prayer cards and sharing stories of resilience to strangers who needed a lift.  He made friends with everyone, and he made it his business to make sure he put a smile on people’s faces.   He delivered small gifts to deserving recipients, he handed out medals, rosary’s, and his pockets were filled with who knows what.  Many people commented at his wake how they would miss his warm roll and bakery deliveries – you never knew when you would find a bakery box or white paper bag on your front steps or tied on your door  (this was my dad’s trademark).   Generous was his middle name.

Why am I writing this Thanksgiving morning?  Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful, to focus on all the things we are grateful for.  What I have realized is that the best thing I can do to get through this holiday season, is to remember how my dad lived.  How at his physical worst, he was still teaching.  He was still giving, he was still sharing. It is no secret that I am struggling with the holidays approaching, but I plan to dig into these life lessons, and put them to use.  I pan to pay it forward, and be the person he would want me to be.   If you find a bakery box on your front steps, just smile.  It’s from my dad.

Today, I will set an extra place, because that’s what he asked me to do.  I know he will be here.

With love & gratitude, I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving 2015

This past August many of the moms in town were getting their first born children ready to go away to college. The majority of my friends were weepy, sad, emotional, and some were even distraught. Facebook was filled with shared articles on dealing with the stress and emotional trauma of sending your child off to college. Pictures were posted and shared, the moms had tear streaked faces, forced smiles, and even some of the dads looked horrified to be leaving their children at college. My husband and I were also sending off our firstborn to college. My son was leaving at the end of August, and even though he would be less than an hour away from home, he was going away. Unlike the other moms I knew, I was thrilled. I was like the parent in the Staples back to school television commercials, skipping down the aisles to the tune of “it’s the most wonderful time of the year”.

No, I do not love my son any less than any other parent. I might even love him more. He is the perfect combination of the three best men I know, his dad, and both his grandfathers. So why couldn’t I wait for him to go? He was ready. We were ready. It was time. This is what we had been working for since I enrolled him at Montessori pre-school 16 years before. Let’s face it, the college application process is brutal. When you have a procrastinator, in the midst of his final varsity soccer season with a broken nose and a torn knee ligament, it is brutal times ten. Add into this two AP classes and a booming social life. It now makes the college application process with you son an absolute nightmare. Once the applications are in, the high school senior “lazies” set in. They think they are ‘done’. Mentally they have shut down, and more often than not, you arrive home to find your child slumped on the couch watching some ridiculous MTV show, with half your snack supply spread around him. Sometimes even asleep with the remote raised half in the air. It is exhausting being a high school senior, isn’t it? By the end of the school year, I was afraid he was cemented in that position and I would not be able to get him up and out to graduation rehearsal.

Fast forward to August. My son the procrastinator had no interest in shopping or preparing for college dorm life. My friends with daughters going away to college had the opposite. They were having fun! They had lists with categories & highlighted sections, and many pre planning phone calls with roommates. There were dorm room themes to decorate with, matching comforters, colors chosen, and patterns too. My son’s participation level was this, “Mom, get me blue”. I was so anxious to get him to college, I didn’t mind doing all the shopping ,and I wasn’t going to let him forget one thing. I think he was the most prepared on his dorm floor when we moved him in. His food supply could have fed them all in a power outage, and he had enough socks and underwear to last 60 days god forbid he couldn’t figure out the laundry. He sprawled on his bed on move in day, while my husband and I organized and unpacked, and set him all up. Before we knew it we were done, and it was time to turn him over to independency. Still, I was happy. His dad was happy. He was happy.
We had our final discussions over budgeting his spending money, and the emergency only credit card, and it was time to go. Still no tears. We hugged goodbye, and he walked away. We watched my 6’2, 200-lb giant saunter into his new life. But to me? He was 3 years old, his yellow monogrammed LL Bean backpack on his back walking into Montessori pre-school. And yes, as we drove away, behind my Ray-bans, one single tear trickled down my face. I know he will do great things.