You Being Dead is Kind of Rude.

Last night I was dubbed, “The Cool Mom”.

Tonight, I was having an anxiety attack due to a tornado warning.

I can handle a gaggle of 7/8 year old girls, with their love of K-Pop Demon Hunters, press on nails, and eating all the sugary snacks, but the fact that I couldn’t be fully brave with zero clue on what to do (as Emma and I huddled in our spider-webbed covered, dusty basement), made me hate the fact that Brandon just had to go off and die and leave me to face shit like this.

Have you ever had to carry a 55lb dog down a flight of stairs? That certainly wasn’t on my Sunday Bingo Card.

As the threat of the severe thunderstorm increased, so did my anxiety. Thoughts ran through my head like;

What if a tree fell onto the house?

What if a window broke?

What if an actual tornado happens?

WHAT THE HELL DO I DO?

It became too much and my breathing started to get shorter and faster, my hands covering my face, my body starting to rock back and forth. Emma immediately noticed I was not okay. She embraced me and told me it was going to be okay. Again, how is it that my own kiddo is the one calming me down?

She is her father’s daughter. She is my calm. He was my calm.

A paramedic by trade, he always knew what to do under pressure.

This whole being dead thing though — SUPER RUDE.

I told her that I just wished her daddy was here because I wouldn’t be feeling this way and he always knew what to do. I hated her seeing me like this.

I kept checking the weather reports and texting my sister-in-law, who checked in on us (Love you Kimberlina). Looking at the hourly weather and radar so I could help Emma understand how much longer we had to be in the basement for. The time couldn’t speed up fast enough.

Poor thing was just finishing a nice bubble bath when the alert had come in, so I had to rush her out of the tub and get her dried off and dressed in the total opposite of a clean space. She handled it with grace and was calm. She listened to instructions and moved quickly.

As we sat on the stoop of our basement stairs, she asked to read an E-book on my phone. Maybe she knew it was a good distraction, maybe she was just bored.

We took turns reading a Bluey book I had in my Google Books library and we both felt better afterwards.

I checked the weather report again and the tornado warning had disappeared, but thunderstorms were still in effect. Thunderstorms I can handle, right next to 7/8 year old sleepovers.

We picked up our things in the basement and headed upstairs. Nalani wasn’t too sure about going up the stairs, but once she figured out the wooden steps, she was like lightening coming up. She was totally over that malarky.

Since Emma’s bedroom and playroom were both equally destroyed by the previous evening’s shenanigans, I decided Emma was going to sleep in my room tonight. I think I needed it too. I got her into bed; all tucked in and she told me about how she learned the ways rhinos say hello to one another and how she couldn’t tell what type of animal her favorite Disney cartoon character, “Kiff” is. We talked about that if daddy was here, he’d be the one making sure we were comfortable in the basement, checking the weather reports, and he would have “risked his life” going upstairs for any “necessities” like snacks.

He could have carried that damn dog downstairs. And he would have LOVED it.

I gave her a kiss and told her I had a few things to do downstairs, and I would be right back and that she should get some sleep. She obliged and pulled down her eye mask and yawned.

As I made my way downstairs, I was still feeling the same anxiety and stress, but it was the after effect of just lingering in my body. I stopped at my bathroom doorway, no lights on, the entire house dark… and just sobbed. HARD. I had to get it out.

I had to get the stress out of my body and realize I was okay. She was okay. I hate that he died. I HATE THAT HE DIED. HOW FUCKING RUDE.

What felt like a good five-minute cry, was really about 38 seconds, but it was the best 38 seconds I’ve had in a while. Letting go of the build up, letting go of the anxiety, regulating a nervous system that has been through the ringer more than a dozen times (times ten).

I can handle a lot of things. Tonight, really pushed my limits and it won’t be the last time.

It’s in these moments that I need him. And hopefully, these moments will be few and far between moving forward.

But for now, I’ll accept this whole “rude being dead” thing, because, … I’m the cool mom.