Day 16, She’s Not My Aunt

Yesterday was another day off for my better half. Instead of a day of lounging, we were off to visit his dad. Pops is still recovering at a good pace but will probably be at a nursing facility at least through the first week in December. After visiting Pops, I went out to watch my boyfriend play. I still had a bit of energy and didn’t want to stay home cooped up. Self-care comes in some weird forms sometimes.

All in all, it was a fairly quiet day which meant my mind was working overtime. Dangerous, I know.

I’m sure I’m not the only person who does this, but sometimes I daydream about what I would do if I won a major lottery jackpot. For years I’ve had a list that included paying off debts, spoiling my son, and living peacefully on a ranch.

Yesterday, as I closed my eyes on the drive out to see Pops, I dreamed of flying to the Midwest, meeting one of my heroes, and handing her one of those huge cardboard checks with a ridiculous sounding number printed on it.

Aunt Becky is a gem. Not one of those sparkly rocks that trophy wives drape all over their Doritos dyed skin, not even one of those displayed in the glass cases at jewelry stores across the world. She’s the epitome of a diamond in the rough.

I stumbled across AB on a cold, dreary Oregon winter day. I was laying in my bed, in the midst of a flare from a disease still new to me. I was lonely, hurting, and reaching out. Someone on the tweeter machine retweeted Becky into my timeline, something that made me laugh out loud for the first time in weeks. I followed the link to her profile, from there to her blog. And I started reading.

I laughed as I read her tales of suburbia life. I cried as I read of her struggles. And my heart warmed as I read of her passion, The Band Back Together Project. I followed her link and read some more. The posts tore my heart out, had me crying the big ugly tears. They also wrapped me in a cocoon and a little voice whispered, “You are not alone.”

In the near year since, Aunt Becky has become not my aunt, but much like a big sister. She’s also the best boss I could ever hope for. She’s taught me how to heal through helping others, how to take the stigma out of life, and how to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves.

When I tell her she’s my hero, she scoffs and pushes it aside. She’s not in this for the fame. In her mind, she’s just another mommy who blogs (not to be confused with a mommyblogger), who happened to dream up a place where people could safely share their stories. She doesn’t think she’s anything special, and that? That’s how she shines.

AB-

I wish I could be standing there with a ginormous cardboard check with a ridiculous number sprawling across it. I wish I could find the words to tell you all you’ve done for me. I wish everyone could know your love.

Since there’s no check (yet!) instead I will keep working hard with our fellow Bandmates to make your baby available to everyone. I will keep fighting until there is no more stigma. I will keep sharing my voice with those who’ve had theirs taken away.

And I will keep telling the world what a beautiful person you are.

Thank you for giving me back my voice. You will forever by my sister, my hero.

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