On this last day of bittersweet February

I can't tell you how much I have used the word "bittersweet" in the past six months of my life. I hear ReFamily using it a lot, too. Because before, there was actually a possibility of something in this world being exhilaratingly sweet to one of us. It's not really possible anymore. Now, the best anything could get for any of us is bittersweet.

I'm in the hotel lobby rooting around my Mint account. Which means things are already kind of irritating.

But then, someone comes and throws a "Formerly-Missing-Child: Safely Returned To Parents" scenario into our morning. This cannot be ignored. It is very public.

We hear a dramatic lady shrieking and groaning. Apparently her child had been missing and she had been walked into the lobby where someone was presenting her, not only with the news that her child had been found, but with the child herself. It obviously wasn't an Amber Alert level scare, but it was obviously enough to bring this woman to her knees.

I, of course, have to make this all about me and start bitterly crying. Maybe people think I'm touched. Which I sort of am.

Only because I remember that debilitating fear. Not of a possibly-childless mother waiting to find out if her life has just been destroyed, obviously, because that is an entirely different brand of horror. But of that torturous waiting for news, knowing that whatever call you get that day, your life will never ever ever be normal again.

I listened to her reaction to her wonderful news; all the terror she held in her heart and body just flowing out as she yelled in the quiet lobby "Where is she? YOU HAVE HER?!!!" And she burst across the lobby. In my mind, I really couldn't help but pretend for a second that it was me, that I was back on August 10th, getting the news that we were scared for nothing and the guys had been rescued...and I could hug them all in the front yard or in a police station or a hospital, or in the hotel lobby. And then we could redefine things and be all awesome and happy, and never let THAT one happen again, ha ha ha haaahahahaaha, oh those boys and their toys, and haha that was a close one, and more haha, and then big happy content sighs.

How stupid I feel now that I thought at any point that miserable day, that MAYBE just MAYBE they'd be found alive. How stupid you sound when you have hope for what are LITERALLY miracles. Like, in conversations with people that day, how stupid I sounded.

People: So nobody has heard from any of them since.....
Kirsten: Friday.
P: And it's...
K: Monday.
P: Ok, and is there a chance Rbf's phone is dead?
K: Well, the last five minutes I spent with him were of him packing his phone, two chargers, an extra handset in case his breaks, and a charger for that, so that he would never not have phone service, and then me making fun of him about this despite its endearing value. So, no.

P: When was his last phone activity?

K: Friday morning.

P: When was his last debit card activity?

K: Thursday.

P: What did the hotel say when you called?
K: That the guys never checked in.
P: And what did the airports in Ilwaco tell you when you called?
K: That they never arrived.

You have that conversation and listen to people tell you "we're sure they're fine," and you issue a sort of Amber-Alert-For-Grownups with Civil Air Patrol, while you hold on to hope, in your naivete. I guess I just really wish I hadn't had so much hope for their safe return that day.

I wish that when your love is dying somewhere and you're sitting in Soup Kitchen eating lunch with your coworkers, that the secret radar in your heart starts going nuts alerting you. I wish that you just knew when it happened. I wish I didn't have to harbor all that hope, only because it was pointless, and it only made the truth worse.

Hope is just overrated. Obama jokes at this time will not be well received.

I do want to add, though, that sometimes seeing people in the situations I've had to be in...and getting the ending I didn't, somehow makes me wonder what made God pick us (me and the Mingos) to be the odd ones out in a world where so much else can go totally right.

And my dad came and sat down by me in the cafe by the lobby, and we got to talk a little bit about taxes and Maddster's college and our jobs and such. And it was a weekend of sushi and shopping and watching Cocodoodle (my sister Doodle's 2 year old who is a brown version of her own baby pictures) earnestly trying to dance to this:

Keep in mind that Cocodoodle's grandmother was 17 when this was made.

It's funny to watch her try to imitate them at ~1:32, and then watch them throw her off at ~2:00. She's 22 months old. Cut her some slack.

This is her:

So that should make this all much cuter. And yes I realize I have blog ADD.

Because I don't get to see or talk to my dad much, that was sweet, although I was bitterly jealous of the woman whose bad day ended in relief, not emotional annihilation. (Which is why I suck).

And also, because nothing is cuter than my little niece, but I also lost my chance at children with Rbf and now have NO DESIRE for *children, I think it's bittersweet CcDd calls everyone "mommy." Including me. I babysat her last night in the hotel room when everyone else was out visiting Scoot's house. I put her in the bath...4 inches of water including bubbles, because I have no maternal instincts and I'm certain that she will drown while I'm signing for the cheesecake I ordered from room service.

CcDd: Mommy.
Me: You mean Kiki.
C: Mommy.
Me: No...KIKI.
C: Mommy.
Me: I am KEE KEEEEE.

{I walk out of the bathroom to look for her diapers.}

C, quietly to herself after I've left the room: Mommy.

Reboyfriend and I picked the name Aria (Ari for short) for our own little girl, and I pictured her to be a little bit like Cocodoodle. And the loss of Aria mixes with Cocodoodle's cuteness to make it all clash so poetically.

I am happy for the man who survived that plane crash on my exit this past winter, and for the missing people who return to their families safely. So please, don't think I have maxed out the suckage meter entirely. Sometimes good people are just jealous people, and that's all I have to say about that.