Amy and I have been having trouble dovetailing our schedules lately to fit in our morning walks. For the last few weeks Dave and I have been getting up early to go for a walk before he has to get ready for work.
I don’t ordinarily like to look 5:30 AM directly in the eye, so when he whispers my name into the dark room it’s a real chore to force myself out of bed. As I’m getting dressed my eyes are still stubbornly pretending to sleep. Within ten minutes, after a glass of soy milk and victory over my eyelids, I’m good to go. I really like being up in the mornings. It’s the getting up part that’s so hard for me.
Forty-five minutes later as we trudge up the hill to our front door I’m on an endorphin high that lasts all morning. I’ve noticed that my energy levels are up dramatically since I’ve started the regular exercise. I’m also feeling happier as I go about my days. Now, my core is happy with a shadow of sadness instead of the other way around. The presence of my “Other Self” is fading, freeing me from that shadow.
I am so grateful to God for leading me to the massage therapist. She has been my facilitator, helping me find my way out of the prison of grief and guilt.
My eyes are opening to new views of my regrets.
I had been beating myself up over leaving Steve to go on vacation the June before he died, even though it was he that insisted I not change my plans. All the while we were away I imagined how much better he would be by the time we returned home. None of us had any understanding of how little time we had left together.
But if I hadn’t gone Amy wouldn’t have had the opportunity to help him as she did. She came over every morning to help him with his daily needs, and in the evening to help him get ready for and into bed. They spent time together, they talked, and she cared for him. She also took him to several doctors’ and physical therapy appointments and was able to gain a greater understanding of what he was going through.
I still ache for time I missed with him but I see that it was good for Steve and Amy to have had that time with each other. And I know that we’ll be together later.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
September 11, 2004
Last night I had two vivid dreams. In the first one I was nursing a month-old baby and I had abundant milk.
The second dream was ... complicated. I was parked on a quiet street in my van waiting for someone (a friend of Robyn’s?). He got into the back of the van and as I turned to tell him not to sit in the center seat I noticed that the car was full of people, each seat and the space between the center seats were full but I counted fourteen of us.
When I pulled away from the curb the van felt very heavy and the engine bogged down but I kept trying. Somehow I veered from the road into a small field that was surrounded by small asphalt roads and some buildings. I tried to drive from the grass onto one of the roads but I couldn’t get onto the first one. I turned left to drive across the open grassy area wanting to try for another of the roads.... Here’s where it gets weird! I drove toward a small patio (?) area where there were about a dozen penguins (the kind on the Mario games). They were waddling around randomly, eating French fries off the ground as they wandered. There was a two or three story building adjacent to the patio. Several people were leaning out of the windows laughing and talking to each other as they threw more fries to the penguins. That’s when Dave woke me up to go on a walk.
I researched a few of the dream symbols. The baby can represent advancement, a longing for rebirth, starting over. (I guess I am trying to start over.)
The number fourteen can signify the unexpected and a need to adapt to ever-changing circumstances. It is also symbolic of overindulgence and how one is giving too much into one’s desires. I guess my brain knows that I’m overeating and shopping too much.
I thought the car was me, but that didn’t feel quite right so I looked that up, too. It can mean a transformation into something new. Since I was having difficulty driving I’m sure that points to the difficulty of this journey I’m on, overcoming grief and guilt.
Just a guess…
The second dream was ... complicated. I was parked on a quiet street in my van waiting for someone (a friend of Robyn’s?). He got into the back of the van and as I turned to tell him not to sit in the center seat I noticed that the car was full of people, each seat and the space between the center seats were full but I counted fourteen of us.
When I pulled away from the curb the van felt very heavy and the engine bogged down but I kept trying. Somehow I veered from the road into a small field that was surrounded by small asphalt roads and some buildings. I tried to drive from the grass onto one of the roads but I couldn’t get onto the first one. I turned left to drive across the open grassy area wanting to try for another of the roads.... Here’s where it gets weird! I drove toward a small patio (?) area where there were about a dozen penguins (the kind on the Mario games). They were waddling around randomly, eating French fries off the ground as they wandered. There was a two or three story building adjacent to the patio. Several people were leaning out of the windows laughing and talking to each other as they threw more fries to the penguins. That’s when Dave woke me up to go on a walk.
I researched a few of the dream symbols. The baby can represent advancement, a longing for rebirth, starting over. (I guess I am trying to start over.)
The number fourteen can signify the unexpected and a need to adapt to ever-changing circumstances. It is also symbolic of overindulgence and how one is giving too much into one’s desires. I guess my brain knows that I’m overeating and shopping too much.
I thought the car was me, but that didn’t feel quite right so I looked that up, too. It can mean a transformation into something new. Since I was having difficulty driving I’m sure that points to the difficulty of this journey I’m on, overcoming grief and guilt.
Just a guess…
Friday, December 3, 2010
September 8, 2004
I went in for another massage today. I expected to be as out-of-it as I was last time but this was better. The meditation seems to help me focus on my future, keep me moving forward.
We chatted as she worked on my back. When she found a particularly painful spot she said it was good that everything was so near the surface. With her finger she drew a short line between my right shoulder blade and spine saying, “This is the gateway to guilt and grief.” I was stunned by her accuracy.
I have been holding in so much guilt in the form of “should haves”. As I lay there trying to let go of the guilty feelings I couldn’t. I asked why and she told me "It’s like being afraid of success. Afraid of the unknown. If you let it go, what will be there in its place?"
This has helped and I’ve changed my mantra ~ "With courage and grace I step boldly into my future for I am a woman of strength. I release the need to hold on to pain and grief for I know your mercy and forgiveness. Thank you, Lord."
I know that neither Steve nor God want this for me, to carry such a burden of sorrow. I can serve God better without this load.
I know now, too, why I’ve been having so many physical symptoms lately (panic attacks, back pain, food cravings). My body is trying to find its new balance, asking me- ~ are you sure you want to let this go? Yes, body…I’m sure. But we’ll take as much time as we need. We won’t move too fast. We’ll be fine.
And it’s OK to let go of the guilt. There was nothing I could do to keep Steve here, even though my heart tells me I was his mom. I was supposed to make everything all better. But I couldn’t make this better. I couldn’t kiss this away.
We chatted as she worked on my back. When she found a particularly painful spot she said it was good that everything was so near the surface. With her finger she drew a short line between my right shoulder blade and spine saying, “This is the gateway to guilt and grief.” I was stunned by her accuracy.
I have been holding in so much guilt in the form of “should haves”. As I lay there trying to let go of the guilty feelings I couldn’t. I asked why and she told me "It’s like being afraid of success. Afraid of the unknown. If you let it go, what will be there in its place?"
This has helped and I’ve changed my mantra ~ "With courage and grace I step boldly into my future for I am a woman of strength. I release the need to hold on to pain and grief for I know your mercy and forgiveness. Thank you, Lord."
I know that neither Steve nor God want this for me, to carry such a burden of sorrow. I can serve God better without this load.
I know now, too, why I’ve been having so many physical symptoms lately (panic attacks, back pain, food cravings). My body is trying to find its new balance, asking me- ~ are you sure you want to let this go? Yes, body…I’m sure. But we’ll take as much time as we need. We won’t move too fast. We’ll be fine.
And it’s OK to let go of the guilt. There was nothing I could do to keep Steve here, even though my heart tells me I was his mom. I was supposed to make everything all better. But I couldn’t make this better. I couldn’t kiss this away.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
September 6, 2004
Today I set up a “stamping station” in the spare bedroom. While a young friend had been staying in the room, I employed the den closet to store and use my card making supplies. Now that the small spare bedroom has been vacated it will be the perfect place for our crafts.
Seeing that I needed something to store my stamp sets in I decided on the plastic chest of drawers Steve had kept by his bedside. I grabbed it and the box of his things from the storage room and pulled them into the room that had been Steve’s childhood bedroom. Quietly pulling Steve’s things from the drawers, touching things he had touched, I shed no tears. I was even able to smile at some of the memories held within.
In the top drawer I found a stack of photos. Nic, Chris, and Annette smiled at me as they once smiled at Steve. How many times had Steve fingered these same photographs? I added them to the box.
Tucked behind the pictures were mementos from a night at Boomers where he, Nick, and Robyn spent three hours and about $100 playing games and accumulating more than 5,000 tickets. They came home that night high on fun, laughing and tripping over each other to be the first through the front door, arms full of booty. Among their treasures were two lava lamps, plastic hand held games, noise-makers, small high-bounce balls, and three small putty filled toilet-shaped containers. As soon as they burst into the living room, dumping most of their new toys onto the coffee table, they simultaneously flipped up the lids of the tiny toilets. Pressing the putty with their fingers they filled the room with disgusting, socially unacceptable sounds. In their best dramatic farce they made the facial expressions and body movements to go along with the noises. Their unabashed laughter was contagious!
I opened the lid of the toy toilet I found in Steve’s drawer. The putty had long since dried and stuck to the sides, but memories of that night brought a fresh smile to my face.
In the next drawer were things he needed to keep nearby ~ insulin syringes, alcohol and Betadine wipes, and clips to open the dialysis solution packages. Most of these I was finally able to throw out today. Their dates have expired and they only serve to remind me of the sick Steve. I’d rather have mementos of the healthy, fun Steve.
The bottom drawer was stuffed full of packages of gauze (large rolls, 4x4 squares, and 2x2 squares) and ointments. All for the daily dressing changes he needed to keep the head wound clean and protected.
That head wound seemed to be the only part of Steve that was working right. Only what was happening wasn’t exactly “right”. After the surgery to remove a tenacious infection from Steve’s scalp, his surgeon told us that the only way to repair the 4x5 inch open wound would be by stretching his scalp slowly until the edges would meet, and then to suture them together. It would be a long and painfull process. At the first post op appointment Dr. Kadesky noticed that there was new skin growing along the suture lines of Steve’s skull. He was amazed and told us that this was just didn't happen! He gave us some special ointment and covering to use every day to encourage the growth. By the time Steve died seven months after the surgery new skin covered more than three quarters of the opening. At each appointment the doctor took pictures of Steve’s progress. These pictures were tucked into the drawer with the bandages. I opened the small photo album to look at them again. For the first time my eyes remained dry as my finger traced the edges of Steve’s open scalp.
I finished carefully packing these memories into the box with Steve's few possessions, and put it on the shelf in place of the drawers. I returned to our new Craft Room without a dark cloud over me and organized the supplies, anticipating fun times with my kids and grandkids.
I’ve been meditating at least once a day. It’s still very relaxing, though I haven’t had another experience quite as profound as the first waterfall experience. I do continue to pass through the waters and feel refreshed.
Seeing that I needed something to store my stamp sets in I decided on the plastic chest of drawers Steve had kept by his bedside. I grabbed it and the box of his things from the storage room and pulled them into the room that had been Steve’s childhood bedroom. Quietly pulling Steve’s things from the drawers, touching things he had touched, I shed no tears. I was even able to smile at some of the memories held within.
In the top drawer I found a stack of photos. Nic, Chris, and Annette smiled at me as they once smiled at Steve. How many times had Steve fingered these same photographs? I added them to the box.
Tucked behind the pictures were mementos from a night at Boomers where he, Nick, and Robyn spent three hours and about $100 playing games and accumulating more than 5,000 tickets. They came home that night high on fun, laughing and tripping over each other to be the first through the front door, arms full of booty. Among their treasures were two lava lamps, plastic hand held games, noise-makers, small high-bounce balls, and three small putty filled toilet-shaped containers. As soon as they burst into the living room, dumping most of their new toys onto the coffee table, they simultaneously flipped up the lids of the tiny toilets. Pressing the putty with their fingers they filled the room with disgusting, socially unacceptable sounds. In their best dramatic farce they made the facial expressions and body movements to go along with the noises. Their unabashed laughter was contagious!
I opened the lid of the toy toilet I found in Steve’s drawer. The putty had long since dried and stuck to the sides, but memories of that night brought a fresh smile to my face.
In the next drawer were things he needed to keep nearby ~ insulin syringes, alcohol and Betadine wipes, and clips to open the dialysis solution packages. Most of these I was finally able to throw out today. Their dates have expired and they only serve to remind me of the sick Steve. I’d rather have mementos of the healthy, fun Steve.
The bottom drawer was stuffed full of packages of gauze (large rolls, 4x4 squares, and 2x2 squares) and ointments. All for the daily dressing changes he needed to keep the head wound clean and protected.
That head wound seemed to be the only part of Steve that was working right. Only what was happening wasn’t exactly “right”. After the surgery to remove a tenacious infection from Steve’s scalp, his surgeon told us that the only way to repair the 4x5 inch open wound would be by stretching his scalp slowly until the edges would meet, and then to suture them together. It would be a long and painfull process. At the first post op appointment Dr. Kadesky noticed that there was new skin growing along the suture lines of Steve’s skull. He was amazed and told us that this was just didn't happen! He gave us some special ointment and covering to use every day to encourage the growth. By the time Steve died seven months after the surgery new skin covered more than three quarters of the opening. At each appointment the doctor took pictures of Steve’s progress. These pictures were tucked into the drawer with the bandages. I opened the small photo album to look at them again. For the first time my eyes remained dry as my finger traced the edges of Steve’s open scalp.
I finished carefully packing these memories into the box with Steve's few possessions, and put it on the shelf in place of the drawers. I returned to our new Craft Room without a dark cloud over me and organized the supplies, anticipating fun times with my kids and grandkids.
I’ve been meditating at least once a day. It’s still very relaxing, though I haven’t had another experience quite as profound as the first waterfall experience. I do continue to pass through the waters and feel refreshed.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
September 3, 2004
As I meditated today I did what I thought was impossible. I came to the glass wall that blocks my path and stood there a moment peering into its seeming endless depth. I drew a deep breath, and in a leap of faith imagined stretching my right leg forward. Forward not into a glass wall but into water. Falling water. Cleansing, purifying, healing water, cascading over my body, taking my breath away in wonder as it washed me clean ~ heart and mind. I felt myself pass all the way through and, in my mind, opened my eyes to see more sheets of falling water spaced farther and farther apart, each becoming less thick and until finally I can see a mist that stretches out as far as a lifetime.
But it isn’t intimidating any more. I know that the water is here to aid in my healing. I feel light, like I have finally offered my pain to God, and He will not be weighed down by it. He is up to the task (His promise) to turn my sorrow into joy in His own perfect time.
With confidence ~ assuredness
and grace ~ a free gift from God, an ease of movement
I step boldly into ~ enter without fear
my ~ I am unique, my being and my life are uniquely mine
future ~ every moment from now on
for I am ~ God has made me what I am and I am to do my best with what I am given
a woman of ~ created for a purpose
strength. ~ to deny this strength is to deny the strength of Christ in me
I release ~ I can actively let go of pain,
the need to hold on to ~ it isn’t mine anymore
pain and grief ~ the worst we can imagine will be washed away
for I trust God’s ~ and no other, God is in all
universal ~ from the tiniest particles of matter to the vastness of all creation, God is in all, and all is...
perfection.
All is well in my world.
But it isn’t intimidating any more. I know that the water is here to aid in my healing. I feel light, like I have finally offered my pain to God, and He will not be weighed down by it. He is up to the task (His promise) to turn my sorrow into joy in His own perfect time.
With confidence ~ assuredness
and grace ~ a free gift from God, an ease of movement
I step boldly into ~ enter without fear
my ~ I am unique, my being and my life are uniquely mine
future ~ every moment from now on
for I am ~ God has made me what I am and I am to do my best with what I am given
a woman of ~ created for a purpose
strength. ~ to deny this strength is to deny the strength of Christ in me
I release ~ I can actively let go of pain,
the need to hold on to ~ it isn’t mine anymore
pain and grief ~ the worst we can imagine will be washed away
for I trust God’s ~ and no other, God is in all
universal ~ from the tiniest particles of matter to the vastness of all creation, God is in all, and all is...
perfection.
All is well in my world.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
September 1, 2004
Yesterday and today I’ve been able to sit down for some quiet meditation time. It’s so hard to calm my busy mind but when I get into a comforting rhythm repeating the phrase in my mind, I see before me a long, path through a thick forest. The path is almost straight and it's as narrow as a deer trail. On each side evergreen trees tower over my head blocking the sun’s light.
Today as I walked along the path I came to a barrier. I couldn’t see it. I only know it’s there because I felt myself bump into it. In my mind it seems to be a clear glass wall ~ as thick and as high and as deep as forever. I cannot go around or over this wall because I can’t see the end of it in any direction. The wall is so perfectly transparent I can’t even see it as I look straight ahead. I only know it’s there because I keep bumping into it during my meditation.
But I know that I live by and in God’s grace, and it is time to give my grief to Him who, as impossible as it seems, heals ALL.
Today as I walked along the path I came to a barrier. I couldn’t see it. I only know it’s there because I felt myself bump into it. In my mind it seems to be a clear glass wall ~ as thick and as high and as deep as forever. I cannot go around or over this wall because I can’t see the end of it in any direction. The wall is so perfectly transparent I can’t even see it as I look straight ahead. I only know it’s there because I keep bumping into it during my meditation.
But I know that I live by and in God’s grace, and it is time to give my grief to Him who, as impossible as it seems, heals ALL.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
August 31, 2004 10:45 PM
I just fully realized that I haven’t felt deeply connected to people or activities like I used to. I feel superimposed onto a screen playing the movie of my life. I care, I care for, I participate, but not with the enthusiasm and joy of life that I used to feel. It’s so hard to explain. I’m not uncaring about my loved ones. I care. I hurt with them when they hurt. And I can be deeply hurt by them. But something is grossly different. I feel detached from everyone and everything around me. I don’t even feel connected to me lately.
I’m not sure when this started or how long I’ve felt this way. After Steve died there was a long time of deep intertwining with all of our family. I remember feeling connected to them at my marrow. I don’t think pinpointing the onset of this disconnection matters but I do think integrating the “two Debbies” will help solve this inconsistency. We both need to feel the same thing at the same time. I cannot fully live while depending on another entity, even though it’s just another me, to carry my difficult emotions for me. I have to do the feeling of the bad stuff myself or I may never be able to feel the good stuff either.
I’m not sure when this started or how long I’ve felt this way. After Steve died there was a long time of deep intertwining with all of our family. I remember feeling connected to them at my marrow. I don’t think pinpointing the onset of this disconnection matters but I do think integrating the “two Debbies” will help solve this inconsistency. We both need to feel the same thing at the same time. I cannot fully live while depending on another entity, even though it’s just another me, to carry my difficult emotions for me. I have to do the feeling of the bad stuff myself or I may never be able to feel the good stuff either.
Friday, October 15, 2010
August 31, 2004 3:00 PM
I thought I was going in for a nice relaxing massage today as I redeemed the gift certificate I received for my birthday. Instead it turned out to be a therapeutic massage addressing my grief.
When I was all settled onto the table the therapist asked if there was anything she should be aware of. I know she meant things like aches and pains, but I told her “I’m still struggling with unresolved grief since the death of my son more than a year ago.”
She pulled a stool to the head of the table and sat down. “We can work on this if you’re ready.”
“Of course I’m ready. I’m so tired of constantly feeling like I’m drowning.”
How can I not be ready to get through this?
As she found the most painful areas on my back with her strong hands the therapist gave me a phrase to repeat. She asked me to say it aloud a few times before I started repeating it silently in my mind.
“With confidence and grace I step boldly into my future for I am a woman of strength. I release the need to hold on to pain and grief for I trust God’s universal perfection. All is well in my world.”
The first few times, the words felt hollow as they fell from my lips. Tears began to seep from my closed eyes as I forced myself to repeat the phrase because I do not feel confident and I do not feel strong.
After three repetitions I took a deep breath and said it like I meant it, bringing a moment of clarity that took my breath away.
I have not yet stepped into my future. I have simply allowed the tide of time to carry me along as I cling to the past. I have been half-heartedly trying to move forward without actually taking that step into my future.
I don’t think I can take that step until I integrate my two selves, the grieving me and the work-a-day me. I have believed that we could live side by side but now I know that only one of us can step into MY future. In order to make that step we need to become one.
Only as one, complete person can I take that bold step into my future.
I came home feeling battered and drained but with a slightly altered view of my future.....
When I was all settled onto the table the therapist asked if there was anything she should be aware of. I know she meant things like aches and pains, but I told her “I’m still struggling with unresolved grief since the death of my son more than a year ago.”
She pulled a stool to the head of the table and sat down. “We can work on this if you’re ready.”
“Of course I’m ready. I’m so tired of constantly feeling like I’m drowning.”
How can I not be ready to get through this?
As she found the most painful areas on my back with her strong hands the therapist gave me a phrase to repeat. She asked me to say it aloud a few times before I started repeating it silently in my mind.
“With confidence and grace I step boldly into my future for I am a woman of strength. I release the need to hold on to pain and grief for I trust God’s universal perfection. All is well in my world.”
The first few times, the words felt hollow as they fell from my lips. Tears began to seep from my closed eyes as I forced myself to repeat the phrase because I do not feel confident and I do not feel strong.
After three repetitions I took a deep breath and said it like I meant it, bringing a moment of clarity that took my breath away.
I have not yet stepped into my future. I have simply allowed the tide of time to carry me along as I cling to the past. I have been half-heartedly trying to move forward without actually taking that step into my future.
I don’t think I can take that step until I integrate my two selves, the grieving me and the work-a-day me. I have believed that we could live side by side but now I know that only one of us can step into MY future. In order to make that step we need to become one.
Only as one, complete person can I take that bold step into my future.
I came home feeling battered and drained but with a slightly altered view of my future.....
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
August 20, 2004
I’m 51 today and feeling better than ever. That little screamer still resides within me, but it’s getting easier to smile and feel honestly happy and content.
For my birthday I received an armload of flowers from my family! The house is full of the fragrances of roses and carnations. They also gave me a gift certificate for a massage at Bewell’s, with a stern command to schedule an appointment soon. I can really use that about now so I'll call tomorrow.
One more treat was lunch out with my girls to IHOP. This time they weren’t crowded and we spent about an hour and a half hanging out over our beaskfast-for-lunch.
What a blessing it is that I not only love my kids but I also like spending time with them!
Looking forward to that massage.....
For my birthday I received an armload of flowers from my family! The house is full of the fragrances of roses and carnations. They also gave me a gift certificate for a massage at Bewell’s, with a stern command to schedule an appointment soon. I can really use that about now so I'll call tomorrow.
One more treat was lunch out with my girls to IHOP. This time they weren’t crowded and we spent about an hour and a half hanging out over our beaskfast-for-lunch.
What a blessing it is that I not only love my kids but I also like spending time with them!
Looking forward to that massage.....
Friday, October 8, 2010
August 19, 2004
A few days ago I noticed that there are only a few blank pages left in my journal. It's time to start a new one.
But this idea is somewhat troubling. This book has seen me through so much ~ my first airplane flight, a wonderful vacation to the Caribbean with Dave, Janiece, and Robyn, and then the terror and grief of losing Steve. I have poured so much of myself into these pages, it feels like I am losing another friend.
But today Kaiser was hosting a book fair and I found the perfect journal to stand in for my exhausted friend.
This impending change makes me wonder ~ where do I want to be as I fill in the last pages of this next journal? Fit, trim and uber organized! OK, that’s quite a stretch but I can dream!
I can certainly hope that our patios and garden areas are finished. That the front bathroom is finished and that the new kitchen floor and counters have been installed.
I can’t really ask for more than I already have but I can surely ask to be more than I am....especially spiritually. I know I need to energize my prayer and study life.
Physically I want to weigh 135 pounds and get my blood pressure within normal limits, without medication. I want to be able to run during part of my 3.5 mile daily walk, and be able to breathe deeply and comfortably when I exercise or, dare I say....climb at Solid Rock Gym? Sure! Why not??
I want to be more active in my friendships. I am so tired of all the losing of the last few years. So many of my close friends have moved to other states. But I need to stay focused on what is still here around me. I want to plan some outings, morning dates, or maybe even exercise together.
In my family, I want to see us remain close in these tumultuous times. To hold my dear grandchildren and read to them from their parents’ favorite story books. I want to help Robyn through her first year of high school.
There’s so much more on my boy-do-I-need-changing list but I am truly looking forward to the future!
From 2010 ~
Well, as usual, I bit off more than I could chew in my hopes and dreams! But some things have been accomplished....
The patios are finished, but the gardens still need work.
The front bath room has been finished for a long time now, a remarkable improvement over the 1970s décor that was in there!
In the kitchen, the floors and counters have been replaced, but there is still much to do before the room is complete.
My health goals are slowly being met. I’m surely not 135, and wonder if I ever will be. But I’m not 185 anymore either! I am smack dab in the middle. I can walk five miles fairly comfortably and breathe deeply.....aaaaah!
In the realm of family and friends, the year 2006 was a rough one for us. Those entries will come and will likely be painful to write. But it was what it was and we are good now....better than before, with deeper connections and stronger hearts. I am grateful for my family every day and am blessed to say....I not only love my children but I also like them and spending time with them enriches my life!
My friendships, however, have not fared as well. There are still a few people that I can call on for anything and who can call me. But when it comes to that face to face time, we are sorely lacking. I know God still has lessons for me to learn. I am a willing, if sometimes dense student and look forward to finally grasping the lesson and moving forward.
I am thankful for the friends that have stood by my side and not let me completely hide myself away in my pain!
Peace be with you....
Deb
But this idea is somewhat troubling. This book has seen me through so much ~ my first airplane flight, a wonderful vacation to the Caribbean with Dave, Janiece, and Robyn, and then the terror and grief of losing Steve. I have poured so much of myself into these pages, it feels like I am losing another friend.
But today Kaiser was hosting a book fair and I found the perfect journal to stand in for my exhausted friend.
This impending change makes me wonder ~ where do I want to be as I fill in the last pages of this next journal? Fit, trim and uber organized! OK, that’s quite a stretch but I can dream!
I can certainly hope that our patios and garden areas are finished. That the front bathroom is finished and that the new kitchen floor and counters have been installed.
I can’t really ask for more than I already have but I can surely ask to be more than I am....especially spiritually. I know I need to energize my prayer and study life.
Physically I want to weigh 135 pounds and get my blood pressure within normal limits, without medication. I want to be able to run during part of my 3.5 mile daily walk, and be able to breathe deeply and comfortably when I exercise or, dare I say....climb at Solid Rock Gym? Sure! Why not??
I want to be more active in my friendships. I am so tired of all the losing of the last few years. So many of my close friends have moved to other states. But I need to stay focused on what is still here around me. I want to plan some outings, morning dates, or maybe even exercise together.
In my family, I want to see us remain close in these tumultuous times. To hold my dear grandchildren and read to them from their parents’ favorite story books. I want to help Robyn through her first year of high school.
There’s so much more on my boy-do-I-need-changing list but I am truly looking forward to the future!
From 2010 ~
Well, as usual, I bit off more than I could chew in my hopes and dreams! But some things have been accomplished....
The patios are finished, but the gardens still need work.
The front bath room has been finished for a long time now, a remarkable improvement over the 1970s décor that was in there!
In the kitchen, the floors and counters have been replaced, but there is still much to do before the room is complete.
My health goals are slowly being met. I’m surely not 135, and wonder if I ever will be. But I’m not 185 anymore either! I am smack dab in the middle. I can walk five miles fairly comfortably and breathe deeply.....aaaaah!
In the realm of family and friends, the year 2006 was a rough one for us. Those entries will come and will likely be painful to write. But it was what it was and we are good now....better than before, with deeper connections and stronger hearts. I am grateful for my family every day and am blessed to say....I not only love my children but I also like them and spending time with them enriches my life!
My friendships, however, have not fared as well. There are still a few people that I can call on for anything and who can call me. But when it comes to that face to face time, we are sorely lacking. I know God still has lessons for me to learn. I am a willing, if sometimes dense student and look forward to finally grasping the lesson and moving forward.
I am thankful for the friends that have stood by my side and not let me completely hide myself away in my pain!
Peace be with you....
Deb
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
August 13, 2004
Woke up to an amazing thunder storm at 5:30 this morning.WOW! They are so rare here in San Diego so I always appreciate it when we get a good one like this!
I’ve been particularly weepy lately. But not the sitting-in-the-bottom-of-a-dark-hole type of depression I’ve had in the past. Just weepy and sensitive. After giving it some thought I realize that this is the real me again. I’d been on mood altering meds for three years or so before quitting. I would like to maintain that calm, easy-going part of me that the medication revealed and I’m not looking forward to being the easy crier that I have always been. But I want even more to really feel my life.
I am now feeling grief again like it’s new. Looking back I’m glad I was on the meds already when Steve died or I know I would have had a much harder time. This way the edge is taken off but....OH! I can’t quite describe this! My grief is now fresh but familiar. Maybe it was always familiar because I felt it coming at me from long ago.
Maybe I should listen to Elaine and go to the grief group. I don’t want to be with others who have such a different experience though. I would want to go to a group specifically for parents that have lost a child after a prolonged illness. I know....grief is grief. Maybe these are just excuses and what I really want is to wallow in my own grief for awhile longer.
I’ve been particularly weepy lately. But not the sitting-in-the-bottom-of-a-dark-hole type of depression I’ve had in the past. Just weepy and sensitive. After giving it some thought I realize that this is the real me again. I’d been on mood altering meds for three years or so before quitting. I would like to maintain that calm, easy-going part of me that the medication revealed and I’m not looking forward to being the easy crier that I have always been. But I want even more to really feel my life.
I am now feeling grief again like it’s new. Looking back I’m glad I was on the meds already when Steve died or I know I would have had a much harder time. This way the edge is taken off but....OH! I can’t quite describe this! My grief is now fresh but familiar. Maybe it was always familiar because I felt it coming at me from long ago.
Maybe I should listen to Elaine and go to the grief group. I don’t want to be with others who have such a different experience though. I would want to go to a group specifically for parents that have lost a child after a prolonged illness. I know....grief is grief. Maybe these are just excuses and what I really want is to wallow in my own grief for awhile longer.
Friday, September 24, 2010
August 12, 2004
I read something in a book yesterday that landed on my heart with a thud. It was about not being able to help the dying, sometimes not being able to find a cure.
This revealed a seed in me, a grain of truth maybe. I’m still grieving not only the loss ~ the lack of presence ~ of my son, but I’m also grieving the fact that there was nothing I could do.
I see reports of moms who would NEVER give up. They fought their child’s illness and in many cases (these are news and magazine articles after all) her child overcomes. I did not. I accepted this fate for my son. Sure we tried to keep him healthy. We lived with this for so many years, but I knew I would see his end. For 28 years I knew, avoided thinking about, but knew this would happen ~ “No cure could be given”. I accepted the inevitable. And as he lay dying I accepted that this was another step down an unalterable path.
Every available detour had been taken. When he was three and a half years old he was started on insulin. When his blood sugar would dip too low we fought to raise it. He spent three years on dialysis. These were just some the detours that lengthened his journey with us, but in the end his path had to be rejoined. There were no more detours available and he died and there was nothing I could do. “No cure could be given.” We had to say good-bye…our paths diverged.
So my grief is not only that he is gone, but that I accepted it.
In my mind I KNOW this was (is) right but my heart looks back for ways I could have changed this outcome, and this adds to my grief. I have to accept that I accepted. To know that I comforted him much (not every time he needed, and that needs to be accepted, too).
God, I miss him so much. Please let that alone be my grief.
This revealed a seed in me, a grain of truth maybe. I’m still grieving not only the loss ~ the lack of presence ~ of my son, but I’m also grieving the fact that there was nothing I could do.
I see reports of moms who would NEVER give up. They fought their child’s illness and in many cases (these are news and magazine articles after all) her child overcomes. I did not. I accepted this fate for my son. Sure we tried to keep him healthy. We lived with this for so many years, but I knew I would see his end. For 28 years I knew, avoided thinking about, but knew this would happen ~ “No cure could be given”. I accepted the inevitable. And as he lay dying I accepted that this was another step down an unalterable path.
Every available detour had been taken. When he was three and a half years old he was started on insulin. When his blood sugar would dip too low we fought to raise it. He spent three years on dialysis. These were just some the detours that lengthened his journey with us, but in the end his path had to be rejoined. There were no more detours available and he died and there was nothing I could do. “No cure could be given.” We had to say good-bye…our paths diverged.
So my grief is not only that he is gone, but that I accepted it.
In my mind I KNOW this was (is) right but my heart looks back for ways I could have changed this outcome, and this adds to my grief. I have to accept that I accepted. To know that I comforted him much (not every time he needed, and that needs to be accepted, too).
God, I miss him so much. Please let that alone be my grief.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
August 5 2004
The house is so quiet tonight. Usually Jae and Rob come and go during the evening as I sit and read before I go to bed each night. Tonight they are at a Padres game with Amy and some friends. I cherish my quiet evenings!
This week the weather has been teasing us with autumn in the evenings. Just that faint hint of cooler days to come. I know it won’t last and that we will soon be wishing we had a/c in the house . But for now I enjoy a sense of calm while I watch my kitchen curtain breathe in and out as the day ebbs away. I love to stand at my sink and feel the breeze slowly pulsing through the open window, shushing the cares of the day.
I took Dave’s Aunt AdaD to the plastic surgeon today. There is a large bump on her left hand that she just wants gone! Today was a consultation in Point Loma so we left early this morning and spent an hour on the freeway. She so loves to get out that even sitting in traffic is a treat for her. Her smile never faded as we inched our way to her appointment. I keep saying this but, I know I need to get her out more, even if it’s just for a trip through the drive-up window at In & Out. Sometimes it seems like just another thing I have to do that can be put off. Then when I DO come for a visit (at least twice a week) she gets cranky with me that I don’t come over more often! I can’t win....
Janene and Summer came for a visit today. We set Kirstie, Kyle, and Summer at the picnic table under the climbing tree and gave them paint and paper to occupy themselves while we sat in the living room to talk. Soon their laughter drew us outside where we found the girls covered in paint, paint splattered on the windows, table, tree, in their hair..... It may take days and several baths to remove the evidence of the fun they had!
It was so good to see my dear friend! It felt like old times when she would just head down the street back to her home after a visit. I have so missed my friends that moved away last year. Janene, Peggy, Charles and Morgan, and Keri. My social life is riddled with holes where some of my closest friends used to be. Sure we have telephone calls but frankly most of us are too busy to sit for an hour to catch up.
Sometimes the thought crosses my mind that it’s time for us to move on. San Marcos is getting so crowded and the Palomar Airport traffic has gotten much worse with more and larger aircraft flying almost directly over our house....and the low flying helicopters! Some days it seems so noisy all day long.
But where would we go? This has been our home for a quarter of a century. The only home our living children can remember. Two of our daughters were born in this house. One daughter held her wedding in the yard. These doors have welcomed hundreds of people to parties, laughter resounding throughout the rooms.The tree in the backyard has been climbed by every one of our children, our grandchildren and scores of visiting kids. We couldn't take that with us. It would be like leaving a member of the family behinmd.
And one son died here, his memorial taken place in the same air that has held so much joy. How could we leave this house that has become a part of our family, our history....our home? So we will stay...as the city continues to grow up around us covering us with its sounds and lights.
This week the weather has been teasing us with autumn in the evenings. Just that faint hint of cooler days to come. I know it won’t last and that we will soon be wishing we had a/c in the house . But for now I enjoy a sense of calm while I watch my kitchen curtain breathe in and out as the day ebbs away. I love to stand at my sink and feel the breeze slowly pulsing through the open window, shushing the cares of the day.
I took Dave’s Aunt AdaD to the plastic surgeon today. There is a large bump on her left hand that she just wants gone! Today was a consultation in Point Loma so we left early this morning and spent an hour on the freeway. She so loves to get out that even sitting in traffic is a treat for her. Her smile never faded as we inched our way to her appointment. I keep saying this but, I know I need to get her out more, even if it’s just for a trip through the drive-up window at In & Out. Sometimes it seems like just another thing I have to do that can be put off. Then when I DO come for a visit (at least twice a week) she gets cranky with me that I don’t come over more often! I can’t win....
Janene and Summer came for a visit today. We set Kirstie, Kyle, and Summer at the picnic table under the climbing tree and gave them paint and paper to occupy themselves while we sat in the living room to talk. Soon their laughter drew us outside where we found the girls covered in paint, paint splattered on the windows, table, tree, in their hair..... It may take days and several baths to remove the evidence of the fun they had!
It was so good to see my dear friend! It felt like old times when she would just head down the street back to her home after a visit. I have so missed my friends that moved away last year. Janene, Peggy, Charles and Morgan, and Keri. My social life is riddled with holes where some of my closest friends used to be. Sure we have telephone calls but frankly most of us are too busy to sit for an hour to catch up.
Sometimes the thought crosses my mind that it’s time for us to move on. San Marcos is getting so crowded and the Palomar Airport traffic has gotten much worse with more and larger aircraft flying almost directly over our house....and the low flying helicopters! Some days it seems so noisy all day long.
But where would we go? This has been our home for a quarter of a century. The only home our living children can remember. Two of our daughters were born in this house. One daughter held her wedding in the yard. These doors have welcomed hundreds of people to parties, laughter resounding throughout the rooms.The tree in the backyard has been climbed by every one of our children, our grandchildren and scores of visiting kids. We couldn't take that with us. It would be like leaving a member of the family behinmd.
And one son died here, his memorial taken place in the same air that has held so much joy. How could we leave this house that has become a part of our family, our history....our home? So we will stay...as the city continues to grow up around us covering us with its sounds and lights.
Friday, September 17, 2010
August 4, 2004
After more than three years of taking an antidepressant I’m ready to quit. My doctor originally prescribed them for me because of the panic attacks I was having every few weeks that were brought on by the hormonal changes of perimenopause. I continued after Steve died to help me keep from sinking into the abyss of maternal depression. Now I’m tired of depending on a drug to keep my mood level. Besides, my sadness isn’t as bad as it used to be and anyone in my situation would be at least a little sad, wouldn’t they?
I talked to Dr P about it. He mapped out a short weaning process for me ~ told me to take my usual dose every other day for two seeks and then quit completely.
I’m actually excited about quitting. I want to feel my life again. I’m also hoping that this will alleviate the memory problems I’ve been having. Although Amy brought up a good point....it might not be the meds at all. The two really big things I’ve forgotten recently have been related to someone’s medical issues. I might just be trying to block these types of things out of my mind because they remind me of Steve's troubles.
The other things I forget are the kinds of things I have always forgotten...the “where-did-I-put-my-keys” kind of forgetfulness.
If it doesn’t improve after I quit the meds, I’ll talk to Dr P about it. For now though, I’m looking forward to a new adventure.....
I talked to Dr P about it. He mapped out a short weaning process for me ~ told me to take my usual dose every other day for two seeks and then quit completely.
I’m actually excited about quitting. I want to feel my life again. I’m also hoping that this will alleviate the memory problems I’ve been having. Although Amy brought up a good point....it might not be the meds at all. The two really big things I’ve forgotten recently have been related to someone’s medical issues. I might just be trying to block these types of things out of my mind because they remind me of Steve's troubles.
The other things I forget are the kinds of things I have always forgotten...the “where-did-I-put-my-keys” kind of forgetfulness.
If it doesn’t improve after I quit the meds, I’ll talk to Dr P about it. For now though, I’m looking forward to a new adventure.....
Friday, September 10, 2010
From 2010
Feeling broken hearted today. I got a call at ten this morning from my aunt in Oroville. We don’t talk very often so as soon as I heard her voice I knew what prompted her call. Her sister, my sweet Aunt Bertie, died last night. I suppose I knew it was coming...she has had an aggressive cancer for many months, but the last I heard she had “good days and bad”. In my hopeful human mind I saw this as a good sign ~ that she was getting better overall and would enjoy her family, and be enjoyed by them, for a few more years.
My mom and her four sisters and three brothers grew up in the 1930s and 1940s to be a tight knit family, stitching themselves together after each one grew up and left home, with pot luck dinners at every holiday and many birthdays, picnics during the summer and an occasional excursion to the beach.
Sometimes Uncle Dwain (Mom’s oldest brother/sibling) would bring his guitar, a microphone and a speaker to a family gathering. They would set up in the living room they had all grown up in, and the brothers and sisters would start to sing. The music was a lively “Country and Western” variety and once her vocal cords were warmed up Aunt Bertie would start to yodel. She had an amazing voice that never cracked on those high notes. As a five year old, I think the only time I sat still for more than a few minutes at Grandma and Grandpa’s was when Aunt Bertie mesmerized me with her vocal acrobatics.
Aunt Bertie had a gentle and generous spirit, giving to those in need, sharing her home with family and friends, and always taking the time to talk if you give her a call. She had a laugh that still brings a smile to my face as I sit here thinking about it. Not a little girlie laugh, but a robust laugh that was honest and full of sincerity. Her heart was warm and in her presence you knew you were loved. She has always been a special treasure in our family and she will be sorely missed. But what we learned from her will continue as we pass it down to our own children...and to our nieces and nephews.
Thanks, Aunt Bertie, for enriching my life!
My mom and her four sisters and three brothers grew up in the 1930s and 1940s to be a tight knit family, stitching themselves together after each one grew up and left home, with pot luck dinners at every holiday and many birthdays, picnics during the summer and an occasional excursion to the beach.
Sometimes Uncle Dwain (Mom’s oldest brother/sibling) would bring his guitar, a microphone and a speaker to a family gathering. They would set up in the living room they had all grown up in, and the brothers and sisters would start to sing. The music was a lively “Country and Western” variety and once her vocal cords were warmed up Aunt Bertie would start to yodel. She had an amazing voice that never cracked on those high notes. As a five year old, I think the only time I sat still for more than a few minutes at Grandma and Grandpa’s was when Aunt Bertie mesmerized me with her vocal acrobatics.
Aunt Bertie had a gentle and generous spirit, giving to those in need, sharing her home with family and friends, and always taking the time to talk if you give her a call. She had a laugh that still brings a smile to my face as I sit here thinking about it. Not a little girlie laugh, but a robust laugh that was honest and full of sincerity. Her heart was warm and in her presence you knew you were loved. She has always been a special treasure in our family and she will be sorely missed. But what we learned from her will continue as we pass it down to our own children...and to our nieces and nephews.
Thanks, Aunt Bertie, for enriching my life!
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
August 3, 2004
Yesterday morning Marisa, Amy and Josh came over for one last visit before Nett and Chris had to go back home. Janiece and Robyn joined the women in the living room while Josh, Chris, and Nic spent their time in the back yard adding on to the “Clubhouse” in climbing the tree. The sounds of hammers pounding, nails dropping, and exclamations of "Not there!" and "Be careful!" filtered in from outside as my girls and I enjoyed each other's company.
Our conversation bounced from recent events, to what a good visit we’ve had, to Marisa’s pregnancy and our growing family, to Nett telling us she wants, eventually, to move back to San Diego. In Tennessee their life revolves around work with a long commute each way and Chris in day care all day. On weekends she has to get all of her errands and home upkeep done. There isn’t much time left to spend with the family she has there. She also wants Chris to really know his dad’s side of the family, not just through birthday cards and phone calls.
I was so excited I was giddy inside. But I tried not to let it overflow. Nett has to do this in her own way, her own time, and within her own comfort zone. I already feel as though I’m pushing too hard for the move because I’ve told her more than once that she and Chris are welcome to live here with us “if” they ever do they move back.
Nicholas went with me when I took Nett and Chris to the airport this morning. A few minutes after we dropped them in front of their terminal she called to tell me they might miss their flight. I parked the van on Harbor Drive near the Maritime Museums and Nic and I walked along the water’s edge checking out the 1863 Star of India (the oldest active ship in the world) and the Berkely, until we got a call from Nett that they were boarding their plane.
Nett and Chris should be back home by now. I took Nic back home to Oceanside today.
The house is so quiet tonight.
Our conversation bounced from recent events, to what a good visit we’ve had, to Marisa’s pregnancy and our growing family, to Nett telling us she wants, eventually, to move back to San Diego. In Tennessee their life revolves around work with a long commute each way and Chris in day care all day. On weekends she has to get all of her errands and home upkeep done. There isn’t much time left to spend with the family she has there. She also wants Chris to really know his dad’s side of the family, not just through birthday cards and phone calls.
I was so excited I was giddy inside. But I tried not to let it overflow. Nett has to do this in her own way, her own time, and within her own comfort zone. I already feel as though I’m pushing too hard for the move because I’ve told her more than once that she and Chris are welcome to live here with us “if” they ever do they move back.
Nicholas went with me when I took Nett and Chris to the airport this morning. A few minutes after we dropped them in front of their terminal she called to tell me they might miss their flight. I parked the van on Harbor Drive near the Maritime Museums and Nic and I walked along the water’s edge checking out the 1863 Star of India (the oldest active ship in the world) and the Berkely, until we got a call from Nett that they were boarding their plane.
Nett and Chris should be back home by now. I took Nic back home to Oceanside today.
The house is so quiet tonight.
Friday, September 3, 2010
July 25, 2004 ~ Another day set aside to honor Steve
We went out to Steve’s spot today. For Nett it was very emotional, but I felt at peace. Every once in a while our group would stop talking and the quiet out there was so...I just can’t describe it. Deafening. Peaceful. Heavy. Good.
This past year I have felt so apart from Steve....wanting a place to go to have his remains near me. Silly, I know. He’s gone. But I just felt the need to have a part of him, or what remains of him(?), nearby. I brought a Mason jar with me out to the desert today and Nick leaned down the hill to scoop up a mixture of sand and Steve’s ashes for me to bring home. He and the desert sand intermingled in a jar sit on the China cabinet now. It just feels right.
The Mason jar is a very fitting place to hold these ashes. No fancy urn for Steve. When he was a teenager, Steve’s preferred drinking glass was a quart size Mason jar. He always knew which glass on the kitchen counter was his, they are sturdy, and voluminous. He drank about a gallon of water a day at this point in his life ~ oh, that he had continued that habit!
It may seem a bit macabre but I found it amusing...There are still bone fragments on that barren hilltop and down the slope where we scattered Steve’s ashes. We didn’t point them out when we noticed but Nic and Chris found them and started picking up little pieces, putting them into their empty Tic-Tac containers. Chris held his up to me and said, “Daddy! Look Grandma. I have some of Daddy here!” Neither Nett nor I saw any reason to discourage it. So the boys carried little bits of their dad home with them.
We didn’t stay outside very long. It was 117 and the air was still thick with humidity from last night’s heavy rain. We headed back to the trailer and into the AC where we hung out with the family a little while before heading home.
I’m glad we were able to go today. It feels good to be in a place Steve loved so much and had so much fun in. Out in the desert is where he felt the most alive. If Steve could design his own piece of heaven, it would be sand, brush, and hills and valleys of varying sizes as far as the eye can see. And, of course, there would be quads for everyone to ride!
This past year I have felt so apart from Steve....wanting a place to go to have his remains near me. Silly, I know. He’s gone. But I just felt the need to have a part of him, or what remains of him(?), nearby. I brought a Mason jar with me out to the desert today and Nick leaned down the hill to scoop up a mixture of sand and Steve’s ashes for me to bring home. He and the desert sand intermingled in a jar sit on the China cabinet now. It just feels right.
The Mason jar is a very fitting place to hold these ashes. No fancy urn for Steve. When he was a teenager, Steve’s preferred drinking glass was a quart size Mason jar. He always knew which glass on the kitchen counter was his, they are sturdy, and voluminous. He drank about a gallon of water a day at this point in his life ~ oh, that he had continued that habit!
It may seem a bit macabre but I found it amusing...There are still bone fragments on that barren hilltop and down the slope where we scattered Steve’s ashes. We didn’t point them out when we noticed but Nic and Chris found them and started picking up little pieces, putting them into their empty Tic-Tac containers. Chris held his up to me and said, “Daddy! Look Grandma. I have some of Daddy here!” Neither Nett nor I saw any reason to discourage it. So the boys carried little bits of their dad home with them.
We didn’t stay outside very long. It was 117 and the air was still thick with humidity from last night’s heavy rain. We headed back to the trailer and into the AC where we hung out with the family a little while before heading home.
I’m glad we were able to go today. It feels good to be in a place Steve loved so much and had so much fun in. Out in the desert is where he felt the most alive. If Steve could design his own piece of heaven, it would be sand, brush, and hills and valleys of varying sizes as far as the eye can see. And, of course, there would be quads for everyone to ride!
Friday, August 27, 2010
July 24, 2004
The party wasn’t set to start till 2:00 but Dan from American Bounce Company came to set up the Spiderman bounce house around 9:00 this morning. Nic and Chris thoroughly tested the bounce house while we finished getting everything set up in the house and yard. We knew it would be crowded, we were expecting about 70 people, and we wanted to make sure we had enough room inside and out so everyone would be comfortable.
Folks started showing up a little before 2:00. Even though we were all well aware of the occasion, everyone was in a merry mood. The bounce house seemed to help set the tone for the day. As soon as anyone would arrive, walking up the driveway they were greeted by squeals of laughter from the children as they careened through the air within the netted walls. As the day continued the young ones would occasionally get evicted from the enclosure so the grownups could have a turn, leaving no doubt that some of us are still kids at heart.
After most everyone had arrived and the pot luck lunch was all set up on the fully extended dining room table we all gathered in the back yard for a little memory ceremony. Nic and Chris each wrote a message to their dad telling him a little about how they were doing and how much they miss him. We attached the notes to the ribbons of two purple helium balloons. After Pastor Mark said a prayer to give thanks for the day, for the food, and for Steve’s life, the boys let the balloons go. Each balloon floated slowly up over our heads then drifted east where they got hung up for several moments in the tall eucalyptus tree that towers over the garage, Steve telling us he’s still here in each of us. As more than 60 of us stood watching the balloons, holding our collective breath, the breeze nudged them loose and sent them drifting in a northerly direction where they disappeared behind the hill.
When the balloons were out of our sight (but still drifting somewhere), the knot of friends and family untangled and drifted to the heavy laden dining room table to enjoy one of Steve’s favorite activities. We ate! We thought of making a plate for Steve but that just didn’t seem right. We had no doubt that he would not be there to eat and he was never one to waste food.
We talked and visited late into the evening. Several people wrote in the “Memories of Steve” book I had set out. They wrote some special, personal memories of Steve, some made me cry and some made me laugh.
I’m so glad we decided to do this party. It gave me something to look forward to and something to keep my mind occupied as this first anniversary of Steve’s death approached. It really was a day set aside to celebrate Steve’s life in a very meaningful way. This is what we do, what we’ve always done, share with friends and family.
I’m also glad I set out the “Memories of Steve” book. Now I have some new treasures there to mine at my leisure.
Folks started showing up a little before 2:00. Even though we were all well aware of the occasion, everyone was in a merry mood. The bounce house seemed to help set the tone for the day. As soon as anyone would arrive, walking up the driveway they were greeted by squeals of laughter from the children as they careened through the air within the netted walls. As the day continued the young ones would occasionally get evicted from the enclosure so the grownups could have a turn, leaving no doubt that some of us are still kids at heart.
After most everyone had arrived and the pot luck lunch was all set up on the fully extended dining room table we all gathered in the back yard for a little memory ceremony. Nic and Chris each wrote a message to their dad telling him a little about how they were doing and how much they miss him. We attached the notes to the ribbons of two purple helium balloons. After Pastor Mark said a prayer to give thanks for the day, for the food, and for Steve’s life, the boys let the balloons go. Each balloon floated slowly up over our heads then drifted east where they got hung up for several moments in the tall eucalyptus tree that towers over the garage, Steve telling us he’s still here in each of us. As more than 60 of us stood watching the balloons, holding our collective breath, the breeze nudged them loose and sent them drifting in a northerly direction where they disappeared behind the hill.
When the balloons were out of our sight (but still drifting somewhere), the knot of friends and family untangled and drifted to the heavy laden dining room table to enjoy one of Steve’s favorite activities. We ate! We thought of making a plate for Steve but that just didn’t seem right. We had no doubt that he would not be there to eat and he was never one to waste food.
We talked and visited late into the evening. Several people wrote in the “Memories of Steve” book I had set out. They wrote some special, personal memories of Steve, some made me cry and some made me laugh.
I’m so glad we decided to do this party. It gave me something to look forward to and something to keep my mind occupied as this first anniversary of Steve’s death approached. It really was a day set aside to celebrate Steve’s life in a very meaningful way. This is what we do, what we’ve always done, share with friends and family.
I’m also glad I set out the “Memories of Steve” book. Now I have some new treasures there to mine at my leisure.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
July 23, 2004
Today marked the first anniversary of Steve’s passing. My body must have thought it was yesterday, this being leap year making that 365 days, I did feel down. But this morning I woke up feeling pretty good. My first thought of the day was, of course, the date and its significance. My second thought was “Nett and Chris will be here soon!” They were flying in from Tennessee this morning and Nick was picking them up at Lindberg Field at noon.
I hadn’t seen Nett and Chris since Thanksgiving. It felt so good to scoop Chris up in my arms and squeeze the waddin’ out of him!
Even though Nett and I talk on the phone a few times a week it was good to sit on the sofa with her, Amy, Marisa, Janiece and Robyn and catch up. Chris was disappointed that Kirstie and Kyle are visiting their dad and can’t be here for his visit but once he got over that he headed outside to climb the tree and chase the kittens. As he played outside, Nett told us some funny, some touching, four-year-old Chris stories.
One day a few months ago when they were paying for their groceries, Chris started telling the cashier all about his daddy dying. The cashier wasn’t quite sure if he was telling the truth so she looked to Nett for confirmation. After Nett gave her a subtle nod the cashier leaned over the counter and told Chris, “My daddy died when I was about your age. I was sad for a long time but I’m okay now.” Chris smiled at her and just went on about something else he found interesting.
We planned a big family dinner for tonight serving Steve’s favorite birthday meal as our menu ~ enchiladas with all the trimmings. At about 4:00 we got busy in the kitchen putting the meal together. We stood side by side at the stovetop and kitchen counter and worked assembly line style building the enchiladas. I softened the corn tortillas in hot oil then dropped them one at a time into the pie plate full of enchilada sauce. Nett retrieved them from the pie plate, laid them in the big stainless steel roasting pan, and added the cheese. From there Marisa took over and added the chopped olives and green onions, and then Amy rolled them up. I can’t remember what we talked about but there wasn’t a quiet moment as we stood talking, working, and laughing. It was like any other time we get together in the kitchen.
As we cooked Janiece and Robyn pulled out the dining room table to its full length and set it for dinner. Tonight we all wanted to sit together to have our meal instead of scattered around the living room and dining room.
As we enjoyed our meal we told “Steve stories”, at least half of which took place in the desert. Some I could have lived out my days never having heard! Like near misses and crashes that could have been so much worse than they were. Or being so hungry one night "Someone" broke into a Frito-Lay truck for snacks. Arrrggghhhh! I have to admit, though...I laughed so hard I cried!
What could have been such a solemn and depressing evening was instead filled with joyful stories and laughter.
Tomorrow is the party. We’re pretty much ready though we still have a few things to do outside.
I hadn’t seen Nett and Chris since Thanksgiving. It felt so good to scoop Chris up in my arms and squeeze the waddin’ out of him!
Even though Nett and I talk on the phone a few times a week it was good to sit on the sofa with her, Amy, Marisa, Janiece and Robyn and catch up. Chris was disappointed that Kirstie and Kyle are visiting their dad and can’t be here for his visit but once he got over that he headed outside to climb the tree and chase the kittens. As he played outside, Nett told us some funny, some touching, four-year-old Chris stories.
One day a few months ago when they were paying for their groceries, Chris started telling the cashier all about his daddy dying. The cashier wasn’t quite sure if he was telling the truth so she looked to Nett for confirmation. After Nett gave her a subtle nod the cashier leaned over the counter and told Chris, “My daddy died when I was about your age. I was sad for a long time but I’m okay now.” Chris smiled at her and just went on about something else he found interesting.
We planned a big family dinner for tonight serving Steve’s favorite birthday meal as our menu ~ enchiladas with all the trimmings. At about 4:00 we got busy in the kitchen putting the meal together. We stood side by side at the stovetop and kitchen counter and worked assembly line style building the enchiladas. I softened the corn tortillas in hot oil then dropped them one at a time into the pie plate full of enchilada sauce. Nett retrieved them from the pie plate, laid them in the big stainless steel roasting pan, and added the cheese. From there Marisa took over and added the chopped olives and green onions, and then Amy rolled them up. I can’t remember what we talked about but there wasn’t a quiet moment as we stood talking, working, and laughing. It was like any other time we get together in the kitchen.
As we cooked Janiece and Robyn pulled out the dining room table to its full length and set it for dinner. Tonight we all wanted to sit together to have our meal instead of scattered around the living room and dining room.
As we enjoyed our meal we told “Steve stories”, at least half of which took place in the desert. Some I could have lived out my days never having heard! Like near misses and crashes that could have been so much worse than they were. Or being so hungry one night "Someone" broke into a Frito-Lay truck for snacks. Arrrggghhhh! I have to admit, though...I laughed so hard I cried!
What could have been such a solemn and depressing evening was instead filled with joyful stories and laughter.
Tomorrow is the party. We’re pretty much ready though we still have a few things to do outside.
Friday, July 30, 2010
July 10, 2004
Ah ~ the last day of camp! Dave and I drove up to Big Bear today to get Robyn. It was only a week without her but I missed her like crazy, even though I knew she was having the time of her life! And I was right about that! Along with everything else that makes SEP such an awesome camp experience...canoeing, daily fun Bible study, friends, "the best counselors on earth!", hiking, bikeing, and so much more....again this year she took first place in girl’s archery and tallied only two points behind the highest scoring guy. She’s very pleased with herself.
I was looking forward to seeing Robs but after parking the van in the dusty lot I was filled with mixed emotions as we neared the worship hall. The building was already alive with music when we arrived. It was the same music they were singing as we entered last year when my heart was so heavy, knowing that very soon I would break my daughters’ hearts. Everywhere I looked in that enormous room today there were joyful young people clapping and stomping with the music, shouting out praises to God. I couldn’t stand there without crying, because my heart remembered the pain it was in the last time we were in there.
But something I learned from my neighbor, Dave, a few days ago seems to be helping me through this very difficult time. He lost his son a few years ago so he has a good idea of what I’m going through. He told me when my heart or gut starts to feel that gnawing heavy pain, give God thanks. Thanks for his uncountable blessings and thanks for the time we had with Steve. Each of us was altered in some way by our relationship with him. Each of us is richer.
This lesson from a friend has been a great blessing to me and I'm feeling somewhat happier. Like he said, it’s still there, that pain, but I can be happy, too, and that is not a betrayal to Steve’s memory but rather a confirmation (?), validation (?) of his impact on my life. At least for today, I’m not quite as afraid of July 23 as it draws closer.
I thank God with tears of joy for this.
I was looking forward to seeing Robs but after parking the van in the dusty lot I was filled with mixed emotions as we neared the worship hall. The building was already alive with music when we arrived. It was the same music they were singing as we entered last year when my heart was so heavy, knowing that very soon I would break my daughters’ hearts. Everywhere I looked in that enormous room today there were joyful young people clapping and stomping with the music, shouting out praises to God. I couldn’t stand there without crying, because my heart remembered the pain it was in the last time we were in there.
But something I learned from my neighbor, Dave, a few days ago seems to be helping me through this very difficult time. He lost his son a few years ago so he has a good idea of what I’m going through. He told me when my heart or gut starts to feel that gnawing heavy pain, give God thanks. Thanks for his uncountable blessings and thanks for the time we had with Steve. Each of us was altered in some way by our relationship with him. Each of us is richer.
This lesson from a friend has been a great blessing to me and I'm feeling somewhat happier. Like he said, it’s still there, that pain, but I can be happy, too, and that is not a betrayal to Steve’s memory but rather a confirmation (?), validation (?) of his impact on my life. At least for today, I’m not quite as afraid of July 23 as it draws closer.
I thank God with tears of joy for this.
Friday, July 23, 2010
From 2010 ~ July 23
For six years now, the weeks leading up to July 23 are always hard. Oh...I know that the Good Lord has renewed my joy. That’s not the issue. This physical being I am (what I sometimes call ~ borrowed from Oingo-Boingo~ “walking with a dead man over my shoulder”) weighs me down with the physical memory of those weeks in 2003. My mind and my body drag, my tears come easily. But on July 23 or 24, I usually wake up alone, that is, without that dead man hanging on me.
This morning I awoke at 5:40 with a smile. Nick got here at 6:00 to pick me up for a trip out to Steve’s favorite place on earth. I took a pillow with me knowing that I would fall asleep on the two hour drive out to Ocotillo Wells, but I didn’t! My son and I talked all the way. That guy is never boring!
After a quick pit-stop at the Ranger Station we took the truck out onto the hard packed roads and right on up the sandy hill behind Devil’s Slide.
It was different out there this time. The sky wasn’t as clear as usual ~ obscuring the more distant mountains; we encountered several intrepid off-roaders, when we are usually the only people to be seen away from the ranger station; and the temperature was...well...temperate. It couldn’t have been more than ninety-five and was just a bit muggy. We’re used to it being 114 or more on our annual visits, and often dry as dust.
Even the quiet was changed somehow. With just the two of us there I could hear birds in the distance, insects buzzing, and a lizard scurry across the sand.
Nick left me alone on the hill top when he ran to get a bottle of water. I was alone with my thoughts and realized...I need to quiet those thoughts (something I am not good at AT ALL!) I felt like I was wasting a golden opportunity. I needed to listen. Hear what God wants me to hear!
As I quieted my racing thoughts, for the tiniest fraction of a second I felt Steve standing beside me. In that moment his presence was soft and comforting. As the feeling of Steve faded, the love of God wrapped me completely in a cloud of peace and...and...oh! How to define a realm that has no physical parameters!?
After a few more minutes sitting on that rock, feeling the sun soak into my skin, I knew it was time to leave. I walked down the sandy slope, checking each footstep before taking another, and the cloud of comfort came with me. I am not alone, and never will be.
This morning I awoke at 5:40 with a smile. Nick got here at 6:00 to pick me up for a trip out to Steve’s favorite place on earth. I took a pillow with me knowing that I would fall asleep on the two hour drive out to Ocotillo Wells, but I didn’t! My son and I talked all the way. That guy is never boring!
After a quick pit-stop at the Ranger Station we took the truck out onto the hard packed roads and right on up the sandy hill behind Devil’s Slide.
It was different out there this time. The sky wasn’t as clear as usual ~ obscuring the more distant mountains; we encountered several intrepid off-roaders, when we are usually the only people to be seen away from the ranger station; and the temperature was...well...temperate. It couldn’t have been more than ninety-five and was just a bit muggy. We’re used to it being 114 or more on our annual visits, and often dry as dust.
Even the quiet was changed somehow. With just the two of us there I could hear birds in the distance, insects buzzing, and a lizard scurry across the sand.
Nick left me alone on the hill top when he ran to get a bottle of water. I was alone with my thoughts and realized...I need to quiet those thoughts (something I am not good at AT ALL!) I felt like I was wasting a golden opportunity. I needed to listen. Hear what God wants me to hear!
As I quieted my racing thoughts, for the tiniest fraction of a second I felt Steve standing beside me. In that moment his presence was soft and comforting. As the feeling of Steve faded, the love of God wrapped me completely in a cloud of peace and...and...oh! How to define a realm that has no physical parameters!?
After a few more minutes sitting on that rock, feeling the sun soak into my skin, I knew it was time to leave. I walked down the sandy slope, checking each footstep before taking another, and the cloud of comfort came with me. I am not alone, and never will be.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
July 9, 2004
Dave and I have decided to rent a bounce house for the party. There will be more than a dozen kids here looking for something fun to do. At so many parties we end up with unintentional damage from rowdy kids. This time they can spend all that energy literally bouncing off walls!
I started calling around today, hoping one will be available on short notice. The first three numbers just had an answering machine pick up and I didn’t feel like leaving a message. The forth call was to American Bounce Co and I got a real human being on the line! Dan said that, yes, they have several bouncers available for July 24th.
"Do you happen to have any, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?" (Steve’s favorite) Sadly, they didn’t.
“Is this for a birthday party?” Dan asked me.
I paused a moment before quipping, “No. More like a death day party."
After three seconds of stunned silence on the other end I went on to explain the reason for our celebration. He came back with, “Well, that’s a first for us! You know we do have a Spiderman available for that date. They’re pretty popular now.”
“Well, how ‘bout that! That was another of my son’s favorites! Too bad you don’t have Mulder and Scully from the X-Files! That would have been PERFECT!”
This is going to be a great party!
I started calling around today, hoping one will be available on short notice. The first three numbers just had an answering machine pick up and I didn’t feel like leaving a message. The forth call was to American Bounce Co and I got a real human being on the line! Dan said that, yes, they have several bouncers available for July 24th.
"Do you happen to have any, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?" (Steve’s favorite) Sadly, they didn’t.
“Is this for a birthday party?” Dan asked me.
I paused a moment before quipping, “No. More like a death day party."
After three seconds of stunned silence on the other end I went on to explain the reason for our celebration. He came back with, “Well, that’s a first for us! You know we do have a Spiderman available for that date. They’re pretty popular now.”
“Well, how ‘bout that! That was another of my son’s favorites! Too bad you don’t have Mulder and Scully from the X-Files! That would have been PERFECT!”
This is going to be a great party!
Friday, July 16, 2010
July 7, 2004
Tomorrow marks our 27th anniversary, and one year ago that the course of our future took a sharp turn. The day Dr Lilly crooked his finger at me telling me to follow him to a private place, where he told me that Steve wouldn’t be walking out of the hospital.
Dave, the kids and I have been talking about an appropriate way to honor Steve on the first anniversary of his passing. We tossed around a few ideas...a donation in his name to Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, have a plaque made to place somewhere here on our property, plant a tree....but we came to the conclusion that there is only one way to do this. On Friday night, the actual anniversary, we will have a family dinner and make enchiladas. Every year I would ask him what he wanted for his Birthday Dinner. He wouldn’t even hesitate before declaring “ENCHILADAS!” So we will serve them in his honor on his un-birthday.
We also decided that since Steve was all about family, friends and food a good and proper way to celebrate his life will be to have a party in his memory! On the 24th we will have a pot luck here and make it as festive as possible.
Coincidentally, planning a party will help keep our minds occupied in a more positive way.
As the day draws ever nearer, I have a growing anxiety settling in my chest.
Dave, the kids and I have been talking about an appropriate way to honor Steve on the first anniversary of his passing. We tossed around a few ideas...a donation in his name to Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, have a plaque made to place somewhere here on our property, plant a tree....but we came to the conclusion that there is only one way to do this. On Friday night, the actual anniversary, we will have a family dinner and make enchiladas. Every year I would ask him what he wanted for his Birthday Dinner. He wouldn’t even hesitate before declaring “ENCHILADAS!” So we will serve them in his honor on his un-birthday.
We also decided that since Steve was all about family, friends and food a good and proper way to celebrate his life will be to have a party in his memory! On the 24th we will have a pot luck here and make it as festive as possible.
Coincidentally, planning a party will help keep our minds occupied in a more positive way.
As the day draws ever nearer, I have a growing anxiety settling in my chest.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
July 3, 2004
As we came into July I found myself particularly more weepy. In the past few weeks I’ve had more dreams with Steve in them, but most evaporate as I wake up. All I’m left with is a disembodied afterimage tickling my mind.
Last week I has a long visit with my beautiful son as I slept. He looked so healthy and vibrant. We chatted for what felt like hours but all I can recall him saying is something like, “Heaven is not what you think it is, Mom.” Strange, considering my beliefs.
I had another dream a few nights ago while Nicholas was visiting. Earlier that day Nic and I had gone through Steve’s clothes that I have packed away in my closet. We were looking for something that Nic could have that had belonged to his dad. The clothes are all too big for him so it doesn’t make much sense to give him a shirt or jacket yet. As we were going through the third bag we came across Steve’s head covers. After the surgery to remove the infection from his scalp Steve always wore something on his head to cover the bandages. His baseball caps wouldn't fit over the bandages so he wore stocking caps or a “Do Rag” (a cross between a bandanna and a skull-cap) to help minimize the stares from strangers. Nic saw a black Do-Rag with white skulls on it and snatched it up saying, “This is what I want!” I tied it onto his head and he didn’t take it off for two days!
In my dream that night Steve and I were driving through town in my van. I knew that he had been dead for nearly a year but I wasn’t surprised to see him there. He looked over at me and said in a mock-hurt tone, “Mom, are you giving my stuff away?” I said, “Well, yeah. You were dead.” He sort of shook his head like I should have realized he would be back. I told Nick and Amy about the dream and they say he’s telling me not to get rid of his stuff yet... but they both agree that the Do Rag for Nic is OK.
In most of my dreams Steve looks so healthy and I wake up with that picture of him in my head instead of the image of him emaciated and chewed up by infirmity.
Last week I has a long visit with my beautiful son as I slept. He looked so healthy and vibrant. We chatted for what felt like hours but all I can recall him saying is something like, “Heaven is not what you think it is, Mom.” Strange, considering my beliefs.
I had another dream a few nights ago while Nicholas was visiting. Earlier that day Nic and I had gone through Steve’s clothes that I have packed away in my closet. We were looking for something that Nic could have that had belonged to his dad. The clothes are all too big for him so it doesn’t make much sense to give him a shirt or jacket yet. As we were going through the third bag we came across Steve’s head covers. After the surgery to remove the infection from his scalp Steve always wore something on his head to cover the bandages. His baseball caps wouldn't fit over the bandages so he wore stocking caps or a “Do Rag” (a cross between a bandanna and a skull-cap) to help minimize the stares from strangers. Nic saw a black Do-Rag with white skulls on it and snatched it up saying, “This is what I want!” I tied it onto his head and he didn’t take it off for two days!
In my dream that night Steve and I were driving through town in my van. I knew that he had been dead for nearly a year but I wasn’t surprised to see him there. He looked over at me and said in a mock-hurt tone, “Mom, are you giving my stuff away?” I said, “Well, yeah. You were dead.” He sort of shook his head like I should have realized he would be back. I told Nick and Amy about the dream and they say he’s telling me not to get rid of his stuff yet... but they both agree that the Do Rag for Nic is OK.
In most of my dreams Steve looks so healthy and I wake up with that picture of him in my head instead of the image of him emaciated and chewed up by infirmity.
Friday, July 9, 2010
June 19, 2004
As of this afternoon, Nick and Marisa are married!
The day started ominously, clouds and drizzle. There was much debate as to whether or not to get a frame-tent to cover the seating area in Marisa's parents' back yard. Marisa’s dad, Jose, made the final call and ordered the cover. It arrived and was set up in less than an hour, just before the clouds parted and the sun decided to shine on our festivities! It was a good choice after all, to shade those who were seated from the modest sunshine.
Just before her walk down the aisle that had been prepared by her brothers in the beautiful back yard, I stole a moment to tell her there was only one thing that would make me happier....Steve here to stand by Nick’s side.
Nick and Marisa were joined at the simple altar by their best friends, Jodey ~ Marisa’s best friend since second grade and Dameion ~ Nick’s best friend who has helped Nick in so many ways since Steve died. Dameion knew that he was holding a very special spot for Steve and I believe he was honored to hold it.
My pastor Mark was so full of joy to hold this service for our family. It is another link in the chain that helps to turn our sorrow to joy.
A few of us tried to give Steve a presence at the wedding. I wore his favorite color, purple, and kept a picture of him tucked close to my heart. In his breast pocket Nick put three special pictures; one of him and Steve taken when they were young, one of Steve at Amy and Jeremy’s wedding, and of course a picture of them at the desert.
After the ceremony I didn’t even welcome Marisa to the family; she’s already been a part of us for so long!
I know that we were all thinking of Steve today but we enjoyed a perfect day, late into the night! It was a relief to be able carry him with us and not be weighed down by his absence.
The day started ominously, clouds and drizzle. There was much debate as to whether or not to get a frame-tent to cover the seating area in Marisa's parents' back yard. Marisa’s dad, Jose, made the final call and ordered the cover. It arrived and was set up in less than an hour, just before the clouds parted and the sun decided to shine on our festivities! It was a good choice after all, to shade those who were seated from the modest sunshine.
Just before her walk down the aisle that had been prepared by her brothers in the beautiful back yard, I stole a moment to tell her there was only one thing that would make me happier....Steve here to stand by Nick’s side.
Nick and Marisa were joined at the simple altar by their best friends, Jodey ~ Marisa’s best friend since second grade and Dameion ~ Nick’s best friend who has helped Nick in so many ways since Steve died. Dameion knew that he was holding a very special spot for Steve and I believe he was honored to hold it.
My pastor Mark was so full of joy to hold this service for our family. It is another link in the chain that helps to turn our sorrow to joy.
A few of us tried to give Steve a presence at the wedding. I wore his favorite color, purple, and kept a picture of him tucked close to my heart. In his breast pocket Nick put three special pictures; one of him and Steve taken when they were young, one of Steve at Amy and Jeremy’s wedding, and of course a picture of them at the desert.
After the ceremony I didn’t even welcome Marisa to the family; she’s already been a part of us for so long!
I know that we were all thinking of Steve today but we enjoyed a perfect day, late into the night! It was a relief to be able carry him with us and not be weighed down by his absence.
Friday, June 25, 2010
March 23, 2004
From 2010 ~
I find it serendipitous that this post should have been put up last Tuesday, and now today, it will be put up...the day Marisa and Zeke come home from the hospital....
March 23, 2004
Wonderful yet bittersweet news.
After ten years together, Nick and Marisa are expecting a baby!!! I am so happy for them, for us all. Yet it is bittersweet because this will be the first of our new babies never to know Uncle Steve, never to hear his laughter. This will be the first of our babies never to hear his crooning comfort into its tiny ear.
Next to Nicholas and Christopher, Kirstie and Kyle were his favorite kids in the world. He doted on them. Sometimes only Uncle Steve would do when one was crying or had a problem. One day while amy was at work I had to get an ear ring out of four-year-old Kirstie’s infected ear lobe. The skin was swollen up around the tiny gem stone. I tried laying her on my bed and gently easing my fingernail under the ear ring but it was too painful for her and she couldn’t take it without squirming, which, of course, pulled my fingernail away from its target. Uncle Steve heard the crying and came to help. He gently held Kirstie’s head, stroking her forehead with his other hand, telling her “It’ll be over soon if you can be still for just a little longer and let Granma get it out of there. If we leave it in it’s just going to get much worse and hurt more. Can you be still while Granma takes care of you?” “OK. I’ll try” she sniffled. And she was still and the ear ring came out on the next try.
I told my mom about the news and she took in a big breath and exhaled slowly. “You know, that’s the best thing you could have told me today. We surely need some good news like that to get us back on track!”
I look forward to saying “Hello” after such a difficult “Good-bye”.
I find it serendipitous that this post should have been put up last Tuesday, and now today, it will be put up...the day Marisa and Zeke come home from the hospital....
March 23, 2004
Wonderful yet bittersweet news.
After ten years together, Nick and Marisa are expecting a baby!!! I am so happy for them, for us all. Yet it is bittersweet because this will be the first of our new babies never to know Uncle Steve, never to hear his laughter. This will be the first of our babies never to hear his crooning comfort into its tiny ear.
Next to Nicholas and Christopher, Kirstie and Kyle were his favorite kids in the world. He doted on them. Sometimes only Uncle Steve would do when one was crying or had a problem. One day while amy was at work I had to get an ear ring out of four-year-old Kirstie’s infected ear lobe. The skin was swollen up around the tiny gem stone. I tried laying her on my bed and gently easing my fingernail under the ear ring but it was too painful for her and she couldn’t take it without squirming, which, of course, pulled my fingernail away from its target. Uncle Steve heard the crying and came to help. He gently held Kirstie’s head, stroking her forehead with his other hand, telling her “It’ll be over soon if you can be still for just a little longer and let Granma get it out of there. If we leave it in it’s just going to get much worse and hurt more. Can you be still while Granma takes care of you?” “OK. I’ll try” she sniffled. And she was still and the ear ring came out on the next try.
I told my mom about the news and she took in a big breath and exhaled slowly. “You know, that’s the best thing you could have told me today. We surely need some good news like that to get us back on track!”
I look forward to saying “Hello” after such a difficult “Good-bye”.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Ezekiel Jose Haas
From 2010
Let's leave the past behind today and focus on our future, that grew even bigger yesterday!
Zeke makes ten grandchildren for Dave and me. In the same way that I carry some of my grandma with me even today, I feel our influence reaching far into the future with these little ones and the ones that haven't come along yet. A sobering thought!
Nick and Amy (and Jae and Robyn will) have children that will not meet their Uncle Steve in this world. They will have to wait for the next life to throw their arms around him. But they will not be throwing their arms around a stranger. They will grow up hearing about him ~ his love and zest for life, his generosity, his laughter, and his place in our family. Ethan (the first to join the family after Steve's death) says "Yeah, I know Uncle Steve. He's Daddy's brother that died. He and my dad were best friends!"
So ~ Here's to the bright future that stretches wide and far before us!
God bless you all and....
Peace be with you!
Debbie
Friday, June 18, 2010
March 21, 2004
I know now why some people get involved in “causes” after losing someone they love.
When I’m still my grief seems to envelop me. Wrapping me tighter and tighter, like a spider spinning its web around me, it sucks the life out of me at its leisure.
When I’m up and busy or with people I’m more or less OK. I can plan for the future. I can even get excited about life and living. Then moments after I sit down tears sting my eyes and I have to fight off the advancing darkness as it tries to swallow me.
I have decided to keep as busy as possible, beginning with the mundane ~ cleaning house ~ and the not so mundane ~ caring for my family.
Maybe at some point I can move on to a “cause” ...maybe.
Jane and I have talked about doing a Walk for Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation if they have one in our area. I’ll have check their web site, but for some reason I keep putting it off.
When I’m still my grief seems to envelop me. Wrapping me tighter and tighter, like a spider spinning its web around me, it sucks the life out of me at its leisure.
When I’m up and busy or with people I’m more or less OK. I can plan for the future. I can even get excited about life and living. Then moments after I sit down tears sting my eyes and I have to fight off the advancing darkness as it tries to swallow me.
I have decided to keep as busy as possible, beginning with the mundane ~ cleaning house ~ and the not so mundane ~ caring for my family.
Maybe at some point I can move on to a “cause” ...maybe.
Jane and I have talked about doing a Walk for Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation if they have one in our area. I’ll have check their web site, but for some reason I keep putting it off.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
March 20, 2004
Jae walked in from the grocery store today with a sad but sweet smile on her face. She set her bag on the dining room table and told me "Stay right there...". Reaching into the bag she pulled something small out and, cupping it in her two hands, held them in front of me. Slowly she opened her hands to reveal a Cadbury egg. It was such a sweet gesture that brought tears to both of us.
From the time he was in his early twenties right up to the spring before he died, Steve would bring me a Cadbury egg the first time he would see them in the store. He knew how much I enjoyed them and even if I was on a diet at the time, I would accept the treat.
Today Jae saw them at the Vons checkout and remembered her brother. She decided to buy one for me and carry on the tradition in Steve’s memory.
What a strange feeling it was for me. I was so very touched by her gesture of remembrance and as tears gathered in my eyes I was thankful for her thoughtfulness. She picked up the baton her big brother had to drop.
It’s just a piece of candy, but it’s also a moment of moving forward for both of us.
From the time he was in his early twenties right up to the spring before he died, Steve would bring me a Cadbury egg the first time he would see them in the store. He knew how much I enjoyed them and even if I was on a diet at the time, I would accept the treat.
Today Jae saw them at the Vons checkout and remembered her brother. She decided to buy one for me and carry on the tradition in Steve’s memory.
What a strange feeling it was for me. I was so very touched by her gesture of remembrance and as tears gathered in my eyes I was thankful for her thoughtfulness. She picked up the baton her big brother had to drop.
It’s just a piece of candy, but it’s also a moment of moving forward for both of us.
Friday, June 11, 2010
February 1, 2004
For softball this year Robyn was blessed to get the coach she was hoping for! We are so excited for the upcoming season! Dave and I want to be even more involved this year, things at home having settled down a bit. I volunteered to help with the team banner. Shapes colors, and sizes have been dancing in my head! We're having a get together at our place after practice on the 14th to put it all together. I find that I am really looking forward to the house full of girls and their laughter.
Although the antidepressant I've been taking for awhile seems to be working and I'm not constantly in a dark pit, I still carry that gnawing empty space in my gut no matter how I feel. I had a chance to sit and talk to Elaine today after church and told her, “I feel better but I always have a heavy, gnawing emptiness. I know it’ll get better but I also know it will never go away." She finished her sip of coffee and set the cup on the table between us. Toying with it, she said "You know, it's been three years since my son died and I still carry that empty space with me everywhere I go. But, yes. It has gotten a little easier."
Although the antidepressant I've been taking for awhile seems to be working and I'm not constantly in a dark pit, I still carry that gnawing empty space in my gut no matter how I feel. I had a chance to sit and talk to Elaine today after church and told her, “I feel better but I always have a heavy, gnawing emptiness. I know it’ll get better but I also know it will never go away." She finished her sip of coffee and set the cup on the table between us. Toying with it, she said "You know, it's been three years since my son died and I still carry that empty space with me everywhere I go. But, yes. It has gotten a little easier."
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
January 31, 2004
A few days ago I had a donut binge. I ate FIVE in one afternoon! Each time I grabbed another I knew it was a bad idea, but kept telling myself I’d start eating better “tomorrow”. Then yesterday I woke up with a cold, feeling utterly drained. I didn’t even have the energy to take my morning walk with Amy. I called to let her know I couldn’t go then I stretched out on the sofa and fell back to sleep.
As I slept I saw Steve in a dream. He was in the kitchen sitting in his wheel chair. His head wasn’t bandaged but his hair was close cropped like it was after the surgery to removed the infected ulcer and also took one third of his scalp. In my dream he was trying to correct me on something having to do with Jae or Robyn but I can’t remember what. I clearly remember hearing him condescendingly say “Mom…” in a tsk-tsk kind of voice but nothing else. I stood there, looking him into his unusually dull eyes, waiting for him to finish his thought, but he didn’t. I knew that he had died but that someone had given him a potion or a pill to wake him up so that he could come back to teach me something. Sadly, it was a temporary remedy.
I long to see him again and remember more of the dream. Whenever I see him in my dreams I wake up feeling as though I’ve actually had a visit with him, or more accurately, like he has visited me.
As I slept I saw Steve in a dream. He was in the kitchen sitting in his wheel chair. His head wasn’t bandaged but his hair was close cropped like it was after the surgery to removed the infected ulcer and also took one third of his scalp. In my dream he was trying to correct me on something having to do with Jae or Robyn but I can’t remember what. I clearly remember hearing him condescendingly say “Mom…” in a tsk-tsk kind of voice but nothing else. I stood there, looking him into his unusually dull eyes, waiting for him to finish his thought, but he didn’t. I knew that he had died but that someone had given him a potion or a pill to wake him up so that he could come back to teach me something. Sadly, it was a temporary remedy.
I long to see him again and remember more of the dream. Whenever I see him in my dreams I wake up feeling as though I’ve actually had a visit with him, or more accurately, like he has visited me.
Friday, June 4, 2010
January 28, 2004
Last night Dave and I were actually able to sit alone in the living room for a quiet chat. No TV blaring, no kids running in and out. So unusual. There's always so much merry comotion around here.
As we talked I was suddenly struck with strongest urge to get up and look for Steve. I could clearly feel his presence in the next room. It was about 8:30, the time Steve used to start setting up his dialysis exchanger each night. I could almost hear him removing the bags of dextrose solution from their shipping boxes and slapping them into place as he set up his machine for the night’s session of cleansing. I could faintly hear him clear his throat and turn to shuffle out of the room to join us as he would often do before attaching the hoses to the tubs that hung from his belly.
If Dave and I hadn’t been engaged in conversation, I’m sure I would have gotten up and searched every room and closet in the house for him even though I knew I wouldn’t find him. A very strange feeling.
His spirit still permeates our home.
From 2010
If you want to learn more about dialysis here's a link:
http://kidney.niddk.nih.gov/kudiseases/pubs/peritonealdose/
I was going to cut and paste it here but it just didn't seem right, and the length can be intimidating.
It's interesting stuff, though. Gives an idea of what one faces when the kidneys fail.
I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating ~ If you know anyone with diabetes, please discourage them from drinking cola type beverages, even diet. These drinks are high in phosphoric acid which wreak havoc on the kidneys (not to mention leaching calcium from the bones).
A related link:
http://www.phlaunt.com/diabetes/16351841.php
When Steve was 18 he went in for a complete physical. After 15 years of diabetes, he was in PERFECT health, even his kidneys had zero damage. Until that time he had been a big water drinker, nearly a gallon a day. Around the time he turned 20, he started drinking 3 Diet Pepsi Big Slams a day (1 litre each) and drastically cut his water consumption. I think he did this for 3 to 4 years. At 28, his kidneys failed.
I'm not making medical reccomendations ~ just making observations....
As we talked I was suddenly struck with strongest urge to get up and look for Steve. I could clearly feel his presence in the next room. It was about 8:30, the time Steve used to start setting up his dialysis exchanger each night. I could almost hear him removing the bags of dextrose solution from their shipping boxes and slapping them into place as he set up his machine for the night’s session of cleansing. I could faintly hear him clear his throat and turn to shuffle out of the room to join us as he would often do before attaching the hoses to the tubs that hung from his belly.
If Dave and I hadn’t been engaged in conversation, I’m sure I would have gotten up and searched every room and closet in the house for him even though I knew I wouldn’t find him. A very strange feeling.
His spirit still permeates our home.
From 2010
If you want to learn more about dialysis here's a link:
http://kidney.niddk.nih.gov/kudiseases/pubs/peritonealdose/
I was going to cut and paste it here but it just didn't seem right, and the length can be intimidating.
It's interesting stuff, though. Gives an idea of what one faces when the kidneys fail.
I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating ~ If you know anyone with diabetes, please discourage them from drinking cola type beverages, even diet. These drinks are high in phosphoric acid which wreak havoc on the kidneys (not to mention leaching calcium from the bones).
A related link:
http://www.phlaunt.com/diabetes/16351841.php
When Steve was 18 he went in for a complete physical. After 15 years of diabetes, he was in PERFECT health, even his kidneys had zero damage. Until that time he had been a big water drinker, nearly a gallon a day. Around the time he turned 20, he started drinking 3 Diet Pepsi Big Slams a day (1 litre each) and drastically cut his water consumption. I think he did this for 3 to 4 years. At 28, his kidneys failed.
I'm not making medical reccomendations ~ just making observations....
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
January 26, 2004
Today I went to see Ty, the grief counselor at The Elizabeth Hospice. I’d been putting off going ever since Steve died, believing that I was chugging along just fine. But in the last few weeks I thought ...maybe there’s more I can do to get beyond this.
Ty didn’t really tell me any more than I already knew but in a way she gave me the permission I must have needed to carry on, develop, work through, continue...my grief. I know now that it's ok to be right where I am in the grieving process. She told me that grief is hard work and I agree with her. It’s like having a huge, cumbersome, awkwardly shaped duffle bag strapped to my back that no one can see unless they already know it’s there. I go through the day struggling with the great weight of it and sometimes I just want to scream.... “Can’t you see this?! My son has died! I can hardly move!” But somehow, by God's grace, I do keep moving.
I came home from the meeting and watched an episode of X-Files as I ate a delicious lunch made of last night’s leftovers. Then I went to bed and sobbed. As I sit here writing I am still wracked by sporadic outbursts. Maybe they will haunt me as long as I’m alive. My dear son, Steve, is gone. My life will never be the same. This shadow will always be near and will affect me the rest of my days but.....our lives will go on and we will continue to grow.
I don’t know how anyone can do this without knowing that God is walking at their side. I am so grateful for His comforting presence in my days, even when the pain is so great that it moans out of me, God is there, cradling me in His comforting arms.
Today Ty called me courageous. Very odd. I think I understand why she did but I think it was a mistake. What she called courage I feel as faith. Maybe that’s all courage really is. For me faith is in trusting the absolute power and love of God. God will see me through this, using my friends and family (and Hospice) to help me adjust to this new normal.
FROM 2010
Oh how I remember those dark days. But that's just what they are now ~ memories.
Yes, losing Steve changed me and yes, I still miss him every day. But the duffle bag is now a small tote I carry with me everywhere I go. The pain has been replaced by fond, sweet, and sometimes hilarious memories. I can open it any time I want to and see my healthy, rambunctious, off-road enthusiast, loving, hot tempered, care free, tooth brushing, crazy, fun, true brother, fun-loving, honest, daring, stubborn, outgoing, helpful, friendly, hard livin', big hearted ......my loving and well loved son.
Thank you Lord for your faithfulness in turning my sorrow into joy!
Ty didn’t really tell me any more than I already knew but in a way she gave me the permission I must have needed to carry on, develop, work through, continue...my grief. I know now that it's ok to be right where I am in the grieving process. She told me that grief is hard work and I agree with her. It’s like having a huge, cumbersome, awkwardly shaped duffle bag strapped to my back that no one can see unless they already know it’s there. I go through the day struggling with the great weight of it and sometimes I just want to scream.... “Can’t you see this?! My son has died! I can hardly move!” But somehow, by God's grace, I do keep moving.
I came home from the meeting and watched an episode of X-Files as I ate a delicious lunch made of last night’s leftovers. Then I went to bed and sobbed. As I sit here writing I am still wracked by sporadic outbursts. Maybe they will haunt me as long as I’m alive. My dear son, Steve, is gone. My life will never be the same. This shadow will always be near and will affect me the rest of my days but.....our lives will go on and we will continue to grow.
I don’t know how anyone can do this without knowing that God is walking at their side. I am so grateful for His comforting presence in my days, even when the pain is so great that it moans out of me, God is there, cradling me in His comforting arms.
Today Ty called me courageous. Very odd. I think I understand why she did but I think it was a mistake. What she called courage I feel as faith. Maybe that’s all courage really is. For me faith is in trusting the absolute power and love of God. God will see me through this, using my friends and family (and Hospice) to help me adjust to this new normal.
FROM 2010
Oh how I remember those dark days. But that's just what they are now ~ memories.
Yes, losing Steve changed me and yes, I still miss him every day. But the duffle bag is now a small tote I carry with me everywhere I go. The pain has been replaced by fond, sweet, and sometimes hilarious memories. I can open it any time I want to and see my healthy, rambunctious, off-road enthusiast, loving, hot tempered, care free, tooth brushing, crazy, fun, true brother, fun-loving, honest, daring, stubborn, outgoing, helpful, friendly, hard livin', big hearted ......my loving and well loved son.
Thank you Lord for your faithfulness in turning my sorrow into joy!
Friday, May 28, 2010
January 22, 2004
For the first two weeks of January I was feeling pretty good, positive. Then in the middle of the month at Rob’s softball try outs I began a downward slide. Being back on the fields again stabbed me with an unexpected pain. Even though he was already having trouble walking, Steve made the effort to go to some of Robyn’s games with us last season to cheer her on. In my mind’s eye I can still see him sitting on the bleachers in the warm April sun wearing his stocking cap to protect the bandaged skinless area on his head. He was such a trooper.
Tomorrow is the six month anniversary of his death. We have six more months of “first times” without him to get through.
Lately I have a constant scream in my belly. The same monster I felt last July. The same two people syndrome...the regular me carrying the screaming me inside everywhere I go.
Then on the other hand it feels so normal that he’s not here, but I don’t want it to feel normal! Sometimes I think I want the pain of losing him to go on forever so I don’t lose touch with that last connection I have to him. So I can keep him by my side. But then I look over my shoulder and remember, he’s already gone...really gone.
Also, these last few weeks I haven’t been eating right or exercising and it has really taken a toll on my sense of well being. So I decided to have a binge of ice cream and some chocolate for a few days. Big mistake. Can you say upset stomach? I think I’d like to puke now. Anyway, I’ll get back on track soon. I know I’ll feel better if I behave better. Instead of sitting and wallowing in my grief I need to cry and move on. I just have to keep moving, like that little engine that could, climbing up the steep mountain. It was hard work to keep trying but eventually he made it, didn’t he?
My mom's sister Lucile died last week. She was always and will forever be known as Speed because as a child she always took her time getting things done. I’m so grateful to Uncle Carl and Aunt Sharon for offering to take Mom up to Arroyo Grande for the memorial service with .
We’ve lost three relatives in six months, one from each generation. First my son, then a cousin's husband, and now my aunt. Our family seems to be disappearing as we helplessly watch.
Tomorrow is the six month anniversary of his death. We have six more months of “first times” without him to get through.
Lately I have a constant scream in my belly. The same monster I felt last July. The same two people syndrome...the regular me carrying the screaming me inside everywhere I go.
Then on the other hand it feels so normal that he’s not here, but I don’t want it to feel normal! Sometimes I think I want the pain of losing him to go on forever so I don’t lose touch with that last connection I have to him. So I can keep him by my side. But then I look over my shoulder and remember, he’s already gone...really gone.
Also, these last few weeks I haven’t been eating right or exercising and it has really taken a toll on my sense of well being. So I decided to have a binge of ice cream and some chocolate for a few days. Big mistake. Can you say upset stomach? I think I’d like to puke now. Anyway, I’ll get back on track soon. I know I’ll feel better if I behave better. Instead of sitting and wallowing in my grief I need to cry and move on. I just have to keep moving, like that little engine that could, climbing up the steep mountain. It was hard work to keep trying but eventually he made it, didn’t he?
My mom's sister Lucile died last week. She was always and will forever be known as Speed because as a child she always took her time getting things done. I’m so grateful to Uncle Carl and Aunt Sharon for offering to take Mom up to Arroyo Grande for the memorial service with .
We’ve lost three relatives in six months, one from each generation. First my son, then a cousin's husband, and now my aunt. Our family seems to be disappearing as we helplessly watch.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
January 1, 2004
By the time December has reached its mid-point, I usually think about how quickly time passes. "Where has the year gone?", I'll often wonder aloud.
This year Robyn’s birthday kind of sneaked up on me. Oh, I knew it was coming, along with New Year’s Eve. On December 20 I realized we had some party planning to do, but I didn't have that confounded feeling I usually have as a year grinds to an end.
When my mom called this morning to wish us a happy new year, the topic of course got around to the past year and I mentioned my lack of feeling that the last year flew by. "I know where every day of last year went!" I told her. "I have felt every single day of it."
This afternoon Jae and I were talking about the new year and she said "You know what Mom, I feel relieved a new year is here. Two-thousand-three was horrible! I couldn't wait for it to be over!"
Yes! That’s it! I feel relieved! Forgive me, Steve, please.
A new year, a new beginning. Keep moving forward.
On the other hand, as I look back on last year I feel as though I’m leaving Steve behind there. Very odd, yet somehow, in a very small and strange way, liberating. I can keep on keeping on.
My heart is still heavy but moments are creeping into my days that I do feel happy again... though not the same kind of happy I used to feel.
This year Robyn’s birthday kind of sneaked up on me. Oh, I knew it was coming, along with New Year’s Eve. On December 20 I realized we had some party planning to do, but I didn't have that confounded feeling I usually have as a year grinds to an end.
When my mom called this morning to wish us a happy new year, the topic of course got around to the past year and I mentioned my lack of feeling that the last year flew by. "I know where every day of last year went!" I told her. "I have felt every single day of it."
This afternoon Jae and I were talking about the new year and she said "You know what Mom, I feel relieved a new year is here. Two-thousand-three was horrible! I couldn't wait for it to be over!"
Yes! That’s it! I feel relieved! Forgive me, Steve, please.
A new year, a new beginning. Keep moving forward.
On the other hand, as I look back on last year I feel as though I’m leaving Steve behind there. Very odd, yet somehow, in a very small and strange way, liberating. I can keep on keeping on.
My heart is still heavy but moments are creeping into my days that I do feel happy again... though not the same kind of happy I used to feel.
Friday, May 21, 2010
December 5 20003
It’s been such a quiet day today. Jae got her driver’s license 10 days ago and since has been driving herself to work, errands, and once to one of her classes at Foothills. But today is the first chance I’ve had to feel the benefits of her newfound freedom.
Last week we were busy with Thanksgiving, followed by a busy weekend. This week I have taken Jae to her Monday and Thursday college classes (don’t want her parking in the distant lots and walking by herself). Tuesday I spent the day with Amy first taking her to a doctor appt for a sprained right ankle. We got out of the doctor's near lunch time so we called Dave and he met us at SubMarina. After lunch Amy and I ran some errands, finishing just in time to pick Kirstie and Kyle up from school.
Wednesday found me with Robyn at an oral surgeon's office at the Kaiser facility in San Diego.
Today was the first chance I’ve had to take a breath! Here it is December, four months into the school year and I am just starting to get serious about Robyn's schooling. This morning I was able to get her lessons planned for the next four weeks and staring Monday we can get on track. I’m so grateful for Jim’s patience with me so far this year. As our overseeing teacher he is usually hounding me about Robyn's monthly study logs every time I see him, teasing me even when I'm not late.
This year I just haven't had the energy or presence of mind to get her lesson plans in order or to grab her and sit her down at the table to get the work done every day. She has had a lot of alternative schooling thanks to the workshops offered by the school and from watching the History and Discovery Channels.
It looks like it’s going to be a tough school year.
Last week we were busy with Thanksgiving, followed by a busy weekend. This week I have taken Jae to her Monday and Thursday college classes (don’t want her parking in the distant lots and walking by herself). Tuesday I spent the day with Amy first taking her to a doctor appt for a sprained right ankle. We got out of the doctor's near lunch time so we called Dave and he met us at SubMarina. After lunch Amy and I ran some errands, finishing just in time to pick Kirstie and Kyle up from school.
Wednesday found me with Robyn at an oral surgeon's office at the Kaiser facility in San Diego.
Today was the first chance I’ve had to take a breath! Here it is December, four months into the school year and I am just starting to get serious about Robyn's schooling. This morning I was able to get her lessons planned for the next four weeks and staring Monday we can get on track. I’m so grateful for Jim’s patience with me so far this year. As our overseeing teacher he is usually hounding me about Robyn's monthly study logs every time I see him, teasing me even when I'm not late.
This year I just haven't had the energy or presence of mind to get her lesson plans in order or to grab her and sit her down at the table to get the work done every day. She has had a lot of alternative schooling thanks to the workshops offered by the school and from watching the History and Discovery Channels.
It looks like it’s going to be a tough school year.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
December 4, 2003
I woke up a few days ago feeling really good. I had that light sense of well being floating through me. Then suddenly a veil dropped over my good spirits. It’s like a veil of tears has taken up residence just under my skin.
I have discovered that I am now two people in one body. They’re both me, Debbie Haas, but two versions of me. One is the normal, functional me that carries on business-as-usual. The other me occupies my core, waiting a turn to openly do her job, always carrying the burden of grief, the full load of sadness.
Blessedly, her turn to show herself usually comes when we’re alone at home or out driving. Sometimes she reveals herself while we’re out in public so we walk together.
I used to feel self-conscious when I would have tears streaming down my cheeks while I was away from home, around other people, but I don’t anymore. I just let the tears flow as I get the job-at-hand done, ignoring the few askance looks from strangers.
If I stayed in every time I thought I might cry I would never leave the safe confines of my home.
I always feel this other me. It’s beginning to feel normal. I guess it is my new normal.
I have discovered that I am now two people in one body. They’re both me, Debbie Haas, but two versions of me. One is the normal, functional me that carries on business-as-usual. The other me occupies my core, waiting a turn to openly do her job, always carrying the burden of grief, the full load of sadness.
Blessedly, her turn to show herself usually comes when we’re alone at home or out driving. Sometimes she reveals herself while we’re out in public so we walk together.
I used to feel self-conscious when I would have tears streaming down my cheeks while I was away from home, around other people, but I don’t anymore. I just let the tears flow as I get the job-at-hand done, ignoring the few askance looks from strangers.
If I stayed in every time I thought I might cry I would never leave the safe confines of my home.
I always feel this other me. It’s beginning to feel normal. I guess it is my new normal.
Friday, May 14, 2010
November 28, 2003
We went out to our desert place today to visit Steve. After the two hour drive it felt good to get out of the car and stretch my legs. First a quick pit stop and then we finished the drive to the spot where we sprinkled Steve’s ashes three months ago. We hiked up the sandy slope and stood there calmly gazing out over the desert valley. Amy was the first to look down and notice something remarkable. There’s no gentle way to put this. Bone chips. He’s still there! Amy picked up one of the pieces and held it in her cupped hand, just marveling at the situation. Nick walked over to join her at the precipice and we all followed, Nett holding Christopher tightly by the hand. When Nick saw what Amy was holding and realized what it was, he said, “Quiet, everyone!” and bent his ear near her hand. “Can you hear that? He’s laughing!” For a moment I could hear Steve’s distinctive chuckle in my mind and I could see him with that sly grin of his as he watches over us. I felt so at peace out there.
We had a fun talking about old times, the sound of our laughter drifting far out into the desert. We all know we each miss him. We didn’t need to talk about that. I didn’t feel the need to cry then or even after.
Nick sat on a rock near his brother's ashes and lit a cigarette for Steve, wedging it into a crevice of the rock. As it burned down we lingered there and talked, Nick occasionally teasing Steve for the long “granny ash” (an old joke of theirs). Once the cigarette was safely crushed out we started the long drive back home.
Thanksgiving 2003 is now officially over for the Haas Family and we’re alright.
We had a fun talking about old times, the sound of our laughter drifting far out into the desert. We all know we each miss him. We didn’t need to talk about that. I didn’t feel the need to cry then or even after.
Nick sat on a rock near his brother's ashes and lit a cigarette for Steve, wedging it into a crevice of the rock. As it burned down we lingered there and talked, Nick occasionally teasing Steve for the long “granny ash” (an old joke of theirs). Once the cigarette was safely crushed out we started the long drive back home.
Thanksgiving 2003 is now officially over for the Haas Family and we’re alright.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
November 27, 2003
Our first Thanksgiving without Steve has come and nearly gone. Only a few hours remain. It was a beautiful day. The weather was perfect ~ sunny and warm, the slight breeze traipsing through the house and carrying the turkey’s aroma out into both yards.
Mom, Dad, my sister, brothers and their families made the trip through thick holiday traffic to be here. Dave drove across town to get his Aunt Ada, and we were joined by our good friends Georgie, Burton and their daughter Jessica. Georgie’s one stipulation for joining us was, "We'd love to come, but only if the guys do the dishes." “Ok! Sounds good to me!” I thought she was joking ~she wasn’t.
Lighthearted conversation and laughter floated in our midst as we worked together to put this biggest meal of the year on the table. Dinner neared and as I stirred the gravy Davey came up behind me, wrapping me in a bear hug. My nephew is so much taller than I am now and he leaned in to whisper “I miss him.” “I know, sweetie. I do too.” I had been alright all day, until that moment. A tear threatened to escape my right eye but I threatened it back. “You have no place here, buddy.” I silently told it.
Once the busyness of preparing the meal was over and the food was on the tables I felt the sudden need to insulate myself from the festivity. The tears were no longer intimidated by my reserve. I sneaked into the back bathroom to try to collect myself. Instead, as I stood there I began to sob. I didn’t want to join everyone for dinner until I could stop crying so I sat on the side of the tub, breathing deeply as I tried to calm myself. I could hear my family’s chatter and the clatter of dishes being passed around tables. I heard someone ask, “Where’s Debbie?” breaking down the last wall of my commitment not to cry.
Don’t they know how hard this day is for me? How I have always loved Thanksgiving and that now there is a gaping hole in the celebration.
I had only been hidden away for a few minutes when Jae and Nett came to find me. The back bathroom is much too small to support three women as they console each other so we adjourned to Jae’s room. We sprawled out on Jae’s big bed where we cried together and talked. We shared some happy Steve memories, a mutual favorite being of Steve and Nick eating their Thanksgiving desserts with one foot out the front door as Jeremy patiently waited for everyone to get on the road to the desert. Even as a grown man Steve was so cute when he was excited about something, like leaving for his second favorite place in the world. He would playfully scrunch up his shoulders and bounce up and down like a toddler. It was body language that shouted, “Let’s Go!”
After a little laughter we all felt ready to join our family and friends for dinner. I was able to fully enjoy the rest of the day with a thankful heart.
Mom, Dad, my sister, brothers and their families made the trip through thick holiday traffic to be here. Dave drove across town to get his Aunt Ada, and we were joined by our good friends Georgie, Burton and their daughter Jessica. Georgie’s one stipulation for joining us was, "We'd love to come, but only if the guys do the dishes." “Ok! Sounds good to me!” I thought she was joking ~she wasn’t.
Lighthearted conversation and laughter floated in our midst as we worked together to put this biggest meal of the year on the table. Dinner neared and as I stirred the gravy Davey came up behind me, wrapping me in a bear hug. My nephew is so much taller than I am now and he leaned in to whisper “I miss him.” “I know, sweetie. I do too.” I had been alright all day, until that moment. A tear threatened to escape my right eye but I threatened it back. “You have no place here, buddy.” I silently told it.
Once the busyness of preparing the meal was over and the food was on the tables I felt the sudden need to insulate myself from the festivity. The tears were no longer intimidated by my reserve. I sneaked into the back bathroom to try to collect myself. Instead, as I stood there I began to sob. I didn’t want to join everyone for dinner until I could stop crying so I sat on the side of the tub, breathing deeply as I tried to calm myself. I could hear my family’s chatter and the clatter of dishes being passed around tables. I heard someone ask, “Where’s Debbie?” breaking down the last wall of my commitment not to cry.
Don’t they know how hard this day is for me? How I have always loved Thanksgiving and that now there is a gaping hole in the celebration.
I had only been hidden away for a few minutes when Jae and Nett came to find me. The back bathroom is much too small to support three women as they console each other so we adjourned to Jae’s room. We sprawled out on Jae’s big bed where we cried together and talked. We shared some happy Steve memories, a mutual favorite being of Steve and Nick eating their Thanksgiving desserts with one foot out the front door as Jeremy patiently waited for everyone to get on the road to the desert. Even as a grown man Steve was so cute when he was excited about something, like leaving for his second favorite place in the world. He would playfully scrunch up his shoulders and bounce up and down like a toddler. It was body language that shouted, “Let’s Go!”
After a little laughter we all felt ready to join our family and friends for dinner. I was able to fully enjoy the rest of the day with a thankful heart.
Friday, May 7, 2010
November 18, 2003
Late last autumn (2002) Steve and I started prepping the kitchen for a minor remodel by removing the backsplash behind the shorter of the two counter tops. By then he was already tired all the time but there was nothing he wouldn't set his hand to. The boredom of being on disability and being unable to hold down a regular job nearly killed him before the diabetes did!
That same week he even went out to weed whack the slope in front of the house. It took him a couple of hours and he felt better when he came in than when he went out. He had that gosh-I-feel-good-about-a-job-well-done kind of exhaustion. I could see a look of satisfaction settle onto his face as he leaned back into the sofa cushion, arm thrown back over his head. Before coming into the house he took off his fox-tail infested shoes and socks and set them on the pin ball machine that sits just outside the den sliding glass door on the patio. They have been there ever since. There’s so much junk on the pin ball machine that you can’t actually see the shoes when you’re out on there, but sometimes as I sit in the den with the curtain open I spy them there and a bitter-sweet wave washes over me.
When Steve and I started in the kitchen, our goal was to remove the entire back splash from both counters, sand the walls, and paint. We had a really good time working together; prying, bashing and ripping that 1950s material from the wall. His joking and light heartedness shown through and almost masked the fatigue and pain he always tried to hide.
Before the job could be completed, though, his fatigue got the best of him and he ended up in the hospital to treat an infected ruptured calcium deposit on his scalp. The ulcer was right at the lower edge of the baseball cap he always wore. That must be what made it so bad. The wound never had a chance to air out and was always being irritated by the cap edge, not to mention the germs on that edge. He spent a week hooked to an IV of powerful antibiotic, to no avail. The infection had to be removed surgically, taking with it one third of his scalp.
His vigor never returned after that and I lost the heart for finishing the job in the kitchen. Heck, I barely even took the time to do the dishes.
Well, this weekend (a year after starting the job) Dave finished prepping the kitchen and he got it painted all one color! Oh, the power of a paint sprayer! Amy and I are going to paint the base cabinets a darker color this week. It’ll be awhile before we put the upper cabinet doors back on but it’s all coming together! We even found the drawer pulls we wanted at IKEA at about a third of the cost they are at Home Depot.
It feels so good to be moving forward on a project. I do wish Steve could see it :)
From 2010 ~~
It has been nearly eight years since we started on the kitchen and though we have made great progress ~ paint, drawer pulls, new countertops, sink and faucet, and a new window over the sink, we still haven’t finished! The back splash area is still empty (I can’t find anything I really like!) and there are still no doors on the upper cabinets. I often think of my buddy Keri, who moved to Tennessee in 2003, when I see my doorless cabinets. She used to get crazy when I would leave the doors hanging ajar.....this would make her down right apoplectic!
And Steve's fox-tail shoes and socks? I left them there on the pin ball machine until we did some work on the patio in 2008 and had to clear it off. Our Handy-Man friend Tony picked them up from the pin ball machine and started to drop them into the trash can. I panicked and yelled "Nooooooo!" startling the daylights out of Tony. I told him why they were there and he found a new place for them. Now they rest on top of a 1960s built-in BBQ on the patio. I rarely see them, but I know they're there. Why? I have no idea. It's just an old pair of shoes and socks, but I'm not quite ready to toss them out yet.
Someday.....
Maybe.....
That same week he even went out to weed whack the slope in front of the house. It took him a couple of hours and he felt better when he came in than when he went out. He had that gosh-I-feel-good-about-a-job-well-done kind of exhaustion. I could see a look of satisfaction settle onto his face as he leaned back into the sofa cushion, arm thrown back over his head. Before coming into the house he took off his fox-tail infested shoes and socks and set them on the pin ball machine that sits just outside the den sliding glass door on the patio. They have been there ever since. There’s so much junk on the pin ball machine that you can’t actually see the shoes when you’re out on there, but sometimes as I sit in the den with the curtain open I spy them there and a bitter-sweet wave washes over me.
When Steve and I started in the kitchen, our goal was to remove the entire back splash from both counters, sand the walls, and paint. We had a really good time working together; prying, bashing and ripping that 1950s material from the wall. His joking and light heartedness shown through and almost masked the fatigue and pain he always tried to hide.
Before the job could be completed, though, his fatigue got the best of him and he ended up in the hospital to treat an infected ruptured calcium deposit on his scalp. The ulcer was right at the lower edge of the baseball cap he always wore. That must be what made it so bad. The wound never had a chance to air out and was always being irritated by the cap edge, not to mention the germs on that edge. He spent a week hooked to an IV of powerful antibiotic, to no avail. The infection had to be removed surgically, taking with it one third of his scalp.
His vigor never returned after that and I lost the heart for finishing the job in the kitchen. Heck, I barely even took the time to do the dishes.
Well, this weekend (a year after starting the job) Dave finished prepping the kitchen and he got it painted all one color! Oh, the power of a paint sprayer! Amy and I are going to paint the base cabinets a darker color this week. It’ll be awhile before we put the upper cabinet doors back on but it’s all coming together! We even found the drawer pulls we wanted at IKEA at about a third of the cost they are at Home Depot.
It feels so good to be moving forward on a project. I do wish Steve could see it :)
From 2010 ~~
It has been nearly eight years since we started on the kitchen and though we have made great progress ~ paint, drawer pulls, new countertops, sink and faucet, and a new window over the sink, we still haven’t finished! The back splash area is still empty (I can’t find anything I really like!) and there are still no doors on the upper cabinets. I often think of my buddy Keri, who moved to Tennessee in 2003, when I see my doorless cabinets. She used to get crazy when I would leave the doors hanging ajar.....this would make her down right apoplectic!
And Steve's fox-tail shoes and socks? I left them there on the pin ball machine until we did some work on the patio in 2008 and had to clear it off. Our Handy-Man friend Tony picked them up from the pin ball machine and started to drop them into the trash can. I panicked and yelled "Nooooooo!" startling the daylights out of Tony. I told him why they were there and he found a new place for them. Now they rest on top of a 1960s built-in BBQ on the patio. I rarely see them, but I know they're there. Why? I have no idea. It's just an old pair of shoes and socks, but I'm not quite ready to toss them out yet.
Someday.....
Maybe.....
Friday, April 30, 2010
November 14, 2003
As I opened my eyes this morning the first thing to go through my mind was...today would have been Steve’s 32nd birthday. I just puttered around during the morning getting ready for the family coming to dinner. Around ten, Jane called. A few minutes into our conversation she said, “Are you feeling ok? You sound sick.”
“Just blue. Today is Steve’s birthday.”
“How did I know to call you today? I just had a feeling that I had to right away.”
Her call was the perfect distraction and by the time we hung up I was feeling so much better. Each time I count my blessings Jane is near the top of the list!
Tonight we made Steve’s most requested menu for his birthday dinner. Year after year I would ask him what he wanted for his special day, even though I knew the answer before he declared it. “Enchiladas!” was his reply for at least fifteen of his birthday dinners! Marisa and Amy came early to help make dinner. The three of us set up an assembly line to make the main dish. It made the afternoon easier on two levels. I didn’t have to do all of the work myself and we had each other to help keep our minds occupied. It’s always fun to get together with my girls! Left alone I know I would have been very mopey and blue.
Nick dug out some old videos of one of their desert trips and brought them with him tonight. After dinner we put away leftovers and let the dishes hang out in the sink while we hung out in the living room and watched. Everyday reality seems to be suspended for them out in the desert. No job to rush off to. Meals out of cans. Defying the laws of physics ~ as they thread a Jeep through a narrow canyon or launch a quad off a sand dune hoping to fly.
A few times we laughed so hard we cried. In the desert Steve was truly in his element and was with the people that made his life complete. The desert was his favorite place in the world, second only to the Haasienda.
Nick knew just what we needed tonight. This way we were able to keep Steve in the picture, watching him doing what he loved with people he loved. It was a perfect end to an evening that could have been full of tears and sorrow but instead was full of love and laughter. A fitting way to remember Steve on his birthday!
“Just blue. Today is Steve’s birthday.”
“How did I know to call you today? I just had a feeling that I had to right away.”
Her call was the perfect distraction and by the time we hung up I was feeling so much better. Each time I count my blessings Jane is near the top of the list!
Tonight we made Steve’s most requested menu for his birthday dinner. Year after year I would ask him what he wanted for his special day, even though I knew the answer before he declared it. “Enchiladas!” was his reply for at least fifteen of his birthday dinners! Marisa and Amy came early to help make dinner. The three of us set up an assembly line to make the main dish. It made the afternoon easier on two levels. I didn’t have to do all of the work myself and we had each other to help keep our minds occupied. It’s always fun to get together with my girls! Left alone I know I would have been very mopey and blue.
Nick dug out some old videos of one of their desert trips and brought them with him tonight. After dinner we put away leftovers and let the dishes hang out in the sink while we hung out in the living room and watched. Everyday reality seems to be suspended for them out in the desert. No job to rush off to. Meals out of cans. Defying the laws of physics ~ as they thread a Jeep through a narrow canyon or launch a quad off a sand dune hoping to fly.
A few times we laughed so hard we cried. In the desert Steve was truly in his element and was with the people that made his life complete. The desert was his favorite place in the world, second only to the Haasienda.
Nick knew just what we needed tonight. This way we were able to keep Steve in the picture, watching him doing what he loved with people he loved. It was a perfect end to an evening that could have been full of tears and sorrow but instead was full of love and laughter. A fitting way to remember Steve on his birthday!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
October 4, 2003
A few days ago (or was it just yesterday? ~ time doesn’t seem the same anymore) I remembered something that has since been haunting me.
In his last six months Steve cried several times. I think he would get overwhelmed by fears of the unknown. Though he never said so, I think he intuitively knew he was dying, but the doctors led him to hope that he would soon overcome this “brief period of illness”. “Watch your diet, quit smoking, and exercise and you’ll get through this”. They told him this for six months. He didn’t quit smoking but he did watch his diet and he exercised as much as he could, considering his rapidly diminishing energy levels. He even joined a gym.
Every week or two he would go in to see one of his doctors and they would say the same thing.
“You just need to watch your diet and get some exercise.”
“I am watching my diet and I’m getting as much exercise as I can, but I keep feeling worse.”
“Well, you must not be watching your diet as closely as you could. Do better. Keep at it and you’ll see results soon.”
It was a no win situation. Because of his smoking they considered him a “non-compliant” patient, no matter how hard he tried to stick to all of the other rules.
Sometimes as his intuition would take over he would become utterly hopeless. Of course, hindsight is 20/20. I couldn’t understand any of this at the time.
What’s been haunting me is this ~ I remember one beautiful morning last spring he was sitting on the edge of the sofa across from me in the living room. I don’t remember what we were talking about but there came a lull in our conversation. He looked toward the floor and he slumped from his shoulders, head hanging low. He began to weep. I just sat there looking at him. I had the urge to run to him, embrace him. But I didn’t. I just sat there looking at the top of his head. I was in the room with him but he was so completely alone. I didn’t go to him to comfort him. I didn’t ask what the matter was. I remember feeling at a loss. I didn't understand the depth of his angst. This was well before we knew he didn’t have much time left.
This memory seems to be eating me alive, filling me with the same feeling I had before Steve died...that monster gnawing at my insides again.
Oh, dear God, how I want to hold him again, tell him how much I love him, to stroke his cheek, gently fluff his hair with my fingers, and tell him “Mommy’s here. Everything will be alright.”
It has been ten weeks since I kissed his cold forehead and the waves continue to crash on me, on all of us.
From 2010 ~
It was hard writing this. I still feel deep remorse for my inaction that day, though it no longer threatens to consume me. I have had to forgive myself for this and other regrets. If I hadn't, I couldn't have gotten to this place of peace.
And I take great comfort in knowing that I will one day be able to grab Steve in a joyfull bear hug and never be sad again! WOW!
In his last six months Steve cried several times. I think he would get overwhelmed by fears of the unknown. Though he never said so, I think he intuitively knew he was dying, but the doctors led him to hope that he would soon overcome this “brief period of illness”. “Watch your diet, quit smoking, and exercise and you’ll get through this”. They told him this for six months. He didn’t quit smoking but he did watch his diet and he exercised as much as he could, considering his rapidly diminishing energy levels. He even joined a gym.
Every week or two he would go in to see one of his doctors and they would say the same thing.
“You just need to watch your diet and get some exercise.”
“I am watching my diet and I’m getting as much exercise as I can, but I keep feeling worse.”
“Well, you must not be watching your diet as closely as you could. Do better. Keep at it and you’ll see results soon.”
It was a no win situation. Because of his smoking they considered him a “non-compliant” patient, no matter how hard he tried to stick to all of the other rules.
Sometimes as his intuition would take over he would become utterly hopeless. Of course, hindsight is 20/20. I couldn’t understand any of this at the time.
What’s been haunting me is this ~ I remember one beautiful morning last spring he was sitting on the edge of the sofa across from me in the living room. I don’t remember what we were talking about but there came a lull in our conversation. He looked toward the floor and he slumped from his shoulders, head hanging low. He began to weep. I just sat there looking at him. I had the urge to run to him, embrace him. But I didn’t. I just sat there looking at the top of his head. I was in the room with him but he was so completely alone. I didn’t go to him to comfort him. I didn’t ask what the matter was. I remember feeling at a loss. I didn't understand the depth of his angst. This was well before we knew he didn’t have much time left.
This memory seems to be eating me alive, filling me with the same feeling I had before Steve died...that monster gnawing at my insides again.
Oh, dear God, how I want to hold him again, tell him how much I love him, to stroke his cheek, gently fluff his hair with my fingers, and tell him “Mommy’s here. Everything will be alright.”
It has been ten weeks since I kissed his cold forehead and the waves continue to crash on me, on all of us.
From 2010 ~
It was hard writing this. I still feel deep remorse for my inaction that day, though it no longer threatens to consume me. I have had to forgive myself for this and other regrets. If I hadn't, I couldn't have gotten to this place of peace.
And I take great comfort in knowing that I will one day be able to grab Steve in a joyfull bear hug and never be sad again! WOW!
Friday, April 23, 2010
October 1, 2003
Jane, my long time and closest friend, called to tell me that Jeff is coming home from Iraq. She was hesitant to share the news with me because of what happened to Steve.
We were both worried about our sons during the same time. Hers was in a foreign war; mine was in a personal war. My son lost his battle, but hers is coming home safe. She was afraid that her news would magnify my loss, but I am delighted! There’s no way my heart can feel anything but utter joy and relief to hear this wonderful news!
I admit ~ I was more worried for Jeff after Steve died. So often in the last twenty-five years events in our lives seem to have run parallel. It seems to go deeper than just because we are close friends with so much contact. Of course we share the same types of interests but sometimes we have similar problems at the same time ~ we are both sensitive to perfumes and other scents, both suffer from migraines, neither of us can eat dairy products without paying a price in our health (oh how I miss ice cream!). We have had two babies together (Nick and Jeff, then eight years later Janiece and Laura). Our kids would sometimes get sick at the same time, even if they hadn’t been together to catch the bug at the same place. I guess this is common for friends that have been together for so long. But after Steve died, I was so afraid that again we would be going through another trial together. I didn't want Jane to feel this pain, to lose her son. Oh, how I have prayed for Jeff's safety. I've kept my concerns to myself, though. Why worry her more than she already has been? Maybe the same idea has taken root in her, but I've been afraid to ask.
And now Jeff will be returning to his mom. My loss has no bearing on my feelings about Jeff's homecoming. I cannot be jealous that my friend will soon be able to to throw her arms around her son again. To know for certain that he is safe. And I can't even wish that the tables were turned. It just isn’t in me.
It is what it is ~ a time for great joy and celebration!
Godspeed, Jeff, and welcome home!
We were both worried about our sons during the same time. Hers was in a foreign war; mine was in a personal war. My son lost his battle, but hers is coming home safe. She was afraid that her news would magnify my loss, but I am delighted! There’s no way my heart can feel anything but utter joy and relief to hear this wonderful news!
I admit ~ I was more worried for Jeff after Steve died. So often in the last twenty-five years events in our lives seem to have run parallel. It seems to go deeper than just because we are close friends with so much contact. Of course we share the same types of interests but sometimes we have similar problems at the same time ~ we are both sensitive to perfumes and other scents, both suffer from migraines, neither of us can eat dairy products without paying a price in our health (oh how I miss ice cream!). We have had two babies together (Nick and Jeff, then eight years later Janiece and Laura). Our kids would sometimes get sick at the same time, even if they hadn’t been together to catch the bug at the same place. I guess this is common for friends that have been together for so long. But after Steve died, I was so afraid that again we would be going through another trial together. I didn't want Jane to feel this pain, to lose her son. Oh, how I have prayed for Jeff's safety. I've kept my concerns to myself, though. Why worry her more than she already has been? Maybe the same idea has taken root in her, but I've been afraid to ask.
And now Jeff will be returning to his mom. My loss has no bearing on my feelings about Jeff's homecoming. I cannot be jealous that my friend will soon be able to to throw her arms around her son again. To know for certain that he is safe. And I can't even wish that the tables were turned. It just isn’t in me.
It is what it is ~ a time for great joy and celebration!
Godspeed, Jeff, and welcome home!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
September 26, 2003 9:20 AM
This morning I took Robyn to her weekly Future Scientists and Engineers of America class at the home school office. Often when I drop her off for her various classes I either hang out with the other moms as we help in the class, or just catch up with each other, or I use the time alone to run errands. But today instead of staying or running all over town for the two hours Robyn would be in class I wanted to use this newfound energy I’ve had this week continuing to attend to some of the housework I’ve been letting go for so long.
On my way home, alone in my quiet car and waiting for a light to change, I was suddenly filled with an overwhelming rush of happiness. As I sat there, hands on the wheel and the cross traffic on San Marcos Blvd rushing past my windshield, the feeling kept growing inside me, filling every nook and cranny of my earthly being. I knew for the first time in months that I was happy. This wonderful feeling kept welling up from deep inside me, bubbling past my lips as a deep chuckle. I haven’t felt anything like this for so long. I’ve had moments of superficial happiness these past four to six months, but not like this swell of well-being that was rising up in me and infusing me with a warm glow.
But there was a delicate difference about this. I couldn’t name the feeling at first but then it came to me. This was bittersweet, and knowing that made me burst into tears. Here I was intensely happy, yet crying, but not crying because I was happy. These were no tears of joy. I was honestly happy and deeply sad at the same time, and each had its place.
It made me wonder ~ will all of my happiness be tinged with sorrow because Steve isn’t here to share in it?
On my way home, alone in my quiet car and waiting for a light to change, I was suddenly filled with an overwhelming rush of happiness. As I sat there, hands on the wheel and the cross traffic on San Marcos Blvd rushing past my windshield, the feeling kept growing inside me, filling every nook and cranny of my earthly being. I knew for the first time in months that I was happy. This wonderful feeling kept welling up from deep inside me, bubbling past my lips as a deep chuckle. I haven’t felt anything like this for so long. I’ve had moments of superficial happiness these past four to six months, but not like this swell of well-being that was rising up in me and infusing me with a warm glow.
But there was a delicate difference about this. I couldn’t name the feeling at first but then it came to me. This was bittersweet, and knowing that made me burst into tears. Here I was intensely happy, yet crying, but not crying because I was happy. These were no tears of joy. I was honestly happy and deeply sad at the same time, and each had its place.
It made me wonder ~ will all of my happiness be tinged with sorrow because Steve isn’t here to share in it?
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