May 6, 2006 ~

           

 Three days ago my back seized up in a massive spasm. The pain was like an iron hand clutching my muscles, holding me in place. After calling Kaiser to make me an Urgent Care appointment Dave pulled me into a standing position and patiently supported me as I took baby steps to the car.

 By the luck of the draw I was assigned an Osteopath. As he adjusted my back, the doctor asked,

 “Have you been under any unusual stress lately?”

Dave and I chuckled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Our family’s been going through some tough times.” I said with a little explanation.

“If you don’t figure out a way to relax this is going to happen again and again” the doctor warned me.

He gave me an injection for the pain, to be followed by a week of muscle relaxants and a strong suggestion to take the week off. Thanks to the muscle relaxants the spasm is almost gone.

This week I keep bouncing between feeling “all is well in my world” and feeling depressed, near tears, and like I’m facing the end of life as know it. If I would just stick with the things that fuel me (prayer, bible study, meditation, exercise and stay off the sugar) it will go a long way in relieving this stress but it’s so hard to get back on track and stick with it!



April 16, 2006

 I’m soooo tired and I don’t know why. I want to sleep all of the time but when my head nestles into a pillow, any pillow, sleep turns to laugh at me and flees! I’m numb. I drag myself out of bed in  the morning and my first thought is always, “Can I take a nap today?”

When I lie down to sleep my mind takes that as a cue to start a trip without my body. I don’t want to follow. My mind takes me places I don’t want to return to. It tries to hold me in that hot room in July 2003. It sits me at Steve’s bedside forcing me to look at his still, pale face. It sings Enya’s Orinoco Flow as I try to look away. Sail away, sail away. My mind tries to keep me slogging through the mire, pinning my arms to my sides, trying to convince me they will never again be lifted in joy.

I’m tired of stumbling down that dark path. I want to find the path that’s bathed in sunshine, warming my heart. But instead when I go to bed at night I lie awake in the darkness, in darkness. My days are run on auto-pilot.

And again I’m fighting a cold, making me even more exhausted.

I’m missing Steve more and more. I don’t know which comes first...missing Steve makes me feel down or feeling down makes me miss Steve more.

Oh, well. I’m going to miss him no matter what.

April 15, 2006

All day long I’d been pacing around the house trying to keep myself busy, yet unable to concentrate on anything. All I could think about was escape. I felt a strong pull to just get out of here…but to where…and from what? I feel as though I'm trapped in an alternate reality of my own life.

 Late in the afternoon I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my purse and keys and  lurched toward the van, destinations shooting through my mind…Jane’s house, the beach, Palm Springs. I didn’t know until the main road came into view that there was only one place for me to go. I drove the half mile to Nick’s.

He was surprised to find me at his door but, seeing my distress, he led me to the sofa where uncontrollable sobs wracked me. Suddenly we found our roles reversed. Nick, whom I held and comforted when he was a small child, now held me in his strong arms and let me cry my full.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
 “Mom, you’re depressed.”
 “I’m not depressed!” I cried.

 But I know it’s true. I’ve been lying to myself as I steadily sink into this pit. I’ve believed I could reorient myself, find my own way out through prayer and meditation. But I’m only sinking further every day. I don’t know if this is grief related, or the clinical depression I’ve struggled with in the past, or if it’s a result of our family strife.

“You need to call your doctor, Mom. It’s time to get help and you know it.”
 “They’ll want to put me back on meds. I hate the way they make me feel. Like a zombie.”
 “Even feeling like a zombie for a little while would probably be better than feeling like this all the time. Right?”
 “I suppose. But, am I ever going to feel normal again?”
Nick didn’t have an answer for that.

He’s right. It doesn’t matter what’s causing the depression. I have to get help, even if it means feeling flat for a time.

Tonight I feel spent and still lost, but no longer agitated.
However I'm left wondering… when will I feel normal again?

April 13, 2006

Things are so stressful here right now I feel ready to explode! Every time someone says one of my names (Mom, Grandma, Deb…) I feel like they’re tearing a jagged bite out of my soul. I’m running out of me to give.

 It feels like our family is falling apart. There are so many negative things going on right now I don’t want to write them all down. We had such a happy family before Steve died. For more than a year after he died, we held each other up. But now we seem so fragmented, ripped apart from each other. We’re experiencing things that have never before been issues for our family…personality clashes, conflicting priorities, one daughter is lying about her whereabouts, another is under a huge amount of personal stress that she doesn’t want help for.

 And I’m so numb most of the time I don’t even know if I’m me anymore. Or if these people I share my life with are really my family.

We are rarely all here for “family dinner” but when we do all get together the tension is thick. It feels like the smiles are lightly pasted onto our faces and if these artificial smiles are pulled away we won’t be able to stay in the same room with each other without a fight.
 But it hasn’t come to that yet. We don’t actually fight or even raise our voices. We just kind of get through the evening.

Maybe I’m feeling so negative from the attacks I feel from outside myself or maybe from this constant mind-numbing fatigue. Maybe it’s from seeing this unprecedented turmoil in our family and how unreachable some of them have become inside their own grief. Nick’s seems to be literally killing him. I just need….

Merciful God, please tell me what I need. Please show me a way out of this place! Please give me back my real family.

 Please return the real me.

April 9, 2006

I am unbelievably tired! Lately I feel the need to get away from the hubbub of the family. But I can’t just walk out the door any time I want. Where would I go, anyway?


So last week I carved out a piece of our full and active home just for me. I rearranged the den that serves as my office and the kids’ playroom, and created a private space for me alone. I moved my recliner, my favorite lamp, a table with storage for books, magazines, and my Bible study material into the far corner, near the sliding glass door. During the day my corner is filled with indirect sunlight. Even though it’s the corner where Steve last laid his head I’m happy to have a private space where I can go to unwind.


 I escape to my island each morning for Bible study and again for a few minutes during the day, when I don’t usually focus on me.

I’m hoping this will bolster my flagging energy levels and alleviate my pounding stress.

.

March 25, 2006

Having Nett and Chris living here has added a new dimension to our home. They’re an essential part of the family. Nett is no longer our daughter-in-law but our daughter, and full-fledged sister to our other children. Chris is an important part of my day as I help Nett care for him. And taking him to school each morning means I have no reason to stay closed up in my home all day.

This morning I stepped into their room to wake Chris for school. He and his mom were out late last night at Family Group and after nine hours of sleep he still wasn’t ready to greet his day. As I whispered his name he slowly turned onto his back, tucking his hands under his arms, just like his dad used to. It made me catch my breath. I watched him for a minute, savoring the moment.

As a rule, I try not to actively look for similarities between Steve and his sons but sometimes they leap out at me, shining like a moving picture of young Steve for a fraction of a second, and then disappear. I’m not alone. Other family members mentioned things, too. Nicholas’s laugh. Chris’s walk. We don’t say much to the boys, don’t want them to become self-conscious and avoid certain mannerisms, or go to the other extreme and strive to emulate their dad. We want them to develop their own style and mannerisms, each becoming his own, unique person.

That said, I am grateful to have Steve’s sons here as small reminders of my son.

March 6, 2006

With nearly three years of recovery from the early grief of losing Steve, I look back to those days and weeks and see that I was consumed by thoughts of things I felt I should have done differently. I don’t know why I thought I could have been so powerful... that I could have kept him from dying if only I had ...fill in the blank.

I know I made mistakes in his health care when he was young, but nothing that would have changed the outcome. And maybe he wouldn’t have enjoyed life as much as he did.

Steve lived his life, his way.....sometimes at the expense of personal relationships. His motto was “Get in. Sit down. Shut up and hold on!” He knew he was a short-timer and wouldn’t take whining from anyone, not even from himself. He lived hard, making his own mistakes that might have robbed him of a few years, but didn’t cause his early death

I don’t know why I felt that I should have been able to prevent his death. I’m not God and God chose not to intervene. I’m okay now and I don’t beat myself up about it anymore. I know the outcome was never in my control.

I’m not even mad at God. I only spent a minute on that fruitless phase of grief. Yes, He allowed this to happen to Steve and didn’t heal him…yet.

But I believe it’s not over yet, even for Steve. When we meet again we will both be in excellent health.

ANOTHER PASSING, 2011

On Saturday my Uncle Carl passed away. Carl was one of my favorite Uncles, right up there with Uncle Marv.

Carl was the eighth of my Grandma Toll’s eight children, and he was only a few years older than her first few grandchildren. He was 11 years older than me so Mom always had a well trusted babysitter for me and my brother Dave. Some of my early memories are inhabited by him. Two in particular stand out...

I am three, maybe four; sitting at my grandparent’s dining room table, Uncle Carl is sitting to my left and we are sharing the remains of a large box of donuts. As I began to devour my donut, Uncle Carl warned me “Be careful not to eat the middle.” Nearing the middle I took tiny bites trying to get the most out of my treat. I laid my middle on the plate. “Go ahead and eat some more. You still have donut left” he told me. I nibbled my way around the middle again, and again, each time I looked to him for approval he told me I had a little more donut left. Finally I ate everything. Uncle Carl looked at my plate, then at my empty hands. “Hey! I told you not to eat the middle and you did anyway!”

In the second memory, I’m about six and Uncle Carl is babysitting. It’s a beautiful day and we’re outside playing with the neighborhood kids. Carl is chasing us and when he catches us he turns into a tickling machine. I’m on the ground laughing till my sides ache. “Stop!” I try to demand. “Are you sure you want me to stop? You must want me to tickle you more cuz you’re still laughing! I’ll stop tickling when you stop laughing.” As hard as I tried there was no way to stifle my laughter. When he finally stopped I was still laughing. However, to this day I have a strong rule about tickling. As soon as the one being tickled says stop, you must stop.

Carl grew and married Sharon, who became one of my favorite Aunts. She was someone I could talk to and never felt judged by. She and Carl were a perfect match. They were kind and generous and fun. They raised three sons who grew to be the men their parents could be proud of.

Carl, Sharon, and Family at a family reunion in 1999

 

Sharon passed away a few years ago and somehow I think Carl missed her so much that life this side of Sharon just wasn’t as easy to hold on to.
Carl will be missed by all who knew him but we are richer for having experienced his life with him.

Rest in Peace Uncle Carl.

February 28, 2006

Today I ran errands while Robyn was at literature class at the home school office. My last stop was the grocery store. As I stood at the register waiting for my total I saw the first “Cadbury Eggs” of the season.

Last week Jae came home heartbroken from a shopping trip because, though she searched the store, she couldn’t find any of these special treasures. She felt as though she had missed an important connection.

So today I bought one in memory of Steve.

I felt an odd sense of continuity as I stepped into the mid winter sunshine, wearing a smile as I slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. As the engine fired up My Immortal blasted from the radio.

Every time I hear this song it makes me think of me and Steve. She wipes away his tears, she fights away his fears. This pain is just too real!

I lost it. I sat, shoulders heaving with heavy sobs as the car idled.
I guess those few minutes were all I needed because when the song was over I pulled myself together, wiped my eyes with a tissue pulled from the always present box, and I was fine again.

Jae wasn’t here when I got home so I set the Cadbury Egg on her pillow. She arrived a short time later and, after telling me about her day, went to her room. Immediately she came back to the kitchen, holding the prize in her palm, relief softening her face.

Some days the simplest token can be enough to raise spirits and give a glimmer to the future.

I appreciate the comments you leave and have been trying to respond to them. But for some reason I haven't figured out yet, I am sent in an endless loop every time I press "Post Comment"! My own blog won't let me post a comment!

I'll keep working at it until I have this conqured. In the meantime, thank you for your comments. They mean so much to me!

December 21, 2005

Contemplating my life this morning I was struck by how completely Steve changed my life. Each baby we bear changes us in some way but usually we stay on the same life path, it just gets a little wider.

If I hadn’t become pregnant at seventeen I would have gone with my parents when they moved to Missouri. Instead I stayed behind in California with my new husband, Steve’s biological father. I would have wanted children no matter where I settled down. As far back as I can remember I wanted a house full of babies. But I wouldn’t have been blessed with these children that came to share, and help shape, my life.

Because of Steve I met Amy’s biological father.

If not for Steve, I would have missed the opportunity to meet Dave, with whom I happily share this life path and with whom I have become this version of me.

Of course I can’t know exactly where I would be now had I never been sidetracked at seventeen. I can’t imagine it being any better than here. I am where I am today, and to the extent that our environment helps shape us, who I am today, because of Steve.

November 24, 2005

There are only a few hours left of this year’s Thanksgiving Day. Although not everyone could be here the day and our home were full with family, fun, wonderful aromas, and food!

After everyone else had gone tonight Nick and I spent almost two hours outside talking, our jackets snuggly buttoned against the autumn chill. Hundreds of stars watched over us from a perfectly clear sky as we discussed how our lives had changed in the past year and a half.
This day is so hard for Nick. On Thanksgivings past he and Steve would joke about eating pumpkin pie with one foot out the door, anxious to be on their way to the desert with Jeremy, Nett, Marisa, Amy, and the kids. Thanksgiving was a favorite day for two reasons, family and the long weekend riding at the dez.

So often Steve and Nick were like a single unit. Although they were six and a half years apart they complimented each other as well as any brothers. From the time Nick was five months old he tried to keep up with his big brother and as they grew they became best friends. They had their trials and falling outs but always recovered.

Now Steve is dead and Nick is a shell of his former self. Sometimes I think that half of Nick died with Steve. Sometimes I feel as though I’ve lost two sons. Sometimes I’m so confident in my own recovery I overlook the difficulty others, especially Nick, are having.

I need to keep him in my prayers constantly. This is affecting every corner of his life.

November 23, 2005

We got so much accomplished today! At any given moment there were at least five of us bumping around the kitchen. Although they won’t be here for dinner tomorrow Amy, Kirstie, Kyle, and Josh wanted to help with the baking so they came over right after breakfast. Jae and Robyn got up early to start working on the fudge and Nett took the day off work to join the fun. When they weren’t helping in the kitchen, the kids played outside in the perfect autumn weather.

We started on the pies first. Nett once commented that there seems to be at least one pie per person at our yearly feast. She might be right. This year she was in charge of the old fashioned pumpkin pies while I made a dairy and sugar free version. As those baked, Amy got to work on my mom’s special cherry pie recipe. As a young financially challenged bride, Mom couldn’t afford the four cans of pie cherries her favorite recipe called for. In desperation she went to her pantry in search of a substitute to stretch the two cans of cherries she already had. She found the perfect ingredient and passed her secret down to her children. I have passed it to mine and today, Amy passed the secret to hers. We’ve often been told, “I don’t know why but this is the best cherry pie I’ve ever tasted!”

As Amy worked at the left of the sink her daughters and I started the dinner rolls at the right. Kirstie and Kyle reveled in the gooey fun of mixing flour by hand into the warm yeasty water and then helping me knead the dough. After setting the dough to rise near the warm oven they ran outside to join Josh, Chris, and Nic in the climbing tree, making me promise to call them in when the dough was ready to punch down and be shaped into rolls. In a few hours we enjoyed a lunch of hot bread dipped in melted butter.
After lunch we headed back to the kitchen to finish the desserts. Lemons, cornstarch, Hershey’s Cocoa Powder, pecans, maple syrup, and lots of sugar were waiting on the kitchen counters to be turned into pies.

By 3:00 the pies were cooling on racks beside the fudge on the kitchen and dining room tables. But there was still much to be done to make tomorrow easier. We chopped and sautéed onions and celery for the stuffing and put them in the fridge to cool. More celery was chopped for the Waldorf salad and put in the fridge, while a bowl of apples, bananas, and chopped walnuts was set aside. Jae and Robyn took turns climbing the step stool to the upper cabinets to retrieve the seldom used bowls we would need. They then washed and dried them and put them aside to wait for the meal.


Dishes and counters cleaned, pies, fudge, and veggies awaiting tomorrow’s appetites, my daughters and I relaxed on the sofa, exhausted and satisfied after the long day.

“You know...” I interjected into the conversation “This is the first Thanksgiving since Steve died that I feel okay looking forward to the day. The last two years I kind of dreaded Thanksgiving, knowing he wouldn’t be here. This year I know I’ll miss him. I might even shed a tear. But I really am okay. And I really am thankful for all God has blessed me with.”

From 2011

I have finished the rewrite, changing the manuscript from a journal to a memoir. It was a great suggestion by my editor, Bob Yehling. I was able to add detail that wouldn't have made sense in a journal, but was needed for clarity.

Now....more editing before the professional takes it, maybe a little more detail, then we'll see where God takes it. I hope that it goes to those who can benefit from my journey but at this point I am just happy to have completed this phase of the project.

I'll get back to the story in the blog soon.
Thanks everyone for your prayers and support!

Peace be with you....
Deb

November 22, 2005

Thanksgiving is at The Haasienda again this year. I’ve been looking forward to it for months, but this year is different. I’m not anxious about getting things done. No dreams that the family is gathered at the table but I haven’t even done the shopping yet ~ a variation of my typical pre-party dream.

The day before Thanksgiving when my girls and I make the bread, fudge, and pies is two days away and I’m as relaxed as if it’s a weekday meal. I’m looking forward to the day but almost feel like I’ve forgotten how to “do” Thanksgiving.

So tonight I made a cup of Sleepy Time tea, popped in a Jesse Cook C D, and nestled into my La-Z-Boy with pen and paper. Letting the new age flamenco music and hot tea fill my senses I wrote out a game plan for the rest of this week.

Then I sat and let my mind wander.

I’ve made it through Steve’s birthday without suffering a severe depression. Thanksgiving, my favorite day of the year, is fast approaching. I let Steve peacefully meandered through my thoughts. I smiled, told him I miss him and now it’s time for bed.

I need my rest for the work ahead.

November 17, 2005

Yesterday I woke up with long hair. It nearly reached my waist but the bottom three inches were shaggy. Robyn wanted a haircut before the Homecoming dance this Saturday so I figured I’d go in with her to get my hair cut at the same time.

As she fastened the drape around my neck I asked the stylist to trim three or four inches to clean it up. “If you get it cut to here" she said sweeping the tops of my shoulders with her hands "you’ll have enough to donate to Locks of Love”.
“Go for it!” I told her.
She called to Robyn two chairs away as she braided my hair, “Do you want to cut your mom’s braid off?”

“Sure! It’ll be like payback for all the haircuts she gave ME!”

I cringed as I felt Robyn’s firm tug and heard the crunching of the scissors divide me from almost twelve inches of my hair. But once it was done I felt light! Enough hair covered my neck to keep me warm in the coming winter. And I knew I had made a minor contribution to a young girl at a time in her life when the love of strangers might make a difference.

As the stylist worked she asked, “Is Robyn your only child?”
“No. We have four surviving children. Our oldest died almost two and a half years ago at 31 of diabetes.”

I answered her questions about our loss. We talked about how difficult this time has been, and my struggle to move forward.

After snipping the last fly away strands from my hair she retrieved my braid from the small counter in front of me. Holding it up she said, “Look! We cut off all the sad hair. All you have left now is happy hair!”

Does hair hold memory? Hmmm.... I ran my fingers through my happy hair fluffing up the short, wavy strands as a gentle spirit settle into my heart.

July 24, 2005

After only six months working in Las Vegas Annette is being transferred to San Diego. When she told me her news, she also told me she wanted to take us up on our offer to live with us. She and I have been talking about this possibility for almost a year. I can hardly believe it’s really going to happen...and so soon! She and Chris will be here in a matter of weeks.

Nett and Steve moved to Tennessee in 2001 because the San Diego housing market looked like it would never allow them to own a home here. Even in Tennessee they never realized their dream together. Within six months Steve came back for health and personal reasons. But Annette was soon able to buy a house practically next door to her mom and step dad.

Not long after Steve died, while she was still in Tennessee, Annette told me that her entire life (and Christopher’s) revolved around her job. They would get up early every weekday morning, quickly dress, and then head out the door for the nearly two hour commute to work, usually grabbing breakfast from a drive-thru on the way. Chris spent his day at nursery school near her job and often stayed until they closed at 6:00. On their long drive home they would again grab a meal at the drive-thru. Weekends were spent recovering from the work-week, doing household chores, and running errands. They had the house but not a home. Nett felt that Chris was missing out on childhood.

In January she leaped at the chance to move to Las Vegas. The time with her Dad and step mom has been wonderful for them all. Chris and Annette have more time together and Marcy has seen to it that Chris is involved in after-school activities. But the position in San Diego comes with greater opportunity for advancement. It is right for her on so many levels! What a happy co-incidence it is near us!

Steve’s childhood room has been serving as my craft room but I can hardly contain my joy as I move everything back into the cramped den closet readying the room for them. I am thrilled by thoughts of Nett and Chris here with us ~ Chris growing up in the home and community that nurtured his dad, attending the same school his dad, Aunts Amy and Marisa, Uncle Nick, and cousins Kirstie and Kyle have gone to. I’ll be taking care of him while Annette is at work, giving us a chance to really get to know each other. He’ll be able to spend time with his brother and his cousins. Nett will even be able to have a social life again, maybe even date.

As I worked I was high thinking of the whole family together again. Then a cloud of darkness rushed at me...not the whole family.
Steve’s not coming back with them.
Not the whole family the way it used to be.

Whole is different now.

I shook it off. Whole may be different now, but it is whole. I smiled, said a prayer of thanksgiving for restoration of our family, and continued cleaning the little room for Nett and Chris to share.

July 23, 2005…and I’m okay

....besides having a nasty cold.

These past few weeks I’ve thought about Steve more than usual, knowing this date was coming but not dreading it.

At 4:15 this morning we woke up to lightning and thunder ~ a masterpiece in God’s creation. Dave and I got up to watch from our living room as random strikes filled the valley with sudden white light. We counted the seconds between the light and the sometimes booming, sometimes rolling thunder. Some strikes were as little as a mile away.

When the storm was over we stayed up to get an early start on our day. We left the house at seven to join Nick and Corey at the desert. They went out last night to get in some riding during the cool night and to hang out at Steve’s spot, just the guys.

Standing on the hilltop in the warm, humid air I looked down the slope where Steve’s ashes were sprinkled two years ago to see that bits of him remain on the hillside, just as bits of him remain in our lives.
We didn’t stay long...didn’t need to. It’s comforting to go to his resting place and experience a sense of connectedness, each of us to him and to each other.

We got back home a little before noon and after a light lunch I took a much needed nap, waking at 3:20. I stayed on my bed, waiting for the 3:26 moment of my son’s death to pass.

Walking to the living room I felt so rested, so relieved (that I made it through this time unscathed? or just at peace?) Yes, at peace.
It’s 6:30 p.m. now and, except for feeling miserable from this cold, I feel great!

May 5, 2005

Sometimes it hits me again. Not quite new again but almost new...again.

Sometimes I remember I had a son named Steve, that he suffered, and he died.

Sometimes I’m caught up again in a swell of fresh grief and it crashes down on me and submerges me and carries me to some distant shore.

Sometimes I allow it, knowing it won’t keep me there forever and it won’t destroy me.

Sometimes Grief may think he is my master, but I know better,
and I am healing.

February 24, 2005

A sunny day! I had almost forgotten what a sunny day could feel like. Last week we had nearly four inches of rain! Today brought bright puffy clouds wrapped in a sapphire sky, warm sunshine, and a call from my best friend. I jumped at the chance to meet her at Mocha Marketplace.

Later, as I was making dinner, I heard Dave and Robyn’s surprised exclamations from the entry way. “Hey! What are you doing here? What a surprise! Deb! Come see who’s here!”
Wiping my hands with a kitchen towel I headed for the door to find PEGGY! I hadn’t seen my dear friend since she moved to Oklahoma a few months after Steve died. Peggy's more than a friend. She’s the big sister my mom never gave me.
Since our accidental meeting in 1983 I’ve spent more time with Peggy than I have with any other friend. Through this closeness our children have grown up like cousins. Some of them even look alike. That’s how we met ~
One day after church Terry (Peggy’s husband) distractedly patted my seven year old Amy on the head then reached for her hand. “Common. It’s time to go.” Amy was terrified, resisting his tug on her little hand. Slightly irritated, Terry looked down to her face. “You’re not Beth!” Terry brought her to me, explaining what had happened.
That wasn’t quite enough to seal our bond, though. That autumn during the Feast of Tabernacles in Tucson we happened to be staying at the same rental property. A few days into the ten day stay our van refused to start. Terry offered to jump us....every time we needed to start the van. At the end of the feast they offered to caravan home with us so we would always have a jump. By the time we got to the I-15, 30 minutes past their home, our mutual love was sealed.
We never had another problem with the van after that, and Dave never figured out what the problem was. We knew that God intended our lives to be intertwined.

I knew she was planning a trip to California but didn’t know the date. My surprise was overwhelming as she pulled me into a tight hug. Catching up over dinner, I felt how cut off I am now, but I still don’t know how to overcome this isolation.

 
 
Peggy, Feb 1987

February 3, 2005

I’m always so sorry when I avoid my journal for so long. I often put aside for “later” the things that I know are best for me. The things I find the most personally enriching…prayer, bible study, meditation, exercise, and journaling. These I put on the back burner. Instead I sleep late in the morning because I’m so tired. When I finally get up around 9 a.m. I get lost in my day, literally. Sometimes I find myself standing in the middle of a room wondering, “Where do I begin?” If I can’t figure it out I sit to wonder, staring blindly at the walls.

A few days ago I got up early. I studied, prayed, and meditated. My entire day went great! I was productive and I felt excellent.

Today I woke up sluggish (catching another cold---blah) so I went back to bed and fell into a heavy sleep. I had another house dream. But in my dream this morning I was in was this house, our home of twenty-six years. For some reason Dave and I were inspecting one of the front hall closets and we found a passageway leading to a secret basement level. There we discovered three rooms. Of course, one was a bathroom; there usually is a hidden bathroom in my house dreams. In my dream we were so excited to discover these new rooms.

Now, what does it mean? Am I the house and the newfound rooms my as yet undiscovered potential?

November 14, 2004

Thirty-three years ago today I became a mother.
I remember my first sight of that five pound, scrawny, red boy...how my heart melted. Oh, that that moment of blessedness had lasted and made me a perfect mother.

But together we grew. I am so grateful for our time together, for lessons learned from each other. Steve helped to teach me patience. And in him I saw strength and perseverance through physical trial. He taught me that we don’t have to be perfect to be loved, to positively impact those around us. As flawed as I am, he loved me unconditionally.

And I am still learning. I am learning to wait. I know I’ll see him again, hold him again. All in God’s good time.

I saw Steve in a dream last night. Our entire family was standing, as if posing for a group picture and when I looked at them from across the (yard? room?), Steve was there behind them, only his face showing. He was healthy and flashing a radiant smile at me. I need more of those dream visits with him, though I would really like to talk to him.

Today I am grateful for
31 years,
8 months,
1 week,
2 days,
and yes, even those final
4 and one half hours.

November 4, 2004

I’ve often said that the only thing I am consistent at is inconsistency. My bible study habits are not immune to this character flaw. But earlier this year I found a Bible Study plan that has been easy to stick with, even though I still don’t do it every day. I’m near the end. Today’s segment focused on giving my battles up to the Lord. In Him there is victory.
I’m usually very good at this. I have learned to tenaciously hold on to my faith through many difficult trials... I mean, opportunities... throughout my life. Through the years my trials have built my faith as I’ve watched God fight for me, provide for me, and repair my way.

But now I am fighting a battle I hadn’t realized was a battle, within myself. I continue giving in to sorrow and regret. I am still often plagued with memories of things I should have done differently with Steve.

One afternoon about eight months before he died we were talking about eulogies, using the funny form of the word from the movie “Zoolander”. I told him, “You know, as oldest son you have to give a lovely u-goo-galy at my funeral.”
“Mom, you know I won’t be around for that. You'll have to give a u-goo-galy at mine.”

What had been a playful conversation was turning into a stark reality I wasn’t ready to face. I insisted that he would be there for mine and refused to entertain the idea that he wouldn’t, cutting off a perfect opportunity to discuss his limited future. I think I even walked to another room to put an end to the discussion.

Text book denial. What gems might have come from this missed serendipitous conversation? Would he have been able to expose his heart? To share some side of himself that instead he had to keep buried to protect me from having to face his reality?

The reality came anyway and a piece of Steve he could have shared remained his burden to bear alone.

Now I carry a burden. The burden of knowing that I cheated him out of an opportunity to open up and perhaps to lighten his load just a little. I have to give this battle to God. It is my only path to victory over these spears that continually stab my heart. In this victory I can live a life to honor the memory of Steve and give glory to God. I know that God and Steve have forgiven me, now I need to forgive me. Or, do I need only to accept forgiveness?
Whatever---I give this battle up to God. In him is my complete victory over deep sorrow and regret....

From 2011

I won't be posting a new blog next week. The Southern California Writers' Conference is a week from tomorrow and I still have lots to do to be ready when Devan gets here to pick me up...including meet with Devan on Tuesday!

This year I'm anxious about the conference. No, REALLY. Anxious! Last year was a lark. This time I know that I have to talk to strangers and promote my work. If you know me, you know I'd much rather be behind the scenes. “Pay no attention to that woman behind the apron!”

This is all new to me! By nature I doubt what I have to offer. But I know that God gave me this job and if He says I can do it, I can do it! I don’t know yet to what end. Is the finished product going to be for my family and friends? That would be alright.

But I have a larger goal. I hope my book will eventually be in the hands of grieving parents. Caregivers. Friends of grieving parents. Anyone who could benefit from an inside look at this unique grief.

And to reach that goal I have to promote myself...in the social media stream and at the conference face to face with people who can make decisions about my future based on how I present myself.

Thanks for your prayers. And thanks for recommending my blog and website to everyone in your own social media stream. It really does make a difference!

http://www.debbiehaas.net/

http://debbie-haas.blogspot.com/

Peace be with you...

October 28, 2004

This time last year I was overwhelmed with anxiety and panic attacks. But on November 14 I woke up feeling lighter....as though I had stepped out from a dark shadow. I knew then that Dave had been right. It was apprehension over Steve’s approaching birthday causing the anxiety. That was the first year the guest of honor would be missing from his own birthday celebration, highlighting his permanent absence. This year I’m prepared for these feelings. I’m allowing the emotion but not the anxiety.

Since I started meditating I’ve been better able to breathe through the beginnings of a panic attack so it doesn’t get a foothold. I’m able to recognize the first hint of a rapid heartbeat, sweaty palms, and shallow breathing for what it is, acknowledge it, and release it. What a relief! Though the sadness comes and goes, the disabling anxiety isn’t the threat it once was.

I’ve been thinking so much about him today...

Steve, as a baby....
 

Steve, as a boy....
 

Steve as a young man....
 

Steve, as Husband and Daddy.
 

 

Steve, old before his time.
 

Steve, who would never know old age....



.

October 7, 2004

Marisa and Ethan are home from the hospital! So good to visit them in their own comfy space.
Before going over to see them after dinner tonight, I took a special treasure to Albertson’s floral department.

The day after Nick was born Alice and Don came to meet their new grandson. She carried with her a small bouquet of flowers in a bootie shaped vase. As she placed it on the bedside table she told me, “This little vase was given to me the day David was born and I’ve been waiting all this time to give it to his first baby.”

I have protected this memento for 26 years, waiting as Alice did, to give it to my son's wife when their first baby was born. I was terrified I would break it before I could carry on the tradition started by my sweet mom-in-law. Tonight I walked into the store hugging my carefully wrapped treasure to my chest.

As Lauren filled it with a spray of tiny blue carnations and baby’s breath I told her the story behind it. “...I’ve managed to keep it in one piece and now that my son is a daddy I'm relieved that I can hand it down to his wife.”
“No one has ever brought in an heirloom for me to fill. That is so neat!”
After finishing the flowers she placed the bootie in a box and protectivly surrounded it with floral foam to insure I reached my goal.

“Be careful! And, no charge for the flowers. I hope your daughter-in-law likes it!

She does....and now Marisa is waiting to pass it along to Ethan's wife!

 

October 6, 2004

I woke up blue this morning. Steve’s absence has cast a pall over the joy I bathed in just yesterday. My limbs were heavy as I showered and dressed for my trip to San Diego to visit Marisa and Ethan at the hospital. During the thirty minute drive, alone in my car, I started to cry. The closer I got to the hospital the harder tears came. I’ve gotten pretty good at functioning while I have a good cry. I can sob, eyes wide open, mind alert to the cars around me on the freeway.

Once I found a parking spot on the quiet road behind the hospital I sat in my car and just let loose. I wanted to go in to see them, to cuddle my new grandson but I was overwhelmed with the sadness of this powerful first. The first baby born to the family since Steve’s death. Nick’s baby. Sitting in my car, tears running unchecked down my cheeks, I imagined how different this day would be with Steve here. Even the little boy’s name would be different. Steve’s first son is Nicholas, after his brother. For years Nick and Marisa planned to name their first son after Steve. But right now the family is still too raw to introduce another Steve into our midst. And such shoes to fill! How could Nick do that to his son? The time isn’t right...yet.

How Steve would have reveled in this event, sharing the experience of fatherhood with his brother! He was such a doting uncle to Kirstie, Kyle, and Josh. I know he also would have automatically loved Ethan, the baby of his lifelong best friend, his brother. And how Steve would have razzed Nick!

But I knew I was wasting precious time sitting in my car creating artificial memories. It was time to go in and enjoy my family. I sucked in a deep, ragged breath, mopped my face, and blew my nose. I started the long walk to their room, one foot in front of the other, getting a little easier, a little quicker, with every step.

When I arrived Marisa kissed Ethan’s forehead before passing her snuggly wrapped bundle to me. I pulled him close, involuntarily anointing him with fresh tears. We settled into the chair near the window, sunlight bathing this new little piece of our future.
My finger traced Ethan’s ear, jaw line, and nose as I examined the small details of my newest grandchild. Crooning to him and visiting with his mom my sadness was crowded out by new joy.
Two hours later I walked through my front door, memories of my own children bouncing around in every room. And I was smiling.

Yes.

A new baby.

A new beginning.

October 5, 2004

He’s here! Nick and Marisa’s baby boy, Ethan Nicholas Haas is here. October 5, 2004, 4:23 PM, 9lb, 3oz. Healthy! Beautiful! A perfect little baby face! Marisa did great! Nick still seems to be in awe! He was with her the entire time. They didn’t want anyone else in with them for the birth so Lydia and I waited in the full to overflowing waiting room with rest of the family.

At about 4:20 I grabbed my fellow “Grandma-in-Waiting” by the hand and we took a walk around the hallway toward Marisa’s room. Standing outside her closed door we could hear the lusty wail of a newborn, our mutual grandson. Lydia and I bear hugged each other before heading back to the waiting room to share the news. Nick met us there minutes later, red-eyed and still teary, and led the family to the room where we were given a proper introduction to Mister Ethan. The throng that had been filling the waiting room now filled the birthing room.

What a wonderful way to welcome the newest member of the family!

A new baby. A new beginning.

From 2011

I recently read in a book by Bob Yehling ~ solitude is the necessary companion for writing. I’m sure I’ve read that before but.... I had no idea! I have been trying for the past four and a half months to keep up on my blog and work on my manuscript while hosting a family of four in our home. I started thinking I just wasn’t meant to be a writer because I couldn’t concentrate on my words through the frequent interruptions ~ kids squabbling and running through the house, adults carrying on conversations in the next room, someone hovering at my doorway “waiting till you have a minute so I can talk to you”. OY!

So I pretty much gave up on consistency until they found another place to stay.

That time has come!

My deadline for finishing the current draft of Losing Steve: One Mother’s Journey through Grief has passed.....and I am neither finished nor dead! So now I am working on both projects (Blog and manuscript) full time as my poor, uncomplaining, and uber supportive husband wastes away from neglect. Thank goodness he has his “Mafia Wars” to keep him company!
That said, it’s been two weeks since our house guests left and I am finally finding my groove again. I didn’t realize it would take time to adjust back to my normal life! It feels good to enjoy my quiet house during the day as I work on projects, get our space back in order, and then to welcome my husband home in the evenings without others vying for his attention.

So it’s back to work for me. The Writers’ Conference is coming up in three and a half weeks. I’m hoping to be finished with this draft by then.....

Peace be with you,
Deb

September 30, 2004

I have felt so much more “together” lately. The pain, grief, and guilt seem be evaporating, leaving just a mist. The fog is leaving my brain. I feel happy again. Now my core is happy with the shadow of sadness, not the other way around. I don’t feel the presence of my other self as heavily as I did before. I feel liberated. Thank you Lord for guiding me to Toby! She has helped me find my way out of my prison of grief and guilt.

I was thinking back on leaving Steve when we went on vacation the June before he died and feeling bad about it, even though when I told him I decided to stay home, he insisted we all go as planned. The whole time we were gone I imagined how much better he would be by the time we returned. None of us had any understanding of how little time we had left together.

But if we hadn’t gone Amy wouldn’t have had the opportunity to help him as she did. She came over every day to help him with his daily needs, and in the evening to help him get ready for bed and get him into bed. They spent time together, they talked, and she cared for him. She also took him to several doctors’ and physical therapy appointments gaining a greater understanding of what he was going through.

Though I do have misgivings about not having that time with him I am happy that Amy was able to bank even more memories of her brother, and that Steve had that special time with Amy.

And I know that we’ll be together later.