Showing posts with label From the forthcoming book "Losing Steve: One Mother's Journey Through Grief". Show all posts
Showing posts with label From the forthcoming book "Losing Steve: One Mother's Journey Through Grief". Show all posts
Friday, August 5, 2011
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.
.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, June 17, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, June 10, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, June 3, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, April 29, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
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!
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!
Friday, March 18, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, March 14, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
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?
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?
Monday, February 7, 2011
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....
.
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....
.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
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!
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!
Monday, January 31, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, January 28, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, December 10, 2010
September 26, 2004
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.
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.
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.
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