As I opened my eyes this morning the first thing to go through my mind was...today would have been Steve’s 32nd birthday. I just puttered around during the morning getting ready for the family coming to dinner. Around ten, Jane called. A few minutes into our conversation she said, “Are you feeling ok? You sound sick.”
“Just blue. Today is Steve’s birthday.”
“How did I know to call you today? I just had a feeling that I had to right away.”
Her call was the perfect distraction and by the time we hung up I was feeling so much better. Each time I count my blessings Jane is near the top of the list!
Tonight we made Steve’s most requested menu for his birthday dinner. Year after year I would ask him what he wanted for his special day, even though I knew the answer before he declared it. “Enchiladas!” was his reply for at least fifteen of his birthday dinners! Marisa and Amy came early to help make dinner. The three of us set up an assembly line to make the main dish. It made the afternoon easier on two levels. I didn’t have to do all of the work myself and we had each other to help keep our minds occupied. It’s always fun to get together with my girls! Left alone I know I would have been very mopey and blue.
Nick dug out some old videos of one of their desert trips and brought them with him tonight. After dinner we put away leftovers and let the dishes hang out in the sink while we hung out in the living room and watched. Everyday reality seems to be suspended for them out in the desert. No job to rush off to. Meals out of cans. Defying the laws of physics ~ as they thread a Jeep through a narrow canyon or launch a quad off a sand dune hoping to fly.
A few times we laughed so hard we cried. In the desert Steve was truly in his element and was with the people that made his life complete. The desert was his favorite place in the world, second only to the Haasienda.
Nick knew just what we needed tonight. This way we were able to keep Steve in the picture, watching him doing what he loved with people he loved. It was a perfect end to an evening that could have been full of tears and sorrow but instead was full of love and laughter. A fitting way to remember Steve on his birthday!
Friday, April 30, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
October 4, 2003
A few days ago (or was it just yesterday? ~ time doesn’t seem the same anymore) I remembered something that has since been haunting me.
In his last six months Steve cried several times. I think he would get overwhelmed by fears of the unknown. Though he never said so, I think he intuitively knew he was dying, but the doctors led him to hope that he would soon overcome this “brief period of illness”. “Watch your diet, quit smoking, and exercise and you’ll get through this”. They told him this for six months. He didn’t quit smoking but he did watch his diet and he exercised as much as he could, considering his rapidly diminishing energy levels. He even joined a gym.
Every week or two he would go in to see one of his doctors and they would say the same thing.
“You just need to watch your diet and get some exercise.”
“I am watching my diet and I’m getting as much exercise as I can, but I keep feeling worse.”
“Well, you must not be watching your diet as closely as you could. Do better. Keep at it and you’ll see results soon.”
It was a no win situation. Because of his smoking they considered him a “non-compliant” patient, no matter how hard he tried to stick to all of the other rules.
Sometimes as his intuition would take over he would become utterly hopeless. Of course, hindsight is 20/20. I couldn’t understand any of this at the time.
What’s been haunting me is this ~ I remember one beautiful morning last spring he was sitting on the edge of the sofa across from me in the living room. I don’t remember what we were talking about but there came a lull in our conversation. He looked toward the floor and he slumped from his shoulders, head hanging low. He began to weep. I just sat there looking at him. I had the urge to run to him, embrace him. But I didn’t. I just sat there looking at the top of his head. I was in the room with him but he was so completely alone. I didn’t go to him to comfort him. I didn’t ask what the matter was. I remember feeling at a loss. I didn't understand the depth of his angst. This was well before we knew he didn’t have much time left.
This memory seems to be eating me alive, filling me with the same feeling I had before Steve died...that monster gnawing at my insides again.
Oh, dear God, how I want to hold him again, tell him how much I love him, to stroke his cheek, gently fluff his hair with my fingers, and tell him “Mommy’s here. Everything will be alright.”
It has been ten weeks since I kissed his cold forehead and the waves continue to crash on me, on all of us.
From 2010 ~
It was hard writing this. I still feel deep remorse for my inaction that day, though it no longer threatens to consume me. I have had to forgive myself for this and other regrets. If I hadn't, I couldn't have gotten to this place of peace.
And I take great comfort in knowing that I will one day be able to grab Steve in a joyfull bear hug and never be sad again! WOW!
In his last six months Steve cried several times. I think he would get overwhelmed by fears of the unknown. Though he never said so, I think he intuitively knew he was dying, but the doctors led him to hope that he would soon overcome this “brief period of illness”. “Watch your diet, quit smoking, and exercise and you’ll get through this”. They told him this for six months. He didn’t quit smoking but he did watch his diet and he exercised as much as he could, considering his rapidly diminishing energy levels. He even joined a gym.
Every week or two he would go in to see one of his doctors and they would say the same thing.
“You just need to watch your diet and get some exercise.”
“I am watching my diet and I’m getting as much exercise as I can, but I keep feeling worse.”
“Well, you must not be watching your diet as closely as you could. Do better. Keep at it and you’ll see results soon.”
It was a no win situation. Because of his smoking they considered him a “non-compliant” patient, no matter how hard he tried to stick to all of the other rules.
Sometimes as his intuition would take over he would become utterly hopeless. Of course, hindsight is 20/20. I couldn’t understand any of this at the time.
What’s been haunting me is this ~ I remember one beautiful morning last spring he was sitting on the edge of the sofa across from me in the living room. I don’t remember what we were talking about but there came a lull in our conversation. He looked toward the floor and he slumped from his shoulders, head hanging low. He began to weep. I just sat there looking at him. I had the urge to run to him, embrace him. But I didn’t. I just sat there looking at the top of his head. I was in the room with him but he was so completely alone. I didn’t go to him to comfort him. I didn’t ask what the matter was. I remember feeling at a loss. I didn't understand the depth of his angst. This was well before we knew he didn’t have much time left.
This memory seems to be eating me alive, filling me with the same feeling I had before Steve died...that monster gnawing at my insides again.
Oh, dear God, how I want to hold him again, tell him how much I love him, to stroke his cheek, gently fluff his hair with my fingers, and tell him “Mommy’s here. Everything will be alright.”
It has been ten weeks since I kissed his cold forehead and the waves continue to crash on me, on all of us.
From 2010 ~
It was hard writing this. I still feel deep remorse for my inaction that day, though it no longer threatens to consume me. I have had to forgive myself for this and other regrets. If I hadn't, I couldn't have gotten to this place of peace.
And I take great comfort in knowing that I will one day be able to grab Steve in a joyfull bear hug and never be sad again! WOW!
Friday, April 23, 2010
October 1, 2003
Jane, my long time and closest friend, called to tell me that Jeff is coming home from Iraq. She was hesitant to share the news with me because of what happened to Steve.
We were both worried about our sons during the same time. Hers was in a foreign war; mine was in a personal war. My son lost his battle, but hers is coming home safe. She was afraid that her news would magnify my loss, but I am delighted! There’s no way my heart can feel anything but utter joy and relief to hear this wonderful news!
I admit ~ I was more worried for Jeff after Steve died. So often in the last twenty-five years events in our lives seem to have run parallel. It seems to go deeper than just because we are close friends with so much contact. Of course we share the same types of interests but sometimes we have similar problems at the same time ~ we are both sensitive to perfumes and other scents, both suffer from migraines, neither of us can eat dairy products without paying a price in our health (oh how I miss ice cream!). We have had two babies together (Nick and Jeff, then eight years later Janiece and Laura). Our kids would sometimes get sick at the same time, even if they hadn’t been together to catch the bug at the same place. I guess this is common for friends that have been together for so long. But after Steve died, I was so afraid that again we would be going through another trial together. I didn't want Jane to feel this pain, to lose her son. Oh, how I have prayed for Jeff's safety. I've kept my concerns to myself, though. Why worry her more than she already has been? Maybe the same idea has taken root in her, but I've been afraid to ask.
And now Jeff will be returning to his mom. My loss has no bearing on my feelings about Jeff's homecoming. I cannot be jealous that my friend will soon be able to to throw her arms around her son again. To know for certain that he is safe. And I can't even wish that the tables were turned. It just isn’t in me.
It is what it is ~ a time for great joy and celebration!
Godspeed, Jeff, and welcome home!
We were both worried about our sons during the same time. Hers was in a foreign war; mine was in a personal war. My son lost his battle, but hers is coming home safe. She was afraid that her news would magnify my loss, but I am delighted! There’s no way my heart can feel anything but utter joy and relief to hear this wonderful news!
I admit ~ I was more worried for Jeff after Steve died. So often in the last twenty-five years events in our lives seem to have run parallel. It seems to go deeper than just because we are close friends with so much contact. Of course we share the same types of interests but sometimes we have similar problems at the same time ~ we are both sensitive to perfumes and other scents, both suffer from migraines, neither of us can eat dairy products without paying a price in our health (oh how I miss ice cream!). We have had two babies together (Nick and Jeff, then eight years later Janiece and Laura). Our kids would sometimes get sick at the same time, even if they hadn’t been together to catch the bug at the same place. I guess this is common for friends that have been together for so long. But after Steve died, I was so afraid that again we would be going through another trial together. I didn't want Jane to feel this pain, to lose her son. Oh, how I have prayed for Jeff's safety. I've kept my concerns to myself, though. Why worry her more than she already has been? Maybe the same idea has taken root in her, but I've been afraid to ask.
And now Jeff will be returning to his mom. My loss has no bearing on my feelings about Jeff's homecoming. I cannot be jealous that my friend will soon be able to to throw her arms around her son again. To know for certain that he is safe. And I can't even wish that the tables were turned. It just isn’t in me.
It is what it is ~ a time for great joy and celebration!
Godspeed, Jeff, and welcome home!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
September 26, 2003 9:20 AM
This morning I took Robyn to her weekly Future Scientists and Engineers of America class at the home school office. Often when I drop her off for her various classes I either hang out with the other moms as we help in the class, or just catch up with each other, or I use the time alone to run errands. But today instead of staying or running all over town for the two hours Robyn would be in class I wanted to use this newfound energy I’ve had this week continuing to attend to some of the housework I’ve been letting go for so long.
On my way home, alone in my quiet car and waiting for a light to change, I was suddenly filled with an overwhelming rush of happiness. As I sat there, hands on the wheel and the cross traffic on San Marcos Blvd rushing past my windshield, the feeling kept growing inside me, filling every nook and cranny of my earthly being. I knew for the first time in months that I was happy. This wonderful feeling kept welling up from deep inside me, bubbling past my lips as a deep chuckle. I haven’t felt anything like this for so long. I’ve had moments of superficial happiness these past four to six months, but not like this swell of well-being that was rising up in me and infusing me with a warm glow.
But there was a delicate difference about this. I couldn’t name the feeling at first but then it came to me. This was bittersweet, and knowing that made me burst into tears. Here I was intensely happy, yet crying, but not crying because I was happy. These were no tears of joy. I was honestly happy and deeply sad at the same time, and each had its place.
It made me wonder ~ will all of my happiness be tinged with sorrow because Steve isn’t here to share in it?
On my way home, alone in my quiet car and waiting for a light to change, I was suddenly filled with an overwhelming rush of happiness. As I sat there, hands on the wheel and the cross traffic on San Marcos Blvd rushing past my windshield, the feeling kept growing inside me, filling every nook and cranny of my earthly being. I knew for the first time in months that I was happy. This wonderful feeling kept welling up from deep inside me, bubbling past my lips as a deep chuckle. I haven’t felt anything like this for so long. I’ve had moments of superficial happiness these past four to six months, but not like this swell of well-being that was rising up in me and infusing me with a warm glow.
But there was a delicate difference about this. I couldn’t name the feeling at first but then it came to me. This was bittersweet, and knowing that made me burst into tears. Here I was intensely happy, yet crying, but not crying because I was happy. These were no tears of joy. I was honestly happy and deeply sad at the same time, and each had its place.
It made me wonder ~ will all of my happiness be tinged with sorrow because Steve isn’t here to share in it?
Friday, April 16, 2010
September 23, 2003 10PM
Yesterday I felt as though it was time to move on. It was almost a physical feeling, like the initial numbness of my grief is beginning to wear off. I felt a good, though temporary, sense of the burden of these past months lifting. I loaded up the CD player with some Jesse Cook and old Fleetwood Mac albums and started to putter around the house, tending to some long overdue tasks as I hummed along with the music. I got more done in one day than I have in a long time.
This morning after my bible study I was still feeling energized and ready to attack the new day. I turned on yesterday's music and got to work again in the living room, singing along to Mystery to Me. As I was clearing off the end table to dust it I came to the stack of condolence cards that have been sitting by my chair since Steve died. I wondered where I could store them and decided to put them into one of his bedside table drawers. I picked up the stack of cards and started reading, weeping just a little. I am especially touched when I reread the ones people personally wrote in reminding me of a special memory they have of Steve.
Then I came to the card we made to pass out at his memorial. On the front is a close up picture of Steve leaning out the passenger window of a truck during one of many trips to Ocotillo Wells. Above the picture we printed “Don’t cry because it’s over...” and underneath “Smile because it happened!” I smiled a little as I ran my finger over the image of his face, then flipped it over to see two more pictures. One is of him in his ridding jersey out at the desert, scrunching up his face because of the sand in his beard. The other is one Nett took during a day trip just the two of them took to Los Coyotes. He is standing in front of their Jeep holding its tie rod that had bent into a wide “V” shape as they were four wheeling over some boulders. On his face is a stubborn expression, like he fully intends to bend it back into a straight line. Jeremy captioned this picture “I can fix it!!!” And Steve did fix it, just well enough to hobble all the way home.
Seeing these pictures of Steve in his prime, doing what he loved the most, made me cry harder than I have cried in weeks. This recovery business is quite a see-saw.
Once again I can hardly believe he’s gone, although it is getting easier to remember him healthy.
I miss him every day, every hour. Sometimes people tell me sympathetically, “Oh, he’ll always be with you in your heart”, but I'm not sure they understand. It’s almost a curse, torture. Those memories are there constantly, always hovering about my head carrying with them the heavy sense of absence, always reminding me there’s someone missing. Those memories are impossible to avoid. It seems that everywhere I look around our home, or around this town he grew up in, I bump into him with a sharp pain.
At the same time though, I am beginning to feel a sense peace carrying him in my heart.
~From 2010~
At the time this was originally written I did feel as though those memories were, in a way, torture. Every time I saw a picture of him (and I never removed any from the walls or photo albums) it was like a blow to the chest. I left them hanging but avoided looking at them. It just hurt too much!
It took awhile, but now I remember my son without crying. I smile when I look up and see his picture hanging with the rest of the family pictures. I can laugh when I remember his antics. I enjoy a good trip down memory lane.
I was told it would get better, and it did!
Peace be with you!
Debbie
This morning after my bible study I was still feeling energized and ready to attack the new day. I turned on yesterday's music and got to work again in the living room, singing along to Mystery to Me. As I was clearing off the end table to dust it I came to the stack of condolence cards that have been sitting by my chair since Steve died. I wondered where I could store them and decided to put them into one of his bedside table drawers. I picked up the stack of cards and started reading, weeping just a little. I am especially touched when I reread the ones people personally wrote in reminding me of a special memory they have of Steve.
Then I came to the card we made to pass out at his memorial. On the front is a close up picture of Steve leaning out the passenger window of a truck during one of many trips to Ocotillo Wells. Above the picture we printed “Don’t cry because it’s over...” and underneath “Smile because it happened!” I smiled a little as I ran my finger over the image of his face, then flipped it over to see two more pictures. One is of him in his ridding jersey out at the desert, scrunching up his face because of the sand in his beard. The other is one Nett took during a day trip just the two of them took to Los Coyotes. He is standing in front of their Jeep holding its tie rod that had bent into a wide “V” shape as they were four wheeling over some boulders. On his face is a stubborn expression, like he fully intends to bend it back into a straight line. Jeremy captioned this picture “I can fix it!!!” And Steve did fix it, just well enough to hobble all the way home.
Seeing these pictures of Steve in his prime, doing what he loved the most, made me cry harder than I have cried in weeks. This recovery business is quite a see-saw.
Once again I can hardly believe he’s gone, although it is getting easier to remember him healthy.
I miss him every day, every hour. Sometimes people tell me sympathetically, “Oh, he’ll always be with you in your heart”, but I'm not sure they understand. It’s almost a curse, torture. Those memories are there constantly, always hovering about my head carrying with them the heavy sense of absence, always reminding me there’s someone missing. Those memories are impossible to avoid. It seems that everywhere I look around our home, or around this town he grew up in, I bump into him with a sharp pain.
At the same time though, I am beginning to feel a sense peace carrying him in my heart.
~From 2010~
At the time this was originally written I did feel as though those memories were, in a way, torture. Every time I saw a picture of him (and I never removed any from the walls or photo albums) it was like a blow to the chest. I left them hanging but avoided looking at them. It just hurt too much!
It took awhile, but now I remember my son without crying. I smile when I look up and see his picture hanging with the rest of the family pictures. I can laugh when I remember his antics. I enjoy a good trip down memory lane.
I was told it would get better, and it did!
Peace be with you!
Debbie
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Current ~ Oops!
Earlier today I learned a very good lesson ~ DON'T HIT PUBLISH UNLESS I'M READY TO PUBLISH! I was experimenting with posting pictures from my desktop onto the blog. Thinking I could just delete the post, I published it before I was finished so I could see how it was going to look. Yep, I was able to delete it from my blog but not until it went out to the Readers and RSS feeds.
Oh well. Tomorrow when I post it will look like a rerun, but it won't be. And hopefully, I will be able to put some pictures up, too. We'll see.....I'm still learning!
Thanks for your patience!
Oh well. Tomorrow when I post it will look like a rerun, but it won't be. And hopefully, I will be able to put some pictures up, too. We'll see.....I'm still learning!
Thanks for your patience!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
September 17, 2003
I can't believe how much I've been eating lately. Seems I am always eating and when I'm not eating I am thinking about food. In the last seven weeks I've gained more than ten pounds.
Tonight I was sitting on the sofa watching "Conspiracy Theory" and Cheerios started dancing through my mind. I had only finished dinner two hours ago. I knew I wasn't hungry, but the pull toward the kitchen was so strong. Mmmm. Cheerios, soy milk, and one of those perfectly ripe bananas from the fruit bowl sliced over the top. But as my bare toes made contact with the carpet, it hit me ~ I am not hungry. I am empty. It is the gaping hole left in my heart by Steve's absence that I am trying to fill. I eased myself back into a sitting position and gave this some thought. This emptiness can't be filled. Not with food. Not with anything I can work up in the here and now. This hole in my heart can only be filled, I am told, by time, with patience, and with God's love.
I didn't have the snack tonight and I pray that God will hold this thought in my mind and help redirect me whenever the kitchen calls.
Tonight I was sitting on the sofa watching "Conspiracy Theory" and Cheerios started dancing through my mind. I had only finished dinner two hours ago. I knew I wasn't hungry, but the pull toward the kitchen was so strong. Mmmm. Cheerios, soy milk, and one of those perfectly ripe bananas from the fruit bowl sliced over the top. But as my bare toes made contact with the carpet, it hit me ~ I am not hungry. I am empty. It is the gaping hole left in my heart by Steve's absence that I am trying to fill. I eased myself back into a sitting position and gave this some thought. This emptiness can't be filled. Not with food. Not with anything I can work up in the here and now. This hole in my heart can only be filled, I am told, by time, with patience, and with God's love.
I didn't have the snack tonight and I pray that God will hold this thought in my mind and help redirect me whenever the kitchen calls.
Friday, April 9, 2010
September 13, 2003
Janiece, Robyn, and I went to a friend’s back to school party tonight. It’s so great to see my girls get out with their friends and put their sadness aside for a few hours. I had to smile as I watched them stomping up the stairs with a gaggle of girls, laughing and without a care in the world.
I saw so many friendly faces that I haven’t seen since last June. As I chatted amiably with a group one of the moms smiled warmly and asked me, “How’s your family?” It was an honest question from a very sweet woman and deserved an honest response. I paused a moment pondering the best way to answer... We are shattered but mending, numb yet resilient, supporting each other as we grope in the dark ...all came to mind but, “Smaller” was the simple, true answer I gave her. I honestly thought she had heard about Steve. News usually travels fast in a group like ours. But the utterly perplexed look on her face told me that she didn’t understand.
Tracy was standing by my side and I turned to make eye contact with her as an anchor to hold me in place as I briefly explained what I meant. It’s amazing how fast the three little words “my son died” can change a person’s countenance. As soon as my words registered her expression fell into “the face”.
I know that people are saddened to hear of another’s loss and I don’t begrudge them their honest feelings. But “the face” changes the whole tone of an encounter. Sometimes I just want to be separate from the constant grief. I want to enjoy a moment, move on in the conversation. But when people hear my news, so often they get stuck on it and can't seem to move forward. Like moving forward will shatter me. But it doesn't. Being stuck shatters me. Looking into "the face" holds me in place. I find that I have to be the strong one. The one to push ahead and past the news.
I mean, I don’t want to be faced with a stone mask, either, but... Oh bother! I don’t know what I want. I just know I don’t want “the face”!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hello from 2010!
Rereading this reminds me of how I felt each time someone would see me and automatically their expression would change from "Happy to see you" to "Oh my gosh, you poor thing". It seemed like from now on I would be equated with this grief. But time has passed and I am again greeted with friendly smiles.
Not long after this party I met up with a friend who had suffered a recent loss. I was shocked at myself as I felt my facial muscles start to mold themselves into "the face". I realized what I was doing and softened my expression and asked her "How are you doing? I know this is a tough time." I don't know if that was the right thing to do. I'm only going on how I felt once upon a time.
My friend, Morgan lost her husband suddenly last year. He was only 44 years old. As we were talking a few months later, she said, "People tell me ~ 'Call me if you need anything'. Does that mean only call them if I need something? What if I just want to have a friendly conversation?"
When we are in the thick of the early days of grieving, we don't even know what we need, let alone have the gumption to call someone. It's so much easier when someone will say, for instance, "I'm bringing dinner on Tuesday" or "Can the kids come over to hang out with us for a few hours?" or "Do you mind if I call just to chat?" Concrete offers are like life savers tossed to someone who feels like they are drowning in roiling waters.
And grief isn't over in a few weeks or months. It can take more than a year for a person to begin to get into their "new normal" life. Keep calling. Keep inviting. Don't give up on them.
OK. Thanks for putting up with my ramblings today!
I saw so many friendly faces that I haven’t seen since last June. As I chatted amiably with a group one of the moms smiled warmly and asked me, “How’s your family?” It was an honest question from a very sweet woman and deserved an honest response. I paused a moment pondering the best way to answer... We are shattered but mending, numb yet resilient, supporting each other as we grope in the dark ...all came to mind but, “Smaller” was the simple, true answer I gave her. I honestly thought she had heard about Steve. News usually travels fast in a group like ours. But the utterly perplexed look on her face told me that she didn’t understand.
Tracy was standing by my side and I turned to make eye contact with her as an anchor to hold me in place as I briefly explained what I meant. It’s amazing how fast the three little words “my son died” can change a person’s countenance. As soon as my words registered her expression fell into “the face”.
I know that people are saddened to hear of another’s loss and I don’t begrudge them their honest feelings. But “the face” changes the whole tone of an encounter. Sometimes I just want to be separate from the constant grief. I want to enjoy a moment, move on in the conversation. But when people hear my news, so often they get stuck on it and can't seem to move forward. Like moving forward will shatter me. But it doesn't. Being stuck shatters me. Looking into "the face" holds me in place. I find that I have to be the strong one. The one to push ahead and past the news.
I mean, I don’t want to be faced with a stone mask, either, but... Oh bother! I don’t know what I want. I just know I don’t want “the face”!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hello from 2010!
Rereading this reminds me of how I felt each time someone would see me and automatically their expression would change from "Happy to see you" to "Oh my gosh, you poor thing". It seemed like from now on I would be equated with this grief. But time has passed and I am again greeted with friendly smiles.
Not long after this party I met up with a friend who had suffered a recent loss. I was shocked at myself as I felt my facial muscles start to mold themselves into "the face". I realized what I was doing and softened my expression and asked her "How are you doing? I know this is a tough time." I don't know if that was the right thing to do. I'm only going on how I felt once upon a time.
My friend, Morgan lost her husband suddenly last year. He was only 44 years old. As we were talking a few months later, she said, "People tell me ~ 'Call me if you need anything'. Does that mean only call them if I need something? What if I just want to have a friendly conversation?"
When we are in the thick of the early days of grieving, we don't even know what we need, let alone have the gumption to call someone. It's so much easier when someone will say, for instance, "I'm bringing dinner on Tuesday" or "Can the kids come over to hang out with us for a few hours?" or "Do you mind if I call just to chat?" Concrete offers are like life savers tossed to someone who feels like they are drowning in roiling waters.
And grief isn't over in a few weeks or months. It can take more than a year for a person to begin to get into their "new normal" life. Keep calling. Keep inviting. Don't give up on them.
OK. Thanks for putting up with my ramblings today!
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
September 9, 2003 11:16 PM
Today would have been Steve and Annette's fourth wedding anniversary. I didn't even think about it as I started my day and headed out to run errands. For hours I was blissfully unaware of the date and its significance. One of my errands involved meeting Marisa at work so that she could place a fax for me. I was so chipper as we sat at her desk and chatted. The paper I was faxing needed to be signed and dated. I looked up at her and said, "What is today's date, anyway?" Marisa let out a heavy sign and said, "Nine, nine." For a moment I was stunned. I couldn’t believe that I had forgotten.
When Nett realized that 9-9-99 was coming up she thought that would be a great anniversary date. We made plans and piled into the Justice of the Peace Office that day for a simple wedding ceremony. It was a Thursday so not everyone in the family could be there but we seemed to fill up the small room anyway. Janiece, Robyn, and I were there. Nett’s mom came down from Murietta bringing champagne and a tiny jump suit that looked like a tuxedo for one month old Christopher. There weren’t very many wedding tears; we were having too much fun! I was laughing at Steve as he stood there in his best shirt and tie with a pair of jeans. He was so nonchalant, so Steve...going with the flow. The time was right and he wanted Nett to have her memorable wedding date. The day couldn't have been more perfect...the beautiful autumn weather, the smiles and laughter, the joy that we shared.
I called Nett tonight to tell her I was thinking of her today. Although she was well aware of the date all day today she was so busy at work that she didn’t have time to let it get her down. By the time she and Chris got home they were ready to fall into bed. My call preempted that but she seemed happy to spend some long distance time with me.
As we talked she told me of a dream she had recently. She and Grandma Noni (my mom) were standing at one end of a busy street and they saw Steve was at the other end, facing them. They all started walking toward each other through heavy traffic. Steve wasn’t at all worried about the cars on the road. Grandma Noni went a little ahead of Nett and as she met up with Steve she walked right through him and Nett didn't see her again. She told me that in the dream she talked to Steve for what seemed like an hour. During their conversation she kept telling him how pearly white his teeth were. He was always so concerned about his teeth and truly enjoyed brushing them! Steve seemed very happy to be where he was.
Now Nett is worried about my mom. Mom's health seems to be declining. I just don’t want my her to suffer or have a long hospitalization. And I don’t want her to be afraid.
When Nett realized that 9-9-99 was coming up she thought that would be a great anniversary date. We made plans and piled into the Justice of the Peace Office that day for a simple wedding ceremony. It was a Thursday so not everyone in the family could be there but we seemed to fill up the small room anyway. Janiece, Robyn, and I were there. Nett’s mom came down from Murietta bringing champagne and a tiny jump suit that looked like a tuxedo for one month old Christopher. There weren’t very many wedding tears; we were having too much fun! I was laughing at Steve as he stood there in his best shirt and tie with a pair of jeans. He was so nonchalant, so Steve...going with the flow. The time was right and he wanted Nett to have her memorable wedding date. The day couldn't have been more perfect...the beautiful autumn weather, the smiles and laughter, the joy that we shared.
I called Nett tonight to tell her I was thinking of her today. Although she was well aware of the date all day today she was so busy at work that she didn’t have time to let it get her down. By the time she and Chris got home they were ready to fall into bed. My call preempted that but she seemed happy to spend some long distance time with me.
As we talked she told me of a dream she had recently. She and Grandma Noni (my mom) were standing at one end of a busy street and they saw Steve was at the other end, facing them. They all started walking toward each other through heavy traffic. Steve wasn’t at all worried about the cars on the road. Grandma Noni went a little ahead of Nett and as she met up with Steve she walked right through him and Nett didn't see her again. She told me that in the dream she talked to Steve for what seemed like an hour. During their conversation she kept telling him how pearly white his teeth were. He was always so concerned about his teeth and truly enjoyed brushing them! Steve seemed very happy to be where he was.
Now Nett is worried about my mom. Mom's health seems to be declining. I just don’t want my her to suffer or have a long hospitalization. And I don’t want her to be afraid.
Friday, April 2, 2010
September 8, 2003
I know it's early but I’ve been thinking a lot about Thanksgiving lately, as I am prone to do as autumn approaches. We’re having it here at the Haasienda this year, even though it’s Paula and Bob’s turn. Given the circumstances, my sister and her husband don't mind giving up hosting.
I usually spend months looking forward Thanksgiving; thinking of the menu, the jobs that need to be done before, during, and after the meal, who’s bringing what. There are activities to plan to keep the little ones (and not so little ones) from getting bored while the women prepare the meal. Mom, Paula, Janet, and I used to spend hours on the phone making plans in the month and a half that led up to Thanksgiving. I really don’t know why. It’s a day driven by tradition. The plans have been pretty much set for decades. Year after year there is very little variation in the menu, and we each have our specialties that we bring. I guess the planning is as much a part of the tradition as the cooking and the day itself.
As I sit making plans, I keep thinking of people to invite, besides the thirty of us in our immediate family. First I thought about inviting Mom’s brother Carl and his whole family and from ther there list kept growing. After writing down nearly forty additional names on my sheet of paper I realized... I’m trying to fill the house up with people so the gap caused by Steve's absence won’t be so obvious. But I know that no matter how many people fill the house, the hole will still be here, especially on Thanksgiving, my favorite day of the year. So we’ll just keep it to the usual family and a few friends.
I spent a few hours watching family videos last night looking for Steve. I wanted to see him healthy. Whenever I randomly think of him the first picture that pops into my head is that of him just after he died ~ close cropped hair, ancient face and emaciated body, lying still under a blue sheet. I want to be able to have a healthy-looking Steve pop into my mind’s eye so I’m searching him out. There are very few videos of him because he was so camera shy. Whenever he noticed the camera was on him he would literally tiptoe out of the shot. But last night I found the quintessential Steve. It was shot the day Nicholas was born. Steve, Jae, Robyn, and I were in the maternity waiting room with Lori’s parents. We were waiting for Lori’s sister Linda to bring news from the delivery room where she was with Lori during her C-section. We didn’t know yet that there were serious problems for Lori and Steve’s new son. As we were sitting enjoying each other’s company Nicholas was being rushed to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit where a team of doctors and nurses were fighting to stabilize him enough to Life Flight him to Children’s Hospital. For awhile we were all blissfully unaware of the struggle taking place and we were having a happy conversation as we waited for word from Linda. I was playing around with the video camera and got a close up of Steve. He turned to fully face me and gave me his Steve smile, that slow, sweet grin that spoke volumes from his heart. It was perfect. I was able to go to bed with that picture of him in my head and this morning when I woke and thought of him, that was the Steve I saw ~ blond hair, a clear complexion, and sparkling blue-green eyes.
Just for fun I looked at more videos this morning and found a few more good shots of him just being his usual Steve self as he interacted with the family. Sweet memories flooded my heart.
There are so many reasons to want Christ to return soon, but right now one of the biggest for me is so we can see and hold Steve again. I miss him so much. I am so thankful, though, that I have the videos to help me rebuild a mental image of him in robust health.
I usually spend months looking forward Thanksgiving; thinking of the menu, the jobs that need to be done before, during, and after the meal, who’s bringing what. There are activities to plan to keep the little ones (and not so little ones) from getting bored while the women prepare the meal. Mom, Paula, Janet, and I used to spend hours on the phone making plans in the month and a half that led up to Thanksgiving. I really don’t know why. It’s a day driven by tradition. The plans have been pretty much set for decades. Year after year there is very little variation in the menu, and we each have our specialties that we bring. I guess the planning is as much a part of the tradition as the cooking and the day itself.
As I sit making plans, I keep thinking of people to invite, besides the thirty of us in our immediate family. First I thought about inviting Mom’s brother Carl and his whole family and from ther there list kept growing. After writing down nearly forty additional names on my sheet of paper I realized... I’m trying to fill the house up with people so the gap caused by Steve's absence won’t be so obvious. But I know that no matter how many people fill the house, the hole will still be here, especially on Thanksgiving, my favorite day of the year. So we’ll just keep it to the usual family and a few friends.
I spent a few hours watching family videos last night looking for Steve. I wanted to see him healthy. Whenever I randomly think of him the first picture that pops into my head is that of him just after he died ~ close cropped hair, ancient face and emaciated body, lying still under a blue sheet. I want to be able to have a healthy-looking Steve pop into my mind’s eye so I’m searching him out. There are very few videos of him because he was so camera shy. Whenever he noticed the camera was on him he would literally tiptoe out of the shot. But last night I found the quintessential Steve. It was shot the day Nicholas was born. Steve, Jae, Robyn, and I were in the maternity waiting room with Lori’s parents. We were waiting for Lori’s sister Linda to bring news from the delivery room where she was with Lori during her C-section. We didn’t know yet that there were serious problems for Lori and Steve’s new son. As we were sitting enjoying each other’s company Nicholas was being rushed to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit where a team of doctors and nurses were fighting to stabilize him enough to Life Flight him to Children’s Hospital. For awhile we were all blissfully unaware of the struggle taking place and we were having a happy conversation as we waited for word from Linda. I was playing around with the video camera and got a close up of Steve. He turned to fully face me and gave me his Steve smile, that slow, sweet grin that spoke volumes from his heart. It was perfect. I was able to go to bed with that picture of him in my head and this morning when I woke and thought of him, that was the Steve I saw ~ blond hair, a clear complexion, and sparkling blue-green eyes.
Just for fun I looked at more videos this morning and found a few more good shots of him just being his usual Steve self as he interacted with the family. Sweet memories flooded my heart.
There are so many reasons to want Christ to return soon, but right now one of the biggest for me is so we can see and hold Steve again. I miss him so much. I am so thankful, though, that I have the videos to help me rebuild a mental image of him in robust health.
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