Hi All!
I've been spending several hours a day working on the book. It has been an unexpectedly satisfying experience changing it from a journal format into a memoir. I tried to fight my editor, Bob Yehling, on the idea because I was so certain that it began as a journal it simply had to stay a journal! But after talking to my husband, Dave, I began to catch Bob's vision. The new format allows me to add so much that was missing from my journals and kept Steve and our family hidden among the missing details. So, I have a whole lot of work to do before we are anywhere near offering the manuscript to an agent.
That said, I plan to cut back to twice a week postings for the blog. After today, I'll post on Tuesdays and Fridays.
Thanks everyone for sticking with me on this. I know it's not always easy reading, but it does have a "Happy Ending" and I truly do appreciate your support and you many kind words!
Peace Be With You
Debbie
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
August 28, 2003
I did a terrible thing to a friend today.
I hadn’t seen Wendy since the end-of-the-school-year picnic last June. At that time Steve was sick but we didn’t know what was wrong with him or that he was dying. Many of my friends had been praying for him, including Wendy. Today was the first get together of the new school year for our homeschooling group. We met at the local indoor rock climbing gym. As Robyn and Jae set out to scale one of the man-made rock walls with a dozen other kids, I joined Wendy and Tracy at the chairs set up along the wall for the spectators. As as I sat down, Wendy turned to me and asked, “How’s your son?” “Much better…” I told her but before I could tell her why her face lit up like a beacon. It broke my heart to continue, “…because he passed away” and watch her expression fall.
Actually, he is much better, right? According to the platitudes I am greeted with. According to the messages I hear. “He’s in a better place…” “He’s not hurting any more…” "You'll see him again someday". I know all that and whole heartedly agree. The moment Steve left his body I understood all of that.
But, how can a life cut short be better? He still had so much to do. So much to see. Two young sons he wanted to introduce to a wide world. He wanted to be able to go to work every day to support his family. He wanted to invest in real estate, to own a boat. He wanted to spend a month in the desert riding his Banshee all day or all night, without needing insulin injections or tubes hanging out of his belly that he would use to connect himself to an exchanger each night to clean his blood because his kinneys couldn't. He wanted to eat a banana split without the worry of spiking his blood sugar or overloading his system with potassium. He wanted to stay with his family and grow old with them. But instead he had to die to find peaceful rest from a body that failed him.
So I didn’t really lie to Wendy today. But in hindsight it was a cruel way to tell a friend of my son’s death.
I won’t do that again.
I hadn’t seen Wendy since the end-of-the-school-year picnic last June. At that time Steve was sick but we didn’t know what was wrong with him or that he was dying. Many of my friends had been praying for him, including Wendy. Today was the first get together of the new school year for our homeschooling group. We met at the local indoor rock climbing gym. As Robyn and Jae set out to scale one of the man-made rock walls with a dozen other kids, I joined Wendy and Tracy at the chairs set up along the wall for the spectators. As as I sat down, Wendy turned to me and asked, “How’s your son?” “Much better…” I told her but before I could tell her why her face lit up like a beacon. It broke my heart to continue, “…because he passed away” and watch her expression fall.
Actually, he is much better, right? According to the platitudes I am greeted with. According to the messages I hear. “He’s in a better place…” “He’s not hurting any more…” "You'll see him again someday". I know all that and whole heartedly agree. The moment Steve left his body I understood all of that.
But, how can a life cut short be better? He still had so much to do. So much to see. Two young sons he wanted to introduce to a wide world. He wanted to be able to go to work every day to support his family. He wanted to invest in real estate, to own a boat. He wanted to spend a month in the desert riding his Banshee all day or all night, without needing insulin injections or tubes hanging out of his belly that he would use to connect himself to an exchanger each night to clean his blood because his kinneys couldn't. He wanted to eat a banana split without the worry of spiking his blood sugar or overloading his system with potassium. He wanted to stay with his family and grow old with them. But instead he had to die to find peaceful rest from a body that failed him.
So I didn’t really lie to Wendy today. But in hindsight it was a cruel way to tell a friend of my son’s death.
I won’t do that again.
Friday, March 19, 2010
August 23…one month after
Tonight we had a family dinner for my birthday. Steve’s absence was palpable. It seemed so quiet without Nick and Steve just being Nick and Steve. They always spread so much laughter wherever they went and tonight that was obviously missing. We have so much as a family and are very close but a certain amount of our joy is gone, perhaps never to be fully regained in this life.
For a few minutes tonight after dinner I felt angry. Not at anyone in particular. Just angry at the situation. I miss him so much, sometimes I just want to scream. No. I don’t want to, I need to, and sometimes it just boils out from my gut. Sort of a mutation of a scream and a moan. It happens when the realization washes over me again, like today on my way to Costco to shop for tonight’s dinner. As I drove along the familiar streets I was thinking about the few items I had to pick up and for a moment I had a contented, peaceful feeling as I thought about my family coming over for what has always been a happy celebration ~~~ a birthday dinner. When I realized Steve wouldn’t be there the pain of knowing seized me at my waist tossing me forward. I tightly clutched the steering wheel and screamed, as I continued to drive down the curvy road.
This was our first family dinner here since Steve died and I dreaded it, though I knew we had to do it. We have so many “firsts” we have to get through in the upcoming year. It hurts so much to do the things we’ve always done, now doing them without him. It feels like somehow we’re being unfaithful to him, though I know that to stop living as usual would be the ultimate insult to him and to his memory.
Dave picked up his Aunt Ada and brought her to dinner tonight. Nick said that though he’s glad to see her it’s also hard because the way she moves reminds him of Steve. During his last several months Steve aged rapidly, becoming an old man before our eyes. His muscles atrophied, shriveling to a bare whisper that hung loosely on his bones. His skin turned a pale grey and his face became deeply lined and craggy. The last shred of his independence, sitting outside for a solitary smoke, was taken from him in his last four days as he lost the strength in his hands to ignite the lighter, and, on a few occasions, to even hold the cigarette between his fingers. It’s also hard to see Ada, because Nick knows that all too soon we will lose her, too.
As quiet as the house felt to me tonight Ada, who never had children of her own, made an ironic comment to me as I drove her home. She said "There’s always so much liveliness with you. You always have children around.” And so I do. I don’t think that will ever change. These children link us to the future, they provide continuity to our lives as we pass our traditions to them, and they show us that time truely is passing as we witness their growth without noticing our own aging.
I like it that way.
PS ~ From today I can safely say that we have regained our joy! Though we still miss Steve at our family celebrations and in our daily lives, God has been faithful to His promises to us to turn our sorrow into joy. He continues to add to our family in ways we never dreamed possible. Annett (Steve's widow and now our daughter) remarried a wonderful man who we love like a son. Jon is everything Steve would have wanted to step in for him to raise Christopher. And last September Jon and Nett added a granddaughter to the family, Shelby, just one day before Amy and Jeremy added a grandson, Jaxon. Our cup truely does run over!
For a few minutes tonight after dinner I felt angry. Not at anyone in particular. Just angry at the situation. I miss him so much, sometimes I just want to scream. No. I don’t want to, I need to, and sometimes it just boils out from my gut. Sort of a mutation of a scream and a moan. It happens when the realization washes over me again, like today on my way to Costco to shop for tonight’s dinner. As I drove along the familiar streets I was thinking about the few items I had to pick up and for a moment I had a contented, peaceful feeling as I thought about my family coming over for what has always been a happy celebration ~~~ a birthday dinner. When I realized Steve wouldn’t be there the pain of knowing seized me at my waist tossing me forward. I tightly clutched the steering wheel and screamed, as I continued to drive down the curvy road.
This was our first family dinner here since Steve died and I dreaded it, though I knew we had to do it. We have so many “firsts” we have to get through in the upcoming year. It hurts so much to do the things we’ve always done, now doing them without him. It feels like somehow we’re being unfaithful to him, though I know that to stop living as usual would be the ultimate insult to him and to his memory.
Dave picked up his Aunt Ada and brought her to dinner tonight. Nick said that though he’s glad to see her it’s also hard because the way she moves reminds him of Steve. During his last several months Steve aged rapidly, becoming an old man before our eyes. His muscles atrophied, shriveling to a bare whisper that hung loosely on his bones. His skin turned a pale grey and his face became deeply lined and craggy. The last shred of his independence, sitting outside for a solitary smoke, was taken from him in his last four days as he lost the strength in his hands to ignite the lighter, and, on a few occasions, to even hold the cigarette between his fingers. It’s also hard to see Ada, because Nick knows that all too soon we will lose her, too.
As quiet as the house felt to me tonight Ada, who never had children of her own, made an ironic comment to me as I drove her home. She said "There’s always so much liveliness with you. You always have children around.” And so I do. I don’t think that will ever change. These children link us to the future, they provide continuity to our lives as we pass our traditions to them, and they show us that time truely is passing as we witness their growth without noticing our own aging.
I like it that way.
PS ~ From today I can safely say that we have regained our joy! Though we still miss Steve at our family celebrations and in our daily lives, God has been faithful to His promises to us to turn our sorrow into joy. He continues to add to our family in ways we never dreamed possible. Annett (Steve's widow and now our daughter) remarried a wonderful man who we love like a son. Jon is everything Steve would have wanted to step in for him to raise Christopher. And last September Jon and Nett added a granddaughter to the family, Shelby, just one day before Amy and Jeremy added a grandson, Jaxon. Our cup truely does run over!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
August 20, 2003
Today I turned 50. I have completed my first half century. All things considered, it was a good day. I woke up very tired, as usual, so after Dave left for work at 6:45 I crawled back into bed hoping for a little more sleep. As soon as I got all comfy my mind grabbed hold of some idea and ran with it.It must not have been a very important idea. I can't even remember now what it was. It wasn’t worth the bother to lie there and work at getting back to sleep so I got up. Besides, I knew that Amy would be here by 8:30 for our morning walk. Today we made the entire two mile round trip to the west end of the flume. We are enjoying these walks and plan to continue even when our schedules are tight. It gives us a chance to talk about our lives and to ponder death. We talk some about Steve but not exclusively.
Dave and I planned to go out to dinner tonight with the kids for my birthday but didn’t get out of the house till almost 7:30. We went to IHOP because I like pancakes for dinner! Amy, Kirstie, Kyle, and Jeremy joined Dave, Janiece, Robyn and me there. We spent the evening talking and laughing together. It almost felt like any other normal family birthday dinner. Amy told me that she was thinking about having a party for my birthday but she feels it’s too soon since Steve's death. Maybe for my next milestone. This one has been overshadowed and is probably best kept low key.
Jae gave me quite a compliment this morning. “You’re too young to be fifty!” It made me remember a time when my Grandma Toll was in her seventies and she told me, “When I close my eyes I’m still the same girl I was at twenty-one.” I was twenty-two years old at the time and I couldn’t understand what she meant. But now I do. Now when I close my eyes I’m 120 pounds with long, shiny-brown hair (not my current dull brown and silver) and I’m about twenty-five years old, yet tempered with experience.
Now that I’m fifty I’m OK with it. I thought it would bother me, but like I told Steve when he was queasy about turning thirty ~ “It sure beats the alternative!”
Dave and I planned to go out to dinner tonight with the kids for my birthday but didn’t get out of the house till almost 7:30. We went to IHOP because I like pancakes for dinner! Amy, Kirstie, Kyle, and Jeremy joined Dave, Janiece, Robyn and me there. We spent the evening talking and laughing together. It almost felt like any other normal family birthday dinner. Amy told me that she was thinking about having a party for my birthday but she feels it’s too soon since Steve's death. Maybe for my next milestone. This one has been overshadowed and is probably best kept low key.
Jae gave me quite a compliment this morning. “You’re too young to be fifty!” It made me remember a time when my Grandma Toll was in her seventies and she told me, “When I close my eyes I’m still the same girl I was at twenty-one.” I was twenty-two years old at the time and I couldn’t understand what she meant. But now I do. Now when I close my eyes I’m 120 pounds with long, shiny-brown hair (not my current dull brown and silver) and I’m about twenty-five years old, yet tempered with experience.
Now that I’m fifty I’m OK with it. I thought it would bother me, but like I told Steve when he was queasy about turning thirty ~ “It sure beats the alternative!”
Monday, March 15, 2010
August 6, 2003
Robs and I were invited to a get together with some of our home school friends at Helen’s home for today. I got up at my usual 6:15 to make Dave's breakfast and lunch, but I really wasn’t ready to plunge into my day so I went back to bed, “to sleep, perchance to dream” as Hamlet said. And I did dream. I had another house dream, but this one was different than the recurring "house dreams" I've had over the past thirty years. Usually in these dreams, I find myself in an unfamiliar house that we are considering buying or we are moving into. As I walk around in the house I discover a hidden room or rooms, often including an old fashioned bathroom. This time it was our house I found myself in and as I walked into our bedroom, on the south wall I found a door to a large walk-in closet. As my dream self tip-toed to the open door of the closet I peeked in and saw that it was empty. Now as I look back on the dream I remember being so happy to find this newly discovered space.
I finally got up at nine o'clock and Robs and I slowly got ready to go to Helen’s.
As we were driving down the freeway Dave called to ask me if we have any plans for tonight. I’ve been worried about him lately. He seems so down but not ready to "let it out". Yesterday, when I asked, he admitted that he is “on the edge”.
We’re going to Nevada this weekend for Amy and Jeremy to pick up Kirstie and Kyle from their Dad and have decided to leave a day early. We’ll just hang out in Stateline, relax, and do nothing. It’ll do us both good.
Robs and I got to Helen’s a little after eleven. Our long-time friends Tracy and her daughter Rob’yn were already there and everyone greeted us with warm smiles as we came in. As I walked through the door I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay long. My heart really wasn’t into being out for a social call. It was my first nearly normal day in two months, maybe even longer. Since December helping Steve had become my normal. It felt good to sit with friends and talk about a wide variety of things. We talked a little about what my family has been going through but we also talked about regular stuff, too, like home schooling, gardening, and what to make for dinner when you’re just too tired to even think about cooking. Robs and I stayed till 3:30 and then ran a few errands before heading home. It was a good day.
The loss of her big brother finally hit Jae full force today, but the cry did her good. Until now she’s been going on about her usual life (school, outings with friends, church youth group, work) trying to hang on to a sense of normalcy. But grief will not be ignored. One way or another it will be there. Tears, anger, ulcers, broken relationships ~ grief will have its due. So what looked like a breakdown for her was actually a step forward. Dave and I discussed not going to Nevada, to stay to help Jae through this but she’s doing better now, and she has her siblings Nick, Marisa, Amy, and Jeremy, and her close friend Will and his mom Carolyn (who is like a second mom to her) to call on if she needs someone.
Though if it were up to me, I would stay home.
Today I’m grateful for a new beginning that does not deny the other beginning’s end.
I finally got up at nine o'clock and Robs and I slowly got ready to go to Helen’s.
As we were driving down the freeway Dave called to ask me if we have any plans for tonight. I’ve been worried about him lately. He seems so down but not ready to "let it out". Yesterday, when I asked, he admitted that he is “on the edge”.
We’re going to Nevada this weekend for Amy and Jeremy to pick up Kirstie and Kyle from their Dad and have decided to leave a day early. We’ll just hang out in Stateline, relax, and do nothing. It’ll do us both good.
Robs and I got to Helen’s a little after eleven. Our long-time friends Tracy and her daughter Rob’yn were already there and everyone greeted us with warm smiles as we came in. As I walked through the door I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay long. My heart really wasn’t into being out for a social call. It was my first nearly normal day in two months, maybe even longer. Since December helping Steve had become my normal. It felt good to sit with friends and talk about a wide variety of things. We talked a little about what my family has been going through but we also talked about regular stuff, too, like home schooling, gardening, and what to make for dinner when you’re just too tired to even think about cooking. Robs and I stayed till 3:30 and then ran a few errands before heading home. It was a good day.
The loss of her big brother finally hit Jae full force today, but the cry did her good. Until now she’s been going on about her usual life (school, outings with friends, church youth group, work) trying to hang on to a sense of normalcy. But grief will not be ignored. One way or another it will be there. Tears, anger, ulcers, broken relationships ~ grief will have its due. So what looked like a breakdown for her was actually a step forward. Dave and I discussed not going to Nevada, to stay to help Jae through this but she’s doing better now, and she has her siblings Nick, Marisa, Amy, and Jeremy, and her close friend Will and his mom Carolyn (who is like a second mom to her) to call on if she needs someone.
Though if it were up to me, I would stay home.
Today I’m grateful for a new beginning that does not deny the other beginning’s end.
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