and the tears....

are starting to flow.  I have been really pleased, and really proud of myself this holiday season.  For the first time since Dave died 4 years ago we did what WE (the kids and I ) wanted to do for Thanksgiving.  We stayed home.  It was just the 3 of us and it was quiet, peaceful and very nice.      I have Christmas planned this year too - do to what the kids want.  To stay home.  We will have my parents, sister and nephew over but won't have to leave the house until our annual night time trip to friends (which they like)  We will go to my folks the day after when my brother comes with his family, but on Christmas itself we will stay home.  Something we have never done.   We also invited a church family for Christmas eve.  they are a Coast Guard family, and for the first time ever the father is out to sea for Christmas.  They have only been here a bit over a year and have no close family.  So the mom and 3 kids will join us after the early and before midnight service.  It is different, but feels right. 

So I thought I was doing good this year.  changing things up a bit seemed to  have helped my mood.  That and a recent switch of antidepressents.  Back to an even keel.  Or so I thought.   Until today.  Until church.  The flood gates have opened and they aren't showing any signs of stopping soon.    I knew that they were bound to happen sooner or later.   I am actually dealing with it okay.  Just going with the tears, not fighting it or trying to hold it back.  That has been my game plan lately and it seems to be working. Letting it out when I need to, not trying to hold back.  And most importantly not over thinking.  And when the tears to go, I am okay - not floundering in that deep depression, not getting sucked into that black hole of grief.   

So the flood gates are open.  But I think I'm okay with it this time.  I knew they would come.  But I think I will still be standing when the tears are gone.  I think I can get through this without getting sucked down.  and that is a good feeling.  and I think might even count as progress - moving forward, at my own pace (snails crawl or so it seems) but moving forward none the less.      I think Dave would be happy, I think he would want me to be able to move forward.   I think he knows that I still miss him with every fiber of my being, and love him more today than the day he left us.  I think he would be proud of me.  And that feels good.

His Legacy - Part 2

Just over 5 months ago we experienced a horrendous storm here on the east coast.  Something called a "derecho".  Somthing I have never heard of it.  It was terrifying at the start.  Lightening which seemed like a strobe light, but no thunder.  Winds like I have never seen.    Apparently the definition of a derecho is that the winds although higher than a tornado are straight winds, they just go in a straight line shearing all in it's way.  They are very sudden and unpredictable.    After huddling with my daughter for several minutes listening to the wind and watching the lightening (It was after midnight, we had both been sleeping but woke up - my son slept through the whole thing) we heard several crashes, followed a very significant shaking of our home.  We got out of my bed to investigate and while standing in the living room to try to figure out what was going on a large oak tree crashed through our roof and right through the ceiling leaving a 6 foot limb hanging less than a foot from where we were standing.   We woke my son, were evacuated by the police (were not sure the roof wouldn't collapse).  When we returned the following morning we found our cars covered by 2 of the neighbors trees.   Two trees through our second floor roof (we think the inital shaking we felt), our chimney down, our basketball court in ruins, our fences ruined and of course the big tree through the front of the house.

We had about a week to remove all of our belongs that could be saved and store them in a POD left sitting for months in our driveway.  Thanks to many incredible friends we got the job done swiftly and smoothly.  Much was ruined and we filled 4 dumpsters.  

Fast forward to this week.  We moved home.  Our renovated home is beautiful.   But now I have the task of unloading all the boxes and finding places for all the contents.  A daunting task in itself.   Five months after the storm and 4 1/2 years after Dave died I am finding things of his I have previously not had the ability to look at.    In one box I found his application for "Teacher of the Year" which he was awarded just a month before his death.    The majority of the papers were the forms filled out by his principal, other teachers etc.  But there is also a form he filled out.  As Teacher of the Year for his school he had to apply as County teacher of the year (which he did not receive).  Part of the application was "Community Involvement".  He describes his work in the community, coaching, volunteering and his work at church. 

The last paragraph hit me like a huge wave.  I bawled like a baby for a good 30 minutes. 

"I am fortunate that my wife is very committed to community causes.  she has helped instill this awareness and involvement in our children, who are routinely involved in fundraising activities.  My one daughter has served as a volunteer at Field of Dreams, a baseball program for children with disabilities.  My son has raised over $3000 for childhood cancer through the St. Baldrick's program.  I am very proud of them and hope we have created a legacy of giving back to the community.

The bolded words are what hit me.  And what caused me to be hit with a wave of I am not sure what.   Even before his death Dave was hoping our family would be giving back.  Not knowing any of this our friends came forward and developed "Dave's Day" ,where we give to our school and church.  Not knowing this our friends and community have supported us for the past 4 years and are now planning year 5.  It affirmed for me that we have chosen exactly what Dave wanted.  A humble man he would not necessarily by happy that the day is named FOR him.  But I know now deep in my heart that we are doing JUST what he wanted and although it was not a spoken wish, or not spoken between us, just written on this "form" he had to fill out, I feel that we are indeed fulfilling his "last wish" so to speak.  

the last day of "normal"

18 years, November 8th 1994,  ago I was in the hospital, in labor for the 2nd straight day, awaiting the arrival of my first biological child (I already had 2 stepdaughters).   We had no idea if "it" was a boy or a girl.  And had to wait 3 hours into the next day before we would find out.   I often over the past 18 years have revisited the three days I was in labor.  Remembering each step, how I felt, what we did (mostly stayed in bed with the darn monitor attached) and how we felt thinking we had our whole lives in front of us with this new life!

6 years ago,11/8/06,  little did I know that I would be spending my last "normal" day.  The last day that everything in my life was "normal" and perfect or at least close to it.  By then we had not only child 1 that we were anxiously awaiting 12 years early, but child 2, a pleasant surprise who arrived 3 years and 3 months after his sister.  But on that day in 2006 I had no idea that our world would be shattered.  It was just "another day".

There are so many days I can remember just what happened.  The day in 1994 when I was in labor.  I remember in detail when they started the pitocin, when my water broke, when I got my epidural, when we went into distress, and out if it, repeatedly, when they thought they had to do an emergency C section (they didn't), Dave calling my parents, his mom, all who were waiting.   And of course I can remember the next day.  When Emily finally decided to make her appearance.  The strain of 3 long hours of pushing (starting right at midnight), her slightly frightening arrival ( she was breathing but not crying and her cord was wrapped x3 , and at 42 weeks and almost 9 lbs she needed a little extra TLC before we could see her).   I remember the day I was in labor with and gave birth to her brother (blessedly he came in 12 hours, vs the 50 plus we waited for her).   I remember my younger step daughters wedding.  What we did, wore, ate, danced etc etc. 

I remember all the "bad" days associated with Dave's illness.  The day we found out (Emily's 12 th birthday), the first day of testing and his bone marrow biopsy, sans anesthesia in the office.   His stem cell.   His relapse.  The day he almost died.  And of course every day of the last 5 of his life.  Down to every conversation with every family member and every doctor.  Ending with my conversation when I had to tell Emily and David that their Dad had died.

But I don't remember the last day of "normal".  Oh sure I remember him.  And I remember his life.  And lots of events.  Lots of habits, idiosyncrasies.  The way he did things.  How he said different words.  What we did for fun as a family.  How he coached his team.  I remember countless games.  Trips to see his mom and aunt, dinners at my folks.    But not whole days that were just "regular".   Sometimes it bothers me that I don't remember that "last day".  I want to go back and feel what it was like to just live.  To not worry (tho knowing me I was worried about something), to not be constantly afraid, constantly looking ahead.   But i don't remember a whole day like that.  Was I just taking my life for granted?  Not grateful enough for what I had?  I don't know.   But I do know that I desperately wish I could remember.

Instead I remember the next day.   18 years ago it was the day my daughter finally arrived.   6 years it ago it was the day we "found out".  We had just returned home from a birthday day with my parents.   I found pictures of that day not too long ago.  Typical. Emily.  Emily and David.  Emily and my parents.  None of me.  None of Dave.  How sad.  It would have been the last picture of him healthy.  Only he wasn't.  He was dying and we didn't know.  Sometimes I wonder if I had pictures would I look back and see what I might have missed.  And I am sure I would.  I would kick myself for "missing" something.   So maybe it is for the best.      We had gotten home around 8:30.   The phone rang.  Emily answered the phone.   A very grown up Emily.  I remember her saying, yes, who is calling please:..   She handed the phone to Dave and said Daddy, it's your doctor.  It can't be good.  Doctors don't call you at night when everything is okay. 

We hadn't even suspected anything.  Nose bleeds, high blood pressure.  the blood tests had mainly been for cholesterol. All the "usual" stuff when you have high blood pressure.   The doctor saying, I know why you are bleeding and tired.  YOur platelets and red cells are very low.  You need to see the oncologist.  but we have talked and we are sure you have mulitple myeloma.  Call in the morning to make an appt with the oncologist. 

So I remember.   But I don't remember "normal".    I wish I could go back and live one day in "normal", one day where I truly appreciate EVERYTHING and remember every moment of what it is, just to "live".

some times the tears just flow.......

1440 days.   3 years, 11 months and 9 days.   You would think that it should be getting "easier".  And yes in some respects it is.  A lot easier.  I don't cry every day.   I do get out of bed every day.  I even shower every day.   I still don't always cook - although my kids are well fed and the local waitresses know us by name.  Laundry still piles up (right now I have the excuse of no dryer) and my house isn't as clean as it should be.  But, my kids are happy; I am working 2 jobs (equivalent of full time), bills are paid, mostly on time and I earn enough for vacations and a few "extras".      So yes, we have come a long way.

But, there are still times where the tears just flow and seems no matter what I can't stop them.  Sometimes it's easy to figure out why (birthdays, etc) sometimes not.   Right now I think it is the "death march" as I have heard others refer to it.  That dreaded few weeks before "the day", where I constantly re live in my head the what were we doing on this day; how was he feeling, did we miss any "signs" that could have been caught.    Of course on my "good" days I know it doesn't really matter.  His cancer was going to come back sometime, and he was not going to beat it, no matter what he thought.  It was a horribly aggressive nasty ugly mess of a cancer.   He stood no chance from day one.  I've spent too much time looking at the medical records.  I know that now.  We were lucky in some respects we had the 19 months we had.  VERY lucky we had the last 5 months.  He should have died in January.   No questions.  He lived until June.  A miracle, I am sure of it.  As was his doctor.  He told me over and over again he never should have survived that January.  

Even so i just can't help my feelings and thoughts.   Compound any "normal" anniversary this year it occurs on Father's Day.  A double whammy for the kids.  I prayed so hard the year he died that he wouldn't die ON Father's Day.  Never occurred to me that the anniversary could still be on that day some years - if only he had lived another week.  Oh well something still would have come up and the day would still exist, no way around it.    And this year we have DS's confirmation one week before and his 8th grade graduation 3 days before.  So much for him to have to go through without his Dad.    So much for me to go through alone.

Tuesday I had an appointment with my totally amazing therapist.  Honestly, she is the best, don't know where I would be without having her the last 3 years (yes still in therapy I guess that is another post in itself).   I really wasn't feeling all that bad going in, but sat down in her chair and just cried.  Yes for the whole hour.   I guess I needed to "get it out".  Something I can't always do with work, the kids etc etc.   Still been weepy on and off all week.  And today too.  Monday is Memorial Day.  I know that is part of it too.  honoring those who gave their all.  Dave HATED it when people talked about "celebrating" Memorial Day - he was adamant our kids knew it was a day we "observed" not celebrated -it wasn't about picnics, good weather and start of summer, but remembering those who died in service.   

So on Monday I will head to the Veteran's  Cemetery to "visit" him - not having died IN service but from a service related illness.   It's a hard day.   More tears I am sure.  

so yes, 1440 days later  it is easier.  But at times the tears still flow.  What i DO know now however, is that no matter what I do they will flow.  But more importantly i know they will stop.  So now, I can let them flow, I can let myself "feel" and know that at some point, even if I can't pin point when, I will surface again and be able to breathe, and live, without crying -even if only for a short time.  

Perspective

One thing that I love most about my job, well actually pretty much every job I have had since I graduated from college, is that they without exception helped put my life into perspective.

For years I worked solely with children.  Days of developmentally delayed kiddos, kiddos with life threatening illnesses, brushes with death, myriads of medical problems, all helped to put my own children's issues into perspective.  So what we we were dealing with ear infections and tubes, tonsils and adenoids being removed, 15 bouts of pneumonia one winter, scheduling life so that every 4 hours we were near an electrical outlet to give neb treatments - my kids were basically healthy and meeting their developmental milestones, and most importantly, here.

I've dealt with a lot of dysfunctional families as well.  So what if I had 2 step daughters, (who blessedly are still in my life and 2 of my best friends), a somewhat critical MIL and a less than perfect husband - he still loved me and the kids with all of his heart, provided for us financially and emotionally and never ever missed the opportunity to tell us he loved us.  I am 100% certain that even tho he had no idea he was going to die his final words to each of us was "I love you" or "I love you too" (depending on who said what first).

During the course of this "journey" of widowhood my job has continued to convince me that no matter how bad my situation seems, there are so many who are so much worse off than me that I am indeed blessed.  Perspective, even on those dark days where I was drowning in despair.

This week something however really caught me off guard.   I was admitting a new patient, and going through the usual litany of question.  Widowed.  I can handle that one now, I don't choke up and tear over when one of my patients tells me they are widowed (took a long time, I"ve come a long way).  Then the next question,  how long have you been widowed,  And get this, she said "it's so long I can't remember". WOW.    The first year I measured by hours, then days, then weeks, and finally months.  The second and third years it was still months.  Now at almost 4 it is sometimes months but occasionally I find myself saying "3 1/2 " or "Almost 4" years.      From the early days where I never thought I could live a week, let alone a month, it is strange to be at the "almost 4 year" point.  But I never thought, and still don't think, that I could possibly get to the place of "I don't remember"

and now it's had me stewing all week.  Is that a "good" place to be?  would it mean i forgot him?  I don't think so, this same patient has regaled me with stories of her husband, their early years, their family. She now has great great grand children,  has been alone for at least 30 years from what I have been able to piece together,  yet she still remembers.  so that is good.  but forgets how long.  Still blows me away.

I don't think I want to get to the point of "i don't remember" but as I thought about it there is a fairly good certainty that I will live to be older than Dave when he died (58), will live more years without him than with (we were married 14 years 11 months to the day) so who knows.

Perspective............

his legacy

This weekend we had our 4th annual "Dave's Day" event, held at our local school.  This day was envisioned by some friends in our community over 4 years ago and has been held annually to honor Dave while raising money to help our community school and our church missions.   Dave was very active in our church missions, and it has been so wonderful to raise money to help causes so near and dear to his heart.   As an educator and parent, the half of the money that goes to the school is awesome as well.  

The first year it was really hard to participate.  The event centers around basketball, Dave's favorite sport, and the one he coached for so many years.  The first year just going into the gym to see the kids participating in the clinics, and all the coaches in the league and his former players helping out - well - was just too overwhelming.  I could barely catch my breath and certainly could not contain the tears.  Over the past few years it has gotten easier.  This year wasn't too bad.  A few moments, but overall I was able to hold it together.  It is still overwhelming tho when I see all the people who are working so we can carry on work in his name.

One of my favorite Praise Team songs is "Lifesong" by Casting Crowns.  "To reach a world in need, to be your hands and feet".  This song was played at Dave's funeral service.  I still can't hear it without crying.  But it means so much that so many people are helping us "reach the world in need" and helping Dave's "Lifesong" still sing!!!!

Just when you think it's getting easier......

Okay, so, I was going to try this over a year ago.  Yeah, didn't get too far.  So here we are with round two.  We'll see how far I get this time!!!!

The further along this journey I keep thinking that someday it's going to be easy sailing again.  But just when the waters seem calm, there is a whirlpool right around the corner just waiting to suck you in.  Or in this case, if it's not you, it's the kids.

Both kiddos seem to be struggling right now.  For different reasons.  But there is nothing worse for a mama then to not be able to "make it all better" with a quick kiss and a bowl of ice cream (tho ice cream does seem to still help - even if only a little bit.....).   And of course there is that "never ending question" of what are "normal" teenage issues and what is related to the death of their Dad.   I know that I will never know the answer to that question.  And bottom line, it doesn't really matter.  When your kids are hurting it. Just. Plain. Sucks.    No other way to put it........no way around it.   And, no matter what I do or say, and even if the current crisis has nothing to do with grief, at the end of the day their Dad is still dead.  I am still the only one here for them. Grief will be there, even if not the overwhelming number one emotion, for the rest of their lives, and will color and impact everything they experience.   

Right now DS is sick, with sinus issues and yet another bout of irritable bowel.  He is sitting on the couch watching sports.  I just can't help but think that he would be feeling oh so much better if his Dad were sitting there with him - as I know he would be.

DD just auditioned for a role in a play, which she did not get.  Although I can do a good job of consoling her (and dishing out the chocolate ice cream) again I know that there was always something about a Daddy hug or kiss that helped out - as close as we are (and believe me we have a great relationship - which I know many moms can't say about their teenage daughters)  I know sometimes she just still longs to be "Daddy's Little Girl".  

So, here we all are. Again at the brink of the whirlpool.  Hopefully none of us will get sucked in this time, together we can hold each other tight and fight the forces.   I just know the strength of 4 would have been so much better than just the 3 of us........