Hatin' on the Grievers

“When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time -- the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes -- when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever -- there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.” 
― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany


A Prayer for Owen Meany has been one of my favorite books for nearly 20 years.  I named my oldest child Owen, something I decided long before he was born and before Owen became a popular name again.  I even got mom to read it; she pronounced it "weird."  We didn't really have the same taste in books.  But I came across this quote today and liked it.  


I've been sporadically attending a grief group on Thursdays and I have a confession to make.  I'm terrible at grief group.  In fact, I might be a sociopath or something.  Last week, there was a woman there and she began to cry.  So I'm feeling very sympathetic, and then... she started to talk.  It turns out that she lost her mother two years ago.  Her mother was 91.  She talked about the amazing bond they shared.  She talked about her last weeks and her last words.  I started crying too, but I discovered that what I really felt was HUGELY PISSED.  I toyed with the idea of actually saying out loud something to the effect of "Oh my God!  Would you please shut the f--- up!"  Nice, right?


Because in my twisted mind, she was awfully damn lucky.  My last words with my mom were something like, "can you hear me? Hello?  I don't think FaceTime is working..."  We both had new iPhones and were trying to figure out FaceTime.  We got cut off and when I tried to call her back, it went to voicemail.  That was Tuesday.  Wednesday we were skiing at Brighton and she texted me "Great photo of the girls." I texted back, "Thanks.  It's snowing now."  That's all.  Thursday morning she died.  What would I give for some loving last words?  What would I give for TWENTY-SEVEN more years?  The list is long.  


Of course it's all relative.  One of my son's classmates lost his father this weekend to cancer.  46 years before 91.  What would his kids give to have them at graduation, weddings, births?  My friend Anne lost her 7  year old son to cancer.  84 years too soon?  Or my dear sweet Brandy, who lost her daughter at one day?  90+ years that Emily didn't get to have.  


I know it's not my place and it's not right for me to judge this woman's loss, but I'm just really jealous of that "extra" time.  There is something so awful about accidents.  Death from an illness is wrenching; I know.  My second dad suffered the last months of his life from prostrate cancer and it was terrible.  Somehow though, I feel like I can't argue with an illness.  The battle was fought, and the battle was lost.  It seems so utterly ridiculous and cruel that my mom paid with her life because of where she stopped her car that morning.  Because she stopped for doughnuts.  Because she took a different route to the airport.  Because, because, because....


Clearly I need to go to the grief group some more.  Some of us are a bit more in the anger and bargaining crap than others.  Let's just hope I don't smack someone.

My pretty mommy

I discovered last night that the slide show put together for mom's visitation is online.  I had no idea, but the funeral home's website has a link to it.  This is the type of thing one learns when they are constantly Googling his or her mother's name.

Link:
Leslie Campbell Slide Show

I think you'll need to then click on "View Video Tribute"

Many friends who wanted to be in Iowa for her funeral couldn't make it due to cost and so I'm putting this link up for anyone who wanted to see.  About the songs - Kelsey and I chose them.  One word about that - we don't particularly like Celine Dion but, honestly, the words to "Because You Loved Me" fit mom so well.  As I've said before, mom raised us almost completely on her own.  She was our constant and our home.  So we did choose an obvious, sappy, cliched song - deal with it.

It's been more than seven months since she died and everyone was right.  It hurts just as much.  I'm just a little better at doing other things while hurting.

I hope you enjoy these photos as much as we did.  I haven't actually sat and watched the slide show since the visitation, so I'm going to do it at well.

Hello October!

I do not know why I feel so good this morning.  By all rights, I should not.  But I've learned, slowly, that when life feels good, you'd damn sure better sit up and take notice and appreciate it.

Mom's birthday is one week from today and I know that it's going to be really sad.  She'd have been 65.  It's another facet that feels so wrong to me - from now on our age gap is no longer fixed.  My mom will not remain 20 years older than I am; she will always be 64.  I hate that each day, she becomes a smaller percentage of my experiences.  Does that make any sense to you?  What if I don't want to move on?  What if it feels disloyal to not think of her very first thing, very last thing of each day?  It doesn't get easier, it's true.  But finding a way to live with it and just maybe, one day, finding a way to make it all make some difference, makes it tolerable.

This week I made an apology to someone I hurt in the past.  Sometimes amends are overrated.  I guess I was feeling so good about what happened in Houston and felt that anything was possible,  which is just not the case.  My warm and open feelings towards the truck driver and his wonderful family did not translate into this particular person finding much redeemable in ME, and it frankly hurt, which means I'm still not the magnanimous person I aim to be.  I wanted to defend myself, to expound, to say, "Oh yeah? Well what about this?  Did you know this?"  Being demonized is really not a lot of fun.  Dropping it is always a challenge for me.  My family says I'm like Claire on Modern Family - I always have to be right.  HUH UH!  Let me prove it to you..... haha.

I've done the best I could and I know I'm a passably good person.  If you can find me someone who, if his or her worst choices were public knowledge, wouldn't be ashamed, I'd be amazed.  I'm through letting my shortcomings and people who knew me from the darkest days of relapse define me because they never did and never will know the person I actually am.  Maybe amends ARE useful, if only for separating the wheat from the chaff in life's experiences.

I love my friends!  My husband!  My children!  My bigger family!  I am excited to be getting back on the horse of my life.  Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts,  library, reading, sunshine, exercise, grief group, recover, my dog!  Oops, I left out the cat.  Stupid cat.  Most likely I will end up in tears at some point today and that's okay too.  Most days I have a cry.  But if I start to have more hours without tears, that's a good thing and I'll take it.

Last night we went to watch this Champions of Tennis thing and got to see Agassi, Chang, Courier and Martin play and it was so fun!  Laughing, excited - and then tears falling when I remembered I couldn't call Mom later to tell her about it.  It just turns on a dime.  But for many months, I didn't even have the laughing and excited part happening, so it's a good thing.  Next week we have dinner with our excellent group of friends - Fall Harvest theme - and there is a lot to look forward to in the beauty of a Minnesota fall.  I'm going to bookmark this one to reread when I'm feeling like total crap next.

Outcomes

I've struggled with what to write about the events in Houston last week.  Six months after the accident, the criminal legal part has been resolved.  Now I feel a little at loose ends.  

I still don't know how to express well what happened in Texas.  I knew that however I imagined it in advance, nothing would really prepare me for what the reality would be.  I will be forever thankful that my aunt, my mom's beloved sister, came with me.  I thought it was something I "should" do alone, but it was all so crazy that I can't imagine now how that would have been.

I'm still not entirely ready to talk at length.  

But many people have been wondering and so very, very supportive, so here is a quick picture.  I think I have a lot to still process.

The hearing in Houston was before a judge, no jury.  The truck driver was charged with violating his probation for a previous felony charge.  On the day of the accident, he was driving on a revoked license.  As far as the accident goes, he wasn't speeding or under the influence.  He claimed my mother pulled out in front of him.  The police reconstruction did not agree, but without solid eyewitness testimony or gross negligence, there were not charges filed criminally in her death.  It was presented that he had a fairly significant driving history with several speeding, driving without insurance, and prior driving on a suspended charges.  Once warrants were issued on the driving charge and the revocation, he stopped reporting as required.

He pleaded "true" to the charge that he violated probation and witnesses were called by both sides.  The judge, in accepting this true plea, had several options: reinstating probation only or sentencing him using the sentencing guidelines of his original crime, which were 2-10 years.  The probation officer, the lead police investigator, and the driver all took the stand.  

The judge listened to closing arguments and then sentenced him to five years.

Those are the facts.  

Some of my reactions:

I thought I might faint when he walked in wearing his orange jumpsuit.  I was weeping.  Directly across the aisle, his mother and wife sat weeping.  When he took the stand, he was holding my mother's funeral brochure and sobbing.  After the sentencing, his family and ours spent time together, hugging!  Let me say that again!  Hugging and crying!  They were wonderful people.  

I don't know how much was for us and how much for himself, and really - I don't care.  There were things he and his lawyer said that I don't believe to be true.  But still, what I saw was another person afraid and genuinely suffering, a family in crisis, and it was awful.  A mother without a son, a wife without a husband, and worst - a teenage boy without a father for a minimum of 2 1/2 years.  I felt no joy whatsoever in this outcome.  On the other hand, if I were told I'd have my mom back in 2 1/2 years and could visit her, talk to her, and there was an end in sight to the separation, I'd be overjoyed.  

I then decided not to read my statement - it would have been after sentencing.  I wrote it with the idea that he would be nonchalant, even rude about the accident.  I wanted to make him feel sadness, to hammer home the horror of her death and the huge role she played in so many lives.  At that point, my instinct was to comfort, not to inflict more pain.  He asked to speak to us directly and we sat at a table, no glass between us, just out in the courtroom.  He had tears rolling down his face as he spoke to us.  At the end I held his hands, which were cuffed.  Who would ever have believed that?  Seriously?!  Really!  Never in my wildest dreams.  It was completely surreal.

I didn't expect to feel this way at all and it was one of the most emotional and human experiences of my entire life.  Not sure what to do with all of this.  I feel like I've visited another planet and come home different.  

Anyway, I just wanted to share some of this with the many people who have been so supportive and interested in what's going on.

I feel a lot of concern for his family - and for him.  Some people have said "it's not enough" but I have the feeling that Texas State Prison is not pleasant or easy and knowing that, however poor his judgment might have been, there was no intent to harm her, makes me okay with it and able to forgive and wish him well in the future.  There isn't any point in permanently ruining another person's life - a person who I really think has true sorrow and regret.  

Well this wasn't so brief after all.

Roller Coaster?

Don't get me wrong.  I LOVE a good metaphor.  I have a great one about how alchol to a drunk is spot-on like a  handsome yet awful and abusive ex-boyfriend that you just can't forget.  But grief-is-like-a-roller coast?  I think the mental health professional who coined that one went to the Dr. Nick school of psychology.  It's just lazy and completely inadequate.  Ups and downs? Yeah, got it.  You must have worked hours on that one.

So loss, especially sudden loss, is NOT like a roller coaster.  For starters, and most importantly, ummm, ROLLER COASTERS ARE FUN.  One boards a roller coaster willingly, except in those cases where your kid is making you get on some vomit-inducing thing where you'd rather be scrubbing toilets I guess.  But you still go by choice.  In fact, you'll pay mightily for the privilege, just ask those kind folks at Disney.  Next, you KNOW you are getting on the roller coaster.  You're not just going about your business and BAM you're suddenly at the top of a huge hill, plummeting downwards at 60 m.p.h. with no idea how you got there.  Roller coasters have an end, usually in about two minutes.  Most people can endure just about anything for two minutes.  Afterwards, one might say, "that was freakin' awesome!"  "Let's go again" or maybe, "that was horrible, so glad it's over, at least I can say I did it..."  No one who has been through the grief horror wringer is going to make any of those statements.

Maybe there isn't a good metaphor and that's the point.  There's simply no way to describe it properly.  I was thinking about all this during this week after Ryan Dunn (of Jackass fame) crashed his car and died.  His friend Bam was on TV saying he somehow knew, that he had some kind of premonition and started freaking out and trashing his car around the same time of the accident, thousands of miles away.  The day of my mom's accident, we had no such feeling and I thought that somehow we should have "felt" it.  We were in fact having a LOVELY, perfect day on vacation in Utah.  

We'd gone out for donuts at Banbury Cross (do yourself a favor if ever in Salt Lake and have the cinnamon - mom's favorite).  Then we took the kids to an amazing bowling alley that we had to ourselves (who bowls at 9:00 in the morning?)  We had a fantastic lunch and then went to Hatch Family Chocolates for ice cream.  Anyone seen the Little Chocolatiers?  It used to be on TLC, I think.  I had a nice chat with Steve, the husband, about the show.  They make a great vanilla bean ice cream served in dish with espresso and the kids were writing the word "geezer" in the steam from their breath on the window to the elderly (geezer) who cut in line in front of us.  Finally, we drove back to Kelsey's and didn't hit a red light the whole way.  This alone is miraculous - that ride can take 15 minutes and it took 5.  I commented on it to David because it was freakishly great.  I looked up driving directions while David packed our car with the ski gear for the drive to Eden for the long weekend at Snowbasin.  I was thinking they were pretty complicated and mom was going to need the map when she landed the next morning to join us.  I had loaded the snacks.  I was working on the refrigerator - eggs, I believe, when David's cell phone rang and our world fell apart.  The refrigerator stayed open for the next hour.  

It's weird, I can feel my adrenaline rising again just writing that.  That might be the only connection to roller coasters.  Because if this was anything like a roller coaster, I would say, "sorry, I'm not ready for this ride, I'm going to pass."

On this Father's Day...

I have to start by admitting Father's Day was never a big deal in my house until my husband became a father.  He is the #1 star of this day in my heart.  My children have THAT dad - the one who coaches soccer, takes memorable vacations with them, shows up for school events and conferences, comes home from work when he could go out with the boys, gets up in the night when they're sick, works on homework and projects.  I believe he's even tried to paint fingernails for the girls, but I could be imagining that.  David Heupel, you are the ideal father (and husband) and if I don't say it often enough, we hit the jackpot with you.  I love you.

Today I also honor my amazing Granddaddy.  He broke the mold for great guys for his two daughters and today I hate the fact that, at 90 years old, he will experience his first Father's Day without his Tiger, my mom, who brought him so much happiness.  He is such a strong force in our lives that I chose him to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day, despite the face that my real dad was still alive.

And my two dads... Never an easy thing to describe.  My real dad battled demons, which I inherited.  His wasn't an easy life and I know that he loved me the best he knew how.  He died in October of 2009 at 64.  What I miss is the annual calls on my birthday and the chance to ever really know him well.  It's a sad thing to say that he taught me what I didn't want in a husband and father, but it is true.  I don't resent him anymore at all; if anything I'm so sorry that he didn't have the chance to really live life fully.  He did the best he could with what he had to work with.  Rest in peace Daddy Mike.


My mom's second husband adopted me when I was six.  For a few years, things were nice.  I had two dads who loved me and wanted to be with me.  Unfortunately, in that time, often when a marriage ended, the fathering ended too.  I think he too did the best he could and he was a nice man, but again, the connection, the trust, the feeling that daddy was always there for us, wasn't there.  He died in 1996 and I always regret that we didn't keep the bonds closer.  I love him for his efforts and hope that he's at peace as well.

They say that girls marry their daddies - so not true in my case.  Perhaps what really took was what my Mom tried to instill.  She raised us, no sugar coating that, essentially alone.  My David has her gifts for compassion, interest in others, a strong work ethic and ability to try to always make things better.  What a strong woman to help me not make the same mistakes she made.

So Mom, Happy Father's Day to you.  Thanks for always being both parents to us.  It makes your absence that much harder to take.  I didn't realize until you were taken from us what it truly means to lose a parent.  I used to call my Mom on Father's Day, not my dad.  She earned and deserved it.

Lastly, though he doesn't deserve it, I hope that the man who killed my mom isn't arrested today - for his son's sake.  I don't want him to remember Father's Day as the day his dad went to jail.  He doesn't deserve that, any more than his dad DOES deserve that break.  I hope that the man thinks today about what it means to be a father, even when it's putting yourself in a tough situation because it's the right thing to do and showing your child that taking responsibility for our actions is part of being a good person.

Happy Father's Day to all of those doing the right thing, and Happy Father's Day to those who've failed to do the right thing.  Today can be a new day and it's never too late to be a better person.
Love the ones who need you the best you can.

Peace.

In Grateful Appreciation

Today I want to extend my sympathy to the family of Officer Kevin Will of the Houston P.D.  He worked in Vehicular Crimes and was a friend of my favorite police officer, who shall remain nameless so I don't embarrass him.

A link to the story follows:
http://abclocal.go.com/ktrk/story?section=news/local&id=8166018

Officer Will died on the same stretch of highway - the North Loop - as my mother, just a few miles away.  Many of the stories about his killing focus a great deal on the fact that the drunk driver who caused his death is an illegal immigrant.  I don't intend to touch that subject.  What I want to convey is my deep respect and gratitude to all those who take on a job that is much more dangerous than most realize.

It surprises me that the Boys in Blue are so often maligned, that people want to find reasons to hate the police as often as possible, without ever acknowledging the very difficult lives they've chosen.  I compare it to the military - low pay, dangerous conditions, uncertainty, disrupted lives, extreme stress and exposure to nightmarish and unforgettable scenes of death and damage... yet police are not often given the same level of respect and gratitude as our soldiers.  They have a never-ending mission that they're often forced to perform with their hands tied.

Look specifically at the case of Vehicular Crimes officers.  Their jobs are often performed in one of the most dangerous locations around - the side of the road.  Until my mother died, I never thought twice about Vehicle Crimes.  The work is slow, painstaking stuff, and most of the time, charges aren't filed.  Even when a driver is found to be at fault, there must be extenuating circumstances like drugs, alcohol, excessive speed, etc. for criminal charges to be filed.  How disheartening to see so many victims with no one being called to account for the carnage.

I can't begin to describe the level of patience, kindness, and hard work that I've seen from this department.  I am forever in its debt.  Today, if you see a police officer in your midst, why not shake his or her hand or buy them a cup of coffee if they are in line with you, just as so many do for our active military?  For these souls, it's not a tour of duty - it's an entire life choice.  For the family of Kevin Will, a choice that took away a husband and father far too soon.  Thank you to ALL who serve, here or around the world.