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.

Absence

My thoughts are always so jumbled that it's not usually a lack of things I want to write about that keeps me from posting more often; it's too many things jumping around like a non-stop stream of consciousness.

I recently read Elizabeth Edwards' book Resilience.  It was a gift from my stepfather this past Christmas, and seems a bit of foreshadowing now, in light of her strong focus on the death of her son in a car accident.  John gave it to me with a note saying he thought of it for me because of my own resilience in the face of some significant challenges.  I only hope that I can continue to live up to that description, which I don't really feel worthy of in the first place.

One of the passages that really moved me was one in which she talks about the terrible adjustment after her son's death... "What I had to face was not something present, it was something absent.  And although we can escape something's presence, there is no way to escape its absence.  There was no place to go where he would not also be absent."  Wow.  In many ways, I know I have been trying to escape mom's overwhelming absence.  Because she was a victim, there is a lot of time to search for facts, to focus on fault, details, outcomes, etc.  It's very painful to deal with the concept of an accident, something avoidable, something that "shouldn't" have happened, as opposed to a medical issue, a breakdown of her health or something.  I know somewhere deep down I have had this silly idea that if I could "prove" a chain of events, if I knew everything, I could somehow take it back, make it not have happened.  Coming to terms with her absence is really, really tough.

I keep waiting for a "sign" - a little bird, a whisper, a nudge, a dream where she hugs me and tells me that she is okay, and it just doesn't come.  It makes me feel that she is so very gone and I hate it.  In fact, the only dreams I've had that my mom's friend and I think might be mom's doing are those in which I drink and something horrible happens - which I've had several times.  Mom was so vested in my sobriety and would know that this would provide a severe test, so maybe she sends me these to remind me of the dire consequences of relapse.  If so, thank you mom, but enough with the overkill!  You're freaking me out!

This weekend we will visit the Lake that my mom loved so well.  We have decades of beautiful memories there with her, though I honestly cannot remember the last time she actually got IN the lake.  She liked to curl up with a good book, make homemade ice cream, and just spend time laughing with her family.  There was always so much laughter.  It was wonderful to see her relationship with her parents, still with us and still happy after all these years.  I know that we would have had the same with her and it's a physical ache in my chest to know it's not a part of future now.

I bought a pot of her favorite flowers the other day - the periwinkle colored Hydrangeas - and they rest in the beautiful area of our family room that is filled with her things and her photos.  I love you Mom, so very, very much.   You cannot imagine how much you are missed.

The questions that have no answers

I haven't posted in a while.  Sometimes I have nothing to say and other times I have too much to say.  Unfortunately I have two settings, off and overdrive.  I'm working on finding medium.

Things have been racing through the brain, especially at night.  I think about a time in our lives when mom and I were on our best ground when living together- I think it was probably when we lived in our house on Erie in Cincinnati.  She had just divorced and I was a senior at Purcell.  I just loved that time.  I don't want to forget anything - like at Skyline: mom ordered 4-way onion, whereas I'm a 4-way bean gal.  For all intents and purposes, my mom was a single parent to my sister and me for the majority of our lives and having the girls' only house was really, really great.  I walk through the rooms of that house in my mind now, and more and more details come back.  I find myself asking why human emotion is so unbalanced - at least for me.  Joy, peace, happiness - they come in moments, in hours, and if I'm really lucky - days.  Depression, sadness, grief - they come in weeks, months, seasons.

I haven't been writing about the events in Houston for several reasons.  For those who are wondering, the case is still being completed on the investigation.  I can only say that I'm very glad I don't drive the streets of Houston.  Working within this vast, disjointed system has convinced me that some serious work needs to be done on the oversight of commercial drivers, the vehicles they operate, and the companies that put them on our highways.  When the time is right, I'll have more to say about that and might even decide to talk to some lawmakers in the great state of Texas.  People deserve to be safe on our nation's roads.  

Someone told me shortly after this happened that I would be surprised by the people who suddenly disappeared from my life and by those who suddenly stepped in and became a source of comfort and support.  True and true.  I know that I am a downer.  I understand people don't know what to say.  For some, I think it scares them, or maybe even gives them a sense of luck, of relief - if it happens to our family, it's not happening to theirs.  I used to feel that way about plane crashes - if there was one close to a time when I was going to be traveling, then OBVIOUSLY my plane would be just FINE!

Speaking of plane crashes, my mother once had a serious fear of flying, which she overcame to a remarkable extent.  She was able to fall asleep on planes prior to takeoff in her recent years.  My mom was SUCH a strong woman, such a survivor, and always able to find a positive in a bad situation.  I too was afraid and still have moments of nervousness.  Recently I had a dream that I was on a plane that was going down.  I've had those before, but always land safely, or wake up.  This time I dreamt through impact - we were diving straight into the ground and I was thinking "please don't hurt" - then we hit and it was instantly a blinding flash of white light.  I'm not sure what it indicates.  I also dream of being lost.  Of mom calling me or me phoning her but not being able to find each other.  I so want a dream where she wraps her arms around me and tells me everything is okay, but so far it's not happened.  Some of the dreams are so frightening and even gruesome that I can't share them here.  At any rate, it's tiring to have my day filled with sadness or longing and my nights filled with bad dreams.

My saving graces are family and friends - the things that matter in life.  My children continue to make me smile and have hope.  Lydia called Dave "Pa" last night - we are reading Little House in the Big Woods.  What a little ham.  Soccer games, Girl Scouts, movies - every time we do something like this together, it makes me believe just a little bit more that life can go on, even though it looks different now.  I have a few friends who call me, again and again, despite knowing I don't have a lot of sunshine to spread and I love them with all my heart for their persistence and belief in my resilience.

The sun shines in my neck of the woods this morning.  I'm trying to love my life as best I can.  And I am missing my mother through it all.  Peace.

Trying

When I ask myself, "what would mom want?" I am unsure of the answer.  I don't think this is a scenario she ever envisioned.  She worried about us and was always thinking about how to be helpful to other people - her family, her friends, those who worked for her.   I don't think she imagined not being in our lives.

The only thing I can think of is that she wouldn't want a part of us to die too.  It's felt that way; like the person I was is gone too, or badly damaged.  I have no spark, no sass, no funny left right now and I don't know how to reclaim any of it.  All I can do now is try - try to be the mom I was or need to be, the wife David needs, the friend she would be, the strong person that she believed in.

As soon as I finish this, I will turn off Desperate Housewives, clean up, do some laundry, and go have lunch with my daughters.  All I can do right now is try, and then try harder.  I know she believed in me, despite my failures and setbacks, and I don't want that faith to be misplaced.

Mom, I love you so much and I hope that somehow, you'll put your hand on my shoulder and push me a little (or put your foot on my butt and give it a kick when necessary).

I miss you every minute, pretty lady.  Stay close, please.

Feathers Brush My Heart

I'm reading a book called Feathers Brush My Heart, stories from women who have lost their mothers and their experiences afterwards of signs from their mom.  I look for signs every day.  I had one unusual experience the other day - who knows.  A bird flew into the glass door; I heard that telltale thunk sound.  It happens a few times a year and I didn't investigate immediately.  About 15 minutes later, I went outside for a cigarette (I know, I know - quit date is targeted for April 17th).  I looked down and in the snowbank by the door, I saw a bird's quivering tail, that's all.  It was buried in the snow and all that was showing was its tail and feet.  I got a shovel that we've been using to scrape ice from the deck and scooped it out, snow and all, thinking that it would do what most birds do: die shortly.  I gently dumped the bird out on the grass and as the snow fell away, it flew off.  I've never seen that happen - ever.

My sister told me that recently mom shared that she had been having dreams she was flying.  Not in an airplane, but flying on her own.  She told Kelsey that she LOVED the dreams, that it was so much fun!  It's a wonderful gift for a person who was once deathly afraid of flying.  Mom overcame a flying phobia years ago and got to visit so many exciting places.  She visited places like Guam and many South American countries for business - when there, she had to travel with an armed driver because of the kidnapping threat.  I think she found it pretty thrilling.  Mom and John traveled abroad a lot with friends and family.  Their last big trip was Italy and Greece.  

One thing I appreciate and love about my mom is that she truly was an optimist; not in the Pollyanna sense that all people are wonderful and every day is super-duper groovy.  But she believed that things could and would always improve and that no matter how dark and scary life sometimes could be, that the lows didn't stay low.  She was truly fearless, and when she WAS scared, she just picked herself up and went headlong into things until she wasn't afraid anymore.  She was just SO STRONG in so many ways.

Tomorrow the kids and I travel to Florida.  We booked these tickets eight days before mom died.  I'm happy to be in her place among her things, but am scared of how sad that might feel.  Most of the time, this still feels completely unreal and absurd.  How can someone we love this fiercely not be here?  I feel her presence and her memory in every second of the day.