Stepping Up or Standing Down

There are a few things I wanted to share from the jumble of thoughts and emotions I've had since the Newtown tragedy last Friday.

The first is something my dear friend, Brandy Burt Jacobs, put so eloquently on Facebook.  She's given me permission to share it:

I can't possibly begin to imagine what the Sandy Hook families who lost their children are going through. None of us can. However, 12 years ago our infant daughter Emily passed away after being born with genetic disorder. Though our circumstances are worlds apart, I am sadly in the most unfortunate group of parents who have buried their child. The difficult weeks and months following are now a blur in many ways, but there are vivid memories that still stand out to me years down the road.

I remember the friends who didn't wait for me to "let them know" what they could do to help, they just showed up at my door and we figured it out.

I remember those who didn't assume that comfort could only come from those in my inner circle and reached out regardless, though it may have been years since we spoke.

I remember those who bravely stumbled on their words when there were none to say, rather than avoid me at the grocery.

I remember those that didn't avoid bringing up her name in an effort to not make me sad, rather brought her name up often, got a few tears out of the way, and moved on to happier topics.

I remember those who acknowledged the difficult anniversaries to come, not just the first year but in years following.

I remember those who recognize that even though we went on to have 4 amazing, healthy children, that everything we do is with an Emily-sized hole.

I do not know what each family individually needs on the road ahead, but I do know what stands out on my own journey through grief. I know that every act of reaching out is an act of kindness, regardless how awkward. I know that the smallest action far exceeds the mountain of good intentions. 

God Bless these families.

I have little to add to her beautiful words.  I'm so glad she said it!  Waiting for the moment when the "right" thing to do becomes evident often means letting the chance go by to do anything at all.  

When mom died in the accident, the people who just "showed up" are the ones I remember most vividly.  And the truth is, the people I thought would show up and didn't stand out as well.  

If not now, then when?  If not you, then who?  

One other thing started to take shape as I've read stories of the victims and the responses of the public to these stories.  This morning, I read Noah Pozner's eulogy, delivered by his mom.  It is beautiful.  90% of the comments to this were wonderful, positive, and supportive.  Then there are those who feel the need to question a mother's releasing this to the public - and that's putting it nicely.  The lioness in me wants to hunt those people down and claw them in the face, seriously.  When I read Veronique Pozner's words, I smiled and teared up.  I want to thank her for sharing her son with the world, because that's what this public eulogy does.  Noah will not get the chance to introduce himself to the world; he will be forever six years old.  It seems his mother's wish is that the world know and love him as his family did; that his life make an impression.  It has on me.  A child who wants to be a manager of a taco factory or a doctor couldn't possibly be anything less than a delight to have around!

I suspect anyone questioning how the families might (or might not) behave in public has, like the Grinch, a heart that is two sizes too small.

I am like Mrs. Pozner.  I choose to share my story and sorrow publicly, which some seem to think makes a person fair game.  I've read comments such as, "I highly doubt any family members are bothering to read comments.. blah, blah blah."  I read comments after the accident.  I needed to know, I just did, and sometimes the news sites had information I hadn't heard from the police.  I remember the person who wrote, "I guarantee you Mr. Jaguar was zipping in and out of traffic..." and said basically haha, they won't be driving like a jerk anymore.  (Mom was stopped on the shoulder and hit from behind).  It's not even the falsehood of the statement; it's the coldness of a total stranger making the most devastating event of my life into a punchline.  I once shared on a board my trying to forgive the truck driver and while most responses were beautiful and kind, one person accused me of dishonoring my mother with my "psychotic love for her killer."  I know that person is probably disturbed themselves, but it sticks.  It's another wound, and clearly one that I remember verbatim.  

I do hope that Mrs. Pozner is kept in the dark about these types of comments, because it does hurt terribly, when you reach out to share and are slapped in the face, even by just a few bad apples.  I don't think anyone of my single-digit followers would do such a thing, of course.  But it's always worth a reminder that we don't always understand the motivations and needs of others and to think before we speak or post.  

I have family members who would sooner walk naked down the street before sharing their stories.  I know other people who share even more than I do.  There will be people who never want to lay eyes on Sandy Hook again, and there will be people who will want to stand on the spot where their child last drew breath and close their eyes and walk into that day themselves, absorbing every bit of information they can.  None of these responses are right or wrong, or anyone else's to judge as such.  The best we can do is hug where possible, offer a kind word if it's in us, and shut the hell up when can't do either of the former and let these people do what they need to do to find meaning in life again.

Love and blessing to all out there.  And may the hateful ones experience something beautiful that makes their hearts grow three sizes in one day too.  Merry Christmas.

Blaming the Firefighters

Minneapolis mayor's line at the DNC this week, "pyromaniacs shouldn't blame the firefighter" does a pretty good job of conveying my feelings on the Republicans' blame of our President for the economic troubles of our country.

Seriously?!  The attitude: we messed it up something fierce, but let us fix it.  We'll ignore the fact that the recovery is real, albeit very slow.  Not only did we start the house fire, but when the American people fairly elected you firefighter, at every step of the way, we locked the doors and kicked you in the face when you tried to come in and put the fire out.  In fact, we flat out said that our priority was to make sure you lost your job as firefighter.  Not to help you clean up the mess and get the house rebuilt, but to make sure you didn't keep your job.  You'd think we would have cared more about the place that was on fire.  Once we stymied most of your efforts, we blamed you for the fact that only part of the fire had been controlled and now we think people will believe we're well qualified to put out the rest of the fire that we started.

I do think the Chief will be re-elected.  I only hope he gets some good backup in Congress so we can make some real progress this time around.

Absence is my new least favorite word - 18 months

Today marks 18 months without my mother.  I think that's the number where months stop counting.   Just like sobriety, they are all big in the beginning.  24 hours.  30 days.  60 days.  90 days.  Six months.  Nine months.  One year.  Then 18-months seems like the last stop before it's just years.  

I talked to my mom all the time so at first, it was shocking to me when I went a whole week without hearing her voice.  I thought I couldn't bear it.  But I did.  Since she lived far away, it was not unusual to go a few months without seeing each other. But after four months, five, six... I survived that too.  Sometimes it's stunningly painful to me that not only does the world go on so simply after her death, but I seem to as well.  

Numbers have always had a hold on me.  When on vacation, I like to think how many hours we still have left and usually know the halfway point exactly.  I'm revealing what a complete weirdo I am here, but that's okay.  After mom died, I found a website that calculated how many days she was alive.  So dates are kind of a big deal to me.

But back to absence.  I'm reading Joan Didion's "The Year of Magical Thinking" this week.  It's about the sudden loss of her husband and the year following that.  Sometimes I feel like the world's biggest baby; after all, everyone loses their parents.  Why did this rock me so deeply?  It's not my husband, or a child.  It's the natural order of events.  I don't know why.  Maybe because she was really the only parent I had.  Maybe because of how she died, in an entirely preventable accident.  Or maybe just because she was my mom and I loved her and relied on her and feel so lonely and scared.  Because I know how pissed off she would be that she's not here to manage things and watch us all and play and laugh and.... live a while longer.

Joan Didion though... I get distracted so easily.  It's a very good read and her words on grief and the confusion and craziness it brings are far superior to my own.  There was a passage that struck me on absence.  Elizabeth Edwards also talked about absence in her book "Resilience" while writing about her son Wade.  Mourning is one thing, navigating the absence is worse.  

I have the sense that we've all suffered her absence enough and it's time to have her back.  Is this really the price she has to pay forever? That we have to pay?  Please don't tell me it was her time.  I really hate that.  That sort of thinking is crippling to me.  I read once that in an airplane crash, at least three things must go wrong for it to happen.  I have a mental list of at least six things that went wrong that morning and they are all so trivial.  This is the worst kind of non-acceptance, but it is where I sit, still.  Her permanent absence in my life is like a yawning, dark chasm that is always just to the side of what I'm doing.  Kind of like that scary drop-off in Grand Cayman when we were down in the submarine.   Absence is the emptiness that is never filled.   Though I know my mom would be proud of my sobriety, for example, or happy about my sister's wedding, that's just not enough.  "Would Be" doesn't help a whole lot when you're staring at an empty chair.  Just ask Clint Eastwood... but I digress.

Mom, I miss you.  All the time.   Tomorrow is the second back-to-school day she won't see.  As the kids start to remember less, and other people start to feel better, I'm a little more alone in the sad place.  

If you know the sad place well, I hope it helps you to know some people wander there longer than others too.  It's time to turn back to the room with the ones who aren't absent and love them while they're here.   I mean that literally - they're in the room watching "Sponge Bob" and we need to pick out first day outfits, load the backpacks, find the bus passes, and all the other exciting things that make up Day One of the new school year.  But it's not a bad way to go, figuratively speaking either.

Reminding myself why I crossed over...

As this election heats up, I find myself angry.  Often.  So each time I post, I'm going to address one reason why I vote the way I do know.  Background:  I was raised Republican in a very Republican town (Cincinnati, Ohio) in an ultra-Republican neighborhood (Hyde Park).  What little I "knew" was that the party represented lower taxes, was tough on "crime" and was what honest, hardworking people should aspire to be.  Democrats were poor, lazy, and most likely stupid and looking for handouts.  

After I moved to Minnesota, I fell hard for the ideals and positive outlooks of Bill Clinton and Paul Wellstone and I've slowly drifted ever further left.  My biggest disappointments in Obama are his failure to close Guantanamo Bay and to get the Dream Act passed.  I'm that liberal, for real.  

Yes, I also hope some of the people who I love and who sit on the other side of the aisle might read this and question whether they really believe what the current incarnation of "Republican" represents.  That's where I started - when the answers started to number "no" way more than "yes."  One woman I love dearly told me she was a Republican "because she's always been one."  Well, I would just ask them to consider these points, without judgment.  That's all.  I'm starting very simply and close to home.

MY DAUGHTERS, who will one day be women...

When my smart and engaging girls go out into the world, I would hope they would be judged on their merits and not on their sex.  The Republicans this year shot down equal pay legislation.  The message is that it's okay for men to make more than you do for doing the exact same job.  Sorry ladies.  That's how it is.  You. are. not. as. good. as. they. are.  And even if you are, this is how it's always been, who are we to question it?

There have been numerous comments by both Republican politicians and pundits such as Sean Hannity and Bill O'Reilly that Viagra should be covered by insurance plans, but birth control shouldn't have to be.  The argument they make is that Viagra treats a medical problem, whereas birth control doesn't.  I don't know, guys, I would call an unplanned pregnancy a hell of a problem.  Especially since they have as part of the platform the intention to outlaw abortion, even in cases of rape and incest.  So naughty, nasty girls who (gasp) want to have sex for fun should have to pay for it and if they can't/won't, well tough luck for them and a tough life ahead for unwanted children born of this botched thinking.

Add to this slashes in funding to organizations that provide cancer screening and other preventive healthcare and weakened versions of domestic violence laws already on the books...

I'm not going to discuss abortion in depth because EVEN WITHOUT THAT CONVERSATION, these attitudes show a real lack of respect for and understanding of women.  I want my girls to know they matter, that they have a say in things, that they are equal and important.  

The women in the party who are their big stars are usually very attractive, and woefully misinformed.  Think Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachmann.  They've actually got a genuine, smart, and tough woman in Condoleeza Rice, who because of her views on abortion won't even be considered for any sort of race.  Eye candy with a blank slate for a mind - that's the prototype.  Smart, single girls need not apply.

My daughters deserve better than this archaic thinking.  Everyone's daughters do.  

Tell me how you built that yourself...

I really want to hear it!

Tell me, child of poor immigrants who made good in this country, tell me how you built that yourself.  Tell me how you went to school though your parents couldn't contribute to the taxes that made those schools exist, walked or rode to school on public transportation.  Saw television.  Heard radio.  Had electricity.  Didn't die of cholera or malaria.  Tell me more.

Tell me, Mr. Executive, how you built that yourself, transporting your goods on roads built by all of our taxes, on airplanes that use our country's security to keep them safe, using law enforcement to protect your employees and your products from bands of criminals.  The corporate "person" that enjoys all these benefits pays less in taxes than you earned last year.  Tell me more.

To those who really think they did it "themselves" - please justify that phrase.  You were lucky enough to be born in or accepted by the United States, where you could take advantage of safety, resources, and infrastructure not available in many places.  Things that the government, by the people and for the people, provided.  Anyone who pays taxes helps you PAY for this success, and pays for its failures as well.  I personally pay to the tune of a hell of a lot more than Mitt Romney's 13%.  You did not do that your damn self.

the last day of normal

By calendar date, the one-year anniversary of mom's death is March 3rd - this Saturday.  But it feels like it's tomorrow - Thursday.  Because we live in a world that runs by days of the week, not dates.  We often take this week for vacation because it's not as busy as Presidents Weekend, but the kids have Friday off school due to conferences.  So it feels to me like today, one year ago, was the last day of normal.

And you know, we were really having a great time.  These are some of the photos my mom saw on Facebook that Wednesday.  We had landed in Salt Lake the previous evening and spent the day skiing at Brighton.

I thought about calling her after she sent me a text about the photos.  But I was on a chairlift and didn't want to drop my brand-new iPhone.  Then time just got away from me, in that way that time always gets away from everyone.

I'm trying to track down the firefighters and EMTs who were on the scene.  I want to send lunch to their stations.  I'm not sure how many responders were there - it looked like a ton from the photos.  A woman at HFD is trying to get me names of two guys in particular who I could see were really instrumental and who looked, I don't know, so somber, so careful, so thoroughly present in what they were doing.  I just want to say thank you to them.  What a difficult, wrenching job - I would think a job that would be easy to compartmentalize and to turn off the human factor when you're dealing with a fatality.  But I looked at their faces and saw guys who cared.   Now I find that when I see more than two emergency vehicles in one place, I get pretty anxious.

I'll probably call Officer Cooper tomorrow - Thursday.  For months I couldn't think "Thursday" and not jump to, "my mom died on a thursday.."  That's going away.  Some things are going away.  Other things, other words still jump up and bite out of the blue... Fog.  Blunt.  Jaguar.  Pipes.  Loop.  Rhythms.  And all the initials/acronyms -  MVA. HPD.  DWLS.  TXDPS.

My aunt will be with us this weekend.  I had wanted to go to Des Moines, but Lydia has basketball and is on FIRE this season, having scored ONE basket!  Go Girl!  I think we'll go to tea on Saturday; mom loved tea.  The closest good place is Lady Elegant's, in St. Paul.  Isn't that a terrible name?  I told Auntie Syd that it sounds like a second-rate gentlemen's club.  Mom and I went there a few years ago for a Christmas tea and laughed the entire time because it was a Charles Dickens theme.  Great idea, right?  EXCEPT they had actors there.  Still - great idea, right?  Actors who did A Christmas Carol.  In its entirety.  For almost three hours.  Walking around the tables, while you're trying to pour your tea and have a scone, so you couldn't even talk to each other.  That was a really long afternoon, but fun, because mom and I thought alike and were just rolling, watching these overwrought performances, in a TEA ROOM for God's sake.  I miss her so much.

I like to think she saw this photo and thought, "Shannon looks pretty happy."

She worried about me.  A lot.  With reason.  I could tell stories... I probably will tell stories in the future.  I caused her a lot of grief.  It is a huge blessing that at the time of her death, she and I were in good territory together and she was proud of me and not worrying about me.  We'd seen her at Christmas, were supposed to see her the very next day.  Just 28 hours more and she would have been in Utah.  I'd booked tickets just 10 days earlier to spend the kids' Spring Break at her house in Boca Raton and she was planning to come up for Owen's 5th grade graduation.

My heart breaks for those plans and all the endless events in the future that she doesn't get and that we have to do without her, but I'm happy she knew how much we all loved her and I know she was really excited about the next day, and about the future.  Really, it's all most of us can ask for from each day.

The Last "First" Holiday

It's only 25 days until the one-year anniversary of my mom's death in Houston and I am dreading it in so many different ways.


Valentine's Day is coming up and it will be the last "first" for us.  All the family birthdays have passed for the first time without gifts, cards, or phone calls from mom.  Christmas, Thanksgiving, the first summer at the Lake without her, 5th grade graduation, the New Year, my sister's engagement... the world has marched forward and mom stayed 64 forever.  My mother loved holidays and always sent my sister and me boxes with decorations, goodies for the kids, and cards.  Have you wondered who buys all the holiday knickknacks at Cracker Barrel - the embroidered shirts, the stuffed animals, the wooden hearts, pumpkins, etc.?  Leslie did.  I imagine Cracker Barrel's sales suffered in 2011.


Last Valentine's Day, I got my last holiday box from mom.  Before they moved their operations to Texas, the boxes always came from her company, Tarrah.  I wonder sometimes, when was the last time I called her at work rather than on her cell?  It would have been in December sometime.  If I'd known when I punched in "101" for Leslie Campbell that it would be the last time, how would that have felt?  It didn't feel significant then, that the business was moving, but now all those everyday things pull at me.  561-374-5995, ext. 101.  That's gone now.  Her cell phone number too.  I called it several times after the accident to hear her speak.  Now I'm starting to forget the exact wording of her outgoing message.  Is it crazy that I want to write down all her numbers?  All her addresses?  That I can't stand the thought of forgetting anything?


Last year's Valentine box contained giant chocolate bars for the kids, cards for all, and three $10 gift cards to Starbucks.  I told my Aunt that now I couldn't spend them and she responded, "well couldn't you spend two of them and save one?"  It made me laugh - mom would tell me to go get my coffee and stop mooning over a piece of plastic.


Here is the card we got, David and I, from mom:

I'm glad I'm a pack rat and have a mountain of cards from her.  I bought a cedar chest just to hold a fraction of all my "mom" things. I just opened it looking for those Starbucks cards and am feeling kind of panicky that I can't locate them.  I also have two "mom shelves" that have some of her favorite things, a plaster cast of her hand, and her ashes.  I've been buying seasonal plants or flowers to brighten the area and these are her Valentine tulips, which can be replanted.  Once it warms up, I have some Thanksgiving mums and a Christmas pine to plant too.

So why such dread of the one year mark?  For one thing, it just feels too soon.  This just happened, didn't it?  It hasn't really been a YEAR!  I don't want to mark time without her in years.  First it stopped being "days since mom died" and then weeks, months... "years" is just too much.  It was hard enough to know her life was over.  But the way the world just keeps marching forward feels so brutal sometimes.  This must be some kind of non-acceptance.  I don't WANT to accept this because it's simply UNACCEPTABLE.  I am reading a book called How to Survive Losing a Parent and one of the patients being profiled lost her mother to a car accident too and the therapist tells her an accident is the most difficult of all deaths to accept and move past.  HA!  I knew it!  What do I win?  Oh right, nothing.  Nothing at all.  I admit that sometimes to fall asleep I imagine what I could have done to change things and to save her.  Could I have called at 8:18 and then she wouldn't have pulled over?  What if I'd called when I woke up that morning for the first time, at 7:10 Mountain Time, nine minutes before the accident and just called to chitty chat? It still humbles and frightens me that the thousand tiny choices we make in any given day can end like that.  It's random, it's cruel, and I just want to change it.  Knowing that I can't change it doesn't seem to help.   Since I can't change it, it only seems fair that I get a do-over on our last phone call, which lasted 9 seconds and consisted of us each saying, "hello? hello? are you there?".. and so on).  


I'd like the chance to call back and say, "by the way, I love you more than I've ever said and more than you can imagine, Mom."  I'd like to go back to Christmas and run back over for one more hug goodbye.  I'd like another first, not another last.


One of the things that's talked about in the book is this fear of going on.  When mom died, it felt like the end of the world.  I couldn't imagine this point, almost one year later.  Yet here we are - life did go on.  I didn't drink or end up in a hospital.  I laugh, I am exercising, I like to cook, I see friends... and it sometimes feels disloyal.  If I have a good time, then it means it's okay, and then she is really and truly gone.  I wasn't ready; none of us were ready.  How do you decide when it's time to let go?  Is it 6 months, or a year, or two?  How do you snap out of it when it feels like yesterday?  


I just go back to the same answer - putting one foot in front of the other, breathing in and out, and trying to do the next right thing.  I tell myself there is good, great good, and beauty in this world, even if it's missing something dear.  My optimist mother would like that.