Death

Storms of Christmas past

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This year my youngest daughter had her first high school choir concert on the day that my grandma died.

Let’s take a trip back in time to 1967. I wasn’t born yet. My mom was 19. My dad went off to Vietnam.

It was Christmastime. My grandparents were in the process of moving to a new town for my grandpa’s new job. My grandma was 43 and pregnant. Her oldest child, my aunt, was out of the house, married, and expecting her first child. My mom was in college. There were five children left at home and a new baby on the way.

My grandma wasn’t feeling well with her eighth pregnancy. She was on bed rest at the hospital but wrote letters to her family at the new house where no one knew them.

There was a snowstorm the night that she gave birth to a healthy baby girl. After the little baby girl took her first breath, my grandma took her last breath.

This month the baby girl turned 50. She had a big weight to carry the day she was born. She took the last breath of a mother of 8 when she took her first. I think she always felt guilty about it although no one could logically blame her for something not of her choosing. Then she took the life that her mother sacrificed to give her and made a big mess of it.

This month Uncle Rick threw my aunt a 50th birthday party before the choir concert. It was both a joyous and solemn occasion. Before the party, the siblings tearfully read the last letter that their mother wrote the night before she died. It wasn’t carefree and happy like the rest. It was as if she knew it would be her last.

At the choir concert that night, I sat with my mom on the 50th anniversary of her mother’s death. She told me that her mother was my age when she died and she was the same age as my oldest daughter. I felt sorrow for my mother. She really needed to have a mother in her life as the path she beat down was always rocky.

That night, I watched others perform my daughter’s songs from when she was in high school. My oldest daughter was not able to be there. It was hard to hear someone else sing ‘her’ songs. It hurt. Time was slipping by way too fast. It was also difficult to sit next to my mother on the anniversary of her mother’s death. I could feel the loss, the sadness, the nostalgia, the longing for something that was no longer there envelop me.

Epic sail (epic fail)

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It started out calm the way troublesome days sometimes do without a hint or foreboding of danger in the air.

It was a clear, sunny day. It was warm, but not breezy.

We had to motor for the first hour before it was even windy enough to put up our sails.

Our destination: A beautiful resort in Door County.

We had passengers with us. Our pastor surprised his wife with an overnight stay at the resort for their anniversary. Romance. A nice quiet sail there and back, or so we thought.

We were all in for a surprise.

A storm popped up on the bay. We had the foresight to take down our sails before it hit. It wasn’t a strong storm, but it produced 10 minutes of heavy rain. It was our first storm. We huddled below as Paul steered the boat. He barely had enough time to throw on his raincoat. I discovered that I forgot mine.

It wasn’t the storm that created the most difficulties. It was the aftermath. The temperature dropped 20 degrees. The winds picked up to 20 mph. Then we had to fight against 6 foot waves.

At first it was kind of fun like being in a giant wave pool. Every tenth wave was gigantic and would crash against the bow soaking us. We laughed, listened to music, and jokingly talked about dying.

After the first hour, things weren’t fun anymore.

The coast guard came on the emergency radio warning boaters of a 22 ft sinking boat partially submerged in water near but not in our path. We were worried about getting off course. It was starting to get late in the afternoon. We used up a lot of gas motoring against the waves.

If we didn’t make the harbor, we might hit the sinking boat.

Things did get rough when we had to hit the waves sideways. Everything that wasn’t tied down flew everywhere. People bounced around like there wasn’t gravity. Even the carpet didn’t stay. The pastor dry heaved into the garbage while I was knocked to the ground.

Paul was hollering from the deck that his waterproof case on his phone gave out. We no longer had our navigation once his phone died. But Paul knew the rest of the way. We were almost there..

I laid on the floor thinking that I was going to die. It felt hopeless really. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t snap out of the panic. I made it my mission to find all of the life jackets. I had to keep my mind from shutting down.

We never have been in waters like that before although Paul calmly told the pastor’s wife that we do this kind of thing all of the time.

Three hours of rough waters and Paul got us to shore safely. I am so proud of him. It wasn’t easy.

Once we got close to shore and things settled down I noticed that Paul and the pastor’s wife were completely soaked and shivering. Almost everything was wet. I found whatever I could find that was dry to keep them warm. The pastor’s wife huddled in the spider ridden sail cover.

We were all freezing cold in July. We were all feeling sick. We weren’t able to get the bumpers out. I was able to tie a line and had to jump on the dock quickly as the motor died out when we found the nearest empty slip.

The pastor’s wife started throwing up once we got to shore. She was so sick that she wasn’t able to join us for supper.

After 3 hours of intense waves, I felt panicky like I do with turbulence on an airplane. It was an awful feeling. I also felt sad. I thought about death, how things could’ve gone terribly wrong and we could’ve died. I thought a lot about my grandma. It stirred up strange unexpected raw emotions of grief and anxiety within me that I find hard to explain. I felt empty, hollow, alone, and frightened…

For the last two weekends I battled death in the grueling waters of Door County. First under the dangerous swimming conditions for the Half Ironman. Then this weekend, 3 hours of sailing in very rough waters. I want to think that I won’t have to face this again. I didn’t enjoy my brush with death very much. But I already committed to sailing for a whole week next week with Paul and some other sailors to the tip of Door County through Death’s Door.

To be continued…

 

Sweet baby

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It happened on Father’s Day..

His first, his last..

I don’t even know him or the baby for that matter.

But I knew his mother from a long time ago, when she was a little girl growing up next door.

It seems hard to believe that I lived somewhere long enough in my adult life to watch a child grow up. She was so young when I first met her…younger than my kids are now.

When she outgrew her bike, she gave it to my daughter.

Now my daughter grew up and left home too.

I wonder what happens to the bicycles when there are no more little legs left to ride them.

The neighbor girl grew up to become a social worker. She rescues children from bad homes but couldn’t save her own child. The horrible injustice of it all must scratch at her wounded heart.

The funeral is tomorrow. It must be hard to pick out the last little outfit that your baby is going to wear in his coffin. I feel so much sorrow for you as I write this.

How devastating to have your baby ripped from your arms so unexpectedly. It’s hard to imagine him in a better place, a place without you.

Do you blame yourself?

Maybe if I noticed something wrong sooner…maybe I should’ve picked him up more when he fussed…maybe I should’ve stayed home with him longer before going back to work…maybe…maybe…maybe…this wouldn’t have happened..

It wasn’t your fault.

I can’t imagine the pain that you are feeling.

I’m so sorry you lost your sweet baby.

 

 

 

 

Survival stories

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Over this past week, we have been hit by several severe storms. There was one day that it didn’t storm. Tornadoes blew through the area.

My daughter, Arabella, was at camp all week. They had to take shelter several times due to the severe storms. For once, I didn’t worry too much. I grew up fairly close to the area that my daughter went to camp. I knew exactly where the storms hit. I knew the campers weren’t in the storms path. By the time I knew a storm was coming, it had already passed that area.

After I picked up my daughter from camp, I went to the cemetery to see if my grandparents ‘survived’ the storm. I checked on their parents and siblings too. It seemed like a strange thing to do, since they all have been dead for almost a decade or more. I don’t get out that way to visit too often.

I remember going as a child along with my grandma and Aunt Grace to check on our family at the cemetery after a storm. Now, regrettably, it felt like my turn.

I drove by my grandparents house. The new owners put up a decorative fence in the front yard. At Aunt Grace’s house, the new owners put in a new front door and constructed a flower bed where a tree used to be. It is still painful to drive by.

I stopped at my parents house, but they weren’t home. It was oddly silent. I feel a certain sadness when I go home. I can’t explain it. I feel nostalgia for what was. I feel grief for things that happened that shouldn’t have. I feel an emptiness, a sense of being alone. It is a painful feeling, but ever so slightly, an uneasiness that almost cannot be pinpointed.

I picked asparagus in my parents backyard as I saw lightening and heard the rumble of distant thunder. I felt empty, alone, and a little afraid. Afraid of being vulnerable out in the open. I felt the emptiness of it all. Soon my parents will be gone. I still regret not spending every moment with my loved ones that I could before they were gone. Guilt. But not even deserved. I spent a lot of time with my family. My mother didn’t want to let me go, so I stayed. I’m the dutiful firstborn that never went far from home. I was needed.

As I ventured out and about this week, I talked to others that faced the storm. People are drawn to tales of destruction, to view the carnage. People want to share their survival stories. I spoke to a stranger that said his family had several collector cars that were destroyed by the tornado after the shed they were in blew away. Cars that were loved, the original parts sought after. I saw pictures. How often does a stranger show you picture after picture on their phone??

I heard the story of a barn the was destroyed in the storm. The cows were lost and some blew away. Half of the cows were found down the road impaled into the ground. These are survival stories being told by people grasping for others who can relate.

I thought about the stories I heard, then realized that I am the same way. I want to tell my story. I want to feel united in life’s collective struggle. They may not be the same stories, but have the common key of surviving something difficult.

I told you this week about a couple of stories where we survived sailing under difficult circumstances that were unexpected. I tell you about my races, how grueling the last triathlon and marathon were. My struggles as a parent, spouse, business owner, and with my own personal issues. I speak of surviving a very difficult childhood. I often feel alone because I don’t hear a lot of people with a similar story.

Who else out there has a severely mentally ill sibling that threatened to kill the youngest most vulnerable family members? Beside my siblings, I know of no other person who has that story to tell. It is lonely struggling alone.

My favorite bloggers are those that have struggled too. I don’t read your stories because I like to see you in pain or your failure. Your stories motivate me to go the extra mile. They inspire me to keep telling my story.

I almost feel sorry for people that don’t have a story to tell.

Sibling bonds

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I saw my mother-in-law last night…it was the first time I’ve seen her since she died. She told me that she would be there for me. But I wasn’t in my house…I was in my childhood home. My husband was there too. He was trying to fix something that was  not fixable..

I woke up crying at 4:30 AM. I feel it happening again.

When I got the news, I was driving my car. I wanted to cry.

Then I felt angry. I drove faster than usual. I wanted to punch someone. I almost wanted someone to hurt me so I could kick, punch, scream, and fight back.

When I got home from my swimming class, I wanted to go for a long hard run. But it was getting dark out.

I felt deep sorrow. It took me to some dark places. It brought back demons so ugly, dark, and evil that I couldn’t possibly outrun them by running hard.

How could we not see what was happening? When Matt was taken off of his anti-psychotic medicine what did we expect would happen?

Matt was taken off of his medication because long term use was straining his liver..

Then started the sleepless nights of agitation. The tics and Tourette’s. The gagging and throwing up of meals. The extreme anxiety.

It wasn’t withdrawal. It wasn’t a virus. The old Matt was back. We just didn’t recognize him because he was gone for so long.

Don’t you remember Alissa? I used to read you books at night…books like Little Women. But Matt would pace the floors in agitation keeping everyone up until midnight. I had to stop reading to you. I had to be with him.

Then yesterday my mom told me that the hallucinations came back.

It started with a dream. A dream of Matt hurting my niece. In the dream, he killed her. He has become fixated on hurting her.

You see, I was Matt’s first victim. Year after year, day after day..it was me that he hurt. He punched me. He kicked me. He clawed me. He bit me.

After awhile, it seemed almost normal.

I wasn’t allowed to fight back. I wasn’t allowed to feel anything.

Then I grew up and had a little girl of my own.

Matt became obsessed with her…or I should say that he became obsessed with hurting her. What would happen if I held her head under water? What would happen if I twist her arm? Would she cry? The voices told him to hurt her.

Then one day he did.

He hurt my daughter on her 4th birthday. After my brother and husband wrestled Matt off of her, my brother Luke took Matt home. Matt went into a psychotic episode so bizarre. He muttered to himself for hours not seeming to be aware of his surroundings.

He still obsessed about hurting my daughter for years afterwards. I had to isolate myself from my family. I did not allow Matt around my daughter for years after that.

Then Matt went on anti-psychotic medicine and became a very peaceful loving person. He started giving hugs instead of bruises. Eventually we were able to reunite as a family once again.

But then this happened.

My mom decided to put Matt back on his medication despite the possible health risks.

Matt loves his family and doesn’t understand why he would want to hurt them.

My brother Luke is keeping his little girls away from Matt until he gets better again.

I never understood how autistic people could be violent. Hearing voices that tell you to hurt someone you love does not seem like a symptom of autism to me. But, a lot of autistic people I know who are violent are non-verbal. Would they be telling the same stories if they could talk?? How is this even possible?

I took the news about this pretty hard.

We will be okay. We will get through this again.

I just feel very compelled to share my story with you.

Please, if you are going through something similar…I would love to hear from you. I feel very alone in all of this.

 

Thoughts in flight

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I am sitting at the airport waiting for my plane. I deliberately scheduled almost a 3 hour layover because who wants to sprint across the airport the day after a marathon? We already had to switch planes because our scheduled flight was delayed. We would have had 15 minutes to run across the airport to catch our flight if we didn’t switch. I almost laughed. 

The other option was to take a later flight in the opposite direction from our destination. I almost had a panic attack at the thought. Both afternoon flights to Chicago were delayed due to mechanical issues. 

I can tolerate an hour flight unmedicated…even with mechanical issues…on a small plane that once had ashtrays in it…I can’t remember the days that smoking was allowed on a plane. I suppose that would be very bad to be caught smoking on a plane. Almost as bad as having your mug shot hanging up at the post office. 

Did I mention the turbulence?? Apparently most plane crashes happen during take off and landing, not due to turbulence. I decided to educate myself on flying because supposedly education about fears alleviates anxiety. Nope, now I am pretty much afraid the whole flight. I think about things like how can planes see other planes through the clouds.

Then my mind grows darker.. I remember every story, tragedy, TV show, or movie that portrays a plane crash…an air traffic controller not paying attention on the job causing a crash like in Breaking Bad, mechanical failure, a gaggle of geese flying north into the propellers, terrorists. 

Too bad I’m not flying over a deserted tropical island like on Lost. It might be nice to live in seclusion for awhile. 

Yet, despite my fear, I feel captivated by seeing skyscrapers and water from a different perspective from my perch in the sky. 

I wonder if the little oxygen masks ever drop down if we need them. Does anyone ever live to tell us if the safety precautions actually work? 

I think of the scariest caravel ride I’ve been on. I think of falling, fast..I wonder what people think about right before they die. What if they don’t know it is their last breath?

I wonder if the pilot is drunk or high. I search for signs of problems with the plane. What was that sound? Is it me or is the flight attendant looking a little stressed?? 

We had to fly with a different airline when we switched our flight. I had to hobble down to a far terminal. I didn’t see one little train, escalator, or people mover. I hobbled around feeling like I was slowing down traffic. I wore my marathon shirt with fierce pride. 

The next flight I took my anxiety meds. I worried that I would have an allergic reaction and die in flight . 

Then the worry goes away. I don’t clench my husband’s hand quite as hard. 

I imagine floating in the air towards God in the clouds. 

When we land, I don’t worry about getting to our hotel. The methodically planned arrangements bounce off my medicated mind. I walk slow…lethargic…unworried…with a heavy lead marathon limp. 

Somehow we arrive safely to our destination the day after the marathon. 

The last conversation

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Death…lately it has been swirling around nearby…but it has yet to come knocking at my door..

Of all of my grandparents, three died of heart issues. One of a heart attack after having long term health issues. Two others of congestive heart failure after open heart surgery. They all made it to or past 80. I think that I can beat the heart problems that run in my family by running and taking good care of myself. I have low blood pressure and cholesterol. I am doing what I can.

My other grandparent died in childbirth at the age I am now. I think I can pretty safely surmise that that will not be my demise.

There is something about watching a close relative pass that makes me ponder my grand exit…or at least face the fact that I won’t be here forever.

Last week my last ‘great’ passed away. Now my parents are my oldest living relatives. This is frightening…where does the time fly to after it has passed?

I also found out recently that my great aunt passed away from a rare genetic lung disease that apparently two other relatives have or had. There is some confusion at this time because we really don’t know for sure.

I remember my aunt passing away from this horrible disease. I was really young then, so was she. She was on the lung transplant list. She couldn’t get around and needed her husband care for her.

Having my aunt and great aunt pass away from this and another relative has had it for over a decade now…I have to wonder or face the fact that it could happen to me…The first few days after I found out, I was really afraid.

Saturday morning, Paul and I sat in the hot tub and drank our coffee in deep conversation. I told him that I wanted to talk about this and that I would never talk about it again. I asked him if he would still love me if he had to take care of me.

Would you still love me if you had to give up sailing to take care of me? What if you had to give up all of your dreams the last few years of your life to take care of me?

As a very active person, a marathon runner, nothing torments me more than the thought of sitting still…being dependent on others…being a burden..

Until death do us part, but not together forever unless we die at the same time. He said that sometimes it is difficult for him to show he cares because I am so fiercely independent. Also, I care so much for others but refuse to let other people care for me. I rarely ask for or admit that I need help.

Paul said that his step-dad Darryl felt important and needed taking care of his wife during her cancer. Darryl took great pride in making her shakes. He patiently doted on her and it made him feel good. She wasn’t a burden as much as caring for her was a blessing..It showed us the power of unconditional love…

I also saw the genuine care and love that my uncle gave to my aunt while she was ill.

I found both situations very tragic yet touching to see such great care and love.

Sometimes I worry about Paul. His mom passed away from lung cancer last month and his uncle passed away from it last year. His grandpa had a massive heart attack a few years older than Paul is now. He has a family history of heart disease and cancer…the other side of his family history is completely unknown.

Would it be better to know?? I don’t know..

Despite the seriousness of the topic, we had a nice conversation over coffee…I felt that whatever happens I won’t be alone. Paul said if it comes down to it, we can sit together on the beach hand-in-hand sharing the same oxygen tank.

But until then, I decided that I am not going to worry about it anymore. Whatever happens happens. I am going to live my life to the fullest now.

We won’t be talking about this again.

This will be our last conversation about this too.

 

Why worry?? Why?

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I really shouldn’t be here talking to you right now. I simply don’t have the time. But if I don’t tell you what has been going on the last few days I will go absolutely crazy! Oops…sorry…CRAZIER..

My daughter Angel is home for spring break…it has been absolutely freezing out by the way..It all started Tuesday…I was going to leave work for an early lunch to go train. The plan was to swim and then bike 20 miles. When I stopped at home, Angel said that her ears hurt and she needed to see the doctor. I set up the doctor appointment…there went my work out over lunch..

Technically, I didn’t need to accompany Angel to the doctor since she is an adult. But her brother is being treated the second time for a bacterial colitis he picked up from being on antibiotics while visiting his dying grandma. Seeking treatment meant the possibility of catching something a lot worse. Plus she didn’t have a car.

How could my day get worse??

Then Paul told me that he was coughing up blood. Since his mother died last month from lung cancer, I told him to get it checked out. I am terrified that he is going to work really hard and die before he sees the fruit of his labors. Lately I have been telling him that I don’t want to retire and walk the beach hand-in-hand with someone else. Harsh, I know. Although he is also a runner, he has the tendency to drink and eat too much under stress. A couple weeks back he wolfed down a whole bag of chips.

I worry…He drinks..

For Lent, Paul decided to give up drinking during the week. He said that he wants to be more self-disciplined like me. I want him to be healthier. That is when I decided to give up worrying, or should I say excessive worrying because I want to be more carefree and positive like him.

So far it is not working out as well for me as it is for him..

Paul made a doctor appointment for the following day.

How could my day get worse?? Then my mom sent me a text saying that my aunt had a stroke and is unresponsive. Perfect!

After Angel’s doctor appointment, I decided to swing by work to take care of a few things that I needed to do before hitting the gym. There was a big problem with a new large client that I ended up getting sucked into. I missed the open swimming time. I barely had enough time to squeeze in 20 miles of biking.

I missed my last scheduled run on Saturday. The kids had solo and ensemble. My son was one of the few kids to make it to state for a very difficult band solo. We realized for the first time how gifted he is in music. I have 2 kids that are extremely talented at music and one that is not. Arabella did a vocal trio. One of the girls didn’t show up and it didn’t go well. All of Arabella’s friends from the theater watched her and she was mortified.

I had planned to go to the gym when I got home Saturday afternoon. I got back later then expected and had been battling a cold for a few days. Instead, I fell asleep for an hour and a half. Paul said that maybe I should give up all my racing and just be like everyone else since I seem to be having such a hard time finding balance in my life.

After my 20 mile bike ride, I left the gym and drove 40 minutes in the opposite direction to pick up Arabella from her after school activities. She played her music really loud on her cell phone. I told her to turn it down. She said that I was annoying and that is why she hates me which was frustrating.

This all transpired on Tuesday.

Wednesday morning I awake to a text from Arabella’s coach saying that her drama team is going to make it to state. The top two teams competing in each challenge make it to state. There are only two teams competing, so they automatically go to state. This wouldn’t be a problem except that they changed the date of state this year because of Easter and moved it to the weekend that we are going to be performing in a musical. Of course, I didn’t find out about this until a commitment was made to both events. So I am faced with either pulling her out of the musical last minute for one or two shows OR have the team go to state without her and having to rewrite the whole script without her in it last minute.

Maybe things will be better at work…When I get to work, I drop my keys between the seat and the console. They wrap around under the seat and I can’t fit my hands in to get them out. I spend the first half an hour of my work day trying to dislodge my keys. I cut up my hand and get blood everywhere but can’t find bandages. I also lost my key charm in the fight, but got my keys out.

Work is the busiest I have seen it this year. We had to hire a new employee and if it doesn’t slow down we might have to hire a few more. This is all wonderful, but stressful especially since one of the employees called in sick yesterday.

The doctor said Paul has an upper respiratory virus. He came into work with a fever. I need him to pick up the slack from the employee that called in. Then I am faced with the decision to either stay at work late or go with my mom and uncle to visit my ailing great aunt. I walk away from a big pile of work and choose family.

After I drive my mom and uncle over an hour to visit my aunt at the nursing home, we get there 15 minutes too late. She already passed away. We walk in through the closed door to find the nuns and nurses anointing Aunt Doll’s head with holy water. They put water on my finger to anoint her too. Then we sing Amazing Grace over her body. We cry. Enough of the death and dying already!

The most horrifying part was that it wasn’t the stroke that killed her. I found out last night that it was a genetic lung condition that killed her. The same lung condition that claimed the life of my oldest aunt. One or two of my mother’s cousins are also afflicted with this disease that renders them wheelchair bound and hooked up to oxygen. Oh my!

Is everything that I am doing right now in vain?? All of this eating healthy and working out…Will I be like them? I don’t think I could handle it. Will I have to watch my mother die this way?? My daughters?? It seems to present itself in females more than males.

Last night before going to sleep, I said my nightly prayers…as I was praying to God I could hear my dog puking outside my bedroom door…

God, I can’t take this anymore..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m (not) worried

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I don’t really feel like writing today. The weekend went really well and poorly.

Paul and I were really stressed out this past week.

Thankfully, Arabella’s fever was gone by Saturday morning. She wasn’t 100%, but was up for a 4 hour road trip to see my daughter Angel perform.

Alex wasn’t fairing as well. His bacterial colitis was acting up and he couldn’t get treatment until we brought in a specimen.

By Saturday morning, I was feeling pretty stressed. Still no sample. I decided to work out Saturday morning like usual.

Paul and I were not getting along the last few days. While I was working out he sent me a text. I think you are a great mother. What did that mean?? I took it as an attack. I responded back with something like SCREW YOU and found out that he really meant it later. Misunderstandings..

We took separate cars since we had a large crew going out to the show…a ten mile run…a long drive…no sample..

I picked up my mom on my way.

It was my dad’s birthday. He turned 70. I rolled down my window and said happy birthday in a rushed murmur as I pulled away. A card and gift forgotten. Guilt. My dad didn’t go along.

The show was excellent! I am so proud…my daughter, the only freshman girl with a lead in her first opera. Magnifico!

I was expecting an introduction to the new guy she was talking about. Nothing. He is out of the picture. She told her ex to not bother coming to the show. Instead Mitch made the long drive to our house when we were gone to drop off Angel’s things. He dropped off 2 sweaters. Okay?!?

No fight between two guys out in front of the university cathedral like I was expecting.

After the show, a few of us went out for drinks. It was Darryl’s first time out since his wife passed away. After we got settled in, my son said that his stomach was hurting and that I was a terrible mother. We all raced back to the hotel right away.

I didn’t sleep well.

The next morning we visited over breakfast before the long drive back. I told everyone that I gave up worrying for Lent. Some snickered, others laughed. Don’t feel bad if you can’t do it. Maybe next year I will give up depression for Lent. Will that be easier??

Then we started the long drive back home. On the way, I killed a dog. Maybe I should clarify…when I was exiting a small town on a 2 lane highway…a small black lab puppy trailed by a purple leash ran out of nowhere. I slammed on the brakes. I had to maintain control of the car. There was woods on one side and a bog on the other. Stay on the road..Smack…I hit the puppy with the purple leash hard. Gone. He took off. I pulled over..Car and trucks whizzed by. No damage to the car. No sign of the dog..

My son got out and walked up and down the highway..no dog..we kept looking..we drove around. Where were the owners?? There was a truck parked by a trail. Alex walked over and talked to them. It was their puppy. He got away.. I was proud that my son took care of the situation..Where was the puppy?? Injured somewhere, dying in pain? I hit him pretty hard. Don’t worry..Why, why me?? Do you want me to stop worrying?? Wwwwhhhhhhyyyyy???

After about a half an hour, we finally left…the owners of the dog keep searching…I am shook up..I just killed a puppy…a baby dog…I can’t get the image out of my mind…My daughter texted me. How could you?? As if I didn’t feel shitty enough about it.

I get home later than expected…late to play practice…I just miss my big scene by seconds…I feel so angry and frustrated I want to scream out obscenities…but there are children around…I sit down and smile…and start the hardest act yet…pretending that everything is okay..

Can we just start the year over??

 

Martha’s eulogy

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When I first met my mother-in-law Martha, she was only a few years older than I am now. She was taking care of her mother in Paul’s childhood home on the highway.

Time has been slipping by fast since then. The seconds turned to minutes to hours then years past and a few decades slipped away as well.

This will be the 20th year since Martha’s mom left us. I was glad I could meet her and see Martha’s kind and compassionate care for her.

Paul’s childhood house is gone too. A gas station stands where the house on the highway used to sit.

And now he lost his mother too.

I have to be honest that the last few weeks have been totally heartbreaking. Martha became someone I didn’t recognize anymore. I want to forget the last couple of weeks and only remember the good times. I want to remember her laughter and not our tears.

Martha always had a way of taking the negatives and turning them into positives. I remember taking her in for her biopsy right before her diagnosis of breast cancer many years back. She wasn’t even worried. She had a good attitude saying things like ‘it wasn’t so bad’ and ‘I can handle doing this again’. She fought the first battle courageously and won.  Little did we know at the time that she would be facing this fight again. But she battled it courageously with optimism and hope.

Most people would describe Martha as a lot of fun. We spent a lot of our time together laughing. I will miss her laughter. Although she was one of the nicest ladies you would ever meet, it was in your best interest not to get her mad.  She was afflicted with the family temper, which believe me, I have learned quite a bit about. If something was bothering her, you would be sure to hear about it. But once she spoke her mind, it was forgotten. She was never one to hold a grudge. She was never one to judge either. She accepted people with open arms and made them feel welcome.

Unlike me, Martha never spent her time worrying. She was carefree. We needed her to bring the fun and excitement to the room. She didn’t worry about time, structure, or routine. She got there when she got there. This is the one time that she showed up to heaven’s gates too early.

She was happy with what she had. She didn’t need the newest fashions or glitzy bling.

I remember the days when Martha drove around a puke green 1970’s model station wagon. We were quite the sight driving around town. People stared. She would just laugh and say something like, “It is not much, but it gets me where I need to go.” She really didn’t care what people thought of her. I really liked that about her because that mind set is so freeing. She was herself.

Some might have said, at the time, that her biggest mistake was having a child at a young age without a husband. But I would have to say that her biggest mistake has been my greatest blessing in life. It is the reason I am here now with a wonderful husband and these beautiful grandchildren of hers. I will always appreciate the sacrifice that she made to raise Paul on her own. She held down a job. She put her life on hold for him. She always told him that he could do whatever he put his mind to. She was a great mother and thankfully Paul had the opportunity to tell her that.

A few weeks ago, she shared that the biggest regret in her life was that she didn’t meet Darryl sooner. Darryl was the love of her life. They shared many wonderful years together in their house in the woods.

She loved the time she spent with her family and we will miss her.