Wow.
Yesterday – December 16, 2015 – I got my Very First Colonoscopy. And I learned a few things: Continue reading
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December 8: Young Buck
Mark’s best friends, Andy and Jess, came by to visit last night with their mom, bringing homemade fudge and much-needed laughter. What’s great about them, and about James, and about Steven, and about all of Mark’s friends, is that ALL of their memories of Mark are good. They remember him with smiles.
November 30: The “Luxury” of My Grief
I have become painfully aware that my ability to take time for my grief, to process this hell, is a “luxury,” relatively speaking. Hear me out…
November 21: In Your MERCY!
My blood pressure is sky high. Nothing has gone as planned this week – NOTHING.
The neurologist refused to intervene (?? this person made the diagnosis and prescribes the medication!) and although the family doctor did actually “grow a pair” and gently and kindly intervene, our loved one had no memory of the interaction, just 30 minutes later. And she is sad, and angry, and hurt, and so, so confused. We promised to have her tested but they can’t do it for at least two weeks. We had no idea the cataclysm of anxiety that would result from this. My husband and I are wrecked…last night I threw a tantrum – I have never, to my knowledge, done this in my entire life – in the middle of everything because this is JUST TOO MUCH. DAMMIT. It’s TOO MUCH.
November 20: Oh, The Humanity
A request from me, personally: please stop telling me I’m “amazing,” or “a model of faith.” (And for the religious folk: please stop saying any variation of “aren’t you glad Mark is in heaven with Jesus?” Don’t you know I would climb up there and yank him back down here if I could?) Stop saying I’m “so strong.” I can’t tell you how uncomfortable that makes me, because I don’t FEEL strong. And when you say I am, I feel like you don’t really SEE me. So, please don’t say that to anyone who has experienced the death of a child. Instead… maybe just offer a warm hug…tell the griever how much you care, how much you loved their child (say his name, say her name) and then listen, at least for a few moments, to what they tell you.
November 17: The Right Book
My sister misses Mark terribly. So many hearts just smashed into pieces. She spends a lot of time searching Facebook for pictures, for stories…she’s “Friended” many of his peers. She has the biggest heart I know.
November 15: Remembering the Last Time
In mid-September, Steve and I had planned to go visit Mark and attend a VT football game. But Steve’s back molar suddenly exploded in pain and he had to stay home, post-root-canal-that-followed. So I drove down by myself. I thought about just staying home with Steve and not making the long drive, but I wanted to see Mark. Plus, in typical Mark-fashion, he’d left his hanging bag containing his business-wear at home, and he had the Expo – where engineers are offered jobs! and internships! – coming up shortly.
November 10: Pentacost?
After writing all morning and processing everything that had happened over the past weekend, I felt a little more energetic…strong enough to go to the gym in search of some endorphins (I know I am repeating myself: exercise is GOOD… endorphins help lift you out of grief, even just for a bit). Ramin, a grandfatherly Iraqi who volunteers there, greeted me at the door. We hug now; when learning about my son, he shared that he lost his 33 year old son many years ago. He said, “I was glad that my wife was already gone when our son died, because she could not have withstood it.”
Tell me about it.
November 7-9: Loose Ends
In a moment of true (i.e., Godly…we had no ability to come up with this on our own) inspiration a few weeks back, we’d decided to pursue grief counseling – as a family – near Sarah’s university. It would give us a scheduled time of togetherness…of being able to process our grief as a family, in spite of our distance (both geographical and internal).
November 6: Glimpses and Good-Byes
Last night….I dreamed I was rubbing his back. This was my first real dream about Mark since the day he died. And this was something he loved – he loved to have his back scratched.
Just this past August, while he was still home for the summer, he would throw himself (THUD…145 lbs of man-boy) face-down on our bed, between his dad and me as we settled in for some reading, for a back rub. I could kick myself for the times I didn’t rub very long, or was so busy reading (whatever I thought was more important in that moment) that I barely paid attention.
BLUE SKIES REMIND ME 