So I finally take the time to write - and find I have nothing to write about. Oh, of course there's always something like my mom's recent surgery, or the constant cold/cough that is going around our house, or the constant nagging fear I have over the health of this baby boy I'm carrying - but I don't want to focus on that.
A is being a precocious four year old - she's so excited for Valentine's Day that she can't stand herself. She has a party at school tomorrow - so she and I spent all of last Sunday making sweetheart cookies for it - cut heart sugar cookies - iced pink and white. She did her usual "job" of sprinkling them in her artistic A manner. Then, for the final touch - we (or rather I) piped the name of each child in her class on a larger heart cookie - so they'll have their own special treat. A was thrilled.
J of course has no concept of the approaching holiday - but he is definately interested in the big container of cookies waiting on the counter (some are set aside for his class party) - and keeps pointing to the heart decorations we put around the kitchen.
My mom always made every holiday special. Even the little ones, like St. Patricks Day and Valentine's Day. She always cooked something special - and we set the table in the formal dining room with the fine china and crystal (yep, even when we were little) - and we sat together like real grown-ups. She'd have some sort of trinket or gift waiting for us at our places - a small box of chocolates, or a shamrock pin, or something of that sort.
I'm continuing the tradition for our kids. Rather than pawn them off on a babysitter on Valentine's Day, D and I have opted to share it with them. I plan to have A help me make cupcakes on Saturday (decorated, A says - of course - with conversation heart candies) and then we'll cook a special meal, set the "fancy" table, and eat together as a family. And there will be treats - a new DVD for each of the kids, a new set of jammies for each of the kids, and plenty of chocolate candy. I know - it's not their birthday and it's not Christmas - but it somehow makes me feel closer to my mom to pick out little things and wrap them in pretty paper.
Isn't it funny how a holiday that used to be so "romantic" between D and I is now filled with paper-chain hearts, homemade cupcakes, and kid jammies?
But I wouldn't have it any other way.
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Thursday, June 26, 2008
It's turning out to be one of those days....
Why is it that there are days and days that can go by and I feel like a completely "normal" person - that is, I don't feel the weight of grief pressing down on me - and I can go about my day doing "normal" things - going to work, coming home, making dinner, doing laundry - doing the things that mommies do...
And then all of a sudden, out of the blue, one of those days happens along, and all I want to do is curl up, miss my mom, miss my dad, and cry.
All of a sudden this afternoon, while sitting at my desk and trying to finish a proposal, I was hit with an enormous wave of grief - panic - dread. Perhaps it's the impending trip west to see my mom. Perhaps it's the summer storm that blackened the sky. Who knows. All I know is it's here. And it's not going away.
I should be happy and excited to be going 'home' to see my mom. And I am. At least part of me is. Truth be told, another part of me is dreading it. I want to see my mommy, to hold her hand, to touch her hair, to tell her I love her. I do NOT want to see her hunched over in her wheelchair, drooling, and trying to communicate but not making any sense. I don't want to feel the uneven ridges in her skull when I kiss her head - where bones are missing from her surgery. I want to hug her and tell her all about everything . I want to have one of our marathon coffee-talks where we pour our hearts out.
What I want I can't have. I probably can't have again. I'm looking forward to seeing my mom. I'm terrified to see my mom. And I'm even more terrified that makes me a bad person because I'm frightened to see her like she is.....
And then all of a sudden, out of the blue, one of those days happens along, and all I want to do is curl up, miss my mom, miss my dad, and cry.
All of a sudden this afternoon, while sitting at my desk and trying to finish a proposal, I was hit with an enormous wave of grief - panic - dread. Perhaps it's the impending trip west to see my mom. Perhaps it's the summer storm that blackened the sky. Who knows. All I know is it's here. And it's not going away.
I should be happy and excited to be going 'home' to see my mom. And I am. At least part of me is. Truth be told, another part of me is dreading it. I want to see my mommy, to hold her hand, to touch her hair, to tell her I love her. I do NOT want to see her hunched over in her wheelchair, drooling, and trying to communicate but not making any sense. I don't want to feel the uneven ridges in her skull when I kiss her head - where bones are missing from her surgery. I want to hug her and tell her all about everything . I want to have one of our marathon coffee-talks where we pour our hearts out.
What I want I can't have. I probably can't have again. I'm looking forward to seeing my mom. I'm terrified to see my mom. And I'm even more terrified that makes me a bad person because I'm frightened to see her like she is.....
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
I am not my brother's keeper.
I have a brother - D. He is my big brother, by 2 1/2 years. We got along well as children - if my memory is correct - of course we bickered over the usual things (and I'm sure I did more than my fair share of initiating the bickering as that was my temperment back then.) But he was my big brother - I looked up to him - I wanted to be just like him, and do whatever it was he was doing.
Along about the time D hit puberty - he changed - and his life sort of became one of those 'afterschool special stories'. You know the kind, teenage boy thinks he's had enough of his horrible life, runs away with his girlfriend, gets said girlfriend pregnant (both at the age of 15), has child with girlfriend, drops out of school, makes his way through life.
Through all of the 'challenges' I tried to be close to him. I remember my brother being a kind and gentle soul as a kid. I know that kind and gentle person is in there .... somewhere ....
Fast forward a decade or two - I live my life as the 'good' child - graduate high school, college, go on to live in Europe for a while, move to S. Carolina, get married, get masters degree, have first child (after struggling with infertility) - and my brother is absent for most all of it. Sure, we could chalk it up to the distance - but that's just geography - and in today's technology-savvy world - a poor excuse.
I try to reach out to D - to include him in my life - but he's distant - wrapped up in his own world. I have to believe that it's not intentional - his distance - but it's hard when the big brother I grew up with seems to have more time for his business or his girlfriend, or his girlfriend's family than his own.
So then our dad gets sick with cancer - really sick. From the time of intial diagnosis of stage four colon cancer/optic melanoma to the time of his death was a mere nine months. I used that time to try to be closer to our dad. I called him - and he called me quite often - following doctor visits and treatments. I listened to him cry - I heard his fears - I shared his sorrow.
D checked out. I think it was his self-preservation method - he didn't know how to deal with our dad dying. No one ever talked about the possibilty that dad may die - not even dad. The big C was always discussed as something he'd beat, or something he was fighting hard against, with everything he had. We never entertained the notion that he might not make it. I don't begrudge my brother's behavior, I mean, we all deal with things in different ways, right? How I may choose to handle serious illness (by hearing all the facts, and participating fully) may not be how another handles it.
I get that, I really do. What I don't get is the complete abandonment. Up until my dad's death, he always asked me 'have you heard from your brother?' I tried in vain to 'cover' for D - came up with excuses - and hoped that our dad didn't know - but it was a terrible position to be in. I hated lying to dad - I hated D not calling him - I hated knowing the discrepancy between the two.
After dad died, D rushed into the scene like the prodigal son. He rushed to my dad's wife's side - full of compassion, trying to help with funeral arrangements, calling people - whatever. I was pushed aside. I was even told, that after my husband and 10 month old A had paid out the a$$ for airline tickets to travel from S. Carolina to be with dad as he died, we couldn't stay at dad's house - because having a baby in the house was too much for my dad's wife. Yeah - you read that right - so we holed up in a crappy hotel near to the hospital in Tacoma, while D stayed with dad's wife in their home.
My husband D told me that I needed to be the better person - to just let my brother try to make up for lost time in whatever way he needed to. And I did. I sat silently by as he portrayed himself to be this great son - while I was discounted as the daughter who moved far away and wasn't a part of my dad's life at all. It hurt. It hurt like hell. It was the farthest thing from the truth. But I kept my mouth shut. I knew then, and I know now what the truth was. It shouldn't matter what other people (like my dad's friends) thought. But that screaming little sister deep inside wanted desperately to show her sassy self - and loudly voice the truth.
I think I still have teeth marks on my tongue from that August in 2005.
So you might think that following the tragedy that was my father's death would be a wake-up call of sorts for my big brother - that he might want/try/need to be closer to his family, or me specifically as his little sister. I erroneously thought that we would walk the path of grief together, cling to one another as we moved forward in our lives without our father.
Nope. More deafening silence. Not just for me - but for our mom and step dad as well (all the while my brother keeps in close contact with my dad's widow.) Go figure.
So then tragedy strikes again for us two adult children, when my mom's brain hemorrhages. Again, we go through the same routine. D checks out. He can't handle it. I know it's horrific to see our mom like she is - but she's still our mom. She's still the woman who wanted us, who prayed for us, who carried us in her womb, who brought us to life. She is still the woman who loved us desperately. She's still there - just not the same as she was before April 10, 2007. She still loves us - I'm sure of it - and still needs us.
And, again, I'm asked from family and friends across the continent who call to check in on us, to see how mom is doing "have you heard from your brother?"
No. And I'm not my brother's keeper.
Along about the time D hit puberty - he changed - and his life sort of became one of those 'afterschool special stories'. You know the kind, teenage boy thinks he's had enough of his horrible life, runs away with his girlfriend, gets said girlfriend pregnant (both at the age of 15), has child with girlfriend, drops out of school, makes his way through life.
Through all of the 'challenges' I tried to be close to him. I remember my brother being a kind and gentle soul as a kid. I know that kind and gentle person is in there .... somewhere ....
Fast forward a decade or two - I live my life as the 'good' child - graduate high school, college, go on to live in Europe for a while, move to S. Carolina, get married, get masters degree, have first child (after struggling with infertility) - and my brother is absent for most all of it. Sure, we could chalk it up to the distance - but that's just geography - and in today's technology-savvy world - a poor excuse.
I try to reach out to D - to include him in my life - but he's distant - wrapped up in his own world. I have to believe that it's not intentional - his distance - but it's hard when the big brother I grew up with seems to have more time for his business or his girlfriend, or his girlfriend's family than his own.
So then our dad gets sick with cancer - really sick. From the time of intial diagnosis of stage four colon cancer/optic melanoma to the time of his death was a mere nine months. I used that time to try to be closer to our dad. I called him - and he called me quite often - following doctor visits and treatments. I listened to him cry - I heard his fears - I shared his sorrow.
D checked out. I think it was his self-preservation method - he didn't know how to deal with our dad dying. No one ever talked about the possibilty that dad may die - not even dad. The big C was always discussed as something he'd beat, or something he was fighting hard against, with everything he had. We never entertained the notion that he might not make it. I don't begrudge my brother's behavior, I mean, we all deal with things in different ways, right? How I may choose to handle serious illness (by hearing all the facts, and participating fully) may not be how another handles it.
I get that, I really do. What I don't get is the complete abandonment. Up until my dad's death, he always asked me 'have you heard from your brother?' I tried in vain to 'cover' for D - came up with excuses - and hoped that our dad didn't know - but it was a terrible position to be in. I hated lying to dad - I hated D not calling him - I hated knowing the discrepancy between the two.
After dad died, D rushed into the scene like the prodigal son. He rushed to my dad's wife's side - full of compassion, trying to help with funeral arrangements, calling people - whatever. I was pushed aside. I was even told, that after my husband and 10 month old A had paid out the a$$ for airline tickets to travel from S. Carolina to be with dad as he died, we couldn't stay at dad's house - because having a baby in the house was too much for my dad's wife. Yeah - you read that right - so we holed up in a crappy hotel near to the hospital in Tacoma, while D stayed with dad's wife in their home.
My husband D told me that I needed to be the better person - to just let my brother try to make up for lost time in whatever way he needed to. And I did. I sat silently by as he portrayed himself to be this great son - while I was discounted as the daughter who moved far away and wasn't a part of my dad's life at all. It hurt. It hurt like hell. It was the farthest thing from the truth. But I kept my mouth shut. I knew then, and I know now what the truth was. It shouldn't matter what other people (like my dad's friends) thought. But that screaming little sister deep inside wanted desperately to show her sassy self - and loudly voice the truth.
I think I still have teeth marks on my tongue from that August in 2005.
So you might think that following the tragedy that was my father's death would be a wake-up call of sorts for my big brother - that he might want/try/need to be closer to his family, or me specifically as his little sister. I erroneously thought that we would walk the path of grief together, cling to one another as we moved forward in our lives without our father.
Nope. More deafening silence. Not just for me - but for our mom and step dad as well (all the while my brother keeps in close contact with my dad's widow.) Go figure.
So then tragedy strikes again for us two adult children, when my mom's brain hemorrhages. Again, we go through the same routine. D checks out. He can't handle it. I know it's horrific to see our mom like she is - but she's still our mom. She's still the woman who wanted us, who prayed for us, who carried us in her womb, who brought us to life. She is still the woman who loved us desperately. She's still there - just not the same as she was before April 10, 2007. She still loves us - I'm sure of it - and still needs us.
And, again, I'm asked from family and friends across the continent who call to check in on us, to see how mom is doing "have you heard from your brother?"
No. And I'm not my brother's keeper.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Exhausting the time to grieve???
Okay, so this may not be the appropriate sequence to write this post on the heels of the previous one, but this has been rattling around in my head for so long that I need to get it out.
For those of you who have had some major grief happen in your life - have you ever felt that your friends (who you believed whole heartedly were indeed your friend in every meaning of the word) finally got sick of you and wanted you to just be 'over it?' That somehow you'd exhausted your allotted time to grieve - and it was time to just pick up and move on?
I realize it is a natural process...grieving, that is... for all involved. At first there is that panic, that feeling of losing control, followed closely by 'oh $hit - now what am I supposed to do?' There is that surreal feeling of 'did I really just go through that?' (i.e. - did I really just watch my dad take his last breath and see his heart literally stop beating? or - am I really looking at my mom - this person lying before me in a hospital bed - hooked up to 14 different machines - and looking like something from a horror flick with the open and non-bandaged scar from having her head cut open and her brain fiddled around with? or - am I really witnessing a life - this precious baby we prayed for and loved - leaving my body? Surely these things aren't real....)
Friends seem to flock to your side in droves, bringing everything from casseroles to flowers, phone calls and emails... and then time goes on, life happens, and people move on.
Naturally that should happen - I mean, I wouldn't want to wallow forever - and I wouldn't want or expect my friends to let me do that. But just when you're starting to pick yourself off, shake off the dust, rattle yourself around - another blow happens, and you're right back where you started.
But your friends don't get that. They expect you to have that smile on your face, be 'good ole reliable Kristen' and go about your life as it was pre-disaster.
And the thing is - its always there. It never really goes away.
I recently (on the anniversary of my moms surgery) emailed out to a group of friends that on that day, I needed support. Now one thing you must know about me is that I'm not one to ever ask for help. Ever. I don't admit when I'm sad or scared or hurting - rather I do an awesome job of stuffing it deep inside for those times when I'm alone and can completely dissolve. I'd rather do that than admit I'm hurting. I'd rather have a fake smile on my face than try to explain why I'm sad. So to email out and ask for any help, was beyond unusual. I think in the email I said something along the lines of 'I don't admit when I'm troubled or weak - but today I need your prayers.' Wanna know how many replies I received - from people who are supposed to be my true 'friends?' Very few. Very.
In fact, the people I expected to be sympathetic and understanding and type a quick note of 'I'm thinking of you today' were silent. Deafeningly silent.
Not to say there weren't others who offered prayers, support, a simple and sincere 'I'm so very sorry," and those meant the world to me.
But there were still those people, the people I thought I could depend on - who apparently have no idea what it is like to walk any sort of path of grief. And you know what? I hope they never do.
There are some days that I feel like I'm in some sort of no-mans-land - because none of my friends have lost a parent. None of my friends have lost a baby. In their defense I think they just don't know what to say - and perhaps in their minds its better not to say anything at all - and just ignore it. But doing so makes it seem like the grief isn't true - that I'm crazy or insane or both for being sad about the fact that my dad is dead and my mom (while alive) is incapacitated.
So maybe I've exhausted my time for grieving - I just wish I could somehow explain that fact to my heart.
Does any of this make sense, or am I truly crazy?
For those of you who have had some major grief happen in your life - have you ever felt that your friends (who you believed whole heartedly were indeed your friend in every meaning of the word) finally got sick of you and wanted you to just be 'over it?' That somehow you'd exhausted your allotted time to grieve - and it was time to just pick up and move on?
I realize it is a natural process...grieving, that is... for all involved. At first there is that panic, that feeling of losing control, followed closely by 'oh $hit - now what am I supposed to do?' There is that surreal feeling of 'did I really just go through that?' (i.e. - did I really just watch my dad take his last breath and see his heart literally stop beating? or - am I really looking at my mom - this person lying before me in a hospital bed - hooked up to 14 different machines - and looking like something from a horror flick with the open and non-bandaged scar from having her head cut open and her brain fiddled around with? or - am I really witnessing a life - this precious baby we prayed for and loved - leaving my body? Surely these things aren't real....)
Friends seem to flock to your side in droves, bringing everything from casseroles to flowers, phone calls and emails... and then time goes on, life happens, and people move on.
Naturally that should happen - I mean, I wouldn't want to wallow forever - and I wouldn't want or expect my friends to let me do that. But just when you're starting to pick yourself off, shake off the dust, rattle yourself around - another blow happens, and you're right back where you started.
But your friends don't get that. They expect you to have that smile on your face, be 'good ole reliable Kristen' and go about your life as it was pre-disaster.
And the thing is - its always there. It never really goes away.
I recently (on the anniversary of my moms surgery) emailed out to a group of friends that on that day, I needed support. Now one thing you must know about me is that I'm not one to ever ask for help. Ever. I don't admit when I'm sad or scared or hurting - rather I do an awesome job of stuffing it deep inside for those times when I'm alone and can completely dissolve. I'd rather do that than admit I'm hurting. I'd rather have a fake smile on my face than try to explain why I'm sad. So to email out and ask for any help, was beyond unusual. I think in the email I said something along the lines of 'I don't admit when I'm troubled or weak - but today I need your prayers.' Wanna know how many replies I received - from people who are supposed to be my true 'friends?' Very few. Very.
In fact, the people I expected to be sympathetic and understanding and type a quick note of 'I'm thinking of you today' were silent. Deafeningly silent.
Not to say there weren't others who offered prayers, support, a simple and sincere 'I'm so very sorry," and those meant the world to me.
But there were still those people, the people I thought I could depend on - who apparently have no idea what it is like to walk any sort of path of grief. And you know what? I hope they never do.
There are some days that I feel like I'm in some sort of no-mans-land - because none of my friends have lost a parent. None of my friends have lost a baby. In their defense I think they just don't know what to say - and perhaps in their minds its better not to say anything at all - and just ignore it. But doing so makes it seem like the grief isn't true - that I'm crazy or insane or both for being sad about the fact that my dad is dead and my mom (while alive) is incapacitated.
So maybe I've exhausted my time for grieving - I just wish I could somehow explain that fact to my heart.
Does any of this make sense, or am I truly crazy?
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