LG was writing a thank you note to her R.E. (religious education) teacher…
LG: Mom, does R.E. have period after the letters?
Me: Yes.
LG: If it’s the last word in the sentence, do I put another period?
Me: No, just one period, but that’s a very good question!
I love that she stopped to think and when it didn’t seem right, she asked for clarification. Love that she’s using that brain!
April 20, 1999. Do you know what happened on that day? I had to look the date up, and I was shocked to find it happened 13 1/2 years ago. I didn’t realize it had been that long. It was the Columbine High School massacre.
I remember that day. I was a teacher then. But I wasn’t a parent. I reacted to it as a human being and as a teacher. It was heartbreaking. It was unfathomable. How the families of the 12 students and 1 teacher who were murdered got through that horrible time I don’t know.
December 14, 2012. Yesterday. We know what happened. 20 precious (apparently 1st grade) babies were murdered along with several adults. I haven’t stopped crying. I can’t stop crying. This time, I react as a teacher of young children and as a parent. And it’s the reacting as a parent that is breaking my heart. As my husband said, this is every parent’s worst nightmare.
If you’re like me, when your child is at school, and you get a phone call from the school, you heart just drops. You know they might be sick, or hurt, or worse and you take a deep breath before you answer the phone. Usually it’s nothing too big – they have a fever or they threw up or whatever, but every time that phone rings, your mind goes through every scenario possible until you know what happened. To think of these parents getting phone calls from the school about there being a shooting and to think of 20 parents having to find out their precious angels, maybe with Christmas gifts wrapped and hidden in the closet, were gone forever…I can’t…I can’t even fathom the pain of that.
There is a lot of talk going on out there about a lot of different things – I don’t necessarily agree with everything that is being said, but I understand the need to say it. When someone does something this evil, this completely immoral, this horrific – we need to talk about it. We need to figure out what went wrong and how we can prevent it. A school is a place where our children should feel safe. Should BE safe. The reality is that our children ARE safe at school. The odds of something like this happening are very small and we need to remember that. We can’t wrap our kids in bubble wrap and keep them with us every minute of every day, no matter how much we want to. When I got the news about this tragedy yesterday, my husband and I were just down the street from our daughter’s school doing some errands and it took every ounce of strength in my body to keep me from rushing over there and getting her and taking her home and holding her tight. I’m not going to lie, when I finally saw her in the pickup line that afternoon, I cried.
I cannot grasp why this happened. When children are killed – sweet innocent babies – or anyone in a situation like this really, there is no explanation, no way to understand why. And I think when things like this happen – our first question is always “Why? How could someone do something so inherently evil and unfeeling?”
I do believe at least part of the answer lies within the mental health care system. It almost always seems that as the information about the shooter unfolds, there is evidence of mental health issues that have gone untreated or have stopped being treated. Mental illness in this country carries a stigma with it. If you’re mentally ill, you’re labeled as ‘crazy’. People ignore it. People don’t know how to deal with it. And people don’t get help for themselves or their children or loved ones, and then sadly, things like this happen. I don’t know that this shooter had a mental illness. Preliminary reports say that his brother said he had a “personality disorder”. Time will tell, I suppose, but will we ever find out what drives a person to massacre small children? I don’t know. I know that other issues will be the things that people want to address about this situation, and I think we need to have some discussions about those things, but I really and truly believe that the biggest discussions we need to have in this country are about mental illness – how to recognize the signs of it, and how to get people the help they need without making them feel stigmatized. I am in no way saying that having a mental illness is an excuse for doing something so horrific because it. is. not. But I am saying that maybe in addressing mental illness in a better way – making treatment easier to get maybe – perhaps we can keep these things from happening. I don’t know the answers. I just know that something horrible happened yesterday and my heart is broken. And I want us as a nation to find a way to keep it from ever happening again. No parent should ever have to lose a child in this way. Ever.
Last night, my daughter’s school had their holiday concert. It started with the principal asking us to partake in a moment of silence in light of the tragedy in Connecticut. It ended with the school choir singing a slightly off-key version of Dona Nobis Pacem. It didn’t matter that it was off-key – maybe that made it even more poignant because it was performed by sweet innocent children not so different from the ones whose lives were taken away much too soon. As I watched the 1st, 2nd and 3rd graders performing last night, I looked at their sweet innocence, at the joy on their faces, and I thought of those parents who will never again see their children smiling at them and my heart broke some more. I am so very lucky that my girl is alive and healthy and with me today. I will never EVER take that for granted. I think about how maybe the morning for some of those families didn’t go so smoothly and maybe there were harsh words exchanged, or they were rushed and they didn’t get the chance to say a proper goodbye, and how those parents have to live with those last memories of their children for the rest of their lives. I think about how sometimes maybe I’m too hard on my girl and I need to lighten up because really she’s an amazing kid and I’m so very lucky to be her mom, and what if something like this happens and she’s not with me? I can’t fathom losing her. I can’t imagine going on without her. I can’t begin to comprehend what those parents must be feeling today as reality sets in and they have to go on without these little lights in their lives. I think about how scared they must have been in those last moments of their lives and I hope and pray that it was over quickly and they didn’t suffer for even an instant. I believe with all my heart that these angels are with God and that his angels were there with them in those last moments, but they are with God much too soon. I pray that those families, and really all of us, find peace. Dona Nobis Pacem. Grant us peace.
Dear Little Girl,
Today you turn 8 years old. Well, to be completely accurate, it’s been a few (very busy) days since you turned 8 years old, and I almost forgot to write this, but I couldn’t let the occasion pass without my yearly letter to you.
As usual, I’ve been glued to the television for the past two weeks watching the Olympics. I read somewhere that more women than men watch the Olympics and I thought that was really interesting. I guess that makes sense as the American women athletes have certainly been killing it this Olympics. Did you see the women’s world record setting 4×100 race? I watched it over and over again because it was just that awesome.
Speaking of sprinting, let’s discuss the most talked about sprinter in the world – Usain Bolt. While his sprinting ability is quite impressive, his attitude is not. I am not a big fan of cockiness. He does back it up with results, but to say that he’s the greatest athlete of all time or that he’s a legend? Tell me that when you’ve won the decathlon, Usain. Sure you can sprint – you can run fast – and you are arguably the greatest sprinter of all time, but that’s all you’ve shown us. When you can be proficient in 10 different track & field events, then maybe you can be the greatest athlete of all time. Tell me that when you win gold medals in 2 Olympic games, not just for sprinting but for the long jump as well a la Carl Lewis. Sure, you can run faster than he did, but can you jump farther? Tell me that when you win 8 gold medals in one Olympiad, or 22 medals over the course of an Olympic career – including swimming four different strokes (in one race). If anyone has the right to be cocky and claim to be the greatest athlete of all time, it’s Michael Phelps. Did he act cocky or proclaim himself to be the greatest? Not so much. I think he handled himself very nicely, under the circumstances. Perhaps the great Bob Costas said it best – there doesn’t seem to be anyone more impressed with Usain Bolt than Usain Bolt. (Have I ever mentioned that I love Bob Costas?)
So no, Usain, you’re not the greatest athlete of all time. Nor will you ever be. Greatest sprinter? For now. Legend? Maybe. But that remains to be seen. In the meantime, a large dose of humility might be in order.
Was that title from a song? It seems familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. If anyone can figure it out, let me know!
I thought I was doing really well with the grieving stuff. Oh, I know that it’s a work in progress, but I’ve been doing pretty well. Until this week, that is.
I’ve been so tired, so unmotivated. I’m managing to what I absolutely have to do, but nothing more. My entire body aches. I’m not sleeping well. I’m exhausted. I have no appetite to speak of, although I’m making myself eat. And today I was wondering what on earth was wrong with me? I haven’t been this way in a long time. And then it dawned on me – especially after I realized that Sunday is Father’s Day and I haven’t even started putting together the photo book that Mike requests as his gift every year – that Father’s Day was the likely cause of my problems.
It’s the first Father’s Day without my dad. And it’s kind of silly, really, that it’s affecting me so strongly, because it’s not like we’ve celebrated Father’s Day together since the year my mom died, but I guess when he was alive, there was always a chance. There was always hope. And now he’s gone and there will never be another chance. So, yeah. Grief rears it’s ugly little head when I was least expecting it. This is my typical cycle when those big “dates” come up – the week before I’m a wreck. And then the date comes and goes and I move on. It just so happens that this week coincides with Dance Recital week. So we have dress rehearsals and performances and I really really can’t afford to not be 100% right now. But it is what it is. And at least now that I know what it is, I can deal with it a little better.
And come next week, it will all be over. Thankful am I to have a husband who doesn’t worry about whether or not his Father’s Day gift is late. And who will jump in and help me get through this week on my low energy cycle. So very blessed to have him as the father of my child. And so very blessed to have had a dad who loved me, even though the last several years were rough. I do know he loved me. And that’s a good thing.
Do you ever hear that little voice inside your head? When you do, do you listen to it or do you ignore it? Today, I listened to it, and I am so glad I did!
At VBS, I lead the music vocally and I run around like a crazy woman trying to animate the kids and their parents, etc. It’s lots of fun – tiring, but fun. There are parents that sit there and refuse to participate. There are parents that stand up but then act like a stick in the mud and don’t even crack a smile. And then there are those that totally get into it and lose their inhibitions and participate and enjoy themselves. I appreciate those people so much! All week, one of the parents (who I later found out was actually a grandparent) has been totally into the music and participating and she just lights up my day! So, as I was leading the music today, the little voice inside my head told me that I should speak to her afterwards and let her know that I appreciated her enthusiasm. So, I listened to that little voice inside my head and guess what? She used to sing in the choir in the state she used to live in, but had never had the nerve to talk to the choir director (in this case my hubby) about singing in the choir here. She’d talked to someone in the choir a couple of weeks ago and he had encouraged her to talk to Mike, but she hadn’t yet. So, when I talked to her, I told her to talk to Mike. And she did. She just needed that little push and that little voice inside my head was pushing me to give it to her though I didn’t know it at the time. We had a great time talking to her – a really great lady – and we are looking forward to her joining our little choir family! Her granddaughter happens to be LG’s age, so they’re in the same VBS class and will probably be in First Reconciliation classes with each other this year. And another random thing in common – her birthday is the same as my dad’s. And she has 6 siblings like my dad had. And although she’s a grandma, she’s only a few years older than we are.
Anyway, my advice is to listen to that little voice inside your head. It might be telling you something that will make a difference to someone else.
P.S. I like to think that little voice is the Holy Spirit working! :)
From the beginning of April until today, we’ve attended four funerals. Today we attend a wedding. Mike and I have sort of joked about the title of this post. And by joked, I mean had to find something to laugh about because it’s all just too depressing. So, instead of being like the movie “Four Weddings and a Funeral”, we’ve done it backwards – four funerals and a wedding. I’m really glad that it’s ending with a wedding, though.
I don’t want to say that the months of April and May were completely devoid of joy, because they most certainly were not. LG had her piano recital, my BFF graduated from college at long last (and got a job!), her oldest daughter had her high school dance recital (and danced a most beautiful duet with her best friend), a beautiful end of the year report card for LG, graduation parties, and so on. There was a lot to celebrate in the past couple of months and a lot to be happy about. But, the sad stuff hit really hard. Two deaths were not surprises, but that doesn’t make it any less sad. Two were completely out of the blue and so very very hard to deal with. It’s been a sad sad eight weeks. But, I’m hoping with this wedding, we’re turning the corner to happier things and we can finally deal with the sadness we’ve already faced and not have to deal with anymore piled on top of it, thank you very much. I think we all just need a break from bad news. So here’s to the almost newlyweds. Thanks for giving us a celebration!
Have you ever gotten a phone call from a friend, and answered it joyfully because it was your friend, and then been completely sideswiped by them telling you bad news? That’s happened to me twice in the last two months. You could kind of say three times, but the third one I pretty much knew was going to be bad news. The first one was my friend J telling me that her mom had passed away unexpectedly. The last one was our beloved Bass Girl, telling me the same thing. J’s mom dying was a shock, but it wasn’t as much of a shock as Bass Girl’s mom. Her mom was only about 49 years old. She wasn’t in the hospital having surgery. She hadn’t been in the hospital. There was no warning. Nothing. Just a phone call that completely turns the world upside down. And changes everything.
It’s hard enough to understand that Bass Girl has lost her mom at 26 years old, but I think the thing that people have felt over and over again is heartbreak for Bass Girl’s youngest sister who is set to graduate from high school at the end of the month. It is just killing me to think that this time that should be so happy and so joyful is now a time of mourning for a mother that shouldn’t have been taken away so suddenly.
And I’m not going to lie. I’m a little angry at God right now. If He had to take her at all, why couldn’t he have waited until after her daughter graduated? Why did it have to be today? Just why?
I’m heartbroken for the whole family, for Bass Girl and her husband, for her three sisters, for her grandmother, for her dad. I am thankful for them that they were all able to be together yesterday, on Mother’s Day. That no one has to feel guilty for not being there. They were all there with her and I imagine it was a happy day of being together. That is a blessing.
And I guess that’s all you can do when someone dies, especially so unexpectedly, is to look for those small blessings. There is so much about this that is sad, so much. And there are many reasons we can be angry when we lose a loved one or we see a friend lose a loved one. And I guess the only way we can get through these times is to look for the blessings. To remember the joy. And to search for the peace. It will take time to find it, but it will come.
And Bass Girl, if you read this, please know that I love you. We all do. And we’re here for you, no matter what. Just call and we will answer. ♥
Maybe I just need to stop talking about this and no one else will die? Because yes, someone else I know has passed away. It was someone I knew personally, although not closely. I am, however, close to many members of his family. He had a massive heart attack and then later the decision was made to take him off life support. He was a very good, kind man, and lived a full, rich life, but still, I grieve for his family tonight.
I think that’s all I’m going to say for now. You probably already know how I feel. So I’ll leave it at that. Except – this month really bites. I’m ready for it to be over and done with. And May has got to be better, right? I’m going with that for now.
In the past three weeks, I’ve been directly or indirectly affected by the deaths of five people. Four of those people were parents of friends. One was an employee at my daughter’s school and a friend of a friend. Three were from cancer – three different kinds. Two were surprises, but only one was so immediate that her family didn’t get to say goodbye to her. Of course, whether it was a surprise or not doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.
Can I tell you something? I’m exhausted. I don’t mean to make this all about me – although it is my blog so I guess it is kind of all about me. I don’t WANT to make this all about me, because I know for every bit of exhaustion I feel, my friends feel far more. Of the people who died, I was only close to one, and so I only grieve for one. For the other four, I feel empathy for their families’ sadness. I’ve been there. I know what it feels like to lose a parent. I know how hard it is – how much it hurts – how much it feels like nothing will ever be the same. And it won’t. But I am not the one who lost my mother or my father or my spouse. So, I want to make it clear that it’s not all about me.
But, still. I’m exhausted. I think that exhaustion stems from several things. First of all, my friend died, and I’m sad. Second, my friends are grieving, and that makes me sad. But lastly – and maybe this is the thing that is affecting me the most – each subsequent death and the two funerals I’ve attended in the last two weeks, brought back all the feelings I felt when I lost my mom and dad. So, it’s hard. And it’s exhausting. Grieving is exhausting. And the thing about it is – it never really ends. It gets easier, but it never ends. Yesterday, I was at the grocery store. As I was walking out, I saw one of those claw machines – you know the ones where you can win stuffed animals. And it made me think of my dad. Every time he saw one of those machines, he would win my mom a stuffed animal. The memory made me smile. But it made me sad, too. I know the day will come that it will only make me smile and not make me miss him, but I’m not there yet. So it made me sad.
I don’t know if there will ever come a day that being at a funeral doesn’t make me think of my mom and dad. I don’t know if it’s possible to separate those things. I do know that this month has been very hard. Hard for me. Hard for too many of my friends. I am hoping that everything that was supposed to happen this year has been compacted into this one month and the rest of the year will be uneventful like the beginning of the year was. That’s what I’m hoping. In the meantime, I’m exhausted. And I know my friends are beyond exhausted. They are hurting and sad and beginning the hard work of grieving.
My daughter constantly tells me that she wishes no one ever had to die. I tell her that if no one died, there wouldn’t be room on the planet for everyone to live. And that our bodies get old and break down. But if they didn’t get old, and they didn’t break down, I think I could live with a more crowded world if it meant that our loved ones could always be with us. It doesn’t work that way. But sometimes, I like to imagine it could.
Tuesday we said goodbye to my friend J’s mom. It was a beautiful service. She was very involved in our parish, so involved that three priests and a deacon officiated at her service. Now begins the hard work of grief for my friends. I do not envy them that at all. Something my friend J said in her eulogy really struck me, though. She said that her relationship with her mother had not ended, it had only changed. What a beautiful way to look at death. As I said before, I don’t believe that our parents ever really leave us. Our relationship with them just shifts. And if we listen carefully, we can always hear them. They will always be whispering in our ears. They will always have our back. And the place in our hearts that we reserve for them, does not diminish, it merely grows stronger.
Today I got the news that my best friend’s mother in law will probably die today. And so I watch more friends begin the work of grief. And work it is, hard work. It always feels like there’s so much left unsaid, no matter how long you have to say goodbye. And even though sometimes it feels like the waiting will never end, it’s still never enough time. How can it be when you are letting go of someone you love? How can you say goodbye forever? For those of us who believe in an afterlife, it isn’t forever, but the loss of our loved one’s physical presence in our lives brings an acute and bitter pain. A pain that never completely heals, but dulls with time. An emptiness that never goes away.
And so, another funeral to attend. Another friend to watch grieve. More feelings of helplessness because I can’t fix it for them. I can, however, be there for them – an understanding ear, a shoulder to cry on. The worst part of it is, that I know it’s only the beginning. I may have no more parents to lose, but many of my friends still do. And sadly, this scenario will be repeated over and over again for many years to come. This is the pain of growing older. We like to complain about our physical aches and pains, but it’s really the emotional aches and pains that take the worst toll. But we do get by, we do move on, we go on living, because we must. My daughter calls it the circle of life, and so it is. With living comes dying, with joy comes sadness, with love comes loss. But the greatest gift that God has given us to deal with these things, is our family and friends who support us, who hold us, who cry with us, who grieve with us. Grief can be a lonely adventure, because it is something that we must all do for ourselves and our own. Each of us approaches it differently. Each must find their own way. But we are never truly alone. God’s hand guides us, as do the hands of our lost loved ones, and our family and friends are always there to catch us when we stumble, to give us strength for our journey.
My dear friends, please know that though you face a difficult and painful journey it will get better, it will get better. Hang in there.
Before we were married, and even after, we had our “group of friends” that we hung out with: M, J&P (who later married), K&H (who later married) and C. I don’t think I left anyone out, but if any of you are reading, feel free to correct me.
I was the first to go through a life changing experience – as in I almost died. That was my heart attack. I know that it was eye opening to all my friends, because when you’re in your twenties you feel pretty immortal. Why not? You have your whole life ahead of you. I made them realize their own mortality.
I was also the first to lose a parent. And I think it hit all of them hard – not just because they knew my mom, but because it brought home the fact that they would also one day lose a parent. Most of them still haven’t experienced that. M lost her dad a few years back. P lost his mom several years ago, but up until today, the rest of them have been lucky. K & H’s parents have both undergone health scares, but they’re still with us. Today, J lost her mom unexpectedly. She was still relatively young – her 60s or 70s I believe – and other than needing a knee replacement (the first one had gotten infected and she’d finally been cleared to have another replacement surgery today), she was reasonably healthy. For some reason, an unknown reason to me at this time, she didn’t make it through the surgery. She died on the operating table. J was just here a few weeks ago and spent two weeks with her mom while she was in the care center awaiting clearance for the next surgery. We had a great time catching up since we hadn’t seen each other in 7 years. I think it’s a huge blessing that she was able to spend that time with her mom under the circumstances, but still…how do you reconcile that? How do you accept that? How do you deal with that? Well, you do. You just do. You have no other choice, really, but that doesn’t make it easy. And in fact, it sucks. My heart hurts for her and her brother and her daughter and her brother’s children. And for my daughter who also loved Miss L.
My best friend’s mother-in-law is in stage IV cancer now. And the latest news is that she has about 3-4 weeks. And that sucks, too. At least they have the chance to say goodbye properly – a small blessing in a horrible situation.
I would not wish losing a parent on my worst enemy. It’s one of the most painful things you can ever experience. I wish my friends didn’t have to experience it. I was thinking the other day that, although I know that losing my in-laws will be horrible and sad and it will suck, at least I don’t have to lose my parents again. I miss them terribly and I wish they were still here, but I’m glad I don’t have to go through it again. I’ve lost one with the chance to say a proper goodbye and one without. Both ways suck, but I have to say, given a choice, I’d prefer the proper goodbye, even if it means dealing with the suffering. And maybe that’s selfish, but not being able to say goodbye is heartbreaking. Like I said, it’s a small blessing, but it is a blessing. That doesn’t make the grieving any less, though. No matter how it happens, it’s still so very very hard.
I guess that’s the way it’s supposed to work. We outlive our parents. Our children outlive us. That’s the circle of life, as my daughter likes to say. But, losing the ones that nurtured you, that loved you, that were your whole world – that is incredibly hard. I’ve said before that being an only child, losing my parents is exceptionally hard. I don’t know that it’s harder than losing your parents if you’re not an only child. I can’t tell you that since I’ll never experience it, but I do know that the grief has different layers to it. I think I wrote about it before – the feeling that you are alone in the world – that there’s no one left that shares your memories.
But I think that possibly everyone who loses their parents must have a similar feeling of aloneness – that deep and endless emptiness. I feel like it’s even harder losing your mother because the closeness you have with the person who carried you in their womb is unlike any other feeling you can have other than carrying your own child in your womb. Cutting the umbilical cord does not cut the link you have to your mother. So, the fact that both of the losses my friends are experiencing right now happen to be their mothers is not lost on me.
I want to tell them that it will get easier. It will never go away – that emptiness, but it will get easier to deal with – this new normal we all must get used to when we lose our parents. It takes time, though. And you have to give yourself that time. You have to be kind to yourself. Let yourself grieve. Let yourself feel those emotions. Let yourself cry. A lot. Crying is good. It cleanses the soul. And know there are people there who love you and will always let you cry on their shoulders. And I firmly believe, because of things I’ve experienced since I’ve lost my parents, that they never really leave you. Their spirits are always near you, watching over you and your children. The love of a parent is infinite – it stretches across the boundaries of space and time, beyond life itself – it’s that strong, that enduring, that immeasurable.
I kept wondering when I’d dream about my dad. It took a long time for me to dream about my mom after she died, so I figured it would happen sooner or later. Last night, I had the first dream that included my dad. I don’t remember most of the dream and my dad didn’t show up until the end anyway, but at the end I was sitting in the car in the garage reading something (who knows what that was all about, but whatever) and I saw a car pull up behind me in the driveway. I was trying to figure out who the driver was before he came into focus, and finally I realized it was my dad. He didn’t make eye contact with me at all. I remember saying “Dad?” and that’s when I woke up with a shudder (you know the kind – not when you’re cold, but when you have an emotional response to something). When I woke up, I felt like someone was holding my hand, but of course no one was there. And then the alarm went off. When I got out of bed, my body felt so heavy. It was a really weird experience, but maybe my dad was saying hello. Not sure. I told Mike about it, and he found it interesting because in both the dreams he had about my dad he was holding his hand.
My hubby and I cleaned out an old dresser this morning so that we could donate it to the church rummage sale. Inside, I found something that made me go back and look at some emails my cousin had sent me back in 2006. Apparently, back then we were discussing her coming out for Christmas (she lives on the East Coast and is an only child, so we are very close cousins as she used to live in California). She said she couldn’t swing it that year, but maybe the next year. And of course, every year was the same story. She never came out for Christmas.
The last real communication I had with her that I know of (it’s possible we texted or instant messaged on Facebook) was January 28, 2010. On February 2, 2010, she had a massive stroke. She is still with us, but she is not the same. Though she is able to walk and feed herself and swallow again, she is still not able to communicate or talk very well at all. And there is probably no way that she will ever be able to come out and join us for Christmas. I have not given up all hope, but it occurred to me as I read those old emails that sometimes you have to just do things, regardless of whether it’s the best time or you have the money. Sometimes you have to just do them, because next year or even tomorrow may never come. So, if there’s something you really want to do in your life and you’re offered the opportunity, do your best to find a way to do it. Don’t wait for a tomorrow or a next year or another time that may never come. Plan for tomorrow, but live for today.
I added LG’s birthday post down there on December 2, so if you scroll down you can read it. I do plan to add photos, but one thing at a time right now is about all I can handle. So be patient with me!
