Finding Balance

Finding the balance of moving on with life and being the link to the past and a good mom to 2 little boyz who don’t have a daddy is becoming increasingly difficult.



After the first year anniversary of Brian’s death, I felt an odd sense of freedom. I felt as if perhaps I was no longer under what I perceived was the watchful eye of many on-lookers awaiting my response and reaction to each “first.” And while I had been moving on with life and trying to help the boyz move on with life, I still felt an expectation was upon me to handle each situation with a certain degree of emotion even if I wasn’t feeling much of anything.



Now, I feel the expectations are perhaps dissipating. I am forming new relationships and friendships that didn’t know me as Brian’s wife. I have people in my life that wouldn’t even know I am a widow if I didn’t tell them. They know me as this girl, Angie, not this “you are so strong, you have been through so much yet look at you” 38 year old widow. I can’t tell you how liberating that is. Because I spent so much of the first 6 months embracing the role of grieving widow, reaching a point of wanting to live life again was conflicting to say the least.



In order to reach a point of wanting to seek a possible intimate relationship again, I had to ensure myself I was not in love with Brian anymore. This was especially difficult because I was very much in love with Brian when he died. And because I embraced the role of grieving widow for so many months, I was still fostering that love. Then I started to feel stirrings to advance with this part of my life. I knew I couldn’t give my heart to anyone else if I was still holding it for Brian. So I had to fall out of love with Brian. It was a very guilt-ridden process to allow myself to fall out of love with a dead man that did nothing to me except die.



Today I am very okay with that. I know this is so painful for so many of you that read this blog to hear, but I am no longer in love with Brian. I love and value what we had. I cherish him as I do anyone that I loved or cared for that has passed on before me. But, in order for me to love again and be loved again, I can’t be in love with Brian anymore.



The only difficult part about not being in love with Brian is the pain I know it causes so many others. I know for Brian’s family, friends and many of my family, I am the link that instantly reminds them of him. I know they look at me and expect him to shuffle in behind me at times. I know to watch me move on is a painful reminder of his permanent absence.



So, it is hard to be me. It is hard to be excited about the next chapters of my life when I am with people that realize they experienced the last chapter of that part of their life just by my presence. The book is over. They cannot have another Christmas with their son or watch their brother celebrate another birthday. They will not experience another backyard barbeque or card game with their friend/relative. And they are incredibly sad about it as I concurrently have been able to let go of that and become excited about the possibility of holidays and special occasions with someone else someday.



It is also hard to be me in the sense that talking & reminiscing a lot about Brian can, depending on the situation, hold me in the past. It can cause me heartache and keep me reliving past moments instead of looking towards the future. I feel like I have a lot of future ahead of me. I am 38. I hope and pray I have as much life to live ahead as I’ve already lived behind.



The largest conflict is the boyz. Oh my, the boyz! It is a constant struggle to find a healthy balance of healthy grieving and acceptance. One day there may be a brief mention of Daddy’s ability to play hockey, then there are several days with no mention of Daddy at all, then there are days when they hold tightly to every piece of memorabilia they have and refer to him as if he may walk through the door at any moment. I realize that is grief – it comes in waves and it is unpredictable and illogical. But, the most difficult aspect of helping them handle their grief is knowing that I have come so far in my acceptance and am even eager about what lies ahead while they just want Daddy. I can almost sense that they know I have let go of Brian so much, so they purposefully hold on to try to force me to.



I will always keep Brian’s memory alive for them as much as I can. However, the healthy balance between keeping his memory alive and living in a past life is difficult to find. I want them to have pride about their daddy. I want them to remember the activities they did together. I want them to know about the type of man he was. I want them to know as much about their daddy as possible. However, I also know that they were 6 and 7-1/2 when he died. I know they will likely have spotty recollections from this time of their life at best. Knowing that, for the last year I spent so much effort drilling those memories into them so they will have more vivid recollections, I am no longer sure if I have done them a favor or a disservice.


This is all not even mentioning that they both handle and process life and its issues in polar opposite of each other and the challenges associated with that.



Regarding Brian, so often the boyz seem to live in the past. I want them to have a healthy outlook on what lies ahead of them. I want them to feel empowered and strong. I want them to feel capable and sure of themselves. And Brian isn’t here to help me do it. It’s all me. So, I have started to change my focus from our former family of 4 to our current family dynamic trio. I am more intentional in the role of encourager and cheer-leader and leader instead of saying things like “your daddy would be so proud.” And he would be. I just don’t know the best way to handle having them accept his death, yet want to know he WOULD be proud and also know that we have to live with our current circumstances and use what we currently have to forge ahead in life. I want the memories of Brian to be healthy and to be just that – memories, not what drives them in life, not what they are looking to as their present circumstance.



As I do this, I notice them holding on and grieving all over again. I don’t know if it is good or bad. I am mixed and conflicted. They are reminiscing a ton about Dad. They are sad and I am here for them. If they have questions about Brian, I answer them. If they feel like they need to cry, I give my shoulder. I kind of feel like maybe this is good to an extent, that we have been living in the past to such a large degree that they haven’t really processed as much as I had thought they had. I wonder if their nostalgia and sadness is a step forward.



I don’t know. I just know it is hard. WAY HARDER THAN I THOUGHT. It is complicated to know how to manage and handle it all.



Mostly, though, it is very difficult to find the right balance.



I imagine it will get easier in time, but it’s all gonna be about balance.

our current balance

KEEP BELIEVING

A tribute to Brian - March 17, 2010, 1 year later

Brian Edward O’Neill

November 2, 1972 – March 17, 2009

I have struggled for many weeks about this post's focus on the 1-year anniversary of Brian’s death. I decided to have it be completely and totally about BRIAN. Not about how the boyz and I are doing. Not about how his family is doing. Not about life in general.

All About BRIAN EDWARD O’NEILL

Son, Brother, Friend, Employee, Husband, Father

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Son:

Brian was the son of Ed and Jan O’Neill, born in Hong Kong while on international assignment. Brian was an adventurous and inquisitive child giving Ed and Jan many scares. He nearly drowned twice while jumping into a swimming pool before he could adequately swim to save himself. He stuck his finger in an electrical socket as a toddler warranting a trip to the ER and adorning himself with a lifetime scar on this thumb. He always flirted with danger with his love of all things extreme – skateboarding down mountainous terrain at the age of 4, climbing walls and hills with cliffs beckoning on the other side and choosing ice hockey and BMX racing as his two favorite sporting activities. Ed and Jan spent countless hours and many years of vacation money to keep Brian involved in those activities. Brian was excellent in hockey with his small team of only two lines consistently winning over opponents with twice the budget, matching warm ups, and 2 times the line up. His team won State his junior year. His senior year, he made the all Illinois team. When asked, Ed and Jan have no regrets about the sacrifices they made to allow Brian to play. He loved it and they loved watching his talent. It was their life at the time.

As a son, Brian was always compassionate and empathetic to the family’s issues, but also gave them a run for their money - breaking windows, coming home with gaping wounds and occasionally staggering in after a late night.

Even though Brian is their son, Ed and Jan continually learned from him. Watching him gracefully handle life in his health and his illness, they, in turn, learned to handle life with the same grace. (Truth be told, though, Brian learned to handle adversity through the example of grace exhibited by his Mom and Dad.) Brian was a continuous source of pride for Ed and Jan from birth through death.

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Brother:

Brian was the 5-year younger brother of Sean. Brian and Sean were some of the best of pals despite their age gap. While living in Asia, it was Sean that pulled Brian from the swimming pools TWICE when he couldn’t swim enough to save himself. It was often Sean that was showing Brian the ropes on how to teeter on the edge of danger and certain injury on those skateboards and bikes. Brian was Sean’s best man.

Brian was the 8-year older brother to Michael. Brian was Michael’s mentor and example. Michael admired Brian and longed to spend time being like him and being near him. Brian and Sean both tormented Michael to an extent as big brothers are supposed to do, like smashing his invisible friend, manipulating him into making milkshakes and hanging him on doorknobs. Despite their age gap, Brian and Michael grew a strong brotherly bond and a great friendship. Brian always joked about Michael being his little brother then his “bigger” little brother. Brian was the shortest of the 3.

The 3 O’Neill brothers shared a wonderful reciprocated respect for each other. They enjoyed each other’s company whether it included listening to countless hours of music discovering new bands, attending concerts together (once Michael was finally old enough to tag along), playing Euchre, camping, fishing, shooting guns or discovering a new microbrew. They were GUY’S GUYS and were very good at it. They were constantly there for each other urging the other to try new things and covering the other’s back when push came to shove.

The last time Brian fell in March of 2009, Michael picked him up. The last time Brian needed to be moved but was unable to stand or walk, Sean held him up. It was just as it always had been, but not so metaphorically this time.

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Friend:

Brian was ALWAYS surrounded by many friends. This was no accident. So many friends surrounded Brian because Brian was easy to be friends with. He was the guy that didn’t idly wait to be invited to a party or drive around to find the party. He WAS the party. He was the guy who would make the first few phone calls to get people motivated to get something started. He ALWAYS got something started. And if something was already planned and started, he motivated everyone around him to be excited to have a good time at it. He was loyal and funny and fun. Everyone loved being around Brian.

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Co-worker:

Brian worked for Caterpillar for his entire post-college career. He had several different positions within Caterpillar. Brian was well respected in the workforce. He worked hard, but made time for relationships. He tried his best and always followed through. He was dedicated and thorough. He was willing to learn and took all forms of criticism well. As he grew sicker and lost his ability to speak fluently and use the right side of his body, he continued to work. While the job was not as demanding as some of his other assignments, Brian took it just as seriously and dedicated just enough of himself to it to perform well and still allow his body time to recuperate and heal. In doing this, Brian gained even more respect in the workforce. While his speech failed him, he learned to patiently listen to what others had to say because he could no longer interject. He gained new perspective on when it was worthwhile to talk and how to be concise. In his illness, he showed what dedication and effort truly encompass in merely showing up each day with his continuous positive attitude and outlook.

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Husband:

Brian was faithful, romantic, real, complimentary, supportive, and loving. He made sure I knew he loved me but didn’t overdo it. He constantly encouraged me and instilled confidence within me. I don’t know how to put this adequately into words. I have had many people over many years tell me that most people in a lifetime do not reach the level of intimacy and love in a marriage that Brian and I had even early on. And we only grew from there. I could not tell you anyone on this earth that I would have rather spent time with than Brian. He made me laugh, cry, think, dream, reminisce, plan, and smile all in the same day. We had a good life together. He helped me learn to enjoy the moment and believe in the good of life. He personified optimism. I may have brought him to his faith in Christ, as he told me, but he helped me grow in my faith.

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Daddy:

From the moment we decided to try to have children, the best word I can think to describe Brian’s perspective on the entire process and parenting would be patient. He was patient and trusting of God’s provision during inseminations. He was patient during both rounds of in-vitro. He was patient during the adoption processes. He was patient and calm during the 72-hour waiting period till the first waivers and papers were signed. As a daddy, he was patient and calm with almost all discipline issues and temper tantrums. He was the teacher and the leader of the boyz way more than I was. He obtained the highest level of respect and admiration from them. They adore(d) their daddy.

While they have little memory of Brian prior to his recurrence and his resulting problems, what he instilled in them prior to that and what he exemplified in how he handled his illness is powerful. On more than one occasion, when I have tried to get the boysz to stop doing something dangerous for fear of losing a limb, they have retorted to me how “yes, you can tie your shoes (or button your shirt or play catch or, or, or…) with only one hand” . When they respond with such comebacks, I have no choice but to knowingly smile and nod knowing Brian did exactly that (while praying they do not actually have to live life with the loss of a limb to prove it). He showed them that you do not pity yourself, but you use what God has allowed you to have and you use it to the best of your abilities.

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Brian was truly a great man. He was remarkable in childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, and into his death. He was witty, dignified, hard-working, dedicated, intelligent, thought provoking, enjoyable, inspirational, athletic, patient, and eternally optimistic. His mark on the world is obvious. Heaven’s gain is the earth’s loss in that I can only imagine what else Brian could have taught us had he continued to live. However, in his death and memory, Brian continues to inspire us today.

Looking back on his life, as trite as this may sound, I mentally repeat this phrase that I have heard uttered by SOOO many when referring to Brian, “Man, THAT guy was absolutely amazing.”

 I will tell you that he loved the Lord. Without that, he would have been less amazing.

KEEP BELIEVING

firsts and lasts

When my children were born, I remember vividly the first time I held them. In fact, that entire first year, I spent countless hours documenting and savoring all those “firsts.” I remember the first bottle, but I don’t remember the last. I remember the first diaper I changed, but I don’t remember the last. I remember the first time they crawled and the first steps they took. I remember their first teeth. I remember the first time I fed them baby food. So many wonderful "firsts."



I wish we would carry over that savoring of the precious moments into adulthood. Some of the firsts and lasts.



Today, I have been thinking so much of the first and lasts of my relationship with Brian.



I remember vividly our first kiss. I do not remember our last.



I remember the first time he told me he loved me. I also remember the last.



I do not remember the first or last time we held hands, but I can recall the countless times in between.



I remember the last night we slept in our bed together.



I do not remember the first words Brian spoke to me. I DO remember the last.



I remember the first time we had sex. I do not remember the last.



I remember the first time we flew together.



I can’t stop thinking about the last day of Brian’s life today. To me, he died on the 16th of March. That is the day his body started seizing uncontrollably and he lost the ability to communicate with us. It is THE ABSOLUTE SINGLE worst day I can recollect. I am trying really hard not to recall it over and over today(Brian would hate it if I dwelt on something like that. He'd call it a waste of time and energy), but if I stop for even 5 minutes I am flooded. I am forced to face that day and the entire last week of Brian’s life again. I was numb last year. I would like to remain numb forever.



If I would have known it was Brian’s last week of life, I would not have gone out to dinner with friends on Friday night just a couple days before he would breathe his last. If I had known it was his last night, I would have stayed up all night singing to him and gently talking to him telling him how much he has meant to me. I would have held his hand and stroked his hair. I would have gazed into his eyes and mentally recorded every single square inch of him that I could.



If I had known it was the last time the boyz would see him alive, I would have at least taken a picture. For ALL THAT IS HOLY, the last picture I have of them together is a few weeks before he died. WHY? I sent my boyz away for the weekend. They left and it was the last time they would see his body when it was not lying in a casket. I do not remember the last thing he said to them. I think it was along the lines of “give me a hug, buddy. I love you. Bye bye. Have fun.” But I DO NOT REMEMBER!



Thing is, I should have known. I knew he was dying. I just didn’t know when would be the last. We were told he would drift to sleep and sleep more and more til he didn’t wake. Brian did exactly the opposite. He stayed awake for nearly 4 days on end. His eyes would wander around the room looking for non-existent noises. He spoke to people who were not here. He was dying and we all knew it. How did I not treat every single solitary second like it could have been the last? I was so petrified of being tired and therefore being a bad mom to my boyz that I gave so many duties to our family and friends – including staying up at night with him.



I was ready for the sleep. I was ready to sit next to him and watch him peacefully drift out of this world. I was prepared to hold his hand, stroke his hair, sing him songs and pray with him as his soul left this world.



It didn’t happen like that.



I don’t know why.



I don’t know if I will ever overcome the regret of how I spent those last few days.



I think I will.



I have to.



I don’t remember the first words I said to Brian. I do remember the last.



I told him I loved him. I told him that I was a better person for having known him. I told him the impact he had on my life and so many others is immeasurable. I told him it was okay to go. I told him that Jesus was waiting for him. It was okay to go now because the boyz and I were going to be just fine thanks to how he has shaped us. I told him I loved him.



I don’t remember the first words Brian said to me. I do remember the last.



He said, “Yeah, I love you too.”



Those were the last words Brian ever spoke.



He loved me.

He loved me.

He loved me.

I loved him.

I loved him.

I loved him.



If we could all be so intentional in words and actions as though they could be our last, the world would be a better place.

Our first photo together. February 1993

Last photo we took together, February 14, 2009. An entire month before he died.

KEEP BELIEVING



I apologize for this post being all over the place. I lost my original. I have been so BUSY today intentionally. If I stop, I am overwhelmed. I stopped just long enough to write this. Now, I am off to being intentionally busy again.

1 year ago

Been flooded with "1 year ago" thoughts the last month.

Like the last soccer game Brian was ever able to attend. I don't remember it, but i know it was in February some time.

Like the last time he left the house - it was to go to Buffalo Wild Wings, enjoy a couple microbrews and some wings, and his entire family - brothers, wives, parents, nephews and nieces - were there. It was so windy he could barely walk in the door. He could barely walk anyway. That was March 8, 2009. It was also the last night we would ever sleep together.

March 9, 2009 was the last morning he ever woke in our bedroom. He came down the stairs, went to sit in a kitchen chair, fell, and never walked up or down those stairs again.

March 9, 2009 was the first day of the week leading up to his death.

It was the strangest week of my life. So many blessings. So many regrets.

I can't stop thinking about it.

KEEP BELIEVING

Making sense of a situation

A few weeks ago, during a conference with Grant’s teacher, I learned that Grant had failed a hearing screening at school. Not waiting for the official notification from those that performed the hearing screening, I took him to the pediatrician and discovered he had an ear infection, which was a likely cause for the hearing loss. After two weeks of antibiotics and an ear re-check, the pediatrician decided the infection looked relatively cleared up, but recommended a hearing screening again.




On Tuesday I received a call from pre-registration to get Grant registered for his appointment the next day. This was the first I heard of the appointment, so I had no time to think about the appointment and its location, which was probably for the best. On Wednesday, we headed out to Grant’s audiology screening.



At OSF-St. Francis Medical Center.



As we walked the corridors of the hospital getting to the appropriate elevator, it dawned on me this was the first time I had entered OSF-St. Francis since March 17, 2009. I scanned my memory quickly, thinking SURELY there was a time or reason when I had been there in the last 11 months. Nope. First time since March 17, 2009.



And since THAT wasn’t enough, the audiology group performing the test was on the 6th floor of the Illinois Neurological Institute just one floor away from where Brian had his last surgery and hospital stay in which he left the hospital ALIVE.



And since THAT wasn’t enough, Grant had to use the bathroom just outside the secured entrance to the Children’s Hospital wing where Gavin spent 3 days and nights just one day after Brian’s last hospital stay in which he left ALIVE.



And since THAT wasn’t enough, as we sat in the waiting room listening for Grant’s name to be called, I glanced out the window and peered directly into the building across the street – the one where Brian died. Not just the building, but exactly the ROOM in which Brian breathed his last breath. Birds-eye view.



And because I was completely caught up in the flooding of memories, I was giving a commentary of the events that unfolded on all three of those events to my audience.



Which was my 6-year-old son.



Yeah, really smart.



I even pointed out the room to Grant. He cleverly acknowledged that I had just minutes ago as we were walking the hallways audibly said, “I haven’t been here since Daddy died. He died in his hospital” and that building was across the street, so not part of this hospital.



I explained there is an underground tunnel system leading over to that building and it took us a long time to get there. He said he wanted to go see the tunnel system and walk through it. I said, no he didn’t and it took a long time and was confusing. He asked if Daddy walked over there.



Being a complete and total idiot, I kind of huffed and said, “No, sweetie, daddy was totally unconscious. he couldn’t walk at all.”

Then I looked down into his eyes.

And it was in THAT EXACT MOMENT that I realized what the hell I was doing and who my audience was. Holy Crap! I saw the look on his face as he tried to visualize the events of that day even though he was in St. Louis when it was all happening. I didn’t want him to visualize that in his tender little 6-year-old fatherless life.



So, I tried to smooth it over. “Daddy got to ride on one of those cool beds with wheels. We all had to walk but he got a ride. And sometimes it went pretty fast because there were kind of hills in the halls.”



“Mom, You shoulda hopped on and rode with Dad.”



“Yeah, I wish I would have thought of that. That would have been fun.”



We were called soon after that. He is still showing some signs of hearing loss in both ears. Minor and probably reversible. He also has pressure on his eardrums signaling he is either still recuperating from his ear infection or on the verge of another, which could be the cause. Regardless, it entails an additional trip to the pediatrician for another ear check and an additional hearing screening.



Anyway, on our way out of the hospital, Grant got to choose a snack at the gift shop or Spotted Cow ice cream. He chose the gift shop. He had been lobbying for gum earlier, so I assumed he would want gum and I was even willing to buy Hubba Bubba. Instead, he chose a Snickers. Grant rarely chooses anything chocolate so I was surprised at his choice and as I was paying he looked at me and said, “Mom, that was Dad’s favorite candy bar, wasn’t it?”



“It sure was, Buddy. He said it was the perfect candy bar because it had the caramel and the chocolate and the nougat AND the peanuts. You made a good choice.”



And it was in THAT EXACT MOMENT that I made some sense of the situation. Because I am ALWAYS trying to make sense of situations like these.



You see, as that flood-gate of memories opened and my mind raced with so many events I had lived and survived during the fall and winter of last year, as I glanced out that window peering into the room where I lay on Brian’s chest unknowing he was an hour from death, as I walked those halls audibly recapping the events of those months, I didn’t shed one tear. Not a single tear. I felt weird being at the hospital for a reason other than Brian’s cancer. I didn’t like sitting in the waiting room as I remembered so many times silently holding Brian’s hand knowing we were getting test results and any idle chatter just meant we were both nervous. Silence was best at those moments.  Yet even in the midst all that, I don’t even know that I felt particularly sad. Just strange.



I felt like I should be sad. I felt like I should cry, but there was no sadness for me.

But, since I had foolishly etched all these images into my baby boy’s mind now, I could see the impact on him and my heart swelled with sadness for him. I could see that as the anniversary of Brian’s death approaches and as everyone’s memories are flooded with “this time last year” thoughts, I need to be sensitive and aware of the effect on those that love(d) Brian so dearly. I need to be watchful of my children.

Because as I move on with my life as we are all forced to in some way or another, Brian’s death isn’t such a huge loss to me anymore. Oh my, that sounds so harsh! It IS because I have had to completely readjust my life for his absence, but at the same time it isn’t because the next phase for ME is kind of exciting. (and selfish)

No, I didn’t feel sadness and tears for myself, but as I looked at my little boy eating his Daddy’s favorite candy bar just across the street from the room where his Daddy took his last breath 11 months prior, I remembered the magnitude of HIS loss.

I need to be sensitive that there are two little boys who no longer have a Dad. There are two parents that lost their son. There are two grown men that lost their brother.

That is irreplaceable.

KEEP BELIEVING

before (during) and after week - my Christmas tree

Today's Before and After Theme:

Our Christmas Tree.



Okay, TECHNICALLY, this is not OUR Christmas tree. I didn't actually take a picture of our tree before it was decorated because I didn't have the foresight for the before-and-after theme week on this blog. If I HAD taken a picture, it would look a lot like this one, only more real looking and full because this year I bought a new Christmas tree that kicks serious Yule arse in its authenticity, shape and fullness.



These pictures were taken DURING the decorating process. The same morning Grant found the tooth fairy did not indeed stiff him this time around, Gavin awoke to find that mommy had erected the tree the night before while they slept. The boys LOVE decorating the tree, but I do not LOVE their help assembling the tree in preparation for its adornments. They THINK they would love this part, but I know them well enough to know it would NEVER be good enough for Gavin and Grant would start decorating it well before it was ready.






I insist upon listening to Christmas music and drinking Baileys on the rocks hot chocolate during this decorating process. The boys love to hear stories about Christmases past while we do this. They love unwrapping each ornament and hearing the possible story that explains it. This year, Grant had one meltdown when he came across this ornament from 2001. He could not understand why his name would not be on it. I explained that in 2001, this WAS our family. He threatened to break it and went upstairs to his room and cried for a several minutes.



I captured these next two during shots as the boys were busy decorating. I think these two shots could not better describe my boys personalities without their actually being present in the picture.


Each year my mom gets the boys a keepsake Hallmark ornament. Often, they get ornaments from Brian's mom, too or various great aunts and uncles. My mom writes what year from Memaw and Papa on each ornament for the boys to remember whose is whose. They LOVE opening and putting these ornaments on the tree. These are their favorites because they know these ornaments are THEIRS FOR LIFE. I take great care in storing these ornaments in their original packaging (plastic, bubble wrap, box and all) so that when the boys are older, and these ornament go with them some day, they will last, because again, THEIRS FOR LIFE.

The first shot is how Grant opens and cares for his ornament packaging.

The second is Gavin.


After all was said and done, here is our tree:

Some day, I may have a Martha Stuart tree or a themed tree with coordinating colors. For now, it is filled with homemade clay sculptures too heavy for the branch, pieces of paper with doodling on them from the boys preschool years, star wars, scooby doo, spiderman, indiana jones and robots. It is quite perfect. In fact, I will be sad when those Hallmark ornaments go with the boys some day. I will be sad when one branch does not contain 5 ornaments. I will be sad when my ribbon is symmetrical and evenly spaced.

I need to remind myself of that lately.

KEEP BELIEVING

just a general update

I got nothing. Really, I have been feeling so uninspired to write lately.

I thought I would just give you a general update on our lives.

GAVIN:

Second grade is going okay for him. He isn't showing as much interest in reading as he needs to as this is really the last year they "learn to read." Next year, they "read to learn," so he needs to start picking up the pace on this. Getting the kids to read is a constant challenge. He is right at state requirements, but a little low for the class. Not the bottom, though, so he won't get any extra school help. Math is getting harder as they have started borrowing in subtraction. Gavin isn't great at subtraction - he always has to use the number line or his fingers. Brian's aunt, a dear, sweet, wonderful, lady who also happens to teach first grade, has offered to start coming over on Wednesdays to work with boys boys on school work a bit. I think this is a great idea to give them a fresh look at homework and to give me a break. And they really like Zach's grandma Deb.

Gavin is home sick today with a fever for the third time in about 7 weeks. He seems to get sicker these days than any of us. He still eats terribly, so I swear that his immune system is weakened. Sometimes he scares me because he always looks a bit peaked and gray to me.

Gavin is continuing counseling for a while. When I told him we were wrapping up our sessions because counseling is not supposed to be forever, he freaked out and started carrying stuffed animals around all the time and sleeping with Daddy's things again saying he can't stop because he is still sad. I explained it was okay to be sad and he will FOREVER be sad some, but he was okay. The counselor and I agreed that despite losing our insurance coverage and going to private pay, we will continue until it appears the decision comes more from Gavin. Also, the group where we attend counseling is introducing a support group for 8-12 year-old's who have experienced a significant loss. I think this will be great for Gavin.

GRANT:
First grade for Grant is going about the same as second is for Gavin. He doesn't love to read, but needs to do more of it. I have been very concerned about him academically, but have noticed in the last two weeks, he seems to be making great strides in his printing and some decent strides in his reading. His teacher informed me that is common after the first quarter. In the end, I did not do much academically with the boys all summer, so it is no wonder they would be a bit lost when school started again.

Grant is doing well with his grief. We all had a hard week the week of Brian's birthday. Halloween, the announced end of counseling, Brian's birthday all falling together took every one of us to a bit of a melt down stage. We all three had some crying episodes. And we were all there for each other. We all understand this need for each of us to express this in any way we can at often very random times. Grant is finished with his counseling, but he still sees the school counselor.

Grant is my protector. When he sees me crying, he sniffs, puffs up his chest, comes to me and immediately hugs me gently and firmly. After he does this for a while, he THEN asks me what is wrong. Do you have any idea how WISE and comforting that is?? To not have to explain why you are crying when you sometimes don't KNOW why you are crying anyway and to just have an unconditional loving pair of arms there to hold you and allow you to cry? I tell him he is never more like Jesus than when he is like that. Anyway, he usually waits til I calm down then gets me a tissue or asks if I need some water or writes me a note and brings it to me a few minutes later. He is so incredibly sweet inside that very rough outer surface. I love that boy.

ME:
I have been good. I struggle with creativity and motivation. I don't cook much anymore as I have stated in the past. I have been working out a lot trying to lose some of the 15+ pounds that I gained since 2008 that I had lost in 2006. I am making strides suddenly with that. I often forget to eat. Seriously, some days it is 2:00 and I realize I am starving because I have not eaten since yesterday at 2:00. I am trying to get better at eating at least little bits all day if not full meals.

I am leading a Bible Study now to my group of women from my Mom's group at church. I am very excited and we will have our first discussion on Thursday. Please pray for me. I have never led a Bible Study from beginning to end. It is called Wisdom for Mothers. It concentrates on your relationships in life starting with God, your spouse, your children and your service - IN THAT ORDER. I am super passionate about your relationships being prioritized IN THAT ORDER and especially a mother's relationship with her spouse. It seems we as moms often fall into the trap of putting our spouse on the back burner and focusing on our children.

I have been doing well in my grief. Not sure what the holidays will bring. I may attend a seminar this weekend put on by Hospice about tips on how to handle the holidays. As my wonderful dear wise counselor has stated, this year is my road map. I am figuring out what moments in time are difficult, what events or situations remind me of Brian, and what works for handling it all.

I have been doing a lot of reflecting on "what was I doing this time last year." My counselor says this is very normal. I have been a bit flooded with emotions around this time. It was last October that we found out the tumor had been growing despite the second chemo. It was this week last year where I had the worst, then best, then worst, then best week of my life ever.

It was the first week of November last year when we thought Brian was dying. He had excruciating headaches, loss of balance, little blackout spells and confusion. He had pressure in his ventricle and after a whirlwind 3-1/2 day stay in the hospital, he had a shunt installed and walked out of the hospital a new man who lived over 4 more months.

It was during this hospital stay that my mom took the boys to her house for the weekend because Gavin had a fever and we didn't want to risk his getting Brian sick while we were so unsure what was happening in the hospital - making this horrific decision to spend time apart not knowing how much time Brian had left. Brian got home from the hospital on Saturday afternoon. I picked up the boys on Sunday morning. Gavin was still so sick - going on 4 days now with almost no food or water intake. Then, at 2:00 am, I could no longer handle watching him moan and shiver with a 104 fever. I was not waiting for the 8:30 am office to open. I knew he needed more. We went to the ER and he was admitted a few hours later after he kept nothing down and his fever could not easily be controlled.

Little did I know when I left that hospital at 1:00 on Saturday, I would be back 19 hours later for another 3-1/2 day stay WITH MY SON and I would once again have to decide which family members to spend time with. You can't imagine how incredibly painful that is for a mom, a wife and a caregiver. Just thinking about it right now floods me with tears. My counselor says this is so normal. She likens it to a soldier's post traumatic stress disorder. At the time, you are in survival mode just doing exactly what you need to do to get through the day and take care of those that need to be taken care of. Then, you think back on it and can't believe you survived it. It haunts you.

Anyway, other than that, things are going well. Still building my road map. Still figuring out trigger points. Coming to terms with moving on, but with little guilt. Praying for guarding of my heart as I consider dating again. Trying to rekindle friendships and family relationships. Starting some new friendships. Beginning to think about what to get the boys for Christmas and what new traditions we can begin. Contemplating. Analyzing. Playing. Praying. Living.

KEEP BELIEVING

New Birthday Traditions

Happy Birthday to you....

Happy Birthday to You....Happy Birthday Dear Brian/Daddy....Happy Birthday to you!!

Today, You would have turned 37, dear Brian. THIRTY-SEVEN. And I would have reminded you 10 times in the last month how old you were because HONESTLY you had a terrible concept of years. You had no idea how old you truly were even when you were healthy.

This morning, the boys blew out candles on a package of cinnamon rolls. Grant got two candles to blow to balance the fact that Gavin found the only remaining green - your favorite color -candle.

Yesterday, we started a new Daddy birthday tradition. Since we can't buy you gifts, we bought ourselves gifts. This is a sampling of what the boys picked out:

Aside from being dreadfully alarmed that this is what Timothy McVeigh's childhood pictures may have looked like, I am pleasantly reminded from friends that boys are boys are boys are boys.

On another note, Mom got jewelry!

Isn't it lovely?

Seriously, though, I couldn't justify buying myself a gift when I have been spending plenty of money on house projects, painting, a few new articles of clothing, etc.

Anyway, Brian, we wish we could celebrate your birthday here with you today. I miss our own little private.... ahem.... birthday parties. The boys just want cake. I wish I just wanted cake.

I would think there are no birthdays in heaven. Not sure about that. From what I understand about heaven, there is no concept of time. How do you measure time in a place of eternity? So, while we know you are blissfully enjoying heaven, we remember you today. We celebrate you today. We miss you today.

And everyday.

KEEP BELIEVING

Going Down the Road Feelin' Bad....

Look for me.

Or listen for me.

I will be the one driving 72 mph in a Honda Odyssey down I-55, IL Rt 4, I-64, I-57 and I-24 from Peoria to Paducah today belting out showtunes. My kids will blissfully ignore with their wireless headphones and overhead DVD player.

You see, I defaced Brian's beloved IPOD. Brian is Led Zeppelin, Grateful Dead and the Doors.

I am Evita, Phantom of the Opera, Jesus Christ Superstar, Madonna and Prince.

And while Brian gave me an appreciation for Classic Rock and I do love it, NOW I CONTROL THE IPOD. I deleted Metallica (less Enter Sandman) and all other Metal. I added Britney, Avril, Evita and Phantom.

But, I did not TOUCH the beloved and now sacred BOZO'S MIX playlist. NEVER!!!

One road song Brian and I ALWAYS agreed upon which requires at least a 20% volume increase while screaming along with an occasional air guitar and a drumming on the dash is this one:

And guess what else? I left Led Zeppelin, Grateful Dead, and the Doors.

So, between my renewed, heavily discounted XM, a reloaded IPOD and some Podcasts from our church, I am hoping this drive actually goes quickly. We will see.

Oh and by the way, in keeping with this theme, see that big green blob covering the entire middle section of our country. That is our route. Awesome.

What about you? What makes your road trip time pass faster? Especially the road trips where between here and there the only scenic pleasure is a corn field. Times 3,584.

KEEP BELIEVING

Guess who...

Remember how I mentioned recently how things seem to go in my life....



Well, guess who has a first grader who's class was doing a math/science project with pumpkins?



Guess who didn't sign up to help?




Guess who developed a conscience about not signing up to help and last minute asked the teacher today if she still needed help?



Guess who was needed (badly)?



Guess who got to school to find only two other moms helping - both with twins and trying to bounce from classroom to classroom with other first graders?



Guess who helped 6 first graders carve a pumpkin so they could explore the inside, count seeds and decide on a face?




Guess who's group discovered their pumpkin was ROTTEN in the middle?




Guess what a rotten pumpkin looks, feels and SMELLS like in the middle?



Guess who gagged for the first 5 minutes after opening and still scooping seeds out of a slimy partially rotten pumpkin?



Guess who's first graders all last interest in helping with a slimy, smelly, partially rotten pumpkin?




Guess who didn't breathe out of her nose for the next 30 minutes?




Guess who washed her hands no less than 15 times in the next 30 minutes and still will never get that smell out of her now etched nostrils?


Guess who hates carving pumpkins even at home?



Guess who loved it and began this tradition with his kids years ago?





Guess who is able to take Texan Mama's advice and laugh about this situation even as it was happening?



Guess who would be so proud of the mom who hates carving pumpkins, who is getting burned out on volunteering at school and who did it anyway with a giggle in her memory box about the entire situation?





Guess who rejoiced upon completing this project (for the second straight year since she also had a first grader last year) knowing she has no more first graders?

Guess who found out that third graders also carve pumpkins?

Guess who will have a third grader next year?

Guess who will have a third grader the year after that?





Any guesses?





KEEP BELIEVING

I am smiling as I write this

I am smiling as I write this.

WHY?

For no reason in particular.
No big revelation.
No news.
Nothing, really.

I am smiling as I write this because I am trying to train myself to smile more in my everyday life.

You see, I have been doing a lot of reflecting lately - a lot of "what was I doing this time last year?" And this time last year, we had this news. I spent two hours the other night reading all my posts from October through January - reading the rollercoaster we called LIFE in those three months. Holy SHIT! By the way, I am trying, VERY UNSUCCESSFULLY, not to curse as much, but I figure I have pretty good control over at least not writing it out. Still, HOLY SHIT is all I can think worthy to write when I read the posts from last October til the time Brian died. I didn't even have the emotional stamina to keep reading past the news in January that we faced.

Still, while reading all of those posts - while quietly reflecting lately on what life was like a year ago and 7 months ago today when Brian passed -I couldn't help but notice a pretty familiar theme.

Despite the chemos, the ups and downs, the ever changing symptoms, the heartache, the insurance woes, the waste-of-time doctor visits, the sick kids in the midst of it all - despite ALL of that - I was able to instill some humor in my posts. And it wasn't forced. Forced humor is obvious. It was real. I was actually pretty funny sometimes.

While I know that JOY and HAPPINESS are not one in the same, we had JOY that led to happiness even during that traumatic time. Brian had a way of keeping the air light and enjoyable even while his body slowly faded. And it wasn't forced. Forced joy is obvious. He had true JOY in his heart that exuded from him and was absolutely contagious.

So, I write this with a smile on my face today because for now, I am going to force the smiles at home - a place where the smiles have been few lately. I figure if I write with a smile, then maybe something funny will come out again - maybe I will look back on this post one day and see some happiness in the midst of it all. I figure if I start forcing the smiles now, the joy and the happiness will have to follow suit.

For right now, though, my cheeks just hurt.

KEEP BELIEVING

disrespectin' ya

Dear Brian,

I have gradually been working my way through some of your personal belongings. I have divvied your coveted Grateful Dead tie-dye amongst your brothers. I have saved some of your caps for the boys, yet passed on a few others to your family and friends. I have gone through your sweatshirts and business shirts and tee shirts trying to find good homes for those worthy of keeping. I have boxed up others in preparation for a trip to good will some day. Yet still many things remain. The boys find treasures every so often that they play with or sort through or simply oooohh and aaaaahhh over. Your shoes found a home this weekend with Uncle Paul - one of the few size 9ers in the family. Plus, he is equally as bow-legged as you, so I joke that they are already properly worn in for him.

I am trying really hard to find suitable homes for your tangible belongings while honoring your memory with their distribution. I enjoy thinking of someone to pass a certain item to. I enjoy the reaction of the recipient.

Also, I enjoy finding new purposes for the space. Your walk in closet has become home to the pack n play thus providing the new little baby girls in our family a private room. Your wardrobe has become part linen closet. Each time I replace one of your storage spaces with a new item, I think of it as practicality and sometimes I even think it would make you smile.

However, today, I disrespected you in this sense. After hospice disposed of your medicines and I disposed of expired vitamins, supplements and other over-the-counter products that served no purpose and held no nostalgic value, I found a new purpose for your toiletries drawer.

Forgive me.

KEEP BELIEVING

FALLing again...

Dear Brian,

I wish I could express to you how life is going without you in a way that wouldn't make you feel bad for leaving us. I can't. I can't tell you that we are doing just fine and getting by alright. We appear to be, but we are all very sad and confused. The boys and I seem to fight a lot amongst ourselves. We all seem to be finding our pecking order and testing each other to see how firm we have to stand before the other will bend.


Our surrounding world is transforming again. From summer to fall. From a time of fun and games to practice and routine. From a time of on-the-constant-go to home and school. It is in this transformation that I miss you most. Realizing once the boys arrive home at 3, that is it for the day. There is no anticipation of Daddy's arrival in a few hours. I sit alone at church. I will go to Back to School Parent's Night alone while the rest of our world handles this familiar routine as a family team. It becomes an effort not to resent them for the unknown ease they have in their lives.

I have always equated Fall and back to school with a a time of immediate family togetherness. The weekends become more important as both mothers and fathers are seeing their children for the only full days of a week. Saturday, after I had breakfast cleaned up and had finished my workout, I slipped outside to bask in the beauty of a glorious Saturday morning. I sobbed, missing you, knowing you would have shared time with me that morning enjoying a cup of coffee planning our day. I cried later that day as I took the boys to the outdoor mall with me. They behaved rather well considering they thought they were supposed to be at a birthday party and not running an errand with me, only to realize I had the wrong day for the party. I rewarded them with some time at the mall playground and Auntie Anne's pretzels. This location was lovingly nicknamed the PRETZEL PARK by you and the boys years ago. It has always been one of your favorite places to take the kids even when you were unable to walk well. I missed having you at the Pretzel Park with us. If found myself crying at your Mom and Dad's house while we celebrated Cheryl's birthday. The pain of seeing couples together sometimes is unbearable. Yet it is comforting. I can't explain it logically.

Yet, today has been a good day. Yes, I miss you today. Yes, I wanted you next to me at church. Yes, at church I find myself especially vulnerable and emotional. Yes, the boys and I are having our issues. But today, I woke and made a conscious decision to make today good. I hate that it has be such an effort to have a good day. I think of you and how you made a conscious effort every single day to get out of bed and make it downstairs. How you had to will your right side to move in rhythm with your left. How you had to stop and think about the words you were about to use every time you formed a sentence. How you did it, though, and never complained. How you rarely lamented about your burdens at all. You would assure me that to do so, was a choice. You made the choice appear effortless.

Brian, you continue to inspire me to make a choice today to have a good day. I pray tomorrow I make the same choice with as much grace as you always did.

I love and miss you, Brian.

KEEP BELIEVING

FatherLESS Day

Dear Brian,



Today is another big FIRST.


It is easier to prepare and tense up for a big blow you know is coming and brace your self to endure the anticipated pain from it than it is an unexpected flick on the ear.



So it is not these big events - these MONUMENTAL 'firsts" that are so difficult to endure. It is the small unexpected events in life - like seeing your favorite CINNAMON LIFE in the cereal section and realizing I am wiping a tear from eye in the next aisle - a tear I didn't even know surfaced.


Today on this first Father's Day without you, Brian. We celebrate your memory. We celebrate YOUR Dad. We celebrate your brothers. And I celebrate my boys - because I see parts of you in all of them.



And I know the Dad that you were to our children in their young years WILL mold them into wonderful big kids, young men, and responsible adults.














KEEP BELIEVING

that time of month

Dear Brian,

This is so personal that I can't believe I am choosing to write to you about this. I think I am choosing to write to you because even I am surprised by my reaction.

It is "that" time of month for me again right now. Yesterday was the beginning. And you know what? That simple, stupid, regular biological condition makes me miss you so much.

Why?


I have really never missed a cycle in our entire relationship except for when we forced my body to do so during our in-vitro and insemination attempts. I have never been pregnant. I gave up the idea of becoming pregnant several years ago. So WHY THEN would this make me think of you and miss you more?? I can't make sense of it.

Is it because my emotions and hormones are on overload causing me to overreact to everything?

Is it because this biological function reminds me of my own sexuality and the fact that I forever lost my partner?

Is it because it reminds me of the monthly conversation that would ensue after I told you things would have to be "on hold" in the bedroom for a few days because I "started"? You would almost always reply with some sort of sassy "Ah... That makes sense now," or, "Yeah, I kind of figured it was coming" comment to indicate in recent days I had been perhaps less than rational or a bit overemotional. To which I would ALWAYS reply, "Babe, if you THINK I am emotional or PMSing, then it is REALLY UNWISE to point it out." Is it really possible for someone to miss a conversation like THAT?

Is it because this time reminds me of the longing look you would get in your eyes after a few days and the gentle nudge you would give me as you passed by whispering, "Are you close to being done yet?" You always made me feel beautiful, loved and needed. Is it because no one is here making me feel beautiful and loved in an intimate way now?

Or is it simply because it is yet another painful reminder of the fact that despite your absence we cannot stop life from moving on? I can't even stop my own body from moving on.

I don't know the exact reason, but I do know that right now I miss you more than ever. I love you.

KEEP BELIEVING

Painful

Dear Brian,

After a weekend of almost too much activity packed into it with the hope of keeping myself preoccupied enough to avoid the pain of your absence during our anniversary weekend and the first weekend without family staying in the house, this Sunday evening Gavin and I unwound in front of the TV with a video. Our wedding video.

It was painful.

First of all, the quality of the video is so poor it is sometimes nearly impossible to distinguish who is who.

Secondly, the videographer was such an amateur. There is constant background noise, sometimes video of the floor or of the wrong event, etc. The splicing is poorly timed. The focus is in and out. It is awful.

Thirdly, the Catholic service we had was so ridiculously long with every single option thrown in for the sake of hearing another song or adding every bell and whistle possible. To all our guests who were there that day, WE APOLOGIZE FOR MAKING YOU SIT THROUGH SOMETHING THAT LONG!!! It had to be painful for you. I fast-forwarded through half of it, and it was still painful for me.

Fourthly, Gavin was on my right side the entire time asking a constant stream of questions:
Was that when Dad could walk fast?
Is that you in the fat puffy dress?
Mommo looks way different.
Where am I?
Why does Andrew look so mad?
How come the limo we rode to bury Daddy wasn't like THAT ONE?
Why is Mindi pulling on your dress?
Is your finger too fat? Daddy can't get the ring on.
Mom, stop rewinding. I already saw this part (Mindi was fixing my dress again.)
Mom, when are you going to talk?
Why does Dad have a flower on his shirt?
(During the Ave Maria) Mom, why are you and Dad looking at that? Did they make you?
Did you want your dress to get dirty now? (after I was bustled and stopped having someone carry my train)
Did you get married in the 80's?
(After pointing out all the great=grandparents who are now passed) Mom, do ALL great-grandmas and have to die from cancer, too?
Why is Murph marrying Heather? Where is Jen?
When can we watch the other video where you and Daddy talk?

Also, it was painful because your cancer was in your brain that day, but we had no idea. Just 30 days later, we would know it. We had our dreams, ambitions and so much excitement welling up in us, blissfully unaware of the drastic change soon to uproot us. It is surreal to watch us knowing what came next.

Lastly, it is painful because I long for you. I long to be kissed by you. I long to feel your fingers entangle with mine in our comfortable hand hold. I long to hear you breathe. I long to feel your warmth. Even in your failing health, you provided me with a sense of security, safety and protection. I yearn for more of you.

I miss you, Brian. I love you.

KEEP BELIEVING

road trip

Dear Brian,

We are on our first trip without you since your death. We took advantage of Spring Break to travel to see some of the family that has spent the last three months visiting us since we became immobile.

I miss you on this trip for many reasons, but especially for two small ones - toothpaste and hairbrushes.

I always forgot to pack them because you always had them.

Just another example in which I am learning (the hard way) how I need to change some of my old habits.

I miss you, Brian. I love you.

KEEP BELIEVING

Daddy's truck

Dear Brian,

As you know, we discussed selling your truck around Christmas time when it started to become evident you were not going to be able to drive again with your right side weakening and your stability questionable. I just couldn't get myself to list the truck while you were still alive although you were very okay with it. Then, I didn't want the hassle of handling the transaction and phone calls while you were getting sicker.

This past week, I have been agonizing over when and if to sell your truck. It is silly for us to keep two cars in the garage taking space and paying insurance on a vehicle that has incurred 40 miles since January - 30 of which were in the last two days.

But, you LOVED your truck. The boys LOVE your truck. It reminds them (all of us) of Daddy. They play in the bed. They feel more masculine. They see you in the truck. Gavin insists I should keep it for him so he can have it when he drives. I told him we can talk about a different truck in 9 years when he can drive. He wouldn't want this truck by then.

So, I drove your truck around the last couple days to get a feel for you and for it again. Could this be the car I decide to keep instead of the van? I can feel you in the truck. I can see you changing the stations with your steering wheel controls. I love that image. Want to know what else I can feel? I feel that 5.4L V-8 going 55 down a 40 mph zone still seeming like I am crawling. My size 5-1/2 feet are not meant to have that much power under my tiny toes. Also? I parked the monster yesterday. Let's just say it doesn't have the zippy little turning radius for maneuvering through parking lots and city streets.

I feel like a Polly Pocket in that beast. And while it reminds me of you, Brian, it just isn't me. So, after Spring Break in a couple weeks, I am going to list your truck. I know you understand.

I miss you, Brian. I love you.

KEEP BELIEVING

Sean's birthday

Dear Brian,

Today is your brother, Sean's, 42nd birthday. We celebrated yesterday at their house. We gave him a collage of photos of you and your other brother, Michael, and your Guinness tee-shirt and your Boulevard hat. I love seeing bits of you on and in other people. It helps me remember you alive instead of the last few days of your life as you were dying that are currently embedded in my mind.

I was thinking that today I would share a memory of you and Sean. I wasn't around in your life for this memory, but I know it was one of your favorites with Sean. You had so many, but I know this is one of your "golden oldies." You replayed this one many times.

You were driving home from college your freshman year. Your parents had moved away from Pekin to Decatur, but you still had your high school girlfriend, who was a year younger than you in Pekin. Sean and Cheryl lived in Pekin, too, so you were planning on staying with them. On your way home, you had some car trouble outside of Springfield. You had to take your car to a shop run by a couple of local rednecks as it completely stalled out. You called Sean and Cheryl to come aide you. The local tow and mechanic shopped had a couple good old boys working there - one named Delbert. (Sean, I think the name is wrong, so correct me.) Delbert was an interesting looking fellow in his stained mechanic jumpsuit with embroidered nametag, greased up hat with mussed hair showing slightly underneath and a few missing teeth. Delbert was working some good old-fashioned diagnostics on your engine by grabbing a couple of wires simultaneously to see if they were "hot." They were. He jerked, buzzed and sizzled a couple times stating that wasn't the problem. As you and Sean and Cheryl looked on in amused amazement, the other mechanic stated, "Yup, that shocks the shit out of me, but don't seem to mind him none."

Your car was eventually fixed and you had your weekend fun. And we still enjoy reliving the memory.

Happy Birthday, Sean, on behalf of Brian, myself, Gavin and Grant.

I miss you, Brian. I love you.

KEEP BELIEVING