it's in the air

Dear Brian,

Today you would have been 38. You didn't see 37 on this earth. Are there birthdays in heaven? Since you are no longer in your body, I have assumed there are not. I have often wondered what age you are in heaven. How will I recognize you? Will I be old and gray and you will be forever 36? Do you even see other heavenly souls as they appeared on earth at all or is there an entirely different realm of recognition that we on earth cannot comprehend because we are limited to the senses we use in this earthly body? Do you gain an omniscience in heaven? Can you see us on earth?

If so, then you would know the struggles I have been having lately.

I do not love this time of year. It isn't fair to the boyz for me to have this demeanor right now. This is a fun time for them. They love Halloween and I squelch their excitement becoming Scrooge-like regarding all the stimulation, candy and costumes. Some of my apathy may be warranted - additional candy in the boyz' sugar-filled world and the agonizing costume decision-making process, yet I remember my own enthusiasm as a child for particular events and occasions. Pure unadulterated excitement. The boyz have that excitement but I get so involved in my own struggles regarding this time of year I am not only missing it, I am discouraging it.

This time of year reminds me so much of you and I get very wrapped up in thoughts of you - thoughts that cause me much confusion. Fall was YOUR time. You loved the cooler weather. You loved the crisp air and the preparations for the winter nesting season ahead. You cleaned and organized the garage. You prepared the cars with a good coat of wax for the winter. This is football season and you would sometimes veg out on that couch for hours watching your favorite teams. This is hockey season and you personified hockey for me. You loved Halloween - dressing up, taking the boyz trick or treating, carving pumpkins and eating pumpkin seeds. We did carve pumpkins this year again. The boyz love it, too. This year they even helped with removing the insides of the pumpkin. However, I did not save a single pumpkin seed. As each one was tossed, I thought of you and how you would squeeze through all the pumpkin guts to extract the seeds. I was ever so thankful to have less mess as none of us desired to ingest a nicely roasted pumpkin seed later. I know you would have sighed and shook your head at that, but I am REALLY okay with that.

Additionally, this time of year reminds me of all the struggles of 2 years ago when life took the more certain steps towards your death. When I took the first steps to call hospice as you took a sudden turn for the worse. When you ended up in the hospital again with another surgery. When Gavin ended up in the hospital just a few hours after you were released. I get overwhelmed sometimes at the thoughts of what my life was like, of what our boyz witnessed, of the constant turmoil we lived in the midst of and I simply break down. I don't understand it because I am going about life just fine now and in the midst of that turmoil, we had peace and joy and we loved life. However, remembering it all, it is almost as if I actually FEEL the chaos and trauma that we SHOULD have felt at the time. I guess at the time, God's spirit took control to help us not only survive, but ENJOY the time. Today, God's spirit is with me in THIS present time but I am overcome with emotion at what we lived through.

Also, today is your birthday.


I get sad.
I get angry.
I get bitter.
Mostly, though, I get confused.

Confused because I have all these thoughts and emotions regarding you right now. I know the boyz do to. Confused because life is going really well for all of us. Confused because you are flooding my mind with the past despite that someone else is filling my present. I think it is fair to say that confused can best describe what anyone would feel mourning a past that will never be while they are falling in love with someone else wondering what the future holds for them.

Confused because I can't seem to let myself just let go and enjoy life and the good things that are in it. I find something wrong with every situation. If I can't find something wrong with the situation or with someone else, I find something wrong with myself. I'm not spending enough time with the boyz. I'm helping them too much with their homework. I'm not helping them enough with their school work. I have them in too many activities. I don't have them in enough activities. I have too much to do around the house that I never get to. I need to do more projects around the house. That takes time away from the boyz. I need to work out more. I need to work out less because it takes too much time. Things with my guy are going swimmingly. Things with my guy are going TOO swimmingly for how long we have known each other so something must be wrong. You get the idea.

I continue to sabotage my own happiness. It is as if I have become so guarded in my life and what I have endured that I cannot just allow good things to enter my life for fear of losing that good thing. If I stay guarded and wait for the shoe to drop, when it does, I will be ready. I will stay strong and I will overcome.

Because that is what has defined me for so long - I cope, I overcome, I keep my faith, I move on. It is difficult to change my thought pattern to accepting blessings as things that may STAY. Changing to such a way of thinking opens me up to vulnerability. Living like that means I am no longer afraid of losing.

I see it in every one of us - me, Gavin and Grant.

I see that Grant has changed. He is living for the blessing of today assuming it will still be here tomorrow. And he is happy. Happier than I have seen him in years. It is a beautiful thing to witness.

Gavin is guarded. He is cautious. He finds wrongs in every right. Maybe it is his age and that he is also afraid of accepting the blessings of today for fear they will be gone tomorrow. Gavin is me.

I know what you wanted for me and for the boyz. We talked about it several times. My prayer right now is that we can all move forward with receiving the good times, the good people, the good blessings that are bestowed upon us with the same assumption that they will continue to be here tomorrow that the rest of the world lives by.

I pray this "difficult" time of year and your birthday can transform into the milestone marking the time that Angie and the boyz began living assuming the present can evolve into a beautiful and blessed future.

KEEP BELIEIVNG

getting mad at the dead

So, I've been getting mad at Brian the last couple days. I freely admit this because I realize it is normal and doesn't make me an evil person with terrible thoughts. It doesn't discount the relationship I had with Brian and it doesn't show him disrespect.

I received news recently that a lady I know through friends, who has this really cool business (that's her family in the pic) recently moved to Singapore. While back in the states this summer with her family, Joe, her husband who works for Cat, tragically, suddenly and unexpectedly died in the presence of some of his family while preparing to run a 5K in Florida. Very young, late 30s, healthy man. Heart attack. All their belongings are in Singapore. They have no home and no car in the states. They have 4 children ages 5 to  9. Their families are all from Ohio. They have lived in Peoria for years prior to moving to Singapore.

And I could SOOO totally relate, but then not at all. I had time to prepare for Brian's death. He was sick and it was coming and we were warned about it. She had no warning. I can relate to all your belongings being in another country and having no home and no car. We were living in Canada when Brian went in for surgery, yet came out never performing many of the basic functions of life normally again. All our belongings were in another country. Brian never returned. I can relate to having no home and no car and relying completely on those around you just to help you do basic life duties, but not to the degree that she is experiencing this right now. Not even a fraction.

So my first reaction is immediate empathy for this woman and her kids and what I know they are about to endure. And all the life-changing huge decisions that will need to be made and some of them quickly. And all the uncertainty when just trying to hard to hold it together for the sake of the kids. And just trying to determine where home is on top of it all. And my experiences in all these events are a fraction of what she is about to endure. But, I can relate and I want to just hold her hand and help her, but it isn't for me to do.

My second reaction was anger at Joe. Yes, you read that correctly. I was mad because how dare he die like that when they had a plan. They have a good life and a plan for their future. Now what?

And then I got mad at Brian for the same reasons. We had a plan. We were very financially responsible and had a plan for college and retirement and had mutually agreed-upon goals and lifestyles. We HAD A PLAN! And after living for the past year like nothing has really happened except handling grief and making room in my heart for a potential new relationship and clearing up the emotional air, things are starting to change. I am going to work part time this fall. I am going to have to re-prioritize my gym and work out time and life in general. Grant and Gavin are playing separate fall sports and will require oodles of running here and there. This was not part of the plan. Angie staying home was the plan. A mom and a dad to split the parenting was part of the plan. It makes me kinda mad. How dare Brian die in the middle of the plan?!

And the garage is a mess. I got mad at Brian the other day because I don't want to deal with the garage mess. I don't want to deal with the expired fertilizers and 15 bottles of nearly empty oil and bug killers, etc. That was never my job. I don't want the garage to be added to my already too big pile of crap to do. I DON'T WANT IT! Yes, I realize I sound like a 2 year old. I'm okay with that. I don't want to remember when the stupid van needs an oil change. I don't want to HAVE to mow the lawn because no one else is here to do it especially when I am packing and preparing for a 5 day trip, yet knowing it needs to be done before we leave for that 5-day trip. Life wasn't designed for one person to handle everything. This wasn't the plan. And for some reason the last few days, probably accentuated by the recent news of the family above, I have been getting resentful of my situation and mentally throwing a temper tantrum instead of just handling it like I began doing even before Brian died. I'm mad.

I guess grief still comes up and haunts you at unexpected times even when you seem to be doing really well. I should know that.

So today, I went to the cemetery for a spell. I threw my mental and emotional temper tantrum and told Brian and the air and the ground that I was mad. I cried and talked out loud a bit saying, "This isn't the life I signed up for. This wasn't part of the plan!" Then, I wiped my face and drove home.

Later, I'll mow the lawn.

Because, in the end, this is my life. I have to live it.

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

cemetery

Dear Brian,

I visited the cemetery a couple weeks ago. Been thinking about you and wanted to go to the place we decided to bury you for a couple minutes of quiet (very cold and wet) time.

I hate it there.

I'm sorry.

I hope this feeling won't last much longer.

You see, I can't get past knowing your body is lying 6 feet underground there where I stand. Instead of standing, sitting, walking or kneeling and fondly remembering you, I just can't get past the thought of your BODY entombed below. I feel like I can see you through the soil.

I cannot escape the thought that the same arms that hugged me each evening when you arrived home and held me each night before I wriggled away to my comfort zone for peaceful sleep are in that casket below.

The same fingers and hand that reflexively intertwined with mine are now forever still beneath that frozen tundra.

The same bow legs and feet that shuffled through life those last two years as you lost your ability to move around easily are immobile under that snow.

The same mouth that formed every word and smile, the same tongue that performed many stupid human tricks, the same voice that comforted, consoled, gently critiqued and encouraged everyone around you are now eerily silent just under my feet.

While the grief and the pain of losing you are much easier, the cemetery just makes me think of your body.

I can't get past it when I am there.

I can barely fight the urge to start digging just to see you, which I realize is incredibly warped.

I pray that one day soon, it will become the comforting spot I intended - a spot to remember you peacefully and fondly.

KEEP BELIEVING

(pictures taken on a warm September day)

explaining heaven to kids and other kid grief issues

The most difficult challenge associated with Brian's death is undoubtedly handling the boyz' fears, frustrations and curiosity.


The frustrations come and go. When I notice that Grant seems to be "in a mood" and slightly destructive, it may take me a few days, but eventually, I come to my senses and realize maybe he is missing Daddy a bit more than I had assumed. We talk about Brian some to see if this is the underlying cause. Honestly, it never surfaces that it is or isn't the cause with Grant. He simply doesn't talk about it too much. He also doesn't like to see my cry anymore, which I rarely do anyway. He walks away to his room and hides under his covers. I have to sweet talk him out of his retreat explaining that it is okay for Mommy to cry some because I loved Daddy so much and some things just remind me of him.

This happened when we watched UP a couple weeks ago. Thank you so much to my friends for recommending I NOT see that movie over the summer when it was released. Still, it felt quite refreshing to have a full-throttle sob as I watched Carl, (spoiler alert) the main grumpy crotchety character, release those cumbersome house-toting balloons knowing that was his PAST and realize that acknowledging the present was WAY more honoring to his late wife. I identify with sad widows overcoming their grief opening a path to a new FREE self all too well, even in cartoon form.


But, I digress.


Grant, for the first time, had issues with my tears rather than smothering me with kisses and offering me tissues. The thing is, Grant doesn't miss Brian too much. He was relieved to see, what he perceived to be, Brian's suffering gone. If you ask Grant if he misses Daddy, he will tell you no. I think he does and I think he misses having a Daddy PERIOD, but his frustrations are hard to identify because of his lack of verbal communication.



Gavin, on the other hand, is a whole other challenge. Gavin is VERBAL. Always has been. He will debate a topic to no end convincing me that some day he will be a lawyer or a politician. Since Brian died, Gavin will occasionally bring up the subject of Daddy coming alive again. The conversations usually go something like this one did last week:


Gavin: Mom, what if Dad could move?
Me: What do you mean move?
Gavin: What if Jesus made Daddy's body move again?
Me: Why would Jesus want Daddy's body to move again? We buried Daddy, remember?
Gavin: No, what if Jesus made Daddy's body move and made him alive again?
Me: Jesus wouldn't do that, Sweetie.
Gavin: No, he could. Jesus can do anything.
Me: Yes, He can, but Jesus is glad Daddy is in heaven with Him.
Gavin: Yeah, but Jesus could let Dad come back and be with us.
Me: Daddy wouldn't want to leave heaven, Bud.
Gavin: Daddy wouldn't WANT to come back and be with us? I think he would.
Me: Gavin, once you are in heaven, there isn't anymore sadness or things that make you feel bad. Daddy can't miss us in heaven because feelings like that don't exist there. You don't miss anything in heaven. It is perfect. We can't understand it. I don't understand it. But that is why we all want to get there some day.
Gavin: I think Dad wants to come back to play with us.
Me: I can see why you would think that. If heaven wasn't perfect, he would. The best thing we can do is to keep trusting Jesus to take care of us now and to get to heaven some day ourselves.





It breaks my heart into 10,000 pieces to know Gavin holds tight to the idea that Daddy could come back to life. Do you have any idea how hard it is to explain the concept of heaven to a little boy that just wants his Daddy? How do you explain to a little, literal-interpreting mind the concept of something that NO earthly mind can comprehend, trying to make heaven sound so great when I don't get it myself? Try explaining my little boyz that heaven is so great their daddy wouldn't want to come back and they, too, want to get there someday, but just NOT RIGHT NOW. It is impossible.



Or, at the very least, it is challenging.


I do my best.


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9 months

Yup.



3/4 year.



9 months.



275 days.



Feels like yesterday.



Feels like an eternity ago.



We've come a long way.



We've barely made a stride.



We've endured many a milestone.



We've a lifetime of milestones remaining.



I have been thinking of Brian a lot these past few weeks. I am sure it is due to the sentiments of this time of year partially. I am sure it is also because I am dating now and one of the first thoughts that crosses my mind when meeting someone new is "Brian would think this guy is a total tool." or "Brian would say, he's a nice enough guy." or "Brian would really like this dude. They could be buddies." (only, by the way, I haven't met anyone that meets that last criterion. I have met some of both the other criteria.)





I will admit that the last few 17ths came and went without my noticing. This one is glaring at me today. I miss that man like crazy. Once again, because of this time of year. Once again, because I am dating and I realize that I had one really great guy - he was dedicated, loyal, attentive, independent, honest, fun, smart, enjoyable, charming, funny, laid-back, respectable, hard-working, relaxed, witty, spiritual & philosophical. He was a guy's guy. He was a leader. He was a great kisser. He treated me like a lady. He took care of me when he could. He loved me deeply and made sure I knew it.



I miss his gaze. I miss his touch. I miss his humor. I miss his voice. Oh how I miss his voice. I miss his smile. I miss his laugh. I miss his kisses. I miss his silliness. I miss his presence.





I stare at this screen as I have done so often in the past few months just YEARNING for the words to express how I feel. There are no words to express how I miss him. I hate the word MISS. It doesn't touch how I feel. Yet, there are no words to express how due to his impact in my life, I feel SO EMPOWERED to move on. There are no words to express how I fear the path my boys will take without his direct influence in their lives. Yet, there are no words to express how I know they will be SO fine because of his indirect impact in their lives through family and friends and memories. I just wish I had the words.





275 days.





9 months.





3/4 year.





Feels like an eternity ago.





Feels like yesterday...








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something that bugs me

Some days it bothers me that everyone, myself included, trivializes what Brian endured as though it were MY cross and burden. This may not make sense, but it seems as though Brian's illness is often equated to a pawn in the chess game of MY life rather than his own, like his slow decline and his eventual inability to get around and speak was something I had to endure. Just because he died, his illness was still HIS illness. How he handled it and how he carried on despite it all can never be discounted. I guess part of this bothering me is how quickly everyone, including myself, seems to forget Brian. I worry his mark on this earth will be falsely credited to me.



Does this make any sense?



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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

is this how it is supposed to work?

Dear Brian,

It seems as though people are starting to forget. Ever since September, the phone call, email, random text, letter and card influx inquiring as to how the boys are I are faring has slowly faded to nearly a complete halt. A couple random texts or contacts every other week or so occurs. At first, I was very upset by this. How could people forget you so quickly? How could the fact that your physical presence is no longer with us allow everyone the opportunity to so easily go on with their lives and slowly erase you from their memory?


Lately, though, I have been a bit, actually, a LOT conflicted regarding my own thoughts and you. It seems I am thinking of you less. At first, as is in my nature, I tried to analyze if it was truly less or just differently. I have come to the conclusion that I am actually thinking of you LESS. And I don't even feel that bad about it. Strange?

Sometimes I WANT to think of you more. But lately, it has been occurring to me that continuing to focus on you to the extent that I was focusing on you is living in the past. Brian, you NEVER lived in the past. In fact, when I had a hard time forgiving myself for sins of the past and wallowing in regret, you often would help me snap out of it calling the past exactly what it was - OVER. You did like to playfully and fondly recall past stories as we all do, but you didn't live there.

But calling you my past and calling the past over seems so strange. In the end, though, Brian, you are never coming back to me on this earth. I cannot continue to focus so much of my energy and my emotions into thinking of what WAS. Just as you made it abundantly clear to me that you wanted me to move on with my life someday, I have to start thinking about what MAY BE. And one of the only ways I find to do that is to simply think of you less. The only way I can prepare my heart and mind to open to the possibility of someone else is to simply free some space.

I still think of you and what you would think of this or that decision with the boys.

I still think of you as I try to determine how to let these little boys turn into big kids.

I still think of you when I develop a woeful attitude quickly snapping out of it.

I still think of you when I lie in bed at night.

I still think of you when a certain song comes on the radio.

I still think of you when I look at our bathroom in the basement that you built with only one working arm.

I still think of you a lot, but just not as much.

I think this is how you would want it. I THINK.


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

take a compliment

Brian used to say I was terrible at taking a compliment.

When he would delight in something I made for dinner, I would discount it by pointing out how THIS wasn't quite done or I couldn't find THAT ingredient or simply shrug it off as being OKAY.

When he would tell me I was beautiful, which was JUST often enough to be believable, I would dismiss his words of praise by commenting about the spot on my sweater or my smudged make-up or how my hair just didn't cooperate that day or how my pants were too tight or how I had a pimple on my hairline or how I needed to brush my teeth, OR... OR... OR...

And sometimes he would jokingly and sarcastically say, "EW. I didn't notice that. Now that I know that, I take it back. Yuck."

And sometimes he would say, "You are no fun to compliment because you discredit everything I say."

So, over the last two years, I learned to just say, "Thank you. Now kiss me and prove you mean it." MOST of the time, that is. I still discounted the compliments some.

The funny thing is that today I MISS THOSE COMPLIMENTS. I miss being told I am a good cook. I miss being told the house looks nice. I miss being told I am smart and capable. I miss being told I look sexy or even NICE. I miss being told I am beautiful. I cannot begin to tell you how much I crave hearing those words today. When I get even an unsolicited, I LOVE YOU from my boys, it takes me through the day and into next week. Rarely hearing a compliment anymore is one of the most difficult aspects of losing my beloved.

Because when you stop hearing those things, you stop believing those things. I never realized how much Brian was validating me with his words of encouragement and love.

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

two steps forward, one step back...

I don't know if you have noticed or not, but to me when I read over the last 7 months of posts, I notice a slight trend in the overall mood of this blog. As I read, I notice that the first several weeks after Brian's death were full of, "I don't feel like doing this" mentality. My mentality is changing a bit to not wanting this for anyone else, to understanding that it does get easier, to simply forcing some mood changes at home.

The forced smiles are working. Strange therapy, I realize, but honestly, I have heard enough sermons on the topic and been in enough Bible studies to know that there is JOY to be claimed even when your heart is hurting and your whole body doesn't feel like rejoicing. JOY is still abundant. And Christ wants JOY in our lives. You can still have joy even if you have a bad marriage. You can still have JOY even if you are fighting illness. You can still have JOY even if you are oppressed and mistreated. You can still have JOY when you have been told you are dying. And you can still have JOY when what you thought was your future left this world without you 7 months ago.

(one step forward)

In the past 6-8 weeks, since around the second week of September, my mindset has been shifting a bit. I have started focusing more on what lies ahead instead of what just happened. I find my thoughts looking more towards my potential future rather than mourning the future I had planned - one that included Brian.

(one step forward)

The kids and I are in a better routine. The schoolwork is probably the biggest challenge. Honestly, they both struggle a bit - especially Grant right now. That is very difficult for me because I lack patience in this arena. I am praying for patience and gentleness in this aspect of my life so I can be a better teacher and mom to the boys since this will be a huge part of their lives for years to come. Honestly, I get Grant so frustrated with my lack of patience, that he sometimes claims he wants to go back to Kindergarten. My problem is that I never really struggled in school. I didn't have to work hard for many years and when I did, if I just applied and practiced and did some homework problems, I pretty much "got it." (except Dynamics [shudder]). So, I don't "get" "not getting it." Clear as mud? That's what I thought. I've had a couple friends offer to work with Grant independently, so pending the outcome of his conference on Thursday, I may hold them to that offer.

(one step back)

Still, other than the homework, the boys and I are finding our groove. I have implemented a 'no screens' rule (video games, computer, TV) on Mondays-Thursdays. There is no Spongebob to compete with teeth-brushing time in the mornings. They come home and do homework immediately with no ICarly tempting them in the background. And they PLAY with TOYS in the evenings. Well, sort of. They usually set them all up in some sort of never-ending war of the worlds they have created in the basement. A war that makes it very difficult to get from point A to point B. Point A being the bottom of the stairs and Point B being ANYWHERE IN THE REST OF THE BASEMENT due to their elaborate traps, battle zones, MASH tents, headquarters, etc. I do love watching their imaginations at work, but I do LOATHE the resulting mess.

(one step forward)

The boys are almost finished with their counseling sessions. The counselor thinks we have done a great job in processing their grief, which is obviously ongoing, and are equipped to continue. I, strangely, was more worried about Grant who seemed to suppress his emotions a bit in the last several months - since mid-summer. The counselor suggested that he did not see anything alarming in Grant, rather that perhaps Grant was farther along in his grief process. Last week, during Grant's session, he finally spoke of Daddy. He claimed, as he does to me all the time, that he does not miss Dad. This initially broke my heart when he made this proclamation to me this summer. Still, he told the counselor again he did not miss Dad. And upon further discussion (through a game) he told the counselor that his Daddy wasn't hurting anymore. It must have been very difficult for Grant to come home from Kindergarten every day at lunch time last year and watch his Daddy - his male role model, his protector, his human superman - slowly deteriorate. Kids in essence want their parents strong and happy. Anyway, Grant was able to process what was happening to Brian as he witnessed it first-hand with me last Fall and Winter. And he has come to terms with it as being okay for him and okay for Brian. In the end, that is the place we all need to be.

(one step forward)

I do miss Brian immensely right now. I miss the laughter he brought to my life with his sarcastic, dry, witty comments. He was great at a quick one-liner. And he thought I was funny. To get a laugh these days, I have to do things like this: While Gavin was practicing typing his spelling words last week (another medium we try to use to change up the mundane task of printing the same 15 words 4 days a week), I took MY turn. I printed the words: "Gavin is a poopy head." Which had Grant in stitches. Then I typed: "Grant is a fart-face." Which had Gavin in stitches and opened a can of worms I wish had stayed sealed shut with what they continued to type the rest of the evening. Still, that is the level to which I have to resort to get a laugh.

(neither forward nor back, or is that just back??)

Also, I miss having a driver. I have been to my parents' (4 hours one way) twice since the last weekend of September. This past weekend we went to Indiana to see McKenna get baptized. (4 hours one way) This weekend, we are going to Paducah, KY to see Kevin, Heather and the kids in their new house (at least 5 hours one way). In two weeks, I am going to St. Louis (3 hours one way). All that driving and being the only driver gets really old. I long to be a passenger again - reading, taking care of snacks and movies for the kids, channel surfing or manning the IPOD, telling Brian he is driving too slow, complaining about the route Brian chose, you know, all that kind of passenger stuff...

(one step back)

Also, I miss Brian's touch. Oh my LORD, how I miss being touched by him. I miss simply holding his hand. I miss his warmth next to me at night and intertwining our feet while we slept. I miss resting my head in his lap on the couch while he played with my hair. I miss snuggling in the crook of his arm. And yes, I mean I miss his touch in every other way your mind is taking you right now. Holy Cow, if someone could just tell me how to shut this off, I would really appreciate it. Honestly, I PRAY for these desires to flee me. And I can't believe I am sharing this with you, but I was NOT prepared for this part.

(one step back)

I have done a lot of road time as I outlined above and I am soon to do even more road time. One of the things this ROAD TIME allows is opportunity to think. WAY TOO MUCH TIME TO THINK. Since the kids pretty much watch movies the entire way, my mind just marches all over the world and back again. I think about Brian and how I miss him. But, mostly, when I think of Brian now, I smile. My memories of Brian are good ones now. I am not so consumed with the week of his death as I was. I am not so much caught up in my guilt of how I stopped believing in his healing. I think about the man he was. I think about how inspiring he was. I think about the silly things he said and did. When I think of him, I smile more than cry. From what I research, that is a pretty big step in grieving.

(one step forward)

I, also, think about the future. As I stated before, when I think about the future I now think about a different future instead of pitying myself for the future that won't be. I think about where I want to live. I still don't know. Part of me wants to go back to St. Louis to be closer to my family. I have not lived in the same state or within 4 hours of my family since 1995. I would love to experience that. But, I know it is not so easy to just pick up and go somewhere I haven't lived in 15 years. And, to do that, would be to take on an identify in my world of 'single mom of two boys.' It would no longer be - 'Angie, widow of Brian.' I am not ready to take on my identity without Brian, yet.

(neither forward nor back)

Also, when I think about the future, I think about the boys and me. I really don't want to be alone. Right now, I MAY be saying that more from the loneliness I feel every day and from the human desires I spoke of a few paragraphs above. (is anyone still reading this far along anyway?). Still, when I think of myself in the future, I don't see myself alone. I think when you experience a love like Brian and I had - a mutual, respectful, nurturing, physical, encouraging, spiritual, Christ-centered LOVE - you can't help but want part of that again. It is not a desire to replace that love. It is not a desire to redirect loneliness. It is simply a desire to love again.

In the right time...

When my confusion is less and my priorities are better in line with Christ-like thinking...

If God wills it....

TMI???

I also think about what Brian would want for me and the boys. I credit Brian solely on my ability to begin a new outlook on the future for two reason. First of all, we were blessed in that we were able to have these conversations for years due to our circumstances. I know he wanted a new future for me and the boys. He spoke of it even while believing in his own potential future. And in knowing that, the guilt of thinking about it is subdued. Also, Brian rarely looked out on his life and lamented the "could have beens." Rather, he concentrated on the "here and nows" to get to where he wanted to be. He did not allow the fog and cycle of self-pity to enter his daily regimen of a good attitude and a positive outlook. I have no doubt if this situation were reversed, and it was I who had passed on to heaven, he would rejoice for where I was and would pick up the shattered pieces of his broken heart excited about the next adventure in his life. If I were in heaven, isn't that what I would want for him and my boys on earth until they joined me?

(one step forward)

Thanks for listening.

And now for something completely different....

That was for you, Babe. You LOVED it. Hopefully, Sean and John will appreciate it today and see a bit of you in it.

And even more different...

A few pictures because I haven't posted one in a long time...

Grant taking a pic of me doing a cartwheel. That's my game face. If only I could get my abs to be as cut as my calves. I'm working on it.

P.S. Yes, I am geeky enough to make sure I had a 2 to 1 ratio of forwards to backs. I may not keep a very clean house, but when the math doesn't add up, I have a sleepless night.

P.P.S. I would have chosen a different picture of myself, but since the camera went swimming in the lake in July, I have taken only a handful of photos and this is the most recent of me. AND, I wanted you to see that I still do cartwheels despite being 37 AND despite my grief. Sometimes there is no better therapy than a curse word or a cartwheel.

KEEP BELIEVING