Mom

My mom insisted on living independently. She wanted to live in the two-story house she and my dad built in the 70s, despite the fact that dad has been gone since 2016 and that house is far too much for her. Her care providers all kept telling us she was competent and there was nothing wrong with her making her own choices, despite our lifetime of knowledge of our mother, our love for her, and our desire that she be safe. 

So...she chose. 

She chose to be independent through her recovery from triple bypass surgery...independent while caring for diabetic wounds that wouldn't heal...independent while recovering from leg amputation...independent dealing with all the everyday activities that get harder and harder for us all as we age. She chose not to have professional in-home care. She wanted to be alone. People applauded this "independence" despite any concerns to the contrary. "She's tough...stubborn," they said, as if it was something that would protect her in her physically fragile state. 

And then she had a stroke and fell on the bathroom floor (or fell and had a stroke...we do not know the order of things). 

"She's so strong...she's so independent!" became "She was all alone!? Where were you children!?" Suddenly those very same independent choices people applauded became a condemnation of us...the people who literally begged her to choose otherwise (I want to physically fight everyone who says, "I'm so sad about your mom.") 

And mom...

She literally can't see...or remember. 

And there are no more real choices to be had. 

Because she laid on the bathroom floor alone for too long. Because she didn't get help soon enough. She is here...but not really. Now she really is alone...even when we are in the same room. 

From her hospital bed, she said to me, "I never thought this would happen to me." And I smile all the while I want to scream at her. WE knew. WE tried to get her to see this very possibility. But we were left with NO choice because she was beyond reason and made foolish...selfish...choices. 

I'm SO SO SO SO ANGRY about it. I'm SO SO SO SO ANGRY at her. And I'm SO SO SO SO SAD. I feel like she stole from us all. The pleasure of her company. The warmth of her heart. Her killer sense of humor. The light in her eyes. What remains is a fraction of what she could have had. 

And once again I come to this space (that I know she hasn't read in a very long time...that I know she CAN'T read now) to put "it" somewhere safe. To once again mourn what might have been...to let go of a life that only existed in my dreams. 

Later I'll go visit and she'll tell me the same stories two or three times...and I'll force a smile. And tomorrow we'll celebrate Mother's Day in the best way we can figure out how to do in this new normal. 

Because it is what it is and, as I've already learned all to well, there is no turning back time. 

But if anyone reads this...if you take nothing else from here, please take this advice...

Do not do this to your family...to the people that love you. Listen to them and respect them enough to really hear their concerns. You don't have to live in fear...you don't have to give up your independence entirely. But at least be realistic and put some plans in place to at least give yourself a fighting chance that your golden years will be golden...rather than filled with pain and sadness.

Everything is most certainly NOT under control

I feel like it's all slipping away. The harder I try to maintain control, the worse it gets.

Quarantine #1 due to the 7th grade basketball team.

My mother is aging and slipping into her own world where we cannot reach her.

My "adult" son failed out of his first semester at college.

There's a global pandemic and my social 13-year-old son isn't handling isolation well.

My job is in jeopardy because I don't have the right political affiliation.

My husband is a saint who takes care of so much...and yet I can't stop finding fault (only a very small portion of which is actually deserved).

Quarantine #2 due to 18-year-old's poor decision making skills.

Christmas is postponed for, at best, 14 days. At worst...forever.

That feeling of death stalking me is back. The fear is back.

I'd like to say I'm at peace no matter what happens. But that would be a lie. 

If something bad happens to my family (again) I don't know what I will do. 

The worst feeling is that I could've tried harder...done better...been kinder...seen more...worried less...

COVID emotions

Myles has been asked by the Middle School to quarantine due to possible covid exposure from an adult at his school. He will be in quarantine through his 13th birthday next Friday. By extension, I will be in quarantine because that\"s the safest thing to do. I can\"t help but feel all the feelings...

~I want to rant. Wear the damn mask. It doesn\"t take anything from you and it\"s such a small ask.

~I want to thank the contact who DID wear a mask. If we don\"t get sick it will be because s/he wore a mask and followed health protocols. I hope s/he has mild symptoms and recovers quickly.

~I want to cry because Sam can\"t come home from college for the weekend and Myles will miss his first basketball games (and any sort of birthday celebration). It\"s nothing in the grand scheme...I know...so many have lost so much...it all makes me so sad.

~I want to acknowledge my privilege. I currently have a job that allows me the flexibility to work from home so that I can do my part to stop this damn pandemic. (Thanks

Cecilia

) I also have resources and friends I can call on to help with the things that need done as the world keeps moving without us for two weeks.

~This isn\"t the worst thing to ever happen to me...so I want to recognize that with a grateful heart.

~I want to draft my will...because there is that fear.

~I want to talk about veterans...and how our society doesn\"t take care of them...and how shameful that is. See Faces of Covid on Twitter for profiles of veterans who\"ve been lost to the pandemic. See

Stop Soldier Suicide

and

National Coalition for Homeless Veterans

on Facebook. It\"s nice...the photos and the "thank you\"s"...but we can and should do better.

Living through a pandemic is an emotional roller coaster, that is for sure. Thanks for listening. I\"ll try to keep the belly-aching to a minimum this next week or so. [Posted on Facebook on Veteran\"s Day 2020]

Blog add:

~I want to complain about the election in which an incredibly qualified attorney did not get enough votes to retain her seat. I want to scream about how the person who did get the votes called and expected that she would be trained by the current officeholder! But I can\"t, because friends of friends...you know how that goes...the grapevine in a rural community is a nasty mess. And I need my job for the time being.

~I want to talk about being 48 years old and not wanting my career anymore. About being disillusioned with public service and my fellow public servants. I want to dream about possibilities that are far away from here...that make me smile instead of giving me migraine headaches.

~I want to talk about how it feels to have death constantly stalking you. Waiting for you to forget a mask or miss a streetlight or eat chicken that isn\"t fully cooked. I\"m exhausted. A teeny tiny virus/bacteria/germ killed my babies. I know the power of a teeny tiny virus. I keep trying to avoid the thoughts...but they always find me. Paranoia. Fear. Grief. Sadness. They won\"t leave me alone!

~I want to collapse somewhere and have someone take care of me without having to worry that they are just covering their insecurities too...knowing that they can handle it...and it WILL be ok.

Oh no Thomas Rhett

Ain't it funny how life changes
You wake up, ain't nothing the same and life changes
You can't stop it, just hop on the train and
You never know what's gonna happen
You make your plans and you hear god laughing
Life changes, and I wouldn't change it for the world, the world, oh no
And I wouldn't change it for the world, the world, oh no***

***there's always going to be that asterisk

I hope they forgive me

I hope my husband will forgive me for not being able to give him his dream of six kids.
I hope my son will forgive me for not being the mother he needed.
I hope they will forgive me for not making our home the place they wish it was.
I hope my mother will forgive me for keeping score.
I hope my father forgives me for missing who I wanted him to be...and not who he was.
I hope my friends forgive me for not knowing how to bridge the gap.
I hope my co-workers understand how I was...before.
I hope they will all forgive me for my unrelenting anxiety and the effect it has had on our lives.

File this in the unanticipated landmine category...

At Sam's senior portrait session (I KNOW...I can't believe it either)...

...AFTER the small-talk, "So how many kids do you have?" (That I managed to navigate without crying..."Just the two boys.")

G (photographer's husband/assistant): "Oh...you have horses...do you ride?"

Me: "No...we just never finished the training."

G: "How long have you had them?"

Me: "16 years."

G: "OMG...that's hilarious!"

Me: "Well life happened..."

G: "I thought it was like a year or two...max (laughing hysterically)."

Me: (laughing along and suddenly falling down that familiar spiral...thinking...well I was pregnant or recovering from one dead baby delivery or another for several of those years...and then I was so iron-deficient I could barely breathe...but nobody gave a fuck because they just chalked it up to my being depressed and fat...so...)

"Hey Sam...smile!"

Another October

It's over. October. Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month.

Granted societal permission to air the thoughts I'm supposed to keep to myself for the other eleven months of the year.

I can't do it. I won't do it. I'm not interested.

I remember the first day I cried so hard I thought I wouldn't survive. Do you?

I cried so many times like that...

...in the car...in my office...in the shower...in my bed...on the kitchen floor.

Where were you then?

I remember the last day I cried like that...when I finally thought, "This is it...I cannot grieve anymore like this."

It was in October...and I was alone.

So you'll forgive me if I'm not going to crack wide open for you during this...or any other...month that you deem acceptable.

You'll have to understand if I'm not interested in your pretty graphic logos and inspirational messages.

I won't be walking with other "parents who understand."

November 1st doesn't hold any magical power to make me miss them any less.

And since I'm used to spending time alone with my grief...I'm going to keep it that way during October too.

Anxiety

So here's the thing that happened after my father-in-law, my babies, and my dad all died suddenly (without any explanation)...

Anxiety.

I cannot outrun it (I'm not kidding...I've actually started walking/running).

I am terrified I am going to die suddenly (with or without an explanation).

Every little ache or pain is now a harbinger of death (and Dr. Google is not helping).

It's irrational...but I can't NOT think about it.

So I'm starting projects again.

Fake it till ya make it, right?

Not sure this blog will be one of those projects...but I think there is something cathartic about writing out all the garbage that's floating around in my brain.

In the meantime, I just hope I don't die.

Home

Yesterday, the pink walls of my sisters old bedroom whispered to me about the life we had...about what we have...and I was overwhelmed.
Friday night records played on the stereo Dad built himself from a kit.
Mom in the kitchen making hamburgers and fried potatoes.
Roller skating around the pool table.
Dad going golfing every Saturday morning.
Scuffing slippers on the carpet in order to build up static and zap each other.
Sundays with Dad lying on the living room floor watching football or baseball or basketball (and usually falling asleep and snoring).
The long gone swing set put together by Dad and Grandpa, with it's barbershop pole color scheme...white and metallic blue and metallic red.
The purple of the guest bedroom...changed from cheerful yellow after my sister moved into her pink bedroom the basement.
Dad pulling out his guitar and playing a song or two. I only know the refrain of Delta Dawn.
Staying home with a babysitter while Mom and Dad went to bowling league.
The metal roof of the old doghouse in the backyard sitting on top of what remains of the rotten wood structure that seems to have melted into the ground.
Homemade birthday cakes.
Riding bikes up and down the street.
Mom in her bedroom reading a romance novel.
The yellow and white bench at the kitchen table.
The blue of the office...once my brother's room.
Saturday afternoon trips to Kmart and the carton of Whoppers shared during the car ride home...before he was "too tired from golfing."
My husband tightening the wrought iron railing for my mom...who used to tell us, "Don't lean over the railing."
The shelf my Dad built me to hold my ceramic unicorn collection.
The Smuckers box that came from Dad's employer one xmas...filled with little ice cream sundae cups and Smuckers ice cream toppings.
The laughter while writing "Griswold Christmas lights" on the outside of that Smuckers box after the ice cream supplies were unpacked...to store the xmas tree lights.
The xmas party where my sister and I wore matching long blue dresses our mom had made. I got Colorforms from Santa Claus.
The station wagon trips to Indiana (the barf coffee can for the trip home where I had the flu).
The organ I taught myself xmas carols on.
The big soft couch that came from my aunt and was way more comfortable than the one my parents had in the living room...but they put it in the basement.
Sitting on that couch with my only high school boyfriend and watching the little black and white tv while making out.
Coming home from school to an empty house on my 16th birthday...but there was a balloon and a card and a gift on the kitchen table. Mom got me the Timex watch I'd been begging for.
Dad's chair...that nobody but Mom will sit in now.

There wasn't much connection in that house. Maybe that's why these random things seem to suffocate me when I am there. I have these "nice" memories...but that house is not home. It's not a place I ever felt totally comfortable. "Because I said so," and, "As long as you live in my house," were phrases I heard often. It was like I was a visitor throughout my whole childhood...just stopping by on my way to something else. Not allowed to ask questions. Expected to mind my own business.

And so I did.

So now I go there and there are so many things I don't recognize. Maybe that's why the things I do remember stand in such contrast.

My Dad died

Thanksgiving was lovely.

 

And then my Dad died. 

 

It still doesn't seem real...so maybe that's why I keep hearing my own voice in my head saying, "My Dad died." It's not my mom's voice telling me...like what actually happened. It's my own voice...repeating.

 

My Dad died.

 

It's like I need to remind myself that things have changed. That he's not here anymore.

 

My Dad died.

 

It's so different from losing the babies. It's definitely filled with more regret, anger, and...I don't know...unresolved feelings. I mean, my dad has always been there. He wasn't my most vocal cheerleader. He wasn't anyone's cheerleader. He didn't really use supportive words much. He wasn't warm and cuddly. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I can remember him saying "I love you." He wasn't open with his stories or life experiences. In fact, I think he subscribed to the belief that children should be seen and not heard. But he was always there. And now...there are just the words in my head...

 

My Dad died.

 

Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer in May of 2015. He did everything he could. He followed the doctors' advice. He was doing well. His numbers were good. Thanksgiving was lovely. It was all so normal. And then he got sick overnight with flulike symptoms. And then he went to the hospital. And then Saturday morning his heart stopped. And that was that.

 

My Dad died.

 

As a child, every night before bed, I would kiss him on the cheek and say, "Love you, Dad." And he would respond with "Uh-huh" or "goodnight" or "shape up." Now, with my own children, I am certain to say "I love you" first. I never want them to wonder, like I sometimes still do.

 

My Dad died.

 

I should have visited him more this summer. I was busy and he was grumpy. And he had a new dog to keep him busy. I don't think I sent a Father's Day card this year. But we saw Fourth of July fireworks together. And we went for lunch at the beginning of July to celebrate both Father's Day and Mom's birthday, like we did every year. But I can't remember...what were my last words to him? Did I kiss him goodbye? I should have gone to see him in the hospital that last day. Instead, I went out for cheesecake and a strawberry daiquiri. I went and looked at art. And when I did go to the hospital I didn't go to his room because I didn't want him to be annoyed with me. I should have risked his annoyance. But I just thought he was sick.

 

I didn't think he was going to die.

 

Was he scared? Did he know he was dying? Why did he wait to go to the hospital? There aren't any answers, I know. He's just gone. And we have to figure out how we all fit together as a family without him being there. I don't know how to reconcile my own roles of mother and child so that they make sense in this. Christmas Eve was awful. Everyone smiled and did the best they could. But his recliner sat empty (nobody sat in it all day). Christmas day was awful. I couldn't bring myself to prepare his favorites...because he wasn't there.

 

My Dad died.

 

Notoriously hard to buy Christmas presents for, my Dad was the only one I had completed my shopping for by Thanksgiving. His beloved Cubs had won the World Series and I had the best gifts for him. I was ready. He would have loved them.

 

My Dad died.

 

And now my mom is alone. And I don't know what she needs. And the thought of her alone makes me sad. With the babies, I mourned for what could have been. But there weren't 45 years of memories to remind me of what I had lost...what I would never experience again. I think it makes me sadder. And angrier. The two of them did such a good job of building their own adventure together without me and my family...that I don't know how we fit...how we are supposed to fit. It feels like there is a piece missing.

 

My Dad died.

 

There have been quite a few pop culture icons to die this year. And people my age say they feel like their childhoods are disappearing. And I want to scream...

 

MY DAD DIED!

Not who I used to be

Today, for the first time in a long time, I cooked something. We've been eating out or my husband has been cooking...for a pretty long time now.

Today I was asked, "Did you send that email?" and I had to respond with, "I forgot."

Today I took a phone call from a client who was following up on an issue he brought to my attention last Tuesday. I haven't had a chance to do the necessary research and I could hear his disappointment in his voice.

It's little things like this that make me feel again all that has changed. I used to be so capable. I used to be able to multi-task. While I never "enjoyed" my work, the challenge it presented was rewarding.

It's been eleven years since Alex...ten since Travis...six since the unnamed baby...and I still can't come to grips with who I am now. I just now realized I don't want to stuff who I am now into the life of who I used to be. I've been trying and it is NOT working. That me is gone...and she isn't coming back.

I look around and see people with passion. People who make a difference. People who are able to inspire others. That is not me.

May redux

I made it through May! and June! and I thought I was in the clear for another year! and then we had to put Rory to sleep. He couldn't stand, was incontinent, filled with tumors all over his bony body, and he stopped eating and drinking...so it was definitely time. But at the vet's office, he still tried to wag his tail. The vet tech said that's what they do...they try to stay with us as long as they can...even when their bodies fail them. I wanted to take comfort in that...but it just started my mind turning. He WANTED to stay...but his body wouldn't let him.

 

Anyone else hear that old familiar song playing in the background?

 

I know...I know...the frailty of the human existence and all that. It's tragic and beautiful all at the same time. There are forces that no amount of love can defeat. That's just life. And death.

 

From the moment Sam came home from the hospital, he was Rory's boy. Sam's 14 now...and Rory is gone. Life moves on...without regard to what we want.

 

 

Rest in peace, Roo-Roo. I hope there is love and light wherever you are. We love you and we will miss you.

Another May

Jill has died and her daughter will celebrate her 10th birthday in nine days without her. All three of her daughters will celebrate all of their birthdays without her from now on.

 

A friend reminded me that today would have been Lisa's 46th birthday. I miss her. I hope she greets Jill with a big hug and an even bigger bottle of wine.

 

In six days I will celebrate Mother's Day and commemorate the deaths of my babies...on the same day.

 

As Jill would say, it's just wrong...all of it.

 

If anyone needs me, I'll be the curled up in a corner waiting for May to be over.

Anniversary or midlife crisis...take your pick

April 8th is here...so I'm going to complain here about some other things...in the hopes that they might distract me from...well...ALL OF IT.

Bankruptcy is over. But I messed up my bookkeeping and we owe a hefty federal income tax bill. Good thing we weren't planning a vacation this year. And good thing my husband isn't the "WTF were you doing?" type (which seems totally unfair...because I've realized I AM that type and I criticize WAY TOO much...but I digress). The thing is this...I have things I want to do...but I have ZERO patience and ZERO money. I want it all NOW. I don't want to have to plan and save and work (sheesh...I sound like Veruca Salt...but I'm not asking for luxury things...just normal everyday things).

My shower's been busted for more than a year. I have to use "the cats' bathroom." You know the one...with the kitty litter that is ALWAYS on the tile to step on...no matter HOW MANY TIMES I sweep it up. And I have to walk from one end of the house to the other...which is..."invigorating" is a good word for it.

My kitchen. One word...gross. There is a HOLE in the floor under my refrigerator. Not a small one...but one that critters obviously can fit through. The wall that my son divested of wallpaper SIX YEARS AGO is still in the same post-peel state (and yellow...SO yellow). But oh-my-heck...the THOUGHT of tearing it all up and re-doing it...yuck!

I desperately want a photography studio. I've found several options. But thanks to that hefty tax bill, I no longer have the money. Add to this the fact that I am not happy in my job and today is April 8th...and you have one surly b**** on your hands.

My body has widened and/or my husband has shrunk a lot of my clothes...so nothing fits (and I hate whatever does fit). So I need new clothes for work (at home I'm perfectly satisfied to wear pajamas).

I want to go bike-riding with my family. My husband has a broken bike tire. WHY WON'T HE TAKE IT IN TO BE FIXED?!?!

Both cars need repairs.

The horses need their hooves trimmed (*My husband is taking care of this this morning!).

I need to go to the DMV...it doesn't even matter why...I mean...it's the DMV...kill me now.

I need a camera battery and high-quality SD cards for my weddings this year.

The floors are filthy because it's spring thaw time and I have nine dogs. WHY the f*** do I have NINE dogs? Oh...I love them...but SOME DAYS...sigh...

I know, I know, I know...take it one thing at a time...

Dear Spring...f*** off!

It's that time of year again. I feel it headed at me like a freaking freight train. April 8th...May 8th...May 11th... 

I don't want to wish time away...there is so precious little of it. 

So I'm trying to be busy.

Paying taxes. Planning the summer. Creating welcome gifts for my photography clients. Binge watching Supergirl with my boys. Eating takeout way too much. Wearing sandals even though it's only 37 degrees out. Yelling at my family over stupid stuff. Thinking about gardening again (that's a whole other post). Searching real estate listings for a photography studio space. Faking my way through meetings at my day job. Figuring out my new camera. Surfing Pinterest for kitchen remodel ideas. 

More good than bad. I just wish it wasn't such work to enjoy chirping birds in a bright blue cloudless sky. Maybe someday I'll get there?

Life after loss with an 8-year-old

Myles: "Mom, what does TLC mean? Oh...yeah...right...Travis Leo Colgan. What's Dad bringing home for lunch?"

Ten years

It is impossible to describe what it is like to live ten years with a broken heart. Patched and sewn together pieces that never really quite fit back together the way they should. 

How can the feeling of him be so far away while the pain of losing him still hurts so much? 

Alex would be ten if he had lived. Ten. So many things we've missed...so many more we will miss.

The idea that this will go on for the rest of my life makes me feel sick to my stomach. 

When you don't medal in the Pain Olympics

I didn't struggle to keep my babies alive. There weren't any complications to deal with. My babies weren't born alive. They didn't face their own struggles to stay alive. They just died. One day they were alive and kicking inside me and the next day they were dead. No warning. No choices to be made. I suppose it wasn't the worst it could be. It still wasn't easy.

Closed up shop

It seems like the only way for me to visit "those days" is to read something written by someone else. And so I don't...but I want to.

I selfishly closed up this blog because I can't stand the thought of anyone else joining my circle. Not out of any concern for them...but for me. Selfish. That makes me one of the people who can't or won't understand...can't or won't lend support. And that makes me ashamed.

Even more shameful, I don't want potential clients stumbling upon my blog and reading my truth. They are young and in love and starting out on a path where nothing bad will likely happen to them for a while. I don't want to scare them off of my photography. I need to hide. And that makes me sad.

I wish I could say that everything has made me a better person. But in a lot of ways, I'm a worse person. I am self-involved. Very self-involved. I'm less likely to give a crap. I'm less likely to be "present" or "involved." And that disgusts me. 

My friends live in my computer. We joke about it. But it's not a joke. I feel lonely. And that makes me bitter and angry. What is so wrong with me? The problem is, I already know the answer to that. 

I want to revisit "those days" when, where, and how I want to. I want to read and write and cry at my keyboard. I resent that doing so makes me feel guilty. I resent that I can't focus on myself without feeling shame. I resent that I have to shut the door and hide. I resent that everything seems to have more meaning than it should. 

I just want to truly feel happy again.

School starts

First and seventh grades. I love them so much...and yet there are these missing pieces.

I read this article this morning and it describes perfectly what I'm feeling.

• He’s been gone far too long to stay in the present.
• It hurts that an entire school day will happen today without anyone realizing someone was missing.
• I have two other children of my own. I get it. I really do. But I want to scream to these parents– YOU ARE SO LUCKY!!!!! YOU ARE SO BLESSED TO SEND YOUR CHILD OFF TO SCHOOL. YOU ARE SO BLESSED TO WATCH YOUR CHILD GROW ANOTHER YEAR OLDER!!!!

Put simply, my babies are still dead and I still miss them every day.

But I'm not allowed to say that anymore. My "loss" isn't as enormous as some. Yet it is more than "normal" people want to hear about. So there is nobody to talk to about how much this hurts.

Second and third grade classes will go on today without Alex and Travis. My husband will work at home with no four-year-old baby to interrupt his work. Their names won't be included in any attendance roll call. Nobody will mention their names today.

Here's to another school year.