Senior Year Cancelled

Our first son came into this world as we were mourning September 11, 2001. Life had changed in ways we never imagined.

I remember this overwhelming feeling looking at him in the hospital bassinet. How would I do this? How would I love him and protect him and make his childhood a happy one? How would I teach him to be a good person? How would I show him how to find happiness in this life? In that moment, it occurred that there might be worse things during his childhood. But it was still so unreal to me...we'd surely met our limit of bad things that could happen during a person's lifetime...the awful couldn't touch this beautiful baby boy again...I would see to it.

Then there was so much more loss and grief...so personal...so awful...that consumed our little family for what seemed like an eternity. And our boy learned to adapt...to things never imagined.

Things are out of our control...yet again. COVID-19...Novel Coronavirus...Global Pandemic...Quarantine...Schools Closed...Senior Year Over.

Not a damn thing I can do about it.

You'd think I'd be a pro at this by now. I should be able to acknowledge my lack of control and move on. Nobody (that we know) has died. There are people suffering with so much worse things during this mess.

And yet, there is still a part of my brain trying to find a way to "make it right" somehow. Like I can't let go of the idea that I can fix this. It's frustrating and infuriating and making me very sad...again.

Seriously? A worldwide health pandemic now?

One day I'm going to write a book that nobody will believe could possibly be the truth.

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.

First born

You think I'd be good at this for all the saying goodbye and letting go I've had to do. But I read this and was reduced to sappy sentimental tears.

 

I miss my son. My living, breathing, 14-year-old, full of opinions, addicted to video games, first born who used to share everything with me. The Wiggles. Thomas the Tank Engine. Pokémon. Hating reading. School. Loving reading. His love of comfort over fashion. His inherited tendency to expect too much from everyone and everything. Ways to cope with his perceived shortcomings. His unshakeable faith in me. His growing belief that he knows everything.

 

Adolescence has now taken hold and he has become much less inclined to share. Given enough time, asking the right questions, I can usually wheedle information out of him. Tell me one thing you learned today. Tell me one thing interesting that happened today. How are your friends doing? What did you have for lunch? What happened in band today? Is there anything you need for school?

 

He's in high school now. With high school classes and high school friends and high school activities...and I never see him. There's just no time to persuade him to share with his old mom. He's always working on something or going somewhere or too tired to talk to me.

 

Today is Friday which means marching band at the football game. I'll see him for the ten minutes it takes to drive to the stadium...and then after the game I'll cart his exhausted body home where he will promptly brush his teeth and fall into bed. And I'll stand in his doorway and watch him sleep and wonder how to deal with this letting go. It's not the same as the permanent goodbyes that fate has forced me to experience. It's a slow goodbye that is supposed to happen.

 

I know this.

I do.

I'm working on it.

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...

First time mom

My Baby Sam is thirteen years old...going to be fourteen. And I'm still a first time mom. While the baby and toddler stuff was manageable and the grade school stuff was frustrating, this teenager stuff...this guiding him into adulthood...I'm completely lost. I'm even checking out parenting books again!

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?"

Miscellaneous thoughts

It's been a while...but it's time for a Friday miscellaneous thoughts!
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Myles lost a front tooth...I don't remember when...but it seems like it's taking a much longer time than it should to grow in an adult tooth. I'm obsessing over this tooth. I've searched photos from the last year to try to pinpoint when it fell out...to decide when I should be worried enough to take him to the dentist (for what, I'm certain, will be some horribly painful procedure to install a fake tooth). Yeah. So...I'm a bit mental.
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I'm realizing that I am not who I want to be. The personality traits that I have despised for many years are popping up in my own personality...but I'm too tired (all.the.time) to do a dang thing about it. Or maybe that's an excuse. Whatever. I just need to find "happy" and "nice" again...somewhere.
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I have two dogs I don't want. I love them as much as I can...but I never wanted them. I took them as fosters and then my relationship with the animal welfare organization fell apart and the dogs just sort of stayed with me. They are sweet dogs. There's no reason not to want them. Except I don't want them...and I'm not sure what I'm going to do about it.
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Our bankruptcy was discharged in December. Now we need to save our pennies and buy a new (to us) car. I don't really like being an adult.
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Today's lunch is pepperoni, mozzarella cheese, and Fritoes (is that suppose to be spelled with an e? or no? is it like potatoes/potatos? Either way...real healthy.).
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Speaking of healthy...I have a fitbit. I've had it since July and it hasn't motivated me all that much. I'm thinking they should include some sort of electric shocker in it to make lazy asses like mine move as intended.
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It's time to change the photos that adorn my office walls. I've done local "landmarks" in black and white...and flowers/nature in color...what should I do next? It's winter here...so there's not a lot of choices. I'm going to have to find some inspiration. Pinterest, here I come!
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Where we are today

So...I can see I've only used this place as a dumping ground for a while. I know it's no fun to read...so I locked it down so nobody can read. I'd say it defeats the purpose of writing it...but I'm not sure what the purpose of writing it actually is anymore.

The last we left our little hamlet, the older boy was entering middle school and the younger was entering kindergarten. Then there was a lot of random grief and self-pity here for a couple years. And now here we are. The older boy is on the verge of graduating middle school and the younger boy is astonishing us all with his mastery of second grade skills. So here's the roundup 2016 Xmas letter I didn't send...for my benefit and yours.

Sam has not adjusted well to the demands of middle school. For the most part, his grades are average because he is not motivated and he has ZERO organizational skills. I'm hoping he'll get there...to that point where he "gets it" and is willing to make the personal investment. But I fear he's a little more laid back than that (like his father...which is very distressing for me/the planner-and-rule-follower). He plays the trombone really well for his age...and he seems to enjoy it (we just paid it off yesterday...so I hope he enjoys it for a while longer). In exchange for a car ride home from school every day, he is now practicing...which I hope will serve him well in high school band.

Myles proudly told me that he is the BEST reader in his class and he is reading at a FIFTH grade level (he is the ONLY one in his class who is allowed to read that level). He has terrible handwriting...an inherited trait that no amount of practice is going to overcome, I'm afraid. That's ok...he's learning early that it's ok to not be perfect. He has decided that this year our new year's resolution is "to be more positive (yay!)." I'm along for the ride...and it has definitely helped me find a smile a couple of times I probably wouldn't have otherwise.

Steve is Steve. Unshakable. Unbreakable. Like a rock. This is good and bad...but neither of us is a saint...so I guess I'll leave that alone.

Me? Well...I'm not sure who I am anymore. I hate my job at the Prosecutor's office, but I can't afford to quit it without causing further financial damage (our bankruptcy was just discharged...so I should at least pretend to be an adult for a while). I love my job as a photographer...but my business is not at the stage I would like it to be...and that is frustrating me somewhat. I'm overweight and I wear a fitbit...but my treadmill is very very very quiet. My children would love to eat meals at the dining room table...but when I sit at the table, I see all the things wrong with my house [the home improvement sort of stopped for a while]...so I eat upstairs in bed or in the office (I REALLY want to modify this behavior...I think it will be good for all of us...but the house just needs so much work and it's exhausting just thinking about it). I don't think this is depression...I think this is mid-life...and, quite honestly, it ain't all that wonderful. I know I could do things to live with more intention...be present...create meaning...zzzzzzzz. It's hard to get excited about anything when you realize the best Christmas gift you received was a humidifier. I mean...really...I love that thing...and now I feel OLD!

This is fun...I think I'm going to try to make this a habit. I feel all kinds of guilt and sadness that so many years were lost in grief and sadness. So I'm working hard to make up for it. Disneyland in 2014. Washington DC in 2015. Goal...Ireland in 2017 or 2018 (fingers crossed). But I also need to do better with the daily record. I need to create something so my children will know that I wasn't always this miserable creature with a broken heart. Honestly...the BEST moments of every day are when I arrive home and I hear, "Is that mom? MOMMY!" [and they come running to greet me with hugs and kisses...both of them]. I love those moments...and I want to remember them forever. And since my mind is less and less likely to actually REMEMBER anything...I think I should write these things down.

Yeah...more fun...less woe-is-me! Here we go!

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.