Lost in the Supermarket

Yesterday I found an old notebook that I used to keep track of things when I was preparing to move down here from WA.  It held lists of house repairs, donations for the Goodwill, things to save for our garage sale, crap to haul to the dump, items to give away to friends.  There was a tremendously long TO DO list in Phil’s handwriting that I had dictated to him while we were driving in the car one day.  This was followed by page after page of errands that I had run in the days and weeks leading up to our departure ~ groceries, packing lists, dentist and doctor visits, car tune ups, and friends to whom we’d need to say good-bye.  There was even a pro and con list of reasons for moving to San Diego.

And then, on one lone page, tucked among these lists, was a notation long forgotten. 

Phil – another illness?

You see, at that point Phil was already in the beginning stages of what would eventually be diagnosed as lymphoma.  But at the time his symptoms were non-specific, very uncharacteristic for lymphoma and frankly, confounding.  While packing up and making the transition to CA he and I were also trying to figure out what was going on with him.  He saw his internist, a neurologist and a specialist in Seattle.  He went to the ER in incredible pain.  The best we could come up with by the time we left was that he might be developing another autoimmune disorder.  In reality, it only took about 6 more weeks for the lymphoma to clearly declare itself.

I’ve talked about my little journals before.  How they held my notes during his illness and contained my brain when I had little to no sleep and couldn’t trust myself to remember details.  They funded each and every blog post I wrote during that terrible hard time.  They are a record of his treatment, his intense suffering, his humility and ultimately his release.  They are sacred because they contain notations like the one I found yesterday that might pull me up short, but remind me of other times and other places that were real and were different.  They show me that time passes and things do change.  More on that later. 

There is a song lyric that Phil would quote from time to time when was overwhelmed or couldn’t make a decision.  “I’m all lost in the supermarket.”  Such genius lyrics these are, from The Clash.  It became a code between us when we were at a loss, literally or figuratively.  We loved the idea of feeling lost in the "supermarket", a metaphor for our everyday life.   When you can't understand what's going on with you or in your relationships and that stops the normal flow of your days - the "shopping" as it were.

Well, Daddio, I'm all lost in the supermarket.  

I feel like this more often than I'd like to.  Suddenly it's like I can't do what I was easily doing everyday and it's because of something that's lacking in me, and those voids aren't easy to fill.  What's lacking stems from the tremendous hole in my life where you used to be.  That’s obvious of course, but I'm struggling to understand how I lost so much of myself in your death.  I have been profoundly diminished.  

I still can't bring myself to hang any pictures of Phil in the new house.  Like a bad part of town or a corner of the woods you wouldn’t be caught in after dark, I've been skirting around that area of life for the last little while.  I've given myself lots of reasons why I haven't put any up but truth be told, I've been hiding out.  It's just too painful.  There are a few scattered pictures sitting on shelves but the entire folder full of pictures that I collected for his memorial sits untouched in my fire proof safe.  And I can’t bring myself to hang our wedding picture.  It still sits in my closet, right where Trenna put it when we moved in.  One small example of all lost in the supermarket.  

Phil is gone.  Now we are three. I get up every day and lean into the future with my kids.  I'm much more easily frustrated. I lose my temper and yell more.  I pick my battles and try to do my best.  It's ridiculously hard being a single parent, being a 45 year old widow, desiring to be fabulous on occasion all the while recovering from a nuclear disaster.  I do have good days, don't get me wrong and we are making progress.  I’m getting closer but I’m also shocked by where I find myself.  I don’t judge it, but I’m shocked by how little progress I've made.  The relief of his death and the end to his suffering has now passed.  Now I'm on to a deeper grief ~ missing the healthy and vibrant man I loved and lived with all those years before.  I’m just beginning to really grieve.  It's a good, hard and very sad development.  

But I trust my journals, things do change, eventually.  They always do.

A Matter of Perspective

Today it seems that every area of my life needs attention and there aren't enough hours in the day let alone enough psychic energy to bring to the fore.  It stems from buying a house and trickles down from there with things like printing/signing/faxing documents for loan papers, includes calling my landlord to repair the leak that exists in my laundry room since the heater was installed as well as doing umpteen loads of laundry before taking my adolescent-chew-anything-and-everything hound to the dog park before I make a rash adoption plan for him because I don't want him to ruin my new house.  Then there's the social security administration that has complicated my life by not paying the kid's portion of benefits this month so that I have to spend hours on the phone with them rectifying the situation (not to mention the fact that I need to get this is in order pronto for my underwriters!).  


Did I mention that my car is starting to smell bad and is a debris field from the last week of frenzied activity of rushing to school in the mornings and baseball practices in the afternoons?  Oh, and Bennett missed two days of school last week with asthmatic bronchitis and then spent 3 hours in the ER last weekend so he could get 3 stitches in his head after hitting it on the bathtub.  Juvenile antics, that's all I'm going to say.  He asked me if Daddy would be proud of him for how brave he was getting his stitches and it pained me to tell him that Daddy wouldn't be too happy to be in the ER at 2 a.m.  Sorry little buddy but the truth hurts sometimes.  Oh, and that'll be $500 please.  Thanks. : )  


I detail all the above because I very easily get caught up in the crap of my life.  There is more I could tell you that went on these last few weeks but I feel badly just reciting a litany of complaints.  I know my life is hard because of my grief process and my new found singularity but I also know I must pray and fight against the tendency to focus on the negative.  It is all soooooooooooooo easy to do.


So, let me tell you about some wonderful women God has placed in my life.  Melanie is a teacher in my son's grade (4th) and she lives just down the street.  God put a burden on her heart to ask me if I wanted to do a bible study with her and another mother, Elizabeth, she knew from a previous classroom who was also a widow.  Melanie was bold and followed God's lead and I said yes!  Melanie has an infectious charm and energy and for those of you in WA, reminds me of Sammie Simons!  She has a smile and a hug for everyone and is positive and radiant and loves the Lord.  She is a few years older than me and I immediately considered her a friend and mentor.  She loves my children and her family is incredible!!  We have met several times and although Satan tries to foil our plans we continue to find ways to get together although I still haven't met Elizabeth!!


Julie also meets with us and she has 3 wonderful kids who are unique and fit so well with my kids.  "O2" is Julie's daughter Olivia and my Olivia's buddy from first grade.  She and her sister Josie and "O1" love to play American Girls together and have all-girl parties complete with signs (No Boys Allowed)!  Julie's son Max and Bennett are all-boy and play Little League together, ride BMX and shoot air soft guns when they are not playing on the Wii or Playstation.  It's a lovefest all around.  And Julie is real.  She is honest and open and wanting more and is in continual pursuit of the Lord as well. She is spicy and sassy and fun!  Did I mention that she and her husband own a fantastic sushi restaurant?


Jann also lives right up the street and has taken me under her wing in so many small ways. Every once in a while my phone will buzz with a text and it's Jann, checking in on me to see how my heart and my head are.  She always checks on my migraines and my spirit and I love her for that.  She knows how bad both can get and she never forgets me.  She also has a real sweet spot for Olivia and has watched her for me several times, creating some beautiful fun crafts with her and treating her like a real special guest.  Jann consistently prays for us and know's what it's like to raise strong-willed children.  Her presence in the background is comforting and encouraging.


Lastly and not least, Trenna continues to be my stalwart bedrock.  She was, she is and she will be there.  My love for her grows more with each passing day.  I wouldn't have made it through any of this without her confident grace and reassurance.  God was a genius ~ knitting us together at the age of 6, for such a time as this!


So there you have it.  Things can seem pretty bad circumstantially but it's the people around you that make the difference.  I don't have Phil by my side but God has provided a cloud of powerful women to fill in the gaps and they are mighty indeed.  I know I need to focus on what He has given me amidst all this trouble the world deals out.  Because one thing I know for sure, this world will continue to deal out trouble.  Grab your friends and give thanks to "God, who causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them."  Romans 8:28

Happy Birthday Babe!

Today is Phil's birthday, he would have been 50.  His dying young is a tragedy in itself but it hurts more today to know that he didn't even make 50.  Phil always acted and looked younger than his age and people were usually shocked to find out that he was as "old" as he was.  We tended to run with a younger crowd and as the oldest of our friends he actually took pride in being one of the most physically fit ~ although being Phil, he never flaunted it or rubbed anyone's face in it.  It is just who Phil was.  When we met in 1994 he had just moved from Park City, UT to Durham, NC for PA school and had been doing a lot of high altitude trail running.  He'd spent hours at a time running the ski trails for fun... a total nut job I tell you!  When he met his classmate  David Huish, a fellow trail running madman from Farmington, Maine, it was Kismet (a Turkish word meaning fate or destiny).  They immediately sized one another up and ran each other to their limits, getting lost on their first run together in the Duke forest and running further than they probably intended too ~ loving every minute and forging a friendship that would carry them through the challenges of PA school, young married life, their careers, starting families, and the crucible of cancer.


When he was diagnosed with Type I Diabetes several years ago (an autoimmune adult onset type) Phil became even more zealous about his fitness and controlling his blood sugar became extremely important to him.  His HGB A1C (hemoglobin A1C - a measure of blood sugar control) was always excellent and below what was desirable for him.  He exceeded expectations and went the extra mile, making sure that his health came first.  He was always on time for check ups, always reading about his disease, and always running, biking and exercising.  


So it was shocking when he of all people got sick.  It was not supposed to happen to Phil.  He took such good care of himself.  He looked younger than he was.  He was strong. He didn't deserve it.  But that's the thing with cancer.  No one deserves it.  And that's the thing with getting sick.  No one sees it coming and no one is immune.  It just happens and it happens to good, strong people who you love.


All week I've been anticipating feeling sad and having a difficult time with today.  But then this morning I heard a story on NPR that helped me feel better.  A husband and wife were talking about their 18 or 20 yr old son who had died of mononucleosis and the wife's tremendous grief for 5 years after.  She said that one day her husband asked her if she'd known ahead of time that this would happen to them, would she have traded the short time they had with their son?  Without missing a beat she said "No, I wouldn't trade having loved him for a second."  


That's what I needed to hear this morning.  I wouldn't have traded a minute loving and knowing Phil either.  Today is about celebrating that Phil lived, not that he died.  He lived life fully and fought hard to continue living.  I miss him because he left such a huge impression on my life and that of my kids, family and friends.  Join me in celebrating a life well lived and cut short too soon.     

Thinking About You

"Do you think of Phil very often?" was the question my sister asked me as we were wrapping up our New Year's weekend together.  It was with some difficulty that I struggled to answer.  You'd think it would be a simple "yes" or "no" but instead I spent the next several minutes trying to put into words what my experience has been during the last six or seven weeks since he died.  It was a challenging task because I am embarrassed to admit that I don't think of him as often as I think I "should".  


I struggle to describe exactly what my grief has been like.  Phil died in mid-November and before I knew it along came Thanksgiving, usually my favorite time of year.  Then there was the rush of Christmas and the challenge to make it as special and joyful as possible for the kids.  It all ended up a mixture of many stressful, surreal and thankfully, a few beautifully sublime moments.  (So long 2011, don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out).


Then just a day or so ago a friend sent me a link to an interview with Patrick Swayze's wife detailing her grief and the struggles she had taking care of him during his 22 months with pancreatic cancer.  I read that she initially thought of Patrick every three or four minutes for the first few weeks.  Holy crap!  I can't even imagine what that was like.  I so don't relate!  At first blush I felt bad that I wasn't like that.  


But something dawned on me and I felt immense relief at my insight and I took compassion on myself for not having dwelled on Phil these last weeks.  You see, from the moment Phil received his diagnosis I'd done nothing but think of him.  My life's dreams and passions ceased to move forward and all hands were on deck for the fight for Phil's life.  So began my journey with balancing the battle with cancer, motherhood and maintaining my sanity ~ all of which I kept spinning like plates in a carnival side show.  So now, to step back emotionally and not think of Phil all the time, let alone every three or four minutes, is a respite I have needed for a long time. To give myself permission to not feel guilty about it has been liberating.  And it's not the first time I've had to give myself this kind of permission...sheesh.  


In point of fact, what has happened is a transposition of sorts.  Now I think of my children most of the time.  I think of their grief and the anger they are exhibiting and of how I can parent them better especially now that I am alone (though not).  I constantly think about their future and of all the things I now need to provide for them in accordance with the collective vision Phil and I had together to shape their budding characters and to fill their thirsty souls.  And I reflect often on the difference between what they actually lost when Phil died and what I am unwilling to see them let go of along with that loss (their innocence, integrity, tenderness, compassion, faith).  In recognizing the immense responsibility and privilege that is mine to raise these kiddos, I accordingly give myself permission to ask for help, pray, and cry as needed.  


I often think of Phil in response to the overwhelming responsibility I feel to continue parenting these remarkable children "in the way they should go so that they will not stray from it".  I miss him every day and am only just beginning to understand my grief and the grief of my children.  None of us have the same response to his death and since each of them are rapidly growing and changing, I have to be on my toes all the time.  If I were to think of Phil every three or four minutes I could not do what I have to do to get on with the business of living ~ and leading all of us on in that.  And I find that for me personally, what I read recently rings true~ 


"People cry not because they are weak but because they have been strong for so long".

Absences

I've been struggling mentally to write a blog for over a week.  I deeply desire to keep in touch with all of you and yet it's taken me days and days to figure out what I want to write.  I literally have three or four drafts of this post started.  That's because each time I sit down to write it I'm in a different place emotionally and have an ever-changing point of view.  It makes writing a focused post kinda challenging.  Consider the fact that I haven't been sleeping well at all and you've got a recipe for blog disaster.


Early in the week I seemed to be doing quite well.  I decorated my mantle on the weekend and put my Christmas tree up in the living room.  My home now looks and feels festive and our Advent calendars are up to date. The kids are managing their schoolwork and Bennett earned 100% on a math benchmark test the day after returning to school.  The early week was busily spent managing the details of widowhood. I gathered together the various paperwork necessary to begin the task of managing my financial affairs and planning for my future.  An entire morning was spent in the local branch of the Social Security office and lots and lots of phone calls and letters have been made and written.    


My nights this week have been busy too.  I've had dinner with the neighbors and other friends and it's been nice to have the company and playmates for Bennett and Olivia.  However, time spent with people means there is inevitable conversation about Phil and although I thought I was doing well, I'm clearly not.  Too many tearful nights and not enough rest are a bad combination it turns out.  The first chinks in the armor showed up mid week when I started feeling spread thin and canceled appointments that had previously seemed very important.  Overnight I began to crave my quiet time and the social engagements that had kept me company and staved off loneliness didn't appeal to me at all.  And then this morning, the bottom dropped out.  The kids both woke up in "a mood".  Olivia burst into tears and needed cuddles and Bennett begged for more sleep after struggling all night to get his fair share and calling on me to help him get it.  We were, as a unit, blitzed.  And I was, as a woman and mother, feeling disorganized and totally tapped out.  It was inevitable that I would get to this point but I really didn't see it coming.   Duh. 


I knew that Phil was going to die a long time before he let himself realize it.  My role as wife and caregiver required me to tolerate hearing the hard truth of what Dr. Kossman was spelling out for us at each and every cusp along Phil's arduous road when he could not. Most certainly it was God's grace that allowed me to begin my grieving process for Phil over a year ago.  Because he was sick for such a long time and I grieved so much during the illness I had time to prepare for his death.  But I could do nothing ahead of time to prepare for what I feel now - his absence.  I feel what I do now in each unique moment and before I could only imagine the potential of his absence.  And my imagination fell far short of the reality that is life without Phil.

Now What

It's been two weeks since Phil died and I am only beginning to have time to "be" with my feelings.  As I said before, prior to Phil going into hospice care my house served as Ground Zero and I have had friends and family in my home until just a few days ago.  Include the visits from wonderful and supportive friends and family who flew and drove in for the memorial, the Thanksgiving holiday and the numerous details I must now attend to and you may begin to understand the position I find myself in trying to find time and space to grieve.  Unexpectedly, even my children are cramping my space to grieve.  Their grief looks so much different than mine and tends to manifest itself in the form of irritability and what I like to call "feistiness".  When I say that to them, we all know what I mean and they know they better knock it off or heads are gonna roll (or Nintendo DS's are gonna be confiscated, more likely).


By way of example,things with the kids and I have gone something like this lately.  It's been a long day for all of us, we're tired and worn out from just making it through another day without Daddy (even though I'm the only one cognizant of this little FACT) and patience with one another and the vicissitudes of life has thinned to almost nothing.  (You might guess by now that it is nearing the dinner hour.)  Chances are good that there may be a somewhat questionable casserole-type dish in the offering tonight, provided by a very well meaning soul who has tried hard to help us with our meals.  However, at this point, although very grateful, we are also very much over white rice, cream of mushroom soup and limp vegetables.  These have never been things I could get my kids to eat anyway so they don't go down any easier when they are grieving.  (Father God, forgive me for throwing away so much food when there are starving children in Africa...)  Anyway, the kids start picking at dinner, get more and more hungry and agitated, ask for short order cooked meals, start taking out their frustrations on me, each other, the world and next thing you know they are screaming at each other "I HATE YOU AND NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!"  That's gonna be a tough one since they share a bedroom and bunk beds.  


By this time I am missing Phil a whole lot and my grief has picked a fine time to show up.  As the tears come to my eyes my son Bennett looks at me and tells me I cry too much.  He asks me why I am sad still, why I am sad all the time.  What's wrong with me?  When I ask him if he is sad he says, "No, I'm pretty much over Dad now.  I put it behind me."  Well, thankfully I have a right mind and can see through his juvenile attempts to escape his grief but for a split second I want to wring his neck and shake some sense into him, scream back at him "I HATE YOU AND NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!  HOW DARE YOU!!!"  But somehow, through the grace of God, cooler minds prevail and I say, "OK bud."  By now Olivia has stormed off to her room to have a power pout and a good cry.  She at least will now go write down about 15 pet names for Daddy in her journal and make a list of all the things Phil did/didn't get to do before he died.  My kids surprise me, they are not performing as I thought they would.  I thought for sure my son, the intensely verbal one would talk his way through his grief and Olivia my shy one would clam up.  Just the opposite.  Never ASS-ume.


To say that I was happy that school started yesterday is to put it mildly.  I needed to return to the routine badly.  We all did.  At least to have some forced time and space created so I can just sit still and do nothing if I want to.  Of course that hasn't happened but at least the potential is there if I ever want to pull the trigger on it.  I can choose to be lazy if I want to.  To go back to bed if I feel like it.  To do absolutely nothing.  But surely you must realize that is a joke.  I suppose there will be a very short window for doing that but I happen to have a little book full of things I need to do.  Once the death certificates come I will be a busy woman getting my new life in order.  Until then, I will enjoy this little cushion of time being quiet and resting and enjoying the quiet while my kids are at school and there is space just for me.


I heard that someone recently was asking "What now?" about me.  Really??  I can't believe the answer to that question isn't painfully obvious.  I have two young children to guide through a tremendous burden of grief and loss. I have to figure out how to navigate my own grief which is so different than theirs and will likely do so in a sort of lonely isolation because of how different my relationship to Phil was from theirs.  And I will spend the rest of my life raising them to take as much good from him as I can, largely on my own and yet with the help of my family and friends and those who loved Phil.  


That's is what's next.