Forced Perspective

It's an art term, a photography term. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forced_perspective)

To Lee and I, it's a term of how we've lived since April 2004, when Connor was diagnosed with Infantile Spasms and we were given the prognosis of his pervasive developmental delays and shorter life expectancy.  We were forced, just after welcoming him, to start mourning him.  And despite what they told us, he lived on.  He lived 8-9 years past what they said.  So we kept living, but we also kept mourning.  We celebrated at the same time.

Last night, I stared up at a photo that is up in our bedroom of Connor sitting independently.  I remember that day so clearly.  Lee was at school, and a home had gone on the market that I thought may have worked for us.  I called my agent (who is now my broker) and asked him to show me, and would it be okay if I had the boys with me.  He carried Drew around the house while I had Connor. Connor had been working on his independent sitting with Ms. Megan.  I sat on the floor in the basement of the house at the corner of John Marshall Drive and N. 28th Street and placed him between my splayed legs, then propped his arms down with his hands, mostly fisted, on the floor.  He wobbled, then steadied, then started to look up.  Then I realized that he wasn't getting a single ounce of support from me.  I had my camera, so I could show Lee what the house looked like.

Instead, I got to take a "first" picture of our sweet fighter, sitting by himself.

I was beside myself with happiness.  Last night, I stared up at that picture and remember what a fighter he was.  It was a really good example for his brothers.  See - Connor never gave up.  He always tried.  I drive past that home at least once a week, and it always makes me smile.  It's where he walked on water.  It's where he turned the water into wine.  It's where he changed my perspective on him.  It's where I was reminded to celebrate while I mourn.

When life switches from hellos to good-byes

This weekend, I had a message from my parents that one of their very closest friends had passed away after many years of complicated health.  I stood in my bedroom and cried, feeling sad that my parents were so sad, and sad that I didn't know my "Uncle" Bob (really, my second Uncle Bob.  My first Uncle Bob was actually my uncle, and he passed away many years ago and we all miss him) better.  I knew him mostly through stories, and they were very, very funny stories.

Then on Tuesday night, I saw a facebook posting from my oldest friend, letting people know that her mother had died after a battle with cancer, and I sat in my office and wept, and thankfully had her number in my phone and was able to call her right away.  I don't know if hearing from me helped her, but I don't have memories that do not include her and her family and I wanted her to know that it moved me to know that she had experienced this loss, and to find out how her sons and father were managing.  They were there from the beginning with me.  I have so many memories of playing at her house: in the basement with the hamsters, in the backyard picking berries off the bushes and flinging them around, in the kitchen getting Cran-Grape to drink.  To this day, Cran-Apple and Cran-Grape immediately put me back in her kitchen.  Her house was the first place I heard a clock with the Big Ben Chime (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=juT1zsim6es) which to me, was just the clock sound at Michele's.  Some days, when we were feeling very brave, we would stand on the retaining wall by her garage and jump down.  In retrospect, that was a terrible idea.  It was probably 15 feet high at the highest point.  I can't believe we never got more than a scrape!

When we were 6, we were playing in the basement, and in our exuberance decided that the best possible game would be "Jump On The Sofa" - not an uncommon game.  The difference being that this time, I opted to do so with a Tinker Toy in my mouth.  I had a real problem in my youth with "things in my mouth," though this helped cure me.  We jumped and jumped and jumped.  We bumped and bumped, and then bumped into each other, front to front.  Luckily, she was much taller than me (not difficult) and the Tinker Toy struck her right in the sternum, and poked into my cheek a little.  She ran up to her mother, a nurse, as it actually hurt her.  Her mother called me up, and asked to see my mouth.  Then she called my mother to explain and tell her I should go to the ER, just in case.  I wasn't hurt at all!  I was terrified of the ER.  When my sisters' had gone there, they came back with casts and stitched and such!  NO THANK YOU!

But away we went, and I ended up with a stitch in my cheek.  One single stitch that no one could even see.  And now, I have a small scar in my cheek that I can feel with my tongue where the stitch was that 36 years ago, came to pass because my friend's mother in her kindness, checked out the unhurt child as well as caring for her own hurt one.  It makes me glad to think I had such kindness around me when I was far too young to be able to express it, and it makes me sad to know that her specific brand of kindness is now gone to Heaven.  I know she is there, with her friends and relatives who went before, and I hope that she is with Connor too.  In a few weeks, when we inter his cremains and plant his garden, I'll plant a few seeds in her honor, and Uncle Bob's, and all our friends and family who have gone on.  

But for now, I don't like the transition we are in...moving from hellos to good-byes.  And I don't like that these good-byes are coming fast and furious upon my sons too.

Because Snow

Oops.  I've been thinking of posting something, but inevitably it has snowed and I've had the boys home, restless and easily triggered into sparring matches.  It has been a LONG month, and I don't live anywhere near Boston, where REAL snow has been happening.

In any case, it's been a month and I am really sorry.

Since my last post, Drew has decided to cut his hair short again, asking Lee to give him "The Connor" - aka a buzz cut.  Drew only remembers his brother having a buzz cut, even though his hair was longer until he turned 4.  Lee managed to buzz him without getting upset - a feat I'm not sure I could have accomplished.  His head feels like Connor's again, and I find myself rubbing it all the time.  I hope if he ever learns that one of the reasons I am doing that is that it reconnects my sense of touch to Connor, it won't bother him.  I would do it even if things were different because it feels cool, but it has the added bonus (?) of bringing Connor back to me.

Tucker has started reading.  I am thrilled, though recognize that he's 5 and it's totally normal.  But, for a kid who (1) didn't want to go to kindergarten and (2) told me that he didn't need to learn to read, I feel like this is a huge thing for him.  Now he writes notes and delivers them to everyone, and reads to himself at night after we've read together.

Lee and I still struggle with all the different emotions that whip through us.  I find that it's later in the day each day when I first think of Connor, and that makes me sad.

It's about 4 weeks until we inter his cremains.  It's supposed to be a garden-building party for our family, and I'm beginning to get concerned that we won't be ready!  Time to graph out the garden area and the seeds people sent/delivered on the anniversary weekend, and to make sure I've brought the garden bed back to life after this exceptionally cold, hard late winter we've had.

But tomorrow night, we spring forward.  Of course!  I wonder how much snow will still be on the ground when we do that.

Nailed It!

Here we are on the other side of a year.  As my friend Becky said, "Well, that's done, but it will never be over," and she is exactly right.  I am glad it's done, and I know it will never be over, and that's just how my world is.  It's up to me to ensure that the never-over part doesn't take over.

Thank you again to everyone who reached out, in myriad ways, to us over the past week, month, and even year.  I felt it all.

Now we're out of the "newly-grieved" year, which in some ways felt a little like that first year after marriage, where you are dodging all kind of questions like, "so now that you're married...?" except that we have been dodging sad looks and awkward conversations.  The fact is, you still may not know what to say to me, and I still don't know what to say back.  Say you are sorry.  I will tell you I am too.

On my morning walk with Jack, I realized that I've been in a real, honest to God quagmire about work.  It's been quiet work-wise for a while and I'm starting to lose faith.  While walking in the clear sunshine this morning, I had a little bit of an epiphany.  I really, really love being a Realtor.  I love helping people, and I love homes, and I truly believe that this is a good match for me.  But I'm so mired down in sadness I struggle on a daily basis to get moving, get motivated, and get things done.

How do I drain the swamp so I can move again?

Really, how?  I'm not sure as I'm as new to this as anyone would be. I'm going to try.  The first part will be simple.  Set some goals for each day and don't stop until they are accomplished.  Personal goals and professional goals.  Stepping stones to the bigger goals.  Get up.  Get dressed.  Clean up after breakfast.  Have a dinner plan.  Make sure you respond to clients. Make sure you talk to at least 4 people each day to see if they need any real estate help.  Make sure you get professional reading finished.

The hardest goal is this: get up.  I have been a night owl since basically the beginning of time.  Now, it's hard to go to sleep until after midnight and the mornings are still coming at me, requiring me to be pleasant and functional and motivated.  With little sleep, none of those are likely.  Mostly I manage functional right now.

I'm also going to add in one more.  Write a paragraph a day.  I woke up on January 31 with a sentence in my head that seemed like the start of something bigger.

Reminders

Lee and I have been trying to plan for this weekend.  Most everyone is afraid to even mention it to us, and that makes sense but please don't be afraid.  Life is too short to be afraid.  Speak up and say the wrong thing but acknowledge it.  It's all good as long as you do that.

I said, we have to have enough food for the family visiting at mealtimes.  He said, "Let's just make a giant puree and serve that."

I said, we'll pour a little off for our homey, and Lee broke down.  It was meant as a joke, because we had to puree all of Connor's food, but instead it fell sideways across Lee and upset him.  Even we say the wrong thing to each other.  So I said, Honey, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to upset you.  

So as a reminder to you all out there - house is open for visits this weekend.  Bring seeds for new life if you want.  Bring a memory of him, or of our friendship, or of something really, really funny.  We all need to laugh, even in our sorrows.

Hope to see you this weekend.

The Final First is almost here...

The anniversary is nigh.  We simultaneously dread it and look forward to it.  It will make things easier when we don't have the thought "This is the first time since..." in our heads whenever we do anything.  We've gone on trips.  We've had all the birthdays.  We've made our slow and steady progress.  One of my friends told me today that we have been soldiering on, and he's right.  It's a long, difficult march with pack on our backs that is the heaviest invisible thing ever.

And since time marches on, we do too.

In a few weekends, it will be the anniversary of Connor's passing.  We've decided to proceed like this: If you want to come to see us on January 31 or February 1, please do.  We aren't planning anything formal, but our house, our hearts and our arms will be open.  There will be drinks and snacks here.  Stop by, sit with us, if you feel compelled.

Don't bring anything.  Especially lasagna.  We want to see you.  If your parents raised you to believe in the deepest fabric of your soul that you cannot show up empty handed, then please bring a seed for his garden.  In the spring, we'll refresh his garden and inter his cremains there, and we want it to be beautiful and full of love.  If you bring a seed, I promise it will get planted and cared for as best as we possibly can, and that he will be a part of that plant.  Flowers, bulbs, butterfly bushes, anything decorative.

Well, maybe if you felt like it, you could also bring doughnuts.  I mean, who doesn't love doughnuts, and we'll probably want the comfort food.  And if you are a part of my family, since the 1st is Super Bowl Sunday, if you felt inclined to bring the original, correct ingredients for Chip Mix, then we'll have something to nosh while we watch the big game.

Thanks again, everyone, for everything.

So What Now?

It's cold.  There's about five inches of powdery snow on the ground outside, and a projection that we won't break above the freezing mark until Friday at best.

It feels a LOT like last year.  I do not want to feel like last year.

We're almost a year in, and I'm beginning to wonder...what next?  What do I do next? Other than the day-to-day cleaning, feeding, caring, working normal stuff?

Some people have suggested I keep writing, and expand into a book or other creative endeavor.  In my fertile imagination, I see me at the end result, and it looks accomplished.  I mean, it looks like I have satisfied myself with an accomplishment.

The problem is...I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO GO FROM HERE TO THERE.

None.  Zilch.  Idea-free zone here around me.

I know a lot of creative people, both in spirit and in practice.  Share your ideas with me, please, and maybe you can lay a stepping stone down that will help me get from where I am to accomplishment.